The Whack Job - An Eamonn Shute Short Story

- The Whack Job - An Eamonn Shute Short Story

- Midpoint

The Whack Job

An Eamonn Shute Short Story

Tony McFadden

Copyright Tony McFadden 2011

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

The door slammed shut behind Eamonn and Steve, leaving the over-amped bass, the tanned bleached blonde bunnies and the umbrella drinks behind in the techno-pop dance club.

Eamonn pulled the shoulders of his cotton shirt away from his skin. “Dammit, I’m sticky.” He grabbed Steve by the upper arm. “Let’s us skip this bit the next time, Steve. Dinner was fine. But this,” he hitched a thumb over his shoulder, “has taken it from me.”

Steve Sheppard laughed. “This is my life, pal.” He ran his fingers through his hair, streaked blond by his regular hairdresser on Flagler, (although he told people it was the constant exposure to the sun and sea that did it). He wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his silk shirt. “But I agree. I could do without seeing you dance again.”

Steve was decked out for a single’s Saturday night; light cream dress slacks, white silk shirt, jade signet pinkie ring, a couple of gold chains, Rolex watch and Blues Brothers style Ray Bans perched in that tinted hair. He fit right in.

“It’s a little early for me though, Eamonn.”

“Mate, you told me that you wanted to leave at 11. It’s a wee bit after 11:30.” Eamonn shook his head. “And you were really hammering them back tonight. As an Irishman, I’m impressed, but you’re a small man. Unless you have an extraordinarily large liver, you’re putting yourself in grave danger.”

“No, no. Not tonight buddy. Soda water and lime all night.” He smiled and tapped his temple. “Gotta keep the pumpkin clear tonight.” He noted the skeptical look on Eamonn’s face. “On my mother, I haven’t had a drop all night.”

“Miracles never cease to amaze.” The warm Miami night air was still a wonder for Eamonn, even after 18 months away from Ireland. He unbuttoned the next button on his shirt and pulled the tails from his trousers, trying to cool off. “Listen old pal, it was good to catch up again, although next time it’s just dinner and no dance halls, if it’s not too much trouble. Can I give you a lift home?”

Steve smiled, perfect white teeth (laminates) gleaming in the light of the streetlights. “Plans, Eam. Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got business still tonight, and I’m running a bit late.”

Eamonn cocked an eyebrow. “That Astrid girl? She’s stunning, I’ll give you that.” He smiled. “You sure love living dangerously, mate. Her husband is almost as big as I am with much less of this,” he grabbed a piece of his expanding waist. “You best watch yourself.”

Steve laughed and slapped Eamonn on the shoulder. “Meeting an old friend of the family, as it were. You want to join me?”

“Do you really want me to join you?” Eamonn held both hands up in surrender. “No, no, no. Don’t answer that. I’ve got to be going anyway. Breakfast date with Nicky at 8:00. Eight! Can you believe it? That early? She’ll never learn.”

Steve checked his watch. “Yeah, okay. For the best. Maybe next time. My love to Nicky.” He jogged across the street and disappeared down a small side road off Collins.

Eamonn didn’t realize it at the time, obviously, but that would be the last time he saw Steve alive.

A bright and sunny Sunday morning, 8:00 a.m., and Eamonn is sitting under an umbrella at a café on the beach. He’d been there early enough to be on his second cup of coffee, and deep into a story in the Miami Herald, when Nicky showed up.

“Morning sweetie. Thanks for getting here so early.” She pulled out a chair opposite him and sat.

He continued to read. “Hmmpf?”

She flicked the paper. “Hello? Earth to Shute.”

He folded the paper and put it down on the chair between them and poured her a coffee from the carafe. “This is too early. I’d prefer if my world didn’t really exist this early. One of the advantages of being stinking rich,” he took a sip of the beautifully rich and aromatic Jamaican bean and smiled at her, “is not getting up until you really want to.” He was laying on the Irish lilt a little strong, just for her.

“Oh bullshit, big guy. It’s a beautiful day. No point wasting it in bed.”

“Well…” He smiled.

She slapped his arm. “Behave and order me breakfast.”

Forty-five minutes later, the bill was paid and Eamonn was stuffed with his artery clogging favorites.

Nicky, as usual, ate sensibly, favoring fruit and multigrain toast. “This was nice. Let’s go for a walk and plan the day.”

“Well, lass, I had a relaxing day in mind, sitting on me balcony reading the latest Dick Francis novel. You can join me. I’ve a full bookcase, fiction and non-fiction, and refreshing drinks on tap. Actually, I’ve got an especially nice beer from Nova Scotia I think you’d enjoy.”

She grabbed his hand and led him to the beach. “Take off your shoes and socks and roll up those pant legs. When will you ever wear shorts and flip flops?”

Eamonn assumed that last question was rhetorical. She’d seen his legs before. He didn’t think she’d want to see them naked again.

He complied though, and a few short minutes later they were barefoot, strolling north on Miami Beach, Eamonn wave side and Nicky on his left. Unlike him, she was in appropriate clothes: a shell print sundress and thin-strapped sandals that she carried in her left hand. The top of her head was about in line with his chest, making her about 5’ 4” to his 6’ 6”. He looked down at her auburn hair. Beautiful, thick, lustrous, shampoo-ad quality hair. He ran his fingers through it and rested his hand on her shoulder. A light onshore breeze kept the small waves lapping at their feet and her hair restlessly brushing against her neck.

“So, a relaxing day on my balcony is out of the question?”

“It is out of the question if you want to spend the day with me.” She looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the morning sun. “You do want to spend the day with me, don’t you?”

“Aye, lass. I do. So what shall we do, do you think?” They were approaching a breakwater, a spit of sand sticking about 100 feet into the ocean ending in a row of rock. A crowd was gathering.

It was an official looking crowd, with police, medical examiners and crime scene tape. “You know, I think we should head back the other way.”

“Why?” She looked up from her shell gazing. “Oh. What’s going on?”

“Don’t know. Don’t want to know. Best to stay out of it.”

“Huh.” She jogged up to the edge of the crowd, forcing Eamonn’s hand.

“Strong minded women, just like me ma. Shit.” He strolled to the edge of crowd and looked over their heads.

Miami Beach PD was in control of the scene, the Crime Scene Squad poring over the immediate area around a body on the beach. A white cloth covered the corpse. The sheet had either been placed carelessly or the onshore breeze had adjusted it. Eamonn should see the right foot, part of the left hand and the crown of the head.

“Bloody hell.” Eamonn turned to Nicky. “I know him. I’ve got to talk to the police.”

“Are you serious? You’re virtually a tourist here, and seem to get involved with every single big thing that goes on.” She craned her neck and stood on her tiptoes. “Who is it?”

“Wait here.” He pushed through the crowd until he reached someone who looked in charge.

“Ma’am? You’re with the Miami Beach PD, correct?” She nodded. “I think I know that man.” Eamonn pointed to the body on the beach.

“And you are?”

Eamonn held out his hand. “Eamonn Shute, ma’am.”

She smiled. “You’re kidding. Really? Aim-n-Shoot?” She shook his hand. “I’m Detective Shirley Jones. And I thought I got laughs with my name. Your parents must have really disliked you.”

“It is spelled E-a-m-o-n-n S-h-u-t-e. A good Irish name ma’am. And me ma loves me.” He smiled. “But back to what I was saying…”

“Okay, first, for God’s sake, stop calling me ma’am. My hair’s not in a bun. Shirley will do. And second, why do you think you know the victim?”

“The ring on his left pinky finger. It’s a jade signet ring. I have a friend with a ring just like that. It’s pretty unique. I’d be surprised if two males of roughly the same age, race, hair style and body size would own that specific ring.”

Detective Jones looked at the large Irishman for a couple of seconds, then at the covered body on the beach. Shrugged. “Okay. Let’s go see. Follow me.” She held up the crime scene tape. He still had to almost double over to get under it.

“When was the body discovered, Detective?”

“We got a call about three hours ago from a wake boarder out here for some early morning fun. Thought he hit a log. It was the back of the victims head.”

Eamonn winced. “Ouch.”

“Not so much. The vic was dead. The M.E. has made a preliminary estimate of the time of death.” She looked up at him. “Around 1:00 this morning.” She squatted by the body. “Ready?” Eamonn nodded and squatted beside her. She lifted the side of the sheet away from the crowd, exposing the victim to only her and Eamonn’s view.

Eamonn sagged. “Steve.” Steve Sheppard’s naked body was heavily bruised, long welts across his torso, bruises around his neck, face and forearms.

“So you do know him?”

He nodded “Steve Sheppard. First guy I met when I moved here a couple of years ago.”

“When did you see him last?”

“Last night, close to 11:30, about three blocks south on Collins. We had just left a club. I offered to give him a ride home and…”

Detective Jones was writing in her notebook. “Whoa. I think we need to talk to you in a bit more detail. Not here.” She checked her watch. “Can you come by the station in two hours? Around 11:00. I should be back by then. I need to help wrap things up here.”

“Where’s the station?”

“Washington and 11th. Sorry for your loss Eamonn, and I’ll see you in two hours.” She dropped the sheet, stood and escorted him back to the crime scene tape.

“Let’s go Nicky.” He took her hand and started back down the beach. “Our day’s plans have been set. I need to see the detective in a couple of hours at the station.”

“Why?”

“That was Steve Sheppard. Beat to death, by the looks of it. I’m one of the last people to see him last night, so they’d like to have a chat with me.”

“Whoa, whoa, Eamonn. Steve? You’re sure?”

He looked at her. “Sure that he’s dead or sure that I saw him late last night?” He stopped walking. “Sorry. I’m sure of both. He left me last night around 11:30 to go to a ‘meeting’. I thought it was a lady friend, but I doubt the bruises on his body were from a woman. He was well and truly flogged. ‘Course, if it was the lady friend I thought it was, she has a brute for a husband. I wonder what the little shit got himself into this time. You know, he asked if I wanted to go with him last night. I should have.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I need a shower. I’ve worked up a good bit of a sweat this morning with all of this to-ing and fro-ing in the sand. I don’t want to be too gamey in front of the coppers. Come back with me and put your feet up while I get ready. New Sopranos box set came in yesterday. Season 6. You might want to dig into it while you wait.”

Nicky reclined in Eamonn’s living room and waited while he showered. The Sopranos box set sat on the coffee table, unopened, and it would stay that way. Nicky wasn’t a big fan of Tony and his crew. The Miami Herald was folded open to a story about a Chicago mob killing that had been under investigation for the past three months. “He sure is into this,” she muttered.

Nicky sat back in the chair, sipping a diet cola and reading the Dave Barry column while she waited. After a couple of chuckles she put the paper down, stood, stretched and looked around. She’d been in Eamonn’s apartment, the entire 72nd floor of the building, a couple of times and, as always, it was pristine. She didn’t know if he had someone come in, or if he was compulsively neat. The floors were a highly polish cherry wood, the dark floors offset by white leather living room furniture and a chrome and glass coffee table and dining room set.

She slid open the door to the balcony and stepped out. The view from this height was spectacular. She didn’t think she would ever take it for granted. Fat, juicy clouds hung over the ocean, dropping dark shadows on the otherwise brilliant turquoise water. Jet Skis and powerboats etched silver trails through the water. A slight onshore breeze brought with it the warm salt smell of the ocean. She inhaled a deep breath and smiled. Nothing calmed her faster.

She re-entered the apartment, leaving the balcony door open, as Eamonn strolled out of the bath with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“My God, Eamonn! You’re translucent. You need to get more sun, son.”

“I’m Celt, dear. I burn if I’m standing too close to a bottle of orange juice. I’ve got to slap SPF 45 on me just to pick up a copy of ‘The Sun’.” He noticed the newspaper. “Interesting story, isn’t it?”

“What story?”

Eamonn pointed at the paper. "The mob killing in Chicago. Nicky Morales’ widow set Louis Speccio up. She had leaked, falsely as it turned out, that Louis was a federal informant. Which naturally got him whacked. Saved her a bullet. They could make a movie outta this stuff.”

Nicky looked up at him and feigned a yawn. “Really? Not my cup of tea, as you might say.”

“Oh. And you’re not watching the DVD I see.”

“The Sopranos are a bit too violent and misogynistic for me, dear. Are you going to see the cops like that? You should get something a bit more conservative on that big body of yours.”

“Right. I’ve got to get going. Tonight, have dinner with me, here, okay? I’ve got a chicken recipe I want to try out.” He headed to his room to get dressed without waiting for a reply.

Nicky smiled and flipped open her phone. She scrolled through her phonebook and called her ‘date’ for the night.

“Joyce? Nicky here. Rain check on tonight dear, something’s come up.” She listened to the other side of the conversation.

“Yeah, him. I’ll let you know how it goes,” she said. “Bye-bye.” Eamonn’s chicken was a fair trade-off for a lingerie party, although, knowing Eamonn, he might not agree.

At the police station, Nicky was asked to wait in the visitors’ area while Detective Jones talked to Eamonn in an interview room.

Jones got right into it. She pressed the ‘record’ button on the digital recorder. “This is Detective Shirley Jones with Mr. Eamonn Shute regarding the murder of Steven Sheppard.” She recited the date. “Tell me about last night.”

Eamonn leaned back in his chair, stressing its design limits for weight. He laced his fingers behind his head, crossed his legs at the ankles and closed his eyes. “Steve and I, as I’ve said, have known each other since I arrived here four years ago. Last night was a chance to catch up. We had dinner at Ruth’s Chris in Coral Gables. I had the prime rib and Steve, always the traditionalist, had their exquisite fillet. Then, regrettably, we went to that Club on Collins and 27th. Can’t remember the name.”

“Regrettably?”

Eamonn grimaced. “Other than the noise, crowds, watered down scotch and stifling heat, it was a wonderful place. Steve liked it though.”

“Did he meet anybody else at the club?”

“Casual run-ins. He danced with a couple of different girls, but that’s about it. We left there about 11:30. I went home and he left for what he called ‘another appointment.’”

“Was he very inebriated?”

Eamonn shook his head. “Nothing but soda water last night. Said he had to keep a clear head for later. Uncharacteristic for him, I should say. He’s usually quite drunk by 11.”

“Any idea what that later appointment would be?”

“He didn’t say. Was a bit mysterious about it all.”

“So what do you think it might have been?”

Eamonn stroked his chin. “Pure speculation, you know.”

Jones nodded. “So, speculate.”

Eamonn shrugged. “Well, he’s dead, so no point, really, being coy, is there?” He cleared his throat. “He was having a torrid fling with a married woman. Astrid Gomez.”

“Torrid, eh? You don’t hear that word much anymore.”

“Yeah, torrid. You know, hot, heavy, lots of sex and not much else.”

“Had it been going on for a while?”

“Six months or more. They both were enjoying themselves, if the stories I heard were any indication.

“Do you know anything about her husband?”

Eamonn chuckled. “Jaime. He owns a swimming pool shop. Construction, cleaning supplies, has a pool cleaning service. Quite successful I understand. He’s a big lad. Almost as tall as me and very little jiggle to his walk.”

“Let me guess. Astrid feels abandoned by really busy hubby and turns to the playboy for sexual release.”

Eamonn shrugged. “All speculation.”

“Maybe. Hubby would have a motive. Maybe Stevie here went to meet Astrid for an assignation on the beach and Jaime discovered them and pounded him to a pulp. Do you know where they lived?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. In Coral Gables, somewhere.”

“Okay. That’s better than nothing.”

Eamonn snapped his fingers. “Wait, I remember something. He said he was going to meet a friend of the family. ‘An old friend of the family’ were his exact words.”

Detective Jones nodded. “Okay, that’s something. We’ll look into his family.”

“Good luck with that. In the four years I’ve known him he hasn’t mentioned any family. No parents, brothers, sisters, cousins…”

Jones smiled. “We have more resources at our disposal. At least we have more options now. It’s better than our first cut at it.”

“Which was?”

“Drunken midnight swims gone wrong. Happens more often than you might think.”

Eamonn raised his left eyebrow. “Well, clearly not that. No alcohol, far too bruised, and bruised by what looks like a pool cue or a pipe, not rocks.”

“Yeah, we noticed the bruising patterns. It was our first cut, and we abandoned that pretty quick.” She closed the folder, turned off the recorder, and stood. “Thanks for your time Eamonn. You’ve been a lot of help. I’ve got your contact information if we need to follow up on anything.”

Eamonn shook her hand, thanked her, and left. Nicky was looking at the Top Ten most wanted posters on the police station wall.

He stepped up close behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, inhaling her fragrance. She smelled fantastic, the strawberry smell of her shampoo mixing nicely with her spicy fruit perfume and the coconut of her sunscreen.

“Oh hey, Eamonn, would you look at these? Honestly, I’ve never seen these FBI Top Ten posters before.” She pointed to a familiar face. “Drug cartel dude, right at the top of the list for all kinds of nasty stuff. And some racketeering stuff with a guy called Ravelo.” She turned to look at Eamonn and smiled. “Right up your alley.” She pointed to the lone female. “Maria Sheppard-Morales, for more mob related activities. Oh, look at this guy. Jason Derek Brown. Masters in International Studies, multilingual, killed an armored car driver and pissed off with the money.”

“Let’s go Nicky.”

“Yeah, sure. Hey, look at this guy. Glen Godwin. Looks like a suburban schlep. He’s got that 9 - to – 5, suit and tie look about him. Killed his brother-in-law and then escaped from Folsom prison.” She looked at Eamonn. “You can never tell by looking, can you?”

“Not often, dear. I believe that’s where the expression ‘You can’t judge a book by its cover’ comes from. We need to go.”

“So, any luck in finding out what happened to Steve?”

Eamonn shook his head. “Not really. He was putting it to Astrid Gomez pretty hard and pretty often, and it is possible Jaime caught on, but that’s only speculation. Jones is following it up.”

Nicky snorted. “I think Jaime knew and didn’t really care what Astrid was up to.”

“Seriously? I’d be pretty pissed off if it was me.”

“Yeah, well. Different strokes for different folks. This is South Florida, Eamonn, not a little village in Ireland. Pretty much anything goes. Back to your place?”

“For now. I’ve got to hit the gym this afternoon. Not really looking forward to that. And I’m getting a bit peckish. Come over and I’ll put something together for lunch.”

Nicky patted his stomach. “Really? Hungry already?”

“I have a figure to maintain, woman. Leave me be.” They stepped out of the station on to Washington Avenue into an increasingly hot day. Eamonn popped beads of sweat over his entire body. “Lovely.”

“I forget where you parked.”

Eamonn pointed to the right. “Parking lot just up the road. Less than a block.”

“Good.” Se shaded her eyes. “It’s hot.”

“Muggy.”

“Uncomfortable.”

“More rain coming soon, if the past few days are any indication.” He frowned. “You know, it’s sinking in that I won’t be seeing Steve any more.”

“I didn’t think you were that close.”

“Yeah, well, we didn’t catch up that often, but he was a good guy. He was a bit wild, and I had very little in common with him, but we got on well.”

“He was a whack job. Sorry, but I could never take him seriously. He wasn’t originally from here, was he?”

“No, but as near as I can tell, bloody few people living in Florida are originally from Florida. He didn’t go into much detail about his prior life, but I got the impression his youth was spent in the mid-west somewhere. Iowa, Illinois, one of those states that no one really visits. Took to this place, though, like a frog to a bog.”

“Huh. He had his fingers into everything.” Nicky wasn’t a huge Steve fan.

“Yeah, that he did. You know how I first met him, eh? He tried to sell me a time-share up in Broward. I only went to the pitch to get the free gift they were promising. It turned out to be a really crappy 35mm camera. He’s a very high-pressure sales guy. Was.”

“Free gift? You win something like fifty million pounds in the Irish Lottery and you’re looking for free gifts?”

He shrugged. “Old habits. You know, he died too young, Nicky.” He remotely unlocked his Jaguar and opened the door for her to get in. “Watch the seat. It’ll be hot.” He pulled a towel from the back seat and spread it across the passenger seat.

“Thanks, bub.” She slid in, closed the door and buckled up.

They drove in silence for the five-minute trip to Eamonn’s apartment. His assigned parking spot was under an overhanging awning around the side of the building. As he parked, three men approached the driver’s side of the car.

“Friends, Eamonn?”

He chewed the inside of his lip. “I’ve never seen them before. Stay in here, Nicky. Don’t like the looks of this. Lock it after I get out.” He swung the door open sharply, forcing the three visitors to take a couple of steps back.

He closed the door, waited until he heard it lock, and then approached the three. “What’s the problem, gents?”

All three had longish dark hair, tied back in ponytails. Thin, but wiry looking, neatly dressed, but in old clothes, they spread into a semicircle in front of Eamonn. “You look like brothers, lads. Is there a family problem I’m involved with that I, ah, don’t know about?”

The middle guy smiled, “You are very perceptive. We are indeed brothers. My name is Miguel,” he point to is left with his thumb, “my younger brother Jose, and,” he pointed to his right, “My older, but quieter brother Emilio.” He paused and took a breath. “No, we have no problem with you, big guy. We’ve got a problem with your good friend Steve though.”

“Not any more you don’t.”

“Oh yes we do. He sold a shitty piece of swampland to our mum. Took all of her savings for a shit piece of land.” The older brother, Emilio, stuck his jaw out. If Eamonn were in the mood to fight, it would have been a great target.

“No, in actual fact you don’t. Steve Sheppard was found dead on the beach this morning.” Eamonn offered a strained smile. “Wasn’t you three was it?”

That stopped them. They looked at each other, concern and bewilderment given equal time on their faces. “Dead?”

“As disco.”

Miguel held up his index finger. “Hey, no you don’t. Disco is NOT dead, man.” Emilio shook his head, agreeing with Miguel’s disagreement. “I can take you to a different club in South Florida every night of the week, and not hit the same one twice in almost two months, and each of these clubs,” he slapped the back of his left hand on the palm of his right, emphasizing the words, “plays,” slap, “disco.” Slap.

Eamonn chuckled. “Okay, then. Are we here to discuss the Bee Gees? Or Steve’s murder and your involvement?”

“Hey, man, it wasn’t us.”

“You say. Seems pretty convenient though, if you ask me.”

Jose stepped forward. “Look, if it was us, why would we be standing here looking for the asshole.”

Eamonn shrugged. “Setting up an alibi, maybe. Where were you guys last night?”

Emilio stepped forward, chest out. “You’re wrong, big guy. I know how it looks, but you’re wrong. We needed to talk to him. To convince him to give the money back.” He nodded to his brothers. “Let’s get out of here guys. This limey bastard is trying to pin this Steve guy’s murder on us.”

They slowly backed away, then turned and left, muttering among themselves. The last thing Eamonn could discern them saying came from Emilio. “He really thinks disco is dead? Madre de dios…”.

Eamonn let out the breath he was holding. “Limey, me arse. That alone is worth a thumping.” They were pretty small, compared to him, but there were three of them. It would have been a close fight. He leaned over and rapped on the windshield. “Okay Nicky. Come on.”

“What in the hell was that?” She closed the door behind her and Eamonn remote locked it.

“Disco lovers, debating the relative merits of Donna Summers and Gladys Knight and the Pips.” He laughed at the expression on her face. “Actually, looks to be a fairly long line of people that want to harm Stevie Sheppard. That lot was pissed ‘cause Steve ripped off their mum in a land deal. Steve got the life savings and mum got the swamp. Not nice. I’m getting a different view of the guy now, which doesn’t sit well with me.”

“So, you’re going to tell the cops about the three stooges, aren’t you?”

“Larry, Moe and Curly? I should call Shirley. Don’t have their family name though.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard for the police to track down those guys. The cops would have Steve’s business records by now.” They walked into the lobby of Eamonn’s apartment. He nodded, took out his phone and the business card that Detective Jones had given him and dialed. He pushed the elevator call button while he waited for the connection.

She answered on the first ring. “Jones.”

“Eamonn Shute here, Detective. How are you?”

“Plugging away, Eamonn. What can I do you for?”

“Any news about Astrid and Jaime?”

“Still tracking that lead down. Can’t seem to find them.”

“Huh. Was pretty sure that would lead to something.”

“We haven’t ruled them out yet, but nobody has seen them for a couple of days. What can I do for you?”

Eamonn recounted his interaction with the three sons of some unfortunate mother as they rode up in the elevator. Thought they may have been looking to set up some sort of alibi by confronting him. “And even if they were clean, it would appear that Steve wasn’t the most ethical salesman. You could go through his recent sales list and probably find dozens of suspects.”

“Yeah, we’re discovering that. Thanks for the info Eamonn. I’ll get somebody to go through his records and see if we can track your three friends down. Keep in touch.”

Back in the air-conditioned apartment, Eamonn and Nicky collapsed on the sofa. “Weird day Eamonn. Not what I had planned.”

“Something’s bothering me about this.”

“Of course it is. A friend has been killed. I know what you’re feeling, remember?”

“No, not that. Yes, a friend has been killed, but what’s bothering me is that I know I’ve been missing something.”

“What?”

Eamonn looked at her. “If I knew what, I wouldn’t be bloody missing it, would I?”

Nicky stood. “Look, you’re distracted, and the plans I had are toast, so I’m going to head into the book store and clean up some inventory, okay? I’ll be back this evening for that dinner you promised.”

“No, don’t go.”

“I think I better. Let you think things through. Maybe you’ll come up with that whatever it is you think you’re missing. I’d just be in the way this afternoon.” Se stood on her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. “Don’t hurt the brain thinking. I’ll see you tonight.” She let herself out.

Eamonn took a Moosehead beer from the refrigerator and a chilled mug from the freezer and made his way to the balcony. Summing up time.

So, Steve was heading to a meeting last night. ‘A wee bit of business’ he had said. That was 11:30. An hour and a half later and he was dead. Who in the hell would he be meeting at that time of night? Couldn’t be legitimate or he’d do it in his little office on Collins. He stood and looked out over the railing, standing a good foot or two from the edge. Looking just a bit north of due east he could see the breakwater on which Steve had been found. All evidence of a police crime scene was gone. Cars, vans, and crime scene tape all removed and normal beach business had taken over the spot. As if nothing had happened.

He heard his phone ringing on the coffee table. He ran back and caught it, slightly out of breath, on the fourth ring. “Shute.”

“Eamonn, Detective Jones here. I thought I should keep you up to date on some recent developments.”

Eamonn dropped into his reclining chair. “Fire away.”

“We found Astrid and her husband.”

Eamonn sat forward and pressed the phone to his head. “So Jaime did it?”

“No. That would be too easy. The two of them have been in Key West since noon Friday. Trying to rekindle their relationship, they say. Steve wasn’t heading off to meet Astrid, and Jaime was too far away to reach him with his ham sized fists. Plenty of witnesses down there have verified their story.”

“Oh. The brothers then?”

“Unlikely. Choir boys. Literally. Saturday night they were at church until 10, and then to their mother’s house, where they all still, believe it or not, live. The mother was adamant that they were at her place all night. Not the best of alibis since mothers have been known to lie, but I’d pin Steve’s death on her before I’d go for the boys. We’re still sorting through his other dealings. Nothing prior to five years ago. In fact, there’s precious little of him prior to five years ago. Like he didn’t exist before 2007.”

“Bollocks. What a joke.” He tipped the mug back and finished the beer. “Okay. Thanks. Talk to you later.” He checked his watch. Tae Kwando in twenty minutes. He had absolutely no desire to go through the ritualized combat today. His heart and mind weren’t into it. The instructor wouldn’t understand, and he’d no doubt get extra press-ups next class, but today he was giving it a miss.

He grabbed his keys and headed back to the beach. The last time he had seen Steve he was dressed. Aside from the pinky ring, he was completely naked when he was found.

He called Detective Jones back. “Did you find any of his personal effects?”

“Eamonn? That you?”

“Yeah. You know many people with your number and an Irish accent?”

Shirley Jones sighed. “What’s wrong Eamonn?”

“Did you find his cloths, jewelry, wallet…”

“No. None of that. I’m assuming he was robbed also.”

Eamonn shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. He still had the jade ring, and that wasn’t cheap. Your team made an extensive search?”

“The Crime Scene Squad surveyed the area and found nothing. Most likely washed out to sea. And it’s a damned big sea.”

“Okay thanks.” He hung up without waiting for a response. Low tide was at noon and it was coming back in now. Maybe he’d luck out.

He parked in a public lot near the beach and started a slow walk through calf deep water, starting from about a mile south of Steve’s final resting place and travelling northward. His expectations were low, but he had to do something. The water was crystal clear and bathtub warm.

The slow pace of his walk, looking at anything and everything including floating logs, seaweed and the occasional fish, induced calm. He was in a reverie, the conscious part of his brain thinking about himself, Nicky, and how that relationship was developing, while the subconscious mind ran pattern recognition algorithms on floaters in the ocean. He was twenty minutes into this Zen-like state when a swell pushed something against the back of his right foot.

“Aeeyah!” He jumped about a foot up, and three feet to the left. “What the fuck…” He walked back into the water, stooped to take a better look, and then retrieved a wallet from the surf. Slim, black leather, he opened it and pulled out the driver’s license. ‘Steven Scott Sheppard’, birth date: July 9, 1983. Twenty-six years old, and dead. He checked the billfold part. Three hundred and twenty-six dollars. A gold Visa card, gold Amex, Diners Club card and an insurance card. Tucked behind the credit cards was a small picture, him and his mother, by the looks of it.

He held the picture closer to get a better look.

“Shite! How did I miss that?”

“We’ve been looking for that, pal. Thanks. Hand it over.”

Eamonn looked up. Two olive-skinned lads, Mediterranean, middle-eastern, something like that, aged in their mid to late-twenties, and hard looking, were standing in front of him, between the beach and the hotel behind them. They were very out of place on the beach, in their jeans, rugby shirts and dress shoes. Uncomfortably warm too, by the looks of it.

Eamonn had his back to the ocean. He looked around. There was nobody within a hundred feet of them in either direction. The taller of the two was holding a small handgun down by his side, clearly visible to Eamonn, but not readily noticeable to anyone that may be looking in their direction.

“Good afternoon lads. It’s this you’re looking for, is it?” he held the wallet up in front of them. The gun-less, younger one reached for it and Eamonn pulled his hand back. “Tut, tut. I’m not giving it to you. You’ll have to take it from me.” He smiled. “Shooting me will just draw a crowd you really don’t want, boy-o. Think about it.”

“Hand it over, tubby, or I’ll put one between your eyes.”

“Why didn’t you take it when you killed Steve?”

The younger one spoke up. “I tossed it by mis-”

“Shut the fuck up Jimmy. You always talk too much,” the gun owner spat.

Eamonn nodded. “I think I know what happened, boys. Would you like me to tell you?”

“Just piss off and hand that thing over.”

“Steve did meet you last night, right?” Jimmy confirmed with a nod, drawing a scowl from his older brother. “Why?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I’m a really curious guy.”

“Just hand over the wallet.”

“Let me guess. You’ve been looking for this guy for months. Steve’s mother set your dad up. Go after her. He’s been out here for years, minding his own business. But no, you finally find him, and want to get rid of him, but you were afraid he might recognize you two.” He tilted his head. “Am I close?”

He shifted his weight in the wet sand. “You watched him for a couple of days, fed him some cock and bull story to get him out here, then pounded on him.”

Eamonn slipped the wallet into his pocket; the same pocket that held his iPhone. “You just want the picture, right?”

Jimmy looked nervous now. “You’ve seen it?”

Eamonn nodded, a picture of nonchalance, both hands in his pockets. “Of course I’ve seen it. How else would I know that it’s there, and that you clearly don’t want it in the hands of the police?”

Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, okay then, just the picture will be fine.”

The older brother sneered. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jimmy, you moron. Stop negotiating with the guy,” he growled.

He turned to Eamonn. “Hand it over or I’ll shoot you.”

“What’s the big deal? It’s just a picture.” Eamonn thought for a second. “Oh, hang on, I’ve got it. You want don’t want the local cops to tie this to the mob, and that picture will absolutely do that. She’s on the FBI top-10 with a bullet list.”

The older thug gritted his teeth. “Just give me. The fucking. Picture.

Eamonn took a quick large step forward to where he was within reach of the two. “What’s your name?” He pointed to the younger guy. “I know his name is Jimmy. What’s yours?”

Jimmy spoke up. “It’s Bart.”

“Jimmy, Jesus fucking Christ, keep your fucking mouth SHUT! And you, biggie, back the hell up.”

Eamonn’s heart stopped. He spotted Nicky heading down over the dunes, waving at him, approaching in the two half-wits’ blind zone, directly behind them. Mentally projecting thoughts for her to retreat and go for help wasn’t working. Cliché time. Heart in mouth. Sunken stomach. Coppery taste of fear in his mouth. He slid his hand back in his pocket.

Bart’s nerves ratcheted up a notch. “Hey! What’s in there?”

“The wallet. Relax. Listen, lads, you don’t really want to do this here, do you? Let’s go some place a bit more private.” For the first time he regretted owning a phone that had no actual buttons on its face. He had to do this by feel, memory and guesswork. He swiped the screen to unlock it, then touched the screen in a couple of places, hoping he managed to do what he wanted to do. If he got out of this alive he’d practice until he could do it in the dark.

“Quit playing with yourself and give me the damned wallet, or I shoot you now.”

Nicky was closer, maybe 10 or 12 yards away, and as yet undetected by the brothers.

Eamonn smiled. “Ah, Bart. Calm down, lad. You’re going to pop a vein. Stevie’s mom had your dad, or uncle, killed in Chicago. She said your dad, or uncle, was an informant when he really wasn’t. Right?”

“It was dad.” Jimmy sniffed.

Bart swore, turned and landed a left cross on his younger brother’s jaw, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. “Moron. Big-mouthed, moronic moron.” He turned back to Eamonn. “So, big guy, you know more than you should. Not good for your health.”

Eamonn held his breath. Nicky had stopped short when Jimmy was hit and it appeared as if she had gone undetected.

But the luck didn’t hold. Bart’s brain registered what his peripheral vision saw, then he reacted. He lifted the gun slightly then turned to his left.

“Well. Who do we have here?”

Nicky was still trying to work out what she was seeing. “Eamonn? What is this?”

Bart barked out a laugh. “Eamonn? What kind of name is that? That accent’s Scottish, is it? Tell your lady friend to get over there with you.”

“Nicky, go! Get out of here now!” He clenched his fists. Scottish? He’d pay for that.

“Nicky? Nicky, get over by your boyfriend before I put some lead between his baby blues.” Nicky started to move. Not an ideal situation, from Eamonn’s point of view. Jimmy started to stir. The numerical advantage, such as it was, would run out in about a minute.

“Hey, Bart, just leave her alone, eh, mate? Let her go. She’s not part of this. I’ve got the wallet. She’s an innocent bystander.” He shuffled a bit, opening his stance, left leg a bit forward, right leg a bit back, body sideways, offering a smaller target. Still, a large target, but smaller than straight on.

“So I fucking shoot you. By the time anybody shows up I’ll be on my bike and gone.”

Eamonn nodded towards Jimmy. “And your idiot sibling?”

Bart looked over at his brother. “He’s starting to come around.” He looked back at Nicky. “I said move it, bitch!” The gun was still down by his side.

Eamonn shook his head and waved Nicky away. “Run like hell Nicky. This guy couldn’t shoot the broadside of a barn.”

Nicky started running back up the beach. Bart’s attention was divided. He looked at Eamonn, then back at the receding Nicky. “Get the fuck back here you bitch!”

He raised the gun toward Nicky and Eamonn rapidly slid his right foot in and immediately lashed out with the left, executing a sliding sidekick that Chuck Norris would be proud of. The heel and outside edge of his bare foot caught Bart under his left arm, just under his scapula, simultaneously driving the wind from his lungs and cracking three ribs. The small handgun went off before it was raised even half the way to horizontal, emitting a loud ‘crack’ and plowing a bullet into the sand.

“Oh you sonuvabitch.” Bart rolled to his side and winced as he lifted his gun. Eamonn followed up with a sidekick to the face. With a very satisfying crack, Bart’s nose broke and he fell back on the sand, unconscious.

“Fuck my life.” Eamonn pulled the belt from his pants and called to Nicky. “Get back here, lass. I need a wee bit of help.”

Jimmy raised his head and blinked. “Wah?”

Eamonn popped him on the side of it with his heel, and then started to pull the laces from his shoes to secure him. He looked up at Nicky. “Take my belt and tie young Bart’s arms behind him. At the elbows. Don’t be too bloody gentle with him.”

Nicky flipped Bart onto his face in the sand, and lashed his elbows with the belt. “What the hell is this Eamonn? Shouldn’t you call the police?”

“Shit. Thanks for reminding me.” He pulled the phone out of his pocket, looked at the screen, and smiled. He stuck it up to his ear. “Did you catch that?”

Detective Jones replied. “Eamonn, what in the love of all that’s good and holy is going on?”

“You should get out here. I’m at -”

“I know where you are. That thing has built in GPS. You should see me in a second. We just parked. I repeat, what the hell is going on?”

“Hang on a second.” He held the phone to his chest. “Nicky, you’d better roll him to his side. He can’t breathe through that nose and his mouth is in the sand. Yeah, that’s better.” He tucked the phone up to his ear, holding it in place with his shoulder while he finished removing the laces from his shoes. “How far are you?”

“Just parked. Look up to your 11 o’clock.”

He did, saw her, waved and hung up. And started to re-lace his shoes. “Nicky, real quick, before they get here and all hell breaks loose; will you still have dinner with me tonight?”

She pointed to the two guys in the sand. Eamonn had his foot on the back of the smaller of the two. “This has to do with Steve’s death, right?”

“They did it. So, dinner?” he pressed.

Detective Jones was about 20 yards away.

Investigations, interrogations, tons of questions and no privacy were about 20 yards away.

Nicky smiled. “Only if I can stay for breakfast.

“As long as breakfast doesn’t start before 10:00.”

“9:00?”

“Deal.” He kissed her and turned to face the police.

“Detective Jones, I’d like you to meet Bart and Jimmy Speccio, sent here to avenge the death of their father by killing the son of the woman that set him up.”

Jones held her hands up, surrender like. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hang on a second. Can you run through that a bit slower?”

“You’re going to have to keep up with me Jones. I’ve got a date tonight I don’t want to miss.”