Chapter Seventeen

  

Pelton had done well with the girl. Sometimes, smart people analyzed the situation, looked at the hand they were dealt, and made the best play. Angelica’s father and uncle were dead. She had no other family. There was probably some money stashed, but she was only thirteen and needed a legal guardian. Foster care was her best bet until she turned eighteen.

Patricia ordered in a Mexican feast for lunch at the office.

Angelica ate as if she hadn’t had anything substantial in a while. While she munched on a plate of tacos, she showed them the client messages. The last one, the one that triggered the job to kill Skip, came from a social media page titled SS Logistics.

With a whole news organization at her disposal, Patricia put a few of her staff on the task of finding out who was behind the page.

Pelton called his friend, Brother Thomas, and explained the situation with Angelica.

The pastor agreed to make sure the girl was cared for. Said he had just the right people in mind.

Angelica had left the apartment she had shared with her father and uncle the day before and taken a bus overnight to Charleston. She wouldn’t say where they had lived, and she didn’t want to go back to get anything else. From the bus station she had taken a cab to Folly.

It was the Pirate’s Cove ball cap she had that impressed Blu the most. Angelica had the foresight to order one and have it express shipped to be ready for the meet and greet long before he or Pelton had thought about it.

Pelton drove Angelica, Patricia, and Blu to the Church of Redemption in his four-door pickup.

Brother Thomas met them on the front steps of his church, just like before. This time, a couple stood with him. They were African-American and older than the pastor with big smiles on their faces.

The pastor introduced them as Alfonse and Nelia Jameson. He said they’d lost a grandson over the summer and wanted nothing more than to love on Angelica.

The adults all shook hands.

Mrs. Jameson put her hands on Angelica’s shoulders, smiled, and gave her a hug. The teenage girl began to cry.

Brother Thomas said he would start the paperwork when Pelton and Blu told him it was safe to do so. As soon as the names of Angelica’s uncle and father were put in the system, the link to her could be made and she would be in danger if the wrong people were still at large.

  

Simon was just finishing up a plate of his favorite dish, eggplant parmesan, when Rolf parted the curtains and entered the room. There were strict rules about interrupting him during his dinner. As in, don’t do it. Ever.

Rolf risked getting shot.

Simon knew that he understood the rules. So whether or not he would be shot depended on what he had to say.

Standing before Simon, Rolf said, “We received a message from Executive Services.”

Simon lowered a loaded fork of pasta. “The Hollander page?”

“Yes.”

“But they’re both dead.”

“Exactly.”

After setting the silverware on the plate with a soft clink, Simon dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “What does the message say?”

Rolf read from a sheet of paper:

“We regret to inform you that killing Abner demands retribution.”

Simon said, “I was under the impression that they had no other partners. That they worked alone.”

Rolf said, “All our information on them suggested exactly that.”

“Then I suppose our information is wrong,” Simon said. “Who is responsible for getting information?”

Rolf cleared his throat. “I am, sir.”

“Then I suggest you figure this out.” He motioned to the paper in Rolf’s hands. “The clock seems to be ticking, old chap.”

Rolf backed his way to the door.

Rightly so, Simon thought. This was bad news. And bad news had to be managed. As soon as this was over, he would have to make a few changes to his staff.

  

The message was again Brack’s idea. He liked messing with people’s heads. And, surely, someone at SS Logistics would need a diaper change after they read it.

Pleased with himself, Brack stepped out of the news office and relit his cigar for the day.

Carraway joined him, but didn’t light a cigarette.

Both men stood there.

Carraway said, “You like poking sticks at beehives, don’t you?”

“Don’t you?”

The ex-Army Ranger opened his mouth to say something and then closed it and nodded.

Brack knew he’d read him right. The guy liked the action. And probably didn’t get enough of it, either.

  

Rolf hated being caught short. This whole fiasco started with Skip. If the stupid grifter hadn’t witnessed what was in the house on Montagu Street, he never would have called that Carraway character. Luckily, Rolf had tapped the phones of everyone involved in his theft operation.

Unfortunately, Rolf also knew Simon was one step away from eliminating him. He stood in front of his sniveling little boss. As usual, the Brit sported the greased comb-over, dark pin-striped suit, and pale skin and sat at his throne, as he put it, in the back room of that god-awful Italian restaurant run by everyone but Italians.

Rolf said, “One of the Hollander brothers had a daughter.”

“And?” It was more of a snap than a question.

“And she’s disappeared.”

Simon picked up a bottle and poured red wine into a long-stemmed glass. “Then stick to what you know.”

“Everything we know is about Brack Pelton and Blu Carraway.”

“And?” He set the bottle down and plugged the top with the cork.

“Pelton is estranged from his family, hasn’t talked to them since before he went to Afghanistan. The closest people to him in Charleston are Patricia Voyels, owner of the Channel Nine News and the Palmetto Pulse newspaper—”

Simon interrupted with the wave of a hand. “She’s been a thorn in everyone’s side for a long time. Our friends would line up to have her taken out. But we can’t touch her. She’s friends with the mayor. If anything happened to her, he’d make the investigation a priority and we’d have to close up shop.”

Rolf continued, “There’s Paige Crawford, the woman who runs his bar operations. She has a kid.”

“What about the investigator, Carraway?”

“Blu Carraway has a twenty-year-old daughter.”

A smile formed on Simon’s face. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“What’s our end game here?” Rolf asked.

Simon lifted the glass to his nose and sniffed. “Everybody dies.”

Rolf thought but didn’t say, “Including us?”

“One more thing,” Simon said.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to work with you on this going forward. We can’t afford any more slip-ups.”

Rolf gave a pleasant smile because that was all he could do.