Dead Eye

by Carolina Mac

  Prisoner in Paradise

  CHAPTER ONE

  Monday, June 15th.

  Seadrift, Texas.

  BIG DAVE parked his dented Ford pickup and took stock of the shack he called home. A one-storey frame piece of shit rotting away on concrete blocks on the bank of the channel. Giant Cypress shaded his five acres and kept the temperature down by a degree or two, but it was still well over a hundred any day of the week. As soon as he got a few thou ahead, he’d burn it down and start over. No insurance. Wasn’t worth a fuckin nickel anyway.

  He and his two buddies, Whitey Sweedo and Tennessee Taylor had opened a business, hiring out mud boats to fishermen and showing the tourists where the best fishing spots were in the backwater. The business weren’t too bad, but his new business was a helluva lot better. That’s where he’d make the real money. He’d soon be moving up in the world.

  He sauntered inside, threw down his smoke and ground it under his boot on the wooden kitchen floor. Nothing had changed. Tanya was a pig and she wallowed in her own filth. She lived to get high and never did a lick of work. The house stunk of garbage, puke and sweat and Big Dave felt sick every time he walked through the door.

  It wasn’t like this in the beginning. Meth turned his wife into somebody he couldn’t even recognize anymore.

  “Anything to eat?” he hollered and didn’t expect an answer. “Been up since dawn busting my ass and I could use a coffee if you could spare the time.”

  Tanya sauntered into the kitchen wearing nothing but a long tank top. The three-colored dye job she’d seen in a magazine and tried to copy without too much success, hung in a tangled mess over her face. “No food here.” She sneered at him. “Might be something in the fuckin cupboard if you gave me a few bucks for groceries, but you never do.”

  He shook his head at the sight of her. Twenty-five years old and she could pass for forty-five. Skinny as a fuckin rake like most users and she reeked of piss and vomit.

  “What does it matter to you? You don’t eat anyway. All you care about is your next hit.”

  “So what? You got product streaming out your fat ass now that you and your bff’s are on steady with Delgato.”

  “Delgato accounts for every fuckin ounce, Tanya. I can’t supply you for free, even if I wanted to. And I don’t. Look at the mess of y’all.”

  “Then buy me some all legal-like,” said Tanya. “You owe me. You know you do.”

  “Get your lazy ass over to the rental office and for Christ sake clean yourself up before you go talk to any customers. You look like shit, woman.”

  “You should talk, you fat asshole. I could smell your sweat the second you walked through the fuckin door.”

  “I earned that sweat. I work for a living.”

  “Tennessee smells better than you do.”

  “How do you know that?” Big Dave backhanded her across the face and sent her flying off the kitchen chair.

  “Ow,” screamed Tanya. “I’ll get you for that.”

  “Try it.” Big Dave grabbed a Shiners out of the fridge and chugged half. He looked down at Tanya lying on the filthy floor crying and laughed at her. “Here’s one for the road.” He kicked her in the ribs and stomped out the door.

  Austin, Texas.

  THE BLACKMORE AGENCY was on vacation. A forced vacay, but a vacation one none the less. Blaine had capped a senator’s wife in the line of duty and his foster brother, Farrell, had shot the same senator’s son the next day as he came over the Agency fence to avenge his mother’s death.

  The powers that be were sorting it out, but until that time, Blaine and his crew were shut down.

  “Pack your stuff,” hollered Blaine. “It’s hotter than hell on a Sunday in the city and we’re going to the Gulf.”

  “Are we all going?” asked Farrell.

  “I’d say that’s an affirmative,” said Blaine. “The Chief wants me out of the city until the media calms down. It’s not every day a senator’s wife gets her head blown off.”

  Farrell stood in front of the coffee maker in his boxers, black hand-tooled cowboy boots on his feet and a black Stetson covering his haystack of hair. “You were totally in the right, bro. Don’t matter who she was married to, the woman had a hostage and a knife in her hand. I don’t think she was hitting on all her cylinders.”

  Blaine shrugged it off and filled his mug with more Panama blend. “Is Mary coming?”

  “Dunno,” said Farrell. “She might have to stay and wallow in the media muck. It’s her job.”

  “Wouldn’t she rather wallow in the Caribbean?”

  “I invited her, and I invited Neil.”

  “Well, you can’t do more than that,” said Blaine. He pressed the Governor’s contact number and waited for her to answer.

  “Hey, sweetie, the Chief told me you were taking a week off and I concur. It’s a good idea for you to make yourself scarce.”

  “I rented a house on the Gulf and I’m leaving in about an hour. If you need anything, call Jesse. He and the Chief are tidying up the little mess Farrell and I made.”

  “I’ve read some of the reports, and you acted properly. Mrs. Royce took an ATF agent hostage and she shot and killed one of the other agents. There were witnesses.”

  “The senator is putting his own spin on things,” said Blaine, “and that’s okay. I’ll deal with him when I get back.”

  Or someone will deal with him for me.

  Misty floated into the kitchen wearing cut off shorts and a red tank top. She filled the kettle to make tea and helped Carm with breakfast.

  “Are you packed, sweetheart?” Blaine asked her.

  “All packed, but I haven’t packed the dog’s stuff yet.” Misty spread out her words in her soft Louisiana drawl. “I need a cardboard box or something.”

  “Uh huh. I’ll get a box from the carriage house.”

  Carm glanced up from her favorite skillet and spewed out a long worrisome tale in Spanish.

  “Rick is going to feed the fish. Stop worrying, mi Corazon, he won’t let them die.”

  Then came part two of her protest. There was her vegetable garden that she couldn’t possibly leave. Not in the middle of June.

  Blaine strode across the kitchen and put an arm around Carmelita’s shoulder. She was like a mother to him and he wanted her to be happy—always. He wanted her to come on vacation to the Gulf, but he recognized how attached she was to the house and her garden. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he said in Spanish. “You can stay here with Rick and Andy.”

  “Si.” She smiled, happy that Blaine wasn’t making her go.

  FARRELL refilled his mug and was on his way back to the table when his cell rang. “Hey, Neil, are you ready to rock?”

  “Yep, I’m packed, and my fishing gear is ready. Am I coming into the city or are y’all picking me up?”

  “We’re going south, so we’ll stop in and get you, bro. Be there in an hour.”

  “Can’t believe we’re going fishing in the Gulf,” said Neil. “Always wanted to do that.”

  “Just waiting on Mary if she’s coming and then we’re leaving.”

  “Am I the only single guy?” asked Neil.

  “Don’t matter. Mary will hang with Misty while we’re fishing. She always does.”

  “Maybe I’ll meet hot chicks on the beach.”

  “Bet you will,” said Farrell, “dozens of them will swarm you wearing nothing but those tiny bikinis.”

  The dogs put up a huge ruckus in the foyer and Farrell said, “Miss Mary is here. She must be coming. I guess we’re ready to leave now. See you soon.”

  Farrell greeted Mary with a hug and kissed her lightly. He wasn’t much on showing affection in public. “I was just talking to Neil and he’s ready to go.”

  “I’m so excited,” said Mary. “I’ve never stayed on the Gulf.”

  “Let’s load up,” said Blaine. “All our fishing gear is on the porch.”

  Misty called from the top of the stairs and he ran up to
get her luggage. “Did you bring your cards, and everything you need?”

  “I’ve got everything.”

  “We’ll have to crate the dogs,” said Blaine. “We haven’t got room for them in the cab.”

  “Leave the dogs at home,” hollered Carm in Spanish.

  “I guess we could now that you’re staying home.”

  To Misty: “Do you want to leave Hoodoo here or take him with us?”

  “He likes be with Lexi, so whatever—you decide, Beb.”

  “They might be happier at home,” said Blaine.

  La Grange.

  NEIL was sitting on the porch at Coulter-Ross when the boys arrived to pick him up and Annie sat next to him with a mug of coffee in her hand.

  She smiled and stepped off the porch to give them all hugs. “Have a wonderful holiday. You guys deserve a rest.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” said Blaine. “Stay out of trouble while we’re gone.”

  “Hey, I never get into trouble.” She winked at him.

  Neil stowed his gear in the back of Blacky’s truck and piled in the back seat with Farrell and Mary. “I thought Carm was coming, and I thought Farrell said we were bringing the dogs?”

  “Carm didn’t want to leave home,” said Blaine. “Her garden is coming on strong and she can’t leave.”

  “Yeah, but she could make enchiladas for us at the beach house,” said Neil. “Didn’t she think about that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Who’s going to cook?” asked Neil.

  “You are, bro,” said Farrell. “Good experience for you.”

  “I can cook,” said Misty. “If y’all like Cajun.”

  “I do,” said Blaine. “I love it.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Mary. “What town is it near?”

  “South of Victoria to Port Lavaca,” said Blaine, “then we have to rely on the GPS after that.”

  “The GPS babe ain’t been to some of that back country,” said Farrell. “Where do we pick up the key to the house?”

  “It has a lockbox,” said Blaine, “and I have the code written down.”

  “Can’t wait to see the beach,” said Mary. “This is going to be an adventure.”