“How you figure that, Bob?”
“No quarterback could cut the winning margin to four points or less on purpose and still win the game. The spread is too narrow. If the Jets were favored by seventeen, I could maybe shave off a touchdown or throw an interception so we’d win by ten points. But that’s two scores, so we’d have a cushion and could win the game if something went wrong.” Bob slammed his fist on the arm of the couch. “But with four points, there’s no room for error. One play goes wrong and the Cowboys score seven. Even two field goals count six points.” He hung his head. “I’m screwed. I’ll have to lose the game.”
“Maybe not.”
“What can you do?” Bob asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
Chapter 47
It was Jorge Castellano’s day off. He met me at PCPD headquarters a block from the hotel. That’s the kind of friend Jorge was.
He punched up the computer. “The text was sent from a cell tower a hundred yards from here. The one across the street from the Port City Palace.”
I thought of Vidali and Orsinati and their rooms in the Palace. That took a lot of balls to send the text from the hotel. Or maybe they didn’t know about the technology to trace cell phones. Was Teflon Vic that old-fashioned? And Dante Orsinati didn’t strike me as the brightest bulb on the porch. Could they be in the hotel right now?
“Where’s the phone now, Jorge?”
“Hmm. Just a sec…” He studied the monitor. “It’s moved. Now it’s pinging off a cell tower on the south edge of downtown.”
###
I called the manager of the Port City Palace at home. “Mr. Wallenda, this is Chuck McCrary. I want to know if the men in Rooms 3405 and 3406 are still there, or if they checked out. Who do I need to talk to?”
“First tell me about the missing guest, Ms. Perez. Did you find her?”
“Yes, sir. The men in rooms 3405 and 3406 did kidnap her. You’ll hear about that on the eleven o’clock news tonight. I brought her back safe and sound to your hotel early this morning. But now her life has been threatened again. This crisis is not over. I still need your cooperation.”
“If they kidnapped her, won’t the police be after them? They wouldn’t still be in the hotel.”
“The police don’t know about it yet, unless the Coast Guard told them.”
“The Coast Guard? The Coast Guard?”
“Look, it’s complicated, Mr. Wallenda. Regardless, I have reason to believe the kidnappers could be in the hotel. Ms. Perez is still in danger, and I still need your help.”
###
The Port City Palace desk clerk read my business card and took me to the back office. “Mr. Wallenda called about you. What do you want, Mr. McCrary?”
“I need to know if the two men who were in rooms 3405 and 3406 are still there.”
The clerk consulted her computer. “They checked out an hour ago.”
I thanked her and returned to Bob and Gracie’s suite. I didn’t use the keycard. I didn’t want to surprise Snoop. He can be trigger-happy, so I knocked.
Snoop cracked the door. “Come in. Bob and Gracie are resting in the bedroom. What did you find?”
“It’s definitely Vidali. He’s checked out of the hotel.”
“Where is he?”
“That’s what I’m gonna find out, Snoop.”
I called Jorge, who had hung around the PCPD headquarters at my request. “Snoop is with me and I have you on speaker. Where is Graciela’s phone now? Is it turned on?”
“Just a sec… Well, well, well. It’s pinging off a cell tower on the causeway.”
“Could it be on the way to Mango Island?”
“Lemme check the cell tower map…Yeah, that tower is right near the Mango Island ferry terminal.”
“Jorge, you’re off duty until Monday, right? I want to hire you to come over here and back up Snoop.”
“Be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Make it ten.” I hung up.
Bob must have heard our conversation. He came out of the bedroom yawning.
“Didn’t mean to wake you, Bob. Sorry.”
“No problem. I heard you say something about backup. What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you later, Bob. Right now, Snoop and I are going out on your balcony to talk.”
“Stay here, guys. I want to know what’s happening.”
I raised a hand. “I know you do, amigo, but you need to be able to tell the cops that you had no idea what we were doing. ¿Comprende?” I looked him in the eyes while he considered this.
Finally, he gestured toward the balcony. “Help yourselves.”
Snoop waited until I slid the glass balcony doors closed behind us. The sunset behind the hotel reflected off the high-rises across Seeti Bay to turn their windows into sparks of flaming orange. The eastern sky over the Atlantic was already black. “How the hell do we get to Mango Island without a boat, Chuck? The Raider is shot up and tied up at Convoy Point. We damned sure can’t take the ferry with all those security cameras.”
“We do not need to get to Mango Island. You will stay here and guard Bob and Gracie, with back up from Jorge Castellano. He’s on his way.”
“You can’t take on Vidali and his guards alone, Chuck. I’m going with you.”
“Not gonna happen. You have Janet and the girls to think about. I don’t have any family. Besides, if anything happens to me, you have to get Bob to the stadium in one piece.” I put my hand on his arm. “Can I count on you, Snoop?”
Snoop stared at me in the twilight. He swallowed hard and nodded.
“One more thing, Snoop. Hank Hickham invited me and a date to his stadium suite for the Super Bowl. Since I don’t have a girlfriend right now, I promised Clint I’d take him. If anything happens to me, promise me you’ll take him for me. I don’t want him to miss it.”
“I promise,” said Snoop, blinking as though he had something in his eye.
Chapter 48
The only way to get to Mango Island is by boat or helicopter. Helicopter was too noisy; I couldn’t attract any notice. The ferry was not an option. They keep security video of everyone who gets on and off.
I called Mike Mahoney.
I used Mike’s Marine Service facilities when I rebuilt the first Gator Raider years ago. The old boat had sunk in a hurricane in the New River. The insurance company paid the owner and sold her to me for a dollar—still at the bottom of the river. I’d raised her and towed her to Mike’s. When Mike learned that my paternal grandfather was a first generation American, he pronounced me an honorary half-Irishman. Mike helped me chase down spare parts when I was young and broke. Our common love for boats, fishing, and Irish whiskey had grown into a friendship.
Mike spoke in an Irish brogue. “Why the hell would the likes of you call the likes of me on a Saturday night, Chuck McCrary? You’re only half Irish, so it’s too early in the evening for you to be drunk. The sun’s only barely set as it is.”
“Mahoney, I may not be straight from the auld sod like you or Grandpa Magnus, but it’s never too early to be drunk.”
“You got that right, boy-o. And what can I do for you on this beautiful evening in paradise?”
“I need to rent a boat.”
“And it’s a sure thing that you do, laddie. It’s gonna take a few weeks to patch the Raider. I wouldn’t want to go that long without a boat meself. I’ll send a crew down to Convoy Point on Monday to fetch her, that’s for sure. And I’ll fix you up with a nice cruiser for a good price on Tuesday, after I get back.”
“Mike, I need a boat now.”
“You mean like right now?”
“Right now.”
“But it’s Saturday night, lad. This is prime drinking time. I’d charge you a pretty penny for disturbing my well-deserved leisure. Why the hell would you need a boat tonight?”
###
I didn’t dare call Hank Hickham on Saturday night before the Super Bowl. This would be the busiest night in the history of Hank
’s Bar & Grill & Bodacious Ribs. Hank’s restaurant had been a “must see” for tourists to Port City Beach for a generation or more. With Port City full of fans for its first Super Bowl in its new billion-dollar stadium, the wait time for a table had to be hours. Even in the off season, the place made Hank a hundred grand a month. It would take a team of CPAs to figure out how much money Hank stood to make this week.
Besides, I had called on Hank for a favor earlier that week when he got Snoop and me the reservation at the Mango Island Resort. But Hank had told me to call him anytime I needed a favor. He had invited me to his private box at the Port City Super Stadium to watch the Super Bowl the next day.
I texted him. Call me ASAP. It’s important.
A minute later he called back. “Hey, Chuck, I’m kinda busy. What you need?”
“Hank, I wouldn’t bother you tonight of all nights if it weren’t important.”
“Don’t worry ’bout that none, Chuck. You never asked me for nothin’ what didn’t make plenty good sense. How can I help?”
“I need to get onto Mango Island again—tonight.”
Even over the restaurant hubbub in the background, I heard him sigh. “Oh, Lordy. That’s a tall order, son. I tried a couple weeks ago to get another friend a room at the lodge. Told me they been booked solid for two years. Ain’t nothing I can do about that. I mean, a few nights ago was one thing, but tonight is impossible, even for me. The president of the United States couldn’t get a room anywhere in Port City tonight, let alone on Mango Island.”
“I don’t want a room at the Resort, Hank. I only need to get onto the island.”
“I’ll arrange for you to take the ferry.”
“I can’t take the ferry, Hank.”
“Why the hell not?”
“You don’t want to know, Hank. I’ll go by private boat, like last time. Can you get me a guest slip in the marina?”
“I tried that too, son. Can’t be done. Every big yacht on the East Coast is here for the game. You know that.”
“What about a dinner reservation at one of the Mango Island restaurants for, say, ten o’clock? Any excuse to get me on that island without using the ferry will do. It’s real important.”
“Not gonna happen, Chuck. The restaurant’s been booked for weeks. Hell, we closed the wait list at my place when the wait time got over three hours. In case you ain’t heard, the night before the Super Bowl is like New Year’s Eve.”
“I’m desperate here, Hank. It’s literally a matter of life and death that I get onto Mango Island tonight and that I not take the ferry. What about a Super Bowl party? Is the Mango Island Club having a Super Bowl party tonight?”
“Is the Pope Catholic? Of course they’re having a party. In fact, they’re having lots of parties. This is like New Year’s Eve for them too. Yeah, I can get you into that. Is there just you? You have a date or anything?”
“Only me, Hank.”
“Okay. I’ll tell them you’re my nephew again. I assume you want to do this on the down low, right? So you need to look the part—monkey suit and all. It’s a formal party. You know how Mango Island is. I’ll leave the invitation in my office with the night manager, but I won’t be able to see you. You’ll have to show the invitation to dock the boat, and you can’t get into the party without it.”
Chapter 49
I rolled down the window of my Avanti. “Mike, thanks for meeting me. I owe you big time.”
Mike Mahoney rolled back the gate in the chain link fence and waved me into the marina parking lot. “Come on in, boy-o. It’s a fine friend I’d be if I couldn’t do an occasional favor for a fellow Irishman, even if he is only half-Irish.”
He led me into the marina office and turned on the light. “Holy Mother of God, you’re wearing a tux. Why would you want to rent a boat on Saturday night before the Super Bowl, and wear a friggin’ tuxedo?”
“I’m going to a Super Bowl party at a waterfront house on the New River,” I answered. “It’s formal.”
“But you can drive to them houses, boy-o. You can get there in a car; you don’t need a boat.”
“I’m meeting a girl there. She wants to do in on a boat. I think she likes the rocking.” I winked.
Mike laughed. “Jesus H. Christ, you’re daft. What kind of boat you need, lad?”
“Practically anything with a cabin bed large enough for two. Don’t care about the power or size.”
“How about a cuddy?”
“Too small. I don’t want to feel cramped. This is a special night with a special girl.”
Mike looked at the sets of keys hanging on the wall. “Here we go. SeaRay 310 Sundancer. Very romantic. Got her on consignment. Owner said to rent her until she sells.” He pocketed the keys. “I don’t know how much fuel she’s got. Let’s go check it.”
I got my gear from the Avanti and followed Mike to the SeaRay.
Mike turned the ignition. “Gage says she’s half full. Oughta be about sixty gallons. That enough for you?”
“Should be plenty to get to the New River and back. Thanks, Mike. I owe you big time.”
He laughed. “No, you don’t. I’m charging you a bloody fortune for getting me out on a Saturday night.” He laughed again as he stepped ashore.
I turned on the blowers and started the bilge pump. I went to the stern and made sure that the bilge ran dry in only a few seconds.
Mike stood at the bow line, ready to cast off.
I counted to thirty, turned off the blowers, and started the engines. “Okay, Mike. Cast off now.”
My stomach turned somersaults while I idled out of the marina. My blood pressure started to climb as the adrenaline began to flow. I was always like that in Iraq and Afghanistan before a mission.
As soon as the SeaRay cleared the no-wake zone, I pushed the throttles to the firewall. The cruiser leapt in the water, bounced twice, and climbed the hill of water at the bow. The tachometer wound toward three thousand rpm as the boat reached the top of the bow wave. She nosed over, up on plane. I pulled the throttles back when she reached cruising speed. The engines smoothed out at a steady two thousand rpm.
I took a deep breath and chilled out, at least for a while.
Chapter 50
This time I knew what to watch for. A quarter-mile out I spotted the Mango Island marine patrol making its endless circles around the island.
I turned the SeaRay around the north end of the island and watched for the entrance to the marina. I dropped to idle speed and steered through the breakwater. I called the harbormaster on the marine radio and got a transient slip number. I wondered where the Coast Guard took the Double Scotch. She wasn’t in her slip. Probably they had her at the Coast Guard base.
The dock attendant wore the usual turquoise and gold uniform. “I’ll toss you a line.”
When the attendant finished at the bow, I tossed him a stern line. “Thanks. You do this one and I’ll do the other. I’ll be here all night.”
“Yes, Captain. Welcome to Mango Island. May I have the name your reservation is under?”
“I don’t have a reservation. I’m here for the Super Bowl party. After the party, I’ll sleep aboard the boat.”
“Which party?”
I hadn’t counted on that. “How many parties are there?”
“At least half a dozen, plus private parties in people’s homes. Let me see your invitation.”
I handed it to him.
He read the name on the invitation. “You’re Hank Hickham? The guy with that rib place? I love your ribs.”
“Well, I’m Hank Hickham, but my uncle is the guy with the ribs. I’m named after him. I love his ribs too.”
“Tell me: How does he make that sauce?”
“Beats me. Uncle Hank said he could tell me, but then…” I let the sentence hang in the air.
The dock attendant caught on. “I know—he’d have to kill you.”
We shared a laugh.
The attendant looked at the invitation again. “That particular par
ty’s in the Caribbean Clubhouse on the other side of the island. You’ll need to take a shuttle.” He called the resort on a walky-talky. “Your ride will be here in three minutes. Would you like a map of the island?”
“Yes, thanks.” I took the map and slipped the attendant a tip as I walked away from the dock.
###
Now that I was on the island, I didn’t need to go to the party. But it would be unusual for me to dock and not take the shuttle. I wanted to compare the island to the map. I’d studied aerial photos of the island from Google Earth, but they might be a few years old. The shuttle took a cart path that Snoop and I had not used on our previous trip to the island. It skirted the edge of three more golf holes, passed the other of the island’s two marinas, and turned on the other end of the street that led to Vidali’s mansion.
The Caribbean Clubhouse lobby was festooned with bunting and Super Bowl banners. Huge flower arrangements in the form of team logos and colors for the Jets and the Cowboys sat on matching tables in the atrium.
I handed the invitation to a guard stationed at the entrance to the ballroom. He wore a tuxedo of Mango Island turquoise with a gold tie and cummerbund. Nothing succeeds like excess.
The sound of an orchestra wafted on the night breeze. The party was in full swing as I pushed my way through the crowd of beautiful people. There were two kinds of couples: beautiful women on the arms of wealthy men, and wealthy women on the arms of beautiful men. I amended that assessment to include a third type of couple when I saw a beautiful man on the arm of a wealthy man.
I worked my way to one of the bars. “Club soda.” I had to stay sharp tonight. I decided to live a little. “With a twist of lime.”
I carried the drink to an out-of-the-way corner and surveyed the room. I stepped back further into the corner when Dante Orsinati walked in. Very oh-shit, I thought. Orsinati knew me, of course, and where Orsinati was, Teflon Vic wouldn’t be far behind.
The ballroom had a wall of French doors that opened to a garden with tables and chairs, another buffet line, and another bar. I stepped through an open door and moved into the shadows a few yards away from the ballroom. I sidled over to a spot where I could see Orsinati inside, still near the entrance to the ballroom. It was easy to spot his bald head.
Quarterback Trap (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 3) Page 16