Chasing the Son (12 page)

“So Lilly Chase dies and Harry—wait a second. What do you mean, he disappeared? That means he was somewhere. Where was he?”

“Fabrou told me,” Farrelli said. “At the Military Institute in Charleston. A freshman.”

“Huh.” Riley processed that but wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Is that why Fabrou wants to know about him? Some connection there?”

“Perhaps.”

“Okay,” Riley said. “So Lilly Chase dies. Harry quits school and disappears. And Doc Cleary disappears.”

“Sails off into the sunset, or sunrise,” Farrelli said. He jerked a thumb toward the beach which was at the end of Pope Avenue.

“Likely they disappeared together,” Riley said.

“A distinct possibility.”

“But you didn’t tell Fabrou this.”

“I didn’t have the key piece you just provided.”

“Will you tell him?”

Farrelli picked up the water bottle and peered at it as if the answer were inside. “I don’t need the money.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Farrelli had an edge to his voice. “And I don’t have to answer your questions. You’re here at my discretion.”

Riley saw movement out of the corner of his eye and two men wearing dark suits were now flanking the door.

“You think I’m trouble?” Riley asked.

“I
know
you’re trouble,” Farrelli said. “Fabrou is trouble of a different sort. Without Karralkov and the Russians around, there’s a power vacuum. I’ve been sticking my beak in, but so has the Quad. I don’t want to go up against them. They don’t use guns. They use bank accounts. And theirs is bigger than mine. I would prefer to have my interests run parallel to the Quads rather than perpendicular or head-on.”

“So you’re gonna tell him.”

“But not today. Today is your day.”

Riley got off the stool. “Thank you for today.”

“Hold on,” Farrelli said. “This is bigger than Harry or Horace or Doc. There’s a big deal being bandied about. A land-grab for Daufuskie, which I’m sure interests you.” Daufuskie was reachable only by boat and was where Riley made his home and ran his anemic bookie business. It was also the island about which Pat Conroy had written in one of his first books about:
The Water Is Wide
. And Jimmy Buffet had sung about it in his song
The Prince of Tides
. It had gone through hard economic times during the down turn and the three golf course had gone under, taking the large resort hotel with them. It was close to reverting back to pre-resort wilderness.

“I heard something is in the works,” Riley said.

“I know Fabrou wants it,” Farrelli said. “The resort and the golf courses. And somebody in Charleston wants it. There’s a project called Sea Drift, which would cover almost the entire island except for the few private houses left. All three golf courses, the resort, the beach. Except one of the golf courses, Bloody Point is owned by someone else.”

“Who?”

“No one really knows.”

“So?”

“Here’s the kicker,” Farrelli said. “There’s an appropriation in Washington that’s hiding in a desk, waiting until the resort and golf courses are bought out. It allocates Federal funds to build a causeway to Daufuskie from the mainland. You know what that would do to the value of the land?”

“Increase it?”

Farrelli laughed. “You’re a funny guy, Riley. Hell, you couldn’t afford to live there if people could drive on. Same thing happened on Hilton Head years ago before there was a bridge. Developer came in and bought up most of the land.
Then
the bridge was built. That’s why they were able to build all those gated communities: one person owned the entire thing.”

“Okay,” Riley said. “What’s that got to do with Harry?”

Farrelli spread his hands wide. “I have no idea. Perhaps they ain’t connected except for the players involved. But we’re talking potential profit in the hundreds of millions here. When the stakes get that high, people tend to act aggressively and often irrationally. I’d be careful if I was you.”

“What’s you stake in Daufuskie?” Riley asked.

“Me?” Farrelli laughed. “I’m keeping my money closer to home. I don’t have enough to play in that arena.”

“All right,” Riley said.

“But here’s the thing,” Farrelli said. “There’s going to be a meeting on Daufuskie on Saturday. Word is the deal is going to be closed. One company owning Sea Drift and who has what percentage of it. Fabrou, Charleston folk, whoever.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I think it’s connected to what you’re checking out.”

“Chase’s son?”

“I told you last time we talked that I don’t like getting families involved in business.”

“How can there be a connection?” Riley asked.

“That’s the key question.”

“Why are you doing Sarah Briggs’ bidding?” Riley asked. “You told me money isn’t that important to you.”

“Money is very important to me,” Farrelli said.

“So how much did she pay you to find out about Erin to make it worth your while? More than fifty large, obviously.”

“That’s none of your business,” Farrelli said. “But let me tell you. Briggs is bad news. You shoulda whacked her when you had the chance. In fact, if I was you, I’d shoot first next time you see her.”

“You think there’s going to be a next time?” Riley asked.

“Who knows?” Farrelli shrugged. “Ah, fuggedhdaboutit. Who the fuck knows what’s going on?”

Riley nodded. “I appreciate the information, Mister Farrelli. And your giving me today.”

Riley went to the door, passing between the two goons and out into the sunlight.

Behind him, Farrelli sighed. He got up and walked behind the bar. He grabbed a bottle of wine and opened it. He poured himself a large glass, satisfied he had reached the water hydration quotient for the day.

He walked back to his chair and sat down.

A few minutes later the door opened, throwing in a beam of sunlight and a woman silhouetted in it.

“Ah, welcome!” Farrelli said.

Sarah Briggs walked past the two bodyguards. She sat down on a stool, right next to Farrelli.

“May I offer you something?” Farrelli asked.

“What did you tell Riley?” Sarah asked, ignoring his hospitality. “I saw him leave.”

“Lucky you,” Farrelli muttered.

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing,” Farrelli said.

“Bullshit,” Sarah said. “You play every side, then you are allied with no one.”

“I just run my business here,” Farrelli said. “I take no one’s side. And, I do not appreciate being spoken to like this. Especially in my own place of business.”

She reached into her leather bag to retrieve the binder. “I’ve already had the transfer notarized.” She pulled out a sheaf of papers and turned to the last page. “You only have to sign.”

“Isn’t that backwards?” Farrelli asked. “Doesn’t the notary have to witness the signing?”

“Not
my
notary.”

Farrelli sat up straighter on his stool and folded his arms. “And what if I decide not to sign?”

“We have a deal.”

“We had a deal.”

Sarah closed her eyes briefly, then graced him with a tight smile. “Sign Bloody Point over to me. I gave you the money to buy it. You keep your percentage. That was the deal.”

“Too many people are asking questions,” Farrelli said. “And I don’t believe you’ve told me the truth about what will happen. Fabrou intimated that this deal is much bigger than I thought.”

“We have a deal,” Sarah repeated.

“Fabrou will make me a better deal,” Farrelli said.

“That’s not how it works.”

“It works the way I say it works,” Farrelli said.

Sarah got off the stool and walked around the bar. She found a bottle of chilled champagne in a fridge under the bar. She slowly opened it, then took down a flute and filled it. She returned to her stool.

“You have no idea how long this has been in the works,” she said. “Not quite a long con, but a long plan. You ever hear that joke about the woman wearing the fur coat?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “An activist is screaming at her:
‘You know how many animals died for that coat?’
And she replies: ‘
You know how many animals I had to fuck for this coat?
’.”

“Yeah,” Farrelli said. “Cute. But not my problem.”

“Au contraire, Mister Farrelli,” Sarah said. “You’re making it your problem.”

Farrelli thumped the bar with a thick forefinger. “You’re in my joint, on my island. Be careful.”

“I am very, very careful,” Sarah said. “And that’s what should concern you. Yes, I’ve fucked for this deal, but I’ve also killed and kidnapped. As they say, I’m in this from the feet up, full throttle, all the way; whatever cute one-liner you choose to use.”

Farrelli stared at her, a frown on his forehead.

Perhaps re-assessing.

Sarah pointed at the papers still on the bar. “Please sign as we agreed, Mister Farrelli. I will not ask again.”

“No, you won’t,” Farrelli said. “And you keep it up, you won’t be speaking any more either.” He nodded at the two burly men. “You want to leave here in one piece, I suggest you pack your crap up and get outta here.”

Sarah lifted up the flute of champagne and downed it in one long drink. She put it on the bar. “I told you this was a long time in the planning and making.” She stared Farrelli in the eyes. “Think. Think hard. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. You think I didn’t anticipate Fabrou making you an offer? This is a game. With very high stakes. I’m so many moves ahead of you, you’re not even on the board, Farrelli. Sign.”

Farrelli looked down at the paper, then up at Briggs. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You should have asked that question a long time ago,” Briggs said. “Not that I’d have given you a straight answer. Sometimes I don’t even remember who I am. You might find that strange, but if you’ve been through what I’ve been through, you’d understand. But I doubt you would have survived what I’ve been through.” She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “An old friend, a woman who taught me a lot of what I know had a saying:
‘I’ve been everywhere but the electric chair. Seen everything but the wind.’
And here I am now.” For a moment Sarah Briggs looked human; a tired woman fighting the hard fight.

The moment didn’t last long.

“Please sign.”

Farrelli raised a hand and gestured for the two men.

Instead they turned and went out the door.

And Farrelli looked down at the very sharp dagger Sarah had poking him in the groin. “I will start by removing your balls. Which leaves you still able to sign. But if that’s not enough, then I will cut your cock off and shove it in your mouth. Which leaves you still able to sign and has the advantage of shutting you up.” She spoke like she had some experience in the matter. “Then I will jab you with this.” With her other hand, she held up a needle. “You will be infected immediately. Which leaves you still able to sign. But you will already be a dead man. And the infection will be a most horrifying death. Irreversible. I’ve seen it.”

Farrelli’s face was flushed red, anger competing with embarrassment and acceptance of reality. “How did—“

“Don’t ask how, Farrelli. I’m in a bad mood. I’ve had a terrible week with a bad day piled on top of it and the day isn’t over yet and there’re still miles to go before I rest. I’m sick of dealing with the people in this asshole of the world. So. Ten seconds. Sign or I will neuter you, then kill you.”

To emphasize her point, she pushed the point of the blade farther into his testicles.

Farrelli picked up the pen and signed.

But Sarah didn’t pull back the blade. With her free hand, she put the papers into her binder, which then went into her bag. “Now you suppose I would back out, happy to have achieved my goal. Correct?”

Farrelli nodded.

“But again, I am not stupid and I have thought all of this through.” She laughed. “Funny thing is, there’s a woman in Charleston who would have paid considerably more for this land than Fabrou. The fact you didn’t find out who that is tells me that you’re not very clued-in; not like you think you are.”

“Jenrette,” Farrelli said. “I know about her.”

“Very good,” Briggs said. “Why didn’t you go to her?”

“I tried. I called her several days ago. She wouldn’t deal with me.”

Briggs nodded. “The old broad has standards. So you were playing everyone. As usual. That’s a dangerous way to make a living, Mister Farrelli.”

“I got connections in Jersey. They will not take kindly to my being injured.”

“Who said anything about injuring you?” Briggs said. “But I do have to factor in that Italian temper. That Cosa Nostra desire for revenge. I will be forever looking over my shoulder, won’t I?”

Farrelli said nothing. He stared at her, face expressionless.

Faster than he could react, she pulled the dagger back and had it at his neck. “Stay still.”

A muscle twitched in Farrelli’s cheek, but he obeyed her.

Sarah smiled. “All right then.” She slipped the bag over her shoulder. “I’ll take my leave then.” And then she jabbed the needle into his thigh.

“Fuck!” Farrelli yelled as Sarah back up.

“Be glad I lied, by the way,” Sarah said. She slowly backpedaled as Farrelli jumped off his seat, his hand fumbling underneath his jacket for his gun. “It works fast. Not painful, well not for long. And looks like a heart attack to a coroner.”

Farrelli opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. His eyes bulged. He dropped the gun before he could bring it to bear, both hands going to his chest. He dropped to his knees, still trying to say something. Then fell face forward with a solid thud into the floor.

Chapter Six

Thursday Afternoon

Dillon regained consciousness slowly and painfully. He was lying on the floor in Brannigan’s and Wing’s room, cold tile pressed up against his cheek. He didn’t open his eyes right away. Someone could be waiting and his head hurt enough as it was.

He listened.

It was quiet. He didn’t sense anyone in the room, but he didn’t trust that. He waited until he felt in sufficient control of his faculties and his body. Then he rolled, coming to his knees, hands up in a defensive posture.

The room was empty.