Dead Man Walker by Duffy Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

stuff going on.”
    Joey licked sauce off his thumb. “A brother valets at Olde Harbor Inn. A high roller from Charleston staying on the premises got the hots to buy the place, Conway not selling. If this dude knocked off Conway that put sonny boy, Tucker, in the driver’s seat. Sonny boy be liking sailboats, not putting mints on pillows. He’d sell to Charleston before his daddy get a proper tombstone. Maybe this guy knocked off Conway?”
    I stopped a chicken leg halfway to my mouth. “Charleston? Is the guy Grayden Russell?”
    â€œYou tight?” Big Joey handed me a napkin.
    â€œHe’s after the Tybee Island theater. I told him it wasn’t happening. Eliminate Conway and Russell gets the inn. Get rid of me and it’s a warning to the rest of the theater committee to sell him the theater or else.” I glanced at Big Joey over my green beans. “Why the inn
and
the theater? There are other properties for sale in Savannah and on the island. What’s this guy into?”
    â€œWe got intrigue.” Joey finished off his chicken. “We need face time with Russell.”
    â€œWe?”
    â€œThe valet’s my man, and Reagan have my head if I don’t keep watch, and for the record that be Joseph Jefferson.”
    â€œWho’s Joseph Jefferson?” I asked as we shoved our debris in the bag and I popped a cinnamon Altoid to offset barbecue breath.
    Big Joey stuck out his chest and pointed to himself, a big toothy grin on his face. “Stellar baby name when needed. Just saying.”

Chapter Six
    Olde Harbor Inn’s maroon awnings flapped in the breeze, the cream stucco facade bright against the blue sky. The inn sat at the end of Factors Walk, a long row of brick building sandwiched between Bay Street and River Street and overlooking the Savannah River. Joey parked and we took one of the short footbridges with metal grating that spanned the narrow stone street below, where back in the day wagons laden with mounds of cotton passed and factors called out bids from above.
    â€œYo,” the young valet dressed in maroon slacks and cream vest called out to Big Joey. Not the usual greeting to a guest, meaning he and Joey were close, probably a new Seventeenth Street kid. The Seventeenth Street boys weren’t saints by any stretch, but they kept guns away from schools, parks, and tourists, and drugs off the street—something cops could never do by themselves. Seventeenth took care of their own and saved more than one kid around here, I knew that firsthand.
    â€œRussell’s hanging by the docks,” Big Joey said after talking with the valet and straightening the kid’s tie. “Likes water.”
    We cut through the Olde Harbor Inn to get from the street side to the water side. The hallways were done in a ship motif with whitewashed planking, vintage brass lanterns. and pictures of square-riggers that once docked right outside. The man at the reception desk nodded to Joey as we exited onto River Street, a big cargo tanker chugging down the Savannah toward open sea.
    Throngs of tourists clogged the sidewalks, wandering in and out of shops, restaurants, and bars. Some ate pralines from Savannah Sweets, others ice cream from Leopold’s. A horse and carriage clip-clopped by and the paddle wheel of the
Savannah River Queen
turned, splashing water skyward, droplets sparkling in the sun. Smiling vacationers lined the railings, waving to those onshore, the boat giving out one long horn blast to signal departure.
    â€œThere’s our man,” I said, pointing to Russell at the dock. “Guess he really does like water.”
    â€œBoone,” Russell sneered when he spotted me. “Change your position on the Tybee Island thea—” Russell stopped dead and swallowed the rest of the word when Big Joey pulled up next to me. Big Joey had that kind of effect of people.
    â€œHear you want the Olde Harbor,” I said, nodding to