Jeff Abbott - A Kiss Gone Bad

‘You do smell funny,’ Whit said. ‘Watch me. I’ll subpoena both of them so fast their beady little eyes’ll pop.’

The elevator doors slid open with a creaky fanfare. Junior Deloache stood there with a box of raisin bran crushed under his arm and a six-pack of beer. He looked like a delivery boy gone to seed but a cold light of calculation touched his eyes.

‘Hi, Junior,’ Whit said. ‘Could we talk for a second? Just outside?’

Junior shook his head. ‘I gotta make sure Anson gets his Mr Plumb-r cereal.’

‘I’d like to see what all you’re doing with Sea Haven. I only have a couple of questions for you.’

Junior shrugged and Whit and Gooch followed him through the dismantled lobby to a large patio, aglow with fuzzy security lights, bare of furniture, with an emptied, cracked pool. A decaying cabana-cum-bar with a graying palm-thatched roof stood nearby, lopsided with neglect.

‘Welcome to Groo-vin’ Central,’ Junior said. ‘Once we get it cleaned up and lure all the young chickies here.’

Gooch said, ‘Oh, yes, I just see chickies flocking here by the dozens.’

‘You gonna have the money to finish?’ Whit asked.

Junior gave him a scornful sideways glance. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Didn’t you owe Pete Hubble serious money?’

‘Most certainly did not.’

‘People at the marina heard the two of you bickering about money. Saw you shoving him around on your boat.’

Junior frowned, but Whit saw he had to think about it first. ‘Your sources are faulty, man. I didn’t owe him money.’

Gooch asked, ‘So what did Pete owe you?’

‘And you would be who?’ Junior asked. ‘You the bailiff for the judge or something?’

‘Gooch is just a friend along for the ride.’ Whit wished Gooch would shut up.

‘There was no owing of any sort, man. There’s a real difference between friends goofing around and arguing. I just got a big voice.’

‘When did you last see Pete?’ Whit asked.

‘A few days ago, last week. He and I took the boat out.’

‘Do you want to talk about whatever this money issue was at an inquest hearing? Because I’ll call you to testify if I think it’s relevant. Or if you’re not cooperating. I’m sure the police would be interested.’

Not testifying, Whit suspected, might be a family virtue long drummed into Junior, probably since he broke the legs of his first G.I. Joe in the nursery.

‘I had no reason to want Pete dead. See, Pete promised me I could be in a movie.’

‘The one he was making about his brother?’

‘Tragedy is not my style. A, you know, different kind of movie.’ Junior swiveled his hips with a not-so-subtle grind.

‘I see. Pete was going to let you be in a groo-vin’ movie,’ Whit said in an understanding tone.

‘Yeah, you’re on board now. Fucking A.’

‘Anson and your dad must’ve loved that idea.’

The smile faded.

‘I got the impression whatever Anson said, you did.’ Whit gently poked the box of raisin bran.

‘Yeah, well, that’s me being nice to an old fart. Anson’s older’n hell, he already got one wheel in the grave.’

‘So with Pete gone I guess your movie career is on hold. Unless you can convince Velvet to cast you in her next opus.’

He grinned. That’s no problem.’

‘Why is that?’

Junior set the cereal and beer down, gently, stood, and rubbed his palms against each other, warming his fists for use. ‘You know, you’re grilling me like chicken, dude, and I don’t got to give you the time of day.’

‘Oh, yes, please let’s get physical,’ Gooch interrupted. ‘I haven’t had a workout today, and you got punching bag written all over your gut.’

Junior started a retort, then seemed to reconsider as he noted the size of Gooch’s biceps. ‘I sure as hell ain’t gonna answer any more questions.’

‘Fine. I’ll see you in my courtroom.’ Whit had found his weapon – Anson’s and Junior’s loathing of court – and wasn’t about to surrender it.

A cold rage lit Junior’s eyes. ‘My daddy’s attorneys will eat you alive.’

‘What’s with these attorneys and the food metaphors? Eat us alive and grilling you like chicken and consider Whit an appetizer? No wonder you’re chunky,’ Gooch said.

‘Gooch. Don’t,’ Whit said. He shrugged at Junior. ‘So start working your cell phone and get all of your daddy’s attorneys down here. The bill the lawyers charge to your dad for all that travel time should be substantial.’

Junior considered this – calling his father to gather a bevy of lawyers in Port Leo – and suddenly cooperated. ‘Look, Judge, you want to chase down the right fox, you need to look at the X-Bitch.’

‘Who?’

‘Pete’s ex. He called her the X-Bitch, you know, like The X-Files? Freaking alien weirdo. She was about to drive him crazy.’

‘How so?’

‘Man, how didn’t Faith? Over at his boat all the time, trying to sweeten him up. I caught Pete and Faith once, I swear, inches from fucking. Velvet would’ve had a coronary.’

‘Velvet says Pete was just a friend.’

‘Yeah, right, they’re just friends after he’s had his dick inside her a couple of hundred times. You know women don’t think that way, not even porn stars.’ Junior laughed, relaxing now that the topic was back on treasured ground. ‘But the X-Bitch, hell, I think she kinda had a split personality going as far as Pete was concerned. She wanted him but she wanted him gone. She works for that old shit of a mother of his, and you know they were soiling their panties when he moved back. Jesus, he told me his mother offered him money to go away. He didn’t want to do it and I’m all like, dude! Are you nuts? Take the money, ditch Port Lame here and go back to L.A., where life is real.’ Junior shook his head. ‘Shit, he should’ve taken that money. He really should’ve.’

Anson wheeled into view in the open doorway. ‘Junior!’ he bawled. ‘Get in here.’

Junior picked up his groceries. ‘I had every reason to want Pete alive, and his family sure as hell didn’t. Later.’ He turned and went back to Anson, walking past him without a word. Whit followed him back through the lobby. Anson wasn’t in a mood to parry further.

‘Good night. Judge,’ he said with solemnity, and motored himself back into the elevator after Junior.

Whit and Gooch walked out of the lobby. Junior hardly appeared credible on paper, but his words gave Whit pause. If Velvet was right, and Pete was going to sue for custody, had Faith tried to disarm him with sex? And if Lucinda had truly offered her son cash to fade away… what had she done when he refused?

It suggested they knew damn well Pete might be suing for custody, and had more than a prayer of winning. But Junior would be hard to present as a credible witness.

‘I must get the name of the reform school he attended,’ Gooch said. ‘I want to sponsor a scholarship.’

Whit walked past Junior’s Porsche and noticed the rear left corner looked like it had suffered a minor accident. The left taillight was smashed. Whit remembered the one-eyed Porsche he’d passed last night heading away from the marina, trash disco blaring into the night – hours before Anson claimed they’d arrived in Port Leo.

The Blade was tired.

Midnight had come to Port Leo, his favorite time, and he stood beneath a canopy of live oaks and listened to the wind – the wind that had caressed, in its time, every inch of the world, every woman – whisper through the oak limbs.

It was a good day, he supposed. He knew where Velvet was, a toy just waiting to be opened. His plan for Heather Farrell had been put in motion. He could sleep and dream up a store of delights that, in the days ahead, he could make real.