Chapter Five

  

After the police were finished with Blu, he drove home and parked. Home was a small island inhabited by Blu and a scraggly herd of Carolina Marsh Tackeys, a breed of horse native to South Carolina. The crushed-shell drive crunched underfoot as he made his way to his hundred-year-old home. Mosquitoes buzzed around him, but most neglected to bite, as if bored with the taste.

His two “watchdogs” greeted him before he got to the door, the term used loosely here. Like dogs, these were four-legged creatures, but as horses they weighed closer to a thousand pounds apiece. When Blu’s great-great grandfather settled the makeshift island over a century ago, the small herd of scraggly wild lowcountry horses came with the deal. That or they’d shown up one day and decided not to leave, even after Hurricane Hugo decimated darned near everything except the small house Blu now lived in.

While the rest of the herd stayed on the far side of the island most days, only running past the house at night, these two stood facing each other at the front steps to the home like sentries, except they weren’t smart enough for the role. Named Dink and Doofus, the only thing they guarded was their appetites. Anyone with a fresh carrot or apple would only be hassled long enough to be relieved of said produce. After that, the horses were said person’s best friend for life.

Maybe they weren’t all that dumb after all.

Blu extracted two organic red delicious apples from a paper bag he carried and gave them up. This entrance fee was going to bankrupt him, but it was the least of his worries at the moment.

He patted Doofus’s dirty snow coat.

Dink gave his head a shake as if trying to untangle his matted mane. The last time Blu had tried to comb the knots out, the horse gave a shriek and stayed on the far side of the island with the rest of the herd for a week. Maybe there was something to breaking out the comb again and saving the apple cost for a week or so. The thought of planting a fruit tree on the island seemed like a better idea every two-apple day.

As the horses chomped on their treats, Blu thought about what had happened at the bar, and while he was troubled about Skip being gunned down, a smile tickled his face. The Isle of Palms chief was pissed off his search came up with nothing on him. It really did pay to have friends in high places, even if it didn’t always pay enough.

That bar owner—what was his name...Brack Pelton? That guy had some stones. Shot the killer’s leg and then took him out when he hit the ground. It might have been better if he had gotten the other guy, too. Instead, there was this loose cannon running around.

The police weren’t convinced Blu’s involvement ended with Skip. He could see it in the chief’s eyes. He’d be back in Blu’s face about the whole thing. And Blu couldn’t really afford to have them digging too deep into his past. More like his clients couldn’t afford it. Money bought a lot, but sometimes the truth had a nasty habit of coming out at the worst times.

He had to get this under control. Skip and the loose cannon were two leads. And that was two more than he normally started with. The police would surely have Skip’s address by now and be rummaging through his things.

That left the loose cannon. Blu had a feeling the loose cannon now had some unfinished business with the bar owner. He made a call to a previous client, a woman named Andeline. Up until the crash of 2008, Andeline had run a high end brothel for the top one-percenters in the city. And then she went to prison for it. But, she kept her mouth shut, got out on a technicality, and opened a high end restaurant. Because Andeline moved in many circles, she knew more about the sins of the city’s elite than most. It might not be a straight line to blackmail, but Blu knew a call from Andeline to certain powerful individuals was always answered, and a request from her was usually fulfilled one way or another. He was just glad she considered him, if not a friend, someone she was willing to help. After all, he was the one who’d found the technicality that got her out. Through her and her high-level contacts, Blu gained the names of the shooters—Abner and Rudyard Hollander, two old-school killers.

Someone paid a lot of money for the hit but Andeline’s sources didn’t know why. Blu tried a few more sources, but no one knew who the client was. When he thought about the situation, Blu realized he didn’t have to wait long. Abner, the one still alive, would be back. After all, that beach barkeep took out his brother. And Blu had a hunch Pelton would be too stubborn to leave town like the chief would want him to and let the police handle it. He seemed more like one of those “do it yourself” types. It would probably bite him one of these days. Blu had seen more than one man who thought he could handle anything go down in a blaze of stubborn.