Framed (23 page)

I guess it’s true what they say. You can’t take the boy out of the man, no matter how macho badass they are.

“Now that we have that cleared up, do you think we can get back to finding this guy who’s after my little girl?”

“I’d say that’s easy enough to accomplish,” Prez answered. “The guy has to work for whomever Drum did. Since we’re all in agreement his murder has to be connected to his work, we stake out Consolidated and see if your Pirate shows there.”

“What about the gunshot wound? Won’t he go to the hospital?” I asked.

“If he’s ex-Army, the same as Drum, then he’ll know how to do a field dressing. Unless the wound is life-threatening, he’ll take care of it himself.”

“You two take shifts at Consolidated; I have to head home to Kyle and Pops. Chapel said he’d hold off releasing a statement to the press until tomorrow, but as chatty as the prison guards are, it will leak, and I want to make sure they don’t upset Pops.”

“I’ll take you if you want?” I offered. “Or you can borrow my Jeep.”

Kade scoffed at my offer, shaking his head slowly as if he thought I was nuts. “If you think I’m letting you out of my sight until this is resolved, think again. Pack a bag,
princess,
you’re coming with me ’til this is over.” The words dripped with arrogance as if he expected me to follow his orders like one of his soldiers.

“Uh, Kade, I have work to do and I’m perfectly safe at the garage with my dad, Jake, and Davy, and I can stay with Dad until you find this guy.”

Kade completely ignored my protest, as all red-blooded American males do, and then ordered Mickey, without answering me, to go downstairs and load my books into my Jeep.

“Kade.”

“Yeah,” he answered, but didn’t look at me as Prez and Mickey discussed how best to stake out Consolidated.

“Kade!” I said a little louder.

“What, babe?” he replied, but he still didn’t give me his attention.

Grrr.

I was just about to give him a scathing reply when I heard a woman’s voice shouting my name from outside. Turning towards my window, I looked out into the forecourt of my dad’s garage and saw Betty Lou Law, tattoo artist extraordinaire and longtime friend.

Betty Lou and I had grown up together. Her parents lived three houses down and we’d played together in the sandbox from the age of seven. She was an artist by trade and put her talent to work creating unbelievably beautiful tattoos. She traveled around the country, mostly keeping to the south, pulling a small Airstream trailer as her workstation. She got the idea from an Australian tattoo artist by the name of Mimsy who owned a mobile tattoo parlor called Mimsy’s Trailer Trash. Betty Lou, named after her grandmother, went by the name Bette and named her Airstream Bette’s Belle. She had an affinity with all things retro, specifically the 1940’s, and specialized in period tattoos. The side of her trailer was painted to look like the nose of an old B-17 Bomber from World War II and depicted Bette in a sexy bikini from that era.

When she inked customers, she wore the recognizable “We can do it” outfit of World War II. It consisted of a red bandana around her auburn-colored hair, a blue tailored shirt, high-waist jeans, and bright red lips. She cussed like a sailor, was as curvy as a pinup up girl, and was covered in gorgeous tattoos.

Waving at her when she looked up at the window, I motioned her to come up to my apartment.

“Who’s that?” Kade asked when I turned around.

“My oldest friend,” I answered as I headed towards my door.

“Betty Lou Who is here?” Dad asked smiling.

Ripping open the door, I ran to the top of the stairs and waited.

“What’s shakin’, Harley Davidson,” Bette squealed as she ran up the stairs. Bette jumped into my arms and we began to jump up and down as was customary when we saw each other after months of her being on the road.

She jerked back when we heard someone behind us and her eyes moved over my shoulder.

“Well, ahoy there, matey,” Bette purred as she took in Mickey D in a Navy tee. Then Prez and Kade emerged from my apartment and she gasped, “Harley, are you having an orgy? And if so, can I join in?”

I rolled my eyes when three sets of chuckles and broad smiles took in my dearest friend.

“Bette, meet Kade, Prez, and Mickey D. Boys,
this
is Betty Lou Law.”

“Ma’am,” they replied in unison.

“Screw the ma’am shit. Better yet, screw me,” she exclaimed as she took in all three men, her eyes glazing over as all red-blooded women’s would in the face of all that testosterone.

Dad coughed as he, too, emerged from the apartment to give her a hug, but that didn’t faze Bette. After Dad wrapped her in a big bear hug, she turned back to me.

“Harley Davidson, can I pick and choose or is one of these fine specimens yours?”

“Sadly, one is taken,” I smiled.

“Pity, it’s always been a dream of mine to have three virile—“

“Jesus,” Dad gruffed, silencing her. Unfortunately for him, one of Bette’s favorite pastimes was making my dad blush.

“I’m taken,” Kade said, “but he’s not,” he continued, then pushed Mickey forward in a not so obvious attempt to entice him with my curvy friend.

Bette looked Mickey up and down, tapping her finger against her chin as if she were considering her choices.

“Well, he ain’t sloppy seconds by any means.”

“You’re crazy,” I laughed, hugging her again. It had been too long since I’d seen her, and having her back now was a blessing.

“Just call me Patsy Cline,” she laughed.

“I hate to break up this reunion,” Dad jumped in, “But we gotta get movin’. Harley, I’m taking the dogs with me so they aren’t underfoot.”

“Dad, I haven’t agreed yet,” I stated firmly.

“You’ve been outranked and overruled, little girl. You’re goin’ with Kade and that’s final.”

“Then I’m filing a formal protest! This country is a republic built on democracy. I should have a vote on what I do,” I argued looking at all the men in my life. “All in favor of my staying put?” I asked raising my hand.

“What’s goin’ on?” Bette whispered.

“Raise your hand and vote in my favor then I’ll tell you.”

“Shouldn’t I know the candidate's platform so I can weigh the pros and cons of the election?”

“Fine,” I replied with a sigh. No one else was raising their hand in my favor, so I needed her vote. “The long and short of it is, as you know, Kade was in prison for a murder he didn’t commit. The people who put him there came after me today and now they want to lock me up and throw away the key.”

“Wait,
this
is the guy you’ve been mooning over since high school?” she replied, stunned. Bette knew all about Kade, of course. She knew that he’d been convicted of murder, that I was convinced of his innocence, along with the fact that I’d lusted after him from afar since I was sixteen.

“The same.”

“Well, I’ll be God—“

“Don’t say it; I don’t need any more bad luck raining down on me today.”

“You always were a straight arrow,” she laughed.

“That’s me, savior of lost dogs and women’s souls.”

“Tell me, savior to God’s forgotten creatures, will you be free to roam while I’m in town if I vote in your favor?”

I opened my mouth to say yes, but Kade vetoed my answer, proving once again that dictatorships were alive and well. “As of right now, she’s in the brig with no chance of parole.”

“We’ll see,” I threw in to be stubborn and glared at Kade.

Bette didn’t seem fazed by the news that I was under house arrest, though. She moved on to Mickey and laced her arm with his instead, saying, “Guess it’s just you, me, and Prez makes three,” as she turned and winked at me. “You boys can fill me in on all the dirt while Mary Poppins here ducks and covers.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mickey grinned.

“Tell you what, Goliath, you stop calling me ma’am, and I might let you see my boobs.”

Hearing that, Prez pushed Mickey out of the way and motioned for Bette to take the lead, mumbling, “Ronald Regan at your service, beautiful.” Bette grinned, took his arm, and all three descended my stairs without looking back again. Before they rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight, Kade called out, “Keep in touch.”

We got three hand raises in acknowledgment and then they were gone.

“Interesting friend,” Kade chuckled.

“Bette is an original,” I answered. “You might want to keep in contact with the boys, though; she’s liable to get them into trouble.”

“I’m sure they can handle anything she throws at them.”

I was sure they couldn’t, but I wasn’t about to tell Kade that.

***

Sweat dripped down White’s face and he gritted his teeth as his cousin, Trigger White, worked carefully to extract the slug that had lodged in his left bicep. With each tug, he held his breath and closed his eyes to block out the pain. He’d made it to Trigger’s house before passing out, stumbling up the steps, and pounding on the door. He’d caught the bullet right as he’d tried to pull Harley into his van, halting his plans. Plans that would have ensured the SEALs’ cooperation after he’d had his way with her, now all he wanted was revenge.

“Almost out,“ Trigger said as he pulled the bullet free and packed the open wound with gauze.

“I’ll need more whiskey before you stitch me up,” White hissed as Trigger poured hydrogen peroxide into the wound.

“You need antibiotics to ward off infection,” Trigger mumbled, then passed White a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

White nodded and took a swig from the bottle. Then he turned the bottle to his shoulder and poured the Jack into his wound. “FUCK!” he roared, as the eighty-proof whiskey disinfected his wound.

“Fuck is right. Jesus, you’re a crazy motherfucker,” Trigger grinned.

“You haven’t seen crazy yet,” White bit out.

The television was playing in the background as Trigger stitched up his cousin’s shoulder. When a report about a single car accident broke the early evening news, White paused his hand.

“Highway patrol identified the victim as Ian Drum of Pensacola,”
the perky newscaster informed the viewing audience.

“Did the SEALs kill him?” Trigger asked.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” White answered. “They needed him to exonerate Kingston.”

Both men considered the ramifications of Drum’s death and grinned. However, before they could voice their thoughts, the newscaster dropped another bombshell.

“Two years ago, former SEAL and war hero Kade Kingston was charged and then convicted of the 2013 death of his friend Stan Sutton. Today, acting State’s Attorney Derrick Chapel filed for an acquittal for the former SEAL after new evidence was brought to light exonerating him. The SA told us exclusively, here at FOX10, that the investigation into Sutton’s death would be reopened.”

A shot of SA Chapel speaking with reporters filled the screen as White and his cousin looked on in disbelief.

“A miscarriage of justice has been righted today and a war hero has been set free. The State’s Attorney’s Office offers its sincerest apology for the incarceration of Mr. Kingston. We intend to reopen the investigation into Mr. Sutton’s death in order to bring closure to the victim’s family. . .”

White’s cell began ringing as the SA droned on about justice. He pulled it from his pocket and answered without even looking. He didn’t have to, he knew who would be on the other end.

“White,” he barked into the phone.

“Drum’s dead and Kingston is free,” Williams replied.

“I’ve heard.”

“We’re in the clear, now. Drum was the only link back to us.”

“Not clear,” White bit out.

Williams didn’t respond immediately, White could hear his breath leaving his lungs as he prepared for his reply.

“Tell me,” he finally gritted between his teeth.

“The SEALs interfered with my abduction. The dog trainer got away, but not before getting a look at my face,” he explained. “You and I both know if she fingers me, it will be traced back to you.”

“Then disappear,” Williams hissed.

“I could, but then I’d always have that hanging over my head. You, I can control. I have too much evidence on you. She’s a loose end. I cut loose ends off at the knees.”

“Then get it done,” was all Williams said before the line went dead.

White turned to his cousin and raised his arm. “Finish the stitches; we’ve got work to do.

“Anything you need, I’m ready,” Trigger answered.

“I need you. I hope your truck is comfortable,” White grunted as the needle tugged his skin closed. “You need to stake out the grandfather’s home. I doubt Kingston will let her out of his sight after today. It’s what I would do if I gave a shit about a woman. I want to know who comes and goes and what kind of schedule they keep.”

“So we’re hunting for the woman now?”

“Yeah.”

“And when we have her?”

“She’ll get a crash course on the size of gators in the Glades.”

***

The sun was setting low in the sky, bathing his grandfather’s house in a warm muted glow when we arrived. I was pleasantly surprised to see it was a beachfront property. Miniature palm trees flanked each side of the gravel drive like tiny guards and a privacy fence protected the whole thing from prying eyes. The house stood on stilts to protect it against rising water. It was painted a soft yellow with green shutters, which had weathered tastefully over time. It was a typical Florida beach property with its wraparound deck that faced the ocean, but something about it harkened back to a simpler time. As far as I could see, it hadn’t been changed since the day it was built. It had been respectfully maintained over the years, but not updated, which only added to its personality. I loved it the moment I laid eyes on it.

I could hear seagulls in the distance, arguing over food as the surf kicked up. The air around us was warm and filled with sand as a sea breeze blew inland, depositing a layer of salt on our skin.

Climbing the stairs to the first floor, we were met at the top by his brother Kyle. The two embraced and held, neither ready to let go after two years of hell. My throat closed watching their reunion and tears threatened. When they pulled apart, Kyle moved to me and wrapped me in his embrace, whispering, “You got him out just in time.” I choked on a cry when I realized he was telling me their grandfather was near death.