Nine, the Tale of Kevin Clearwater Read online

  “Thought you could use some help since I heard you decided to only take your girlfriend here with you,” Bear says lighting a smoke.

  “I know I should be offended, but that was actually pretty funny,” Pike says. “Well played, sir. Well played.”

  “Could always use an extra gun,” I admit.

  “You know, kid, you don’t gotta do this to prove shit to me or to your brother or to King. You’ve done that already. Many fucking times over. You’re good with the MC. You’re good with King. I don’t care what your brother thinks, to be honest, but I’m pretty sure you could cut him from throat to dick, and the fucker would still love you for it, since you helped save his wife’s life and all.”

  “I know, but this was my decision. My play. I’m the one who needs to see it through. Make it right.”

  “Fresh air, fresh blood? Sounds like a fucking Tuesday,” Bear says. “You two ready?”

  I check my own gun and nod, feeling my adrenaline spike. It’s a high like no drug I’ve ever tried. I’m feeding off every quickened beat of my heart. Every surge of blood in my veins. “Fuck, yeah I’m ready.”

  The house is a seven thousand square foot, modern mansion directly on the beach. I got a laptop trace a few minutes ago, so I know the fucker is here. I disarm the alarm from the outside in case he decides to press the emergency button when we arrive. All it takes is one quick snip of a wire. They really need to work on making security systems actually secure. A toddler could disarm these things with rounded play scissors.

  Bear breaks the glass on the front door with a tool that renders the breaking silent. He turns the lock and we’re in. Since Bear is here now, Pike stays with the truck in case we need to get out in a hurry. Bear’s bike is parked under a tree in a vacant construction site a few lots down.

  The house is silent except for the light sound of footsteps from upstairs. Back and forth, back and forth, as if someone is pacing…or in a hurry.

  We make our way up the stairs as quietly as we can, guns drawn. Bear pushes open the door and we watch as Jared, dressed in a suit with his tie hanging haphazardly around his neck paces the room, packing all his belongings into several large suitcases. The door hits the wall and Jared looks up.

  “Oh shit,” he says, making a run toward the bathroom. Bear is hot on his heels and drags him back into the room, throwing him on top of the full suitcases on the bed.

  “Where’s the fucking money?” Bear demands while I search the room for a computer or laptop. Hacking used to be a hobby of mine, but now, it’s part of my life. If there’s money that he’s hiding, I’ll find it on his laptop. I could have done it from the comfort of my own home, but Jared has a closed-circuit server more secure than most black markets on the deep dark web.

  “I…I have it. I’ll get it to you.” Jared cries with his hands in the air. He makes a move to sit up. Bear presses down on his chest with his foot, leaving a large boot mark on his white dress shirt.

  “No computer up here,” I tell Bear.

  “Search downstairs,” Bear says.

  “Wait, my laptop. It’s in my safe. The money’s in there. In an offshore account. I swear,” Jared announces, his voice shaking with fear.

  “It better be,” I warn.

  “It is, I just got it back. I didn’t do anything. It was my girlfriend. She organized the entire thing. It was her idea. Not mine!”

  “Way to take your punishment like a man. Blame your woman,” I growl. “Even if she did set this entire scam up, you just showed us what a fucking coward you are.”

  Bear waves his gun and allows Jared to stand. Jared walks over to a painting, hanging above the dresser and pulls it down. There’s a large wet spot on the front of his pants. He literally pissed himself. Behind the painting is an in-wall safe. He cracks the code with shaking hands and opens the door. Jared reaches inside and feels around, but when he pulls his hand back out, it’s not a laptop he’s holding.

  It’s a gun.

  Jared doesn’t hesitate, firing two rounds at Bear, one hits him in the arm, knocking his gun out of his hand. The other lands in his thigh, sending a gush of blood surging out like the fountain in the front of this house.

  Jared’s quick, but he’s not quick enough.

  By the time he turns his gun on me, I’ve already fired off three rounds into his chest until he falls down dead. The gun drops to the wood floor with a hard echo.

  I rush over to Bear, who is cursing under his breath. “I’m fine,” he grates through his teeth. “Get me the fucker’s tie.”

  I pull the tie from around Jared’s fresh corpse and hand it to Bear, who ties it around his wound as tight as he can. His face reddens with pain.

  He stands, holding himself up by using one of the bed posts as an anchor. I know better than to try and help him. Bear isn’t one to accept help from anyone. I walk back over to the safe and pull out Jared’s laptop. “I’ll take it with us. What do you want to do here?” I ask.

  “I’ll call for cleanup. Let them handle it while I get patched up.”

  I notice the other closet on the other side of the hall. This one is filled with women’s clothes. Bear notices it, too. “Jared doesn’t live alone. He said the girlfriend was involved. Should we wait for her to get home?”

  “Her shit’s still here,” I say. “You heard him. He wasn’t just leaving. He was leaving her. If we bring her in, she might not tell us shit. I’ll keep an eye on her. Check her files. If she’s got shit to do with this, she’ll lead me right to the money.”

  Bear grimaces as we head for the stairs. “Just get to her before Tico does.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “And there’s nothing left of her to question.”

  Chapter Six

  LENNY

  When I was younger, I used to call for my mom in the middle of the night. She’d race up my room, and I’d complain to her that my stomach hurt. She knew that it was my way of telling her I was worrying about something, even if I didn’t understand it yet myself.

  Mom would make me soup or hot chocolate no matter what time or day or night it was. She’d hold me close and tell me everything was going to be okay. She never brushed me off. She never told me that it was pointless to worry, just that the feeling would pass, and that everything was going to be okay, even if it didn’t feel like it would be.

  Until they both died, and it wasn’t okay anymore.

  It never would be.

  “I can’t believe it’s been almost four years,” I say. “And I can’t believe I’m talking to you as if you guys are still here.” I wipe the tear from my eye and sniffle. I crouch down and lay a bouquet of tulips in front of the simply marked headstone with my parent’s names, Michelle and Michael Leary, and the date that their plane went down over the Gulf of Mexico.

  I brush my fingers over the soft grass, and stand. I look down at the headstone once more and find myself smiling. Even in death, my parents were romantic. Their will insisted that if they died together that they be buried together in a single coffin in one shared grave.

  Together for eternity.

  A love like theirs was the stuff of fairytales when happy marriages like theirs didn’t exist anymore. Growing up, I didn’t have a single friend whose parents weren’t divorced or whose step-parent wasn’t the first one to be awarded that title. Nope, my parents were the odd ones. Neighbors since the day they were born, elementary school best friends, high school sweethearts, married in college and stayed that way for over twenty-years while running a successful business together.

  A business I tried and tried to save after they died. But when their single-engine plane crashed, so did the South Florida real estate market. I did everything I could, including using every penny from their life insurance payout, but it wasn’t enough. I was young and naive and wasted a truck-full of money on something that couldn’t be saved. I take some small comfort that, at least, they weren’t around to see it go down in flames.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save the business,” I
tell them. I know that my apologies aren’t necessary. My parents were understanding people, especially when it came to me, and if they were watching me over the past few years, then, they know I sacrificed finishing high school, going to college, and generally everything else a teenage girl normally does to keep Leary Real Estate afloat. Hopefully, the little bit of money I have left will float me until I can find a job. One where the company is willing to hire someone with no high school diploma and only ‘worked for my dead parents’ company’ on their resume.

  I kiss my fingertips and press them to the top of the headstone. “I love you both. So much. I miss you. Every day. I wish you were here. I could really use one of your hugs, Mom. And Dad, I could go for a cheesy dad joke right about now, and I promise I wouldn’t make fun of you for it.” I sniffle. “Okay, you and I both know that’s a lie.” I set down the bouquet of purple tulips on the base of the headstone. “Until next time.”

  The air in the cemetery is muggy and warm. Too warm for the black pencil skirt with matching blazer I’m wearing, but I’m dressed this way for a reason. Because today, I have one more official stop to make as a representative of Leary Real Estate. My heels sink into the soft earth as I make my way back to my waiting Uber because I’m a responsible day drinker.

  Bring the vodka. Leave the car.

  The driver starts the car. Our next stop is the now empty Leary Real Estate office so I can drop off the keys and the final payment to the landlord.

  I press my forehead to the window, looking out over the cemetery as we pass through the sea of headstones on the way back to the main gate.

  “Even in the grave, all is not lost,” I mutter, but even an EAP quote doesn’t give me any comfort today, because Edgar Allan Poe may not feel like all is not lost, even in the grave, but then again, he isn’t leaving the cemetery where his parents are buried.

  I pull my flask from my purse and tip it up. I catch the Uber driver’s concerned look in the rearview.

  At least, someone cares.

  After the visit to the cemetery, lamenting about the past, and dropping off the keys, I’m emotionally spent. I make one last stop at the liquor store before the Uber takes me home.

  He drops me off at the gate, and I hit the clicker on my keychain. It swings open, and with vodka in one hand and my muddy heels in the other, I walk up the long drive. I hit another button on my clicker, and the doors of all three garage bays slowly open, but they’re empty, save for my car in the bay on the far right.

  I expect Jared to be home, since his office closed hours ago, but his Bentley isn’t here. His trip is tomorrow. I check my watch. It’s only seven. He’s probably just running a little late.

  Inside, the house is completely dark. I click on the light and toss my shoes to the floor.

  I hear a board creak upstairs. There’s a light on in our bedroom. “Jared? Is that you? Where’s your car?” I call out. Maybe, he had drinks with some of his employees and Ubered home. Maybe, I’m rubbing off on him, after all.

  Another creak.

  “The company is officially closed, and years of hard work are now officially all for nothing. My calendar is clear until I get another job, so get down here and help me drown my sorrows, or at least, keep me company while I drown them myself.” I wave the bottle of vodka around in the air, expecting Jared’s head to pop out of our bedroom at any moment.

  “Jared?” I ask again, when said head doesn’t appear.

  Still, no answer.

  I take my phone out of my pocket and remove my blazer, tossing it over one of the dining room chairs, and head up the stairs. All of our bedroom lights are on, but there’s no Jared. It smells like a hospital, like cleaning supplies and bleach. Either Jared cleaned for the first time ever, or the more likely explanation, the maid came early this week.

  “Stupid creaky, wood floors,” I mutter to myself. For someone who watched entirely way too many horror movies as a child, these noisy floors have caused me at least a few dozen sleepless nights. Well, I choose to blame them for my sleepless nights, they may not have always been the reason.

  I turn the lights off in the bedroom and notice that Jared’s closet light is still on. I dial Jared on my phone and immediately get the three-toned sound you get when a line has been disconnected. I must have hit the wrong speed-dial button, or there’s an issue with his cell service. I pad across the room and reach behind his closet door feeling for the light switch. I try calling him again. Same tones. Weird.

  I click off the light and turn to leave, then freeze with one foot raised mid-step. Panic chokes me, and I try and swallow it down, but my throat feels like sandpaper.

  I’m going to turn back around, and I’m going to laugh at myself when I realize it’s all in my head. I didn’t really see what I think I did. I didn’t. I DIDN’T! Jared’s right, I am crazy, because it’s not possible. It’s just not possible.

  I turn slowly back toward the closet and take a deep breath before flipping the switch back on. I gasp and cover my mouth with both hands.

  It’s more than possible. It’s very real.

  With the exception of the dozens of clothes-less hangers, Jared’s closet, which as of this morning was full of his things, is now completely empty.

  Chapter Seven

  NINE

  Stalking is such sweet sorrow.

  It can also be boring as fuck.

  At least, it is in this case. Screw all those movies that make it look like the guys are totally getting off on watching the unknowing girl. If I hadn’t found half an Adderall in my jeans pocket earlier, I’d be fucking snoozing.

  Jared’s computer is clean. There’s nothing on it but his search history, which includes a lot of Asian porn sites with women of questionable legal age and little else.

  Jared Cox’s girlfriend, the one he was obviously about to leave high and dry, Lenore Leary is smart. I know this because when I hacked into the computer the day after Jared became a corpse, I discovered that her mic is disabled and that she’s got a piece of tape over the camera. She’s either a paranoid conspiracy theorist and thinks that the government or big brother is watching her, or paranoid that someone else might be.

  And she’d be right on at least one of those accounts.

  I mean, I’ve got a piece of tape over my own as well, but that’s because I’ve got shit to hide, which means she could, too. And that something is hopefully our money.

  The other thing she’s hiding is her face. Not only can I not see her on the camera, but there’s not a single picture of her anywhere, which is odd because there are pictures of her now deceased douche of an ex everywhere. Even pictures at events where it states their names together in the caption as attending together only shows pictures of Dead Jared, pre-death of course, smiling and raising his glass with a bunch of other men who could be auditioning for Jared’s stunt double. It makes me wonder if those kinds of guys get a group discount on suits, watches and haircuts, because they’re all wearing the same sad-looking grey suit and flashing the same gold Cartier watches, and have the same all-American boy-next-door, dye my grey hairs with shoe polish and hope nobody notices, but everyone notices hairstyles.

  I re enabled her microphone on her camera, but since that only works when it’s powered on and she’s one of those people who actually turns it off when she’s done using it, I hacked into her cell phone for good measure. So far, I’ve found no proof that she’s got any involvement in Jared’s scam. Her computer is clean. Her texts are just a lot of her asking random people if they’ve talked to Jared or if they know where he is. There are no encrypted files that I can find, but that doesn’t mean she’s innocent. It could just mean she’s crafty and keeps her laptop clean.

  Today, her laptop is on, and I hear her crying.

  “What’s got you so upset?” I ask out loud to myself. I log onto the mirror program which shows me everything on her screen. It’s her bank records. It seems she’s in the red after a recent transaction made by Jared, who withdrew all sixty-thous
and something dollars from their joint account the day he was planning to make a run for it.

  “So, the plot fucking thickens,” I say.

  On a hunch, I pull up the County Clerk’s office’s public records and do a deed search. The house that Lenny and Jared share is longer co-owned by Lenny and Jared. It’s owned by the Bank of Lee County who just today filed an eviction notice with the Sheriff’s department to schedule a formal eviction. In two days’ time, they’ll show up at her house and remove her and her things by force. The mailing address on record is Jared’s office. Lenny might not even know she’ll be homeless in two days’ time.

  I can use that to my advantage. She’ll have to tap into the stolen money to save the house, or she’ll be out on the street.

  “What’s it gonna be, Lenny? Your move,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Show me where it is.”

  My computer dings with an alert. Lenny’s making a phone call. I click the alert and the audio screen appears, the horizontal line moving across the screen jumps up as she speaks. “Hey, Lori? It’s Lenny.” She sniffles.

  “Lenny, I heard about Jared. Are you okay?” Lori asks in her high-pitched nasal voice. Her question is one of concern, but there isn’t actually any concern behind it. I cringe, disliking this Lori person already.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Do you have any idea where he could have went?” she asks. “I really need to talk to him, and his phone is disconnected. It’s an emergency.”

  “I’m sure it is, Lenny, but do you think looking for him is a good idea? After the way he left you?”

  “It’s not about us,” Lenny assures her. I can hear her getting angry, like she’s talking through her teeth. “I need to talk to him about other things…some loose ends that need tying up right away.”