Dead in the Water (DeSantos Book 1)

by A. R. Case

  “It was an emergency, I didn’t mean to trespass, honest. Doesn’t Jersey have a Samaritan rule?”

  “What’s that?” the guard asked. He motioned again for Jonathan to get moving.

  “In Ohio, a person in need of assistance is allowed to seek help from private property owners.”

  “Yeah, okay, not sure about that. We’ll see if the boss man wants to press charges and we’ll also have to talk to the cops. Not really up to me, hey?”

  “Yeah.” As much as Jonathan disliked cops, now was probably a good time to get some help from them.

  “You’re not from here?”

  “Not originally. Mom and I moved here three years ago.”

  “Let me guess, Ohio?”

  “Yeah, Dayton.”

  The guard nodded like he knew all about Dayton, but Jonathan figured he really didn’t because why would someone from Jersey, especially Atlantic City, bother with visiting Dayton? Jonathan never wanted to go back. Atlantic City, even the backwater area they called Ventnor City, was a billion times cooler than bumfuck Midwest Ohio where social services believed everything the cops said no matter what the EMTs or witnesses said. His mom spent three years fighting first for a divorce and then to keep custody of him. In between nine and thirteen, Jonathan learned a lot about how easy it was for a cop to lie and get away with it. He also learned his father was an ass.

  While they walked, the guard talked to someone on his hand radio.

  “Hold up.” The guard, K. Smith, according to his name badge punched in a code at the door, then held it open for Jonathan so they could enter the warehouse. There was an assembly area along the left, or south, Jonathan figured, a glassed-in guard area just inside the door to the right, a bend on the same wall, probably leading to an office or something and more space ahead where there were large sign pieces in various stages of fabrication. All of the pieces looked custom and expensive. Like Vegas lights expensive. No wonder they had a guard and a eight-foot fence around the whole thing, except for the twelve-foot one along the wetland edge.

  The guard area was about ten by eight, maybe bigger, but seemed a lot smaller because it was filled with stuff. A counter ran around all the walls in a U shape. In addition to several monitors, at least two computers, and a TV set; there were random pizza boxes and a donut box taking up almost all of the rest of the counter. Jonathan looked at it all except for a magazine that K. Smith quickly swiped off the counter and tucked in a drawer. Two chairs filled the area between the counters.

  “This the kid?” A large guard, who probably owned the donut box and maybe a pizza box or two to maintain his girth, stepped up into the space, effectively blocking the exit. Jonathan had already sat down, so Smith moved sideways to give this guard, J. Frederick, a chair. Mr. Frederick sat down with a wheeze and a creak. The wheeze came from him, but the creak came from the chair.

  “I gotta go take care of Fritz. Tony’s on his way and there should be cops coming soon, too. Can you let them in?”

  “Who’s watching the kid while I do that?” a meaty thumb jerked in Jonathan’s direction.

  “He’ll be okay. I’ll be quick.” He slid to the door.

  “Yeah right, he’d better be, Kevin, or Tony’s gonna have your ass.”

  “Fuck you, Jimmy. Tony and me’s like this.” Kevin crossed his fingers then deftly twisted them to whip Jimmy the bird before jumping down the single step and disappearing outside.

  “Kevin said you found a body in the Ventnor.”

  Jonathan guessed Jimmy’s question was directed at him. It was something Jonathan had categorized as a Jersey thing; Jimmy hadn’t even turned to look at him before talking.

  “By the water’s edge.”

  Jimmy snorted. “Not the first body to show up in the wetlands. Back in the Sixties one used to turn up every week or so.” He stretched his paws into the space showing how bored he was. The popping sound of his knuckles cracking set Jonathan’s teeth on edge. “That’s when the mob ran this town. They still run it, but it’s just not as blatant as it used to be.” His northern Jersey accent got stronger as he talked. People didn’t talk like that naturally down here.

  Jonathan studied Jimmy. Despite his girth, he didn’t look over forty, let alone pushing fifty. So Jimmy really didn’t have anything close to his own memories of the Sixties. But since his shaking had stopped or at least subsided to a tiny tremor here and there, Jonathan let the meathead think he knew something. For all Jonathan knew, he probably was right about the mob still running this town, but a body a week was probably stretching the truth. More likely two or three were found in a short period of time, sparking rumors of a weekly dump. That would be how his dad would explain it.

  The thought made Jonathan shake his head to push the memories away.

  Frederick grabbed a donut out of the box and took a bite. He spoke through the frosting. “Yup, you probably stumbled across a hit. Not a true pro hit ‘cause if it was, it would be six to ten feet under concrete now, but an amateur, or at least someone on a tight budget. Or maybe it was just some dumb schmuck who didn’t make his connections yet. Yous got to know people, ya know?” Jimmy rambled on, punctuating his points with the disappearing donut.

  Jonathan tried to tune him out.

  “You’re not from Jersey, so you don’t know people yet, but you stay here long enough, you’ll know a guy.”

  Jonathan was saved from further rambling when Kevin came back in. He was holding the door for someone. Loud pipes rumbled to a stop. Harley, Jonathan thought. It must be at least 1200 cc to be that loud and low. He saw the shadow cast from the exterior light first, then the door was filled with bad-ass biker, jacket, long hair, goatee, tattoos… the works. The look screamed, “not cop.” Jonathan hoped that this was the Tony, Kevin had mentioned, and that Tony was smarter than he looked, and maybe nicer too. He added that to the laundry list of tonight’s wishful thinking.

  Chapter two

  Tony stopped just inside the door. When Kevin called in a trespasser, he didn’t mention it was just a scrawny kid. Said kid weighed a buck twenty at most. Big hands and feet though, so maybe he’d grow up to be a man one of these days. Under the fluorescents of the guard booth, he looked like a typical vampire goth kid, minus the face paint, but with the trademark harsh dark hair and the ghost pale skin.

  He flicked his head at Jimmy. “Get the gate. I saw lights coming up West End.”

  “Kevin’s up.” Jimmy pointed at Kevin with the half-eaten donut in his hand.

  Tony glared at Jimmy. “Gate’s your job. Kevin’s is back lot. Go.”

  Jimmy took a moment to pop the last bit of donut in his mouth, sigh like the world weighed down on his head, and then heave himself out of the chair.

  Dick. Why his brother insisted on hiring every cousin regardless of qualifications was beyond him, Tony thought. Of course, if his brother didn’t believe in keeping the company in the family, he might not have had the job he had either.

  Tony ducked under the lintel of the door. Stupid step, it took about ten inches off the door height making his head hit the top of the door if he forgot to duck. The room was downright claustrophobic even with the glass walls. No wonder he opted to run crews outside and on top of the lifts every time. He hated closed spaces.

  “You the one Kevin caught at the back fence?” He fixed his hardest badass glare on the kid.

  The kid swallowed before talking. “I found a body out there, needed help. I didn’t mean to trespass, just needed help.”

  Smart kid. Deny criminal intent and claim to need assistance. No way Tony or anyone could charge him with trespassing if he truly found a body. Kevin’s radio squawked.

  “Jimmy needs help parking them. Apparently there’s a few squads out there.”

  “We’ll go.” He motioned to the kid to stand up and come with him, and then added, “Stay here and man the monitors. Make sure y
ou cover the front in case Jimmy forgets to close the gate again.”

  “On it, boss.”

  That’s what Tony liked to hear. For all intents and purposes, his brother Chris was the boss, but Tony was the hands-on guy who ran the crews, hired and fired, except in the case of Jimmy, and had the final say so on much of the day-to-day stuff. Chris was the money guy. He made sure they ran in the black, he brought in the sales, and he wrote the checks. Tony knew he was muscle, but he was good at it.

  “I’m Tony, you?” He held out a hand to the kid.

  “Jonathan.” The kid had balls, shook his hand like a man without trying to over grip it or wuss out. It was a good handshake from an honest, or at least at one time honest, person.

  “Jonathan, not John or Johnny?”

  The kid looked him square in the eye and repeated, “Jonathan.”

  So, it was like that. Not pretentious, just solid. Tony took in the mud-covered fake leather coat and jeans the kid wore. He was an honest-to-God mess, all the way down to his formerly black Converse. You couldn’t even see the white plastic toes through the mud on him. He’d been rolling in the shit. He eyed the kid again. He didn’t look like a gang-banger. “Where’d you find the body?”

  “Off the northeast corner of the fence.”

  Kid gave directions like a pro, too. Tony could admire that.

  The cops were still parking. Some were pulling out of the front lot and now relocating to the back where he’d parked his Harley. Fucking Jimmy, not thinking to direct them to the back. Tony let it go. It was just one more thing to bitch about when he caught up with Chris tomorrow, if he showed up in the shop. A couple of uniform officers, Janowski and Kirkland, were first to the back and out of the car. Kirkland eyed Tony with that look that measured him and didn’t like the leather vest, the tattoos or the hair, but stuck out a hand anyways.

  “Anthony De Santos?”

  “That’s me.”

  “You the owner?”

  “Family owned. My brother, Chris wasn’t available.” They’d probably appreciate Chris in his polo shirts and Dockers.

  “This the kid who found a body?”

  “His name’s Jonathan.” Tony felt more than saw the kid try to hide behind him. Didn’t like cops much, Tony guessed. The movement triggered his protective urges.

  Kirkland didn’t move to shake Jonathan’s hand. Interesting. Maybe it was the mud. “Where is it?”

  “In the tide water just off the corner over there.” He said, stepping out of Tony’s shadow and pointing northeast.

  “What’s your last name, Jonathan?”

  The kid looked uncomfortable. It took him a minute to answer. “Bauer.”

  “You got ID?”

  The kid carefully reached back to get his wallet out of his jeans. Tony watched the kid. He wasn’t moving too slowly, just carefully, as if it wasn’t his first rodeo with the cops. He kept his hand visible except when it went behind his back. At that point he was very careful to not make any sudden moves.

  The cop studied the ID for a moment and asked, “AC High?”

  Tony graduated from AC, along with a thousand other kids in his class, or so it seemed. Atlantic City High School was known for being overcrowded and smack dab in the middle of crap, all the time. It was a jungle where tough kids made it through and wimpy kids were eaten.

  Jonathan nodded, not answering outright.

  “What were you doing in the preserve?”

  “I was trying to get away from some gang members. They followed me into the PathMark on the corner of the Plaza and didn’t quit, so I ditched them by sliding under the fence.”

  “You in a gang?”

  Tony wanted to punch the guy. The kid was obviously trying to cooperate and it was none of his business whether he was or not. He supposed in some twisted way the cop already figured Jonathan deserved to be targeted. In Tony’s opinion, gangs never needed an excuse. They circled like sharks, sniffing out blood and making it run.

  “No, sir.”

  More uniforms and a couple of detectives joined their group as they made it to the corner. Tony had been back here many times, and didn’t know of a break in the fence, but obviously the kid had found one.

  Jonathan led them to a washed-out bit of asphalt and gravel that made what Tony estimated to be a ten-inch gap under the fence. It was tucked behind thorn bushes.

  “You came through here?” Another officer, an Asian with the unlikely name tag of “Birkins” asked.

  Jonathan nodded. He looked paler in the flashlight and moonlight. He knelt down and slipped under the fence feet first, slipping on the loose gravel.

  “Careful.” Tony caught the kid’s jacket as he started down the slope with the loose gravel. Once he was back in control he made it under, then waited as Birkins then another officer crawled under. One of the detectives got his vest stuck on the bottom of the fence which took time to get loose, then a cute Latina lady cop slid under with no trouble whatsoever. Tony followed, only having a little trouble twisting under the fence. Janowski, the biggest one of them, stayed behind. He was probably smart not attempting the squeeze under there.

  Jonathan led them forward in the dark.

  “The bank’s loose over here, so go slow.” He motioned ahead and spoke to one of the officers to shine a light on the gravel lip. This area was more eroded than Tony remembered when he’d last been back here. He’d have to see about getting some rock fill for the edge by the fence so they wouldn’t lose any of the lot if it got worse.

  “Wait, too far.” Jonathan pointed to a spot where the bank was freshly broken. “I fell here. Then crawled back this way.” He walked them back about a dozen feet or more.

  The woman shined her flashlight into the water and spotted it first. “Floater.” She kept her light steady on it while Birkins and the others tried to figure out the best way to get down the bank. Beside him, Jonathan gagged. He scrambled a bit farther into the brush up the slope toward the fence and sat down hard.

  “You okay?”

  “My first body,” Jonathan replied.

  Tony looked at him. The kid talked like a cop.

  “Mine, too.” he lied. “Mind if I sit by you?” He’d only caught the reflection of light across what he figured was the guy’s ass and back, but with the dark and the weird angle, not to mention the very grotesque color, he wasn’t certain.

  Kirkland was on his radio, getting information on Jonathan. “Bauer. B A U E R. Don’t know. Hey John, what’s your dad’s name?”

  “Jonathan.” He corrected, and then winced. Tony didn’t think the cop noticed, as Jonathan was in his shadow. “I live with my mom. She works at Atlanticare on Pacific. Susan Schreiber.”

  Kirkland frowned for a moment. “Is she a redhead?”

  Jonathan swore softly under his breath then answered. “Yes. In the ER.”

  Kirkland nodded. One of the detectives overheard the conversation. “Stack… I mean,” he coughed, “Nurse Sue?”

  “I’m guessing.” Kirkland added.

  Tony’s curiosity was tweaked. Stacked? Just Sue, his ass. Not the same last name as the kid, no dad in the picture. Huh. Maybe he should pick up a lotto ticket tonight on the way home.

  He glanced at the kid. Jonathan was glowering at the cops who were now doing their thing, mostly standing around doing nothing.

  “They know your mom, huh?”

  Jonathan glared at him. “The cops back home called her the redhead with the rack. I guess she’s got a new name here.”

  Whoa, definitely his lucky night. Tony reined it in and called out to Kirkland. “You need us anymore? Maybe I can call his mom or something?”

  “You pressing charges?”

  Tony shook his head. “Nope. Figure the kid needed help. ‘No harm done.”

  Kirkland walked up. “You shouldn’t have been back here. Yo
u’re a good kid. I know your mom and that you’re on the honor roll, so this is a warning: Don’t do it again. Got it?”

  Jonathan nodded frantically and scrambled to his feet. Tony followed him under the fence, which was harder to get under going uphill than downhill. By the time he got under, the dust and mud on his jacket and pants matched Jonathan. He pointed the kid toward a bathroom.

  “Clean up in there. When you get out, we’ll call your mom.”

  Jonathan didn’t look too excited about that.

  Chapter three

  Susan experienced one of those elusive days in the ER when everything wrapped up on time, the next shift showed up early for briefing, and there were no last minute “Please can you…? Just one little thing….?” that inevitably made her miss her bus. Despite owning a car, she preferred taking the two-mile ride on the bus because it gave her time to let go of the stress of the hospital before she had to deal with the stress of a teenage boy.

  Jonathan wasn’t a bad kid. On the contrary, since she’d finally gotten custody secured four years ago, he’d been exemplary, for a teenage boy.

  During the battle, there’d been too many days of lonely tears, hers. Days and months passed while she missed events in his life because of his father. The standoff broke one night when he was admitted to Dayton’s ER with bruises that weren’t the normal childhood kind. Never again, she vowed that night. What had started as a fight over custody became a war she would not lose, no matter what. No price became too high. Her job as a trauma nurse, gone if it made her have late nights. She’d taken a pay cut to only work day shift, shared rent with a string of college students to pay extra legal fees, and initiated restraining order requests with four different judges until one of them took her side.

  She documented everything that year from hell, but finally won. And when her loony second cousin needed a tenant to cover the mortgage on a two story bungalow in the not-quite-seedy section of Ventnor City, Susan jumped.