Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) (11 page)

“Fab’s being arraigned for first degree murder,” Creole said.

“You told me you didn’t have any evidence against her!” I yelled.

“The District Attorney decided otherwise, did an end run around Harder, and had Fab arrested in his office, in front of Cruz. Harder was livid, the D.A. screwed him big time with Cruz.”

“Why would he do that?” I asked.

“She! Ana Sigga thinks she has a case without needing any further investigation.”

“What’s the bail?” I asked. Murder One, the bail will be high.

“It’s been set at ten million.”

“Dollars?” The amount sucked the breath out of me. Even with ten percent, that’s a million, cash, not to be refunded.

“Stay calm. Cruz is a kick ass lawyer. He demanded the case be fast-tracked and scheduled an evidentiary hearing to make the D.A. prove up her case. Fab won’t be in jail long.”

“Have you been to jail?” I demanded. “One hour is too long. Especially when you know you’re innocent. The fear that you might not be able to prove your innocence fills your entire being. I need a favor.”

“I can’t and won’t break her out,” Creole said.

It seemed like the only people to slip out of lockout were hard-core criminals. “Get me a jail visit tomorrow or the next day. Anytime.”

“I’ll see what I can do and give you a call back.”

I hung up feeling sick. Any bondsman, and that included Brick, would want upfront money in cash and the rest in assets. Brick might wave the assets, but I didn’t have the million dollars. I knew that if you post through a bonding company that amount doesn’t get refunded, it’s considered their fee. The only way to get all your money back is to post the whole ten million with the court clerk.

CHAPTER 15

I turned onto my street; Brad’s truck was parked in front of the house. Mother, as good as she is, would never be able to dance around all this drama and keep it to herself. If I were her, I’d just blurt everything out. Brad complains all the time about being left out. Dump every last bit of excruciating detail on him, maybe he won’t ask in the future.

I tried to sneak a peek in the kitchen window where Mother and Brad sat at the island and both waved.

Brad beat me to the door. “How’s tricks?” I knew by his tone of voice that Mother had come clean. The question was much she had revealed. We hugged.

“I hope Mother’s cooking. Can I borrow some money?”

Brad’s eyebrows shot up. “How much?”

“Ten million.”

I actually rendered him speechless—his mouth fell open and I wanted to laugh.

Before Brad could respond, Mother asked, “Where’s Fab?”

“Miami Jail.” I told them everything Creole told me but in a tabloid headline style, my favorite way to relate bad news. I fished the ringing foghorn out of my pocket. I changed the ring tone again, the more annoying the better.

“Speak of the devil,” I answered. “Good news this time?”

“Did you know that when an inmate gets booked, it takes about a week for the paperwork to make it over to the visitation unit?” Creole asked.

I counted to three. “You’re telling me that you couldn’t get me an appointment? Guess what?” I yelled. “I’ll get my own appointment and I’ll be seeing her tomorrow!” I threw the phone, bouncing it off the wall. I stopped counting, it only gave me time to get madder.

Brad leaned down, scooped up the pieces of the phone, and put it back together. “What was that all about?”

As soon as Brad turned the phone on, it rang again. He looked at the screen. “It’s Creole again.”

“Reject the call. Do you mind if I call your boyfriend?” I asked Mother.

“You told me you and Spoon were just friends.” Brad glared at Mother, forcing her to look at him.

“Get over it. They’re already friendly.” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything graphic. “We should all go out to dinner. You two should have a lot in common; you’re about the same age.”

“He’s not that much younger than me,” Mother sighed. “Get to know him before you decide to hate him. If you decide you really don’t like him, I’ll stop seeing him.”

Brad might believe that lie, but no woman is going to walk away from a man who makes her happy and makes her laugh.

Mother’s phone started ringing. She looked at me and answered. “Okay, hold on. Creole says your appointment is at four tomorrow afternoon.” She held her phone out.

“How did you make that happen so fast?”

“You cost me five bucks.” I’d clearly stepped on Creole’s last nerve. “Grow up, it’s juvenile to hang up, and you did it before I could tell you about your appointment.”

“You gave me some jive about waiting a week. What’s up with the five dollars?”

“Harder got you the appointment and laughed his head off when you hung up on me. Bet me you’d call one of your criminal friends and get the appointment. And you were doing just that weren’t you?”

I ignored his question. “I’ll give you ten dollars for getting me the appointment.”

“Don’t ever hang up on me again,” Creole replied.

“Yes, sir,” I sighed. “I still don’t understand what happened today.”

“My informant, who’s on top of courtroom gossip, tells me Fab had an affair with the D.A.’s husband.”

“If that’s true, why is she on the case? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Maybe someone ought to mention it to Cruz,” Creole said.

“I know just the person.”

Creole laughed. “I bet you do. Tell Fabiana that I have a friend or two at the woman’s jail and I’ll pull strings to get her an extra blanket or something.”

“I would owe you big. Let me know if you hear anything.” This time I said good-bye before hanging up.

“I get to see Fab tomorrow,” I told Mother and Brad.

Mother looked at me suspiciously. “I thought you were turning in the Hummer.” 

“Brick had to choose between me and his seventeen-year-old nephew who recently drowned his last vehicle, and I won.”

Brad asked, “Is that the moron who flew off the Overseas around Marathon Key, tying up traffic for hours?”

“Wait just a second. What do you have to do for Brick Famosa?” Mother asked.

“I get the same deal as Fab, but in the excitement of getting the Hummer I didn’t ask about the fine print. I assume it’s that I’ll work for him with no pay.”

“You tell him that if you get hurt or go to jail again, I’ll shoot him,” Mother said.

“Jail? Again?” Brad yelled. “I’m so sick of being treated like some slow-witted third cousin! You don’t want me to know anything. I’m leaving.”

I grabbed him by the back of his shirt. “You’re not going anywhere. I could use help on a car retrieval I have to do tonight.”

Brad smashed a soda can between his hands, slam dunking it into the trash. “You’re repossessing cars? Why? Don’t you have enough with those crazy asses at The Cottages, not to mention you’re now the owner of a bar?”

“I need the hours to get my private investigator license.”

“And you need that why?” 

“I don’t have a good reason other than I want to prove to myself that I can get one. There’s going to come a time when you’ve had enough of commercial fishing. We could open a family detective agency—you, me, and Mother.” I saw a spark of excitement as Brad mulled over the idea.

“We could make Jake’s the main office,” Mother suggested.

“I hardly recognized that rat hole. You’ve done a great job,” Brad said. “I checked it out on the way over when a couple of my guys said they started drinking and shooting pool there again. What are you going to do when Jake comes back from being on the run from loan sharks and wants his bar back?” 

“Buy him out. I paid all the past due food and liquor bills. A couple of collectors came by for gambling debts and I told them I was under the protection of Spoon. One called my bluff and got on the phone to verify. Whatever Spoon said, the guy turned and left without even a wave goodbye. The collection calls have stopped. I don’t want to partner with Jake, he’s too reckless.”

“It’s time for me to get to know Spoon. I’ll invite him fishing. Good way to get to know the man,” Brad said.

“When you two figure out which one of yours is bigger, you’ll find out he’s a man of his word and has a magic wand that makes problems disappear,” I said.

“What’s the plan to ‘retrieve’ this car?” Brad replied.

“I’ve got the paperwork and the key. You drop me off at the Fontainebleau Hotel; I get in the McLaren and drive away.” I relayed all of Brick’s directions. “Then you’ll pick me up at Famosa Motors and give me a ride home.”

“I’m driving.” Brad plucked the keys out of my fingers.

* * *

Brad had two driving styles: one for when Mother sat in the passenger seat and the one for when she didn’t. He didn’t care if I screamed “slow down” from the back seat like the crazy woman I’ve been accused of being. I lay down, settling in for the long drive as Brad rocketed up Highway 1 just over the speed limit. What I didn’t see couldn’t scare me.

“We’re supposed to drive through the parking lot, row by row,” Brad grumbled. “What’s the deal on this? What happens when security notices that on their cameras?”

“Brick said to start with VIP parking. How many McLaren MP4s could there be? I’ve got a picture. It’s got a 230K sticker price on it. The problem with Brick is he rents his cars out to men of dubious character who show up holding a bag of cash. A few of them think he’s stupid enough to rent to them, so why not screw him and keep the luxury auto?”

“Whatever happened to the Mercedes being guarded by the Dobermans?” Mother asked.

“Oh, this ought to be good,” Brad snickered. “I’m so shocked this is the first time I’m hearing about this.”

I tried to keep from laughing. “Sarcasm is not attractive on you, bro.” No wonder he felt like the dumb one in the family, Mother and I hide stuff from him all the time. Our justification—we didn’t want to worry him. “I didn’t get the exact details, but I heard a few of Miami’s finest showed up, guns drawn, threatened to shoot Porn Queen and arrest the guy’s mother. The dude, being a coward, hid in the bedroom and mommy dearest said, ‘screw it,’ and opened the gates, and the Mercedes made the ride back to Famosa Motors on a flatbed.”

“Who in the hell is Porn Queen?” Brad asked.

“Let me tell him,” Mother said. “That’s what the old lady named her dog, makes one wonder what she did back in her younger days.”

Brad and I laughed. “Really, Mother, old lady?”

“See what comes from trolling the high school looking for a boyfriend? It boosts my self-esteem,” Mother said.

“High school! That would make you a child molester. Thank goodness that Spoon character isn’t younger than your children. I’d stop speaking to you.” Brad banged the steering wheel. “Guess what girls, the VIP area is key card monitored, and the sign says to go see the front desk after hours.”

Mother opened her purse and took out what resembled a credit card. “Here, try this.”

Brad made an illegal U-turn and drove up to the gate, leaned out the window, and inserted the card, and the stick went up. “Where the hell did you get this?” He looked at it closer. “I didn’t know you hung out here.” 

He pulled into the open-air covered garage. During daytime hours, they ran a well-staffed garage and auto detail amenity for rich people who couldn’t be seen in a car with a speck of dust on the exterior.

“I don’t.” Mother grabbed it out of his hand. “Madison and I got the cards from Fab. A friend of hers makes them and they open most of the gates in the city. I tried it out when Jean and I went joyriding around out on Aventura, it didn’t open that gate, but I got in by driving in behind the car in front of me.”

Jean Stewart is Mother’s neighbor and new best friend since selling the family home in South Carolina and moving to Coral Gables. The drive between Mother and me is closer than Brad, who lives out in the Everglades.

I sat up and passed the picture of the car to Mother. “It’s solid silver and the vanity license tag says, FAMM30.”

“There it is,” Mother squealed.

I tapped Brad’s shoulder. “Pull up in front, I’ll get in and drive it out, and meet you on the street.”

“We’re sitting right here until you’re behind the wheel and ready to go,” Brad said.

I jumped out.
Don’t get nervous. Be quick and
don’t attract any unwanted attention.
The key would only go in half way; no way it could be the right key. “Damn you, Brick.”

Mother rolled down the window. “What’s wrong?” her voice a stage whisper.

Holding the key out, I whispered back, “Wrong one. I need to get this car back tonight.”

“Brad said to get back in. We’ll drive around the block and come up with another plan.”

 “Now what?” I asked climbing into the back seat.

Brad made two left turns and coasted out of the lot. He pulled over, parked, and adjusted the rearview to look at me. “You’ve got three choices: go get the right key, use a slim jim—which could screw up the wiring inside the door, and which you don’t have—or break the window.” 

I pulled out my phone, exhaling loudly. “I’m not making this decision.” Somehow, this whole fiasco would get blamed on my inexperience.

Brick actually picked up. “This better be good.”

“You gave me the wrong key. Anybody at Famosa’s who can give me the right one?”

The silence seemed never ending. “Bullshit, I didn’t give you the wrong key. Bet you the bitch put in a new lock; he’s the third dirt bag to try that trick. No one steals a quarter-million dollar car and drives it around right under my nose.”

“My options will damage the car. There is no way I can get a tow truck in here without security crawling all over the car.”

“This cash crap is not worth the aggravation. The cheapest fix, jimmy the lock. Last resort, break the window. And don’t get fucking caught.”

“I’ll get it done.” I hung up and crawled into the rear cargo space. Maybe Brick will get an attitude adjustment if I can get this car out of here. “I haven’t practiced with this tool.” I held up the slim jim.

Brad did a double take. “What the hell? Where did you get that?” 

“Same place I got my lock pick set.” 

“Why doesn’t he call the police? It’s called grand theft auto not to return a rental car,” Brad said.