Page 86 of Stone Coast
She frowned. “Well, I think Tyson’s right. You need to get out of town, clear your head, lie low for a while.”
“If my head were any clearer, it would be transparent.”
That earned another frown. “I don’t think Pineapple Bay is good for you right now. Tyson said you could stay on his boat, right?”
I nodded.
“So it’s settled. We’ll make a little road trip down to Coconut Key. Call it a girls’ weekend. We’ll have fun, relax, do a whole lot of nothing. See what kind of trouble we can get into.”
“I’m in enough trouble already.”
“You gotta loosen up. You’re never gonna make it if you stay wrapped this tight.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I said, thick with sarcasm.
“Look, let’s stay within the county. It’s not like you’re violating any conditions of your release.”
I considered it for a moment. “Okay,“ I said with a sigh, finally relenting. “I’ll call Tyson and make sure the offer still stands.”
I pulled out my phone and dialed, but he didn’t pick up.
I sipped my margarita, waiting for Tyson to call me back. Somehow, Olivia convinced me to have another one. She could be persuasive. By the time the glass was empty, I could hardly stand. The Tipsy Turtle lived up to its name. The shack wobbled and was about to fall into the ocean. Or maybe it was just me.
I took a few steps toward the door and realized I wasn’t going anywhere.
Olivia laughed at my predicament. “When did you become such a lightweight?”
I gave her a flat look.
“How long are you gonna make that excuse?”
“It’s not an excuse.”
We staggered outside, and the bright sunlight squinted our eyes. Better judgment prevailed, and we decided to catch a cab back to Olivia‘s. Our renegade road trip to Coconut Key would have to wait.
By the time I got back to Olivia’s apartment, I realized I was well and truly hammered. I dove onto the couch, saying something about how I was just going to close my eyes for a minute. That minute turned into a few hours.
It was dark when I woke up with a throbbing headache, mouth open, drooling on the sofa.
43
Ididn’t know where I was at first. It was not an unfamiliar situation. I had gotten somewhat used to the feeling of being constantly disoriented.
Then I had a vague recollection of stumbling into the apartment with Olivia. The margarita bombs still exploded in my head. My mouth was pasty and made the Sahara seem like an oasis.
Olivia‘s apartment was nice. It had a breezy, open floor plan with a bar, kitchen, and a hallway that led to the master and guest bedrooms. High ceilings with exposed beams, sleek, elegant furniture, pastel walls and coral accents. Fashion magazines lay atop a glass coffee table. There was a large flatscreen display, tasteful art on the walls, and bleached hardwoods.
There was no sign of Olivia, and I suspected she had met the same fate. Although she was a much more seasoned pro when it came to this kind of thing than I was.
I checked the time. It was a little after 8:30 PM.
My headache was bad enough. Dull and throbbing. That’s when the ice pick came, stabbing through my temple like a lightning bolt mixed with a brain freeze.
A slew of images flashed before my eyes.
A man with long brown hair, bleached by the sun, strutted into the Cool Cat like he owned the place. He had a receding hairline, but the mane made up for it. His hawkish face sported a nose that had been broken a few times. This was a man who was no stranger to bar fights. He had a jaw lined with stubble that looked like it could take a punch or two. This was Ray Richmond. There was no doubt in my mind, though I’d never met the man.
Ray was 5’11” of coiled energy, ready to strike like a viper. Years of Florida sun had baked his skin to bronzed leather. His low brow forced his brown eyes into a perpetual squint. Ray was a predator through and through.
