Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) (28 page)

Brick yelled, “BITSY!”

Fab slid down the banister and laughed when she veered off over the side. I cut around her, tugged on her shirt, and detoured her away from the women’s bathroom.

“Hey, Bitsy,” I yelled. “You can come out now, we’re leaving. See you next time.”

Fab laughed. “Brick’s standing in his office window, I dare you to turn and give him the finger.”

I turned and waved up to him. “You didn’t really think I was going to do that, did you?”

“A girl can hope.”

I stopped at Bitsy’s desk and took a huge handful of wrapped chocolate peppermints; I shoved them in my pocket and gave Brick the thumbs up. “You get me in trouble and Mother won’t let us play together.”

“Your mother would’ve given him the finger. She told me once it makes her face hurt to be nice to him, holding a silly smile in place.”

I threw the envelope on the back seat. “The Pointe for a quick look around?”

“Program that thing.” Fab pointed to the GPS and said, “Quickest route so I’m not forced to stop at red lights.”

“Who do you know with computer-hacking skills?” I asked. “We can’t try the key on every unit at a storage place. Give your hacker the names Gabriel would use, and see if he has a unit anywhere, get us the number. If we have to, we’ll rent a unit close by while we check out Gabriel’s.”

Fab picked up her phone. “Gunz needs to get on that.” He rarely answered his phone, so she left a message.

CHAPTER 38

The beach along Ocean Drive is spectacular, with endless white sand. I watched the joggers sweating on the jogging path. A barrier island of Miami Beach, in the heart of the art deco district, it dominates with its preserved buildings, outdoor restaurants, and shopping.

“We could stop and go for a walk,” I said.

“The only time I did that, I wanted to shoot you, picking up shells every stinking step. I’ll buy you a damn bag.”

“You’ve promised that before and not a single shell, let alone a whole bag, showed up in the kitchen.” I made a sad face at Fab.

“Your phone’s ringing.” Fab hit the brakes, just missing rolling over the biker who pulled into traffic without looking.

“It’s Creole,” I told her, looking at the screen.

“Why are you two headed to Gabriel’s condo?” he asked as soon as I answered.

I caught my breath and hung up on him. “He knows we’re headed to the condo. How? Is he behind us?”

Fab checked her side and rearview mirrors. “I always have an eye out for tail.” 

My phone rang again. “Answer it,” Fab hissed. “Speaker.” She shook her finger.

“Did you hang up on me?” Creole demanded.

“We get disconnected and you take it personally?” I rolled down the window so air would blow in his ear and he’d hang up.

“What the hell are you two up to now?” Creole asked.

“We’re checking out the garage to see if they have storage places. Satisfied? In and out, less than five minutes.”

“I can save you a trip. I’ve already checked out the garage from one end to other. Now turn around and go home,” Creole said.

“You have my word,” Fab spoke out. She pulled into the beach parking lot, jumped out, and started looking around the underside of the Hummer.

“Next time you put me on speaker phone, give me a heads up,” Creole said.

“Here’s a heads up—good-bye,” I said. “What are you looking for?”

“Just a hunch.” Fab grabbed a beach towel from the back and got down on the ground on her back. “Look what I found.” She withdrew a small black box and threw it on the ground. “Tracking device.”

Fab got behind the wheel and drove over it and then backed over it again for good measure. I picked up the flattened mess and got back in on the passenger side.

My phone rang as Fab inserted her card in the underground garage security box, the gate opening.

“You’re a bastard,” I told Creole. “You want to know what hanging up on you sounds like?” I pushed the End Call button and turned off the phone.

We drove around the garage and Creole was right, nothing but a couple of large trash areas. I looked around. “Don’t you think it’s odd that with a bunch load of units, there are five cars parked down here? A couple of them junkie.”

“Beach pads for millionaires. Creole told me he checked out the owner list, most had questionable connections.”

I looked at my watch. “I need to get back to The Cove for car wash class.” 

“I’m coming with you. You’re not going to know something I don’t,” Fab said.

“Are you my driver today, because after the class I need to go out to Pigeon Key to see Mr. Ivers?”

“That old man is going to walk all over you. Aren’t you under budget on the renovations? And where’s the money?” Fab stuck her palm out.

“I’m terrible at demanding money. What I really want is to buy the entire property from Ivers. I could own the whole block: trailer park, roach coach, that cute abandoned building, and the car wash. I already own Jake’s.”

“And do what with it?” Fab felt my forehead.

“It has potential.” I knocked her hand away. “Watch where you’re going! If someone puts a bullet hole in my vehicle from road rage, you’re paying to get it repaired.”

* * *

We pulled into Clean Bubbles and saw that the new sign had been installed. It would glow neon pink, white, and green at night, a Flamingo in the corner. The building itself was freshly painted turquoise and white, with a pink roof. All the equipment was new and shiny silver. The gang had assembled. Mac waved and put her phone away. Apple and Angie huddled together looking scared, poised for flight.

“Why did you hire those two train wrecks?” Fab asked.

“Who else do I know? Look at them, cut offs, butt cheeks showing, and tight T-shirts. Sexy looking girls sprawled across a hood, bubbles everywhere, now that will sell.”

“You so owe me. Next sixteen jobs, you’re my backup,” Fab said.

“Stop with the faces. Everything is automated; we learn how the machines work and leave.”

* * *

I grabbed Brick’s manila envelope from off the backseat. “This address is down by the docks, not far from Mercy House.” I thumbed through the eviction notices. “Must be an old apartment building, there are twenty-five notices here.”

“We’ll drive by and check it out, but it might have to wait until morning.” Fab cut straight across the two lanes of the Overseas, making a left turn.

The area was old and run down, mostly commercial. We turned the corner. The street ran along an inlet of water on one side, water views for abandoned buildings. The other side had a couple of dilapidated buildings that would blow down in the next hurricane. The building in question had a faded sign that read, “Rooming House.” It was a three-story red brick building with plastic chairs lined up in the front, a couple of gray-haired men enjoying the cigarette they passed between them.

The building looked quiet, along with the neighborhood. No undesirables loitering. I walked over to the gentlemen enjoying the sun. “Do you live here?”

“Yes, honey, we do.” One of the men smiled at me. He enjoyed a full head of hair and a friendly face; he’s probably someone’s grandfather. “You need help? We don’t get anyone pretty in this neighborhood.”

“Who lives in this building?” I asked, a bad feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. Looking up, most of the windows were open; a few with flowers on the sill.

“What’s it to you?” the other man asked. A hard life stripped his charm, it showed in his heavily lined face.

I held up the envelope. “In here is a stack of eviction notices and before I go banging door to door, I’d like to know what to expect.”

“Edward,” the first man said, holding out his weathered hand. “We’ve been expecting them. How much time we got?” 

Fab stepped up and shook his hand; I saw the confusion on his face. Fab leaned in and whispered to him, he smiled at her. “What’s the story?”

The other man held his hand out to Fab. “Winston.” He looked her over and liked what he saw. He hung on a little too long for Fab. She jerked her hand back and gave him her creepy smile. Winston laughed, clearly smitten.

“Turns out we’re squatting on prime real estate,” Edward told us. “Not sure when they made that decision. Last fifty years it’s been a flop-hole for folks with limited means.”

Winston lapsed into a coughing fit, hawking spit on the sidewalk. “Some developers bought up the block. The suits came in with big plans to run out the old folks and rehabilitate the area, bringing revenue to the city and fat cat builders. There’s a bunch of greedy bastards in bed together.”

I hated Brick. “Is everyone in the building a senior?”

Edgar nodded. “We’ve known about it for a while but affordable places are hard to find and rents are ridiculous. It’s not the greatest building but we keep it up, fix everything ourselves, pooling money for parts.”

“We don’t have anywhere else to go, do you get that?” Winston asked, his face red from his coughing fit and now anger. “We’ll be tossed out on the street. Happy then?”

“Do you have a lawyer?” I asked.

Fab caught my eye and shook her head. A warning look on her face that signaled,
Don’t get involved
.

“We share an occasional cigarette; do you think we have money for a fancy mouthpiece?” Winston glared up at me.

“We had a retired lawyer helping us out, but he died,” Edward said. He tried to light the cigarette again, nothing but filter left.

“What are the plans for this neighborhood?” I pulled my hair off my neck and tried to put it back in a ponytail, but the rubber band broke, forcing me to let it hang.

“Fancy boat marina, new docks, fish market, restaurant, and a T-shirt store,” Edward said.

“Didn’t anyone official come by, offering relocation assistance?” I knew the law and they were entitled to moving expenses.

“Don’t you get it, we can’t afford it?” Winston wheezed. “Some of us are looking as far away as Miami at pay-by-the-week motels.”

I motioned to Fab to get me a business card. We kept extras in the ashtray along with spare change. Fab handed me a bunch along with a pen. I scribbled my name on the back and handed one to Edward. “Write down your number. Maybe I can find some help for you.”

“What about your notices?” Winston looked at me with suspicion.

“I’m not serving them. I can’t promise the bastard who sent me won’t hire someone else. If someone else does show up, call me,” I said. “You’ll have a couple days’ reprieve because I won’t tell my client I didn’t do the job.”

“You might get in trouble.” Edward looked amused but worried. He knew his stay would be a short one.

“I’m going to try to bribe a lawyer to help you. If that doesn’t work, I’ll contact the Herald newspaper and see if someone is willing to do a front page story.”

“You always such a do-gooder?” Winston snorted. “Give me one of them cards.”

“No promises. I’ll stay in touch.” I walked around to the driver’s side door. “Move over, I’m driving.”

“You’re mean.” Fab sulked, crawling across the seat. “I take it you’re going to call Brick and tell him to stick the job.”

“I’m going to string Brick along until I can find them a lawyer.” I squealed down the street, Fab style.

“Brick miscalculated big time. He should’ve sent me on this job,” Fab said. “I would’ve taped the notices in the middle of the night and been gone. He probably thought I’d shoot an old person. Which I wouldn’t do, just so you know. I could’ve told Brick sending you would turn into a long-lasting migraine.”

I laughed. “I know you don’t shoot people indiscriminately.”

“You’re prolonging the inevitable.” Fab pointed her fingers frantically, doing her side seat driving, letting me know I could make a lane change. “Eventually, they’ll all have to move.”

CHAPTER 39

The Mercedes again. I recognized the car as the one sitting in front of my house on several occasions. Fab stood in the middle of the street, talking to a well-dressed man; must be a new client. Not a local, that’s for sure. The man popped the trunk, motioning to Fab. Fab got within a foot of the car and jerked away. He produced a stun gun and pressed it to her neck; she dropped to the ground, shaking violently. In a swift movement, the man bent over, pulled her hands to the front of her body, cuffed them, and pitched her body in the trunk, slamming the lid. He brushed his hands on his pants and slid behind the wheel.

It happened so fast, I wondered how many women he’d kidnapped. I squealed around the corner after the rapidly disappearing car. My first instinct was to ram the back end, but Fab could end up seriously hurt or worse. I watched enough NASCAR to know that on the straight away I could spin him by hitting him in either rear corner. I jammed my foot on the gas and before he could turn the corner on to a main street of traffic, rammed the corner of the bumper. He went into a swerve, recovered, and shot out into traffic amongst screeching brakes and honking horns.

I struggled to keep up as he sped up the Overseas Highway, threatening to disappear at any minute. When the Mercedes veered off Highway 1, I breathed a sigh knowing he’d have to slow down, because it was a cop trap. Anyone from around here knew that stretch of highway to be lucrative for the city, in speeding tickets.

I hit speed dial and the phone started ringing on Zach’s end. Two rings later, it went to voicemail. He diverted the call or it would have rang longer before going to voicemail. I hit the button again, hoping he’d realize it was important and pickup. No such luck; he turned his phone off.

“Wait until he asks me, ‘Why didn’t you call me first,’” I said to myself.

I settled in behind another car and followed the Mercedes up Highway 1 at a distance. I was clearly out of options, except for shooting out the tires, and that might land me in jail. I instantly hit Creole’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“I need your help,” I said, almost hysterically. “Fab’s been kidnapped–– zapped with a taser, and thrown into the trunk of a black Mercedes, body style sedan, brand new, no plates, rear end damage.”

“Where are you?” he yelled. “You’re on speaker. I’m in Harder’s office, he’s calling it in.”