Killer in the Kennel
Автор
Caridad Piñeiro
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Chapter One
The chatter of restaurant diners bounced off the walls like marbles ricocheting off pinball machine flippers.
Shiny slabs of white and chrome gleamed from the spotlights beaming down on the walls and colorful splashes of carefully placed modern art.
Jose Gonzalez peered around the restaurant as the waiter brought over the first vegetarian dish of their tasting menu. The place was busy for midweek, likely because of the star the restaurant had recently earned and the sighting of a few celebrities dining there the week before.
He suspected that’s why his date had insisted on coming here to eat the flowers, fruits and vegetables for which the restaurant had earned some fame. He’d met Marta a few weeks earlier at a popular hangout in the Fontainebleau where celebrities also liked to linger.
Marta was cover-model beautiful with her perfectly highlighted hair, pouty bee-stung lips and a body with all the right curves. So why did he feel like something was lacking?
As he chowed down on the salad of red and golden beets, arugula, pistachios and a vegan goat cheese, he had to admit it was rather tasty. But after another dish of nothing but vegetables emerged from the kitchen followed by a third, he glanced lovingly at a nearby table where a delicious-looking filet mignon sat next to golden roasted potatoes and Broccolini.
“Isn’t this delicious?” Marta said, a false trill of delight coloring her voice and a piece of something green stuck to her lower lip.
“Delicious,” he replied, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on his boredom with the meal and surprisingly, with her.
Fail, he thought as she narrowed her gaze and peered at him. “Jose?” she said, voice rising in question.
His phone rattled against the hard, gleaming white surface of the table.
He glanced at the screen and saw that it was his cousin Trey calling on his office line. Jose normally avoided anything to do with his family’s South Beach Security agency but taking the call this time was a welcome interruption.
“Who is it?” his date asked, clearly annoyed by the phone’s buzzing.
Holding his hand up in a request for her silence, he answered.
“Hola, Pepe,” Trey said, using his childhood family nickname.
“Hola, Trey. How can I help you?” he said, and hoped it would give him an escape so he could go grab himself a Cuban sandwich somewhere to satisfy the hunger gnawing at his belly.
“I need your help with a new project,” Trey said.
Jose nodded. “Hold on a second. I’m on a date,” he said, and placed his hand over the phone to muffle his voice.
“I’m sorry, but I have to take this,” he said, shot to his feet and headed for the patio where the restaurant had a bar and outdoor dining area. It was quieter there, the sounds muffled by the verdant spill of plants down the exterior walls of the building.
“What do you need, primo?” he asked, and hoped it wouldn’t be something that dragged him into the Gonzalez family business. For years he’d struggled to build his own path without his well-known family’s influence as well as the dangers often faced by his cousins at SBS.
“This must be some date if you’re taking my call,” Trey teased.
Jose turned and peered through the glass door to where his date sat, her full lips thinned in aggravation at his absence. The bit of green gone.
“You could say that,” he said, not wanting to be unkind. Marta was nice in her own way. She just wasn’t his type, whatever that type was.
“You’re not going to ghost her, are you?” Trey asked, the faintest hint of accusation in his voice.
“You know me better than that, primo. I’ll let her down easy,” he confirmed and pushed on. “So why are you calling?”
“We need your help—”
“You know I don’t want anything to do with the agency,” he interrupted quickly.
A frustrated sigh drifted across the line. “I know, Pepe. We need your help finding a property.”
Finding a property? “That’s it? Nothing else?” he said, surprised at the simplicity of the request.
“Sí, just that. Our K-9 business has been growing and we’d like to set up a training center for our people and dogs. We need to find a location for that center,” Trey advised, and continued explaining what they wanted to have on the property and roughly how much acreage they would need.
“That’s a nice-sized property,” he said, and in his mind the dollar signs spun like the reels on a slot machine.
“It is, but I know you’re the perfect person to find us a place,” Trey said, rousing unexpected guilt.
“Why me, Trey? You know I try to avoid getting involved in SBS business and this sale... I don’t need to tell you that my commission on a property like that—”
“Will be a very nice one. You’re family and family sticks together,” Trey said without hesitation.
Full-blown guilt erupted at Trey’s words as if the trust Trey was placing in him wasn’t deserved, but he intended not to disappoint.
“We are family. I’ll find you the perfect spot. Don’t worry.”
“I won’t. I know you’ll do right by us,” Trey said, and ended the call.
Jose lowered the phone and stared at it for a long time. Trey and his SBS cousins always managed to do right by whoever they helped.
He intended to do the same with SBS and after a quick glance at Marta, with his date.
Once they finished dinner, he’d end it like a gentleman. After that, he’d head to Little Havana for a tasty Cuban sandwich packed with roast pork, baked ham and Swiss cheese to satisfy his hunger pangs.
Finally, as soon as he was in his South Beach condo, he’d settle down in his home office and get to work on finding Trey a perfect property for his new venture.
TREY LAID HIS phone down and stared across his desk to where his siblings sat expectantly.
“He said yes?” his baby sister, Mia, asked, obviously surprised by their cousin’s response.
“He did and I’m surprised as well,” Trey admitted.
“Was it just about the money?” Ricky asked.
Trey wished he’d had Ricky on the line during the call. As a psychologist, his younger brother might have picked up on Jose’s motivation, although Trey considered himself a good judge of people. He’d needed that a lot to survive his time in the marines and later as an undercover police detective.
Trey shook his head. “I don’t think so. I got the sense he really wanted to help because we’re family.”
“Surprising,” Mia said with the arch of a manicured brow.
“Pepe is a good guy and I understand why he wants to make his own way. It’s tough being part of a family like ours,” Ricky said, ever the mediator and sometimes the outsider since he was more of a feeler and not a doer like Trey and Mia.
Trey had no doubt about how hard it was to be part of their family. They had buried their roots deep into the Miami soil and flourished beyond expectations. But that success brought many demands, and Trey could understand Jose’s desire to forge his own life and success removed from those demands.
Because of that, he said, “Now that we know Pepe will look for the property, do you agree Sara Hernandez is the best candidate to run the K-9 training center?”
He handed the résumé across the desk to Ricky to refresh his memory of their possible new employee.
“Her work history is impressive. She’s responsible for the search and rescue teams in several state parks,” Ricky said, as he in turn passed the résumé to Mia.
Mia took a quick glance at the paper and said, “I agree. She’s very impressive and she’s also a certified K-9 trainer. I’m all for asking her to take the job.”
“Great. I’ll reach out to her, and hopefully we can move on this quickly. The K-9 Division has really taken off, and I’d love to be able to train our own agents and canines,” Trey said, and took another look at the résumé and Sara’s headshot. She was pretty with that kind of girl-next-door look that was the antithesis of Jose’s artfully groomed and manicured fashionistas.
Perfect, he thought, and picked up the phone to call her.
THE WOMAN CRASHED through the underbrush in the thick hardwood hammock he’d released her in earlier.
He always gave his women head starts to make it a fair fight.
This one was literally like the proverbial bull in the china shop, leaving a trail of crushed brush and broken branches, enabling him to track her easily.
He caught a glimpse of her bright red blouse as she darted behind a tree, probably thinking she could hide there until he gave up the hunt.
Laughing lowly, he picked up his crossbow and tucked it tight to his shoulder. It was lubed, loaded and ready to fire. He never took chances anymore because he’d almost lost one of his women when he’d misloaded an arrow.
Never again. If she’d gotten free...
Don’t think about that, he told himself, and focused on the tree and the tiniest bit of red peeking out from the edge of it.
Waiting. Watching. Patient.
His mother had always told him to be patient. To take care of his things. To watch out for wicked women.
I’m doing just that, Mommy, he thought.
As the bit of red became a larger target, he let the arrow fly.
It struck flesh with a resounding thunk.
The woman dropped to the ground like a stone.
He walked over to where she lay face down, motionless. Blood leaked from the arrow embedded deep in her back, a darker crimson against the red of her shirt.
Laying a booted foot on her back, he tore out the arrow, wiped it clean with some leaves and slipped it back into his quiver.
Never let a good weapon go to waste, he thought.
Flipping the woman over, she stared up at him with sightless eyes. Blue like the sky above, but bloodshot and old-looking despite her youth. Drugs and hooking would do that to you, he thought. A wounded wasted life that he gifted peace with his benevolent kill.
After all, you wouldn’t let a wounded animal suffer.
He knelt and slipped off her earrings. Cheap little wire ones with bits of fake crystals. Tucking them into his pocket, he was about to haul her off to her final resting place when the sound of a car engine intruded, loud in the quiet of early morning. A pricey car if he was any judge.
Sounds traveled far out here. It was why he used to do his hunting at night when the kennels had been open. In the years since greyhound racing had been banned in Florida and the kennels had closed, he’d had the entire property to himself.
Until today, he thought, and crept silently toward the kennels to see who had ruined his pleasure. It took him nearly ten minutes to reach the edge of the forest that bordered the abandoned buildings. He carefully hid in the underbrush to see who had arrived on the property.
He had been right about the car. An expensive Maserati SUV sat in the driveway in front of what had once been the kennel owner’s home. Beside it stood what his mother would have called a “rather dandy fellow” thanks to her love of Regency romances.
Raising the crossbow, he used the scope to get a better look.
Handsome. Possibly Latino. Sharp dresser. If he had to guess, the suit was as pricey as the expensive Italian car.
A sinking feeling filled his gut as the man looked around and began inspecting the property.
This was not good. Having people here, in his playground, could only bring problems.
He told himself not to worry. Who would want these abandoned buildings way out here?
But as the fancy man smiled and nodded, he worried that trouble would soon be coming his way.
