Caribbean Hustle (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order) (5 page)

He descended to the ground floor.

It was another repeat.

Then suddenly a window shattered, from an outside rock or chunk of asphalt that bounced across the floor and skidded to a stop. Teffinger carefully made his way over and peered out.

Thirty yards away, by the black silhouette of a railcar, a flashlight turned on and pointed directly at him. It flicked back and forth, almost as if daring him to come out and see who was behind it.

The space between the building and flashlight was open.

There were no poles or dumpsters.

He’d be exposed.

What to do?

Go out the back and circle around?

Then something happened he didn’t expect. A voice shouted over the storm, “See you soon, Teffinger!”

He knew that voice.

He knew it only too well.

“Tarzan!”

“Tell me something. That island girl you’re screwing, is she as good as she looks?”

“Tarzan!”

No reply came.

“Tarzan!”

15

Day Two

June 5

Thursday Night

Tarzan was gone, not to return, not tonight at least. Teffinger made his way through the storm to the Tundra with his left arm wrapped around Kovi-Ke’s waist and the cold steel of his weapon gripped in his right hand.

Twenty minutes later they were home.

There he swallowed a beer, called in the incident to dispatch and made sure a renewed BOLO was put out on Tarzan. Tomorrow he’d go back to the lair to try to figure out if Tarzan had beaten him there and already extracted whatever it was he came back for.

But why was he screwing with Teffinger?

Why did he call him?

Why did he taunt him with the flashlight?

Was it all a sick little foreplay to Teffinger’s murder?

He was on the couch in the dark with the lights out and the storm beating every structure and road and car and streetlight and stray dog with evil fists, waiting for Tarzan to make another move, although it would be a long shot tonight. Kovi-Ke was next to him, her soaking clothes replaced with a long-sleeve shirt out of Teffinger’s closet. Underneath it was nothing except her. A glass of white perched in her lap.

Teffinger hardened his heart to be able to get through the next few minutes, which needed to be gotten through. “Island girl,” he said. “That’s what Tarzan called you.”

“Yes.”

“He knows you. He wouldn’t say
island
unless he knew you were from one. That’s not the kind of word that just pops into a sentence by accident.”

“So, he knows me.”

“Do you know him?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s not his eyes I see out of.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know, I just do. He’s probably been stalking you. That’s how he’s seen me. Maybe he got close enough to hear my voice.”

Teffinger chewed on it.

He shook his head.

“No, no way.”

“Maybe you weren’t there,” she said. “Maybe I was talking to someone else.”

She suddenly got very still.

“What’s wrong?” Teffinger said.

“He was there!”

“Where?”

“Up on the top floor, somewhere in the dark. We weren’t alone. He was there with us. He was right there! I had a creepy feeling. I thought it was just the storm and the whole weirdness of the place. But that’s what it was. He was there.”

Teffinger couldn’t deny the possibility.

He hadn’t brought a flashlight.

He’d never searched the place.

“If that was the case, why wouldn’t he just take me out?”

“I don’t know. Probably for the same reason he didn’t take you out when he lured you down to the first floor. Whatever he’s up to, it’s not time yet.”

Teffinger went to the window, drew the curtain ever so slightly and peeked out. Nothing was out there, only the storm.

Tarzan knew Kovi-Ke.

Did she know him, in spite of denying it?

Teffinger wasn’t sure.

He still couldn’t read her good enough.

He curled up on the couch with his head on the woman’s lap.

His eyes closed.

If she killed him while he was sleeping, he didn’t care.

He was too tired to care.

16

Day Three

June 6

Friday Morning

Teffinger woke just before the first rays of dawn Friday morning. No one had killed him during the night; not Tarzan, not Kovi-Ke, not Tarzan and Kovi-Ke in combination, not the crazy neighbor from down the street, not a 747 dropping out of the sky, no one. Right now, the way he felt, that was a good thing. Last night he didn’t really care. Now he did.

He was on the couch with a pillow under his head.

He rocked to an upright position and headed to the bedroom to find Kovi-Ke sleeping on top of the sheets, still wearing his shirt, although now it had ridden up to her waist. He covered her with a blanket, gave her a soft kiss on the cheek and headed outside into the dark for a jog, making sure the door was solidly locked behind him.

Puddles were rampant and the air smelled like wet grass but the storm was gone.

Houses were dark.

Teffinger’s body wasn’t in the best of moods for a jog but that was too bad. It would need to comply. He put one foot in front of the other with a rhythm and let the streetlights click off. A dog behind a fence snapped off a half dozen warning barks as he passed. Something crossed the street up ahead, a cat or a fox, pausing briefly to size Teffinger up before it darted into the shadows and became forever gone.

Whatever it was it had survived the night.

Good job.

He picked up the pace; getting his knees higher and his stride longer and letting his lungs hunt deeper for air. The road went from downhill to flat to now slightly up, hardly up at all actually, but a strong anchor nonetheless. Teffinger forced his body to keep the speed up.

Kovi-Ke.

Kovi-Ke.

Kovi-Ke.

Who was she, really?

He got home half an hour later, three well-earned miles under the belt, to find the coffee pot warming up and the exotic little flower that was Kovi-Ke in the shower.

He stepped in, took the soap and worked it on her back, saying nothing.

Her hair was heavy with water.

Rogue strands danced back and forth on her neck from the spray.

Teffinger had never seen anything so pure and natural.

He kissed her there.

Everything in his world shifted; how big and how far, he wasn’t sure yet—but a shift had come.

He whispered in her ear, “Tell me about the other murders.”

“What do I get in return?”

“Whatever you want.”

“What if what I want is you?”

“Then that’s what you get,” he said.

“Deal,” she said. “Payment first.”

“Now?”

She rubbed against him.

“Absolutely now.”

He paid, and then over pancakes and coffee, she kept up her end. “Like I said before, I’ve never seen him actually kill anyone. All I’ve seen is the aftermath. The most disturbing one was the one I already told you about, the stomach girl.”

“Alley Savannah.”

“If that’s her name.”

“She was last seen at a lesbian club.”

“Yeah, you told me.” Teffinger must have had a look on his face because the woman added, “I’ve had women, if that’s what your thinking.”

Teffinger took a long slurp.

“That’s not what I was thinking.”

“Yes it was. That’s okay. I’d be doing the same.”

He took a noisy slurp of coffee.

“So you’re bi?”

“I’m whatever I want to be at the moment. Life’s too short to not take it, wherever it is.” She smiled. “Do you have any lesbian girlfriends? You could bring her over and watch.”

He pictured it.

“You’re picturing it,” she said.

He nodded.

“It’s nice. Have you ever been to Miami?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever been to the club Alley Savannah was at? The Blackbird Ordinary?”

She hesitated and then said, “Yes.”

The word was a train slamming into Teffinger’s chest.

“You have?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about that before?”

“Because then you’d be focusing on me,” she said. “I don’t want you focusing on me. I want you focusing on the guy whose eyes I’m seeing out of. That’s who killed her, not me.”

“But you were there, at the club?”

“Once or twice but not that night or even that month. Like I said, I didn’t kill her.”

“Did you know her?”

“No.”

“Did you see her there at the club when you were there?”

“If I did, I don’t remember her.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember leaving with a curvy little blond,” she said.

“Do you remember her name?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

She hardened her face.

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you anything. I gave you my body—twice—and you still don’t trust me?”

“I trust you just fine,” he said.

She dropped her fork and stood up.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “You contact me when that’s actually true.”

Then she was gone, out the door and gone, walking down the street and gone, leaving with a brisk stride and gone, all as Teffinger watched. His instinct was to chase her down.

He didn’t.

He let her go.

It felt as if his arm had just fallen off.

At the office, Teffinger pulled Sydney into a private room and told her everything that was going on. She wasn’t happy and wrinkled her face to prove it.

“Teff, your weakness is women and it always will be. We both know that. But this time you’ve gone too far.”

“How do you figure?”

“Sleeping with her? It’s against every rule in the book.”

Teffinger disagreed.

“She’s not part of anything,” he said.

“She’s a witness,” she said.

“How? By seeing out of someone’s eyes? Try getting that in evidence in a court of law.”

“She’s a suspect,” Sydney said.

“How?”

“Stop it Teffinger,” she said. “Stop making excuses. However this case turns out, you’ve probably already blown it by sleeping with her.”

“There is no case,” he said.

“Then what do you call Station?”

“Station’s fine,” he said. “There’s no crime involving her. The only possible case at play here involves Tarzan. He’s already wanted. I could sleep with a million women and that wouldn’t get him off the hook.”

Sydney stood up.

“Rein yourself in,” she said. “And don’t come looking to me again for approval. You’re not going to get it. What you’re doing isn’t okay and I’m not going to say it is.”

She left.

Ten seconds later she was back.

“And while we’re at it,” she said, “laying in wait for Tarzan last night without telling anyone and without backup wasn’t very smart.”

“He would have seen backup,” Teffinger said. “Going alone was our only shot.”

She shook her head in disagreement.

“You had a civilian there too,” she said. “You better stop and think about your actions because you’re way over the line.”

Then she was gone.

Ten seconds later she didn’t come back.

He slumped back in the chair, alone, listening to the hum of the ceiling vent. When his phone rang he almost didn’t answer, not needing yet a third thing to bite him. A woman’s voice came through, one with a thick Caribbean accent.

“My name’s Poppy and I’m with the CIA down here in Haiti,” she said. “Leigh Sandt wanted me to give you a call. She said you need some information on a voodoo ritual that took place back in February during Karnaval.”

“That’s right. I appreciate your calling. Thank you.”

“I’m not promising anything other than I’ll sniff around to the extent I can,” she said. “Tell me exactly what it is that you’re looking for.”

He did.

He wanted to know if it was true that a Jamaican woman by the name of Kovi-Ke was abducted and subjected to a voodoo ritual. If so, what happened during that ritual and more importantly who was behind it?