“I’m considering it.”
“I’ve got a pair of pliers. We can pull the damn thing.”
He gave me a look.
“Maybe you should get a second opinion.”
“They’re just going to tell me the same thing. Besides, she’s supposed to be one of the best on the island.” He changed the subject. “We need to talk to Harvey. He’s thinking about selling Sonic Temple.”
The music venue had turned into a pile of rubble after our last adventure.
"You should buy the place," I said to JD.
"As a whiskey distributor, I can't buy the place. But you can.”
"I've already got one restaurant and bar, and that's enough to manage.”
"This isn’t a restaurant. It's just a bar. With a hell of a sound system." Jack's eyes filled with awe and wonder. “Just think of the possibilities. We can make it the premier music venue on the planet. I'm talking massive sound system, luxury appointments, a proper green room for artists, not to mention top-shelf liquor. Think about it. Wild Fury can be the house act. We'll pack that place all the time."
"Don't want to oversaturate the market.”
Jack's face crinkled. "People can't get enough of Wild Fury. We’re not going tooversaturatethe market. We’ll bring in other acts. Wild Fury will play once a month. The band will take special engagements here and there. Maybe throw in some tour dates out of town. Something to think about.”
I pondered it. "I'll talk to Harvey. You know what he wants for the place?”
"I can't imagine much. It's a pile of dirt right now. Last time I talked to him, he didn't want the hassle or expense of rebuilding it.”
"Maybe because he wasn't making any money.”
Jack dismissed the notion. "Nonsense. That place is packed every weekend.”
I considered it. "I'll talk to him, look at the books, see if it makes sense.”
"It makes sense," Jack assured.
“It would be kind of cool.”
"We could work on bringing in more national acts. We could definitely make it the premier destination in the region.”
I had to admit, it wasn’t a terrible idea.
JD and I made our way out to the parking lot and climbed into the Porsche. We headed over to the hospital to check on the cardiac patient from last night.
Since he was involved in an ongoing criminal investigation, the receptionist gave us his name and told us he had been discharged, but that’s all she would say.
I looked up the guy through the online portal and found his address. To my surprise, he didn’t live in Stingray Bay, Palm Haven, or the Platinum Dunes. His address of record was listed at the Pirates’ Cove Marina. He lived aboard a 40-foot SunVision sailboat registered in his name.
JD and I headed over to the marina and strolled the dock, looking for the boat. It was a late model with a dual helm station, a hardtop, stainless steel barbecue grill with a propane tank, allthe latest tech and gadgets. A nice boat, no doubt, but not a multimillion-dollar yacht. Not a boat I would have expected for a guy who attended charity auctions with $40 million in jewelry.
I banged on the stern of the Calypso and shouted, "Coconut County!”
Commotion stirred below deck. A few moments later, a gentleman poked his head through the hatch and looked at us with curious eyes. He was late 60s with silver hair, a narrow face, a long nose, and sun-drenched skin. He spent a lot of leisure time on the boat, that was certain.
"Rick Rawlins," I said, flashing my badge. "I'm Deputy Wild, this is Deputy Donovan. How are you feeling?"
He smiled. “I feel like a new man.”
"You weren’t looking so good last night.”
