Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise (24 page)

“Family name?” Didier glared at him. “I’m sure we can come up with an amicable solution that doesn’t leave anyone bleeding or dead.”

“You, Fababean, all the ways I planned to make you pay, slow and methodical. In the beginning I wanted cash, but I think I’ll settle for revenge.” Devil grinned at her, two bottom teeth missing.

“Listen to me, Devil, I had nothing to do with your going to jail,” Fab said.

“You helped set me up, drugged me, or else I would’ve been long gone when the cops showed up, instead of waking up surrounded, the briefcase of cash missing, and under arrest for the stolen goods in my possession.”

“You were a thief. Did you forget you stole all those items?”

“You’re such a liar. This is nothing but revisionist history. Remember your client, Harry Newlin, biggest scum hole ever? He bragged to me during his brief stint in jail; you delivered the briefcase and he had bail money.”

“This matter can be solved in a civilized manner. We can get you another briefcase,” I said.

Creole kneed me under the table so that I knew something was about to happen, but what?

“You really are a dumb bitch, you know?” Devil scowled at me.

I cocked my head. “No, I didn’t know that,” I said, and caught the tail end of a hand signal between Didier and Creole. Devil missed it in his show of disgust.

“Devil,” Fab said, “you get up and leave nice and quiet and I owe you one. If you shoot me, you’ll end up in jail for the rest of your scrawny life. You get one shot and then I promise that these two,”—she motioned to Didier and Creole—“will beat you to death.”

Creole radiated controlled anger. He never took his eyes off Devil. “You’ve got a three-count to get up and leave or I’ll send you to hell.” He nudged me and pointed downward.

“You remind me of a pimp I knew, worked the girls around North Miami. On slow nights he had them selling drugs. Go ahead, move, it will be my pleasure to kill her,” Devil said as he eyed Fab.

The waiter arrived with a much-needed distraction, dessert menus. Devil was momentarily distracted. Didier flipped the table, sending food and drink flying. Devil’s gun dropped to the floor. Creole leapt over the table like a feral tiger, planting his shoe in Devil’s chest and sending him to the ground. Lying face up on the floor, Devil wiggled his fingers in the direction of his gun. Didier’s foot came down on his wrist, and kicked it toward Creole.

Devil screamed, his hand hanging at an odd angle.

Fab moved from behind Didier, raised the hem of her dress above her knees, and kicked Devil in the groin with the toe of her high heel.

Creole flipped Devil from his fetal position on to his stomach. “Hey, model boy, I’ll take your belt.”

Creole grabbed Devil’s wrists in one hand and he passed out. He secured his hands with Didier’s belt and his feet with his own, leaving Devil face down. He dropped a white linen napkin over the Smith & Wesson handgun, depositing it onto the only chair that had not been overturned. He turned his back, and took out his phone.

Fab and I exchanged looks, neither one of us happy that we couldn’t hear a word.

“A free side show is always good for business.” The manager approached and introduced himself, clearly not unhappy about the mess. Not a single customer left; the ones close by watched and continued to eat. When Devil was secure, a smattering of claps followed. “Do you mind dragging him outside to await the cops that are on their way?” He toed Devil roughly. “Free meal next time you come back.”

Fab and I changed into bathing suits and took our morning coffee down to the beach, sitting on the bottom step, toes in the sand. I bent over and sifted my fingers through the white powder.

“I’ll go find out what the new crisis is at The Cottages,” I told her. “I’m not the one who stared down the barrel of a gun last night.”

Fab hesitated, lost in thought. “How soon do you suppose it will be before Devil is on the loose again?”

“Creole assured me last night that we’d seen the last of Devil.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “You and I are a package deal. He looks out for the both of us.”

“My only regret is that I couldn’t kick his little friend up to his tonsils before the cops drug him off,” Fab said.

“You’re coming with me.” I grabbed a hold of her arm. “I’ll drive, you can sit back and relax.”

In one swift movement, she had me sitting in the sand while she ran up at the steps. At the top, she yelled down, “I’ll drive, you whine for me to slow down.”

It was worth picking myself up and slapping the sand off my skirt and legs to hear her laughing.

* * *

It surprised me Mac wasn’t sitting outside soaking up the sun. We found her sitting behind her desk, legs propped up, reading a romance novel for which she had a voracious appetite. I appreciated that she wore shorts under her bohemian-looking dresses and skirts.

“You better sit for this one,” Mac said, and motioned to the chairs in front of her desk. Fab had already claimed the couch.

The door banged against the wall and Shirl rushed in. “You don’t mind if I listen in do you? Mac has a tendency to leave out details in the retelling. They dribble out later.”

“I do not.” Mac kicked the top of the desk.

“Do too.” Shirl plopped into a chair next to me.

“Stop! You’re making my head hurt. Do we act like this?” I said to Fab, who feigned sleep.

“When do you two go anywhere without each other?” Shirl smirked.

I wrinkled my nose at Fab, who opened one eye. “We’ve found it to be a health hazard not to travel as a pack; safety in twos.”

Fab flipped the shutter up and looked out the window as a car missing its muffler bumped down the street. “And a needed sounding board while trying to figure out what the hell to do next.”

Mac sat up, throwing her feet on the floor, looking at me. “Miss January is in jail and she’s not getting out anytime soon.”

I covered my ears with my hands. “I don’t want to hear this,” I said, and sighed. “What, no bail for a serial drunk?”

“Try felony drug possession, obstructing an investigation, and resisting arrest,” Mac said.

Shirl spoke up. “I talked to a friend at the sheriff’s office and he said they already offered her a deal, but she claims not to remember anything about last night, and is adamant she didn’t know what they were talking about. She blacked out during booking and then got transferred to the hospital where she regained consciousness, and was transferred to a medical unit where she’ll be for a few days.”

“Miss January doesn’t do drugs. Is there a beginning to this story you could start at?” I asked Mac.

“You’re not going to like this next part. It seems as though she decided to party with her old friend Carly and her friend Ruthie. Since Miss January drinks all day, I assume she was pretty well hammered when they came and picked her up. They spent a few hours at Custer’s and then left for an unknown location. Not long after, they got pulled over in a residential neighborhood by the roundabout. Carly was behind the wheel, Miss January in the passenger seat, and Ruthie in the back. All three got arrested.”

“Where do the drugs come in?” I asked.

“Carly got charged with drunk driving, Ruthie resisting arrest, and when they helped Miss January out of the car, she had a pocket full of eight-balls. The cops say she tried to dump them in the bushes, and then became belligerent when confronted.”

“She doesn’t have the money to buy any quantity of cocaine,” I said. “Those two remind me of when you were a kid and not allowed to hang out with someone because all you ever did was get into trouble.”

“Don’t look at me,” Fab said. “I wasn’t allowed to have fun friends. I got into trouble once in grade school and we were separated and never had contact again.”

“She won’t be allowed visitors until she’s transferred to a cell.” Shirl’s phone beeped. She smiled, answering a text.

“I’ll bet you they’re Carly’s drugs and she didn’t want to go down for the charge because of her extensive rap sheet,” I said.

“How are you going to prove that, Nancy?” Fab asked me. “Especially with Miss January’s faulty memory.”

“I’ve read every Nancy Drew book five times.” Shirl smiled at Fab in a way that was akin to hero worship.

I shook my head. Fab could tell Mac and Shirl to do some outrageous things and they’d hop to it.

“Any idea what bail will be?” I knew Miss January could never come up with bail of any amount.

“My friend said no bail for now,” Shirl said. “With no previous record, they don’t want her, they want dealer information.”

“You might as well know that Carly is out of jail. She spent a grand total of five hours in a holding cell and was released when her mother posted bail,” Mac informed us.

I poked my finger over Mac’s shoulder, until she turned. “Please,” I said, pointing to the snack bowl.

She dug around and pulled out another of my favorites, a mini Snickers.

“I can’t kill Carly,” I said, although I liked the idea. “I need to squeeze information out of her, then she needs to take her wacked-out mother and move to some other part of the Keys, or rather, some other part of the states, which would be more preferable. They should try Washington.”

Fab grabbed a handful of darts and threw them. Three landed in the bull’s eye, the other two went wild. “Carly’s not going to rat out a dealer if the guy is anything like the ones I’ve known in the past. Shortens your life span.”

“If I make my own jail appointment, I have to wait a week. Brick is out of the question. You could ask that favor for me,” I pleaded to Fab. “I don’t want to owe him anything.”

“If you were nicer to the sheriffs around here, you’d have more connections,” Shirl said, and smirked.

“I’m working on my attitude. I invited Kevin to dinner, and that turned out to be a fiasco. Cornered your new boyfriend the other day,” I said to Shirl. “Besides the sex, how is the rest of the relationship going?”

“I’d like to go out and show Steven off, but I know he’s tired after a long day at the office. He doesn’t really like selling insurance,” Shirl told us.

So Help’s name is Steven. Probably not; most likely another lie. Insurance––couldn’t he make up a more exciting job? My guess was that he didn’t own a suit, so how could he pass himself off as a businessman?

“Have him give me a call.” I smiled. “I’ll review my insurance with him, throw some business his way.”

“I think he may be the one,” Shirl gushed.

“How did you meet him?” Fab asked. She’d only had one encounter with Steven and that was when she threatened to shoot him in my driveway.

“I met him at the hospital when he came in as a patient, head trauma. He’d gotten mugged. I thought he and Creole were friends. Thought I saw him visit Steven, but he said no. He makes me laugh. We have the best time together.”

Who knew Help had a sense of humor? He’s going to break her heart and I’m going to feel scummy watching it happen. I couldn’t tell her he was an undercover cop––that had to be his call.

“Would you find out what you can about Miss January and how she’s doing?” I asked her. “Let me know when she gets transferred. Free dinner to your sheriff friend and anyone else he wants to bring into Jake’s.”

Mac looked thoughtful. “I wondered why the sheriff would be staking out a residential neighborhood in the middle of the night. I thought about this and I thought that maybe the cops had the location staked out, house under surveillance, and the women got popped when they drove away having concluded business.”

“I’ll call Creole. Once she’s transferred to county, he can get someone to keep an eye out for her; hopefully she won’t get into any trouble. How’s she going to deal with being sober?” I closed my eyes, hoping she wouldn’t die in custody.

“She needs to detox under supervision or any number of complications could arise and she could end up dead. The worst thing for a body is to go cold turkey,” Shirl said.

I looked at Fab. “I’ll have to find out who her attorney is so I can apprise him of her problems and hopefully he won’t let her linger in jail if it can be helped.”

Fab pulled on my arm. “Come on, we’ll go get lunch.”

“We have to get her out,” I said, and laid my head on her shoulder.

I peeked in the window of the courtroom to see who had arrived, before slipping unnoticed into the back row. I had shown up to Miss January’s court hearing early, and to my dismay, her case had been assigned to Ana Sigga, chief prosecutor and damn good at her job. Her reputation as a hard-ass was well deserved, and she didn’t offer up sweet plea deals.

Miss January and several other defendants were handcuffed and paraded in and led to seats in the jury box. An armed bailiff stood guard in case one of them was stupid enough to attempt an escape. She looked pale and disoriented, unsure of what the heck was going on around her. Her prison orange hung off of her like a sack, and she looked more like a coat hanger for the uniform.

A dark-haired man stood, identifying himself as her public defender, fresh faced, dark circles under his eyes. I’d guess he was newly graduated from law school. He’d need every skill he learned in college to go up against Ms. Sigga. I suspected she’d chew him to bits and spit him out as a snack.

It further depressed me to find out that Chief Harder had decided to take a vacation. Not that he owed me any favors, but that wouldn’t stop me from asking.

Ms. Sigga stood up and walked to the defense table. As she tossed a file down, my eyes went straight to her shoes. Another pair of red-soled Louboutin spike heels, different from the last ones. The lady liked her expensive, designer shoes.

Miss January stood silently in the jury box, her attorney by her side, where he answered all the questions on her behalf. She entered a plea of not guilty and the bailiff escorted her to the holding area for her ride back to the jail.

I wanted to talk to her, but it was forbidden for anyone to talk to the prisoners. I had no in with her lawyer but now that I knew who he was, I could go badger him at his office. Someone I knew must know him, so they could speak on my behalf. As I snuck out, mulling options as to how to help Miss January, my thoughts turned to Carly and how to get the truth out of her.