Wild Surge

by Tripp Ellis

  He yanked on the door, pulling it shut. It slammed, and the van rocked.

  "Pleasant fellow," JD muttered.

  We strolled across the lot to Jack's car.

  "You want me to take you back to the marina, or do you want to tag along to practice?"

  "I'll tag along."

  At the practice space, the usual collection of beat-up cars and vans lined the parking lot. The same group of metal-heads hovered by the entrance to the warehouse, smoking cigarettes. At least, I think it was the same group of metal-heads.

  We climbed out of the car and marched through the parking lot. JD clicked his alarm, and the lights flashed. He glanced around, looking for potential threats. He said, "I swear to God, if anything happens to that car while I'm in rehearsal…"

  "Don't worry. I'll check on it from time to time."

  "It's probably these miscreants right here," he said under his breath, nodding to the pack of early twenty-something rockers by the door.

  "Sup, dude?" one of them said. "I see you got your car fixed. Sweet ride, man!"

  "You gonna be out here for a while?" JD asked.

  The guy shrugged. "Ain't got nowhere else to be."

  Jack dug into his wallet, peeled off a $20, and handed it to him. "Make sure nothing happens to the car."

  "Sure thing, bro."

  The kid wore thick black eyeliner, and his black hair hung into his eyes. He kept nodding his head to the beat of music filtering out of the warehouse.

  We stepped into the dim hallway and ambled to the practice room. The sound of another band playing thumped through the hallway. We pushed into the practice studio. Styxx sat behind his drum set. Dizzy and Crash were tuning up their guitars. Two groupies with teased hair sat on the couch.

  "Rock 'n' roll, brother!" Styxx howled as we entered.

  JD grinned and high-fived the band.

  "We are going to blow it out tonight," Dizzy said.

  By this point in time, I knew to bring a set of earplugs with me when JD practiced. I flattened the foam inserts and slipped them into my ears before the band started pounding out a wall of sound through the stacks of amplifiers that lined the back wall.

  Wild Fury ran through their set, and it didn't take long for a crowd to gather. People filtered into the small practice space, and soon there was barely room to breathe. People drank beer and sparked up joints while JD howled his trademarked vocals.

  By the end of the session, the crowd screamed for more. There were smiles all around, and the band was stoked. There were handshakes and high-fives, and plenty of pretty girls crowded the band members.

  JD was in seventh heaven.

  After he had soaked up enough adulation from his adoring fans, we left the practice room and walked through the dim hallway to the parking lot. We pushed through the doors, and a stream of obscenities flew from JD's mouth when he saw his car.

  I stifled a laugh. It wasn't funny, but it was, kind of, funny.

  41

  Donkey ballz. U still suck'em.

  The words were spray-painted across the door in red spray paint, contrasting well with the lizard-green Porsche.

  The metal-heads were gone.

  Jack's face reddened, and his veins pulsed. He looked like he was about to blow a gasket. "Somebody's got an ass whooping coming to them!"

  "Take it back to Coconut Customs right now," I said. "It hasn't had time to dry. It will probably wash off."

  "Those little miscreants that hang around here just got on my shit list," JD said. "And you were supposed to be watching it!"

  "I thought the little miscreants had it covered."

  Jack called Coconut Customs, but they were already closed. He'd have to bring it in Monday.

  We scurried across the parking lot and hopped into the car. We drove back to JD's house. With soap, water, and a little elbow grease, most of the paint came off.

  Jack had worked up a sweat scrubbing his car. Afterward, he went inside, took a shower, and got ready for his gig. I sat in the living room watching TV. When JD emerged, he was in full rockstar get up—leather pants, studded belt, dark eyeliner, old concert tee.

  I had to shake my head and laugh.

  "Keep laughing," he said. "Let's see who all the hotties crowd around tonight!"

  We hopped into the Porsche and cruised back to Oyster Avenue. The place was packed. It was the last night of the festival, and the biggest and best bands were playing. It was like Times Square on New Year's Eve. A sea of people—except it wasn't freezing cold.

  We stopped at Wetsuit for a bite to eat and a starter round of cocktails. Afterward, we made our way to Sonic Temple. The bouncer knew JD by now and waved us in, bypassing the line that went around the corner.

  I squeezed the little foam earplugs back into my ears. The band on stage cranked out '80s hair-rock. The place was already well over fire code, and sweaty bodies undulated to the beat. It was just after 9 PM, and Jack didn't go on till 11. That meant we had two hours of free drinking to do in the green room.

  I followed Jack as he weaved through the crowd, past the security guard, into the backstage area. Posters of bands lined the walls. There was an autograph wall where just about everyone that had ever played the venue had signed in silver sharpie.

  In the green room, there was another band, The Pleasure Principle, that was set to go on stage at 10 PM. A guy noodled on a guitar through a practice amp, and groupies flitted about. The lead singer snorted coke off a blonde's voluptuous endowments.

  I pretended not to notice.

  Jack grabbed a couple beers from a cooler and tossed one to me. We twisted the tops with a hiss, then decided to make our way back to the front-of-house. The band on stage was Stranger than Fiction.

  They weren't bad.

  There were more fishnet stockings and stiletto heels in this place than there were in Forbidden Fruit. And that was saying a lot.

  It didn't take long before Jack was surrounded by adoring fans. Blondes, brunettes, redheads… all with teased hair and tight, skimpy garments. There were black bustiers and cutoff jeans shorts. Leather miniskirts and tube tops. Little black dresses that barely covered the promised land. Toned thighs and sculpted calves. Plump lips and high cheekbones. Sparkling eyes and perfect noses.

  Jack grinned like a Cheshire Cat.

  A few of the girls had JD sign their breasts in black sharpie. I'm not sure if they confused him with the famous '80s singer, or if they were actually wanting JD's autograph. It was hard to tell. The lines were starting to blur with JD's sudden onset of fame within the Coconut Key rocker community.

  Thrash told the girls I was his bodyguard. I rolled my eyes, but I let JD indulge in his fun. Fortunately for me, a few of the girls felt that I was worthy of their attention.

  The bartender served Jack free drinks, and he kept getting the girls round after round. He was like a politician, pleasing his adoring fans. A few of them even wore Wild Fury T-shirts.

  The rest of the band arrived, and Jägermeister shots were had by all. There was much rejoicing. There were more groupies and more shots, and this was only the pre-party. By the time Jack—or I should say, Thrash—took to the stage, he was pretty lit up.

  The audience roared, the drums pounded, the bass guitar thumped, and the lead guitar shredded. A wave of sound washed over the crowd. Jack grabbed the mic, flung his hair, and belted out familiar ’80s rock. It was pitch perfect. The crowd went wild. Girls pulled off their tops and jiggled their wares. It was pure insanity, and Jack loved every minute of it.

  Who wouldn't?

  The music was so loud, and the sound waves were so intense, that I didn't notice my phone buzzing in my pocket. I had missed several calls and texts from Sheriff Daniels. He wouldn't be thrilled about my delayed response.

  42

  It wasn’t until I went to the bathroom that I checked my phone. I called Sheriff Daniels back, and his angry voice crackled through the speaker. "Where the hell have you been?"

  "Jack's show. What's up?"
I dreaded asking.

  "Jane Travers."

  I could tell by his tone the news wasn't good. "Shit. Where did you find her?"

  "Floating in the water across from the dog park."

  "Who found her?"

  "A couple was taking a late-night stroll down the pier, having a romantic evening, when they spotted the body."

  "We have a positive ID?"

  "We do."

  "JD's not finished with his set. We can head down to the scene afterward."

  "Don't bother. Too late. Brenda will be wrapped up by the time you get there."

  "Sorry,” I said. “Was she bound with the same nylon rope?"

  "I can't confirm that yet, but from initial observations, yeah."

  "Is everything consistent with the Seaside Stalker?"

  "Somewhat. I had Faulkner and Erickson canvas the area. So far, nothing." Daniels paused. "Right now, Knox's our best lead. Stay on him."

  "He'd be foolish to strike again so soon with all of this attention on him."

  "Maybe he just can't help himself?" Daniels said. "For some, killing is an addiction."

  I ended the call and made my way back to the main area. Wild Fury played a few more songs to deafening applause. The drummer hurled his drumsticks into the audience after the show, and the guitarist flipped picks to cheering fans.

  I joined them as they left the stage and headed back to the green room. Wide smiles curled their faces. They had taken the venue by storm, sold a ton of T-shirts and merchandise, and the band had their pick of hot groupies.

  I hated to burst Jack's bubble. He looked so happy. After the initial celebration died down, I muttered in JD's ear, "They found Jane Travers."

  The joy on his face evaporated. "Any trace evidence?"

  "Won't know until Brenda has a look."

  "Nothing we can do about it now. Hopefully, Brenda can tie this to Knox somehow."

  "Maybe the rope, but it's all circumstantial."

  "We'll get on it tomorrow. In the meantime. Can we please have a little fun?"

  "Tyson," Styxx said. "After close, why don't we take this party back to the boat?"

  "Yeah, man," Crash added.

  Dizzy chimed in with a plea as well.

  The last time we hosted an after-party on the Vivere it lasted until sunrise. I can't say that it wasn't fun, but I currently wasn't in the mood to party. The death of Jane Travers weighed too heavily on my mind.

  "Loosen up,” JD said. “Live a little. Lord knows tomorrow isn't guaranteed.”

  I sighed. There was no arguing with the mob. "Okay. Party on the boat."

  The room erupted with cheers.

  We stayed at Sonic Temple and drank our share of free beer. At last call, I told JD that I would meet him back at the boat. I planned to stop by Hammerhead and check on our friend, Charlie Knox.

  "Hey, we already saved the world once. I think Coconut Key will be just fine for another day."

  "I'm just gonna pull a little recon,” I said. “See what Knox does after close and where he goes."

  JD grumbled. "Means I've got to go with you. Not letting you get into stupid shit by yourself."

  Jack dug into his pocket and tossed the Vivere’s keys to Styxx. "I'll be at the boat shortly. Go ahead and start the party without me. But don't screw anything up."

  Styxx gave him a mock salute. "Aye-aye, Captain Thrash!"

  43

  We left Sonic Temple and walked several blocks to Hammerhead. Drunk revelers weaved up and down the street. The bars were closed, and everybody was forced onto the avenue. Nobody wanted the party to end. Fusion Fest was over. Next year's event would be even bigger and better.

  We pushed our way through the hordes of people. It was almost 2:30 AM by the time we reached Hammerhead. The main doors were closed, and the bar staff would be exiting at the rear of the building. I figured we'd walk through the alley and catch up with Charlie Knox and put a little pressure on him.

  The unmistakable clatter of gunshots filled the air. Fired in rapid succession, the report echoed across the avenue.

  Pop!

  Pop!

  JD and I exchanged a glance, then broke into a sprint. We raced around the building, down the alleyway. The shots sounded like they had come from the other side of Hammerhead. My legs drove me forward, and the smack of my shoes against the concrete echoed off the brick walls of the alley. By the time I reached the back entrance, it was too late.

  Charlie Knox lay in a pool of blood in the parking lot. His last breath gurgled from his lips, and blood seeped from his torso. His body went limp.

  A waitress shrieked in terror, hovering by the back door.

  I scanned the parking lot, then knelt besides Charlie's body and felt for a pulse.

  He was gone.

  I sprang to my feet and moved to the waitress whose twisted face was lined with tears, her mascara running.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  Her breathless, shaky voice said, "I don't know. I stepped through the door, and I saw Charlie walking to his van. A man stepped up to him, pulled a gun, and fired two shots."

  "What happened then?" I asked.

  "I screamed, and the man ran off."

  "Which way did he go?"

  She pointed across the parking lot toward a sidewalk that ran along a side street.

  I nodded to JD to take over, then I sprinted across the lot and raced down the sidewalk. Trees were planted between the walkway and the curb, and the path was dim. The dappled rays of a mercury vapor light filtered through the leaves. I ran to the end of the block and scanned in all directions.

  The street light cast long shadows. Plenty of dark nooks in which to hide.

  I didn't see anyone.

  After a moment, I went back to the parking lot and rejoined JD and the waitress. "Did you get a look at the assailant's face?"

  "What's an assailant?"

  "The shooter."

  The waitress shook her head. "I don't know. It all happened so fast. It was dark. I wasn't really paying attention. The only thing I saw was a silver gun and a flash. My ears are still ringing."

  Jack had called the Sheriff's Department while I was off running down the sidewalk. Soon, sirens filled the night air, and the parking lot was bathed with the flicker of red and blue lights.

  Brenda examined the body, and the forensics team snapped pictures.

  A worrisome dread filled the pit of my stomach. I didn't much care about Charlie Knox. He seemed like a scumbag. But I had my suspicions about who killed him, and that person had just ruined their life.

  There were two, 9mm shell casings near the body. The forensics guys marked them, photographed them, then collected them as evidence.

  Charlie Knox's van was impounded. We didn't have any conclusive evidence linking him to Jane Travers, but maybe we could find something in the van? Not that it mattered now, but just for the sake of conclusion. I wanted to know if this was the end of the senseless killings, or if the Seaside Stalker was still out there.

  "I think we need to track down Jared Reed," I said to JD.

  "You think he did this?"

  "He seemed like the kind of guy who could fly into a rage. Losing his girlfriend might have been enough to push him over the edge."

  Jack and I made our way back to his car. JD tossed me the keys. He was in no condition to drive. I hopped behind the wheel.

  "Don't money-shift my car!" JD cautioned.

  I rolled my eyes. "Trust me, I'm not going to over-rev your engine."

  I twisted the key and cranked up the beast. I let out the clutch and launched away from the curb, heading to Jared Reed's apartment. I had his address from my earlier discussion with Heidi.

  He lived in the Crystal Shores Apartments on the southwest side of the island. It was a nice complex. Six stories, each unit had a balcony. There was a nice pool and a marina. Jared made pretty decent money working at the exotic car repair shop.

  I parked the Porsche, and we raced to the lobby. The building ha
d a secure entrance. There was a call box by the main doors. I didn't exactly want to buzz Jared and announce our presence, so I dialed random numbers until someone answered.

  A sleepy woman said, "Hello?"

  "Yeah, I'm trying to deliver pizza to the guy in #409," I said, making up an apartment number. "But he's not answering. Can you buzz me in?"

  "How do I know you're really a pizza delivery guy?"

  "I've got an extra pepperoni, do you want it?"

  "No."

  "The pizza is getting cold, and I have to pay for it if the customer refuses it."

  The woman said nothing.

  A moment later, the door buzzed and I pulled it open. We raced into the lobby and took the elevator to the 5th Floor. We pushed down the hallway and banged on Jared's door. It was damn near 3:30 AM.

  After a few minutes, the peephole flickered. It was obvious he was peering through it. Jared's voice seeped through the door. "Who is it?"

  "It's Tyson," I said. "Open up Jared, I just want to talk to you for a second."

  "What do you want?"

  "I'm sure you've heard about Jane. I'm so sorry."

  "I don't want to talk to anybody right now. Do you know what time it is?"

  "We've got a good lead on who might have killed Jane. I just need to ask you a few questions."

  "It's late, and I'm tired. I don't want to talk to anybody."

  "What have you been doing this evening?"

  "Why?"

  "Just curious."

  "I worked late. I came home and found out my girlfriend was dead. What the hell do you think I've been doing?"

  "Come on, Jared. Open the door," I said.

  "I told you, I'm upset. I don't want to talk right now. Can we do this tomorrow?"

  "I understand you're upset. You're probably angry. I'm sure you want justice."

  He said nothing.

  "If it were me, and somebody killed my girlfriend, I'd want to kill them. I'd take my gun, hunt them down, and shoot them so they could never hurt anybody again. That's what I'd do." I paused. "I wouldn't blame you if that's what you did."

  Jared still said nothing.