Blood of Cain (Sean O'Brien (Mystery/Thrillers)) (21 page)

“Man, I don’t know … I could sure use the money, but—”

“You’re not spilling hot coffee, only a soda. Not that big of a deal, and if you’re as good of an actor as I think you are, piece of cake. It’s just a dress rehearsal for a scene you might use later as a director.” I smiled.

“Okay, what the heck. Long as it doesn’t get me fired.”

I gave him the money and watched as he filled two large cups with ice and soda, put them on a tray and walked out the front door.

I stood and headed for the kitchen, quickly walking through it, smiling at a sweating Mexican cook with a maroon bandana on his head, spatula in one hand. I left through the back delivery door, stood in the sago palms for a second, and looked around the edge of the restaurant. I watched the tinted glass window slide down on the SUV, the college kid saying something, and then spilling the sodas through the window. I jumped in my Jeep and left through the rear exit of the lot, pulled out onto a back street, and headed straight for the carnival.

***

Courtney Burke opened the windows in the small Airstream trailer, the cross-breeze puffed the curtains on the window facing Bullfrog Creek. She could smell the blooming lilac and tangerine blossoms in the morning air. She looked out the window and watched a blue jay hop between limbs on an oak tree, the bird squawking a morning melody. The blue jay was one of her grandmother’s favorite birds. Her favorite was the puffin. Courtney thought about her grandmother and had the overwhelming urge to call her.

Then she heard the steady, non-excited sound of a dog barking.
Clementine
. She smiled and thought how unreal it was for the cockatoo to bark so much like a dog. She turned to make a cup of tea when there was a knock at the door. Courtney felt her pulse rise. She stood to a far right angle to the front window and saw Boots standing at the door.

“Courtney, it’s just me.”

She opened the door. “Hi, come in.”

“I can’t. Heading into town. What can I bring you?”

“You’ve been so kind to me already. I’m fine.”

Boots nodded. He wore a purple tank top, red shorts, flip-flops and a yellow fedora with a white feather stuck under the band. “I spoke with my brother, Isaac. He tells me you like carrot cake. I’ll bring some.”

“Thank you.”

“Another thing he just told me over the phone … there’s a man looking for you. He said he came to the carnival and asked about you.”

“What man?”

“Said his name was Sean O’Brien.”

“What’d he want to know?”

“Where to find you.”

“Did he tell him?”

“No, of course not. Do you know him?”

“Yes. He stopped two drunken men from attacking me.” She looked away, her eyes following a blue jay in the cypress trees.

Boots watched her for a moment. “I sense he did more than that, although that is quite a noble feat. Is there something else about this man you want to tell me, something you want to talk about?”

“No.”

“Okay. Isaac did say this gent, O’Brien, seemed to be searching for you independent of any police. Maybe he’s a private detective. Why would he be interested in you? Is it because he pulled those men off you?”

“I guess so. I don’t know.” She bit her lower lip.

“My brother told me something else. He said Carlos Bandini questioned him about the extent of his relationship with you. Isaac said he knows Bandini won’t stop until he avenges his brother’s death.”

“I had no choice. Tony Bandini had his fist wrapped around my hair, and was reaching for the gun on the table.”

“I understand. But Carlos Bandini knows only one way, an eye for an eye. If this man, Sean O’Brien, if he’s more than a good Samaritan, just maybe he’s the person who might intervene on your behalf. Is he more than a good Samaritan, Courtney?”

She looked down at Boots and said, “No.”

Dozens of brown-skinned men, many already with their shirts off, bare backs glistening, were rolling up huge canvass tents, dismantling rides as massive as the double Ferris wheel. Semi-trucks and large flat-beds were being loaded as the Bandini Amusement Company prepared to move to another town, delivering its brand of entertainment to another county fairground.

I pulled my Jeep to a stop near a closed
Daugs ‘n Franks
stand, turned off the engine, and got out. I tried to stay inconspicuous, staying out of the open, blending in with the workers, county fair employees, and the dozens of truck drivers. The air was filled with dust and the sky a hard blue. I heard the crackle of a walkie-talkie and looked in that direction. The man speaking into the radio was tall. He wore wrap-around dark glasses, had wide shoulders, a narrow waist, dirty blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. He stood under the shade of a tree and barked orders to others, when he wasn’t speaking into the walkie-talkie.

Was this the man who hung Nick out to dry? I watched him for a minute. He walked over to a black worker and said something. No limp. I moved on.

I walked around dozens of trailers and motors homes, carnival workers packing, the smell of diesel fumes and fried bacon in the breeze, rock music blaring from a set of outdoor speakers. I saw the dwarf, Isaac Solminski, stepping down from a Winnebago, holding a phone to his ear, talking with someone. He walked to a white bulldog chained under a shade tree. The little man put fresh water in the dog’s bowl as he continued talking. He turned back around towards the Winnebago and saw me. He abruptly ended his conversation, setting the phone down on a card table next to a sweating can of Mountain Dew, a paper plate with crackers, purple grapes and cheese. Two black flies crawled across the white cheese.

He said, “You’re back. And we move on.”

“Before you go, maybe you can tell me where Carlos Bandini would be about now.”

“Probably getting ready to attend the funeral of his brother.”

“Where’s the funeral?”

“I hear it’s supposed to be held in Zephyrhills, small town outside of Tampa.”

“Have you heard from Courtney?”

“No. Don’t expect I will either.”

I said nothing, watching the bulldog eyeing a squirrel.

Solminski raised his shoulders in a shrug. “This thing really has you, doesn’t it?”

“What thing?”

“That birthmark on your shoulder. You’re going plain crazy trying to figure out how Courtney knew, I can tell. I guess more than age and weight.”

“Sure, I’d like to find out how she knew about it. But more importantly, I’d like to find her before Carlos Bandini does. And you don’t have to guess why. I think you care about Courtney, the question is this: how much do you care?”

“He won’t be able to find her.”

“You hire the right people, throw enough money at it, and you can find anybody anywhere.” I watched the bulldog jump up and charge the squirrel, snapping the chain.

“Winston!” shouted Solminski. He darted after the runaway bulldog. I reached down and lifted his phone off the table and looked at his recent call history. Could Courtney’s number be at the top of the list? I memorized the number I saw most frequently called in the last two days. Then I set the phone back exactly as I’d found it.

Within thirty seconds the little man had caught the big bulldog, both breathing heavily as Solminski held what was left of the chain, now shorter than a leash. “Winston’s been acting weird. He usually doesn’t open an eye at a squirrel. Now, he’s trying to kill them. Look, no offense, but could you just leave? It’s not healthy to be seen with you.”

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Where’s Bandini? I didn’t see the bus.”

“That’s because it’s parked near the county office by the livestock area. I don’t know if he’s there or en route to the funeral. But the bus is there. Now get outta here, okay?”

“One last thing. You guessed the age of my Greek friend Nick Cronus. Made his day. One of Bandini’s goons almost killed Nick. Whoever did it rides a Harley with a skull and crossbones symbol painted on the side of the gas tank. Where can I find this guy?”

“That question implies that I know the answer. Maybe you should ask Bandini?”

“I’m asking you.”

“Don’t know his name. He’s one of a dozen motorcycle gang members Bandini uses from time to time. I saw the dude yesterday. Big fella. He rides a motorcycle. Lots of chrome. One of the carnies said the guy spends time at a biker bar outside of Daytona called the Lone Wolf Saloon. Every town or county we play, there’s always a work-for-hire person the Bandini family has on call. The Daytona area seems to have more than its fair share of talent.”

“Thanks. If you have contact with Courtney, please tell her to call me.”

Isaac Solminski sat in a metal fold-out chair next to the card table, the panting fat bulldog drooling saliva beneath his feet. He popped a purple grape in his mouth and said, “Good luck to you, Mr. O’Brien. Your face is all over the news, by the way.”

“So I hear.”

I headed in the direction of the livestock arena, a large white compound that smelled of cow manure and sawdust. Red, white, and blue banners hung from the main entrance near signs that welcomed the FFA and 4-H students. Bandini’s customized bus was parked in front of a sign that read:
Volusia County Fair Office
. I watched as smiling kids and their parents left with prize-winning cows, pigs, goats, chickens and rabbits, all packed into pickup trucks or animal trailers hitched to pickup trucks.

I put on dark glasses, pulled a baseball cap down to my eyebrows, and walked past the office window. Even from the rear, I recognized Carlos Bandini from his image I’d seen when the news media interviewed him about the death of his brother. He looked like a younger version of Al Pacino, short, maybe five-seven. He stood with two of his employees, the guys who’d stopped Nick and me in the parking lot when they popped out of the bus.

And now I was going to do the same, but from a different vantage point.

I stood under a cottonwood tree and watched the customized luxury motor coach for a moment. The door opened and a driver stepped outside. He had the build of a gym rat, defined forearms, beefy wide shoulders, black T-shirt stretched over his muscular chest. He lit a cigarette and stood in the shade of the livestock building. He glanced down at the gold watch on his thick wrist and inhaled a lungful of smoke, exhaling out of his nostrils. Ten seconds later, he dropped the cigarette, crushed it beneath the heel of his boot, and ducked into the restroom.

I adjusted the Glock under my belt in the small of my back, shirt hanging around my waist. I walked quickly to the bus, looking up into its wide side-view mirrors to see behind me, to see if Bandini and company were leaving the office. Clear. Was anyone else on the bus? I didn’t know. I took a deep breath and stepped up and into the cool, dimly lit exterior.

The sound system was tuned to a classic rock satellite channel, Bob Seger’s
Night Moves
pulsating through the Bose speakers. The interior could have been a luxury mansion on wheels, polished woods, designer furnishings, sixty-inch flat-screen TV, liquor in hand-cut crystal decanters.

I walked down the hallway, the slight hiss of the cool air blowing through the vents onto the back of my neck, wine-colored carpet thick beneath my shoes. The door to an office was partially opened. I instinctively touched the Glock and pushed the door open. No one. I did a fast walk-through of the entire bus. No one. I went back into Bandini’s office and looked out the tinted window. Bandini was leaving the fairground office with his two associates. They were joined by the driver. I watched them point toward an approaching taxi that pulled up behind the bus.

A blonde woman wearing a miniskirt, stiletto heels, dark glasses, and a low-cut blouse revealing ample cleavage, stepped from the taxi. Bandini walked over to the cab, smiled, tossed money through the open window to the driver, and then placed his hand on the center of the woman’s back, escorting her to the bus. I could see they were entering a side door, his men boarding from the front entrance.

I quickly relocated to the large master bedroom in the rear of the bus. Elvis Presley’s designer could have created this haunt, round bed with a purple and gold bedspread, mirrored ceiling and walls, mini-bar, with inlaid white holiday lights. A lime green alligator was propped next to the purple pillows.

I heard the side door open. As much as I hated the idea of popping out from a closet, I had no choice. I stepped in and closed the door behind me, the odor of leather, shoes, and starched shirts encircled me. Within seconds, Bandini and the woman were in the bedroom.

She said, “Pretty fancy place you got here. This is like a mansion on wheels.”

“You got that right, Susan.”

“It’s Suzy.”

“Whatever. Look, I got to ride across the state to attend a funeral, and I need you to take my mind off stuff. Depression isn’t for me. God rest my baby brother.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. What do you want me to do?”

“We’re gonna do it all, and then some.”

I heard Bandini walk around the room, to the far side of the bed and press a button, a white noise filled the room. Then someone said, “Yes sir.”

“Let’s roll.”

“Headin’ out, boss.”

I could feel the transmission being put into gear, the bus move a few feet, and then start off slowly, building speed as it moved around the parking circle in front of the livestock arena.

Bandini said, “All right, Suzy. You can ditch the clothes.”

“You mind if I freshen up a bit? I just got off my shift at the club. Been dancin’ most of the night. Where’s the bathroom?”

“This bus has three Johns. The master is the door to the left. By the way, when I’m done with you, I want you to take care of the troops. But not in here. You can fuck ‘em in the middle bedroom down the hall to the left.”

“Hold on. I didn’t agree to some kind of multiple sex thing. I screw one person. That’s it. That’s what I agreed to.”

“Take it up with your boss when we ship your used ass back. I paid a grand for you, bitch. I plan to get my money’s worth, which includes watching the boys do you, too.”