Chapter 21
Gary watched our discussion, not able to make sense of it.
“Have you been following a pattern?” I asked Kara, having a suspicion.
She cringed, then sheepishly admitted, “Maybe.”
I facepalmed in dismay and shook my head.
“I know, I know. But the coffee shop in the mall has the best pumpkin spice latte on the island. Believe me, I’ve tried them all.”
I gave her a flat look.
“I’m serious.”
“Basic,” I said.
“Hey, we all have our weaknesses.”
I thanked Gary for the assistance, then we left and made our way back to the parking lot. I texted Isabella and had her look into Lori.
Isabella called a few minutes later as we reached the Porsche. I held the door for Kara, and she climbed in.
“You really need to get a bigger car,” she muttered.
“What have you got for me?” I asked Isabella.
“Lori has been working the perfume counter for a year. Prior arrest for DUI. Has a credit card balance of $19,329 and student debt of $79,634. Her current checking account balance is $376. It’s safe to say she’s a little overleveraged. I’m looking to see if she has a crypto wallet.”
“Sounds like a prime target.”
“I’ll keep digging,” she said before ending the call.
I slipped into the seat and pulled the door shut with a clunk. Jack pulled out of the space, and we set out to find Lori.
We cruised across the island toward the Conch Coast apartments. We hadn't been on the road long when Jack noticed a black sedan a few cars back. It had been hanging with us for a few twists and turns.
"I think we've got a friend," JD said, thick with sarcasm, his eyes keeping watch on the rearview.
I glanced at the side mirror.
Jack made an abrupt right turn at the next intersection.
Kara tumbled from one side to the other.
The black sedan followed.
JD’s foot grew heavy, and the engine purred. We weren’t hauling ass, but we weren’t going slow either.
The black sedan accelerated to keep up with us.
Jack took a left at the next stop sign, then gunned it. The tires chirped, and the engine howled. He banked a quick right.
The black sedan followed, not quite as nimble.
This was more than just a coincidence now.
At the next intersection, Jack turned onto Pelican Perch and floored it. This time he let 'er rip, rowing through the gears, weaving in and out of traffic. He made a hard left at the next intersection, slicing the gap between traffic.
The Porsche hugged the tarmac, testing the limits of grip.
The sedan had to wait.
That gave us an opportunity to zip through the neighborhood, make a few more quick twists and turns, then get on Windswept Lane and punch it.
All the twists and turns weren't doing any favors for Kara’s condition. She looked a little green, like she was about to hurl.
"You hanging in there?” I asked as she tried to brace herself.
She gave me a look that said it all.
With the sedan nowhere in sight, Jack doubled back around, making sure to lose the tail.
He muttered, "What do you think that was all about?”
"I think our passenger is a hot commodity.”
"Should I take that as a compliment?” Kara said.
"I think someone wants you dead.”
"Whatever gave you that idea, Sherlock?”
"I think someone's worried you’re gonna expose them.”
"That's the game plan, isn't it?”
Jack kept glancing in the rearview to make sure we were in the clear as we headed to the Conch Coast.
After a few minutes, we pulled into the parking lot of the drab teal building. It was a poured concrete structure, built in a U-shape around a central courtyard with a small pool. There was no gated parking, but there was gated access to the building.
Jack found a place to park, and we hopped out.
The building wasn't much to speak of. It needed a coat of paint and some general maintenance. A few tall palms stood guard, and the hedges were overgrown and hadn’t been trimmed in a while.
From the call box, I buzzed random units until someone let us in.
Lori lived in Unit #206 on the second floor. We stepped inside the courtyard, took the steps up, and followed the walkway to her door. I listened for a moment, but didn't hear any sounds emanating from within. I knocked on the door and waited.
There was no answer.
I banged a couple more times, then peered through the window by the door. The blinds were closed, and it was hard to see into the living room. It was dim inside, but through a gap in the blinds, I was able to catch a glimpse of what appeared to be a body on the floor.
That looked like probable cause to me.
I tried the door handle, but it was locked.
I stepped back and put a few swift kicks into the door. The jamb splintered, and it flung wide.
The commotion shook the whole building.
Lori's calico cat darted out the door and sprinted down the walkway. The cat’s paws were covered in dried blood.
With weapons drawn, JD and I advanced into the living room. I told Kara to wait at the door.
It was a small studio apartment with a reasonable living room, a small kitchen, and a bathroom.
A futon against the wall doubled as a bed.
There was a coffee table, a few plants, and an entertainment center with a flatscreen display.
Lori had tried to dress up the place with a few cheap art prints from a big-box furniture store.
A woman lay on the floor in a pool of blood, a gunshot wound to the back of her head. Crimson had stained the carpet.
I figured that was Lori.
"Called in sick, huh?" JD muttered.
"I’m going to go out on a limb and say she didn't die from the flu."
We cleared the studio apartment and surveyed the area.
Kara darted into the apartment as gunshots erupted. She slammed the door and latched the deadbolt.
An instant later, a hail of bullets shattered the window. Molten copper spewed across the apartment as we hit the deck. Shards of glass rained down. Bullets peppered the sheetrock.