Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series) (12 page)

Fab rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but I already have a friend and she’s not going anywhere or I’ll shoot her.”

“I don’t think either of us has offered you our condolences. We met your father through Tolbert and we both liked him a lot,” I said.

“Thank you.” Violet looked at Fab. “We can talk when the estate is settled.” She waved and walked to her car parked at the curb.

“She makes my skin crawl,” Fab said.

“I do know from past experience that a death in the family brings out the absolute greed in people.”

Taking a sip of orange water, I eased onto the wooden recliner with its colorful overstuffed pillows, enjoying the hummingbirds as they flittered and fed off the planter at the far side of the pool. Jazz lay stretched out alongside my legs. The bright sky boasted not a single cloud, allowing the sun to warm the tropical flowers encouraging them to open and bloom. I loved my home, and truth be told, I never wanted to move, which was a sticking point in my relationship with Zach. The backyard had become my haven, my favorite place to allow me to think, and a swim always cleared my muddled mind.

Fab had poured herself a glass of wine, throwing her towel onto the twin recliner next to mine. “What are you doing about finding that cat?”

“I could ask you the same question.” I looked up from my laptop and she made a grunting noise which I ignored. “I made a list of all the animal shelters in the Keys and have called and scanned a photo to four of them and I’m waiting to hear back from the other two. And you?”

“I’m a delegator. The one with the best cat skills wins, and that would be you.”

“You’ve got one cat vote, Jazz adores you. Let’s play some pool basketball?”

“Our game’s going to have to wait.” She inclined her head to the fence. “Do you have your Glock?” she whispered.

Three dark-suited men walked into the backyard, dark hair, and dark sunglasses. In Florida heat only a real bad-ass shows up in a suit and expensive loafers, with gold watches that screamed “look at how much money I spent,” rather than telling the time. The leader would be the one front and center; the other two flanked each side and a respectful step behind.

This had to be a first: neither one of us had a gun. I was happy to be sitting down, since no way this would be good news. Fab and I must be in silent agreement as we didn’t say a word, waiting on our guests.

“Miss Westin, I presume,” the leader said.

I shook my head in agreement. “And you are?”

Fab sat up and the backup on the left pulled his gun, while the other moved his jacket aside to give an ample view of his shoulder holster and rather large cannon, appearing to me to be a Smith and Wesson magnum of a large caliber.

He ignored my question. “I don’t take kindly to you murdering one of my associates, Carlos Osa.”

“Madison didn’t murder him, and it was self-defense.” Fab sneered at him.

I don’t think it was her words, but rather the tone of her voice and absolute contempt that drew his anger.

“If one more word comes out of that disrespectful mouth of yours, I’ll have my man here tie you up and gag you. Understood?” he seethed in controlled anger. “Answer me.”

“Yes, I understand,” she answered softly.

“Miss Westin, I will ask the questions, you will answer. I issue the orders and you will follow them to the letter. Anything that you don’t understand so far?”

“What do you want?” As an afterthought I added, “No.” With each step in my direction, fear raced down my spine.

“Your former associate, Jake Ellis, owes me a lot of money and I want every cent back. Since he’s fled town and sold his interest in Jake’s to you, it is now your debt to pay.” He kicked a chair around and lounged back, controlling his anger for the moment, staring at me almost eye level.

“According to my lawyer, none of his gambling debts were secured by the bar.” I held tight to any facial emotion.

“Your lawyer is a jackass. Jake negotiated a deal to discharge all of his debt in exchange for the bar. Now you’re going to sign it over to me,” he growled, his voice carrying authority.

Of course Jake would screw anyone to save his loathsome neck. “I’ll need to see the signed contract.”

The leader snapped his fingers. “You didn’t listen to my rules.”

I hadn’t noticed that the second man had a briefcase. He snapped open the locks, pulling out paperwork and handing it to the man in charge.

He reached inside his jacket pocket and produced a shiny silver pen, and, placed it on the top of the contract, handing it to me. “Sign by the Xs. There are three, I believe.”

“This isn’t Jake’s contract,” I said, trying to skim; too nauseous to concentrate on the legalese.

“Very astute of you. Now sign,” he ordered.

“Why would I do this?” I asked.

“Because I’m asking nicely. You can refuse, but then I’ll be forced to apply persuasive and painful means until you agree to sign, saying ‘please and thank you.’ And after that, you’ll require an additional pain-filled lesson for wasting my time.” He snapped his fingers and the man reached inside the briefcase, removing a pair of cable cutters.

I had heard a vague story once from Jake about the use of the cutters, and their abilities to snap off one finger at a time.

Fab hissed and I knew his threat would be excruciatingly painful, and was to be avoided at all costs. “What assurances do I have that you’ll not kill us?” I surprised myself by not emptying the contents of my stomach onto the flagstone.

“My word.” He bared his teeth.

I was out of options and I hated this position. I turned to Fab. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Love you.”

She nodded back and mouthed, “Me too.”

“That’s fucking sweet, now sign. I’m out of patience and you’ll find that I’m extremely disagreeable when that happens.” The man behind him flexed the pliers open and closed.

I clicked the pen, scanned the page, and signed at the bottom of the first page. I ran my finger over the next couple of pages, speed reading, slowing for legal terms that jumped off the page. “This contract is for the entire block, which I don’t own. Jake never had anything to do with Clean Bubbles.”

“You will own the block soon enough, thanks to Ivers, and the contract covers those provisions. Consider it payment for interest and my inconvenience.”

I wanted to stall for time but to do what?  Jazz looked at me and meowed. I ran my hands along his back and, thankfully, he laid his head down and went back to sleep. I flipped to the last page, for the last two signatures. I hoped he would keep to his word and not kill us, barring that a quick bullet beat torture.

“Hey, over here gentlemen.” Creole came through the back the same way as my uninvited guests.

The two bodyguards whirled around, brandishing their weapons, and both were shot from different directions. Fab flew off the lounger and inserted her foot in the leader’s chest, kicking him backward off his chair, a resounding crack to the back of his head, spattering blood on the cement in more than one place.

Didier came through the French doors, and sat his smoking gun on the patio table. He swooped Fab off her feet and into his arms and pressed her hard to his chest so that all you could see was her long brown hair.

So this is what Creole looks like undercover; I watched as the scruffy-looking thug handcuffed both men on the ground. They screamed when he jerked their arms back. He wore his baseball cap slung low coupled with dark glasses that concealed the rest of his face. His blue jeans and T-shirt were ripped and torn and he had the dirtiest bare feet I’ve ever seen.

“You’ll pay,” one of the guys on the ground said. Creole answered with a hard kick to the ribs.

“Fab, call Harder.” When she hesitated, Creole yelled, “Now. And speak only to him.” He cleared the space between us and pulled me into his arms. “You so owe me,” he whispered.

I clung to him. He was lethal and impressive in action and I liked it. And disappointed, didn’t death survivors get kissed?
One of his kisses would distract my mind from the blood trickling down the face of the man lying on the patio.

Fab handed Creole her phone and he walked away so that no one could hear the conversation. Fab had other intentions, and when she took a step in his direction, Didier drug her back to his side. His blue eyes bore into her and he said something in French, and from the tone of his voice he wasn’t kidding around. She stretched up his torso, locking her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

Fab stage-whispered, “I told the woman who answered, ‘This is Madison Westin and I need to speak to Harder personally.’”

“You couldn’t say Mr. or Detective?” I asked. “If you’re going to impersonate me, at least be polite.”

“Like he’d take a call from me,” she snickered.

I jumped off the chaise and pointed to the ringleader who up until now lay still, but had started to groan and move. “This one’s coming around.”

This time Didier let Fab go, and she dashed into the house, returning with a pair of cuffs. Creole intercepted her, turned the man over, cuffed him, and left him face down. “Their ride will be here in a few.”

“Thanks, Didier,” Creole said, exchanging some kind of secret guy code thing back and forth. “He drove up, saw these three prowling around and called. Since I wasn’t far away, I cut my business deal short and instructed him to wait. Nice shot, by the way. Who would’ve thought that a pretty boy such as yourself could shoot and hit something?”

Fab gave Creole the finger. “How dare you,” she said. If Didier hadn’t gripped the back of her shirt she’d have launched herself on Creole.

“Cherie,” Didier said quietly.

“He insulted you by insinuating you’re a sissy.” She turned and yelled at Creole. “I don’t think so.”

Didier turned her face back to his and gave her the biggest smile I’d ever seen out of him, swooping down on her mouth with a crushing kiss.

Two blue jean-clad cops strolled into the backyard, badges hanging from their waist, 9mm Glocks holstered to their sides. They nodded to Creole. They each jerked a man off of the ground and drug them out the side fence. It didn’t take long before they were back for the main guy.

“Do I have to worry they’ll be back?” I asked Creole. “Why is there no ambulance and a bunch of sheriff cars?”

“The Frank brothers are getting the VIP treatment. We’ve wanted them, have them, and we’re not sharing with locals. They have a laundry list of charges that will keep them in jail for a long time. They’re being hand-delivered to Harder at the jail hospital, who’s salivating at their arrival,” Creole said. “I have to go back to work. Are you okay?” He looked me over.

“I’m fine.” I had a really crappy day, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, I turned away, blinking back tears as I walked into the house. Couldn’t he just figure out that I needed another hug on his own and not make me ask for it?

I walked into the house, everything eerily quiet. Fab and Didier were nowhere in sight. I grabbed my phone off the kitchen island. “Would you come spend the night?” I started to cry.

The bedroom door opened. Mother blew in and flopped down onto the bed, hugging me. “The house has never been this quiet. Fab has that ridiculous ribbon on the door knob.”

“This has been an awful day. Another brush with death.” I put my head on her chest and gave her the gritty details of the trailer park and Professor Crum; saving the best for last—three suited men holding guns to extort me for Jake’s old debts, avoiding any details about Creole except to say that he and Didier were life savers.

Mother rubbed my back as I related the details, a super power she’d used since I was a kid to calm me down; works every time, like a kiss to a skinned knee or a cut finger. “Thanks for coming.” I kissed her cheek. “Would you go to The Cottages with me? New tenant, new problem.”

“I’ve got my Beretta,” Mother said, and patted her purse. “My friend, Jean, got her concealed license and we both take target practice once a week. You should see the instructor, bulging muscles, dimply smile.”

“Spoon know you have a wandering eye?”

“You better not tell him,” she laughed.

* * *

I cruised into the driveway of The Cottages and drawn into the middle of the asphalt with chalk was a hopscotch diagram; Mac was jumping the squares, Shirl cheering her on, holding a beer.

“Aren’t they a little old for that game?” Mother said, watching in fascination. “Their boobs are taking a beating, both of them are under-supported.”

A cool breeze blew in off the Gulf as we got out of the SUV, and I surveyed the property. Joseph waved from his chair in front of his door, Svetlana straddling his body. Mother didn’t know about the new girlfriend, so I’d have to introduce them and watch her reaction.

Shirl put her arm around Mac. “We’re working off nervous energy. Mac thinks you’re going to fire her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m considering tying Mac to a chair and making her stay here 24/7.”

Both of them made faces.

Kathy’s red pick-up truck blew into the driveway with her behind the wheel. Two men were crammed alongside her, one being her elusive husband. I waved and walked in their direction. Ron grabbed Kathy’s hand and met me halfway.

“This is my husband, Ron,” she introduced. To look at them together you’d never guess the twenty-year age difference; drugs had taken their toll on him, and he looked older and haggard.

Ron looked like he’d slept on the beach and was in desperate need of a shower. He mumbled something unintelligible and looked bored. “Nice to meet you,” he finally said, like a recalcitrant child. Kathy looked in better shape with a knee-length, form-fitting cotton dress, no underwear, the back tucked between her butt cheeks.

“I just received a phone call from my bank that your cashier’s check is fraudulent,” I told her, waiting for a reaction.

Kathy never flinched, showing no emotion, she smiled. “I found out about that myself and I’m on way to the bank.” She patted Ron on the shoulder. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, don’t worry I’ll take care of it.”