Deceived (9 page)

Chapter twenty-one

“Where are we going, Mol?”

“Well, I figure your boat is marked, but so far, nobody knows about mine…. At least, I don’t think they do.” Her stroke was strong and steady, her course straight. “My boat is around the wharf, just past the chemical plant. I figure we should go there to sort things out and think out our plan of action.”

“There you go again, we-ing all over the place. I told you I don’t need a partner. And just what were you planning on doing—walking into that place and taking the next customer who flashed the cash? You could get hurt bad trying that kind of act.”

“Oh, you’re just jealous because I could get in without paying to get some information. All I planned on doing was talking it up with the girls. Reneeta had arranged everything for me, but we had to make it look like I was just visiting, dressed proper for a visit with the girls, see, but not the visitors. Then you burst onto the scene and nearly get us hauled away to who knows where by two gorillas who think they know you! Man, if those are your friends, you might want to pick some new ones.”

“They weren’t friends; they were cops. And that house was their house. Those girls were their moneymakers. They thought I was cutting in on the action!”

“Lee was in deep over his head, and he didn’t even know it,” said Molly, voicing Sam’s thoughts.

“Um-hum. He had no idea what he was walking into, I bet.”

Molly maneuvered her rowboat toward a forty-two-foot wooden Chris Craft motorboat. Its shimmering golden sides reflected the water in the setting sun’s light, and its red coach roof sparkled to match the bronze ports. Tying the painter line of the dinghy to the boarding ladder, Molly gingerly stepped from the center of the tender to the ladder and climbed nimbly aboard. Looking over the stern rail to check momentarily on Sam’s progress, Molly soon disappeared below and turned on the cabin lights.

Quickly, Sam made his way aboard the well-maintained yacht. He guessed it to be a late 1960s or an early 1970s model, with its wooden hull and original fittings. Assuming it was Molly’s boat, Sam saw that she took good care of it. On the beamy aft deck were two captain’s chairs with deep navy blue cushions piped in red cording. A varnished teak table made from a cockpit grate stood squarely between the two chairs. The teak cockpit coaming and handrails that surrounded the vessel gleamed, too, the result of hours of sanding and varnishing, Sam knew. The same proper navy blue and red fabric continued in the salon and galley three steps down where Delft blue tiles lined the interior of the galley’s bulkheads and walls. Just ahead of the galley and yet another three steps down, Sam could see the entrance to the v-berth where Molly rustled through some drawers before coming back to the galley.

“Didn’t take you for a stink-potter, Molly. Is this your boat?”

“Yeah, it’s mine. I just finished her spring cleaning. Looks pretty good for an old girl, don’t you think?” Molly pulled on some wool socks, and then got busy in the galley. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!” Out of the upright refrigerator, she pulled two large king mackerel steaks, fresh asparagus, and crookneck yellow squash. She pointed to the settee and tossed Sam an onion. “Grab a knife from the top drawer and the cutting board from the counter and get to work. I want three thick slices for the fish and some chopped for the squash.”

Sam did as he was told. He watched Molly as she passed through the cabin and went out on the back deck where she lit a small propane grill mounted on the aft rail. Returning to the galley, she marinated the mackerel in a mix of olive oil, mustard, soy sauce, ginger, and honey. Once she was satisfied with the progress of her side dishes, she took the large slabs of onion from Sam and placed them on the grill first topped with the fish. She closed the lid and returned to the galley where she continued chopping vegetables and wrapping them in a foil pouch before putting them on the grill, too. She started a pot of rice on the galley stove, and when it was simmering, she handed Sam a dark Guinness Stout. Deftly opening her own beer, she tossed the dolphin-shaped bottle opener to Sam and sat across from him in the salon. Once Molly had found a pad of paper and pen from a small cabinet above the settee, she jotted down the names of the area’s surrounding towns of Southport, Navassa, Bald Head Island, the dates of Tommy’s death and Lee’s murder, and anything else that came to mind.

“You think those cops were running a prostitution ring in Navassa, right?” Molly took a long swig of her beer. “Do you think Lee got waxed because of them—or because of the drugs out of Southport?”

“I’m putting this thing together as you are, Molly. If the fine fellows we met in Navassa were in on the drugs too, and Lee found out while he was trying to help Reneeta or some of her friends, then he probably made the connection. Can we get your buddy Jimbo over here? There’s got to be more to it. I just can’t see it.”

“Sure; I know where he is. We’ll find him after we eat.”

Sam looked over Molly’s notes. He thought of his own notes and Lee’s tucked away on
Angel
.

“Plates are in the shelf there, and silverware is in this locker,” instructed Molly. “You serve up the rice and I’ll get the rest.” Molly got the mackerel and vegetables from the grill and loaded their plates. “If you need more, help yourself,” she said as she placed it all in the galley’s stove to keep it warm, then dove into her food. Not waiting for Sam to comment, Molly offered the background behind her fish recipe. “This recipe came from a cook in one of the restaurants over on the beach. By putting the onions down first, their flavor gets grilled into the fish, and they make it a lot easier to get the fish off the grill when it’s cooked.”

“Great!” Sam said, genuinely appreciative. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he got a taste of the food. It didn’t take long, and he was out of his seat getting more, offering some to Molly. When they were done, he washed the dishes while Molly finished her beer.

“I almost hate to ask, but whose car was that we drove this evening?”

“Then don’t ask. You probably wouldn’t like the answer.”

Chapter twenty-two

The row from Molly’s boat at Bennett’s Marina to Wilmington’s main docks at the edge of Riverfront Park was an easy one with Sam at the oars. Molly bundled up against the approaching night’s chill, and Sam warmed himself with each pull of the long wooden oars, a dull gray compared to the varnished yacht they rowed away from. Sam smiled when the gold-painted name on the stern registered:
Hullabaloo
.

Tying up at the covered wharf, Molly wove a skinny chain cinched off by a bike lock through the ends of both oars, the painter’s ring, and then under the supports of the piling that the dock rested upon. They walked to the Barbary Coast Bar, where Molly was sure they’d find Jimbo. She received and returned a hearty hello from some of the guys seated on high stools at the bar. Then she led Sam to the far end of the well-polished mahogany bar where the lights were not so bright and ordered two beers.

“What’s new, Reed?” she called to the bartender as he poured their beers.

“Same old, same old,” the grizzly-looking man said, eyeing Sam carefully. “I don’t think you’ve introduced me to your buddy here,” Reed said as he wiped his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder. The towel came to rest atop Reed’s cascading silvery hair.

“This is my cousin Justin. He’s visiting from Oklahoma. I’m just showing him around town for a few days before he heads off to his new post.”

Sam saw Reed relax a bit upon hearing Molly’s explanation, making him wonder about the apparent protective nature of their relationship.

“Navy, eh? I wondered about your short hair.” Reed pointed to Sam’s head. “What’s your next duty station?”

“I’m off to Norfolk for a while,” said Sam, falling into the bluff as fast as he could think. I was hoping my
cousin
could show me around a little so I could, you know, pay my respects to her brother. We were close as kids.”

Molly glared at him.

“Yeah, that was too bad about Tommy. We all miss him around here.” Reed nodded toward Molly, then moved on to help another customer with drink orders.

“Okay,
cuz
, what now? Do you see Jimbo here?” Sam turned slightly to Molly, his voice lowered.

“Oh, he’ll be along. He’s a creature of habit. Well, many habits, I guess you could say. This is his place, and he surfaces when he needs something.”

“How do you know he needs something?”

“The Jetta. He liberated it for me.” Molly smiled as she sipped her beer, arms leaning comfortably on the bar’s edge. “As a favor. I told him I’d round up some cash if he got me a car.”

“So you went to the whorehouse to get it?” Sam was amazed at the lengths to which he guessed this woman would go.

“Well, not exactly. But I have friends who owe favors, and so we all help each other out. I was going there to get information and to collect money intended for Deloris. It was a contribution from the girls there who were all sorry to hear what had happened, and they’ve each been putting away a little for her from every trick since Tommy’s death. But since you broke up our little tea party before it got started, I still had to come through with cash for Deloris and some more for Jimbo since he got me a car for our little adventure. I keep a stash aboard
Hullabaloo
, so I’ll just give Jimbo some and give the rest to Deloris so she can take Emily to Florida.”

“Sorry; I didn’t know,” said an embarrassed Sam. “But you really are asking for trouble. Maybe
you
need a better circle of friends.”

“We take what we get and make the best out of it.” Molly patted Sam’s arm in a motherly manner. “Besides, you’re going to get what you need out of tonight, don’t you worry.” She leaned back with a smile.

Sam looked away hurriedly, hoping to hide the blush of heat he felt rise to his cheeks.
She’s coming on to me, isn’t she?

“So where is Jimbo?” He scanned the room, taking in the mix of yuppies and freaks. A few young couples in trendy dress-code black outfits bejeweled with silver clung to each other on a small, makeshift dance floor, while older salts held court among their comrades in the dark red-clad booths rimming the room. Periodically, a blast of cool night air announced the arrival of tourists looking for the “real” Wilmington. Sam watched as they turned abruptly back to the door when they summed up the patrons inside. Sam imagined that they all looked scary to newcomers. And in the midst of the growing crowd, Reed and two waitresses appeased them all with the wail of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama.”

“There’s Jimbo.” Molly waved as a tall round-bearded man wearing a floppy hat ambled toward them from a bank of dimly lit booths.

“Hey, Jimbo! I want you to meet my cousin,” Molly said as they followed Jimbo back to his booth. She slid in on one side, and Sam sat down next to her. Jimbo took his place opposite them.

Jimbo looked from Sam to Molly and back again. Turning to Sam, he said, “Hello, ‘cousin of Molly’; name’s Jimbo.” He thrust out his hand for a shake.

“Justin,” Sam said as they shook hands. “Molly tells me you knew my cousin, Tommy.”

“Cousin?” Jimbo laughed. “Molly, who are you trying to kid?” Jimbo waved over a waitress and ordered a round of beers. “This guy’s a cop.”

“How’d you know?” Molly spilled the beans.

“I can smell ’em a mile away. Are you in trouble again, Molly?” Jimbo grinned.

“Not me, Jimbo. He’s the one in trouble.” She slowly pointed a finger at Sam. “I’m just trying to help him out of it before he gets what Tommy got.”

“Oh, I see. How’d you get messed up with this, pal?” Jimbo helped the skinny waitress with her loaded tray by passing out the mugs and helping himself to the pitcher.

“Name’s Sam McClellan. My partner was actually the one who got messed up with it. He was trying to help some folks to get out of the way, and he got killed because he knew too much.”

“And now they’re coming after you,” Jimbo finished Sam’s thoughts.

“Yep. Somebody thinks I know too much, too; but all I got are pieces to the puzzle. I’m hoping you can help me with one of them.”

“Shoot.”

“Well, we know what’s going on, and we think we know what happened to Tommy. Tonight, we learned about something happening in Navassa that may or may not be connected….”

“It is,” Jimbo offered.

“Okay, so there’s that. My partner hid a sheet of numbers, perhaps a code, before he was killed. I wonder if you know what it means.” Sam wrote the series of numbers on a napkin, 2118717. He turned it around for Jimbo to see.

Jimbo snorted. “That’s the whole world to these folks, man. The route.”

Sam looked puzzled.

“The triangle, man. The roads’ numbers form a triangle!” Jimbo traced a triangle on the table, starting from a condensation circle his mug left on the wood. “The road into Southport, 211, is known as the local route for mules and carriers. The road between Southport and Wilmington, 87, is the regional route and pays lots more. And the highway, U.S. 17, is known as the route extending the reach far beyond the region, the highest paid route of all.”

“That triangle is what somebody’s protecting.” It was more of a statement than a question that Sam posed, looking first at Molly, then at Jimbo. He drank from his mug and continued. “Tommy wanted to get out of it, but he couldn’t get away fast enough. One of the ‘girls’ in Navassa called my partner in to help her get out, and he stumbled into the triangle; then he got eliminated. Now, whoever is in charge is coming after me. It fits.” He hesitated before continuing. “Deloris told me you and another guy hid on the boat when Tommy was killed. She said you swam to shore, to Bald Head. How is it that you are still alive to tell me this?”

Jimbo looked around for a minute, then lowered his voice. “Because I’m dead.”

Molly chuckled nervously for her friend.

“Dead?” Sam asked.

“Dead. I been hiding out ever since that night. They’ve come looking for me I’ve been told, but so far, I been keeping one step ahead. I am going to be leaving town pretty soon. Just need to get up enough money to last me a while. Molly, did you get what you said you would?”

Molly reached into her pocket and pulled out a small purple Crown Royale sack. She held it in her lap for a second before nodding. Without a word, she lifted both of her hands onto the table and placed them into Jimbo’s outstretched hands, making a transfer. Then she leaned over the table and kissed him gently. “Use it well, Jimbo. And thanks for getting the car for me.”

“No problem. You should see the beaut I’ve got lined up for my…vacation.”

“Where are you going?” Sam asked.

“Can’t say for sure. I plan to see where the wind’s going to take me. I got all my stuff ready, and now that I got this,” he nodded toward his hands, still folded on the table, “I guess I got no reason to stay.” He took a long drink from his mug and started to get up. “You know who did it, don’t you?”

“I have a hunch you do,” Sam said.

“Yep. Johnson’s your man,” Jimbo whispered. “But if you have to get proof to take him down, you can start by getting in on the action yourself. You need to talk to Johnson’s general manager. I just knew him as Mr. Walters. He’s a retired shrimper in Southport who has a handle on schedules if you want to pretend to be runners. The only way to reach him, though, is to go to the source: Johnson’s.”

Jimbo stood tall, rearranged the now-exposed pillow stashed beneath his loud Hawaiian-print shirt, and tipped his hat to Molly. “Stay out of trouble, girl. And thanks.” He patted a pocket he’d filled with the purple sack. Turning to Sam, he winked, “And you keep her out of trouble, will ya, pal?”

Sam nodded and raised his hand to salute Jimbo. “Will do. You stay out of trouble, too.” Sam watched Jimbo amble away, tipping his hat to Reed as he exited the bar into the rush of cool night air.

“You would have done that for him at Navassa, wouldn’t you?” Sam whispered to Molly when he caught her eye again. “Why?”

“Trust,” she whispered.

“You are suggesting something?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Friends like Jimbo are hard to find. He has gone way beyond the call of duty in trying to help me through this mess. He’s helped Deloris and Emily. He’s really a good guy, and I would hate to see anything happen to him. Right after the…accident, Jimbo headed straight for Deloris’ place to be sure she was safe. The other crewman, Terry Cooper, hitched a ride on a sailboat heading north that very day they’d washed ashore, and nobody’s heard from him since. Anyway, everything Jimbo had stashed away was taken from him when a bunch of goonies trashed his apartment a few days later. He knows who it was, but he can’t do anything about it because he’s afraid they’ll kill him. He’s probably right, so he’s been hanging out in places they wouldn’t think to look. Sometimes, he’d stay aboard my boat. When he told me what he knew, I figured he was a dead man. And since he’s been good to me and what’s left of our family, I wanted to help him out. Yeah, I would’ve done whatever it took to get him some cash. That’s what friends are for. Just like you and your friend, Lee. You trusted him, and he was obviously trying to keep you out of this mess by not telling you about it. Now you are trying to avenge his death.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Isn’t it? You’re not on duty, and you’re still digging. I’d say that qualifies as seeking revenge.” Molly took a sip from her beer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the little girls’ room.” Molly scooted out from the booth and confidently walked through the bar toward the back of the room.

Sam looked at the bar’s patrons. He’d driven by this place a few times, but he’d never taken the opportunity to come inside. It felt like a favorite old pair of sneakers: dirty, ragged, smelly, well worn, comfy…the kind of shoes that just can’t be thrown away. The people at the bar looked much the same way. Molly probably fit in tight with them, except…except she was not like them.
She fits in this place because she knows the people, but she’s not
one
of them
, Sam thought.

He blatantly stared at her as she returned. He noted her jeans fit her snugly, accentuating her small hips and legs, so thin that her thighs didn’t touch when she walked. She had taken time to smooth down her wild hairs a bit and to put on fresh lipstick. This time, it was pale pink. Her cheeks were rosy from the drinks, and her eyes sparkled. He’d seen that look before, and he knew she would be easy pickings if he wanted to pursue things tonight. He quickly played “what-if” scenarios like fast-forwarded vignettes: if they went back to her boat, he could see how far things would go, or what if he played the gentleman and offered to sleep on the settee? Maybe he should forget the whole thing and call a cab to go fetch his truck and then drive back to…oh, right, no dinghy ride available out to
Angel.
Must do something about that.

Sam took another sip of beer before pushing his mug away. He stood when Molly arrived back at the table, nodding toward the door before she could get comfortably seated in the booth.

“Ready to go?”

“What’s your hurry, Sam?” Molly looked dejected.

“I don’t think this is a good place to discuss…plans. Come on; I’ll take you back to your boat. I’ll row,” he offered.

“Suppose you’re right,” Molly brightened, “though we could make a night of it and go to another bar.”

Sam heard the interest in her voice, but he shook his head. “Another time. We really should be careful, you know?” With a hand squarely on her back, he steered her toward the door and then down the street toward the docks.

Scanning passersby for any signs of recognition or trouble, Sam was running more scenarios through his head at a fast clip: what if somebody were tailing them…watching them? Maybe it was the power of suggestion, but for a split second, Sam thought he heard quickening footsteps behind him.
Nobody would try anything on this busy street of downtown Wilmington
, he thought. Still, he took Molly’s arm, urging her to speed up.

Knowing they would be lost to the darkness of night as soon as they reached the black waters of Cape Fear, Sam’s pace quickened. Then he remembered that the dinghy was chained to the dock, and taking time to unlock it might give a pursuer the upper hand. Sam pulled Molly into a small courtyard and quickly they were absorbed by the dark and the jazz music of the Waterfront Restaurant, just steps away from the riverfront docks.