Deeper Than The Ocean by Julie Ann Walker
Chapter 15
9:53 AM…
“Are you sure you wiped down the car? Left no fingerprints? No trace evidence?” JayJay took off her reading glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose as she waited for Mateo’s reply.
Yesterday had been bad. Last night had been badder than bad. And this morning? It was shaping up to be even worse.
Mateo had managed to not kill Chrissy Szarek. Again.
As a result, JayJay was dealing with a nagging headache that beat against the backs of her eyeballs like iron fists.
“Sure,” Mateo said when she replaced her glasses. She peered over the rims, watching him lift one of his giant shoulders. “But it wouldn’t matter none even if I didn’t. The cops won’t be looking for anyone but Cliff.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ricky doubled down in that annoying way of his. “Cliff’s got a DUI rap sheet as long as my dick.”
“So, a whole three inches?” Mateo quipped.
“Ha, ha. That’s three more than you got, asshole.”
Mateo thought this was the height of wit and broke into a big, belly laugh. Ricky grinned broadly, as if he’d pulled off a comedy special for HBO.
Couple of bottom feeders,JayJay thought. I should give them the ax if for no other reason than to save my sanity.
But then she remembered what she’d learned from old man Allensworth. He’d been a second-generation Conch, born and raised to captain a shrimp boat. And along with his penchant for cheap woman and expensive whiskey, he’d had a rare talent for dispensing wisdom.
“You see, my girl,” he’d said one night while they were eating pasta on the patio at a little Italian place known only to locals, “it’s best you learn this lesson young. Unless they bring you income, inspiration, or orgasms, give ’em the ax.”
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum certainly didn’t bring JayJay the last two. She nearly ralphed in her mouth simply thinking about it. But, boy oh boy, did they help with that first one. The money they netted on their runs for the Colombians kept Ricky and Mateo in booze and broads, and kept JayJay’s entire family’s chain of businesses afloat.
She took two deep breaths before calmly asking, “So what now? Plan Bravo failed. Tell me you have a Plan Charlie.”
Mateo scratched his ear. “It’ll be tricky. We need a way into her house, and we need to know who’s going to be there with her.”
“To do what, exactly?”
“We’ll rig a little explosion.”
JayJay was still hoping to keep the law dogs off her trail by making Chrissy’s death look unconnected to her run-in with a gunman in the old warehouse. An explosion certainlydidn’t sound like it could be mistaken for an accident. “How little are we talking?”
“Okay, okay. Let’s say more than a firecracker.” Ricky grinned. “But less than an H-bomb.”
Again, Mateo laughed and clapped Ricky on the back. “You’re in fine form today, my friend.”
Ricky pulled an unlit cigarette from his pack and caught it between his lips. “All the excitement’s got my blood up.”
JayJay resisted rolling her eyes. But just barely. “Not that I don’t trust you guys”—she didn’t, not as far as she could shit them—“but I’m going to need a little more than that by way of an explanation.”
“Let’s just say Chrissy Szarek, drugged up on pain meds, will accidently leave her gas stove on. When the fumes hit the candle she’ll leave burning…boom!” Mateo clapped his hands. “She’ll go up in flames. Easy as Key lime pie.”
For the sake of edification, Key lime pie wasn’t all that easy. You had to squeeze and zest the limes. And after baking it, you had to let it cool in the refrigerator for at least three hours.
Of course, JayJay didn’t waste her time pointing any of this out to Butch and Sundance.
A gas explosion. She turned the idea over in her mind and shuddered. It sounded like a horrible way to go.
“I can help you with what you need. But I need time to—” Her phone rang, cutting her off. It wasn’t her landline or her cell phone, but her other phone. The one she replaced every week.
An oily sense of apprehension slid down her spine.
“Give me the morning,” she told her henchmen. “In the meantime, go with God.” She made a shooing motion with her hand.
“You believe in heaven?” Ricky blinked at her.
“I believe in hell.” She made a face. “After the last couple of days, I’m in it.”
“Good one.” He snorted and parroted, “Good one.” Then he fell into step behind Mateo’s retreating back.
She waited until they were out of earshot before answering the phone. Her stomach clenched into a hard fist when the unmistakable accent of her Colombian connection sounded in her ear.
“We hear bad things are happening on Key West.” The man’s voice was perpetually hoarse, like he smoked two packs a day or else had lived to tell the tale of a garroting gone wrong.
“I have things under control. Your last shipment is safe.”
“And the next one? Will it be safe?”
“It’d be better if you waited until—”
“Our deal is not to wait. Our deal is we deliver and you receive.”
JayJay wasn’t afraid of much. Not skin cancer—which she’d survived twice—not hurricanes or well-hung men, but she was absolutely terrified of the Colombians.
“Fine. Tell me when.” When he said one word, she heard her voice crack. “No. It’s too soon. I can’t possibly—”
“Be careful when you refuse me, carechimba.”
JayJay didn’t speak Spanish, but she couldn’t imagine the word was a compliment. Once again, she rubbed her aching eyes.
“What time?” she asked wearily and made note of the Colombian’s answer. Then, “My men will be there.”
“See that they are,” was his answer right before the line went dead.
Tomorrow.
So on top of dealing with the disaster that was Chrissy and Winston, she now had to scramble to book a fishing charter and get Mateo and Ricky back out on the water.
Another of old man Allensworth’s lines of wisdom had been, “A woman’s work is never done.”
Amen, brother,she thought. A-fucking-men.