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Dead in the Water (DeSantos Book 1)

Page 7

by A. R. Case


  Something changed on Mills’ face. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” Then he glanced at Lisa and farther to Chris talking with the officers. Finally he turned back to Tony and let him go, brushing the ridges his hands had made in the leather out. He stepped back, “If you’d have been Ricky, what would have you done differently to stop this?”

  Tony looked at Lisa. “I wouldn’t have gotten my ass killed.”

  Mills’ mouth tightened. “Sometimes that’s just not an option.”

  He glanced at his brother. Yeah, sometimes it wasn’t.

  Jonathan let himself inside the house. His mom was working late tonight, but instead of going to Scott’s to hang out, he came straight home. Last week’s brush with the cops and the crap that his dad was starting was more than enough to guilt Jonathan into being the best possible kid his mother ever would know. He pulled out a frozen burrito to eat for supper, stuck it in the microwave to heat. Then he dumped some soup mix and the pre-cooked ground beef his mom whipped together on Sundays along with other meal fixings, into the crock pot. He put in some frozen veggies and water and turned it on high so it would be done in an hour or so. It wasn’t as good as the stuff she let cook all day, but once he had a bowl he would turn it on low for her to have when she got home. He’d be hearing about how great a chef he was for a week.

  The answering machine was blinking. Jonathan glared at it. His dad had called during breakfast and Mom had hung up right after saying the words, “speak to my lawyer.” That was all she’d say, and she instructed him not to answer the phone at all. “You have Facebook to message your friends.” She said. Which was true so no big. Nobody but old people used the phone to actually talk anymore. Still, that blinking light was driving him nuts. He wanted, but didn’t want, to hear the crap his dad said.

  “Screw it.” He pushed the button down to replay the messages.

  Call one. “Listen, these games are going to stop. Pick up the phone. He’s my kid and you had no right to take him out of state. You want to bring a lawyer into this, bitch, I’ll see you pay. You’d better have a sugar daddy who can afford millions because he’s mine and you’re going down.” The phone buzzed, then the automated voice announced the second call.

  There was a brief silence then, “Call me. We’ll work something out, baby. Just bring him home.” The machine clicked and spoke again. “This call is for Susan. Please call the offices of Wagner and Carlson. We’ve had contact with your ex-husband and we’d like to discuss the situation with you as soon as possible.”

  Crap. That didn’t sound good. Jonathan wrote down the message and number just in case he accidentally deleted it. There was another call that was a hang-up. Then a long silent pause. That one was creepy. No breathing or crap like that, just silence. His dad was a fucking piece of shit. Jonathan pulled the number up for the law offices his mother used and dialed.

  “Hi. This is Jonathan Bauer, my mom, Susan Schreiber, is a client of Elizabeth Carlson.” He was put on hold. They’d probably just take a message that wouldn’t get anything done. Fucking lawyers. Jonathan hated everything about this whole mess.

  “Hello, this is Ms. Carlson.” A woman’s voice said. Jonathan was shocked for a second. “Is this Jonathan, Junior?” She prompted.

  “Yeah, sorry about that, I thought I’d have to leave a message or something.”

  She laughed, “I don’t work that way. What is it Jonathan?”

  He swallowed. “My dad called, a few times.”

  “A few times?”

  “I think four. There were two messages that didn’t have anything, but two from him.”

  “What was the context of the messages?”

  Context? Right. Jonathan tried to repeat them back. “He called her a ba-bitch.” Long habit had him half stutter the word because he knew he wasn’t supposed to say it around adults. Heck, Scott told him he shouldn’t say it at all.

  “Did he threaten her or you in these messages?”

  “He said she’s going to pay and that he was going to take her down.”

  The lawyer made a “hum” sound. “Did you keep the messages?”

  Jonathan looked at the machine, it still had all the messages on it. “Yes, did you want me to replay them or something?”

  “No, that will be okay. I know she’s working tonight so just make sure your mom brings them in when she can tomorrow. Are you okay?”

  Jonathan started to say yeah, but stopped himself. “I want a lawyer, too. Last time, I didn’t get a choice. I want a choice.” His voice cracked, again. Stupid.

  “I can’t represent both you and your mom. I wish I could.

  “Do you have a pen?”

  Jonathan said yes.

  “Here’s a number for a colleague of mine who specializes in family law, specifically child advocacy. I’ve already given the information to your mother, but if you want to try to reach him this evening before five, I think he may still be in.” She gave Jonathan the information.

  “I’ll call him right away.” Jonathan promised before wrapping up the call. He dialed the number but the guy was already gone so he left a message with the receptionist. It was a let-down after the call with Ms. Carlson. At least his mom had someone nice in her corner. Jonathan was going to see to it that he got people on his side backing up his mom, too. He didn’t want to go back to fucking Ohio. And he certainly didn’t want to go back to his dad. For about the billionth time, he wished he’d never tried to outrun those punks. Maybe if he’d just taken a beating or had his wallet and crap taken they’d have left him alone and he wouldn’t be in this crap right now.

  The burrito tasted like shit, but he ate it anyways. His mom always bugged him about eating enough. Even that first year when it was just the two of them and Jonathan knew they didn’t have a lot of money, she wanted him to eat. Then he cleaned up the kitchen and settled at the tiny desk in his room to do homework. He unpacked the laptop he’d carried to Scott’s, then school and now home and wished he had an ultra-light one instead of this old clunker.

  There was another report and some heavy advanced algebra homework he finished up before taking a break to tackle his Spanish assignment. He got online and texted Scott and then lurked around some other people’s accounts for a bit. Someone posted a link for a video which came up screwy so he ran a quick scan of his computer for viruses. That popped up a warning for the .exe he had copied off the flash drive. He was just about to remove the entire folder, but stopped. He got up to check the jar of rice for the drive.

  He fished in it for a second thinking it was strange that it had settled. He could have sworn he hadn’t buried it when he tossed it back in before he left for Scott’s house. Digging further he came up with nothing. He looked around his room. There was nothing else he could see that was misplaced. Mom didn’t touch his computer stuff except to get the laptop when she needed it. Weird.

  Deciding to dump it out, he spread a few pieces of newspaper out to catch the rice. He sifted through it, finding nothing.

  Staring at the pile, he got sick to his stomach. It was gone.

  Chapter eight

  Tony didn’t drive out to Weymouth often. Usually his road trips left Ocean City, skirted south along the coast then turned inland to hit the Delaware border and the outlet malls. The only real reason to go to Weymouth was either to camp out or talk to Old Crank. He’d pulled out his bike this morning, dressed in layers to fight the chill, packed the saddle bags, because Old Crank liked to drink when he talked and hit the road going north.

  Since Weymouth was south and west, this wouldn’t make much sense. However, since Tony wasn’t going to take any chances of being followed, losing a tail by hitting the expressway out of AC, speeding north for a bit then dipping off and hitting the odd angles and hard corners of the Pine Barrens made more sense.

  It was after noon when he finally pulled up to an old chain gate and a keep out sig
n. Two tire trails snaked off into the trees. Tony unhooked the chain, walked his bike through and then chained it back up. Old Crank’s driveway was just sand and some mud sinks which made for slow, rough riding more suitable for a dirt bike than his Breakout. He wondered if Crank would appreciate the racer.

  The sun hit him hard when he emerged from the tree cover. Crank’s compound was just about that, save a twelve-foot electric fence. He had an electric fence, but it was the normal kind. That’s where normal sort of left off. Crank had three sheds, each dedicated to a different assembly process. It looked like they were in need of repair. There was roof damage to the closest one and the gray one in the back looked like it had flood damage because the west side had rot coming up from the foundation. Crank’s four Rottweilers greeted him. They didn’t bark much, just looked pretty big and mean, except for the oldest two, Snick and Fritz Sr. Old Crank had owned rotties as long as Tony could remember.

  The oldest dog, Fritz, ruined the menace of the other dogs because he sat on his thick rump, tongue lolling and a happy doggie smile in place. Snick skimmed around the group, flighty like the old bitch she was. The two others held ground and watched Tony park the bike, but didn’t advance.

  Crank limped around a corner and whistled twice. The dogs, except for Fritz, peeled off, finding shelter from the sun. Fritz stayed put, waiting for Tony to get off the bike. He did and patted the dog down thoroughly then picked up a nasty, ratty tennis ball and pitched it toward the tree line. Fritz tore off after it.

  “He’s not as fast as he used to be.” Tony observed.

  “Gettin’ up there. How’s the pup?”

  “He’s good. Gives Jimmy shit though.”

  “That boy of Darlene’s was always useless. Dogs smell that sort of thing. How’s the new guy?”

  “Kevin?”

  Crank didn’t say it, but Tony could see he was holding it back. Some things die a bit hard and when Crank ran with his uncle and Dad, the gang had been strictly white only. Tony had brought Kevin when they picked out Fritz Jr. two years ago to see if Crank had instilled any of that prejudice in the dogs, but luckily or maybe just good sense saw the dog and the human getting along fine. Kevin was a dog kind of guy though, which helped. Even Snick sidled up to him once.

  That went a long way with Crank. That and the four cases of beer they’d killed that weekend. Kevin got shit for his almost vintage Honda, but Crank let them take the dog and the rest was, as they say, history.

  “That’s the one.”

  “I let him take lead on the security crew. I’m afraid he’s going to trade up from us soon. Can’t keep paying him what he’s worth in this fucked-up economy.”

  Crank lit off on the state of the government and the economy for a bit. It was a good rant so Tony settled in by handing Crank the beer he’d bought. The old guy kept the tirade up, pushing the cans into the fridge just inside the largest shed, then pulling out a cold one. He wound down and changed subjects. “Those casinos still treating you and Chris right?”

  “No worries there. Even when the economy is at its worst, people still gamble.”

  “Gamble more, from what I’ve heard.”

  Tony laughed. It was probably true, but spending was still down a bit. At least advertising was still key to drawing people in and with all the innovations in lighting over the last five years, Tony and his crews were always booked. “Family’s doing well.”

  Crank nodded. “Good to hear. New bike?” He sidled over to inspect Tony’s ride.

  “Not completely new.” Actually some idiot ordered it, but couldn’t pay for it. Tony’d been looking at the Breakouts and wishing for a CVO version since they debuted and wanted the customized molten silver and black diamond look they painted on the CVO. He lucked out on the model which, after delivery, sat on the floor as a demo model and sometimes rental. The only true customizing Tony had done so far was get the blackout Screamin’ Eagle muffler shields. There were more mods coming. That’s what winters were for.

  “Looks like a Gasser with those wheels.” Crank got down to inspect the engine, the frame, the exhaust and anything else that he could look at. “How’s it ride?”

  “Fine for a cruise, but long rides, you need a stretch.” He pulled his arms over his head to illustrate. “You might not like it. You got to reach for it when you ride.”

  Crank made a sound at the front of his throat and continued his inspection, taking a swig between position changes. “It’s got a fat ass.” He remarked, but got on it just the same.

  “It’s heavy as fuck too.”

  Crank inspected the layout of the gauges and shifted it around a bit. “See the new track.” He said then opened his hand for the keys.

  You couldn’t bring a bike to Crank’s and not hand off the keys at one point or another. It was usually better sooner than later, so Tony tossed them.

  He caught them easily from long years of practice. Crank wobbled a bit before getting it moving forward. Behind the sheds, Crank’s track was legend. Long weekend parties saw more than one wipeout into the sand banks and trees. Racing though was serious business at Crank’s and the half mile was smooth as any frost zone asphalt could get because he walked it every day. Crank and two others originally snagged up a section of land for the compound and track to double as the fallback headquarters. The Brigands added to it as farms around it went under. Even so, it ended up only being used by the inner group of six and their families, not public to the group. You could see Crank with any number of mechanical needs, but you didn’t stay. Only family stayed. And by family, it was almost strictly blood-related family and those who were brothers by the blood they bled for that family.

  Chris could have come out here, seeing as he bled nearly gallons for the club. But that was the deal. Once he’d been down, comatose from a gunshot, he swore off. He almost died because of the colors he wore, so he never came back. Tony however had. Someone had to.

  Tony fingered his goatee, watching Crank take an easy spin on the CVO, then tooling it around rather clumsily and hitting it a bit harder on the way back. The last run he did, he spun the bike around like a dirt racer and brought it home screaming. He had a pretty good grin going when he finally got off it.

  “You figure out how to push the bars when you turn yet?” He teased Tony.

  “First day.”

  “She’s a fat ass bitch, but I can see why you like her.” His weathered hand reverently stroked the low profile console on the tank. “This is nice.” He squatted down to look at the profile. “Keeps it clean looking.”

  Tony smiled. Crank liked his bike. It was almost like getting a fatherly stamp of approval.

  “So what’s this I hear about you finding a body on our land?”

  There, it was out already. Tony hadn’t looked up anyone in town, so that meant the Brigands were still watching him and Chris. Since technically, his uncle and father had purchased the strip of land that the sign company now rested upon for the club, many members thought of it as theirs. Luckily, Tony had Crank and a few others to back them up. Not to mention the land had been strictly purchased by his family. “In the swamp. Ricky Giofreida. He was dating Lisa.”

  Crank swore. “What the fuck was little Lisa doing with a burnout like him?”

  Tony resisted raising an eyebrow. For someone who never left this two-mile section of land, Crank was surprisingly well informed. “Apparently he was trying to turn over a new leaf.”

  “Bull. Kid was a crackhead.”

  “He seemed clean.”

  That got a spit and another low curse. “He worked for Whitehead.”

  “The furniture guy?” Tony asked.

  “And construction and shipping, trucks, strip clubs…” he trailed off, “You need a bigger picture painted?”

  “Local or connected?” As in, was he strictly local or was he backed by New York or overseas bosses.

 
“We’re pretty sure local only.”

  That was a relief in some aspects. “Feebs want him.”

  “Ricky or Whitehead?”

  “Ricky was getting evidence on Whitehead, I think. Least that’s the story from the Feeb who told me.”

  Crank laughed his ass off. Wiping his eyes, “These fucking feds are getting stupider every day, aren’t they? He actually told you about an ongoing investigation so you’d run to me?” He wiped his eyes, then laughed some more. “God dammit, kid.”

  Tony stiffened. He liked Crank. Between him and Bernie, who everyone called Snake, they finished raising him after his father was gunned down. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be in deep shit if the Brigands finally decided to bring him in. “I came to you, not the club, Crank. Figured you would want to know from family.”

  Crank stopped chuckling. “Then you’ve been played. They think we’ll do something about this and hang us up for it. Well I’ve got news you can tell your Feeb friend. Brigands are done with AC. Nothing and no one is coming to help you, Tony. Get your fucking pansy-ass weekend club to wipe your ass this time” He shoved Tony in the shoulder and started walking away.

 

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