Swindled in Paradise (28 page)

She heaved a sigh. “What do you think about installing a pole in the living room?”

“Absolutely not. Mother would fall and hurt herself.”

Fab started laughing. “You’ve got the coolest mother. Unless she’s lecturing you over your bad behavior, that is. Did you know she talked to me about having a nicer attitude towards Didier? We’d gotten into a fight, and your mother didn’t bother to hide the fact that she was listening in. She not only interjected her two cents into the argument but took his side. I stuck my tongue out at her.”

The corners of my mouth turned up. “What did she do?”

“She pointed towards the stairs and said, ‘You go to your room.’ And I went.”

“You know you’re an adult now and don’t have to go, don’t you?”

“I couldn’t get away fast enough. I should have told her she hurt my feelings by taking his side, even if I was in the wrong. I did later and even apologized.”

“Oh….” I made a sad face.

“She hugged me and said she wouldn’t do it again—to either of us. I assured her that Didier wasn’t going anywhere, and we’d already made up. Then she got this dreamy look in her eye and said, ‘That’s fun, isn’t it?’”

“That’s a story we don’t need to share with Brad.”

Fab pulled into the parking lot and headed for the middle row. It was early, and there were only about a dozen non-employee automobiles. She parked between two of them in a space that afforded a direct view of the entrance.

“Look!” Fab pointed to Tilly’s assistant, who came out a side exit, shoving something in the jamb to keep the door open. She had a liquor box in her hands, and from the way she carried it, it appeared to be heavy. She juggled it while unlocking the trunk, then stored it inside.

“I’ve forgotten her name,” I said, not taking my eyes off her.

“Don’t ask
me
.”

The woman looked in both directions before going back in the same door.

“We can’t be one-hundred percent certain she’s stealing, and we’re not here to investigate employee theft anyway,” I said.

The door opened again. The woman came back out with a smaller box and two Styrofoam takeout containers, which she put in the trunk as well before going back inside.

“Before we leave, I’ll pop the trunk and check. If she is stealing, I’ll inform her that I’m telling Brick he has a problem and should investigate. She can quit or take her chances.”

I didn't bother to respond to that. I frankly didn't care if Brick's employees were stealing him blind. We were just there to find out what was happening with the girls. Delight's shift would end soon and Octavia's would start. According to Brick, they were both dropped off by their boyfriends, and we were there to get the license numbers so we could have Phil run a check on them. At least then, we'd know where the girls spend their free time.

Fab tapped my arm, motioning to the windshield. We were getting close to shift change, and dancers would be coming and going. A navy blue BMW sedan pulled up to the dancer’s entrance and sat idling.

Octavia stepped out of the car and started towards the door. The driver honked, and she held up her middle finger in response. The driver-side door flew open, and a scrawny, six-foot man in a wife beater that displayed his tattoos got out and waved his arms wildly.

Fab stuck her head out the window. “I can’t hear a damn thing, just a bunch of garbled, loud words.”

Octavia shouted back, shot him the double bird, and disappeared inside. The man beat his fist on the roof of the Beemer and slid back behind the wheel. He squealed the tires as he started up, but instead of heading for the exit, he zig-zagged to the far side of the lot, making his own parking space.

An older model tan Impala pulled in next. It was in immaculate condition, with dark-tinted windows and lowered suspension. The driver circled the lot and parked alongside the BMW, their driver’s doors facing one another.

“I can’t see what’s going on from here.” Fab opened her door.

I grabbed her arm before she could get out. “We don’t care,” I snapped. “Delight’s leaving.” I cocked my head towards the dancer’s entrance.

Delight surveyed the parking lot, eyeing the two cars parked side by side, then turned and went back inside.

“That’s interesting,” Fab murmured.

The Impala pulled away and began to circle back around toward the entrance. Suddenly, automatic gunfire tore through both cars.

I bent over, arms over my head, not sure what to do. Fab slid down and over across the passenger seat.

The gunfire seemed endless, but at last it was quiet. Fab and I rose up just enough to peek over the dashboard. The Impala had veered off and embedded its front end in the back fence. The BMW hadn’t moved. No one got out of either car.

“I’d say Octavia no longer has a problem with her boyfriend. We need to get out of here.” The words had barely escaped my lips when a number of unmarked police cars blew into the driveway.

“Get your boyfriend on the phone,” Fab ordered. “They’re going to find us. We’ll say we stayed crouched down because we were scared.”

“At least your story is the truth.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and pressed speed dial. “Wait until Creole finds out that calling him was
your
idea.”

Cars doors flew open and plainclothes cops wearing bulletproof vests spilled out. Several officers checked each car. The blood-splattered windows told their own story. One cop signaled to the others, and a couple of them reholstered their weapons.

“They look like friends of Creole’s. He’ll know how we can get out of here.” Fab pulled out her phone. “Calling Brick,” she said, answering my unspoken question.

“No answer,” I grumped and sent a text. Then I called the number Creole had added in case of emergency.

“Yeah,” a male voice answered.

“Creole said to call if we needed help, and this situation qualifies.” I hit the highlights of what had just unfolded in front of us.

Help listened in silence until I was done, then said, “Which car is yours?” It was then I recognized his voice – I was talking to Creole’s undercover partner.”

Confused, I said and looked around, “The Hummer.”

“Stay inside and don’t go anywhere. Someone will be over to talk to you.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, but he’d already hung up.

Chapter 39

I threw myself down on the daybed. “I don’t want to work for Brick ever again,” I complained as I squinted over at Fab to make sure she was listening.

Creole burst through the French doors. “I’m here.” He gave a bow.

Didier and I laughed.

Creole rushed to my side and put his hand on my forehead. “You okay?” He sat down, lifting my head into his lap.

“She’s not sick, you weirdo,” Fab sniffed at him.

“Thanks for sending Help. It was nice to see a friendly face. Well, a familiar face anyway,” I grimaced.

Creole’s undercover partner, Help, had banged on the driver’s side window. “Tell me exactly what you saw,” he ordered after he climbed in the back seat.

“Don’t look at me.” Fab closed her eyes. “She’s the master at storytelling.”

“Just facts,” Help spit out.

“I’ve never seen you so chatty.” I smiled at him. Two, three words of out him were the usual. But a whole sentence? Never. Unless “mind your own business” counted.

I recounted the details in living color from the time the BMW pulled into the parking lot until the gunfire broke out, careful to only include what we actually saw from our vantage point.

After he left, a local police officer took our statement. We sat for several hours before being given the go ahead to leave.

Creole had called around that time. “It’s only a matter of waiting. They have video tape, which is better than an eyewitness account.” He hung up after promising to see me later at my house.

Brick had burned up Fab’s phone with one question after another. He seemed more annoyed about the club being closed for a few days than the two dead bodies that had yet to be carted away.

“What are you thinking?” Creole asked.

“Octavia showed up for work; Fab and I saw her get out of the car and go inside. Her boyfriend gets murdered, and now Brick says she was a no-show and didn’t call in.”

“And the other dead guy was Delight’s boyfriend,” Fab said. “Neither of them are having boyfriend problems any longer, which closes our case.” She brushed her hands together.

“When do we get our quad-pay?” I asked.

“We didn’t actually do anything….”

I rolled on my side in a fit. “I worked. I wasn’t the one who got fired the first day. I stood in those stinkin’ heels until my toes almost fell off.”

“
Chérie
….” The frown on Didier’s face let everyone know that this was the first time he had heard this story, which was no surprise to me.

“You misunderstood.” Fab flashed the “cover for me” look.

“You’re right, I guess I did,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm. Creole pinched me lightly. I’d already served up the details to him, and he’d had me laughing over the situation. “‘Your fired and don’t come back’ wasn’t very clear.” I looked at her.

“I hated that job,” Fab sulked. “I came home smelling like the bottom of an ashtray.”

“Me too,” I commiserated. “But at least you got tips. Judging by the cash you put in the drink fund, if you’d turned on your sparkly personality, you would’ve had enough stuffed in your cleavage to take the four of us out to a nice dinner.”

Creole’s phone rang; he glanced at the screen and answered. “Yeah, okay, good, thanks.” He hung up. “Octavia got picked up on the northbound turnpike south of Orlando. She’ll be charged as an accessory.”

“By the way, why were the cops there so quickly in the first place?” I asked. It had been bothering me ever since they squealed in before the echoes of the gunfire had even faded.

“The police got wind that the heads of two drug gangs were getting together to hammer out whose was bigger. Turns out neither one. Law enforcement didn’t expect it to take place in the parking lot of a stripper joint. I’m surprised that backup from the rival gangs didn’t hop out of the bushes when the first bullet flew. It was over for the both of them in the first few shots, but still….”

“What happens to the gangs now?” Didier asked.

“They’ll both name new leaders and go to war. Depending on who they choose to lead, they might work out a truce, but I doubt it,” Creole said.

“Did you mention to Brick that he might have a thieving employee?” I eyed Fab.

“She’s fired. He’s calling her into his office to share some security footage with her. Apparently, she’s been doing it for a while and got confident, then sloppy. He says he has her on camera on at least three separate occasions,” Fab related.

“I haven’t met this man. Would I like him?” Didier asked.

Didier had directed his question towards me, which surprised me. Creole was already shaking his head. “No!”

“Probably not,” I said. “But you’d certainly never say anything mean about him.”

Fab shook her head.

“You’re his girl,” I told her. “I just get to come along because he doesn’t know how to shake me.”

Creole stood, scooping me up. “I need to get my beauty sleep,” he said as we headed upstairs.

Fab laughed, “Good luck.”

Chapter 40

As Fab and I sat at the kitchen island, movement in front of the garden window caught our attention, and we both stared at the twenty-something guy that passed by.

The doorbell rang.

Fab made a pair of scissors with her hand.

Rock, paper…
I rolled my eyes. “We’re not six. Besides, it’s not my job to answer the door.”

“It’s your house,” Fab said, hands on her hips.

“Yes, but you already have your Walther out. If there’s a problem, give a shout; I’ve got a backup bullet.” I pulled my Glock from my thigh holster.

As she went to get to the door, I sucked down my last sip of coffee, momentarily feeling sorry for whoever stood there. We had zero appreciation for strangers showing up unannounced and uninvited.

Fab cracked open the door, sticking her head in the opening, “What do you want?”

I decided to move closer to listen, as Fab tended to leave out pertinent details in the retelling of stories. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hear a word he said from where I was, so I hopped from my stool and sidled up behind Fab, peering over her shoulder as she jerked open the door.

As soon as the guy spotted the Walther, he jumped back, the color draining from his cheeks. I almost laughed. Really, he had more to fear from me, and I’d reholstered my gun.

“Delivery,” he stuttered, “for Fabiana Mercer and Madison Weston.”

“It’s Merceau,” she snarked as she shoved her gun in her waistband.

“Hi, I’m Madison.” I gave him a friendly smile in the hopes that he wouldn’t call the sheriff.

“Get him a tip.” I nudged Fab. “I’ll sign for the envelope and the pretty box.”

Although I preferred colorful gift wrap, the black box with the silver satin ribbon made a statement, and that statement was “expensive.”

“The tip has been taken care of by the sender,” the delivery guy said in a shaky voice, then turned and bolted down the driveway. Another delivery person we’d scared the hell out of—pretty soon no one would come a-knocking.

I looked at the tag on the box and sighed, handing it to Fab. The envelope had my name on it. Tired of watching Fab inspect the outside of the box, shaking and sniffing at it, I slid onto a bar stool and ripped open the business envelope. No special wrap for me.

Looking up, I said, “If it was going to blow up, it would have by now.”

I turned the envelope upside down, and a business card and cash fell onto the counter. Printed neatly on the back of the business card was: “Thank you for a job well done.” The signature was indecipherable. I flipped it over: Trenton Preston III. “Your boyfriend-in-waiting sent me money. What did you get?”

Fab removed the lid, revealing the silky lining inside the black velvet box. She stared and smiled, running a finger over her gift, then pulled out a diamond bracelet, holding her arm out and wrapping it around her wrist. “Help me with the clasp.”