The Secrets of Paradise Bay (12 page)

Clyde hoped such happiness would come his way someday in a special woman who could give him everything he needed, and take whatever she wanted from him. In the meantime, he felt the heat emanating from Ivana working its magic on him, slowly but surely.

Fortunately, he was distracted by something else that played with his psyche. He found himself remarkably at home in the club. It wasn't exactly jumping, and the piano music was a bit bland, but he could imagine much more from a place like this. If it were his, Clyde was certain he could make it into something special.

Maybe this is just what I've been looking for. My own club, that I could run my way and bring something new to the table in Paradise Bay
.

Clyde tasted the wine and came back down to earth. It was a pipe dream that he was sure wouldn't fly. For one, he didn't have even a fraction of the money it would take to buy the place, and likely wouldn't even a few months from now when the club was slated to shut down.

I can't ask Trey to help me out, even if the man is drowning in dough
. Clyde's pride wouldn't let him go down that road. Besides, he could envision Trey dismissing the idea as foolish, especially given his desire that Clyde continue to work—or slave—for him.

Damn him for thinking he knows what's best for my life. Even who my damned friends should be
. Clyde sucked in a deep breath.

That was the control freak in Trey, wanting to be the man running the show. Much like with his wife, only he didn't always play by the rules where it concerned doing right by her.

“How're you doing over there, little brother?” Trey asked, as if sensing his unease.

Clyde immediately buried his resentment, offering a lackadaisical smile. “I'm cool, man.”

“You sure about that?”

Clyde glanced up and saw Ivana. She smiled sexily at him and seemed to have gotten herself back together. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

Willie put his face between Roselyn's thighs and tickled her clitoris with his tongue. She giggled and moaned while spreading her legs further, urging him on.

“Ohh . . . that feels so good,” cooed Roselyn.

“I know it does, baby.” He continued to pleasure her.

Roselyn quavered. “Willie, I'm not sure I can stand much more.”

He felt the same, his erection throbbing like crazy. “You're ready for me then?” As if he had any doubt.

“You know I am. I want you inside me. Now!”

“If that's what you want, I'm here to give it to you,” he said hungrily.

He lifted up and barely took a moment to suck some air in his lungs before climbing atop her body and pushing himself inside her. She bent her knees and squeezed his hips.

“Go deeper,” she practically screamed.

“Yeah, no problem,” he yelled, and slammed into her again, and again, and again.

“I'm 'bout to cum.” Roselyn clawed at his back.

Willie winced in pain and pleasure. “Go ahead and do your thing. We can cum together.”

The bed shook as the powerful explosion reverberated through them as their mouths locked together in a succulent kiss.

A few moments later, it was over. Willie flopped down on top of her, catching his breath.

“Take all the time you need,” she hummed, wrapping her arms around him. “I want you to keep your energy up for the next round.”

Willie groaned.
This bitch could go all night, if she were able and willing
. Maybe after he smoked a joint, the feeling would hit him again and he could satisfy her and himself.

He lifted up. “Let's get high.”

Roselyn licked her mouth eagerly. “Yeah, let's.”

Willie grinned. Once they both got a good buzz, there might be no stopping them in the sack.

Two hours later, Willie had backed up his words, having lost count of the times they had given each other orgasms.

“You got any money?” he asked after buttering her up.

“Some.”

“Then some will have to do.”

Roselyn rolled her eyes. “What for?”

He glared at her. “Just some business, baby, that's all.”

“Okay,” she uttered without protest.

Willie kissed one of her breasts and watched the nipple rise. She'd earned that pleasure. He was glad to see that she hadn't let that bitch she roomed with poison her mind against him. A woman was supposed to help her man out when he needed it—in and out of bed. And he had no problem exploiting that. So long as they were both getting what they wanted out of this relationship, everything was cool. Once that was no longer the case, it would be time to move on and see what else was out there for him.

 

 

Willie drove around the block several times with Luther, casing the car dealership on the corner of Gleason and Twenty-fourth Street that was owned by Trey Lancaster. Willie had heard that it got more business than any other car dealership in Paradise Bay. Meaning it might be a good place to keep plenty of dough and other valuables—along with the cars themselves.

It struck Willie that this was a way to pay back Clyde for starters—by hitting his big brother—and ultimately him—where it hurt most.

I'm gonna enjoy this
, Willie thought, feeling an adrenaline rush. He circled the place one more time.

“You sure you're up for it?” he asked Luther.

“Yeah, man, let's do it.”

“All right.”

The dealership was closed for the day, and traffic in the business area was sparse. Willie parked in the back. He popped the trunk, and they took out black ski masks, gloves, and bats.

After donning the ski mask and gloves, Willie looked to his partner in crime, who had done the same. “You know what to do.”

Luther nodded.

Willie led the way, crossing over a small chain-link fence. In the lot, there were lots of brand new, shiny, expensive vehicles. He made his way to a car and slammed the bat into the hood, denting it; then smashed the bat against the front window, cracking it. Another hit and glass went flying. He did more damage to the car's sides.

Willie grinned with satisfaction. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Luther was doing much of the same in defacing cars.

After taking the bat to a dozen other cars, Willie made his way to the showroom windows, where Luther was waiting.

“There's probably a silent alarm,” Luther noted warily. “And security cameras too.”

“Yeah, I'm sure. But that means we got to be quick about it,” Willie said. He rammed his bat into the front window, causing pieces to fly in different directions. Luther joined in on the vandalism.

The two men entered the dealership through the opening they created and spread out, damaging what they could along the way and grabbing anything small of value.

Willie found his way to the offices and stopped at one that had the nameplate
CLYDE LANCASTER.
So he sold out after all once his rich brother dangled a carrot or two in front of him. Bastard!

This angered Willie even more. He went into the office, tossing things off the desk and smashing them, imagining each item was Clyde, who bore the brunt of his hatred and envy.

Luther ran into the office. “C'mon, man, we gotta get outta here. The cops are coming.”

Willie muttered an expletive, wishing they had more time to leave a calling card. “Yeah, all right, let's go.”

The two ran out the broken front window and across the lot, waiting 'til they were off the premises before removing the ski masks. Willie glanced across the street and made eye contact with a woman before she ran inside a building. He dismissed it as no big deal and continued to the car, where they put the masks, gloves, and bats back in the trunk.

Willie sped away from the scene, feeling a sense of accomplishment, even as he contemplated more to come before his revenge against Clyde was complete.

 

 

Trey was awakened by a phone call. He looked up through sleepy eyes and saw that it was almost four in the morning.
What the hell?
He reached onto the nightstand and grabbed his cell phone. The caller ID revealed that it was Stella on the other end.

“Hey, Stella—”

“Sorry to wake you, Trey,” she said. “Someone just broke into the dealership on Gleason.”

“What?” He became alert.

“Probably some kids. Apparently they damaged some cars and did a real number in the showroom. The police are there now.”

“Damn!” Trey cursed. “I'm on my way.”

“You and me both,” Stella said tersely. “I'll see you there.”

Trey hung up, furious that one of his dealerships had been targeted. He knew that there had been a rise in juvenile vandalism in the area lately, but didn't expect it to hit him. After all, he had been actively involved in reaching out to young people through grants, appearances, and even internships.

Now they do this to him?

What had he done to deserve it?

Trey got dressed quickly. He left his room and stopped briefly in front of Ivana's room, where he thought about waking her up with the news. Trey nixed the idea, deciding he could tell her just as easily when he got back. No need in disrupting her beauty sleep and give her something else to bitch about.

“What's up?” Clyde asked, coming out of his room in pajama bottoms.

Trey's brow bridged. “Someone went after the dealership—did some damage.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Hang on for a moment,” Clyde said. “I'm coming with you.”

“You don't have to.”

“I want to. Besides, if I'm really part of your business, I need to be able to deal with the ugly side too.”

Trey could not argue the point. He wanted Clyde to be there with him through thick and thin, as brothers. “You're right. Let's do this together.”

The damage done was worse than Trey thought. The vandals had destroyed virtually everything in sight. He hated to think what this would do to his insurance premiums. Not to mention scaring the hell out of his employees.

Trey reviewed the surveillance tapes along with Stella, Clyde, and the police. There were two vandals—both wearing ski masks and gloves, while using bats to do their damage.

“We probably won't come up with much to identify the perpetrators from the videos,” muttered Detective Harold Zabrinski. “They were at least smart enough not to show their faces and to avoid leaving fingerprints.”

“I call it just plain stupid to do something like this,” Stella said sourly.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” seconded Trey.

“Do either of the perps look familiar to you?” the detective asked. “Maybe you recognize them by their height or build? Sometimes these people like to case the place before they hit it.”

Trey studied the video images. He wished he could say that either man was familiar to him, but couldn't. That made it all the more frustrating. “I'm sorry, Detective. We get hundreds, if not thousands of people in here each month. It could've been any of them, or none of them.”

Zabrinski pinched his long nose and eyed Clyde. “How about you? Recognize either of these men?”

Trey studied his brother, noting that Clyde seemed to be off in his own little world. Was he even paying attention to what was going on? Or was there something more to his rumination?

 

 

Clyde felt the intensity of the detective's stare, as though sensing he'd spent time in prison and believed he may have been in on this crime committed against his own brother. The mere notion insulted Clyde, particularly after the sacrifice he'd made years ago trying to protect Trey at the expense of his own freedom.

He focused on the tape of the vandals. Looked just like any other assholes up to no good.
I suppose if I let my imagination run away with me, one of the men does have a similar build to Willie Munroe.
But it didn't mean it was him. Did it? Surely the man, with his one good eye, wasn't stupid enough to try something like this? Not that intelligence was one of Willie's stronger points.

Clyde considered the number that had been done on his own office as though it were personal. Was it?

He realized that with nothing more to go on other than a vague possibility, it would be foolish to bring it up. That would mean answering questions about his history with Willie.

That could somehow end up making me a suspect in the detective's mind, if not Trey's
.

“I wish I did recognize them,” Clyde said evenly. “But without seeing their faces, who knows?”

“You can be sure
someone
knows,” Zabrinski said disappointedly. “We'll stay on top of it and hope we get a break somewhere down the line. In the meantime, if I were you, Mr. Lancaster, I'd beef up my security measures to prevent this from happening again.”

Trey's jaw clenched. “Oh, I can guarantee that, Detective. I'm not about to let common hoods destroy everything I've worked for—beyond what they already did.”

Clyde met his gaze, wondering what Trey was thinking beyond the words. He decided to give him the benefit of the doubt that Trey was not accusing him of anything. Perhaps he was thinking it would be one hell of a cleanup today. And they all had to do their part, Clyde included. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty.

Could Trey say the same?

A half hour later, Zabrinski reported to Trey and Clyde that they had a witness.

Trey perked up at the thought that someone had seen the crime taking place. They just might catch the sons of bitches after all who used his car dealership for batting practice. “I'm listening,” he said with anticipation.

“I wouldn't get too excited,” the detective warned. “A cleaning woman who works across the street reported seeing two men in the alley behind the dealership around the time of the crime. She said she only got a brief look at them and couldn't be sure what she saw—only that neither man was wearing a ski mask. Not much, but it's a start. We're having a sketch artist come out and see if he can coax more out of the woman.”

Trey got the feeling they were basically back where they started. “Was she able to describe either man?”

“She claims she only honed in on one of them,” Zabrinski said. “African American, thirties, tall, muscular with dreadlocks. Either of you know anyone like that?”

The detective locked eyes with Clyde. “Doesn't ring a bell,” he said.

“Same here,” Trey added.

Zabrinski frowned. “Well, ask around. You never know if any of your employees might recognize the description and be able to put a name to a person.”

“Are you saying you think it could've been an inside job?” Trey glared in disbelief.

“Can't rule anything—or anyone—out,” he responded tartly.

Trey understood it was just standard procedure, but he wasn't buying that an employee would be involved in such a cowardly, despicable thing. For what purpose?

“You're definitely barking up the wrong tree, Detective, if you think for one minute that someone employed here would orchestrate this act of vandalism—especially since it appears that property damage was the primary motivation.”

Trey noted that a few items had been stolen—some gold pens, expensive knickknacks, and personal items. But did this constitute a cause and effect?