She stared out at the restaurant, her eyes tracing over the furnishings like she was memorizing them, like they wouldn't be around for much longer.
"Why?" Bria asked, picking up on her friend's sad, wistful mood. "I know how much you love running the restaurant. You're not thinking about selling out, are you?"
Callie's eyes darkened. "Something like that, I guess you could say."
Bria started to ask her friend another question, but she never got the chance. The screen door banged open, and two men stepped into the restaurant. For a moment, it was like being back at the Pork Pit - everybody froze. The few diners, the two waitresses still on duty, the bartender, even Callie. They all stopped what they were doing to stare at the two men, and the mood immediately changed from one of easygoing dining to tight, nervous tension.
One of the men was a giant, topping out at seven feet tall. His skin, hair, and eyes were all the color of straight black coffee, and the loose white linen shirt and pants that he wore made him look even larger than he really was. The other guy was a much shorter human who was wearing a red shirt covered with green parrots over khaki cargo pants and plastic red flip-flops. His sandy blond hair, his sun-roasted complexion, and the small gold hoop glinting in his ear made him look like a wannabe pirate.
I might not be in Ashland anymore, but I recognized their type - low-level muscle that someone had dispatched to deal with a certain kind of problem. From the way Callie's face hardened at the sight of the two men, I was willing to bet she was that problem - and that things were about to get ugly.
Chapter 4
Callie slid off her stool, squared her shoulders, and marched over to the two men. The shorter guy, the pirate, opened his mouth, but Callie snapped up her hand, cutting him off.
"I've told you before that you're not welcome here, Pete - and that I have absolutely no interest in selling out to your boss like everyone else on the island has already." Her voice was as cold and hard as mine had been earlier tonight. "Some of us happen to like Blue Marsh just the way it is."
Pete the pirate smiled at her, and I noticed that one of his teeth had a small diamond set into the middle of it. "Ah, now, I really hate to hear that, Ms. Reyes. Especially since you've been offered a very generous sum for your restaurant. Hasn't she, Trent?"
The giant, Trent, nodded back. His massive arms hung loose at his sides, and he was slowly flexing his long fingers like he was limbering up for a fight.
"You should sell now, while the offer is still on the table," Pete continued in a deceptively friendly voice. "Before your property is devalued. Hurricane season is about to start up again. Not to mention all the other accidents that could happen in the meantime. A grease fire in the kitchen, an electrical short, vandalism. It wouldn't take much to wipe this place completely off the map, if you know what I mean."
Wow. I think anyone who'd ever watched a bad mob movie knew exactly what he meant. Those were some cliched and not-so-veiled threats if ever I'd heard them. It didn't look like the bad guys in Blue Marsh were any more creative than the ones in Ashland.
Bria slid off her stool. Her danger radar was pinging just as mine was, and she walked over to stand beside Callie. I got up as well, but I stayed at my spot by the bar. I'd come to Blue Marsh to get away from these kinds of confrontations for the weekend - not make a whole new bunch of enemies down here. Besides, this was Bria's city, not mine. She knew the lay of the land and the players better than I did. I'd let her take the lead - for now.
Pete leered at Bria and me behind her, before turning his attention back to Callie. "Who are your friends? The rest of Charlie's Angels?" he snickered.
"Only if I get to be Farrah Fawcett," Bria said in a sweet, syrupy tone. "Pete Procter. Long time, no see. Last I heard, you were awaiting trial on some small-time, check-cashing scheme."
He looked at her a little more closely, really studying her face. It took him a moment, but his pale blue eyes narrowed in recognition. "Detective Coolidge. I heard that you'd left Blue Marsh for greener pastures."
"Well, I'm back, and I think that you should leave - right now," Bria said. "Before you annoy my friend any more than you already have."
"Yeah?" Pete asked, his voice taking on a low, ugly tone. "And who's going to kick me out? You, Detective? I don't think so. Not anymore. Things have changed in Blue Marsh since you've been gone - a lot of things."
Bria's hand dropped to her waist, but her fingers came up empty. Normally, her gold detective's badge would be clipped to her leather belt, along with the holster that held her gun. But we were on vacation, and Bria had left both of those items back in Ashland.
Pete realized that she wasn't armed, and his smile widened, making his diamond-embedded tooth twinkle like a tiny star in his mouth. "I always wondered what it'd be like to bang a haughty bitch like you. Looks like tonight is my lucky night."
"If you even think about touching her, I will make it so that you never bang anything again," I drawled. "Not even in your dreams."
I might be on vacation, might be trying to keep a low profile, but nobody threatened my sister - nobody.
Pete looked over at me, his gaze taking in my sneakers, khakis, and long-sleeved T-shirt. He snorted, dismissing me as unimportant, and turned his attention back to Bria.
Trent kept staring at me, though, his dark eyes never leaving mine. He'd heard the cold promise in my voice and realized that I was just as dangerous as I claimed to be. Looked like the giant was a little smarter than his buddy was. I hoped he was smart enough to walk away and drag Pete along with him. I wasn't eager to get involved in things, but I would if necessary to protect Bria, myself, and even Callie. Despite my jealousy, I didn't want to see the other woman hurt, but that was clearly something Pete and Trent thought was on the menu tonight.
Pete pushed past Bria and Callie and ambled over to the bar with its sunken-boat top and polished brass railing. The bartender had planted himself at the far end of the long counter, next to the doors that led into the back of the restaurant. He stood there with the two waitresses, their faces tight, all of them clearly wishing that they were somewhere else. The diners remained frozen in their seats, forks and glasses halfway to their lips, scarcely daring to breathe, much less eat what remained of their food before it got cold.
Pete reached behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of gin, and ambled back over to Callie. He unscrewed the top and took a long, healthy swallow of the shimmering liquid before wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. Classy. He grinned at Callie, then whipped around and threw the bottle as hard as he could. It smashed into the mirror and the glass shelves behind the bar and exploded, causing several more bottles to fall off and break. Alcohol fumes filled the air, smelling as harsh and caustic as gasoline.