Thirty-Nine —
Undercover Cousin

Blanche remained in the hospital, and the doctor planned to keep her there for a few more days of observation. She continued to make a fast recovery, but she had little appetite. She could still taste the dust of an all-night stay out on the ranch, and she had a thirst that could not be quenched. Tests confirmed that she’d been given a street opiate of some kind—they couldn’t name it—which caused weakness, blurred vision, disorientation, slower heart rate. If she hadn’t been found by morning, she would have been dead of exposure and dehydration.

It was a miracle. The drug had worn off, but not the trauma and the nightmares. Lack of water and the cold had put her in a stupor. Rose had stayed until they came. She remembered this, and Haasi’s frantic expression on the bridge.

She sat up on the pillows. Jack pulled a chair away from the wall and sat down next to the bed. “You are a sight.”

“Well, thanks a lot. I’d like to see how you’d look after being dumped on the cold ground and left for dead.”

“Awwww. Under the stars, amid the palms and wild flowers, with the aroma of dead cattle carcass in the air…” Then he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

Blanche made a weak attempt to punch him in the arm, but he dodged. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Jack had tears in his eyes. “You silly woman. Stick to the beach; stay off the ranch.”

“I plan to.” She stroked his hand. A machine beeped gently, a crisp white coat flashed past the doorway. “Haasi! Have you seen Haasi!”

“I’ll say. You can’t forget her once you’ve met her. But she sure makes herself scarce.”

“She’s always where she should be. She’s remarkable.” Blanche thought better of talking about the drug drop. For some reason, she thought Jack would not care to have her on board for those plans. She did not want to hear one more time, Stay out of it.

He had other news. “Haasi overheard Langstrom talking on the phone about where they left you out on that ranch, and then she went to Duncan. If it weren’t for Haasi…” He put his head down.

“She’s right here all the time, and one of these days we are going to celebrate. At the cabin. Do we still have a cabin?”

Jack stepped lightly. “Amos’s working on it.”

“How far away are we?”

“Not far.” He hoped.

Blanche gestured toward the hallway where an officer sat on a chair with a newspaper. “What’s up with that?”

“B, they tried to kill you. You’re under protective watch. So am I. I’d say the whole damn island is under some kind of watch. If not a hurricane, a murder. I’m beginning to think it’s safer in Chicago.”

She gave him a wry smile and fell back on the pillow. “I wish we could be normal again.”

“Not gonna happen. It’s bumpy. We just have to get through it.” His expression belied worry, and the effort to hold back information about the drug drop. Miles would be in the mix soon enough.

“I’d settle for getting out of here and going back to Cappy’s. I need his cooking. Have you been staying at his place?”

“His place has been right here.” He pointed to the spot next to her hospital bed. “He’s been nominated for grandfather of the year. Everyone wants to adopt him.”

“They can’t have him. He’s mine. But I’ll share.”

“Thanks. Guess you have to. I’ll be at Cap’s for a while. My business is on hold while we get some things settled down here. First on the list is you. Get well.” He stood up and kissed her again on top of her head.

I

For Jack, being with Cappy relieved some of the anxiety. He couldn’t sleep, so he was up at five with Caps at first light to fish with the nets and poles and lines, filling the coolers for fresh catch with bags of ice from Jess’s. The arrangement returned Jack to happy days when the worst he could do was hook a pelican by accident and Cap showed him how to extricate the poor bird. Cap was all about basic business, everything in its proper place. Keep to the schedule, cook, eat, sleep. For Jack it was a little like being born again.

He wanted to make things right, and that was going to take time. His whole life was on hold and in need of repair, and, in particular, his trucking business. Fortunately, he wasn’t a profligate spender, except for his penchant for exotic wheels and the occasional tailored suit which he thought nothing of wearing into the Gulf.

Jack spent most of the year on the road, but he was still attached to Blanche. He was determined to do what he could to get them out of this mess. He’d worried about her before, and now with the horrors of the kidnapping and all the other drama, he worried even more. He needed extra time to figure it out, and he wanted to be better family to Blanche. He’d shuffled off, leaving her with vague promises and warnings. When was that? Just a week or so ago? He should have stuck by her. Now he was more than willing to pay, and that meant time, not money. The business would be there when he got back—he hoped. He didn’t want to lose it, but more so, he didn’t want to lose Blanche. And then again, she might lose him. If the law found enough evidence to connect him to drug runners, it would take forever to dig himself out.

He didn’t want to worry about that now. He had an appointment with the DEA, who wanted him to push further and give them more information on the Chicago business. It made him sweat just to think about it.

He was early for the appointment, and more jittery than ever, so what he needed was caffeine. He ducked into Peaches’ cafe. He also wanted to thank her for all the muffins and love she’d showered on Blanche, who, of course, didn’t eat any of it, but the nurses did and that was Peaches’ plan. “Take good care of that baby,” she wrote on one note that went with two dozen of her world-famous cranberry-lemon-walnut muffins.

Peaches wasn’t there when Jack dropped by, but Sarah, her daughter, was behind the counter grinding coffee beans. Sarah was a younger, slimmer version of Peaches, with the same effusive and generous nature.

“Hi there,” she said. Sarah’s face lit up when she saw him. She’d always had a crush on Jack despite marrying the local football star.

“Hi there yourself,” said Jack. “How’s the fam?” They’d had a mild flirtation one prom season, but she’d really had her eye on the quarterback.

“Mine is just fine. I’m more concerned about yours. How’s Blanche?”

“She’s doing all right, thank you. Out of the coma and sitting up and already giving me hell. She wants to go home but the cabin needs a lot of work since Wilma. Have to rebuild. The second level was hanging by a beam.”

“Life on the island. Although sometimes I wonder about this life. You know, Jack?”

“Yes, I do.” They both glanced out of the restaurant window at the two Feds parked in a black sedan. They stuck out like two turkeys in an ice cream parlor. “Not exactly like old times.”

Jack returned to the excellent aroma of the beans. He made a mental note to remind Duncan that he could get the good stuff across the street, that he didn’t have to rely on the old urn that spit out used motor oil for “joe.”

She handed him the paper cup with steaming French Roast. “On the house.”

“You’re the best. Take care, Sarah. And thank your mom, will you? You make the world go ‘round with these muffins. The magic energy behind the Blanche cure.”

“Oh go on.” She laughed.

“See ya.”

He sipped the coffee. The delay tactic had calmed him down some. He had a jaunty step on his way to the police station. For about one minute. The chief and Hank Miles were waiting. He slowed down, took each step with trepidation, wishing for it all to be over. If they could just clear up the business of illegal machinations at Brecksall, maybe they could solve the murder and go back to some semblance of peace. They had layers to work through. He could only hope.

Jack pushed open the door to the station, and it looked like fresh hell all over again.

“Now what?” he said.

“They found Langstrom,” the chief said. He didn’t even glance up at Jack. He had a radio in one hand, and a phone in the other. Hank Miles was pacing the office, talking on his cell. An officer was shouting to a clerk: “Well, get it. I don’t care how. Just get it.” Another phone was ringing, but Jack couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He wanted to go out and keep going.

But instead he took a seat and sipped his coffee. Miles was still talking, and no one was paying any attention to Jack, who looked at Duncan: “Well, good, that’s good news. Now they can bring him in and question him, put it on the record.”

Miles ended his phone conversation and looked over at Jack. “That is not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because they found him stuffed into a barrel floating in Tampa Bay.”

“Dead? Langstrom’s dead?”

“Very.”

Jack started to sweat. He thought of Blanche. “I hope someone’s over at that hospital watching Blanche.”

“We’re working on that. With Langstrom gone, we have to shift strategy. We need to chat, you and I.”

“Well then.”

“Come with me.” Jack got up and followed Miles through the station to the small room set off to the side of a kitchenette. The door closed behind them with a resounding click.

The room was stark, the cinder block walls whitewashed. Two metal chairs and a long table on sturdy legs were positioned in the exact center of the room. Legal pads and pens lay on the table. A whiteboard stood in a corner with markers.

“We’ve got a deal for you, Jack. You cooperate, and we don’t let the Feds take action against you.”

“Whoa. What do you mean action? What the hell for? I’m already cooperating. You know that.”

“Yeah, well, we need more. Your trucks have been running cocaine and heroin and God knows what all to the Midwest. The goods are loaded into that fake furniture you’ve been shipping, which is sent out from your warehouse to retail and then it goes to the street. We’re talking millions, and not just from Latin America. The shit is coming from Afghanistan by way of Europe to little old San Antone where your wheels sit and wait.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That last load of hassocks with the gold embossing cost a fortune.”

“You bet. Do you know what was in those nice leather hassocks? Bricks and bricks, bags and bags. Of stuff.”

“Fer chrissakes.”

“You need Him, Jack, and you need us about now, too.”

“I’ve known the Isaak brothers for years. I can’t believe they’d be into that shit.”

“They don’t have to be. We don’t know for sure that they are, but we aim to find out. There’s always a loose link in the chain and we’re going to find it, and we’re going to test it. Maybe those boys know more than they’re letting on. You need to nose around, and if you find anything out, you need to hand over the info.”

Miles had been leaning on the table. He sat back casually, put his arms behind his head. He wore beat-up combat boots and a plaid western shirt with metal-rimmed buttons. His red beard was getting scraggly. He smoothed it, pulled a phone out of his breast pocket, and checked it. “They’re calling about you. HQ. They want you to get on it, Jack. You and me.”

“That’s just great.” His voice croaked. He’d opened a window and his whole life had flown out of it. What the hell was he going to do now? Cooperate, that’s what. It was like taking a gut-wrenching gallon of medicine. He had to swallow it down and get rid of the disease. “I’ll do whatever. I want Blanche to be safe. And I want out of this mess.” He looked Miles directly in the eye. They had a deal.

“Thought you’d say that. You’re smart. They’ve been using you. You need to get ‘em. We need to get ‘em.”

“What’s the deal with Langstrom? Do you have any idea why he turned up in the bay?”

“Allegedly, Langstrom knew too much. He screwed up the kidnapping, and he was working on screwing up the land development scheme. They wanted him gone, just like they want Blanche gone. That’s why we’ve had someone over at that hospital. They don’t care enough about you, Jack. Not yet. Let’s keep it that way.”

Jack wasn’t confused anymore. Now he was pissed. He’d been used, and he was going to use whatever means to clean it up, protect Blanche, and get their lives back. He still couldn’t figure how everything could go to hell so fast. But it did.