Chapter 27
The Five Fathoms was a nice restaurant. Things like this didn’t happen here. Sadly, there was no security officer on duty, not that it would have done much good anyway.
Kendra's eyes rounded, and she swallowed hard. I'm not going to lie, my heartbeat accelerated, too. Adrenaline rushed through me.
"Just stay cool," I said to her.
"I'm cool. I’m a fucking ice cube."
It wasn't the first time I’d seen dipshits like this do this kind of thing.
We had trouble with a gang of thieves not too long ago that hit restaurants, collecting watches, jewelry, and wallets from patrons.
I felt like they had all watched the same gangster movie and come up with the same idea.
It was a quick way to make cash, no doubt about it.
But they still had to fence the goods, and there was always the chance that they might run into someone like me.
The standard protocol in a situation like this was to let it play out. Don’t escalate. Jewelry can be replaced, people can’t.
I noted as much detail as I could about the thugs, but they both wore black balaclavas and sunglasses. Black pants, black long-sleeve shirts. No identifiable tattoos.
There could have been a getaway driver sitting in a car outside. I couldn’t really tell from where I was sitting.
Mr. Shotgun grabbed the cute hostess and marched her into the restaurant. “Get on the ground! Now!”
The terrified girl complied.
Mr. Shotgun aimed the shotgun at her back. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Lily,” she cried.
“How old are you?”
“17.” Her voice quaked.
“If anybody tries anything stupid, I’m going to blow Lily’s pretty little head clean off!” Mr. Shotgun shouted to the crowd.
Lily shrieked.
“You wouldn’t want me to do that, would you?”
Patrons looked on with mortified faces.
By that time, some of the kitchen staff hovered by the kitchen door, peering out over the floor of the restaurant.
Mr. Shotgun’s accomplice moved from table to table, collecting the loot. People complied, dumping in watches, necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and other items of value.
I unholstered my pistol and kept it at the ready.
The accomplice kept moving from table to table, drawing closer, filling up the bag of goodies.
My eyes scanned the restaurant, looking for anyone else who may have been carrying.
The bagman reached the table directly across from us.
An elderly couple had been enjoying their meal.
Now their eyes were wide and their faces filled with terror.
The man put his watch and his wallet into the bag, then the thug demanded the woman's jewelry.
She took off her diamond earrings and dropped them into the bag, but didn't take off the giant diamond on her finger.
"The ring. Put it in the bag!" the thug commanded. “Now!”
The woman glared at him. "Don't you have any common decency? My husband and I have been married for 50 years. I am not giving you this ring. It can’t be worth much."
The thug let the bag dangle from one hand and aimed a black semiautomatic pistol at her with the other. "Is it worth dying over, lady?"
"I have more money in my purse. Let me get it for you. Just please let me keep my ring.”
Her purse hung from the back of her chair. She pulled the expensive bag onto her lap, fumbled through it, then pulled out a can of pepper spray. Before the idiot knew what happened, she squirted him in the face.
The tangy smell of capsaicin filled the air. The minute the spray hit his eyes, his face tightened, and his eyes swelled. The gangster shrieked in agony, wiping his eyes, flailing about.
"What the hell is going on?" Shotgun shouted.
He aimed the barrel of the shotgun toward the elderly couple.
By that time, the chef had stepped out of the kitchen. He hurled a knife at Mr. Shotgun. The blade tumbled over and over, hurtling through the air with speed and precision.
It was like a scene from an action movie.
The knife stabbed Mr. Shotgun in the throat. He dropped the Mossberg, and it clattered against the ground. The scumbag clutched at his throat as blood spewed. He pulled the knife out, which was a bad idea. Blood spurted, and he coughed and gasped, fluid dripping down his trachea.
The chef was spot on. He could have been a circus performer with that kind of accuracy. Maybe he was in a past life.
I took the opportunity to pounce on Mr. Pepper Spray. I brought him down to the ground, disarmed him, and slapped the cuffs around his wrists.
Other patrons had subdued Mr. Shotgun. They had him pinned to the ground. The dipshit was done. By the time I cuffed his accomplice and got to him, Mr. Shotgun had bled out. The blade must have nicked the carotid.
Tires squealed outside as their getaway driver bailed. Things had certainly gone south for them. I made a note of the maroon Camaro.
It wasn't long after that when patrol units screeched into the parking lot. Deputies hopped out and stormed into the restaurant, weapons drawn.
I held my badge high in the air, identifying myself as they advanced—just in case these guys didn't recognize me.
Patrons looked on with wide eyes and mortified faces.
The deputies secured the area, and I filled them in on the situation. EMTs and paramedics were on the scene shortly thereafter. They attended to both of the thugs, but Mr. Shotgun wasn't coming back from this one.
I peeled off the dead guy’s balaclava and snapped a few photos.
Isabella would have no problem identifying him, and I’m sure his prints were on record with the department.
No way this guy was a first-time offender.
I clicked a photo of Mr. Pepper as well.
His eyes were practically swollen shut. Just puffy slits. I texted both images to Isabella.
EMTs triaged Mr. Pepper, then deputies stuffed him into the back of a patrol car. The smell of capsaicin still lingered.
Brenda and her crew arrived, along with the forensic team. Dietrich snapped photos, and Brenda examined the body.
Deputies took a full statement from the chef and the patrons. No charges would be brought against the chef. He had some skill with a blade—there was no doubt about it. He wasn't going to put up with any nonsense. Something told me the Five Fathoms wouldn’t be robbed again anytime soon.
The parking lot filled with news crews. It would be the talk of the town for a day.
Once everything was sorted, I made my way back to the booth and took a seat across from Kendra. "Are you okay?”
She nodded, still looking frazzled. “I think I’m ready for a drink.”
I laughed. “Understandable. Want to go somewhere else? They’re going to have to shut down.”
Kendra nodded.
The manager went from table to table, apologizing for the incident and offering complimentary meals in the future.
He gave a signed card to both of us.
“I guess this means we’ll have to see each other again,” Kendra said.
“I guess,” I replied with a smile.
The cameras closed in when we stepped outside.
Paris asked, “Deputy Wild, what can you tell us?”
I gave a brief recap of the incident, described the getaway vehicle, and made a call for witnesses to come forward if they knew the car.
The valet guys said the getaway driver wore a mask, and the car had no plates. I figured the perps had a criminal record, and the getaway driver might be among their known accomplices. It shouldn't be too hard to track down.
We left the restaurant, hit Oyster Avenue, and ended up at Bliss. It was a chill place with a beachy upscale vibe that served a blend of new American and coastal cuisine. The restaurant got rave reviews from all the foodies. The decor was light and airy.
A hostess seated us at a booth by the window and dealt out menus. Lazy fans spun overhead. White walls and ceilings kept the atmosphere bright. Large flatscreens showcased stunning tropical vistas. Chill music pumped through speakers. It was an easy place to relax in.
A few moments later, the hostess led a guy and his girlfriend past the table. He did a double-take and said, "Kendra?"
She looked at him, and her eyes rounded with recognition. "Hey, how are you?”
She climbed out of the booth and gave him a hug.
"You remember Darcy, don’t you?"
"Yes, of course. It's been forever.”
"I know, right?”
"Tommy, this is Deputy Tyson Wild," Kendra said.
I stood up, shook his hand, and introduced myself to his girlfriend.
"Are you still racing motorcycles?" Tommy asked Kendra.
"Still going around in circles," she said.
"Sometimes I miss it," Tommy replied.
"Get back on a bike, and you will be missing me," Darcy said.
Nervous laughter escaped Tommy's mouth. "Don't worry. Those days are long gone.” He looked at Kendra and said, "You look great."
Then he realized it was probably not the right thing to say in front of his pregnant girlfriend. Her jaw tightened.
Kendra said, "Thanks," and played it off. “You both look fabulous. It's so great to see you.”
"We were just talking about you yesterday," Tommy said. "We went to the air show and saw your dad doing his thing. He’s still as crazy as ever.”
A look of disdain tightened Kendra's face, but she smiled through it. "Yes, he is. Good for him."
"Well, it was great to see you again,” Tommy said, then addressed me. “And nice to meet you.”
His girlfriend took his hand, and they meandered through the restaurant as the hostess led them to their table.
We sat back down, and I stared at Kendra. "You're not related to Mickey Malibu, are you?”
"Unfortunately. Why do you ask?"
I laughed. "It kind of makes sense."
"What makes sense?”
"Well, I can see where you get your daredevil spirit from.”
Kendra's jaw tightened. If I didn't know better, I might think she was glaring at me. "I got nothing from that man.”
"I'm sensing a little tension.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "How do you know my father?”
"It's kind of a long story.”
She sighed. "You’re not one of his friends, are you?”