Fallen Honor: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 7) (28 page)

He caught snippets of the conversations around him, mentions of five men shot in an apparent drug deal gone bad. Someone else said something about federal agents, another mentioned terrorists, and still another said something about an alien invasion.

Thirty minutes later, Byers made his way up the aisle from the backseat as the driver pulled over at his regular stop on the east end of Stock Island. It had just started raining and the wind was blowing as Byers ran down the road to the little motel.

The same old guy was at the desk when Byers stepped inside, dripping wet. Rising up on his toes to the holes in the glass, he said, “Lost my key, man. Do you have another one?”

The old man looked at him, clearly irritated. “That’ll be ten bucks for a duplicate key.”

Peeling one of the twenties off the roll of bills he held below the counter, Byers slipped it under the glass. A moment later, the man shoved a ten and another key back to him. “Lose that one and there ain’t no more.”

In his room minutes later, Byers took his stash from under the mattress and fired up a decent-sized rock, then sat down on the edge of the bed. The crack seemed to settle his nerves enough that he was able to get the big gun out of his pants without shooting himself. He admired the shiny gun, which looked even larger in his small hands. Along the side of the barrel was engraved
Colt Python .357 Magnum Ctg.

Guns were foreign to Byers, but he knew what the .357 meant. The barrel was long, he guessed it to be six inches at least, with a rail on the top that ran the length of it. He figured out how to release the cylinder and turned it, noting that two of the cartridges had tiny dimples in the center.

He pulled them out and saw there was no bullet in either. He dropped the empty cases in the trash can and pulled one of the others out, marveling at its size and weight. Over an inch and a half long, it was much larger than he’d expected. He slid the cartridge back in and closed the cylinder. Looking closer, he saw that each cartridge housing in the cylinder had a small picture engraved in it. Horses, cows, cowboy hats and other redneck stuff.

Placing the gun on the table, Byers took the wad of cash out of his pocket and counted it, his grin growing broader with each bill. He now had a little over two thousand dollars in cash, plus his coke stash that he was sure he could sell. Somewhere. Anywhere other than here.

Figuring he was at least safe in the motel room, he decided to take a nap, then catch a bus north, away from Key West.

T
he rain came down in sheets as the ambulance crews loaded the bodies of the five dead men. One ambulance had already left with a middle-aged couple from Indiana. They weren’t badly hurt, a flesh wound in the woman’s arm, and a shoulder wound that went through cleanly for her husband.

Welcome to Key Weird
, I thought.
Remember to send a post card home.

“He’ll come up with something,” Scott said, standing next to me and Pescador. Travis was still talking to one of the sheriff’s investigators, who’d arrived ten minutes after the first patrol cars.

“Yeah,” Germ said, standing next to Scott in the driving rain. “Travis is a good man. Pissed me off, when I first heard about that whole Charity thing, but I’m betting it came from higher up.”

So we stood waiting, as the rain poured down on us and the wind whipped at our clothes. Three Marines and a water dog. We could easily have taken a few steps to the left to stand under the palm tree, shielding ourselves from some of the rain. But clothes dry and the human body is waterproof, so we waited in the rain.

Finally, Travis and the investigator, clad in a rain slicker, walked over toward us. “This is Lieutenant Morgan, from the Monroe County Sheriff’s Office. He has a couple of questions, but I’ve already explained that he’ll get only one of your names.”

Travis winked as the investigator stepped forward. “Which of you is the DEA agent?”

Scott stepped forward and produced a sealed plastic bag from his front pocket. Inside it, there was an open wallet with his credentials. “Special Agent Scott Grayson, Lieutenant. Drug Enforcement.”

The lieutenant looked closely at the ID and at Scott’s face. “You’re operating here without notifying the sheriff, Agent Grayson.”

“
Special
Agent Grayson,” Scott corrected him. “Nothing to notify. Simple joint surveillance between two federal agencies. The dead guys obviously wanted it to be something more.”

The lieutenant glared menacingly at Scott. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, balding, and already losing the battle of the bulge. Under normal circumstances, he might have pulled off the threatening cop look, but with his hair drenched and hanging over his forehead, he just looked tired.

“Did you identify yourselves to the suspects?”

Scott took a slow step toward the investigator, his broad shoulders and thickly muscled arms a sharp contrast to the lieutenant, though they were about the same age.

“Lieutenant, I’ve been in law enforcement as long as you, probably longer. Of course, I did. Idiots like these don’t react like law-abiding citizens and because of that, they’re dead. No sweat off my balls.”

The lieutenant held Scott’s gaze for a moment, then looked at me and Germ. Finally he turned to Travis. “Director Stockwell, y’all are free to go. The sheriff’s office would like to get a heads-up any time another agency is investigating something here in Monroe County. Just as a professional courtesy.”

Without waiting for a reply, Lieutenant Morgan stomped off toward the growing throng of people, now joined by the lights and camera of a news crew.

Travis looked at Scott and said, “Good job. Can we get in out of the rain?”

Pescador rose and shook the water out of his fur, then leaped across the gunwale into the cockpit. Germ and Travis boarded and, looking over my shoulder at Scott as I stepped down to the deck, I said, “DEA?”

“Or FBI, CIA, FDLE, hell, I carry a whole damned Scrabble board in my pockets now.”

Inside, Travis switched on the salon lights. “At least one person on any mission now carries multiple IDs, courtesy of Homeland Security. Makes it easier to smooth things over with the local law enforcement.”

“Two got away,” I said after grabbing some towels from the head and passing them around. I began setting up the coffeemaker.

“Not for long,” Travis responded. “Only one way on or off the island. Local and county law enforcement will be checking anyone leaving.”

“Unless they steal a boat,” Germ said, echoing my thoughts.

“A cowboy and a Pittsburgh drug dealer? Doubtful. At any rate, I think our new friend doesn’t have anything to worry about as far as GT Bradley is concerned. If he does get away, he’ll head home as fast as he can and be picked up there.”

“Then we’re done here?” I asked.

“I’d say so.”

“Then let’s get the hell outta here. You want to catch a cab home or ride back and spend the night on the island?”

“I’ll get the dock lines,” Travis said, looking at his watch. “We’ll be there before sunrise.”

Up on the bridge, I watched while Travis and Germ untied the lines. Scott sat on the port bench, watching me. “You’re wanting to stay gone, aren’t you?”

The rain had quit and as I watched the moon come out from behind the scudding clouds, I thought about it for just a moment.

“It used to be nice here, back when I was a kid. It’s still mostly nice up in Big Pine and Marathon. But it’s getting worse, Scott. I find myself wanting more and more to do nothing but fish, dive, eat good food with good friends and, well, just live.”

“I hear ya, Gunny,” Scott said with a low sigh. “Sometimes, I’m just tired of it all, man. And you’ve been doing this for what? Almost thirty years?”

“Twenty-eight years, a month, and twenty-two days.”

“You deserve a rest,” he said with another sigh.

I did deserve a rest. When I came down here after retiring from the Corps, all I wanted to do was get drunk, chase women, fish and dive, and eat and sleep. Not necessarily in that order. Things happened that I couldn’t ignore, things that spiraled out of control. Friends got hurt, terrorists changed our way of life, and I lost my wife. Somewhere along the line, I’d also lost my direction.

I’d grasped onto Deuce’s team like it was a lifeline. I found friends among their tight-knit community, the camaraderie of warriors. More bad things happened and more friends were hurt. It just didn’t seem to make much difference what I did about it. Now, I had my daughters back in my life, a good woman that I loved, and my little island to escape to.

To hell with the rest of the world
, I thought and started the engines.

Minutes later, the
Revenge
slowly idled away from the dock in the moonlight, once more leaving carnage in my wake. In the channel, I checked the radar and turned north, bringing the big boat up on plane, going through the process like an automaton.

The clouds were nearly gone and stars now filled the sky as we made the turn to the northeast and home, but it didn’t have the same effect it usually does. Still, it was beautiful, and in the back of my mind the same three words scrambled for purchase, trying to fight the oncoming rush of island time.
No loose ends.

P
escador’s barking woke me. From the angle of the sunlight streaming through the open window, I could tell it was already midmorning. Knowing that Michal and Coral would be in my little house, the four of us had gone straight to the eastern bunkhouse when we returned last night. The rain had cooled things off a lot and I slept comfortably, not losing a single wink for the events of the night before.

Rising from my bunk, I saw Travis just starting to stir, but Scott and Germ were already up and gone. “I think we’re getting old, Colonel.”

Travis pulled on a clean shirt from his go-bag and stood up. “Speak for yourself, Jarhead. My rank allows me to start the day later.” He stretched and, hearing more than one vertebrae pop, we both laughed. “I’ll go to the other bunkhouse and get Chyrel on vid-comm to find out the latest news.”

I rose and went bare-chested to the pier out back. The sudden shock of the cool Gulf water after last night’s storm broke through the fog in my brain in half a heartbeat and I soon lost myself in the rhythm of the swim for the next thirty minutes.

When I finally got back to the pier, Coral was waiting with a towel. “Your friends said to talk to you or your first mate, but I can’t find him. What happened last night?”

I took the towel from her and rubbed my face and hair vigorously. “Have you talked to your aunt?”

“Yeah, Charlie let me use her phone and showed me where I could get a signal. Aunt Dawn said there was a shooting last night in Key West. The news hasn’t confirmed anything, but the coconut telegraph says that four men were killed.”

“Five,” I replied. “Bradley’s bodyguard, and four of five redneck wannabe-mercenaries Bradley hired. He, the little man, and one of the cowboys got away.”

“Little man?”

“The guy who stole Michal’s wallet in Miami. Somehow, Bradley was tracking Michal’s credit card usage, but it was the pickpocket they were following. He and Michal both just happened to end up in Key West and now the pickpocket’s joined up with Bradley.”

“So what happens now?”