Matt Royal Mystery - 03 - Blood Island (27 page)

I choked back my emotion. "How long, Jeff?"

"Today, tomorrow, a couple more days at the most."

"I'm sorry, my friend, so goddamned sorry."

"I know. Me too. Thanks for finding my little girl. I'm sure you know
how much this means to Laura. She'll go peacefully, now." I heard a sob as
he hung up the phone.

I turned to Peggy. "He told you about Laura?"

"Yes. Oh, Matt, I've got to get home."

"We're on our way, honey," I said, and pushed the throttles all the
way forward.

I hailed the Coast Guard station on my radio as we approached their
docks. Two men came to meet us, took our lines, and pointed us to the
building housing the administrative staff.

On the way in, I'd told Jock and Logan about Laura's condition.
Logan stood next to Peggy during the entire trip, his arm around her
shoulder, cradling her head in the crook of his elbow, giving support to a
young lady who was losing a mother for the second time in her short life.
A somber air hovered over our little group as we climbed out of the boat
onto the cement piers.

Peggy was quiet, her face showing no expression. She was still
dressed in the white gown, now streaked with dirt. Her flip-flops slapped
the pavement as we walked. She was holding Logan's hand.

"What about Peggy?" I asked.

"She'll come with me," Jock said. "We'll get her some clothes and send her home to Atlanta. I think the local cops will want to talk to her first."

"Call Detective Paul Galls at the sheriff's office. He's aware of the
situation."

At the door to the station jock stopped. "Can you get to those
people you've got under lock and key? We need to squeeze them for any
information about suicide bombers."

"I think so. Let me make a call."

I dialed Mendosa's number and identified myself to the answering
machine. A moment later, my cell phone rang.

"This is Matt Royal. I'd like to meet with the people you're holding
for me."

"Hold, please," the voice said.

He came back on the line. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the Coast Guard station on Trumbo Road."

"Stand out front. A car will be there in five minutes."

"I have a friend with me."

"Hold, please."

Then, "Mr. Mendosa says if you vouch for him, bring him along."
He hung up.

"They'll be here in a couple of minutes," I said.

Jock nodded. "I'll leave it to you then. I have some talking to do to the
Reverend Simmermon." He walked into the building, leading Peggy by
the hand.

"Who are the people on the phone?" Logan said.

"They're friends of Cracker Dix's."

Logan laughed. "That doesn't sound good."

"They're solid people, and they owe Cracker. He called in part of
the debt to help me."

"Good of Cracker," said Logan, a wry grin softening his face.

The sun was trying to rise out of the Atlantic. The sky was brightening over the little city, the harbinger of the sun's rays, signaling another
day for the revelers who come to Key West to drink and party. I thought it
was going to be a beautiful morning. I wondered what was happening on
Blood Island. I hoped it wasn't going to be a blood bath.

The black Lincoln Town Car glided to a stop in front of us. The same
driver who'd met me on Roosevelt Avenue was behind the wheel. He got
out and said, "Good to see you, Mr. Royal."

"Good to see you again. This is Logan Hamilton. Also a friend of
Cracker's."

They shook hands, and Logan and I got in the backseat. We headed
northeast, out of the city. We came to a sign announcing that we were on
Big Coppitt Key. We turned off U.S. 1 onto a residential street. We stopped
in front of a large house at the end of the street. A garage door opened and
the Lincoln eased into the space and stopped.

"We're here," said the driver.

We got out and followed him into the house, through a large kitchen
and into the living room. One wall was mostly windows, giving a view
through a stand of trees down to Florida Bay.

The house sat on a large lot, much larger than you would expect to
find in the Keys. The trees all around gave it a sense of seclusion.

Mendosa was sitting in an easy chair sipping coffee, the morning
paper on his lap. He rose as we entered the room. I introduced Logan,
and said, "I need to talk to your guests. It's very important."

"Certainly. I'll take you to them, but they may not be in a mood to
talk. Perhaps we should have a plan in case they won't cooperate."

"Aren't you interested in why we're here?"

"Of course I am, but it'd be rude to ask. I don't need to know. Probably don't want to know." He grinned.

I nodded. "You're probably right."

We talked for a few more minutes, and then Mendosa led Logan and
me down a hallway to a bedroom. The room was bare except for a bed. A
large window looked out over the backyard. I could see beyond the trees
to the bay, shimmering in the early light. The backyard was a study in shadows cast by the rising sun. Michelle was lying on the bed, fully clothed
and wide-awake.

"Good morning, sunshine," I said.

She looked at me, hate darting from her eyes like lightning. "Asshole," she said through clenched teeth. "You broke my jaw"

"Sorry. I'd like you to meet my friend Logan."

"Another asshole."

Logan smiled. "Nice to meet you too, ma'am."

"I've got a few questions," I said.

Michelle turned her head away from me. "I've got nothing to say."

I looked at Mendosa. "Would you be kind enough to ask Mr.
Calhoun to join us?"

He left and returned with one of his men holding Charlie Calhoun by
the arm, his hands cuffed behind his back.

I said, "Good morning, Mr. Calhoun. I'd offer to shake hands, but
you seem a little distracted."

He stared straight ahead. "Fuck you, Royal."

"Charlie," I said, "I'm going to ask you some questions. You get one
try at answering truthfully. If you don't, you pay the consequences."

Michelle mumbled through her clenched jaw. "Don't say a word,
Charlie."

I looked at Charlie. "You've got one chance. Don't blow it."

"Fuck you, Royal."

I smiled at him. "You've got a limited vocabulary. Tell me what the
Rev is going to blow up."

A look of puzzlement, or maybe just stupidity, crossed his face. "I
don't know what you're talking about."

"Charlie, don't be stupid. If you help me, you'll be helping yourself."

"Go to hell, Royal."

I turned to Mendosa. "Would you be kind enough to take this cretin
out back and have him shot?"

"Certainly," said Mendosa, and nodded to the man who'd brought
Charlie to us.

Charlie looked at me with a knowing grin. He didn't think we'd do
it. People who lurk on the edges of civilization know that their greatest
protection from the wrath of society is the unwillingness of good people
to do bad things. Sometimes, the lurkers misjudge.

Logan followed Charlie and his keeper out of the room. They reappeared
on the lawn outside the window. Mendosa's man moved out of my line of
sight, leaving Charlie and Logan standing alone on the grass.

"You might want to watch this," I said to Michelle.

Logan was standing behind the handcuffed Charlie. He raised a pistol to the back of Charlie's neck. The sound of a gunshot rattled the glass
in the window. Charlie dropped loosely to the ground, like a bag ofpota-
toes. Logan turned and walked out of our view.

Michelle screamed as the gunshot sounded. "My God! You shot
Charlie."

"You're next, Michelle," I said. "I'm tired of fooling around. Tell me
what I want to know and you live. Lie to me, you die. It's that simple."

She was sitting on the side of the bed, hands in her lap. They were
shaking. Her face was twisted in a rictus of fear. Tears were sliding down
her cheeks. Reality had come home to Michelle, and she didn't like it.

"I don't want to die," she said.

I sat on the bed beside her. I reached out and took her hand. "I don't
want you to die either. Tell me what Simmermon is doing."

She caught her breath, swallowed a sob. "I'm not real sure. He's been
crazy lately. Says God's talking to him and telling him to kill the heathens."

"How does he plan to do that?"

"I think he's got some of those kids convinced to use themselves as
suicide bombers. He's planning to blow up churches."

"Churches? Christian churches?" I said.

"Yes. He thinks if he sends the bombers into Christian houses ofwor- ship, the Muslims will be blamed. He wants what he calls another
Crusade to free the Holy Land."

"How does he figure to do that?"

"He says that the bombings will cause such a groundswell of public
outrage that the U.S. will have to bomb the Muslims out of existence."

"All one and a half billion of them?" Incredulity strained my words.

"That's what he says, starting with the ones in our country."

"He's not squeamish about sacrificing his brother Christians in
return for killing Muslims?"

Michelle rolled her eyes. "He says the Christians who are killed are
going to heaven anyway, or most of them, and they'll be better off."

"He's not planning to be among them I take it."

"No. He says God wants him here on earth to help turn everybody
else into Christians, to save them."

"And if the Jews or Buddhists or whoever don't want to be saved?"

"I don't think he's worked that one out yet," she said.

"How long has he been planning this?"

"I'm not sure. He just told me about it a couple of days ago at lunch.
I think he's been working on it for a long time though. He said the plan is
already in operation."

"How did a string of whorehouses come to this?"

"I don't know. I met the Rev a few years ago at a tent revival in
Alabama. He understood what I was going through, and I joined his
organization. I'd worked in a house in Birmingham, and when I realized
all these little sluts were looking for salvation, we came up with the plan for
the spas. It was a good deal until he went nuts."

"Not such a good deal for the girls."

"Not a bad deal either. They have a nice place to live, food on the
table, and a medical plan. Most of them don't want to leave."

"But you keep them drugged."

"Only for the first month or so. Then they can either leave or stay on
at one of our other spas in a different town."

"So, Key West is where you break them in."

"You could say that."

"What happens if the girl doesn't want this kind of life?"

"The Rev takes them back home I guess. I don't really know."

"I thought you ran things."

"I thought I did too."

"Where is lie sending the bombers?"

"I honestly don't know. I didn't even know there were bombers until
a couple of days ago."

"Okay. You're going to stay here for a while. One of your other guys
is here too."

"Who?"

"Martin Holcomb."

"He's one of the Rev's thugs. I hardly know him."

"I'll have Charlie brought back to his room."

"His body?"

"No, Michelle. Charlie's not dead. Sane people don't kill just to make
a point."

"But I saw your buddy shoot him."

"Yes, but with a dart gun. The gunshot came from a pistol fired into
the ground. Charlie will have a headache but that's all."

"You can't prove anything."

I pulled a tape recorder out of the pocket of my shorts. "I think I
can," I said.

"You son of a bitch," she said. "You rotten son of a bitch."

The driver took Logan and me back to the Coast Guard station. I thanked
the driver and told him I'd be in touch about his guests.

The Coastie on the front desk took us to a room in the back of the
building. Jock was there, sitting at a small conference table. Paul Galis sat
on the other side, nervously rubbing his hands together. A compact man
in Army battle fatigues was at the end of the table.