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eBook Category: Mystery/Crime
eBook Description: Lisa is lost. P.I. Marc Wilson thinks she may be just another good-looking runaway in America's paradise. But the deeper he looks, the more he finds concealed beneath the placid Caribbean surface: sex, drugs, revenge, and political blackmail. Then dead bodies begin to surface, and Wilson knows he needs to act fast. When help comes from an unexpected source, little does he realize the reward in store.

eBook Publisher: The Fiction Works, Published: 2004
Fictionwise Release Date: March 2004

3 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [547 KB], eReader (PDB) [189 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [177 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [158 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [172 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [214 KB], hiebook (KML) [392 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [260 KB], iSilo (PDB) [147 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [181 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [223 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [241 KB]
Words: 52735
Reading time: 150-210 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

It was early evening, but still hot. On the small back deck Marc Wilson sat, one hand soothing the air with a small Oriental fan, the other wrapped around a tall, ice-filled vodka tonic.

On the nearby housing project court, two groups of young West Indians played a hotly argued game of basketball, their wet black bodies glistening in the last rage of sun, the end of a typical suffocatingly slow September day in "America's paradise."

Wilson paid little attention to either the game or his own thoughts. On a day like this nothing much could nudge him to action, even the thousand-dollar retainer he'd received from Enrico Herera, the new client he expected any minute.

When Wilson heard a car enter his drive he finished his drink in two long swallows. He started to rise, but the heat was too heavy an anchor, and he poured another drink from the tall pitcher on the table to his right.

A car door slammed. "I'm out back, Enrico!" he shouted. He heard his front screen door open and close. Then two men wearing ski masks came out the back of his house. One pointed a .357 Colt Magnum at him; the other tapped the flat side of a machete against his thigh.

"Ya money, white modda skunt," ordered the one with the gun.

Wilson stopped fanning himself, leaned forward and stared at the intruders.

"Now!" screamed the other and swung his machete at the table, driving the blade into its top. Both pitcher and glass shattered on the floor.

"You must be crazy," Wilson said as he slowly rose from the chair.

"Next ya foot," the man said as he pried his machete loose. The other stuck out his hand. Wilson reached into his pocket.

Extending the wad of bills only slightly, Wilson shifted his weight to his left leg. The man with the gun came toward him. The sound of another car crunching the gravel of the driveway caused the action to freeze momentarily.

The two bandits glanced at each other. It was just enough of a distraction. Wilson sprung, his right foot flicking out catching the man with the gun under his nose. Blood sprayed like a pierced water main.

The man with the machete took a moment too long to react. Wilson spun off his kick and planted an elbow in his throat. The man dropped to his knees, both hands working vainly to free his windpipe. His eyes bulged through the mask. The other lay unconscious on the deck, twitching. Blood ran down the sides of his mask and into his mouth.

"Jesus, what happened here!" Enrico said as he stepped out of the house, his balding pate wet with perspiration.

"A mistake. At least for them," Wilson muttered as he put the money back into his pocket.." Wilson picked up the gun and machete and walked into the house, Enrico trailing after. He placed the weapons in a bureau drawer.

"Give me a minute to clean up the mess."

The man with the broken nose regained consciousness as Wilson lifted him to his feet. He stumbled as Wilson pushed him off the deck with his left hand, dragging the man gasping for breath behind with his right. He threw both of them against their car.

"Stop by anytime, gentlemen. I always enjoy an early evening diversion."

The men fumbled into the car like drunks on a boat. Wilson glared at them, fists on hips, as they backed down the drive. A shaken Enrico was now at his side wringing his hands.

"Robbers?"

"Wannabes."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

Wilson stared at him for a moment, unconsciously fingering the scar running diagonally across his nose. "Well, we couldn't very well conduct our business with a crowd here, could we?"

Wilson put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, how about a cold beer? Those bastards ruined all the ice."

Enrico shook his head at the proffered beer. Wilson shrugged and shut the refrigerator door. He twisted off the cap and took a long pull of the cold beer as Wilson followed him out of the kitchen

"Did you bring the things I asked for?

"Yes, here." Enrico took an envelope from his back pocket and gave it to him. Wilson spread its contents on the dining room table.

Three photographs, one a high school graduation snap of a pretty girl with light brown hair and large cow-brown eyes. "Does Lisa's complexion look like this?" Wilson asked. He couldn't see any facial resemblance to Enrico.

"No, she's pale. The photographer almost gave her a different face."

The second picture was of three girls, arms wrapped around each other. Lisa was on the left. A tall, fleshy West Indian girl was in the center. Next to her was an equally tall but thin West Indian.

"I talked to both girls and their parents," Enrico said. "They haven't seen Lisa since Monday, the day she didn't come home from soccer. Angelina--that's the one in the middle--normally drove her home. Lisa told her that she got a message that I would be picking her up. Last anyone's seen her." He nervously scraped at the tobacco stain on his left index finger then looked at his watch. His nails were bitten to the quick. "Exactly two days, one hour and twenty minutes."

Wilson walked over to the refrigerator, opened the door and stooped so that the cold air hit his face. A minute later, he emerged with two bottles of beer. He popped the tops and gave one to Enrico, who held it without drinking.

"What's the story on this?" Wilson pointed to the third photograph--a wallet-size autographed picture of Tim Duncan.

"She never went anywhere without it. A real fan of his. When I got home from work last night it was slipped under the door. No note, no envelope, no nothing."

"Any contact besides this?"

"Nothing." Enrico rubbed his neck then twirled the beer bottle in his hands.

Wilson next looked at Lisa's passport, most recently stamped on Tortola, British Virgin Islands. The entry before that was from Caracas, Venezuela, dated a month ago.

"That was from a class trip," Enrico offered. "Four days and three nights."

Wilson flipped through the remaining pages. All stamps were from Tortola.

"Rena, the thin one in the picture is from there. Lisa often spent weekends there with her and her grandmother."

"No boyfriends?"

"Not for Lisa and Rena. They didn't even go to their senior prom. Angelina got one though, going on about six months now. Before then, they were like the three musketeers. You couldn't separate them. They called themselves the three A's because their names all ended with the same letter and they always got As in school."

Wilson tapped the passport, finished his beer, and then raked his longish blond hair with his hand. "She could be anywhere, but I bet she's still here." He threw the passport on the table.

"I couldn't find any of her letters like you asked me," Enrico said. "Maybe she didn't save them. Maybe she never got any. I don't know. She always got the mail before I came home. Not much to go on, huh?"

"I got enough. Don't worry." His cold blue eyes were so piercing that Enrico had to look away.

"The cops said they'd start looking tomorrow. Maybe you want to check with them." Enrico pushed the words out, almost spitting them. It took all of his energy to calm himself and speak in clear sentences. Wilson could tell he was close to the edge. Enrico shifted his weight from one foot to the other like he was dancing on glass.

"I'll get back to you on the weekend. Say five o'clock, Sunday. You stop by here and I'll give you a full report. I'm not promising that I'll have Lisa with me, but I'll have something." He put his bear paw of a hand on Enrico's shoulder. "Go take a long walk on the beach or go for a swim." He squeezed Enrico's shoulder.

"What if I get a ransom note?"

"You won't." Wilson regretted saying so as soon as the words came out.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is if you hear from them, tell them to contact me, that I'm handling this."

Enrico looked anguished.

"Don't worry," Wilson said as he led him to the door. "The ball's in my court now. Get some rest."

Wilson watched him drive off, shoulders hunched over the wheel, the silhouette of a man old before his time.

In the house, he swept up the broken glass, got another beer, sat on the back deck, and watched the boys finish their last game before supper. There were three places he wanted to check, but first he needed a long cold shower.