Blood Money

“I need to know who Merselus is,” said Jack.

“Who?”

“Sydney says that’s the name of the man who met her at Opa-locka Airport on the night of her release.”

“You mean Merselus,” said Bennett. “I thought you said merciless.”

“It’s becoming a common mistake.”

“I like that name,” said Theo. “Merciless. Has a bad-ass rapper ring to it. Like Killa Sin or Gangster Starr or-”

“Shorty Shitstain?” said Jack.

“Whatta you know about Shorty?”

“More than I want to,” said Jack.

Bennett glanced at Theo, then back at Jack, as if not sure what to make of them. “Why would I know who this Merselus is?”

“He tried to strangle your daughter after they left the airport.”

Bennett paused before answering, staring at Jack. “That’s disturbing, to say the least. But that doesn’t mean I know him. To the contrary, do you think I would put my daughter in the hands of someone like that?”

“Sydney said they connected when she was in prison. More to the point, she thought you had checked him out before she trusted him to be her agent.”

“Well, that would be just like her to blame someone else, wouldn’t it?”

Theo grumbled. “Just cuz she’s the one doin’ the blamin’ doesn’t mean you ain’t to blame.”

“The big guy actually has a point,” said Jack.

“Look, her mother and I did what Sydney asked us to do. She told us she had a big-shot agent who was going to take care of her, but they needed us to lease the plane in my name to keep the Hollywood connection out of the press. The money landed in our bank account, and I took care of the plane. That was my whole involvement. And her mother’s. We never met the guy, never talked to him. That was the end of it.”

“You didn’t ask-”

“I didn’t ask anybody anything,” said Bennett. “I wanted Sydney out of jail and out of our hair.”

Jack studied his expression, taking a read. “That’s a good story.”

“It’s the truth.”

“What do you think, Theo?”

“I’ll tell you what I think,” said Theo. “I think somebody in this house needs a good ass-kicking.”

Bennett took a step back. “Is that a threat?”

“No, that was purely an expression of opinion. See, the man asked me what do I think. I told him what I think. That’s an opinion, and if you want to get legal about it, the opinions expressed here are solely those of Theo Knight and do not necessarily reflect the policy or position of Jack Swyteck, P.A., the Florida Bar, or the pansy-ass association of nonviolent white guys who keep friends with former death row inmates just in case they might need to call up an ass-kicking. You got a problem with that?”

“I–I don’t think so.”

“Good. Cuz if I was threatening you, I would-”

Jack extended his arm, stopping Theo before he could take another step closer.

Bennett made his chest swell. “Y’all need to leave my property.”

“You need to think about what I said,” Theo said.

“Let’s go,” said Jack.

They walked back to the car, and Bennett returned to his bench press, the free weights clanging as Jack and Theo climbed inside and closed the doors.

“Pansy-ass association of what?”

“Sorry, dude. Was just makin’ a point.” Theo started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

“I’m almost afraid to ask for another opinion, but what do you think? Does Mr. Bennett know Merselus?”

Theo put on his shades, eyes on the road. “Just like his daughter. Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

Jack glanced out the window as they passed the Bennett house. He noticed Mrs. Bennett watching from the front porch, her gaze following their car down the street. A bright yellow sundress made her perpetual tan look even darker than usual. Colorful sundresses were what she had worn almost every day for Sydney’s trial.

“The key here is to talk to someone in this family who doesn’t wear pants.”

“Then let’s do it,” said Theo.

Jack thought of all the times he’d tried to have a one-on-one conversation with Sydney’s mother. “It needs to be handled just right. Ellen literally hasn’t left the house since the trial started. She doesn’t even have a cell phone. We can discount a lot of what her husband says, but I don’t doubt that she’s battling depression.”

“Just call her, Jack.”

They stopped at the STOP sign. The Bennetts’ street was in his passenger’s-side mirror, and Jack could see down the block to their house in the reflection. Ellen Bennett was still standing on the porch, having watched their car all the way to the intersection.

“No,” said Jack. “Once a seed is planted, the worst thing you can do is dig it up to see how it’s growing. Give her a little more time. She’ll come around.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Andie finished her three-mile run with Max in record time. She showered and spent the rest of the morning on a chaise longue in the backyard, struggling her way through one of those recorded instructional CDs that promised complete fluency in a foreign language for ninety-eight percent of users faster than you can say, I must be part of the two percent. Max was in a perfect “sit/stay,” head cocked, ears peaked, and a puzzled expression on his golden face. Apparently, he didn’t speak Chinese.

“Max,” she said, followed by her best attempt to say “Come” in a language she hadn’t spoken since her days in the Seattle field office. It was part of her training for her undercover assignment, Operation Big Dredge. Counterfeit goods galore from China were expected to come through the widened Panama Canal and the expanded Port of Miami. A brushup on Mandarin Chinese would be useful.

“Max, please. A little encouragement.”

He cocked his head the other way.

“I think we’re hopeless, buddy.”

Andie removed her earbuds, shut down her iPad, and went back inside the house. She was pouring a cup of green tea-that part of China she got, no problem-when her cell rang. She had a feeling about the unknown number on the caller ID.

“This is Agent Henning,” she said.

There was a slight pause, then a voice that Andie recognized, even though they had never spoken to one another: “Swyteck told me to call you at this number.”

Andie gripped the phone. “Sydney?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you called. You’re doing the right thing.”

“He didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“Who didn’t?”

“Jack,” she said, and just the mention of his name seemed to bring an edge to her voice. “He thinks he can just pass me along to you, like I’m not his problem. I am his problem. He’s part of this. He’s as much a part of this as I am.”

“Okay. I understand you’re angry.”

“I’m angry, I’m tired, I’m fed up with the whole fucking world treating me like I’m some kind of monster. Tell Jack he needs to help me.”

“Jack can’t help you. Work with me and the FBI will-”

“No, this isn’t a call to the FBI. I’m talking to Jack’s girlfriend. You tell Jack that if he wants to find out what happened to his other girlfriend, he needs to help me, okay?”