Wild Oblivion (Tyson Wild Thriller #88)

Chapter 1

“I’m telling you, it was an old man,” Carlos said. “Like old, old.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “And you couldn’t catch up with him?”

“Man, I got a bum knee. And that dude had a gun!”

No shell casings on the ground, as far as I could see. The shooter had either collected his brass or used a revolver. Some old timers favor revolvers. That was my bet.

Dietrich snapped photos, and forensic investigators chronicled the scene.

The fishy smell of sour trash drifted through the air from a nearby dumpster. It mixed with the tinny metallic scent of blood.

Sheriff Daniels looked on with a tight face.

The victim was dressed in a collared shirt, slacks, and penny loafers. He had sharp features, and his jaw sported a trimmed beard. His short, wavy, rust-colored hair and hazel eyes complemented somewhat fair skin. He certainly hadn’t been spending a lot of time in the Florida sun.

"Tell me everything," I said to Carlos.

He shrugged, then pointed at the deceased.

"The guy left the store. He was accosted by the old man.

Grandpa pulled a gun on him and escorted him around the building into the alley.

I was checking out at the counter when I saw the two of them.

A moment later, I heard the gunshots. I don't know what I was thinking.

I rushed out of the store and ran toward the sound.

Stupid. That's when I saw the old man taking off down the alley. I don't usually run in the direction of gunfire, but… I don’t know. Something came over me. I should get some kind of medal, right?”

I gave him a flat look. “Have you ever seen these two gentlemen before?”

Carlos shook his head.

“So you didn’t actually see the old man shoot the victim?”

His brow wrinkled. “No. But I didn’t need to. It’s pretty obvious.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“No.” He thought for a moment. “Wait. Yeah. I don’t know if this matters, but they spoke to each other in another language. I think it was German. The old man was yelling at him.”

“You know what was said?”

He gave me a dumb look. “I don’t speak German. But the old guy was angry.”

“So, they knew each other?”

Carlos shrugged. “How should I know?”

“Describe the shooter.”

“Late 80s, silver hair, maybe six feet tall, kinda frail.”

“And he ran off,” I said, still with a hint of doubt.

“Yeah. Surprised the shit out of me.”

“Think you can give a description to a sketch artist?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I took his information and gave Carlos my card. “I’ll have someone contact you.”

He nodded.

I thanked him, then moved near the remains and asked Brenda, “Got an ID on this guy?”

“No wallet in his pocket.”

The victim’s watch was still on his wrist. At a casual glance, it was a nice watch—a Rolex Oyster Chronograph. This wasn’t a robbery.

“Found this,” Brenda said as she pulled a key card from his front right pocket.

I snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves, and she handed it to me. After examining the card, I said, "This is to the Seven Seas.”

It was a luxury resort on the island.

"No cell phone," Brenda said.

A perplexed look twisted on my face for an instant. It was unusual in this day and age, unless someone was up to nefarious activities. Everybody had a phone.

There was something off about the whole thing.

I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of the dead guy’s face. I sent it to Isabella at Cobra Company. She was the queen of intel and could find out just about anything about anyone. As the head of a clandestine agency, she didn't always have to play by the rules.

Daniels put a BOLO out on the assailant.

JD and I were about to leave the scene as Paris Delaney and her news crew arrived.

"Deputy Wild, what can you tell us?" the ambitious blonde asked as she closed in with her camera crew.

I gave a brief overview and asked for witnesses to contact the department.

I figured we’d head over to the Seven Seas and see if we could drum up any information. We hopped into the 1979 light blue metallic Porsche 911 SC and zipped across town to the posh resort.