The Pickle Boat House (27 page)

“Everything all right, Ryan?”

“Everything’s just ducky, Van.” He came up beside her and hugged her tightly. “I was just in my counting house, counting all my money. I’ve decided to close early tonight. We’ve done that well. Lock the door, Marla,” he shouted across the room. “Everyone can start cleaning up. I expect this place to be deserted by eight thirty. No arguments. Go, get with it!”

Ryan didn’t have to tell the staff twice. Even Marla was moving at double time. By eight forty-five, the last of the customers had been politely ushered out the door, and the place was empty except for Ryan, Van, and Jean.

Ryan put his arms around Van and Jean and started walking them toward the door. “Ladies, I have a little bit of paperwork to attend to,” he said. “Would you like me to drive you home?”

Van ducked under his arm and pulled him away from Jean. “No, I think we’re going to walk home. It’s a beautiful evening.” She hugged him lightly and pecked his lips. “You go ahead and finish. Stop by when you’re done?”

“Sure, as long as you go right home so I don’t have to worry about you.”

“We promise, but we can’t leave until we find Jean’s purse. We’ve searched everywhere but the storeroom and the ladies’ room.” Van shot Jean a warning look. “Would you check in the back while we check the restroom? Then we’ll be out of your hair. Come on,” she said, grabbing Jean by the sleeve and pulling her toward the restroom.

Ryan’s heart began to beat a little faster, but he kept a calm exterior. He hurried to the stockroom to find the purse and get Van and Jean out of the tavern.

* * *

As soon as Ryan was out of view Van changed course and headed for his office.

“What’s going on?” Jean said. “You know I never carry a purse. Stop right here and clue me in.”

“Shh! Whisper! Call it women’s intuition. I want to stay behind, but I need Ryan to think I’ve left … Leave without me. When you get to the door yell back that we have the purse and we’re leaving. Then vamoose so that if he looks out the door he won’t see you without me.”

“Van, what are you up to? Whatever it is, I don’t like it. There’s ‘trouble’ written all over your face.”

Van couldn’t disagree, and at any rate, she didn’t have time to. She gave Jean a friendly shove in the right direction and disappeared into Ryan’s office. Dead center in the middle of the desk sat the flower arrangement. She snatched the card from the center and began reading. It didn’t seem threatening. Her stomach knotted as she realized there was more here than met the eye. As she stood facing the cabinets lining the wall, she hatched a plan. She couldn’t let Ryan face this alone. There was only one way to find out what was going on. Van put the card back where she had found it, and hurried to the office door to listen for Ryan. Nothing. Quietly closing the door, she turned her attention back to the tallest of the cabinets. It was empty except for an unopened package of tablecloths on the top shelf. She ripped open the package, pulled one out, and threw the rest back on the shelf. Billowing the cloth out, she covered herself with it from head to foot and slowly began to pull herself and the tablecloth back, one shoulder at a time, into the cabinet. The cabinet door swung back toward her to close but bounced back off her hip. “Oh, God,” she prayed, “make me fit. I’ll diet on Monday, I promise!” She pictured herself thin, wriggled back once more, and kept still as the door swung back toward the magnetic latch.
Click.
Van exhaled slowly, then inhaled. The latch held. She silently began reciting every car name she knew, beginning with “A.”

After a seeming eternity, she could hear voices, which grew loud enough for her to identify as Ryan’s and Hector Junior’s, followed by other footsteps. They entered the room, and the door closed quickly behind them.

“Why are you here?” Ryan said. “Our understanding was clear. I’m done with HYA.”

“As soon as you’ve done this little favor, as you promised,” said Hector.

“What is it you want me to do?”

“HYA is anticipating a steady income to be generated from some current and future business activities in Nevis. We need to be able to move and deposit money that—”

“You want me to launder your dirty drug money through the Phoenix?”

Hector laughed. “You’re a bright boy. I knew I wouldn’t have to explain it. Consider it a tribute to Earl. The sums won’t be too large for you to handle.”

It was Ryan’s turn to laugh. “Are you out of your fucking
mind
? Even if I wanted to do that, there is no way this place will even come close to turning a small profit, let alone bring in the kind of money you’ll want me to handle. The feds will be on my doorstep bright and early the morning after I make the first deposit.”

“See, the thing is, it doesn’t have to be all at once. Small-sum deposits will do.”

“No way,” said Ryan, shaking his head as he began to pace along the row of cabinets. “I’d be depositing for you until I was old and gray. There must be another way, another business with bigger profit margins. This doesn’t even make good business sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense is you thinking you could screw over the company and just walk away.” Hector stopped and smiled at Ryan. “I thought you might want to know that Richard Hardy and I had a very fruitful conversation. He is now a very rich man.”

“How much richer?”

“He’s a happy millionaire now.”

Ryan couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “
You
gave
Richard Hardy
a million dollars? For what? What could the man possibly do for you that would be worth that kind of money?”

Hector stood silent, gloating.

Ryan exploded with laughter. “Hell, you tried to buy Nevis, didn’t you, for one million dollars? Damn, you’re funny! That much money for land he doesn’t even own.”

“Actually, it was six,” Hector admitted with a laugh. Then he grew serious again. “But I’m not stupid enough to give that old boozer all his money at once. There was an initial million-dollar deposit.” Hector’s expression suddenly froze, as if he had finally processed Ryan’s words. “
Doesn’t own?
” he repeated.

“Hell, no. Hardy’s ancestors lost control of the land in Nevis long ago for nonpayment of taxes. Come, now, you didn’t know that? Your research skills are slipping, my man. You know better than to take all these things at face value.”

“You’re lying.”

“Nope, got documentation to prove it.” Ryan walked over to his desk and flipped open a yellow folder. “Copy of the court proceedings,” he said handing Hector the top sheet of paper. “The originals are locked up in a safe place. HYA needs to take its dog-and-pony show somewhere else—there’s no profit here.”

“That son of a bitch,” said Hector, and he picked up a nearby chair and hurled it into the opposite wall, where one leg broke through the drywall and stuck. Inhaling deeply, he glared at Ryan as he tried to regain some self-control. “So obviously, that brings us to a second piece of business. Richard Hardy owes me money. I’ll need you to get it back from him.”

“Me? Why can’t you do that yourself? Oh, that’s right, you’ve already been closely associated with one murder in Nevis. Anything less than choirboy behavior on your part would invite additional, unwelcome scrutiny. Not to mention that you have already been seen at the Phoenix, with the victim. Sorry, Mr. Hardy and I are not on the best of terms.”

Hector laughed. “Can you blame the man? You’ve been banging his wife. You don’t respect
anyone’s
relationship.” Hector sat down on the edge the desk. “Here’s the deal: I want that money back—all of it. Either you get it back for me or I’ll take the old man for a ride and shake him down where nobody’s gonna find him. What’s your girlfriend gonna think when she finds out you could have saved him and didn’t?”

“Sorry, Hector, you’re on your own. If you’re smart enough to give a man a million dollars for land he doesn’t even own, then you’re smart enough to talk him into giving it back.”

Hector slid off the desk and walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of whiskey. Taking a couple of swigs, he addressed the two men standing silently behind him, who had accompanied him and Ryan into the room. “Nothing on the face, boys. We don’t need a walking billboard.”

The larger of the two men grabbed Ryan by the shirtfront and slammed him up against the tallest cabinet, bending the handle down on the door. Van let out a gasp as she felt the cabinet shudder. Terrified, she squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, praying that the runaway thumping of her heart wouldn’t give her away. The door shuddered several more times, interspersed with Ryan’s grunts and groans as he tried in vain to fend off the violent attack. Even more alarming was the sudden stillness and silence that followed. She strained her ears to hear whether Ryan was even still breathing.

In a heap, up against the bottom of the cabinet door, the two men grabbed Ryan by the arms and hauled him back to his feet. Hector walked over to Ryan and delivered one last punch to the gut, sending Ryan crumpling to the floor once more.

“Maggie still won’t return my calls,” he said. Then he picked up his glass of whiskey off the table and poured the remains over Ryan, tossing the glass on top of him. Hector’s face was emotionless. “Money will arrive by courier on Monday with specifics. Use the usual communication channels. And either you ask Hardy nicely to return the money, or I’ll go get it from him.”

Van listened to the door slam. Then there was only Ryan’s heavy breathing in an otherwise eerily silent tavern. Any other night, the silence would have been welcome. Tonight it was terrifying. She guessed she and Ryan were alone again. One look at the broken latch on the door told her she couldn’t escape from the cabinet on her own. “Ryan!” she shouted, pounding on the cabinet door. “Open the cabinet! I’m stuck in here.” She continued to pound and shout until she heard the sound of the latch on the door.

“Van? What the hell … can’t get the cabinet open. The latch is … afraid I’ll break it off. Oh, God …”

“Ryan, Ryan, are you still there? I’m so sorry. Please, don’t hurt yourself. You can leave me here. I’m okay. Don’t—”

With a shudder, the lock snapped. The cabinet door swung open, and there stood Ryan, with a cast-iron bookend of Abraham Lincoln, the great emancipator, in his hand. Van wasted no time pulling herself out of the tiny space and wrapping her arms around a battered and broken Ryan as he crumpled back down onto the floor.

Oh, please don’t touch me,” Ryan moaned, curling in on himself. “What the hell … ,” he began again, but never finished the sentence.

* * *

When Ryan awoke he was looking into Van’s sad, tear-filled eyes. She was sitting on the floor of the office, cradling his head in her lap. Every part of him screamed in pain.

“Ryan. Oh, hon, are you all right? What should I do? I’m sorry. I couldn’t lift you, and I wasn’t sure you would want to involve the police.”

“I’m okay, he said, trying to sit up. “Oh, almighty God, help me.” He collapsed back into Van’s lap, quickly abandoning any further attempts to get up by himself. “Thankfully, they were just sending a message, which I got loud and clear. Help me sit up, will you? Oh, slowly. No cops. I need to call Bennie.”

“Does Bennie work for HYA?”

“No, but he put two and two together a long time ago. Good bartenders listen but never repeat. Like I said, Bennie is the best.”

Ryan reached in his pocket to pull out his cell phone and managed to pull out the gun without thinking. Van’s shocked eyes met his, but she said nothing. Ryan found his cell phone and called Bennie. The call went right to voice mail.

“He doesn’t answer. I’ll give him a few more minutes.”

“Is your car outside?” she said. “Let me get you to your car. Then we can go to Bennie, or anywhere else you want me to take you.”

“Car’s right out front, but I’m not sure I can go that far.”

Van grabbed him under the arms and helped pull him to his feet. With his arm around her shoulders, they moved slowly across the room, Ryan wincing in pain and Van panting from the exertion. A few paces from the door, it was clear they could go no farther. Van lowered Ryan back to the floor and collapsed beside him.

As they caught their breath, she asked him the question he was expecting. “Ryan, why are you carrying a gun? You were expecting this. What haven’t you told me?”

He looked up into Van’s eyes and wished that he could think of something to tell her that wouldn’t hurt her. That was something he never wanted, though he continually managed to do it. She waited, hoping to hear the right response, but he could see in her eyes the wariness and the belief that it would not be what she wanted to hear.

“They wouldn’t just let me walk away. There was a price. I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you. I needed more time before you found out. I couldn’t just … couldn’t just let you go. You wouldn’t have stayed.”

A single tear rolled down Van’s face and splashed onto Ryan’s cheek. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head.

Van looked down into Ryan’s face. “I wouldn’t have stayed, but now I would never leave you.” She reached down and brushed her tear from his face with her fingertips. “Now, let me have your phone so we can try Bennie again.”

In spite of the pain he was in, the corners of his mouth turned up in the faintest of smiles. He reached up and handed her the phone, then grasped her other hand and closed his eyes.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF

Bennie arrived about twenty minutes after Van called. Calm and quiet, without question or comment, he helped her get Ryan outside to his car. Even if Van had been able to do so alone, the four flat tires on Ryan’s car would have gotten them nowhere.

“What are you going to do about Hector’s demands?” Van asked, stroking the hair off of Ryan’s forehead as she sat in the back of Bennie’s car, Ryan’s head in her lap. “You can’t safely pretend he doesn’t exist anymore.”

“No. Next time it’ll be more than a beat-down and four slashed tires. I do have money stashed away. I’ll pay off Richard’s debt.”

“Ryan, we’re talking a million dollars here.”