Redemption Key (A Dani Britton Thriller) (5 page)

8:05am, 85° F

“Hot enough for you?” Caldwell asked.

“It’s August in Florida,” Oren said.

“Yeah but it’s not even nine o’clock and it’s got to be ninety degrees already. That’s not Florida hot. That’s Vietnam hot. That’s gunplay-in-the-streets hot.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Caldwell pulled a mint leaf from his glass. “Any idea what the deal is?”

“Bancroft told me it was antiques.” Oren poked at the lime rind that stuck to the side of the glass. Bancroft was the fence who had hooked him up with the Canadian. “He said there might be some concerns over provenance but that the goods were top shelf, top dollar.”

“Bancroft has never told the truth in his whole miserable life,” Caldwell said. “You thinking drugs?”

“It’s the Wheelers, so yeah, you’d think so. But with Vincente in the mix, who knows?”

Caldwell nodded. “And this Bermingham guy, you know him?”

“No, I was hoping you could give me some skinny on him. Bancroft got his connection thirdhand from the truck boys in Miami. They worked with a guy who worked with him. He’s an unknown at this point. The little I do know makes Vincente sound like a missionary.”

“Any idea what the dollar figure is for the deal?”

“Significant. That’s all Juan Wheeler said. And if it’s big enough for him to keep his mouth shut on the take, it’s either embarrassingly
small or large enough to buy his silence. Either way, I’m getting the usual stack for my hospitality.”

The two men sat in silence, swirling the ice in their glasses in accidental synchronization. “I’ll run a check on the Canadian, usual discreet channels. While I’m at it, I’ll check on your faithful new employee.”

Oren said nothing. He and Caldwell knew each other too well. If Oren protested the background check, it would just make the agent more curious. If he encouraged it, Caldwell might think Oren agreed with his instinct and dig deeper than absolutely necessary. Oren didn’t know if Dani had anything in her background worth hiding. It could be she’d run from an abusive home or a drug problem. He also didn’t know if Caldwell had seen the scars on her leg and shoulder. They’d be sure to pique the agent’s interest.

What unsettled him the most, however, wasn’t the odd pitch of Caldwell’s curiosity. It was the memory of that strange smile on Dani’s face. He had the feeling that of the three of them, he was the only one not seeing something obvious.

A warm breeze blew in from the deck, and Oren wrinkled his nose at the smell. Sour feet and onions. It wasn’t a smell he was likely to mistake.

“Why don’t you take the front stairs?” He drained his drink and nodded toward the kitchen door. “It looks like Juan wants to get a jump on things.”

Caldwell fished an ice cube out with his fingers and tossed it in his mouth. “I appreciate your discretion. I don’t need to tell you to keep your eyes open and your guard up. If Vincente wants this Bermingham guy bad enough to get into bed with the Wheelers, odds are nobody’s got anything good in mind.”

8:22am, 86° F

Smelling Juan Wheeler before seeing him was nothing unusual. Both Wheelers carried an unmistakable funk about them at all times. The heat didn’t help. The little man took his usual seat on the deck of Jinky’s with his back against the outer wall of the bar, staring at the stairs that came up from the dock. He wore a stained Marlins T-shirt with shiny black dress pants and his signature accessory—neon sneakers. Today’s were pink. Oren didn’t know if anyone had ever survived telling him that his footwear selections were often from the girl’s department. His right hand rested on his lap, Oren knew within easy reach of his Glock.

The breeze shifted, blowing in from the open water to the left, and Oren could smell Joaquin. He smelled a lot like his brother only with added notes of cigarettes and bacon. Oren didn’t bother to look where Juan stared. Joaquin would be blocking the top of the outer steps, using his lumpish form to keep anyone from joining them on the deck.

Everything about the Wheelers was bad for business.

“Good morning, Juan.” Oren pulled up a seat.

“How you doing?” The high pitch of Juan’s voice never failed to surprise Oren. He suspected that, like the little man’s shoe selection,
few people survived mocking it. Juan sprawled back in his chair, folding his arms up over his head to catch the breeze, amping up the unpleasant smell. The only plus side to that from Oren’s perspective was that it might keep the breeze from scattering the grainy flecks of dandruff that clung to Juan’s greasy brown hair.

He wished he’d refreshed his drink.

“Everything is set up for the meeting this morning. On my end at least. You’ll be in Room Four.” Oren nodded across the inlet to a long, low cinder block unit with four doors. Unlike the four little cottages across the parking lot at the short end of the horseshoe, Oren kept the cinder block units open and ready all year. The cottages were for tourists and fishermen during high season. The cinder block units were for business associates. He’d found the cinder block walls did more to muffle sound and stop bullets than drywall. “You’re early. I told Bermingham nine-thirty.”

“Yeah.” Juan smiled, doing little to improve his looks. He started to laugh, a high-pitched chittering that forced him to drop his arms. “About that. There might be a change of plans.”

“Is that such a good idea? It wasn’t easy to find this guy.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” The smile widened, and Oren felt a sick twist in his stomach from more than the sight of Juan’s yellowed teeth. “Mr. Vincente is working out the details. Mr. Vincente is aware of how important this deal is to our Canadian friend.”

“The less I know the better.”

Juan slid his hands underneath the table, shifting to reach inside the waistband of his dress pants. He pulled out a stained manila envelope, which he slid across to Oren.

“Mr. Vincente said to tell you how much he appreciates your help with this matter.”

Oren stared at the envelope that had been housed in Juan’s underwear. Filthy money in the truest sense of the word. “With all due respect to Mr. Vincente, my help in this matter ends with setting up this meeting.”

“Yeah,” Juan chittered again. “About that. That’s part of the change of plans.”

Heavy clomping on the steps distracted him from continuing. Oren saw what made the oafish Wheeler guarding the steps stumble. He could just make out the top of Dani’s head as Joaquin pressed himself hard against the wooden stair rail, great lumps of him squeezing through the slats, to wave Dani through with a swing of his meaty arm.

He didn’t know how she managed to keep her composure, but Dani just gave the hulking man a small smile and squeezed past him onto the deck. Oren didn’t want to think about what Joaquin Wheeler must smell like at armpit level.

“Hey, Dani,” Juan said, smiling at his brother. “Good to see you.”

“Yeah, Dani,” Joaquin wheezed, tugging on the hem of his sweat-stained shirt, effectively highlighting even more of his odd frame. His eyes moved over Dani. “Good to see you.”

She kept her back to Joaquin. She had to know he was staring at her ass. “Can I get anyone a drink?”

“Oh God, yes,” Oren sighed.

Dani snuck a quick glance into the bar. Caldwell was gone. That was good. She didn’t believe in coincidences, though. A federal agent and the Wheeler boys didn’t just happen to show up on the same day before nine in the morning. Had Caldwell’s arrival been a surprise to her boss? Or was it supposed to be a secret from the Wheelers? Either way, it wasn’t her problem. If her boss wanted to play both sides of whatever this deal was, he would play it without her.

FBI versus the Wheelers. Dani would have been hard-pressed to deem one side less likeable than the other.

She’d felt Joaquin’s gun when she’d squeezed past him. At least she prayed that was a gun. She’d been so focused on making as little body contact as possible, not just to avoid the feel-up but because
she really didn’t want to wear Joaquin’s unique fragrance on her clothes the rest of the morning. The temperatures were supposed to soar today with the humidity right behind it. Nothing was going to get any sweeter this afternoon.

“Juan?” She waited for the smaller Wheeler to break the giggling eye contact he held with his brother. Judging from the way Mr. Randolph looked elsewhere, she could just imagine the expression on Joaquin’s face. “Can I get you something?”

“You got Mexi-Coke? You know? Coke from Mexico?”

“We do.”

“Good. Good.” Juan drummed his fingers on the table. “It’s made with real sugar, you know that? Real sugar, not that-that-that chemical stuff they use up here. Real sugar.”

Dani doubted Juan and chemicals had ever been strangers. “Ice?”

“Two. Yeah, two cubes.” He held up two grimy fingers just in case she didn’t understand the words. He always ordered the same thing—Mexican coke with two ice cubes. Dani knew the specific order made the little man feel like a connoisseur of soft drinks and the better Juan felt about himself, the smoother and briefer his meetings tended to go. She nodded and turned back to Joaquin, slowly enough to give him time to pull his gaze up from her ass. No matter how slowly she turned, however, she was always too quick.

“Joaquin?” She saw a flush rise beneath his pocked skin. His good eye flickered toward her face and then away. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Same. Same.” Spit flew as he stammered.

“Two Mexican cokes with ice and another vodka. Be right back.”

“We’ll be right here,” Juan cackled.

She caught the long-suffering look on her boss’s face. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the scent of the Wheelers, but the look sent a spark of irritation through her.

No, she knew what irritated her. “Is your friend joining you, boss?”
She tipped her head toward the bar, where he and Caldwell had been moments before. Mr. Randolph’s eyes widened for just a second before he shook his head.

“Nah, it’s just us. That was just an old fishing buddy passing through.”

Juan didn’t seem to catch the muffled anxiety in his voice. Mr. Randolph was a better-than-average liar, a skill more difficult than most people understood. Dani graced him with the same noncommittal nod she’d given the Wheelers, and she could see him studying her face as she moved past him.