Lost in Paradise

By Wade Cox

Lee Gibson has problems. He's a traumatized and wounded war vet, he's an alcoholic, and being a private detective looked a lot better in the brochure. He hasn't had a real case in quite a while. Enter his saving grace, Maggie, who comes to him in desperation with a missing persons case.

She wants him to locate a missing computer hacker but is tight-lipped about why he disappeared, where he's disappeared, or what he's running from.

Lee's search will lead him to a family member who will get Lee personally involved in the case. She points the way to begin his hunt, which will take him from the urban decay of Orlando, Florida, to the steamy jungles of Central America.

All the time, the "bad guys" are hunting too. They figure the best way to track down their prey is to latch onto people who are already looking for him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887638973

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1: New Beginnings

Chapter 2: A Job?

Chapter 3: The Oily Dragon

Chapter 4: Lorelei

Chapter 5: The City Beautiful

Chapter 6: Lunch with Maggie

Chapter 7: Take Two and Call Me in the Morning

Chapter 8: The Mafia Strikes Back

Chapter 9: Moving Right Along

Chapter 10: Southern Comfort

Chapter 11: Belizean Blues

Chapter 12: A Bump in the Carpet

Chapter 13: Another Lonesome Night

Chapter 14: Finally, A Hit

Chapter 15: A Missing Hacker

Chapter 16: Riding to the Rescue, Part 1

Chapter 17: Gathering Their Strength

Chapter 18: The Pieces Are in Place

Chapter 19: Riding to the Rescue, Part 2

Chapter 20: Going Home

Chapter 21: Mexican for Dinner

Chapter 22: Travel Reboot

Chapter 23: Hogar, Dulce Hogar

Chapter 24: Aftermath

About the Author

cover.jpg

Lost in Paradise

Wade Cox

Copyright © 2023 Wade Cox

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-88763-896-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88763-897-3 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

For my family for their unwavering support of me

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I want to show my appreciation to the patrons and staff of The Alley Blues Bar in Sanford, Florida. I was a patron of this bar for many years, and the staff and clientele have always supported me in my efforts. I have used them as a sounding board, filming location, and source of inspiration. I made many wonderful friends there and would like to dedicate this book to them.

Secondly, the main character of this book is Lee Gibson. He is a veteran of the US Army's war on terror, having served in Afghanistan. Many brave men and women have served this cause over the years. Some of them came back whole; some did not. War, in any guise, changes people, and usually not for the better. My main character is traumatized by his service to his country and, like everybody who served over there, did not come back the same person he left as. I have the greatest respect for our men and women in uniform and dedicate this book to them.

One of Lee's faults that he's picked up since his time in the military is alcoholism. It's easier than you think to slide from a casual substance user into an addict. Addiction is a horrible disease that destroys not only the addict's life but the lives of those around them. Help is available; someone just has to want it and realize that they need it. To all those with substance use disorder, I dedicate this book.

Chapter 1

New Beginnings

Lee worked a case one time where he followed this guy for his wife. She suspected her husband of cheating. He was, and when she found out, she tried to leave him. He beat her to death. She was three months pregnant at the time. After that, Lee swore off divorce work, yet here he was doing it again.

This time, a client had him following her husband because she suspected him of cheating too—just like the last one. Before he'd agreed to take the case, he made sure to ask her if he was ever abusive. He certainly didn't want this one ending up with a dead client. She said he wasn't physically abusive, but he was emotionally abusive. Great. That made him feel so much better.

That night, Lee had followed him to a little club in Sanford, Florida, called The Alley Blues Bar. They've got a barbecue joint attached to them. He was hungry, so Lee thought he would get some dinner while he waited for the show. It was worth the price. Damn good corn bread too.

Through the sliding door and into the club he felt right at home. To his left, there was a wheelchair ramp leading down to the main floor. Several tables packed the area but left room for a decent-sized dance floor in front of the small stage. One more step down, and you were walking to the bar. It was like this place had a split personality. On the other side of the room, the walls were painted a dark green, but on this side, off-white walls were covered in graffiti of every description. Several dollar bills hung from the ceiling. Three women worked the bar, and there were some tables on this side too.

As long as he was in a bar following a client, there would be nothing wrong with having a drink or six on duty. After all, he had to blend in, right? Rum and Coke was the poison for him. Lee walked up to the bar and, after waiting for five minutes, got the attention of one of the bartenders. She hooked him up with a decent drink and started a tab for him.

At 8:00 p.m., the band hit the small stage. It was a blues rock band called Doc Fu and the Soul Surgeons. Good music. Lee noticed that the lead guitarist didn't use a pick, he fingerpicked everything. He was damned good too.

Four songs in, and already two drinks deep, his client's husband, a Mr. Derek Frye, sat down at a table full of young women and started talking to them. Halfway through the fifth song, he led one of them out on the dance floor. Lee pulled out his phone and pretended that he was recording the band but snapped a couple of pictures of Derek getting very friendly with his new companion.

Ten minutes to eleven. Derek decided to leave the bar with his flavor of the night. When he put his hand on her back, Lee noticed that he wasn't wearing his wedding ring. Anyway, he saw them inching their way toward the door, so he figured he'd better pay his tab.

He hurried up to the bar to settle up, but both bartenders were busy with customers, serving drinks and taking food orders before the kitchen closed at midnight. Lee rapped his silicon-cloaked prosthetic left hand on the bar to get their attention. One of the three bartenders came over with a scowl on her face. Don't do that, she said. I guess you want your tab.

Lee nodded affirmatively. He did get his tab paid and left a healthy tip just in time to see his mark and the girl head out the door. Quickening his pace, Lee made it out the door just after them.

They turned right and walked in the direction of the airport, but then disappeared around a corner a block ahead of him. Lee tried to catch up in a way that wouldn't make it too obvious that he was following them, but then again, Lee was pretty drunk and was making more of a spectacle of himself than he would have liked.

Eventually, he made it to the block they had turned on, and as soon as he rounded it, he got rewarded with a fist crashing into his face. What the hell are you doing following me?!

Lee don't know what was worse, the pain of the fist slamming his face or the ringing that seemed to consume his whole skull. It took a minute for the words to even register. Then he said the first thing that came to his mind. Why did you hit me? I'm not following you, man. We're just going the same way.

Bullshit. You've been on me all night. Did my bitch-whore wife put you up to this?

Lee finally recovered his senses. Who the hell is your wife? Hell, man, I don't even know who you are.

You're not a very good liar. I think you're a detective, and I think my wife hired you to follow me and see if I'm screwing around on her. Well, guess what. I am. There, are you satisfied? But that's not something you're going to be able to do anything about.

Another fist…this one in the midsection. Instantly, all the wind Lee thought he owned ran away from his body. He hit his knees, gasping for air. Derek's girlfriend just stood there. She didn't scream at her man to stop or try to hinder him in any way. He just started pummeling him. Lee didn't even have a chance to fight back. All of Lee's military training went right out the proverbial window.

The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was Derek reaching into his shorts pocket for his cell phone. When he found it, he threw it on the sidewalk and stomped on it, smashing it to bits. Then everything went black.

Lee woke up on that sidewalk an hour later, shivering from the cold, wet from that night's rain, and feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. He dropped the case the next day.

Six months later

Orlando, Florida, USA

The street was dark right in front of the club, the Oily Dragon. Streetlights shone up and down the road, but the light right in front of the club had been smashed out, lucky for Roach.

Standing behind a dumpster on the other side of the street, he watched people go in. Several times, he checked his watch. Nobody matching the description of the woman he was supposed to meet was going in.

Finally, he did see somebody at the door that he recognized. It was definitely not somebody he wanted to run into. This was a massive bald man with a goatee, a dark-blue suit, and a big scar on the back of his skull. Best not get tangled up in that mess. The outside of the place was crawling with Russians.

Roach grabbed for the red-and-black laptop bag that he had set at his feet. It was still there, so he picked it up and walked to the bus stop. Unfortunately for him, the bus stop was well lit, but he figured it wouldn't attract too much attention for a Black man to be at the bus stop at this time of night. Besides, if he hurried, he could make it before the next bus, and he would only have to be there for a few minutes.

The bus showed up right on schedule, and Roach climbed aboard and sat in the front since there was hardly anybody else on board. The driver was an elderly white man who seemed friendly enough. Since there were no other passengers besides the two teens in the back, he talked to Roach. Roach was tired but kept up the conversation just to avoid attracting attention to himself.

When he got to his stop, he told the bus driver thanks for the ride and the chat and got off, with nobody the wiser that he carried something extremely valuable—something people would kill for.

At 10:00 p.m., Roach walked the four blocks to his apartment and walked in. Quickly he packed a large black duffel bag with what he would need for an extended trip. Then he locked up his apartment and walked out with his black duffel bag and his laptop bag.

Just as he exited his apartment building, he glanced around in the darkness with his head on a swivel. He knew the Russians were out there, and they were looking for him. It was just too dangerous to come in from the cold yet. Dangerous for him and everybody he loved.

There was an Amtrak station about a mile away, and Roach started walking in that direction. When he'd made it halfway there, he glanced around again to see if he was being followed. He wasn't…at least he didn't think he was. A pit-faced, acne-scarred young man with a pair of brass earrings that had no doubt been sold to their owner as fourteen-karat gold graced his ears.

He told the pit-faced kid named Steven that he wanted a ticket for the next train to Tampa. Steven happily sold him a ticket and said that there was a train leaving in less than an hour. Roach agreed that was fine and sat down in the station to wait.

The station was clean and well lit, with large white tiles on the floor and navy-blue plastic seats bolted in for good measure. There was one other couple in the lobby when he got there, but slowly and steadily, more trickled in as the time ticked down.

Finally, the time came to board, and the lobby was almost full to overflowing. Slowly everyone filtered out onto the platform with tickets in hand. Boarding was not difficult, just time-consuming, and as Roach got on, he took one last glance around to see that nobody was following.

*****

Lee stood at the bar of his favorite local blues joint—Claudia's Blues Café. He didn't have to wait long as a woman with blue hair and piercings all over her face finished wiping down the bar top and threw the rag in the sink. Hey, Marcie. Can I get another Rum and Coke?

Sure thing, Lee.

He was already six drinks in, and this one would probably put him over the edge. It did the trick, and he was hammered. Not stupid enough to try to drive again, he pulled out his phone and called an Uber. Within a few minutes, it showed up and took him home.

Lee was sleeping peacefully one minute, then the next, he sat straight up in his bed and screamed, fresh from a nightmare. He'd been waking up screaming for years. For some vets, the war is never over.

It was morning already…damned hangovers.

As Lee's eyes fluttered open and squinted against the harshness of the Orlando daylight, he thought to himself that even though business had been in the crapper lately, he might as well go to the office. He hadn't been there for a few days, so he needed to check in. Even though nothing had come through on his email or phone, he might have some business waiting.

Unfortunately for Lee, his head felt like it was three feet thick and pulsating. Getting out of bed was an Olympic-level chore…He just didn't want to compete against the Jamaican runners. He showered, but it only helped a little. Shaving would just have to wait until he returned to fairly normal. At least he remembered the aspirin and his nerve pills. It's no easy trick to