A Dangerous Affair (13 page)

Josh lit a cigarette by the soda machine outside Sonny's Car Wash. He kept his morning break to a minimum with the owner watching the shop—a pompous Texan with old oil money who drove a red Dodge Viper with a blue racing stripe painted down the middle of the hood.

Josh knew how everyone sucked up to Sonny, especially the towel boys who worked the end of the wash line for minimum wage plus tips. He also knew Sonny loved the illegal workers for their willingness to tolerate twelve-hour shifts six days a week in the Florida heat with no benefits. At Sonny's Car Wash, labor laws went the way of prohibition. Men either worked like dogs or quit without pay. Wetbacks who stayed on and tolerated the boss earned a nickel raise on the unofficial payroll. Legal immigrants earned a quarter.

Josh himself earned kudos for his efforts and the promise of an annual bonus if he held the cost of materials down while increasing the weekly car volume—a classic Catch-22 because the more cars he washed, the more chemicals he consumed. This left him with two choices: dilute the already watered-down soap even further or speed up the wash line to handle more cars in an hour. Both options sucked because both meant the cars didn't clean up as well, which brought more angry customers demanding a re-wash, which consumed even more chemical agents.

For Josh, the job was a job. A steady paycheck with reasonable job security. What he'd failed to learn in school, he'd learned on his own, busting ass from one dead-end gig to another before he landed at Sonny's Car Wash. Sonny took him under his wing and taught him about the car wash business. How to maintain the equipment. How to improve customer service. And most importantly, how to keep the illegals happy to minimize payroll expenses. Any fool could work for minimum wage, Sonny taught him, but a desperate man would always work for less.

Josh finished his cigarette as Lloyd rode up on the Triumph.

"I didn't think you'd show," Josh said to his older brother.

Lloyd dismounted and unzipped his motorcycle jacket. Josh knew his brother's confidence was reduced from the minor trepidation about his criminal record. He motioned for Lloyd to follow him inside to the back office.

"What do you need?" Sonny asked when the two men entered his world. He wore a wide brim Stetson on his mostly bald head. Snakeskin boots with a one-inch lift bumped his height to just below average. The edge of his oversized belt buckle disappeared inside the substantial girth beneath his flannel shirt.

"I told you about my brother, Lloyd," Josh started.

Sonny sifted through the pile of junk mail on his desk to find the Hooter's calendar he'd ordered six weeks ago. He used a Bowie knife to slit the cellophane wrapper and retrieve the goods. He beamed at the October photo. "Would you look at those..."

Josh leaned beside the desk and towered over his boss to peek at the leggy brunette. "But can she cook?"

"Does it matter?" said Sonny.

Lloyd kept silent.

Sonny flipped to November. "Did you need something?"

"My brother's looking for work," said Josh. "I told him we could use the help."

"That's why we hired Alberto."

"Alberto hasn't shown up for a week. I heard he moved his family back to Texas."

Sonny laid the calendar on his desk and shot a perfunctory glance at Lloyd. "What do you know about washing cars?"

Lloyd shrugged.

"It's not a trick question, son."

"Sure," said Lloyd. "I know how to wash a car."

"Let me see your application."

"He just got here," said Josh.

Sonny pointed to the cross tattoo on Lloyd's inside forearm. "Where did you pick that up?"

"Here and there."

"You've done time, haven't you? Hard time. I can always tell. How long?"

Lloyd frowned. "Ten years."

"What for?"

Josh took Sonny aside by the inspection window facing the wash line. "I'll vouch for him."

"I don't like him," Sonny balked.

"He's legit," said Josh. "And he speaks English."

"I don't care if he speaks Latin. A monkey can do this job. I could find a hundred guys like him on the street if I had to."

Josh persisted. "You said yourself we need the help. He won the Heisman in college. His team won back-to-back championships."

"I run a business, not a football team."

"Just throw him a bone. At least a few weeks until he gets back on his feet. If business picks up, we'll keep him. If not, we'll let him go. Right now we need the help. Lloyd needs a paycheck."

"I caught the last guy skimming the register."

"Lloyd's not like that."

"Not interested," said Sonny. He scooped the calendar from his desk. "I'm taking this for a joy ride on the can. I need you to watch the front while I'm gone."

"Just give him a chance. He's my brother, not some loser who walked in off the street. My word. He won't let you down."

Sonny contemplated the situation before he stepped in front of Lloyd and said, "I'll give you a shot because you're Josh's brother. But if I catch you stealing so much as a stick of gum from someone's car, I'll have you arrested. And I
will
press charges."

Lloyd stuck his hand out to shake. "Thanks."

Sonny ignored the gesture and stormed out.

Josh slapped his brother on the shoulder. "I'll show you what to do."

"Now?"

"I'll clock you in. We get busy around lunch time and then again around five. When it rains, it's dead. When the weather clears, we're slammed again." He brought Lloyd outside to the car wash entrance and grabbed a vacuum hose. "Use the hard nozzle on floorboards and seats. Use the bristle brush for doors and dashboards, but not on glass."

Lloyd took the hose. "I think I can manage."

"Wait until the customer gets out of the car. Then start with the mats. If the car's in really bad shape, do the best you can with the vacuum and let it roll. The line has to keep moving."

A four-wheel-drive Toyota Tundra pulled up.

Lloyd opened the door for the driver and quickly vacuumed the interior after the driver got out.

"Now pull it up to the tracks," Josh instructed. "Always make sure the car's in neutral. The track will bring it in automatically."

Lloyd drove the Tundra forward and nudged the transmission into neutral.

Josh waved the next car ahead. A red Volvo S40 with a female driver and no passengers. He held his hand up for the driver to stop.

* * *

Lloyd opened the door for Jamie Blanchart and felt a rush of adrenaline when his gaze met hers, an instant attraction of gravitational proportion complemented by a radiating warmth that spread from his inner core to his beaming smile. He stared at her angelic face and erased his past—a dark, secluded space now flooded with a scintillating light, obscuring everything outside the breathtaking view in front of him.

Jamie blushed. "Excuse me," she said, pushing her door wider to make her way around him.

Josh smacked his brother on the shoulder. "Let's go." He snapped his fingers by Lloyd's ear. "Hey! You with me? Sonny's watching."

Lloyd stepped away from the Volvo and saw his new boss outside with Varden. "How well do you know Sonny?" Lloyd asked his brother.

"Well enough to know he doesn't give second chances. Don't fuck this up, or we'll both be looking for another job."

Chapter 17

Blanchart patrolled the familiar Lakewood streets behind the wheel of his cruiser. A wedding photo taped to the dashboard above his laptop reminded him of his good fortune. He had a nice house, a beautiful wife, and a job that afforded him the ability to run a lucrative operation. An operation now threatened by an arrogant parasite who underestimated the consequences of his actions.

Blanchart circled the block with his side-mounted spotlight aimed at an abandoned shopping mall frequented by prostitutes and local vagrants scrounging for a piece of the American dream. Tonight was slow, with some of the usual suspects peddling their wares in another part of town.

He made a second pass along the mall's south entrance where his spotlight caught a hooker in fishnet stockings and a purple tube top bobbing for apples through the window of a small sedan. He blipped the siren and flashed the police lights to scare the driver away, leaving the young prostitute to fend for herself.

He drove toward her, slowly.

"Damn... Sheriff... Can't a bitch earn a livin' without no po-lease involvement? I got mouths to feed at home."

Blanchart aimed the spotlight at her face.

The hooker stood knock-kneed, her arms crossed at her chest. She blocked the light with her hand. "I was just giving directions."

"I could tell," said Blanchart. "Get in the car."

"Am I under arrest?"

"Get in the car or spend the night in jail."

"Why you always got to be like that? You want the house special or a straight-up fuck?" She climbed in the passenger seat and checked her lipstick in the visor mirror. Braless cleavage spilled out of her top when she leaned over to touch the sheriff's thigh. "It's aw'ight. I'll take care of you."

Blanchart pulled a C-note from a roll of cash. "Leeland Marks. Where can I find him?"

"Who?"

"The guy who's been stepping where he doesn't belong. Where is he?" Blanchart waved the money in her face.

"I ain't never heard that name befo'."

Blanchart grabbed her by the back of the head and covered her face with a rag. Then he slammed his fist against her nose.

The rag swelled with blood.

"That won't be good for business."

"What the fuck you do that for?" the woman cried. Tears poured out. "Why you trippin' on me? All up in my business? Dumb honky motherfucker. You done broke my nose!"

Blanchart pushed the cigarette lighter in the socket.

"Did Leeland promise you free junk? Or a corner with more traffic?" He twisted his wedding band on his finger. "These streets don't belong to him, they belong to me."

The hooker wiped her swollen nose. Blood dripped on her lap. "I swear I can't picture no dude named Leeland."

"Picture this," Blanchart grumbled. He popped the lighter and pressed the glowing element on her leg.

The hooker screamed. She clawed her nails at Blanchart's arm to make him stop.

The lighter smoked. The smell of burned flesh circulated in the cabin.

Blanchart let go and reinserted the lighter in the twelve-volt receptacle. He observed his trembling hostage, which pleased him. He had no compunction about killing her and leaving her body in the road, but she'd always come through for him in the past. In his experience, the only bad informant was a dead informant.

"If I snitch on him he'll kill me and my baby."

"There are worse things than death."

The lighter popped.

Blanchart grabbed her hair and brought the glowing element toward her eye. "This might sting a little."

"I heard he likes to hang at this biker bar near the water," the hooker blurted.

"Which one?"

"The Tiki Hut. Near the FEMA trailers."

"What else?"

"That's it. I heard he likes to party three on one. I never met the dude before. That's all I got. I swear."

Blanchart stuffed the cash in her top and wiped her nose with the rag. "Go back to work. You'll know when I need you again. And keep this conversation to yourself—or the next time you see me will be the last."

Chapter 18