The King Tides

Chapter 8 Summertime Job

His job in Melbourne finished, he drove home listening to a bootleg Jimmy Buffett concert he’d recorded at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival on the Acura stage, the recording equipment taped beneath his shirt. He’d had enough wires strapped to his body to be a suicide bomber, and would have gotten thrown in jail if caught, not that he cared. He was devoted to Buffett’s music and would do it again if the opportunity presented itself.

The sky was lightening as he parked outside his condo. He lived in Venice Isles in a two-bedroom with a panoramic view of the Intracoastal. The unit had been well above his pay grade until Hollywood had offered to buy the rights to the story behind the YouTube video. His friends had urged him to hold out for a part in the film, and he’d told them to get lost, and bought into the building while it was still under construction.

At first, his neighbors had turned up their noses at his bad fashion statement. Then they’d learned he was an ex-cop and decided he was cool. A day didn’t go by without a text questioning a suspicious character lurking about.

He slept a few hours, showered, but didn’t shave. While the stubble wouldn’t pass for a beard, it gave his face character. Standing at the mirror, he thought back to Janey touching his belly and her surprise. Not all fat men were created equal.

He thought about the Pearls as he dressed. Strange men were trying to abduct their daughter, and no one knew why. Or perhaps someone did know, but wasn’t letting on. He liked puzzles, and felt confident that he could solve this one.

Melanie greeted him at the front door. “Good morning, Jon. While we were having breakfast, we saw a story on the news about Janey MacKenzie being rescued in Melbourne last night. You must be very proud. Congratulations.”

Good news traveled fast. He entered and she shut the door behind him.

“We had visitors yesterday after you left,” she said. “A pair of detectives appeared on our doorstep wanting to know if you’d discharged your gun while rescuing Nicki. They had very unpleasant things to say about you.”

“Detectives Vargas and Gibbons,” he said.

The words caught her by surprise. “How did you know?”

“It’s not the first time they’ve spread dirt about me. What did you tell them?”

“Nolan covered for you, and said you hadn’t shot your gun. I want to be up front with you. I wanted to fire you after they left, but my husband and daughter were against it. They felt the detectives weren’t being honest. I thought it over, and decided they were right. But I need to ask you a question. Why did those detectives lie?”

“We have a history,” he said. “A Hollywood studio paid me a lot of money for the rights to make a movie about my rescuing a little girl. Vargas and Gibbons were on duty that day, and felt they deserved a cut because they assisted in the rescue. I thought about it, and decided no. Hollywood wants to tell my story, not theirs. They didn’t like it, and have been causing me problems ever since.”

“What kind of problems?”

“They sued me, but it got thrown out of court. Then they started harassing me and trying to ruin my business.”

“That explains it. I have one more question, if you don’t mind. Were you really a Navy SEAL? The detectives said that you weren’t.”

“I was. You act surprised.”

“You aren’t what I envision a SEAL would look like. Even an ex-one.”

“Did my belly throw you off?”

She blushed. “It did.”

“I was born with a condition called gastroschisis, which gave me a big stomach. The doctors fixed the problem, but for some reason my protruding stomach remained. People think I’m fat, but I’m not. Give me your hand.”

She lifted her hand, and he placed it against his belly. Her face registered surprise.

“My God, you’re as hard as a rock. You must take a lot of grief for it.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, letting her hand go. “How’s Nicki doing?”

“We pulled her out of school, like you suggested. She’s upstairs studying.”

“I told you last night that your daughter wasn’t to leave your sight,” he said, raising his voice. “Please get her downstairs.”

“We thought you meant when we went outside.”

Melanie was challenging him. He’d let it go once, but not a second time. “Don’t think these people won’t break into your house. Go get her.”

“Of course.” She went to the foot of the stairway and called for her daughter.

“Nicki, please come downstairs. Bring your laptop with you.” There was no response, and her face filled with apprehension. “Nicki, are you there? Answer me this instant.” She turned to Lancaster. “She must be plugged into a device.”

“Or she’s gone,” he said.

“You’re scaring me, Jon.”

Melanie was living in a bubble. So were most wealthy people, who believed that money could stop evil from entering their lives. Brushing past her, he bolted upstairs to the second floor and ran down the hallway. The doorway at the end had a drawing of a chestnut horse Scotch-taped to it, and he pounded on the door.

“Nicki?”

Melanie was right behind him. She twisted the knob and they entered together. Nicki lay on her bed, plugged into her iPhone. The teenager jumped up with a start.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“Nothing, honey. Everything’s fine,” Melanie said. “I thought you were doing homework. When you didn’t answer me, I got worried.”

“I was taking a break. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s okay. Now grab your laptop, and come downstairs with us.”

“Sure, Mom.”

Nicki scooped up her laptop from a desk and followed her mother into the hallway. Lancaster did a quick sweep before leaving. The bedroom was a shrine to horses, the walls covered with posters of equestrian events held during the last Summer Olympics. The room had a single window facing the front of the house. Gazing out, he spied a white van parked across the street with a retractable aluminum ladder strapped to its roof and two men sitting inside. The van hadn’t been there when he’d parked in the driveway a few minutes ago. Melanie edged up beside him.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

“Any idea what that van is doing parked across the street?” he asked.

“My neighbors must be having their house painted.”

“Are you friends with them?”

“We are. The Hartmans were the first people we met when we moved in.”

“Call them, and see if you’re right.”

“You think I’m not?”

“I painted houses one summer when I was a teenager. We showed up at eight in the morning and finished up at four. If the two guys in that van are painters, they should be painting your neighbor’s house instead of casing yours.”

“How can you see that far away?”

“It’s called visual accommodation. My eyes can adjust to distances and make out objects with total clarity. It comes in real handy sometimes. Please call the Hartmans.”

Melanie placed a call to her neighbors on her cell phone. It ended with a frown. “They’re not having any painting done. Do you think—”

She was asking too many questions, and he cut her short. “Take Nicki downstairs to where your husband is. I’m going outside to talk with these guys.”

“Whatever you say, Jon. Should I call 911?”

The average 911 call in a residential neighborhood was worthless when dealing with a real emergency. But Melanie was in distress, and trashing the cops wouldn’t help her frame of mind.

“It can’t hurt,” he said.

He came out the front door holding his car keys like he was preparing to leave. He went to the driver’s door of his vehicle and pushed the unlock button. The car’s headlights blinked, and so did its brake lights. Instead of getting in, he sprinted to the street, hoping to get a good look at the pair inside the van, which had its engine running. He was successful. Both had copper-tan skin and wore shades. He tried to determine if it was the same pair he’d seen in the cigarette boat, and decided it was.

“Hey! I need to talk to you!”

The van started moving. With tires squealing, it retreated down the street in reverse, making it impossible for him to read the license plate. Still in reverse, it whipped around a corner and disappeared. There was a science to not getting caught, and these guys were pros.

Frustrated, he went back inside. Melanie was in the foyer, cell phone in hand.

“I’m on hold with the dispatcher,” she said.

“You might as well hang up. They took off. It was the same pair from yesterday.”

She brought her hand to her mouth. “They’re not afraid of anything.”

“Oh yes, they are. They’re afraid of me. They wouldn’t have run like cowards if they weren’t. Is Nicki with your husband?”

“They’re in the study. How about a cup of coffee? You look like you could use one.”

“I never say no to coffee.”

She fixed him a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Her cell phone chirped, and she tugged it from her pocket. “My husband just texted me. He has something to show you. This house is so big that we have to text each other, if you can believe that.”

“Do you feel safe here?”

“I did when we first moved in. Now, not so much.”

“We need to fix that.”

“I’m open to any suggestions.”

“I know three ex-SEALs who will protect you when I’m not here.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

He followed her across the downstairs holding his steaming mug.

“One of our neighbors has a surveillance camera with a partial street view,” she said. “He shared a tape from last night with us. It’s very alarming. The neighborhood appears to be overrun with men stalking my daughter.”

They entered the study. The blinds were drawn, and it was dark. South Florida was all about bright-blue skies and sunshine, and the room felt like a cave. Pearl sat on a couch facing a wall-mounted TV, Nicki cross-legged on the floor, doing homework. On the TV’s screen the neighbor’s grainy surveillance video played. Each time a vehicle drove down the street, Pearl made a mark on a yellow legal pad. He glanced up.

“Hello, Jon. Congratulations. I saw the story about your rescue on the news. My wife said there was a suspicious van parked outside.”

“It was the same pair from yesterday. They bolted when I approached them.”

“But you shot one of them.”

“He was wearing a bulletproof vest. It was them, I’m sure of it.”

“Do you think they’ll be back?”

“Normally, I’d say no. But this situation isn’t normal. These guys don’t seem to care if they get spotted. May I ask what you’re doing?”

“I’m counting the vehicles that drove down our street last night. My neighbor leads the neighborhood watch group and said we normally get six cars per hour after midnight. Last night, it was triple that.”

“Eighteen cars per hour.”

“Correct.”

“Are there any road closures that you know about?”

“None that I’m aware of. The increase in traffic was caused by five vehicles.”

“Let me make sure I’m getting this right. Five different vehicles kept passing your house late last night. How long did this last?”

“From midnight until five a.m. Then it stopped.”

Pearl passed him the legal pad. Written on it were the names of five vehicles. There was a Chevy Malibu, a BMW Roadster, a Dodge Charger, a Ford pickup, and a Mini Cooper. Each car had a row of check marks beside it. The list didn’t look right, and he quickly realized what the problem was. The white van with the two kidnappers wasn’t on it.