Chasing the Lost (7 page)

He also knew there was a big difference between betting money on something and betting your life on it.

Riley walked toward the dock. He stopped in the shade of a palmetto, just short of the wood planking. The two men and woman disembarked and headed toward him, Kono in the lead.

The Gullah halted ten feet away, folding muscular black arms, his eyes hidden behind wrap-around sunglasses. He wore a red Hawaiian shirt, untucked, over worn jeans that made Riley’s seem new, and was barefoot, his feet callused and hard. His skull was shaved, and gleamed in the sunlight. He had a machete dangling off his left hip, and Riley knew he usually carried a pistol in the small of his back underneath the shirt. There were undoubtedly more lethal weapons onboard the boat.

The white man came forward, stopping about six feet away. Out of reach of immediate physical attack, but close enough that an exchange of gunfire would most likely be mutually fatal. The woman stood by his side, close but not too close, indicating a relationship Riley couldn’t quite decipher. She wore a big rock of an engagement ring, nestled next to a wedding band. Bagged and tagged, most husbands thought, but while they were cavorting here on their golf trips, it never seemed to occur to them to wonder what their wonderful wives were doing back home in Ohio with the tennis pro at the country club. He wondered what this wonderful wife was up to, because it was obvious the man with her wasn’t her husband. Plus, she didn’t have that bagged and tagged look; she was someone who was still out there in the wild.

And not as prey.

Riley waited. They were on his turf, they had to lay down first.

“Dave Riley?” the man asked, but his voice indicated he was pretty sure who he was talking to. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses. The bulge under his jacket indicated he was strapped. So much for a quiet day drinking beer, watching the tide.

“Yeah.”

“I’m Horace Chase.”

“What can I do for you, Horace Chase?” Riley asked.

“Call me Chase.”

“If there’s a need to call you,” Riley replied, “I might do that.”

“There some place we can talk?” Chase asked.

“What’s wrong with here?”

“A little more private, please.”

“I know who he is,” Riley nodded at Kono. “And you’re ...” Riley kept the definition open as he nodded at the woman.

“This is Sarah Briggs,” Chase said. “Her son is the reason we’re here.”

“Don’t know her son,” Riley replied.

“He’s been kidnapped.”

Riley sighed and headed to the Shack at an oblique angle, keeping both men and the woman in view. He had no idea why Kono would be with
buckra
. The Gullah boatman was infamous throughout the area for his distaste of white people. Given his own genetic makeup, Riley understood racism in all its directions.

Riley pulled a set of keys out and unlocked the front door. He walked inside and went behind the bar as Chase and Sarah entered. Kono also came in, sliding to the left, as if the two were quartering the room.

Riley grabbed a bucket of beers resting in ice. It was off-season, but this was Riley’s home for the winter. He carried the bucket to a table overlooking a panoramic view of the Intracoastal. Chase sat down across from him, pulled out a beer, and offered it to Chase, and then one to Sarah.

“A bit early?” But Chase took it, twisting off the top.

Riley glanced at Kono, holding up a bottle.

Kono didn’t move. Riley shrugged and put it back in the bucket.

“I gave you a beer,” Riley said, “you owe me a story. But first, what ODA were you on?”

“Zero-five-five.”

“No shit?” Riley was surprised, and immediately suspicious of the coincidence. For him, coincidences were either fate or more likely danger-close, someone trying to ingratiate themselves. “I was on zero-five-five a long time ago.”

“I know,” Chase said. “I saw your name in the team room, carved into the table.”

“You guys did that Op where you almost got Bin Laden at Tora Bora, right?”

“No,” Chase said, side-stepping the trap. “We were in Kapisa Province doing other things.”

He had that fact right, at least. “That was a while ago. And since?”

“I went from Tenth to Delta. I was part of Task Force Eleven in Afghanistan.”

“And after Delta?”

“I went into the FLI program.”

“Heard about that clusterfuck. Good idea. Poor execution. How’d that work out?”

“Not well.”

“And now?”

“I’m retired.”

Riley leaned back in his seat, always aware of Kono’s presence. “How’s that working for you?”

“It’s only been two weeks.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Riley said. He glanced at the woman, who was showing a bit of anxiety at the credentials grilling. “Then again, maybe you won’t.”

“We’ll see,” Chase said. Sarah was following the conversation, but not entering it, eyes shifting back and forth between Chase and Riley as if evaluating both men.

“‘We?’”
Riley shook his head. “Why would I care, and what will I see?” He didn’t expect an answer.

“Are you going to ask me what color the boathouse at Hereford is painted?” Chase asked.

Riley laughed. “That was a good movie. Hell, I’ve never been to Hereford, but fought beside some Special Air Service fellows. Tough men.”

“They are. I passed through Hereford briefly. There’s no boathouse.”

“And now you’re here,” Riley said. “With my friend over there. And Ms. Briggs.”

“Mrs. Briggs,” Sarah corrected.

“Where’s Mister Briggs?” Riley asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Last I heard he was in Antigua, running SAS.”

“You know my husband?” Sarah was surprised.

“I know
of
him,” Riley said. “Online gambling is an odd thing. Most gamblers want the face-to-face, the handling of the cash. It’s personal for them. People who go online are hard-core. They’re after something different.”

“What’s that?” Chase asked.

Riley shrugged. “I’m not a shrink.” He shifted attention. “How do you know him?” He nodded toward Kono.

“I spent summers on Hilton Head when I was a kid,” Chase said. “I met Kono and we became friends.”

Riley shifted his attention to the Gullah who had yet to utter a word. “He your friend, Kono? A
buckra
?”

“He my friend,” Kono said.

“Then why don’t you act friendly?” Riley asked.

Kono unfolded his muscular arms. He walked to the table and pulled back a chair, and joined the three. Riley retrieved a beer and held it out to Kono. The Gullah took it and twisted off the top. He pulled his shades off, revealing startlingly gray eyes.

“Lay it on me,” Riley said to Chase as he took a deep draft of his beer. He noted that Chase had not partaken of his yet. Nor had Sarah.

Chase quickly laid out events from the time Sarah pounded on his door to the present. It was a succinct briefing, one people in Special Ops were trained to give. When he finished, silence ruled as each person digested the information.

“So all you have is Karralkov’s name from Parsons,” Riley said.

“And my husband’s suspicion,” Sarah added.

“You know Parsons?” Chase asked Riley.

“I’ve met him.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Not really.” Riley shrugged. “It’s not up to me. You’re the one who talked to him. You were a cop, too, weren’t you?”

“Briefly.”

Sarah jumped in and made her point again, an unnecessary play among these men. “My husband said it was the Russians who took down SAS just two weeks ago.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Riley said. “If there’s a way to make a buck, Karralkov will be in on it. I stay clear of them. What’s your plan?” he asked Chase.

“Find Karralkov, see what he says.”

“Finding him isn’t the problem. Seeing what he says is.”

Chase arched an eyebrow. “What’s your take on the situation?”

Riley rubbed the stubble of beard on his chin. It all grew out white now, a foreshadowing of what the burgeoning grey on top of his head would develop into. He glanced over at the wall, where a drawing of Xavier was mixed among the cluster of images of notable locals. Nefarious was more like it, but Xavier had boasted a full head of silver hair to the day he died. Riley hoped he’d be as lucky.

“I’ve met Karralkov a couple of times,” Riley said. If you think you can take Kono and do a show of force to intimidate Karralkov, forget about it. Gators will be dining on you.”

“I’ll ask him nicely,” Chase said. “Do you think Karralkov would kidnap a kid?”

“Karralkov would slit his own kid’s throat if he felt it was to his advantage,” Riley said, ignoring the shocked look on Sarah’s face. He shook his head. “Kidnapping a kid. That’s family. Crosses some lines for some, but not for the Russians. They got a long, sad cultural history. Everyone has a cultural history, don’t they, Kono?”

The Gullah didn’t respond.

“Did Karralkov shut down this SAS gambling site during the conference championships?” Chase asked.

Riley shrugged. “No one knows for certain except whoever did it. But word is, yeah, he did. And that he got a five-million payout to let it go back up. Problem with paying someone off is, they always come back for more.”

“Your business interests don’t intersect with Karralkov or Walter Briggs?” Chase asked.

Riley raised an eyebrow. “What business is that?”

“Gambling. Making book. Whatever you call it.”

“Where did you hear that?” Riley asked.

Chase didn’t answer.

Riley turned to Kono. “Are you talking about me to strangers?”

“Chase isn’t a stranger,” Kono said. “I knew him here long before you show up, Riley. You the stranger to me.”

“Was my uncle a stranger to you?” Riley asked.

“Your uncle was a good man,” Kono said, as if the words were being pulled from him.

Riley rubbed his dark skin. “Because he wasn’t a
buckra
?”

“You all that to me,” Kono said. “If you not one of us, then you aren’t.”

That made sense to Riley in a strange way. It was the way he’d felt in Special Ops about those who weren’t.

But he wasn’t in Spec Ops any more. Neither was the man seated across from him, but they shared the bond of prior service.

Chase jumped into the breach. “Parsons said you knew Karralkov. That he was muscling in on people’s businesses, especially illegitimate ones.”

Riley shrugged. “He hasn’t shown up here.”

“Yet,” Chase continued.

Riley laughed. “Hell, I just got offered more client referrals because people are leery of SAS after they lost some bets two weeks ago. But I don’t have any interest in expanding my business. And if someone comes here to muscle in, I don’t see a need to fight.”

“You’d give it up?” Sarah asked.

Riley shrugged. “I’m not tied to it. It passes the time. I’m not tied to many things in life.”

“Are you tied to anything?” Sarah asked, and Riley met her eyes, his mind weakly casting about to come up with an answer and coming up empty.

Chase stepped into the awkward silence. “Is there anyone else you think could be behind this kidnapping? Kono mentioned a fellow named Farrelli.”

Riley snorted. “Tony ‘Can of Tomatoes’ Farrelli? It’s not his style. And I don’t think he’d go after family. The mob might be watered-down, their wives making shows on TV, but Farrelli is old-school. Pinkie ring, blood oath, all that.” He considered it further. “He might know something, though,” Riley allowed. “He’s been shaking down lots of places on Hilton Head. He’s doing the classic ‘pay me protection money to protect you from me’ to a lot of businesses too dumb to understand his gambit. Also trying to stick his beak into the escort business.” Riley smiled. “Apparently all those foursomes and eight-somes of golfers aren’t good boys when away from home. Escorts generate a lot of revenue on the island.”

“Gambling, too, I suppose,” Sarah said sharply.

“Gambling, too,” Riley agreed.

“Why would Farrelli go after SAS?” Chase wondered. “It’s based in Antigua.”

“I don’t think he would,” Riley said. “Maybe this kidnapping is what it appears to be. A straight-up money grab?”

“What if not?” Kono said.

“What do you think, Kono?” Chase asked his childhood friend.

“I don’t,” Kono said. He took a deep draw on the beer, then put it back down on the table. “All you fellas play games with people and money. Prey on their weaknesses.”

“And smuggling isn’t a game?” Riley asked mildly. “And it’s
their
weaknesses.”

Kono stared at him, and the two men locked in on each other until Kono suddenly smiled, revealing white teeth and completely transforming his personality. “Ah, man, smuggling not a game. I only do alcohol, never drugs. Never people.”

“I thought that went out with Prohibition,” Chase said.

“Plenty people on the island, up in Charleston, down in Savannah, they don’t want to pay taxes,” Kono said. “I make enough at it.”

“You’ve never offered your service here,” Riley said.

“They never ask,” Kono said.

Riley turned to Sarah. “Maybe whoever is blackmailing you and your husband is into SAS for a lot of money. Maybe it’s payback? Of course, your husband isn’t going to give out his client list, but he might give a name or two, considering it’s your kid.”

“I asked him while Chase was talking to Lieutenant Parsons,” Sarah said. “He said the text message he got about Cole is very similar to the one he received about how to pay to get rebooted before the conference championship games. I asked him if he had any upset clients who were into him for a lot of money who might do this. He told me his biggest debtor around here is your neighbor”—she turned to Chase—“Peter Rollins. He’s down almost a million. But that’s nothing compared to what’s being asked here. And he said Rollins wouldn’t do this.”

Chase considered the man he’d confronted in his driveway. “I don’t see him being behind this, either.”

Riley wasn’t so certain. “Rollins is in deep financial trouble. Word on the water,” he graced Kono with a slight smile, “is that he’s got bigger debts than a million in gambling. Tourism is down with the economy. Rollins made a grab to buy Harbour Town with a consortium out of Savannah. He had to stake a large part of his fortune on it, and then mortgage his holdings to the extreme. They made the deal, but now they’re stuck with it. Fifty million would probably get him out of his jam. He owes this Savannah investment group, the Quad, a whole lot of money. I think they might even have reached out here, bought out Bloody Point.”