Initiation in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  “Did you handle the send-offs?” I asked.

  Raul shook his head. “We do get a lot of business referred our way, but not this time.”

  “They’re not the first bodies that’ve been recovered out there.” Dickie clenched his hands.

  “Your friend know if they have any suspects?” Fab asked.

  “If they do, they’re not sharing,” Raul said. “I can make a phone call, see if there’s an update and ask to be notified if there is one.”

  “A bag of remains was also recently recovered,” I said, recalling the gruesome find.

  “Haven’t heard about that one,” Raul answered. “I’ll find out what I can.”

  “Almost forgot our other good news,” Dickie said. “Since you spilled about the construction to Fab, I told Madison. So I get to tell them about our latest venture. We’re going to offer weddings.”

  I coughed.

  Fab glared at me, then asked enthusiastically, “Where?”

  “The couples will have a choice: here in the main room or out on the patio.” Raul flourished his hand. “We’re having a gazebo constructed. Also turning two of the viewing rooms into dressing rooms, one on each end so the bride and groom don’t run into each other. We’ve never had all the rooms occupied at once, so I don’t see it as a problem.”

  “Did one of you get your license to perform weddings?” Fab asked.

  “We mulled that possibility over and agreed that neither of us has an outgoing enough personality that we think would make the events a success,” Raul said. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard. Crum got his license, and he’s going to perform the ceremonies.”

  I had just taken a long swig of water and almost spit it back in the bottle. “Crum? Joseph? How did you hook up with those two? Did you get it in writing that Crum will wear clothes?”

  “We got to talking when he sold us the stripper pole, and he signed onto the idea. He has a knack for knowing what sells. He sold out the poles.”

  “I hadn’t heard.” I glared at Fab. I didn’t want to know why they’d bought one and hoped Fab wouldn’t ask.

  “We bought one in case we ever got a request,” Raul volunteered. “Crum agreed to dress appropriately, and if the purchase of a costume for a theme wedding is necessary, I assured him that we’d cover the cost.”

  “If you know someone looking to tie the knot in an outside venue, it really is quite pretty out there,” Dickie said.

  “I’ll pass it along,” I said with forced enthusiasm.

  “You two always come up with the best ideas,” Fab said supportively, standing and heading to the door.

  The dogs bounded to their feet, knowing their best chance at another escape to romp outside was coming up.

  I waved to Dickie, who stayed behind, and followed Fab and Raul to the car.

  “The best ideas,” I sniffed after closing the car door.

  Fab honked and roared out the back exit. “What was I supposed to say?”

  “Be mean, like you are to me.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For once, we weren’t driving to Miami. Fab’s latest client lived in the Keys in a small weathered house off the Overseas. Gunz had put a rush on the job, and the only detail I’d learned thus far was that it required restraint.

  “Now that we’re here, are you going to part with the details of the case?” I asked.

  Fab slowly cruised the street, u-turned, and parked down the block. “You have your Glock on you?”

  “Of course. But you told the guys this was a paperwork job.”

  Fab reached between the seats and handed me an envelope off the back seat.

  “I could’ve been going through this on the way over,” I snapped and pulled out a sheaf of papers that turned out to be legal documents, the cover sheet a list of instructions. “Deeds? So what’s the backstory? And here’s another pesky question: who’s doing what?”

  “Mira Hunter’s husband died and left her in financial straits. She was on the verge of losing her house when she got approached by a husband-and-wife investor team saying that they had a buyer who’d pay cash for a quick close. All she had to do was sign a quit claim deed. In her defense, she did a cursory check on the internet and, finding only good reviews on their website, signed everything they put in front of her.”

  I groaned. “I know where this is going.”

  “The interesting thing is that the investor couple never did anything with the property. Possibly because the duo was up to their necks in legal trouble for fraud, theft, and a handful of other charges. With the law breathing down their necks, they skipped town. They were hauled back, sentenced to jail, and they just got out.”

  “The client wants…?”

  “Mira Thompson is the sweet woman’s name.”

  I didn’t bother to hide my eyeroll. “Knowing something about this process, I imagine that this is now a big fat paperwork mess.”

  “Mira needs us to get felon couple to sign another deed, transferring the property back into her name. She tried, but they refused and didn’t offer an explanation as to why. Interestingly, they didn’t hold her up for cash either. She did hire a foot-dragging lawyer, but ran out of money before it got to court. Not seeing any bucks in it for him, he bailed.”

  “Who lives here?” I asked. “Because if this is the house in question, it doesn’t appear to be worth more than the cost to have it demolished.” The wood-frame house showed signs that a multi-generational family of termites had built their nests inside.

  “Felon couple lives here.”

  I had a bad feeling about this as I thumbed through the paperwork. “Jessie and Berta Samson would be their names.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m going to use my powers of premonition here. We’re going to go to the door and ask politely for them to sign these documents?” I pointed to my lap.

  “When you have a premonition, you’re supposed to rub your forehead.” Fab smiled cheekily.

  “And when felon couple says hit the road, then what?”

  “We threaten them.”

  “A bribe would be better. Is there cash available?”

  “Mira is fresh out, and since Gunz doesn’t even know her and it’s a favor to a friend of a friend…somewhere along the family line—”

  I sliced my hand across my throat. “A simple no would’ve been faster.”

  “I had to stall because I don’t want you asking for an alternate plan.”

  “Hmm…” I tapped my chin until I got an eyeroll. “Let’s run a con on them. Bribe them with a big pay-off and renege, then beat it out the door.”

  “That’s why, being the best friend that I am, I’ll be right by your side while you work your magic.”

  I snorted. “I’ll do the talking. You’re the muscle. Don’t pull your gun unless it’s self-defense.”

  Fab started the engine, coasted down the block, and parked across from the white shack.

  I got out, envelope in hand, and surveyed the property. “The termites have been well fed.” I was happy to have on tennis shoes as we walked over the weed-riddled gravel path to the front door. I knocked and heard the hollow sound signifying a cheap door that could be easily kicked in.

  Fab stood behind me and off to one side.

  The door opened, and a middle-aged man with a grey handlebar mustache—the color matching his hair—stood in the entry checking us out from head to toe. “We’re not buying whatever you’re selling.” He leered.

  “Mr. Samson, I’ve got an offer for you. I’m sure you can spare a few minutes.” I smiled, reminiscent of a used car salesman.

  “What’s this about?” He squinted. “Cut to the chase. I’m smelling a con in a pretty package.”

  “Mind if we come in?”

  “As a matter fact, I do. Three seconds.” He tapped his wrist where a watch would’ve been if he’d had one on.

  I trotted out my professional voice. “I’m here on behalf of Mira Hunter to offer you cash and a notarized document t
hat there won’t be any further litigation on this matter in exchange for your signature on a quit claim deed.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Samson huffed. “I got the rights to sell and pocket a load of cash.”

  “Not if we get an injunction to stop said sale. You’d end up in court and run the risk of going back to prison.” The chances of that were slim, but I was betting on him being ignorant of that fact. “I’d think you’d be tired of the place.”

  “Who’s at the door?” a woman screeched from behind him. A similarly grey-haired woman peered around his shoulder. “What do you want?”

  “Your signature in exchange for cash.”

  “What’s this one about?” she asked.

  “Mira Hunter.”

  “Dumb bitch thought she knew it all and didn’t know anything,” Mrs. Samson crowed. “It was easy to get her signature on the docs, and we never looked back. And you know what? It was all legal.” She preened.

  “Why not sell it like you promised and be done with it?”

  “The money we can make renting it will pay our legal bills.”

  I disliked this couple with their squinty, beady brown eyes. “Here’s the deal: sign and we’ll be gone. Or I’ll file a claim against the title, and you won’t be able to sell it until you deal with me.”

  “How much?” She rubbed her fingers together.

  “One thousand.”

  She laughed. “Ten. Greenbacks and we’ll sign. You think I’m stupid? Cash upfront.” Mrs. Samson rubbed her hands together and held her hand out.

  Mr. Samson’s eyes glittered. “We’ll sign in here on the table.”

  “I’m not stupid either.” I ignored Fab poking me in the back. “Meet us at the Postal Center. We’ll have your signatures notarized, which you must know is required, then head over to the bank that’s right there in the same shopping center where I’ll make the withdrawal. We can take care of everything in one stop.” I smiled, hiding my revulsion.

  “We’ll meet you there.” Mrs. Samson grinned.

  “Don’t forget your ID,” I reminded her.

  Fab and I turned and walked back to the car.

  “Don’t say anything,” Fab whispered. “They haven’t closed the door.”

  “Let them stare. They’re going to get our tag number, which I don’t like.”

  “Neither had a weapon on them. Where the heck are you getting the cash?” Fab demanded once we got in the car. “If your plan is to actually pay them, withdrawing that amount will require filling out forms. And keep in mind, I highly doubt we’ll be reimbursed.”

  “They’re not getting a cent,” I said adamantly. “We’re going to play this cool. Get the docs signed, go into the bank, and then it’s your turn to shine. You get hot on the phone and make sure that when I come walking out, the Samsons are blocked in. We’ll skate and get gone.”

  “You think we can pull that off?” Fab appeared suitably impressed.

  “We can with a distraction.”

  Fab slowed, leaving the residential area and only sped up once the Samsons backed out of the driveway in their older model sedan, keeping them in her rearview mirror as she headed to the shopping center.

  * * *

  “You’re on,” I said to Fab, getting out of the car. “You have about fifteen minutes, tops, to get our distraction in place.”

  I went into the Postal Center and checked to make sure a notary was on staff, then waited outside for felon couple. My stomach was a bundle of nerves, and I hoped that this didn’t end in some serious butt-kicking…or worse.

  The Samsons rumbled up and parked in front of the bank, opting to walk down the sidewalk to meet me. “We’d like to check over the paperwork before we go inside.” Mr. Samson held out his hand.

  “Don’t trust me?”

  Samson jerked the envelope out of my hands and slapped it into his wife’s. She withdrew the deeds and scanned the documents.

  I’d made sure that the documents were filled out properly, with no cross-outs, and, more importantly, that they hadn’t been signed erroneously, thereby rendering them invalid before we even got started. Only an unscrupulous notary would put their seal on fraudulent-looking documents. If I didn’t keep an eye on these two and refuse to let the documents out of my sight, it wouldn’t surprise me if they had their dog sign them.

  It was hot, and I was about to complain about sweat when she shoved the paperwork halfway back in the envelope. We went inside and up to the counter. I stood back and watched the process carefully, then stepped up to pay.

  Mrs. Samson shoved the papers back into the envelope, sticking them under her arm. “I’ll be accompanying you to the bank.”

  I watched Mrs. Samson like a hawk as we walked in silence to the bank, Mr. Samson going back to the car. I opened the outer door of the bank. “I’ll take the paperwork now.” To my surprise, Mrs. Samson handed it over without a word.

  She looked around in a nervous fidget. “I’ll be waiting right here.” She motioned to a seating area that overlooked the parking lot.

  I was happy to see that there were several people in line—the longer this took, the more time Fab had to act. When it was my turn, I smiled at the teller and asked for a hundred dollars in fives. I’d thought about asking for ones, but that would be obnoxious. Besides, it would be counted by a machine, so it wouldn’t delay things enough to give Fab more time. At the same moment, the teller handed me an envelope of cash, my phone dinged. I felt like my sigh of relief could be heard throughout the bank. I thanked her and turned as two cop cars pulled in and parked next to the Samsons’ sedan. Mrs. Samson barely covered a shriek. She ran outside and cut across to the street, jaywalking to the honking of oncoming traffic.

  “Cops?” I said, surprised, as I hopped into the car.

  Fab already had the car in reverse and started moving the second I got the door closed. “I didn’t tell Gunz how to get the job done; I left it up to his discretion.” She had the GPS programmed for our next stop.

  “Let’s hit the courthouse and file this document before one of the Samsons gets a wild hair to derail us. They’ll never sign a second time, especially if they suspect we had anything to do with their current trouble.”

  At the courthouse, I got out and went into the County Clerk’s office, leaving Fab on the phone, giving her client another update. There was no line, and I breezed through, coming back with a copy of the filed paperwork and sliding into the passenger seat. The final deed would be mailed.

  Fab roared out of the parking lot and headed back out on the Overseas towards home. “Gunz wants us to pay a visit to Mira and let her know that everything was taken care of. I wanted to tell him that he could just call her, but didn’t.” She flicked down her visor. “Behind us.” At the same moment, the car jolted forward as something hit us.

  I looked in the side mirror and spotted a sedan behind us. “What’s going on?” I expected her to pull over, but instead, she hit the gas and flew down the highway, weaving in and out of traffic.

  “It’s one or both of the Samsons; it’s hard to tell. My guess is they’re not happy with us.”

  “Now what?”

  “We’re going to lose them.” Fab hit the gas as though she expected the traffic signal to stay green, but it conspired against her and turned red. She hit the brakes and squealed to a halt.

  The Samsons had managed to hold their own and were now a couple of cars back. Mr. Samson lumbered out of the passenger side and ran down the highway. The man was in lousy shape and not very fast. He’d just gotten parallel with the rear bumper when the light turned green. He reached for the door handle and tugged, apparently not registering that it was locked.

  Fab once again hit the gas. He stumbled back and shook his fists. The sedan, Mrs. Samson behind the wheel, slowed to pick him up, and the chase was back on, except they couldn’t keep up now that Fab had taken the curve north and hit open highway headed out of town.

  “If they lie in wait, they’ll catch us coming bac
k into town,” I said. There was no place to park along the highway and remain unseen. They could pull off to the side, but we’d see them as they’d stick out, and there were signs posted making it illegal.

  “That’s why I’m turning back now.” Fab turned left at the next light and hung a u-turn.

  I kept my eyes peeled and didn’t see them. “The problem is we have two people on our tail that feel cheated out of money they’re not owed. You need to fix the problem.”

  Fab got on the phone and told someone what had just gone down. The call—which Fab did not put on speaker, much to my irritation—was short and terminated after she relayed the facts.

  Without a word, Fab drove straight to Jake’s and parked in front of the lighthouse she owned. I also claimed ownership, since it sat on my property. Its origins? Fab had been vague on the details. A moment later, a black Navigator pulled in alongside her. I didn’t recognize the car or the driver.

  “Grab your stuff,” Fab ordered, getting out and meeting the driver of the other car, who had gotten out. After a short conversation and the exchange of keys, she grabbed her bag out of the back and beckoned me to get in the SUV.

  I smiled lamely at the nondescript man dressed in tropical attire. His bold stare made it clear he wasn’t a man to mess with. He nodded, got behind the wheel of the Escalade, and left the parking lot in a sedate fashion, not drawing any attention.

  “Gunz apologizes for not exchanging the vehicles before there was a problem,” Fab said.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t show for the exchange.”

  “He’s keeping a low profile. As in out of sight. He’s rehabilitating his image, leaving any whiff of criminality behind him.”

  “One thing for certain, he has spectacular rides.” I turned and checked out the back, running my hand over the leather seat. “I want my Hummer back, but I’m happy those two cretins can’t track me down using my tag number.” I blew out a long sigh. “I’m not sure how we explain our latest acquisition. If you’ve got a good story lined up, now would be a good time to share.”