Skulduggery - a Jake Burbank Mystery Thriller

 

The lake was calm at 9:00 in the morning, too early for the big boats to start running.

 

Rex Dial sat on the edge of the dock watching the sun ripple off the dark waters.  It was his dock, a giant monstrosity that stretched behind him over 75 feet to the lake shore.  It had 54 slips, one for each of the condominiums he planned to build into the bare, scarred land on the hill above the dock.

     The skeleton of the building was in place, and the model unit was complete.  The 2200 square foot decorator’s unit was next to his small office, right off the main parking lot of the development.  He had selected a top of the line interior designer to decorate the model unit, keeping the furnishings elegant but Spartan.  People had to see themselves in a room, and too much bric-brac could interfere with that.

     The lines of the building were clean and tight, the Mediterranean theme starting to show through as balconies were added and wrought iron grill work bolted in place.

     The development, his baby, Dial’s Aisle would be complete in six months.  His logo, a giant silver sundial rested on top of a natural stone monument beside the drive.  He had worked on the project for months, conceiving the plan in his early twenties, and working up the seed funding before his twenty-eighth birthday.

     He was now a bona-fide real estate developer with all of the headaches, hassles and potential rewards involved with it.  The payoff would make him a millionaire before he was thirty.  If the bank didn’t force him out before then.

     Right on cue, he heard the deep throated rumble of a Harley Davidson wheel into the parking lot.  His loan officer, Billy Ray Tulsey sat on the bike, his balding head glowing in the morning sun.  Billy Ray waved at Rex as he swung a leg over the Hog and dismounted.  He grabbed a leather messenger bag and slung it over one shoulder, then made his way to the end of the dock.

     “Where’s your boat?” he asked.

     Rex pointed to the Marina across the channel.

     “Tweaking the engine.”

     Rex had a 46 foot Scarab ( xx) that he had customized with a bio-diesel electric hybrid engine.  He sacrificed 150 horse powers, but gained a virtually unlimited fuel source in used vegetable oil.

     “You get fries with that?” joked Billy Ray.

     An unfortunate side effect of Rex’s boat was the exhaust smelled like warm French fries.

     “I’m trying to get those horses back,” he answered.

     “Good luck.”

     Billy Ray pulled an Adirondack next to Rex, and balanced the briefcase on his knees.

     “I’ve been holding this off for three weeks,” he started.  “But my boss brought it to me this morning and told me to get on it.”

     “What’s the damage?” Rex winced.

     The first round of his construction loan was ending, and he owed an interest payment.

     “One-twenty-three,” said Billy Ray.  He held out a yellow sheet of paper with the figures in a nice row.

     “Due?”  He knew the answer.  Ten days.  But if he could squeeze an extra five to ten more, it might help.

     “Ten days,” his friend answered.  “I tried to get another extension, but . . .”

     He let it dangle.  Rex knew his friend was fighting for him as much as possible.

     “I’ll do it,” Rex told him.

     “That’s why I’m here, buddy.  Mr. Eubanks wants to know how.”

     “What does it matter how?  I said I’d do it.”

     Billy Ray held up a hand.

     “I’m on your side here, but I still have to explain to him, and he wants something in writing.”

     “Tell him I’ll sell some more units at pre-construction.”

     “He won’t buy it.  No one is buying you right now.”

     Billy Ray waved at the virtually deserted site behind him.

     “It’s nine o’clock in the morning Rex, where are your workers?  Where’s the activity?”

     “It’s happening.”

     “Yeah, I know, but not fast enough.  If you don’t cover this payment, then Mr. Eubanks is going to foreclose and take this off your hands at a premium.”

     Rex ran his hand through his hair, and gazed across the water.

     “He’s done it before,” said Billy Ray.  “And I can’t stop it from happening to you.  You’ve got to help me help you.”

     The two men sat in silence.  The water slapped against the black float tubes underneath the wooden planks.   Across the channel, an engine roared, popped and roared again.

     “I’ve got an idea,” Rex said after a moment.

     “It’s never going to work,” exclaimed Billy Ray.

     He and Rex sat in the small two room office just off the entrance to Dial Aisle.  From the window, Rex had an awesome view of the narrow lake cove and the giant silver sundial monument guarding the front entrance.

     “Of course it’s going to work,” said Rex.  “People do it all of the time.”

     “Other people.  People who know what they’re doing.  Just not you.  I’m not saying you can’t do it Rex-“

     “That’s exactly what you’re saying.”

     “All right, that’s what I’m saying.  You can’t do it and your job too.  Ever heard of spreading yourself too thin?”

     “Look,” said Rex.  “I’ve got Lars here to oversee his subcontractors.  We’re doing the bathrooms next anyway, so he’s got to install two per unit, plus tiling.  Having me here is just adding to his worries, and he can handle it.  Any problems come up, I’ll just be 100 yards offshore.”

     “What about sales?” asked Billy Ray.  “You still need to sell the units.”

     “I explained it to you.  We shoot the show and edit it in one week.  We go on the air in two weeks.  We run for six or eight or however long we can afford to, and we’ve got a thirty minute long commercial that’s bringing people through the doors.”

     “You hope.”

     “No, I know.  We’ve got some of the best fishing in Southern Missourri and people just don’t know about it.  I’m going to tell them.”

     “But you don’t know anything about fishing.  You don’t know how to make a tv show.”

     “Sure I do,” said Rex.  “That was my minor in college.”

     “Then why didn’t you do it?”

     “Who knows?  I wanted to make money first and I got into real estate.  The point is, I know how to make a show.  I know the process, and I know how to get it on the air.  I bet I can even get it on The Outdoor Network, or local Saturday morning.  I can tell people about Dial Aisle without anyone realizing that’s what they’re being told.  I can do it.”

     Rex looked at his friend, pleading.

     Billy Ray finally nodded.

     “You know, when you told me you were going to put in condo’s on this water, I didn’t think you could do it.  But you said you could, and you did.  If you tell me you can do this, then I’m going to believe you.”

     “Billy Ray, I can do this.”

     Billy Ray nodded.

     “Tell me what you need.”

     Patty Hopkins sat on the edge of a tattered couch in her trailer.  The dark paneled walls pressed in on her, constricting, squeezing the air out of her lungs.  Blue spots popped in front of her eyes as she struggled to breath.

     “Relax honey.”  The cigarette stained breath of her boyfriend, Jerry rolled over her face.  She almost vomited.

     “Back up Jerry, give me some room.”

     He backed away to the other side of the couch, and then, as if sure that wasn’t enough, he moved to the kitchen.  It was only ten feet away, but far enough.

     “It’s just another panic attack,” he said.

     “I know what it is, damn it,” she snapped.

     Jerry wasn’t smart, but he was pretty.  That wasn’t the only reason she was with him, of course.  They had known each other for years, been on again, off again sweethearts since high school.   They were on right now, and being with him gave her a place to stay.  Until she found something better.

     “Sorry honey,” Jerry said.

     He leaned across the bar, tan muscles rippling in the sunlight that filtered through the filigree lace curtains.

     Jerry was a divemaster with a small dive shop on the lake.  There were only about 20 decent spots on the whole huge body of water, but with the constant tourist traffic, he was able to make a decent living.  He lived for diving, like most people who chose it for a career.  Money wasn’t important to Jerry, though if he needed a little extra to buy a new piece of equipment, he could find it.  His second cousin was one of the biggest meth dealers in the county, so Jerry would push a little product for extra cash.

     Patty nagged him to deal full time.  

She loved money.  It was an obsession with her.  She passed through a string of boyfriends since she graduated high school, trading up income brackets until she landed a job as the personal assistant to Rex Dial, future millionaire.  He wasn’t her significant other, yet.  But she was working on it.  There were stolen kisses, and stolen moments that sparked in passion with her boss.  He was on the hook, she thought, but she wasn’t ready to reel him in yet.  Meanwhile, she had Jerry.

     The panic started to edge away, and her vision stopped blurring.  The second rate furnishings of the trailer swam into focus and Patty could think clearly again.

     “Are you all right?”

     She glanced around at the crap on the walls, the velvet painting of a matador killing a bull, the required tapestry of Dogs Playing Poker, the worn vinyl recliner crammed up against the blanket covered couch.  She hated this place, hated the smell, the feel of it.  It felt poor.  Low rent.

     Which was exactly why Jerry liked it.

     “I need to go to work,” she said, pushing herself off of the couch.

     “I’ll drive you,” said Jerry.  He started to slip into a stained white tee shirt.

     “I can do it myself.”

     She shouldered past him in the narrow confines of the living room and slipped through the hollow core front door.  It swung out on a chain and caught, slapping back against her shoulder, and nearly knocked her down.

     “I hate this place,” she muttered.

     “I love you,” Jerry called after her.

     She ignored him and climbed into her car.

     The panic attacks started when she was twelve and her step-father had lost another job.  Her family had no money, and lived hand to mouth for several months.  Patty knew hunger.  Gnawing, crippling hunger from eating every other day, sometimes every three days.  She drank gallons of water, but it never satisfied her.  It was never enough.  She lay in bed one night, and her world shifted.  She panicked.

     The walls fell in on top of her, crushing her chest into the mattress.  She struggled against the imagined weight, her mind screaming at her body that it wasn’t real, that it wasn’t right.

     She woke hours later, exhausted, clutching a tear soaked pillow in her hands.   She was still hungry.

     Patty swore that she would never go hungry again.  She would find a man or men in her life, and make enough money herself that it could never happen.

     She stopped on the way to work and picked up breakfast from the Drive In.  Rex liked eggs and bacon, large coffee with extra cream and sugar, and she ordered a cheese omelette for herself.  This was another small ritual for her, stopping to get breakfast for her boss.  The first couple of times she did it out of kindness.  Then, Rex gave her a fifty dollar bill to pay for his, and she knew she had him.  Now it was routine.  Breakfast varied, but she knew he liked that.  He would rather think about construction, or business than what to eat and she could just pick up something for him while he paid for exactly what she wanted.

     She pulled into the drive next to the giant pedestal sundial and saw a strange car in the parking lot next to Rex’s truck.

     She balanced the breakfasts on one arm and opened the door with the other.  Rex wasn’t in, which meant he was down on the dock or on-site.  She placed the Styrofoam container on his desk and went to sit at her own.

     Her job was simple.  She was his assistant, and so answered his phones, his mail and ran his errands.  She even tried to help him sell units in the development, in the hopes that he would pay a commission straight to her.  But sales had been slow so far.  She didn’t understand why.  The plans for the place were beautiful.

     The door to the lakeside deck opened up.

     “Just tell me what you need to get started,” said a man’s voice.  He stepped inside followed by Rex.

     Patty recognized the banker from the phone, even though the two had never met.

     “Billy Ray?”

     She wiped her hand on a napkin and held it out to him.

     “Have we met?”

     “This is Patty,” said Rex.  “My right hand.’

     “It’s nice to meet you,” said Billy Ray.  He studied her a quizzical expression on his face.

     “You know each other?” asked Rex after seeing the look on his friend’s face.

     “I don’t think so,” said Patty.  “We’ve spoke on the phone, but never in person.”

     “You just look like someone I know,” said Billy Ray.

     Patty nodded.

     “I’ve got some cousins around here.  It runs in the family.”

     “Jenkins,” spat Billy Ray.

     “Then you know them,” she said, half smiling.  “I can always tell when someone knows them.”

     “They owe us some money.”

     He watched her closely.

     “Don’t judge all of us by a few bad seeds, okay?  I’m indirectly related.”

     Billy Ray smiled at her, though it didn’t touch his eyes.

     “Sure thing,” he said.   He grabbed Rex by the hand.  “Work something up for me.  Fax the numbers over and we’ll see what we can do.”

     He turned to Patty again.

     “It was a pleasure.  I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

     Rex and Patty watched him go through the door.

     “I put breakfast on your desk,” she told him.

     “Thanks.”

     “What was he talking about?  What numbers?”

     Rex moved into his office to his desk.  He pushed the food container aside and started writing on a legal pad.

     “We’re going to shoot a television show to promote Dial Aisle,” he said.

     “I’ve told you we should do that,” she said.  She moved around closer to him and perched on the edge of the desk.

     “This is a different kind of show,” he said, glancing at her bare leg inches from his face.  Her short skirt rode high on her thigh, showing lean, tan limbs.

     “We’re not going to market it directly,” he continued.  “We’re shooting a fishing show in the cove.  Extreme Fishing.  It’s going to be completely different, but it will mention Dial Aisle every few minutes.”

     “How are you going to get people to watch?”  She inched closer.

     “Because it won’t be some boring guy sitting in a boat just fishing.”

     “What will it be?”

     “Extreme.  Someone young.  Someone hip.  Funny,” he kept staring at her while she licked her lips.

     “I’ve got a great idea,” she said.  She sank to her knees, pushed apart his legs and grabbed the waistband of his shorts.

     “I’m all ears,” he cracked.

     “Not all, I hope.”

     She grabbed his zipper, teased it around.

     “Did you know I’ve always wanted to be an actress?”

     “Every little girl’s dream right?  Princess, Ballerina, Actress, not necessarily in that order.”

     “No Princess for me,” she pulled the zipper down, and reached into the opening.

     “I’m not a ballerina,” she whispered.  With her free hand, she unfastened her top, shrugged it off her shoulders.

     “An actress,” Rex moaned.

     “And I look great in a bikini.”

     She lowered her head and couldn’t speak for awhile.

     She cleaned herself off in the bathroom and stared at her bare top in the mirror.  She kept herself in great shape, lean, but with some muscle, taut and tan. She could be an actress, she thought, or at least host a fishing show.  How hard could it be?  Talk about a fish, jiggle for the cameras while reeling in a big one.

     She slipped into her bra and went into the office.

     “This is what I’m talking about,” she said to Rex and mimed reeling one in.

     “You’re absolutely right,” he shouted.  “That body could sell a million units.  Hang on a minute.”

     He dug around in his desk drawer and pulled out a small digital camera.

     “Strike a pose,” he said and snapped off two shots.

     “Wait,” said Patty.

     She threw her shirt on and ran out to her car.  In moments, she was back with her bikini, and went into the bathroom.  She left the door open.  He could see her reflection in the mirror.

     “You always carry your suit with you?”

     “I work on the lake.  You never know when the sun will come calling. “

     She stepped into the office, put her hands on her hips, and cocked her head to one side.

     “Like this?”

     Rex closed his mouth and remembered to take a picture.  The Suit was turquoise with bright yellow trim and she filled it out like a pro.

     “I was thinking we could try to get some of the local sports stores to sponsor the show and help carry the cost, “ said Rex as he snapped a couple of more photographs.

     “Now I think we should get in touch with a swimsuit company.”

     “How much do you think they would pay?”

     “I don’t know,” he said.  “But anything would help.”

     “Why don’t you get an agent?”

     “For you or me?”

     “Both.”

     He hooked the camera up to the USB port on his laptop.  He pulled up a picture, and cropped it.

     “What do you think about that as a poster?”

     Patty cast a critical eye at the screen, hiding a half smirk.

     “What do you think?”

     “I think we’re going to sell a million copies when we go to DVD.”