Second Chance Gold (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 4), John Cunningham [polar express read aloud .txt] 📗

I checked the list of names Lou Atlas had provided and saw one labeled gendarmes.

“That’s what I figured, but thanks for confirming my gut. I told his uncle it was a pretty cold trail, but he didn’t seem particularly concerned one way or the other.”

“Keep me posted, kid. If you learn anything to the contrary, I can help.”

We hung up. I knew if I teased Booth with Lou Atlas he’d drop his drawers. He didn’t have much to offer, but at least it corroborated what I’d expected, and I now knew the FBI had made an inquiry, missing person’s case or not. The best news, though, was that Booth was his usual charming self, which meant Jack hadn’t sent any evidence to the FBI.

Yet.

And I wouldn’t call Booth for help unless the Caribbean froze over.

With that I set out toward Blue Heaven. Once outside the La Concha I decided to walk rather than take the Rover or my bike. In the back of my mind, I knew it was to avoid Bruce. Management at the La Concha had been busting my chops lately, and I wasn’t in the mood to face that right now.

The walk down Duval was as eventful as usual. Drew, the doorman at Margaritaville, gave me a wave; Susie Pizzuti, formerly of the Conch Flyer and now at Willie-T’s, shouted my name from across the road, and when I got to Petronia Street one of the drag queens in front of the 801 Bourbon Street Bar gave me a wolf whistle.

I stopped and smiled. “How you doing, Edward?”

“Be better if you came over and hung out with us, Buck!” His deep voice belied the curvaceous physique, accentuated by a mini-skirt and tank top.

“I’m headed over to see Lenny, but next time.”

“That’s what you always say,” he said.

I waved and made my way up to Bahama Village and into the open air bar and restaurant known as Blue Heaven. Shaniqua, Pastor Willy Peebles’s daughter, had replaced her cousin behind the bar. She gave me a big smile. While she lacked Lenny’s gift of gab, she more than made up for it with her almond-eyed and mocha-skinned beauty. I’d rather look at her than listen to Conch Man—Lenny’s nickname.

She glanced at her watch, then me. I nodded, and within a moment a glass of Papa’s Pilar dark rum on the rocks was in front of me.

“Why you look like someone ran over your dog, Buck?”

I took a sip of the rum. “You ever have your past sneak up and bite you?”

“Don’t be sneaking in here to make a move on my cousin, man.”

I smiled as Lenny Jackson slid onto the stool next to me. Shaniqua blushed. She and I had a long history of flirting with each other, partly to tease Lenny, but also because there was real attraction, at least on my part. But I’d reluctantly concluded that Shaniqua was just too close to home. If it didn’t go well, the fallout would be costly.

“You available to accompany me on a boondoggle for the next week?” I said.

“The hell you up to now, man?”

“I’ve been hired by one of the richest men in the world to go to—”

“Stop right there, Buck. I got a City Council meeting three days from now—only my second one—so no way I can miss that.”

“Not even to go to St. Barths with me?” I pulled the Visa Black card out of my pocket. “And this?”

He shook his head.

“Nah, man. Much as I’d like to, I can’t miss that meeting. I got shit to propose that’s gonna blow those people’s minds. I’m taking this gig serious, cuz.”

Some locals arrived, and soon Conch Man was on a roll. Next thing I knew there was a crowd around the bar. I asked Shaniqua to place a call for me to another potential partner.

Pretty soon the sun was down and the restaurant was packed. I nursed my drink and checked my watch.

I felt a heavy weight on my shoulder.

Bruiser Lewis and his brother Truck stood next to me. I slid off the stool and Bruiser threw a few short punches at me, which I blocked before he grabbed my arms and gave me a quick bear hug.

“The hell you up to, Reilly?” Bruiser said.

We caught up. Bruiser told me he had a heavyweight bout in two months, which if he won, would put him in line for a title shot. He was headed to Tallahassee tomorrow to train with famous corner man, Caspar Johnson.

“And to think I almost knocked you out that time we fought,” I said.

“Yeah, almost.” He grinned at me.

“What about you, Truck?”

“Busy season’s coming quick and I’ll be up to my ass in tourists on the Sea Lion.” As long as I’d known him, I still had difficulty imagining Truck as the captain of the largest, circa late 1800’s schooner and sunset cruiser in Key West. He’d be lucky to get a day off once the tourist season really kicked in.

“How’d you like to join me on a salvage trip to the French West Indies?”

His face showed no expression. He turned toward Bruiser who was also impassive.

“Don’t speak no French, man,” Truck said.

I told him I did, along with the details of who’d hired me, and a little about St. Barths. His eyes widened with each additional fact. He started to nod, then stopped.

“I get paid anything?”

“All expenses, plus five grand. Should be a cakewalk, and St. Barths is amazing.”

He looked at Bruiser, who was drinking sparkling water.

“You two together are usually like matches and gasoline,” Bruiser said.

Truck smiled. I pumped my eyebrows and we slapped a high-five.

We spent another few minutes on logistics, set a pre-lunch departure time for tomorrow, then I paid Shaniqua and made my way back toward the La Concha. I was ready to get this trip done, get paid, and get back on Harry Greenbaum’s calendar.

Jack could have the Concepcíon, but the fire was building inside