James Swain - The King Tides

She stopped dialing and lowered the cell phone. “Do you have a plan B?”

“I want to call Carlo, and ask him to come over.”

“All right, call him. You don’t need my permission.”

“Yes, I do. It’s your investigation, Beth.”

“Fuck it, call him.”

He made the call. Carlo answered on the first ring.

“How are things at Camp Pearl?” he asked.

“Pretty quiet,” Carlo said. “Karl’s been standing in the driveway, giving menacing looks to passing cars, while Mike’s on the dock, watching boats in the Intracoastal. I think they’ve scared off the sickos stalking Nicki.”

“Nice going. Do you feel comfortable leaving and helping me out for a few hours? I need you to watch a grocery store manager for a little while.”

“A grocery store manager? What did he do? Sell someone spoiled milk?”

“He didn’t do anything. I’m just afraid he might make a phone call, and ruin a stakeout I’m on. Are you in?”

“I’ll have Karl take over for me. Give me the address.”

He gave him the address of the Fast Stop Food Store. Carlo voiced displeasure that the store was in Sistrunk, and chastised Lancaster for not telling him before hanging up. The front door buzzer went off, and a customer came in and went straight to the section of the store where grilling supplies were displayed. Daniels’s mouth dropped open. Lancaster looked at her, then at the customer.

“Holloway?” he asked under his breath.

“The one and only,” she whispered.

“Go hide.”

Daniels went to the rear of the store where the produce was kept and started squeezing the tomatoes. Lancaster bellied up to the counter and grabbed a pair of cheap shades off a display and put them on. Then he pulled a copy of People en Español out of a rack and thumbed through it. Alex was caught in the crosshairs and gave him a nervous look.

“Keep your damn mouth shut,” he whispered.

“Yes, sir,” the manager whispered back.

Holloway was making his way to the front of the store. He stood a half foot taller than his partner and also had a gym physique. He was a seasoned FBI agent and would realize the man at the counter wasn’t a normal customer if Lancaster didn’t handle things right.

“Give me a pack of Marlboros,” Lancaster said as he fitted the magazine back into the rack.

The cigarettes were stored in a plastic display behind the register. Alex pulled out a pack and tossed it on the counter. Lancaster took out his wallet and reached for a five-dollar bill. He didn’t smoke and had no idea how much a pack cost. If he put down too little, it might set off an alarm, so he threw down a twenty.

“That will be seven dollars,” Alex said.

Alex rang up the sale and counted out his change. Lancaster stuffed the money into his pocket and headed for the exit, then stopped and came back. Holloway had put a bag of charcoal on the counter and had his wallet out.

“Forgot my matches,” he said. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

Holloway settled up and left the store. Daniels returned to the counter.

“Did you think he suspected anything?” she asked.

“No, he was in the dark.” He returned the shades to the display. To the manager he said, “Good job.”

Alex was not happy with the situation, and frowned. Ten minutes later, Carlo walked into the grocery and joined them at the counter.

“I got here as fast as I could,” Carlo said.

“Much appreciated.” He addressed Alex. “I want you to listen to me. This man was a SEAL and can kill you with his bare hands. If you do anything stupid, he’ll tear one of your arms off, and beat you to death with it. Got it?”

“You don’t have to threaten me,” the manager said.

“Just trying to make myself clear. Are we good?”

Alex nodded. Then he said, “This is about the girls, isn’t it?”

Daniels nearly leaped over the counter. “What girls? What are you talking about?”

“The girls that stay with Don and Troy in the house across the street,” Alex said. “They bring them into the store late at night. The girls are drugged out and can hardly stand up. I have wondered what happens to them, but I’ve learned not to ask.”

Daniels looked ready to strangle him. “How many times has this happened?”

“Too many,” he said.

“Were the girls young?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you know any of them?”

“No. I’d never seen any of them before. I felt bad for them.”

“Then why didn’t you call the police?”

“Because the police don’t give a shit,” Alex said. “Bad things happen in Sistrunk every day, and the police look the other way. Why would these guys be treated any differently?”

Daniels was enraged. Mates and Holloway had paraded their victims in front of the manager and probably his customers and no one had acted. Fighting evil was hard; fighting it alone was nearly impossible. Lancaster pulled her away from the counter and told her to calm down. She unclenched her fists and took a deep breath.

“You have no idea how angry this makes me,” she said.

“Yes, I do,” he said. He turned and addressed Carlo. “We’re leaving. Keep your cell phone handy. I may need you.”

“Will do. Be careful,” Carlo said.

They went to the front door. Daniels hadn’t calmed down, and he felt like he needed to do something. He started to speak, and she shut him down. The door was made of glass, and she pointed across the street. A column of black smoke rose in the air behind Mates and Holloway’s house.

“What do you think that is?” Daniels asked.

They ventured outside. The smell of grilling meat filled the air, and Lancaster realized that Mates and Holloway were grilling the three New York strip steaks they’d just purchased as they prepared Ryean Bartell’s last meal. Ryean would be photographed before they ate, and when the meal was over, she would be killed and her corpse photographed on a camera with film that would later need to be developed.

“Looks like we’re just in time,” he said.

“We need backup to do this right,” Daniels said. “Do you have a contact at the sheriff’s office that will help us?”

“I’m still friends with my former supervisor,” he said.

“Call him.”

He called his former supervisor to request a SWAT team. The Broward County Sheriff’s Office had a twenty-four-hour SWAT team at its disposal to deal with active shooters and possible terrorist activity. The only issue would be traffic, which could seriously delay their arrival. An automated receptionist answered, and he punched zero to speak to an operator. Canned music filled his ear.

“What’s taking so long?” she asked.

“Must be a busy day,” he said.

A minute passed. He sniffed the air.

“They just put the steaks on,” he said. “Mates bought three New York strips, which take about ten minutes to cook. We’re running out of time. What do you want to do?”

“I’ve never stormed a house before,” she said. “You were the SEAL. Make the call, and I’ll back you up.”

He pocketed his cell phone, marched over to his car, and popped the trunk. The floor panel and spare tire had been removed, making the compartment extra deep. Three long plastic storage boxes were arranged side by side. He popped the lid of the first box, where a bulky bulletproof vest lay inside. He handed it to her.

“Just one?” she asked.

“I usually run solo,” he explained.

“You should wear it.”

“I insist. Don’t argue with me, Beth.”

She fitted on the vest and tightened the belt. He opened the second storage box. Inside was a Beretta Tx4 Storm 12-gauge shotgun, which he also gave to her.