Chapter 14 #2
He felt his jaw clench and snapped his attention back to Ned and the assignment.
He pulled into the road and caught up to Ned’s Ford Taurus as they drove back to the main drag to a small divey bar that was home to the regulars on the island.
Luckily he wasn’t one of the Lucky Parrott’s regulars.
It had always been his policy not to do his drinking too close to home, unless of course he was actually at home.
The Lucky Parrot was so close, he should have walked to the joint. He was looking forward to the drink.
Ned lumbered past the patio bar and went inside where the atmosphere was a dark contrast to the sunshine and heat of the day, and the stale air replaced the scent of ocean and suntan oil. Dane’s nose twitched, but he followed Ned through to a corner table where they could both sit facing the door.
A skinny waitress barely out of knee socks and a training bra approached them but didn’t say a word. The disgust he felt for the man ballooned. He knew what was coming.
“Gin. Straight,” Ned told her.
“Patron Silver. Straight,” Dane mimicked.
He knew the “when in Rome” game. He’d been playing it all his professional life.
But the sad depressing wave twisted his gut with anger.
This was his vacation place, his haven. All his resentment about this mission erupted in a vile dislike for the man sitting across from him.
The waitress left with a hint of terror in her quick stride.
He hoped she wouldn’t be too afraid to return quickly with their drinks.
“One drink and I’m out of here, so say your piece.”
Ned looked at him, squinting.
“I don’t know if you’re stupid or ballsy or a cop.”
“Your problem. You want to finish explaining your proposition, or don’t you?”
Ned took out a pack of cigarettes, tipped one out, flicked his lighter on and lit it up.
There was no smoking in this place—in any place around here—and hadn’t been for some time.
Dane figured Ned knew that so he didn’t bother reminding him.
Their waitress glanced at them nervously as she walked back, chewing her lip off probably worried about the cigarette, but she chose to ignore it and put their drinks on the table, still without a word.
Ned threw a twenty-dollar bill down. She picked it up and walked away even faster than before, then disappeared through a door.
There were a couple of old guys at the bar, but the place wasn’t exactly hopping inside. Dane would have thought that strange, but he already figured out that Ned staked his claim here. And not for the benefit of the establishment’s business.
After Ned took an unseemly gulp of his gin, he spoke up. Dane figured he should take a bracer of tequila himself while he listened.
“You’ll be judging for us. We’ll tell you how it goes. You go along, you get a nice payday. All there is to it.”
“That’s your idea of a proposition? How much and who is this we business? You and who else?” Dane was in no mood to be a fellow thug.
“You take it or you leave the island and don’t come back for a while—as long as we’re here.”
“Who is we?” Dane took another swig from his tumbler of tequila. It tasted warm and like medicine. But then, he could use some medicine. He thought of Shana. Shit.
“Jean Luc. Others you don’t need to know.”
“Is that right? Big operation, is it?”
“Big enough to handle the likes of you.”
“Thought you said you didn’t know who I was? How do you know I ain’t that man Jim you don’t mess around with?”
Ned smiled then chuckled and, near as Dane could tell, he looked genuinely amused.
“I get it—from the song. Don’t pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger.” He paused. His grin widened. “What if I’m the Jim you don’t mess around with?”
Clearly the man thought he had Dane there, thought he was clever. Dane sighed in true boredom. But as far as Ned knew, it was a sigh of defeat.
“Okay. You got me. I’ll go along. So who’s the winner? The men’s division must be Roger, but you can’t tell me you’re putting up his girl Tamara as the female surfer to win?”
Ned shook his head and gave him a look of commiseration, now feeling all confident about their bond in thuggery and skullduggery.
“I know. She’s messed up. Messed up our plans. No, not her.”
“Then who? Oh, don’t tell me—not—” Dane played it out. Ned watched and waited like Dane was a puppy in training. “Not that—what’s her name—the missing heiress, Susan Whittier?”
Ned said nothing.
“I hear she’s a surfer. Shana knows her. So you recruited her?”
“You ask too many questions for a guy out on a limb.”
Dane said nothing back. He congratulated himself for maintaining his look of innocence when the man had to be wondering how the hell he came up with his guess about Whittier.
Dane knew deep in his gut that Susan Whittier was supposed to be their ringer and she changed her mind about going along. Then disappeared.
“Too many questions? That says to me I’m right on the money and you had something to do with the missing heiress being missing.”
“I don’t know no Susan Whittier and I don’t know nothing about no missing heiress. What the hell are you talking about, Blaise? You trying to cause trouble?” Ned was a terrible actor. He delivered his lines in a stiff staccato voice that made a first grader in a class play sound more convincing.
“Take it easy, Ned. Who you got in mind then to play the female ringer? I’m gonna need to know sooner or later.”
“Later. You’ll find out when I’m good and ready to tell you.”
“You’ve got no one.”
“Don’t you worry about that.”
Dane stood.
“Thanks for the drink.” He turned and walked.
“I’ll be in touch,” Ned called out after him.
Dane pushed the door open and breathed in the salty air as if he’d been holding his breath for days. He needed to talk to Shana. And not because his hormones were talking. The plan was now to make sure she was in as their ringer and that meant she’d need to deal with more than good old Frenchie.