When I pulled into the beach access parking area not far from my house, the sun was coming up over the ocean, coloring the sky a bright crimson. The old saying about a red sky in the morning came to mind.
A new gray Volvo sedan was already parked in the sand lot. By my watch, I was five minutes late. A stop at the Pirate’s Cove had put me behind. I took a bottle of bug spray from the glove box along with the gun and stuck them in my pocket. Shelby and I walked the path to the ocean and cut left.
My source from the pier stood on the narrow beach. He held a briefcase in one hand and used the other to swat at his head and neck. “You didn’t say anything about the no-see-ums.”
Shelby ran past us into the water.
I let the man smack his bald head a few more times before I took out the spray and threw it to him. The no-see-ums he referred to were gnats living in the marsh. As irritating as mosquitoes—maybe worse. The man set his briefcase in the sand and doused himself from head to toe, probably ruining his suit. When he threw back the bottle, it was close to empty.
“Nice suit.” I sprayed myself. “You working on a Saturday?”
“You got my twenty thousand?”
“You got the goods?”
He took one step back. “Not on me.”
I finished with the carcinogenic shower and stuck the bottle in my pocket. “Then I don’t have the twenty grand.”
He gave me a long look before he opened his briefcase and pulled out a file folder, waving it at me. “You sure you don’t have the money?”
I showed him the envelope with the cash I’d picked up from the safe in the Pirate’s Cove. He took the envelope and thumbed each brick like he was checking to see if I’d stuck blank sheets in the middle.
“It’s all there,” I said.
He put the bundles in his suitcase. “One man is behind the companies on the file. Did you do the math? It’s like ten million dollars and that’s just last year.”
“Did he kill my uncle?”
“I’m not sure. But Sails was going to expose him.”
“Galston?”
“Yes.”
Shelby swam in circles as the waves charged the shore.
I said, “If you had the evidence, why was my uncle going to expose him? Why weren’t you?”
“Because I can’t afford to lose my job. It’s where the information’s coming from.”
“So it’s stolen. Great.”
“You think information like that is available to the general public?”
I took out a cigar, clipped the end, and lit it with my uncle’s Zippo. The lighter snapped shut with a loud metallic click. After two long pulls on the cigar, I said, “I don’t know much about the IRS, but something tells me they won’t use illegally obtained information.”
“Yeah, but the EPA will. All they need to do is send someone there—look at what’s not getting done. Call it a surprise audit or whatever. Then the fines start. You don’t mess with the IRS and you don’t mess with the EPA. They’ve shut corporations down for less.”
“Why didn’t my uncle report what he had?”
“Because what we were digging up would be so much more damaging. Think about it—defrauding the government of millions and taking a tax deduction on it. Michael Galston’s a thief who should be in jail for what he’s been getting away with.”
Said the one selling confidential information.
“If he killed my uncle, he won’t make it that far.”
“That file has copies of all the receipts. My fingerprints aren’t on them.” He put the money in his briefcase.
I flipped through the papers, folded the file and stuck it in my waistband next to my gun, and held out my hand. “Brack Pelton.”
He hesitated, looking at my hand as if it belonged to a portal leading to a whole new dimension, before he took it. “My name is David Fisher.”
“I’ve got some people you need to meet,” I said.
Fisher shook his head. “Patricia Voyels and her news girl? No thanks. I’ve seen you with them already and I don’t want my face on TV or in the paper.”
“Are you ready to talk?”
“Only to you, and the price goes up to a hundred thousand. What you do with what I tell you is your business. If my name gets out, I’ll know exactly who did it and, rest assured, you won’t survive either.”
I stepped closer and grinned at the small bald man. “We all think we’re tough until someone starts shooting. I know I can handle it. The question is, can you?”
Fisher poked me in the chest with his right index finger. “If you keep your mouth closed, I won’t have to find out.”
I grabbed his finger and wrenched it up. He squealed like a little girl and tried to pry my hold loose with his free hand. His desk job didn’t do him any favors in the strength department.
“How did the murdering bastard find out about my uncle?”
“I-I’m not sure. Let go you—”
I bent his hand a little more. “What did you give him that gave him away?”
“N-not much more than what you have, okay? Now let go!”
I released my grip. “How did my uncle find you, anyway?”
He rubbed his hand. “I found him. I knew Galston wanted the Sumter property and I knew your uncle was having trouble paying the taxes on it.”
“How did you know?”
“Galston has his fingers in a lot of pies. He knows what’s going on everywhere. You think your ex-aunt has dirt on people? Galston is like J. Edgar Hoover. Only thing missing is the lipstick and boyfriends. He’s probably got something on you, too.”
“Nothing to get. What did he have on my uncle besides the taxes?”
Fisher shook his head. “Zilch as far as I know. Your uncle mortgaged the bar and I assumed he was going to pay the taxes. Galston will probably use his clout to force you to do the same. Why was your uncle so adamant about keeping the Sumter property, anyway?”
Shelby came out of the water and ran to me. I checked my pocket and realized I’d forgotten his ball. He whined and shook water and sand all over Fisher.
“Ahh!” Fisher tried to move away and tripped and fell over a tree limb that had washed up on the beach. “Stupid dog!”
Shelby licked Fisher’s face, getting his glasses wet in the process. Fisher got to his feet and tried to wipe his glasses with his shirt, grumbling. When he put them back on, he looked down at himself and saw he was coated with sand. He scowled and brushed himself off. “All I’m saying is to be ready. It’s coming.” He grabbed the handle of his briefcase and walked unsteadily on the loose sand path to where our vehicles were parked. Halfway up the trail, he stopped and turned toward me. “Remember, it’s a hundred thousand.”
On the way to my Folly Beach hideout, Shelby and I stopped and picked up breakfast at McDonald’s. As we sat eating on the back porch of the beach rental, my cell phone vibrated. I looked at the caller I.D. before I answered. “Hey, Chauncey.”
“Good morning, Brack. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Already up. But I was thinking of going back to bed.”
“I see,” he said. “The reason I’m calling is I’ve got some not-so-good news from a reliable source.”
“I’m being forced to settle the issue of the back taxes.”
“How’d you know?”
“Lucky guess?” I forked the last of the Big Breakfast eggs into my mouth.
“It would take a lot more than luck to nail that one.”
Steam escaped from the large coffee once I popped the lid off. I thumbed my nose at the “Contents very hot” warning, took a gulp, and rinsed the breakfast residue from my teeth before swallowing. “I’m getting some help.”
Chauncey’s voice lost all lightness when he said, “Nothing illegal, I hope.”
“Not as far as you know.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
I decided not to ask if he meant for me to stay away from anything illegal or to just keep him from knowing about it.
Shelby and I drove to the Palmetto Pulse. Patricia and Darcy hovered over the antique desk and flipped through the file Fisher had given me. My dog slept in the corner, still damp from the shower I’d given him to get the rest of the sand out of his fur before we’d left.
Patricia said, “How did you say you came by this?”
Exhausted, I stretched out on the floor next to Shelby and closed my eyes. “I didn’t.”
Darcy said, “Army boy’s got skills.”
I crossed an ankle over the other. “Very funny. And it’s Marine.”
“You might make a reporter, yet,” Patricia said.
“Strictly off-camera, I hope,” Darcy said.
“Are you going to read the file or am I here for your entertainment?”
“Seeing your busted-up face on the news was funny enough,” Darcy replied.
“Thanks to you.”
“This is good stuff, Brack,” Patricia said. “I think we can use it.”
I said, “Without receiving any collateral damage?”
“That’s the idea.” Patricia drank some of her coffee. “First, we have to flush him out a little bit.”
I said, “What did you have in mind?”
She said, “How quickly can you get a tux?”
The Ford dealer called and said the Mustang was ready. On a Saturday, even. I left Shelby at the Cove with Paige, parked the Jeep at my house on Sullivan’s Island, and took a cab to get my car. The gun was tucked in my waistband under my shirt.
The dealer had detailed my Mustang and the new paint was brilliant. Almost made the five-thousand-dollar bill worth it. Almost. Like the difference between losing three fingers instead of the whole hand. Luckily, the insurance company was footing the extremities. Everything but the deductible.
When I walked out of the service department, a black Chrysler 300 with tinted windows faced me from across the busy five-lane of Charleston’s motor mile. Galston’s goon squad. Just great. I opened the door to my car, got in, and pulled the forty-five, keeping it below the window line. The warm metal felt slick from sweat as I laid it on my lap.
The Mustang’s starter made the familiar whir before the engine turned over. I sat there and goosed the gas. The motor roared in anticipation. The Hurst gearshift I’d installed slid smoothly into first. The rear tires chirped as the clutch engaged and shot the car onto the street ahead of traffic. I caught second and third gears, keeping one eye on the rearview mirror as I ran two yellow lights before getting stopped by a red a mile up the road. No black 300s in sight.
At a men’s store downtown, I found a forty-four long Armani tux on a discount rack. With shoes and all the accessories, I still had to fork over a thousand bucks, plus another fifty to a local seamstress to get the pants hemmed on the spot.