Chapter Five Meetings and Greetings #2
“Madison will be back late Saturday night, so perhaps Sunday afternoon? Give her a chance to rest after her event,” Lincoln said, as he shot a quick glance at Viggo with a raised eyebrow.
Of course Lincoln would be privy to the excursion, Viggo thought. He also noted that Lincoln was respecting both his and Madison’s privacy.
Charlie had checked the forecast for the weekend. It looked as if there might be a few pop-up showers, which meant they wouldn’t be crazy-busy. He addressed Crusty: “I’m sure Josh and I can handle the place while you go through everything with Lincoln and Madison.”
“It would be helpful to get your insight,” Lincoln said kindly.
“It had been many years since we spent any time with Kirby. Too many.” Lincoln had a pang of guilt.
There was no reason why he and Madison shouldn’t have tried harder to locate their uncle.
He took some solace as he eyed the modern, renovated marina. Kirby would be proud.
“Well, sure.” Crusty was humbled by the request. “Don’t know if I can come up with any insight, but maybe I can tell you a few things.”
Lincoln smiled to himself. Crusty was the salt of the earth. “I’ll let Madison know, and we’ll put together a late lunch at our place.”
“Save me some leftovers,” Charlie said, and chuckled.
Lincoln looked at Viggo. “You’re welcome to join us.”
Viggo wasn’t sure how to respond. Depending on how well Saturday night went, it would be a big factor in the days that followed.
“Thanks. I’ll check the roster.” Viggo already had signed himself out for the weekend.
Whatever transpired on Saturday, he knew he would have to take a day to process and recover, especially since he had little to no idea what to expect.
Viggo changed the subject. “Any news on the break-in?”
“Nothing new, but the chief seems to have some ideas,” Charlie replied.
“Such as?” Viggo asked.
“You know the chief. He’s a man of few words until he has something to say. But I can feel it. His wheels are turning,” Charlie said.
“True.” Viggo nodded. “I gotta get going. I have a class to train. See you gents later.”
“Aye-aye, Captain!” Crusty saluted and grinned.
Friday
Mikey was pacing the floor of the shop again.
He’d been checking his watch every five minutes for the past two hours.
He had a half hour to kill before his meeting at noon.
Zoe’s was a seven-minute drive, and he decided it was better to get there early.
The man told him he would be wearing a blue blazer with a gold crest on the breast pocket.
Sounded a bit hoity-toity to Mikey, but he wasn’t going to pass judgment on this mystery man until he met him face-to-face.
Mikey’s palms were sweating. That would not be cool.
It would show the man that he was nervous.
Mikey knew he had to be sharp, even if he wasn’t.
The first phone call threw Mikey for a loop.
The second one seemed less menacing. Even though the stranger didn’t reveal any additional information about the reason for the meeting, he was more cordial when he gave Mikey a very vague description of himself.
Mikey informed the man he would be wearing a Farrell Dive Shop windbreaker.
“Easy enough,” the man replied. Before Mikey could ask, the man ended the call without giving Mikey any more information.
When Mikey arrived at Zoe’s, he scanned the room for any fancy dudes wearing a fancy blazer.
Nope. Just the usual crowd and some tourists.
He grabbed a table at the rear of the restaurant and seated himself with his back against the wall.
He had a clear view of the front door. Sally, the waitress, walked over with a pot of coffee. “Morning, Mikey. Coffee?”
“I’ll take some decaf if you got it.” Mikey knew any more stimulation would send him to the moon.
“Sure thing. Need a menu?” Sally asked.
“Not yet. I’m waiting for someone.” Mikey tried to hide the vibrato in his voice.
“Okey dokey. Be right back with your low-octane java.” Sally turned and sashayed her way to the coffee station.
The bell on the door jingled, announcing a customer.
Mikey almost jumped out of his skin. Relax.
Relax. He can’t do anything to you in here, Mikey tried to reassure himself.
He raised his head to acknowledge the man with the crested jacket.
Mikey guessed the man to be in his mid-fifties.
He had a receding hairline, common for a man of his age.
What remained was neatly cropped. He was rather average-looking except for his clothes.
The blazer was perfectly tailored, as were his slacks.
Mikey noticed the man was wearing black driving shoes with a fancy gold-buckle logo.
He also noticed the man was wearing no socks. He looked monied.
The man immediately recognized the windbreaker and walked directly toward the table. He held out his hand. “Mikey Farrell?”
“Yep. That’s me.” Mikey was surprised at the cordial greeting and shook the man’s hand. He supposed it was to show the rest of the restaurant-goers that this was a friendly meeting.
The man pulled out the chair opposite Mikey and took a seat. He still hadn’t mentioned his name. Before Mikey could ask, Sally came to the table with the coffee.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked the mystery man.
Without looking up, the man replied, “No thank you.” He waited for the waitress to be out of earshot, leaned in, and spoke in a very calm, low voice. “Your brother owes me fifty thousand dollars.”
Mikey tried not to gag. “Fifty grand?”
The man looked in both directions. “You heard me.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mikey squeaked out.
“He was supposed to do a job for me.”
“Yeah, but he’s dead.” Mikey kept looking around the room, then spotted Viggo entering the coffee shop.
He prayed Viggo wouldn’t come over to say hello.
Mikey gave him a “what’s up” nod, which he hoped signaled that he was having a private conversation, and not to interrupt them. Viggo simply nodded back.
When Viggo glanced over in their direction again, the man was leaning on his forearms and remarkably close to Mikey’s face.
Viggo had no idea who the man was, but he did notice an expensive watch with diamonds on the man’s wrist. Well over 100,000 dollars’ worth of watch.
Viggo thought it was a bit over-the-top flashy.
Maybe he’s an investor. Maybe Farrell was looking to sell the dive shop.
Viggo hoped this guy wasn’t a developer looking to commercialize the area.
He shrugged it off, paid the cashier, grabbed the brown take-out bag, and left.
He had more important things on his mind.
When he got back into his car, he sent Madison a text:
Should I get you a corsage?
Madison quickly replied:
Only if you want to eat it.
Viggo answered:
I’ll stick to the pigs in a blanket.
Madison:
Good choice. P.S. Stay away from the Swedish meatballs. They’re not like your mom used to make.
Viggo:
I’m Norwegian. Ours are larger and flatter.
Madison:
Sorry. My bad.
Viggo:
You’re forgiven.
Madison:
Whew! Talk later!
Viggo:
Seinere (Norwegian for later)
Viggo was almost giddy from the exchange. Giddy? What man gets giddy? Memories of teenage goofiness were surfacing. What was this woman doing to him?
Mikey was trying to reason with the stranger. “What if I do the job Dennis was supposed to do?” he asked.
The man leaned in closer. “Are you sure you’re up for the task?”
“It depends. What do I have to do?” Mikey leaned against the wall, waiting anxiously for the response. He wiped his palms on his pants. The entire situation was unnerving him. And quickly.
The man wrote something down on a piece of paper and slid it across the table.
Mikey’s eyes went wide as he considered the offer.
Either do what the man wanted, or cough up fifty grand.
Speaking of the money, where did Dennis hide it?
Not only did they owe the bank a ton of coin, now this? Mikey didn’t think he had a choice.
“Okay, but I’m going to need a little time,” Mikey answered, his voice quivering and his knees bouncing.
“Don’t take too long. I have a deadline,” the man said. “Do you know where that expression came from?”
Mikey shook his head. He knew he was about to find out.
The man stood and bent forward. He got close to Mikey’s face.
Mikey could hear the air entering and leaving the man’s nostrils.
In a low voice, the man said, “During the Civil War, prisoners were forbidden to cross a certain line for fear of being shot.” He slid a burner phone toward Mikey. “I’ll be in touch.”
Later that afternoon, Madison phoned Viggo to go over their arrangements.
Viggo was going to take the ferry into the city and meet Madison at her loft.
After the event, Madison planned to have a car service drive them back to Smuggler’s Cove, since they would most likely miss the last ferry.
Spending the night in her loft was too—well, just too.
Baby steps. She calculated they would spend at least six hours together, the longest stretch since they met.
Would they run out of things to talk about?