Blood of Cain (Sean O'Brien (Mystery/Thrillers)) (17 page)

“How much is the family running?”

“What?”

“Quantities? How much do the Bandinis move?”

“I don’t know that. A shitload. They got six carnivals. They’re all over the country, which means their drug operation is all over the nation. Movin’ from one city to the next.”

I kept the gun leveled at him as I bent down and picked up my phone. I hit the speakerphone button and said, “Jimmy, did you hear all of that?”

Dave cleared his throat. “Yes. Loud and clear.”

Gatorman looked like he’d pulled a herniated disc. I said, “The other bullet points will hurt more than a bullet through your foot because they’ll send you to prison. These points include three witnesses who will swear in a court of law what we heard you say. Could be painful for you to testify against the family. Here’s the last bullet point.” I raised the gun.

“No dude!” he yelped.

“The last point is the most important. I’d share it with Bandini if he had the balls to stand here. But since he doesn’t, I have to rely on you and sleeping beauty to deliver it. Listen closely, Crocodile Dundee. You tell Carlos Bandini I’m here for one reason, and that’s Courtney Burke, the girl who Bandini’s brother, Tony, tried to rape. She shot him in self-defense. So tell Carlos to back off; leave her alone. If he doesn’t, if he tries to harm her, the DEA, FBI, and local cops will be at each of Bandini’s carnivals with search and arrest warrants. Now, do you get that point?”

He shook his head. “Yeah.”

Nick spit blood and stared. I said, “Come on, Nick.” I used the tip of the barrel to motion for Gatorman to step out of the way. He stood a moment too long. Nick backhanded him with his wide right hand. The blow spun Gatorman around.

We got in the Jeep, and as I started to pull away, I held the pistol through the open driver’s side window. Gatorman watched me, his eyes burning. I said, “I’ll keep this souvenir from the county fair. A Beretta sure beats a Teddy bear.”

I drove off, glancing up in the rearview mirror just as Barnes was coming to, standing on wobbly legs. They watched us drive away, Gatorman sticking his middle finger high in the air, then punching the buttons on his phone. I wondered what he was going to tell Carlos Bandini.

On the way back to Ponce Marina, I dialed Detective Dan Grant. “Dan, the second guy in the Tiki Bar that night Nick overheard their conversation, his name is Tyler Smith. Goes by Smitty. I ran into him at the fair and gave him your card. He was talkative, admitted that the Bandini’s are big players in the distribution of stolen meds, crystal meth, coke, and heroin. He said Lonnie Ebert was a friend of his and Lonnie told him Tony Bandini had threatened him. This is the motive, something Courtney Burke didn’t have.”

“Psychopaths don’t need a motive. Desire works for them.”

“I doubt Smitty will pick up the phone and call you. But you can find him working as a ride op on the Tilt-A-Whirl.”

“You said you ran into him.” Dan sighed. “Leave it alone, Sean. What’d you do, use a water-board to torture the guy before he’d admit that stuff?”

“No, actually I opened the door to a toilet he and his best friend were using. In all the confusion and embarrassment, he starting talking. Couldn’t shut him up, really. Smitty’s pal at the bar, Randy Barnes, also admitted the Bandini family is using the carnival circuit as a drug route.”

“I’ll pay another visit to the carnival before they pull out. The fact is, though, this guy Smitty and his friend Barnes can say whatever they want. The physical evidence established Courtney Burke was there—her prints on the ice pick in the vic’s heart. She’s a scorned lover. And she fled from a murder scene. One other thing, the deaths of the two other carnies earlier this year, the murders were two months apart. Both happened near a carnival owned by Bandini Amusements. At the time of each murder, Courtney Burke was working at that specific carnival. Even you, Sean, can’t believe that was a coincidence. Are you chasing this thing because she mentioned the birthmark and you still think she might be related to you?”

“Maybe.”

“Does this have anything to do with all this stuff about you and Senator Logan’s wife? It’s all over the news.”

“I don’t know.”

He was silent a moment. “Sean, don’t fucking tell me the kid that the media are talking about, the one that you and the senator’s wife supposedly had, is this girl … Courtney Burke?”

“Let me know if you find Smitty. Got to go, Dan.”

***

When Nick and I drove onto the Ponce Marina parking lot, trouble had beat us there. Two television news satellite trucks, a few SUVs painted in TV station logos and displaying slogans such as:
Your 24-Hour News Source
, and
Eyewitness News First
.

“Wonder what’s going on?” Nick mumbled. “You think this is because of what happened at the fair?”

“It’s not that.”

“What is it then? Oh shit. I recognize that dude from CNN. Sean, they’re walking toward us.”

I slid the two pistols under the seat. Within half a minute, a squad of reporters was encircling the Jeep. “Nick, don’t say anything to them.”

“I got nothin’ to say. Plus my lip’s busted.”

“We have to get you some ice.”

“Let’s walk through the Tiki Bar and then onto the docks. It’s private property and gated. That’ll slow them down.”

We stepped out and were surrounded by reporters, cameras, microphones, iPads, lights, and then the shot-gunning of questions started. “Is it true that you conceived a child with Andrea Logan?”

I said nothing.

A second reporter said, “How long had you two dated?”

A third barked, “Were you ever given the chance to see the baby?”

A fourth asked, “Why didn’t you seek custody?”

The FOX News correspondent said, “Mr. O’Brien, can we sit down for an interview?”

“Not right now,” I said, working my way through the pack.

“Okay. Let me ask you this then, do you think your involvement in the take-down of the terrorist group last year in Jacksonville will come into play during this presidential election?”

I stared hard at the guy, so hard, he looked away, fumbling with his notes. Another reporter asked, “Any comments before tomorrow night’s final Republican presidential primary debates? Polls indicate Senator Logan, the front-runner, is less than five percentage points ahead of Governor Les Connors. The fact that you and Mrs. Logan had a child together is of a lot of interest to many Americans. Your thoughts on the circumstances in view of the upcoming presidential election?”

“My thoughts have to do with walking my dog. Now, excuse me.” I stepped through the mob. Ignoring more questions, Nick making a bee-line for the Tiki Bar entrance. I followed right behind him, the horde after us.

As we waked across the restaurant, Kim looked up from behind the bar, her full mouth forming an O. Two charter boat deckhands almost spilled their mugs of beer, turning on their barstools, watching the entourage. I smiled at Kim, her face still locked in disbelief.

Nick and I stepped out on the public dock and then quickly dialed the combination lock and entered L Dock, slamming the gate behind us with loud bang. The sign on the gate read:

PRIVATE DOCK - BOAT OWNERS ONLY

See Dock-Master in Office

We walked toward our boats. I could see Dave standing in
Gibraltar’s
cockpit, Max standing in one of the deck chairs, her nose pointed in our direction. I whispered to Nick, “Don’t look back. No need sending distress signals to the media.”

“No problem. Eyes straight ahead.” He smiled, immediately turning his head toward an attractive brunette, dark glasses, white bikini, white smile, lounging on the foredeck of a sixty-foot Hatteras, a pink cocktail in her manicured hand.

“What a time to have a fat lip. I hang with you, Sean, all this hoopla chasing us, and the ladies think I’m a knight, even the married gals.”

“We have more than hoopla chasing us. Let’s lie low for the afternoon. You step back out there and they’ll pepper you with questions.”

“I can’t go on TV looking like this. Plus, I have nothing to say.”

“I told you and Dave about my past with Andrea, that’s enough for them to ask you things that can get twisted. You heard them in the parking lot.”

Dave met us on the dock next to his boat. He shook his head and cut his eyes to the end of L Dock where reporters stood, setting up to do live shots. He said, “I take it you didn’t hit your mouth on the roller-coaster safety bar. Nick, what the hell happened to you?”

I said, “We’ll tell you when we get out of sight of the media mob.”

“By default, you’re putting Ponce Marina on the national map. Next thing you know, after the theme parks, the Space Center, and the beaches, tourists buses will pull through this marina and the driver’s will point out that this is where Sean O’Brien spent weekends on his old boat coming up with ways to take out presidential contenders.”

“It all started when I saw Courtney Burke walking down a long and dangerous road.”

“And look where that road’s led you. Come aboard, gents. The proverbial defecation is hitting the fan.”

We followed Dave onto
Gibraltar
, and into the large salon, the boat’s tinted windows sure to prevent eyes and cameras from snooping. I sat in a canvas deck chair, Dave on his leather couch. Nick stood at the bar, an ice cube wrapped in a paper towel and pressed against his mouth, dark eyes filled with thoughts.

Dave said, “I’m not sure where to start. We have a media gang at the gate, all now aware that you fathered a child with the woman who might be the next first lady, and you and Nick come back bloodied after visiting Bandini’s camp. So, what happened?”

I filled him in on the events at the carnival, who the players were, and the message I sent to Bandini.

“You think Carlos Bandini will leave Courtney Burke alone?”

“Maybe. He could be looking to even the score for his brother’s death. Before Tony Bandini died, if he told his brother what Courtney said to him about how much she knew of the family’s operation, Carlos might try to silence her. Since they know Nick was the one who overheard Smitty and Barnes admit Lonnie was the victim of a Bandini hit, I wanted to try to diffuse that. So that’s why I put you on speakerphone and called you Jimmy. Harder to kill three people than one.”

Nick wrapped a fresh ice cube in another paper towel and applied it to his lip. He said, “I’ve seen some pretty fast guys in my life, but none quicker than my man, Sean. He touched the emergency button on his key remote and the second that Barnes looked away, Sean hit him so hard he fell like he’d been struck by lightning. Before his pistol could fall to the ground, Sean grabbed it and drew down on gator guy. The whole thing was over in three seconds.”

Dave shook his head. “It’s not over. It’s just beginning. Ranging from a carnival mob family to what may be the next first family. Sean, how’d the news media find out that you and Andrea had a child together?”

“I don’t know.”

Nick said, “It’s a damn good bet she never said anything to anybody.”

Dave nodded. “Not after twenty years of keeping it a secret. Logan’s opponents are making a lot of political hay out of this thing. It’ll be a hot topic in tomorrow night’s debates, too. Have you heard from Andrea?”

“No, and I doubt that I will. Outside of her parents, someone else must have known … someone who she trusted. When the video of Andrea and me hit YouTube, a ghost had to have come out of the woodwork.”

Dave said, “Somebody looking for fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Or a pile of money,” Nick said. “Sean, can you think of a close friend of Andrea’s at the time, somebody she might have confided in?”

“Yes. Twenty years ago her name was Susan Lehman. Dave, turn on one of the cable networks.”

Dave lifted the remote off the coffee table and pointed it at his 42-inch flat screen behind the bar. CNN was in the midst of a newscast. The anchorman finished a story about Syria and said, “Turning to news here at home, the uproar continues in the Republic Presidential Primary debates as front-runner, Senator Lloyd Logan, faces questions about his wife’s past, with new revelations coming forth that she had a daughter out of wedlock. Logan, a staunch opponent of abortion, told reporters that he defends his wife’s decision to give the baby up for adoption almost twenty years ago. In the meantime, Andrea Logan has had nothing to say publically about the situation. However, a woman who says she knew Andrea when she became pregnant, Susan Cohen, said that the former Andrea Hart never told her boyfriend at the time, a man by the name of Sean O’Brien, that she was carrying his child. It was O’Brien seen on the YouTube video with Mrs. Logan, deeply sobbing in a Starbucks, while her husband raised five-million dollars in contributions outside the door.”

The video cut to an interview. The lower third of the screen flashed her name:
Susan Cohen,
the former Susan Lehman. Blonde, early forties, owl eyes that seldom blinked. She said, “I knew Sean, and I knew Andrea. They were the perfect couple, really. After Andrea broke off the relationship with him, she was almost three months pregnant at the time, she never told him about the baby. When I asked her why, she just said it would make things more complicated. But in my heart-of-hearts, I believe Sean would have raised the baby by himself if he’d known about the child. It really wasn’t fair to him or the child.”

The images on screen cut to the Ponce Marina parking lot.

“Oh shit,” said Nick as he watched us get out of the Jeep.

The narrative connected with the video. “Sean O’Brien is a former homicide detective with the Miami-Dade Police Department. It’s reported he spent time in the first Gulf War, and he was the sharpshooter who was involved in taking out the al Qaeda sect in Jacksonville last year. So, how all of this will play out in Senator Logan’s bid for the White House, nobody knows. When asked for a comment, O’Brien had little to say.”

The image cut to a close-up of me with a microphone in my face when I said, “My thoughts have do with walking my dog. Now, excuse me.”