Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) (44 page)

He let go and I gasped, rubbing the welts on my neck.

Billy Ray spun to face the door. “Mitch, get the fuck outta here.”

God it was good to see Mitch McCoy.

This wasn’t part of my plan. I’d underestimated Billy Ray. I never thought him capable of violence. He’d crossed the line, and I wanted to crush him like a grape in a vat. In a swift maneuver, I jammed my heel onto his yellow leather docksiders and ground his toes with downward pressure. “Fucker.”

He hollered a loud grunt then lunged for me. I jumped backward into the tub putting a small elevation of cast iron between us. Billy Ray tripped on the throw rug, thumping forward, and Mitch tackled him from behind, grappling to lock his flailing arms.

Outside the picture window, I heard a low rumbling. The McGee’s property wasn’t visible from the main road and their driveway wound through the wooded lot next door. A procession of headlights wound past trees toward the house. Storm had secured a warrant.

What advantage Mitch had in height, Billy Ray had in girth. Muscling out of Mitch’s grip, Billy Ray rose onto one knee, and Mitch jumped in front. Billy Ray bolted up and slung a punch into Mitch’s gut, folding him in half, and followed with an uppercut into Mitch’s face. I searched for something to help. Soap on a rope, bubble bath, a ladies razor, worthless. Billy Ray stood, pulling Mitch by the back of his collar. I couldn’t wait for Storm.

 With Billy Ray’s back to me, I tugged the gold towel bar out of its brackets and stabbed him on the ear. My shot hit bull’s-eye and he parachuted, flailing his arms for something to break his fall. Inadvertently he ripped a water handle off the back of the bidet, creating a vertical fountain of water. Droplets splashed the Clementine Hunter before falling onto his dazed head that rested in the porcelain pot.

Mitch pulled at my waist. “Give me your belt.”

“I owe ya but --”

“Keep your pants on. I need to hog tie him until we get help.”

Baffled, I handed Mitch my double-wrap paisley belt.

Billy Ray moaned as he slumped to the floor. He’d cut his face when he hit the bidet, and his bloody ear resembled a beloved rawhide bone. Mitch tied his wrists behind his back with my belt. I didn’t feel any remorse. It was self-defense, and I had a witness.

“He can still walk away.”

“What do you suggest?”

I hiccupped. “Take his pants.”

“Raz, that’s warped.”

“It’s a precaution.”

Mitch slid off Billy Ray’s shoes and winced.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said and tugged at the banana yellow pant cuffs.

“We need to get out of here, fast.”

“Billy Ray’s not stupid enough to chase us.”

“You don’t understand. The FBI is seconds away from busting this party.”

“Since when does the FBI bust underage drinking?”

I pulled Mitch to the balcony and threw Billy Ray’s pants and shoes into the pool. “Forged artwork. The bidet just watered one down.”

“You and I don’t have anything to do with artwork, why do we care?”

“They may do a sweep for drugs and Patsy has a bag of hooch on her. We need to find her before they do. Jump with me. We can call my FBI contact from the Brown’s and tell him what happened.”

“Wait a minute. You have an FBI contact?”

Car doors slammed. “I’ll explain later.”

“Raz, there’s something you don’t know about me.”

“What?”

“I hate heights.”

“It’s the quickest way to the boathouse.”

Mitch and I stood at the edge of the balcony. He held my face in his hands and planted a kiss on my lips.

“What was that about?”

Mitch ran out the bedroom door and turned. “Hiccup remedy.

“The FBI may be downstairs.”

“See you on the dock.”

MITCH CHOSE THE STAIRS and I debated joining him until I looked behind my shoulder at Billy Ray. He’d rolled out of the bathroom in a shirt and underwear, streaking blood across the McGee’s pecan wood floor. Climbing on top of the balcony, I aimed for the blue center and jumped. Plunging to the bottom, I pushed to break the surface, my heavy coat slowing my ascent. Sweet scented air filled my lungs, and my underwater camera floated an arm’s length away and my binoculars made the descent toward the pool bottom. Reaching for the camera, I’d have to remember to thank Macy for her foresight. I didn’t have time to dive for the binoculars and left them behind.

I heaved myself out and hauled my waterlogged ass down the slope toward the river. I wanted to get far away from Billy Ray and the McGee’s property. But I needed to find Patsy, then Macy and Katie Lee. I inhaled nicotine before I spotted the lit cigarette. I knew the shadowy figure leaning against a giant oak. I gasped, “Bust. We need to get on the boat.”

“Been skinny dipping with your clothes on?”

“FBI is in the driveway. I’m guessing there’re here for the painting and Billy Ray. They may sweep for drugs.”

Nash stubbed out his cigarette, “Why didn’t you say so?”

We sprinted to the boathouse. “If anyone has anything illegal in their pockets, their ass will be piled into one of the vans for a visit to the pokey. Where’s Patsy?”

Nash threw some items from his pocket into the bushes. “Inside.”

“Katie Lee?” I asked.

“On the dock.”

“Macy?”

“Foolin’ around with Stewart.”

My hand rested on the door. “Are you serious?”

Nash opened his mouth but didn’t speak. From the main house, a voice echoed through a megaphone, “This is the FBI, no one move.” That’s when everyone scattered like hatching spiders.

“Get Patsy and Katie Lee in the boat. I’ll find Macy.”

There were four upstairs bedrooms, and I had mixed emotions. On one hand, I hoped to hell that Macy was in one of them. Then again, I wanted to kick her ass. She knew that Stewart was part of Jack and Billy Ray’s possie. Was the attraction to Stewart that magnetic? Had she tipped him off? I wondered how Billy Ray found me in the main house and considered leaving her.

Three of the four bedroom doors were open, one closed. Against my apprehensions, I barged in. I found Macy and a compromised Stewart.

“What are you doing to him?”

“Getting information.”

“Macy.”

“What? He’s a prick.”

Stewart wore white boxer-shorts with an all over UNC-Tarheel stamp and nothing else. Rope secured his arms and legs to the rustic bed’s head and foot post. He ranted verbal abuse into Macy’s padded, black-lace bra that plugged his gob.

“Where’d you get the rope?”

“Marina Supply Store.”

Macy saw my eye graze a long piece of fishing line that draped across Stewart. She smiled. I exasperated, “I don’t even want to know.”

I didn’t know how many agents had shown up, but I knew we didn’t have much time. “The Feds are here.”

“Fuck.”

“We need to get on the boat.”

Before following me out, Macy retrieved her C-cup from Stewart’s mouth. “It’s been fun.”

“Cunt. Untie me.” Stewart’s southern had gone missin’. He’d forgotten how to charm a lady.

Macy and I heard the door slam. Below the staircase, partiers had scattered. Outside, we saw the shadow of Nash with Patsy on his shoulder. He hustled her down the slope toward the pier.

At the top of the rail ties, we heard swishing of nylon jackets. Men in FBI windbreakers searched the perimeter of the main house.

We sprinted toward Nash. “Ladies,” he said, “keep movin’.”

Patsy perched her elbows on top of his shoulder. “What about Mitch?”

“He knows,” I said. “He should be here.”

Nash called out, “Katie Lee get those boat keys ready.”

Katie Lee had seen the bust unfold and had relocated the Bayliner to the end of the dock. We sprinted the few yards left when Macy shouted, “My shoe.”

“Darlin,’” Nash said, “Fuck the shoe and get in the boat.”

Nash put Patsy down. She turned on her heel. “I need to find Mitch.”

Her wobbly saunter wasn’t hard to catch. Before she made ground, Nash and I carried her back to the boat. She landed with a thud. Katie Lee revved the engine, and we faded into the darkness just beyond the dock.

KATIE LEE CUT THE ENGINE. We swayed behind a curtain of black and we heard muffled shouts intermingle with the chop on the current. From the boat, we watched the raid on the McGee’s property hoping not to spot Mitch being arrested.

Katie Lee swiveled the boat chair. “Y’all better tell me what the hell’s going on.” She pointed at Nash. “And skip the bullshit.”

Nash stroked his palm against his chin. “So you’re talking to me now?”

I didn’t see it, but we all heard Katie Lee slap him.

“What was that for?”

“For fucking Bridget.” She motioned for a second slap, but he caught her wrist. She struggled to lash at him and yelled, “How many others have there been?”

“Uh-oh,” Macy muttered.

Patsy lit a cigarette and suggested, “Throw him overboard.”

Pulling the keys out of the ignition, he dropped them down his pants. “Go ahead.”

Katie Lee began sobbing.

Macy pushed her sleeve up and wiggled her fingers at Nash. “Do I have to do all the dirty work?”

Katie Lee told Nash he could go to hell. Patsy offered a one-way ticket to send him there. As the abusive zingers flew, my mind sailed adrift. I shuddered to think what would have happened if Mitch hadn’t shown up.
If anything had happened to Mitch … Where could he be?

A wave of heat shot through me and I began to shake.

“Come on, Rach,” Macy said. “You hold him down, and I’ll dig for treasure.” I didn’t answer. She stared at me. “Rachael, Rachael. Nash, give Katie Lee the fucking keys. Something’s wrong. Rachael won’t stop shaking.”

Katie Lee wrapped me in beach towels. “She’s going into shock. We need to get her to the house.” Nash reached down his pants and started the boat.

“Lord y’all,” Patsy said, “She seemed fine a minute ago. Did something happen back there?”

LIKE A FEVER ENTERING my body the damp air chilled my core, and made my teeth chatter. Macy removed my coat, but my clothes were soaked. The towels helped slow the shakes, but every few minutes a shiver convulsed into another set. I just wanted to see Mitch unharmed. Then I wanted to crawl in bed, any bed so I could end this night.

Macy spoke over me, filling Katie Lee in on the art fraud scam. Only Mitch knew about my near-deadly encounter with Billy Ray, and I didn’t have the energy or inclination to tell them what had happened. Nash skimmed the boat at top speed across blackness, occasionally catching chop. The night wind ripped into my core as though it would consume me.

As we approached the Brown’s dock Nash cut power. Lit like a Christmas tree, the Brown’s house was an easy landmark to spot. The boat clunked the dock. Katie Lee jumped out and sprinted. “I’m going to get Daddy.”

The Brown’s driveway had become a parking lot of blue and whites. “Nash,” I stuttered, “the FBI may want you.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong. Just moved a few suitcases around.”

Patsy secured the boat rope to the dock and took off toward the house.

Nash asked, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

I shook my head sideways.

Macy’s eyes lingered on him, and she pressed his shoulder. “Dr. Brown had better not find you here.”

Grabbing his black duffel, Nash tugged the collar on his jacket. “Don’t worry, I’m leavin’.” He motioned to step out of the boat, but backtracked and leaned into my ear. “Bridget has it.” Saluting us, he said, “See y’all around.”

I wondered if I would.

NOTE TO SELF

My first instinct didn’t lie. Billy Ray is a creep.

I can’t believe I’m saying this-–I’m going to miss Nash.

Mitch McCoy is a keeper.

43

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Macy
locked her arm in mine and guided me toward the house. Katie Lee and Dr. and Mrs. Brown hustled in a pack toward us. Nash had disappeared.

Dr. Brown wore a gray sweatshirt and matching drawstring pants. He held a flashlight and pointed it on Macy and me. Holding the light beam in my face, “Rachael,” he said. You shouldn’t be walking.”

“Dear Lord child, you’re wet. Did you fall in the river?”

“Mama, she didn’t fall in.”

Dr. Brown looked into my eyes. “Are you dizzy?”

“Lightheaded.”

Handing his flashlight to Mrs. Brown, he scooped me up. “Katie Lee, get my bag out of the car.”

A walkie-talkie screeched. “Smith here. Over,”

Beyond the thicket of trees, a tall muscular man dressed in blue slacks, and a windbreaker spoke into a device that he held in his hand. “Over.”

The hand-held crackled. “We have two vans full. Taking one to Country Club Drive bear cave, the other to George Street.”

Dr. Brown carried me up the path to the house. I looked behind him at the man near the garage. He drew a baseball hat low and spoke into the two-way, “Did you catch Peter Rabbit?”

Storm was in The Bern. The radio clicked. “Peter Rabbit and Baby Bear secured. Headed to the pokey with smokey. Beaver Bait is still swimmin’.”

“You’re soaked,” Dr. Brown said.

“I was in the McGee’s pool.”

Mrs. Brown wore a cotton button-down and khaki slacks. Her hair was fastened in a mini-ponytail clasp. She opened the slider to the kitchen, “Swimming in your clothes. You must have a death of a chill. Hayden, she needs to get into something dry.”

The lights were bright, and men I didn’t know, mostly cops— and Patsy--surrounded Mitch. Someone with a notepad asked him questions. I breathed heavy and choked tears when I noticed his bloody nose and swollen cheek. He sat on a kitchen chair without his shirt. His arms had scratches, and his bare chest had been wrapped in white bandages.