Chapter 17
"Zoe was arrested in Pineapple Bay two years ago and charged with DUI and vehicular manslaughter," Denise said.
That hung there for a moment.
"What happened? Shouldn’t she still be in jail?"
"Case was dismissed. She claimed the brakes failed on the car. Vehicle was destroyed in the impound lot during a fire. The state dropped the case.”
"Maybe she's carrying all that guilt.”
“She was placed on a 72-hour psychiatric hold after the incident, then released. The court ordered a full psychological evaluation. Those records are protected.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll keep digging,” Denise said. “I’ve got nothing else to do. I'm bored to tears.”
"Don't tell the sheriff that.”
"I'm tired of sitting behind a desk.”
"It beats sitting in a squad car all day working traffic.”
She took a long pause. "Don't tell anybody. I'm thinking about applying to the Academy."
"The FBI?”
"Yep.”
I deflated. "You don't really want to leave us, do you?”
"No. I just want to do something a little more… meaningful.”
"I'll talk to the sheriff.”
"I appreciate that.”
"What do you want to do?”
"I want to work homicide. There's more than enough to go around.”
I chuckled. That much was certain.
I told Denise I would do what I could for her, then ended the call. Jack and I finished our coffee, then headed over to the warehouse district for band practice.
I pulled into the lot, found a place to park, and we hopped out.
The usual band of miscreants loitered outside, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer.
We chit-chatted for a bit and answered plenty of questions about Jack’s injury and when the next show would be.
We had a gig lined up in a few days at Vibe, but I wasn't sure Jack would be ready.
He assured me the show would go on, though he might not jump and flail around as much as usual.
We pushed inside and marched down the dim hallway to the rehearsal studio. The rumble of other bands vibrated the walls. The smell of beer and illicit herb filled the hallway.
Inside the practice space, Dizzy, Crash, and Styxx jammed out a new groove. A couple of groupies hung out on the couch, soaking up the vibes.
"He lives," Styxx said upon seeing Jack.
"They can't kill me. I’m invincible!”
After a little chit-chat, the guys started jamming on the groove they were working on, and Jack used the inspiration to belt out some nonsense lyrics. Before long, he worked out a chorus to Invincible.
It was always fun to see the magic happen in real time.
They worked up a new song, ran through it a couple of times, then played through their regular set.
Jack belted out howling vocals and pranced around, his arm still in a sling. The injuries hadn't affected his ability to sing.
After practice, we took the guys to dinner at the Bluewater Bistro, then we hit Oyster Avenue and hopped from bar to bar, blowing off steam. It was much needed.
I stayed on high alert and never fully relaxed. I had no doubt the cartel would try again to assassinate us. Maybe Catalina was responsible. Maybe it was all her father. Either way, I wanted to stay on the right side of the ground.
The guys rounded up a small group of eager participants, and we ended up back at the Avventura for an after-party. The Jacuzzi beckoned, and luscious ladies stripped down to their skivvies.
A good time was had by all.
In the morning, I got a call from Bill Warren at the country club. "I was not aware of this when we spoke yesterday, but I thought you might find it valuable."
"I'm listening.”