Down & Dead In Dixie (Down & Dead, Inc. Series) Read online

  "Hang onto the card," I said, taking the receipt and money. "And head for another bank branch."

  "You're cleaning out the account and getting out of Dodge, eh?"

  "No choice."

  "None,” he agreed. "There's another ATM just this side of the Ocean Springs bridge."

  "Hit it." I stuffed the money into my wallet, then looked over at him. "Why are you wearing a ski mask?"

  "I was coming to get you before you went home. The thugs are watching your place. Couldn't let you walk into that nasty business unaware."

  "Thanks, Lester." Touched, I patted his arm and took a shot at diplomacy. "Didn't you think they'd consider your mask a little odd?"

  "They surely would, if they saw it. But I waited until I was out of the neighborhood to put it on," he said, clearly proud of himself for his foresight and cunning.

  "Ah." I didn't know a spitting bit more now than I had before I'd asked. "So if not to hide your identity from the thugs, then why are you wearing it?"

  "I was coming to the jail to get you," he explained. "If I showed up like I was, it'd be awfully convenient for them to arrest me, and who'd bail me out? You were being held. I'd a had to rot and you'd a walked in on the thugs at your place."

  "Oh." We drove under a streetlamp and it fanned light over his lap. Dollar-bill boxers. Vintage Lester. "Forgot your pants, huh?"

  "I remembered 'em—honest, Daisy. But I was scared the thugs’d stop me if I went back to get 'em, so I just grabbed the mask at Emily's."

  In some weird and twisted way, he and his actions made perfect sense. For Lester, that is—and if you didn't look too closely and wonder what Emily was doing with a ski mask or how Lester expected the cops to react when a man walked into headquarters wearing a ski mask and money-print boxers. Having enough trouble already, I was perfectly content not to look at all.

  We hit three more bank branches, then headed to Gulfport and withdrew the maximum from the two branches there. Unfortunately there was a $250 limit between midnight and dawn everywhere except the casinos, so we made a second trip to one of them. In the parking lot, Lester stopped but he didn't seek an open slot.

  "You're going to have to do this one inside Daisy. It ain't a good idea for me to walk in wearing this, you know?"

  "I agree." My conscience was nagging at me. "You realize they're going to think you abducted me or something and forced me to use the ATM, right?"

  "Course, I do." He tugged at the mask. "Get moving now. The machine is just inside the hallway to your right. Don't linger—I figure we're on borrowed time 'til you're spotted. That's the trouble with firing up half the county, girl. Can't hide in plain sight, you know?"

  "I'm learning. This is new to me." I left the car and about two-thirds of the way to the door it dawned on me that this didn't seem new to Lester. Had he been hiding in plain sight? I wondered, but then that crawling-flesh feeling snagged me. You know, the kind of feeling you get when your internal radar has picked up on something you're not yet really aware of and it shoots off an alarm in your gut. My gut-alarm blared. So I turned right around and headed back to the car.

  Lester hadn't even moved away from the curb yet; maybe his radar had gone haywire, too. I tugged open the creaky door, got in and slammed it shut. "Something's wrong. Go."

  A black van a few slots down chose that moment to back out of its parking place and blocked the road. We were sitting ducks.

  "This ain't good, Daisy girl." Lester whipped off his ski mask. His thin hair standing straight on end, he shot a frantic look into the rearview mirror.

  I hunched down in the seat and looked around but didn't see a thing that didn't fit. Was it my imagination? Fear making me jump at shadows that just weren't there? Maybe it was…

  The casino door I'd been about to enter slid open and a man walked out. “Oh, no.” I ducked fast, huddling on the floorboard in the wedge between the dash and seat.

  "Who is he?" Lester asked, picking up on my fear.

  "Lou Boudin." My heart slammed into my backbone. "One of the shooters."

  Chapter 3

  BOUDIN DIDN’T SPOT me. The black van moved, and Lester, bless him, took off normally to not draw notice. He pulled out on to Highway 90 and drove west. “Maybe you better start at the beginning,” he said.

  For the first time since I’d known him, all the lights were currently on in Lester’s personal head-mansion. I spilled out the story and ended with, “What am I going to do?”

  Lester pulled over at the harbor and parked facing the boat slips. “It’s a sorry situation. Sorry situation.” He tapped his blunt fingertips on the steering wheel and then suddenly stopped. “Well, no help for it. Ain’t but one thing you can do, Daisy girl.”

  “What?”

  “Die.”

  Shock rippled through me. “I’m not ready to die.”

  “It’s your only choice.” Lester turned off the engine and killed the lights. “If Keller and Johnson don’t get you killed, Marcello or Adriano will—and they’ll all go after Jackson, too. Make no mistake about it.”

  I frowned. “This isn’t exactly being helpful, Lester.” He was right, of course, but what I needed was a solution not more worry heaped on the pile. It was plenty high already.

  “Just making sure you got a realistic fix on your situation.”

  “Oh, I’ve got a realistic fix, all right. The question is what am I supposed to do about it? How can I keep Jackson safe and stay alive?”

  “I told you. Ain’t but one way.” Lester shot her a sharp look. “To live, sometimes ya gotta die.”

  Bless his heart, he was trying to be helpful, but—

  “Don’t be looking at me like I got a half-baked brain. I ain’t.” He grunted and turned toward me on his seat. “If you’re dead, and you ain’t contacted Jackson, they’ll leave him alone and you’ll be safe. You’ll have to stay away from him, though. They’ll watch for contact.”

  Speaking from experience. Shocked, I swerved my gaze from the docked boats in the harbor back to Lester. “If I’m dead, I can’t hardly hang around him or anybody else, Lester.”

  “That’s right.” He sighed. “Ain’t what I’d a wanted for you, Daisy girl, but you got no other options.”

  We were on two different wave lengths. No surprise there, but he had something specific going on in his head and I didn’t. Grasping for any straw, I asked, “What do you mean?”

  He twisted and draped his arm over the steering wheel, then lifted a single crooked finger. “Beyond those boats is a big gulf. I suggest we get you lost in it.”

  “You want me to drown myself?” No straw there. Definitely vacant rooms in his head-mansion, after all.

  “Pretend to drown,” he amended then added, “Don’t have to find a body if you’re seen falling into the drink.”

  A plan to fake my death. Lights were on in there! “Okay, I drown. Then what?”

  “Then you use some of the money to change your appearance and name, and you make your way over to Dixie, Florida. I got a friend runs a funeral home over there, Paul Perini. He can help you. Now, you head straight there and you tell him I sent you or he won’t even talk to you.”

  A cold chill streaked up my spine. Lester wasn’t at all vacant and apparently he never had been. He’d done this death-faking business before. Why had he had to die? Who was looking for him?

  Safer not to ask, or to know. About to gag, I cracked open the window. The smell of salt water mingled with the pungent sting of mothballs. “So I go for a swim and drown.”

  “Nope. Ya gotta be seen and remembered. First, stash your cash and some dry clothes down the beach someplace safe. Then come back here and rent a boat. Any of the charters will do. Take the first one where a captain shows up. Go for a boat ride, hit the drink, and disappear. Then retrieve your cash and get to Paul Perini—no rental cars or public transportation, just in case. These types are awfully suspicious.”

  He meant the crime families, not the authorities. “Because maybe in their pa
sts, some of them have faked their deaths?” Oh, let that not be the reason. Let it not.

  “Exactly.” Lester glanced over. “Just get to Paul. He’ll handle the rest.” Lester looked out the window. “It’ll be daylight in about an hour.” He cleared his throat. “You got no time to waste.”

  Reaching over, I clasped Lester’s bony hand. “If I do this, who’s going to post your bond and get you out of jail?”

  “I’ll remember my pants, Daisy.” His eyes watered. “It was handy, being ditzy. And a good way to get to know you and keep an eye out. Ain’t safe for a kid your age nor right neither, having nobody.”

  I stilled. “It was a test. To see if I was getting close to you for a reason or just because.”

  He grinned. “That, too.” He took in a deep shuddery breath and gave my hand a little squeeze. “Getting me a post card from Lily Nichols now and then would be nice. So I know you’re all right.”

  I nodded, my throat thickening.

  “There’s somebody coming to that charter. Captain Dave’s. See him?”

  I did. “Thank you, Lester.” I grabbed the door handle and looked back at him. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’ll be fine, Daisy girl. Emily’s here, and you’ll drop me a note now and again. That’s more than I’ve had most of my adult life.” He motioned, his voice gruff. “Get going now—and rig the boat’s radio so it takes the captain a spell to get in touch with anybody. He’ll call for help as soon as you hit the water.”

  I looked back at Lester. “You never asked me if I could swim.”

  “You learned when you were nine and Jackson slipped off the bank of the creek. Figure if you swam good enough to save his hide, you can swim good enough to save your own.”

  A flood of emotion swamped me. “Lester,” I swallowed hard, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Daisy girl.”

  * * *

  I TRIED BUT couldn’t make myself part with my cash. I bought a few things at a twenty-four hour boutique, stashed some clothes a mile down the beach then rushed back to the harbor.

  The sky hadn’t yet started brightening, but it wouldn’t be long. Spotting a man working on the pier near a boat, I walked over. The slatted boards creaked under my feet, and the sounds of water slapped at the posts supporting them. “You have time for a short trip this morning?”

  “Two hours long enough?” Stooped down and checking the ropes mooring his boat to the dock, he straightened up and looked over at me. “Rest of the day’s already booked.”

  I smiled at him and double-checked the sign above his slip. “You’re Captain Dave, right?”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m not sure two hours will do the trick, but I’ll take what I can get. I’ve had the night from hell, Captain.” I dragged my fingertips over the raspberry scrape on my face. He’d remember the scrape. “A short trip can’t hurt and it could help.”

  He spotted the scrape and then my bruised and swollen ankle. “No offense,” he said, looking beyond my shoulder. “But I don’t need no trouble.” He glanced at my left hand, clearly checking for a wedding ring.

  “Trouble is the last thing I need or want.” I lifted my hand and wiggled my bare fingers. “There’s no crazy husband or boyfriend. I fell in the parking lot at work. I’m local. A hostess at the Summer House.” I offered him twice the fee his sign said he charged. “Sound okay?”

  “It’s too much.” He grabbed the wad of cash. “But I’m short on rent money, so since you offered, I’m accepting.”

  I boarded the boat wearing a muddy-looking swimsuit as close to the color of the water as I could find. In my purse, I had stowed a floppy hat in the same dull shade of gray-green. Whether it’d really help me be harder to spot in the water or if that was just wishful thinking on my part, it was worth a shot. Of course, everything looked muted and gray at dawn. In the bright sunlight, the water could vary from blue to deep green. I should be back on shore by then. “Where should I sit?” I asked Captain Dave.

  I hadn’t even noticed the name of the boat. Odd for me. Normally I’d have looked for some kind of symbol in its name—Survivor or something to reassure me this was the boat I should take.

  “Seat at the bow’s probably best for you with that ankle.”

  Grateful it was closest, I sat down and looked back at the captain. He was about my age, tanned and leathery skin, black close-cut hair and a hint of a beer belly.

  He coiled the last of the mooring rope onto the deck, then boarded. “So what’s your name?”

  I hesitated, considered lying to him, but then remembered I wanted him to think I’d drowned and everyone to conclude I was dead. “Daisy Grant.”

  He cranked the engine, eased away from the dock and out of the harbor. The light breeze felt good on my face. The smell of diesel didn’t blend well with the gulf’s salty tang and as the boat slipped away from the harbor and through the pass into open water, my stomach lurched. Please don’t let me throw up on his boat. Please.

  Captain Dave radioed the harbormaster, then made small talk with me and he kept talking until finally I told him what he wanted to know. Well, sort of. I told him what I wanted him to know, which was enough to tell the police who I was and to halt his questions so I had time to think. “I didn’t just fall in the parking lot,” I said. “Well, I did, but I fell because I saw a man on the street get shot. I’ve never seen anybody get shot before. Frankly, it’s knocked me for a loop. I was on the way home, already dreading the nightmares, when I saw you at your boat. I thought maybe a quiet boat ride would help me relax. The water’s soothing, you know?”

  Surprise flickered over the captain’s face. “Is he all right—the guy who got shot?”

  “Only if he loved Jesus.” I looked at the captain. “He’s deader than dirt.” I let my head loll back a long moment, then stood up and circled the deck. “I still can’t believe it. I mean, who expects to leave work on a normal day and see something like that in the parking lot?”

  “World’s crazy these days. But that’s really nuts.” He grunted. “Sounds to me like you need a stiff drink. I would.” Captain Dave’s expression turned solemn. “Afraid all I’ve got on board is beer.”

  “A beer would be great.” I hate beer. Don’t just not like it, I hate it. But I needed a second of privacy to disable the radio. “I’ll take the wheel.”

  “You know how to drive a boat?”

  “Sure. My dad had one.” I didn’t like lying, but maybe I wasn’t. He could have a boat. Course, I’d never know it since I have no idea who he is or what he has. And I had no idea how to drive a boat. But it couldn’t be much different from driving a car. Besides, what could I hit? There wasn’t a thing in sight moving but water. The boat passed another channel marker. I looked back to shore and pegged the lighthouse. If I aimed for it, I’d stay on target, swimming back.

  The captain took the ladder down and disappeared below deck. I reached for the radio’s wire but hesitated. Like me, he worked hard and worried about paying the rent. I couldn’t destroy the wiring and cost him money. Compromising, I disconnected the cable and wedged it in place so he’d think it just had worked itself loose. Wave action could do that, couldn’t it? Who knew? But any evidence of actual tampering would only arouse suspicion, and suspicion was the last thing I needed. Everyone—absolutely everyone—had to believe I was dead. For my sake and for Jackson’s.

  Dave returned with two beers.

  I turned the wheel over to him, popped the top on the beer can, heard the little hiss, then sat down in the back of the boat. It was closer to the water than the seats at the bow, and more importantly, I sat at Dave’s back. “I’m not much of a drinker, but after last night…” I took a swig. Nasty! I forced myself to swallow.

  “Anywhere special you want to go?”

  “No, just ride along the coast. Not too far out.” I’m a lousy swimmer. With my bum ankle, I really wasn’t sure how strong I’d be in the water or for how long, and I wasn’t at a
ll eager to make my fake death a real one.

  He turned the boat and upended his beer can near a buoy.

  There’d never be a better time.

  I dropped off the back of the boat, released my beer can, jammed the muddy hat on my head and made for the buoy.

  The boat kept going . . . and going . . . Hanging onto the buoy, using it as cover, Captain Dave got smaller and smaller. He wouldn’t not notice my absence for much longer, and it wouldn’t take forever for him to reconnect the radio. Soon he’d double back with reinforcements and the area would be swarming with people looking for me. I slung my purse strap over my shoulder, and swam hard for the shore.

  My whole perspective shifted. In the water, the shore looked distant, and I couldn’t see the lighthouse, but at least I could see land. If I could see it, I could eventually get to it.

  Stay calm, Daisy. I stroked, smooth and easy. The hardest part’s over. You’re dead.

  * * *

  I DID EITHER the smartest or dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I hung out on a sandbar near the shore until after dark. The lighthouse was nowhere in sight, but the area was populated. I know, of course, sharks feed at dusk, but shark or bullet, I choose shark.

  Once the sun set, the cool water felt cold. My arms and legs cramped every few minutes; they needed rest, and frankly, I didn’t think my ankle would make it the last couple hundred yards without it. The distance might be two or three times more than it appeared. Being low to the water messed up my distance judgment.

  I stood on the sand bar, my teeth chattering, rubbing the chill from my arms. The gulf temperature had come down from its summer high, but the weather had been warm so far, keeping the water warm, too. Still, the night breeze on wet skin felt cold and had a bitter bite, and when my goose bumps had goose bumps, all I could think about was getting to shore, getting dry and getting warm.

  The burning desire stayed with me, and about a half hour after dark it occurred to me to float.