I tried Frank, but there was no answer. That was unusual for him, but then I remembered it was one of his son’s Little League nights. That was the only time Frank would allow himself the luxury of being incommunicado, even for a couple of hours. I left a message.
I snatched the phone when it rang.
“I not know where she is, but I think I know where to find out. I pick you up in front of de Raw Bar in twenty minutes. If you have friends, bring them.”
I knew the friends he was talking about . . . the ones that fired lead slugs . . . the ones that could kill a man.
The Harley was truly magnificent. More than a thousand pounds of chrome, black menace, and power. He revved the engine as I approached. It sounded like a small nuclear explosion. I straddled the rear seat and grabbed the sissy bars. She was slightly chopped and slung down toward the pavement, so the ride was a bit lumpy. We took off like a jet out of the Miami airport. I had a sudden urge to purchase a large life insurance policy, but we buzzed past the yacht broker’s office at about sixty. Within minutes, we were 100 yards from the Pier House. Hernando kicked down the bike stand and let the beast ease into a comfortable slant. I followed him past the main entrance and into a small alley with a service door that was propped open.
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It was time to head north, back to his penthouse in Miami. He’d done his work . . . gotten his pay. He’d already checked out at the desk so he could get a not too early start in the morning. Actually he was a little tired, but it’s like his mom always said, “busy hands are happy hands.” And he had been busy. He eyed the brief case on the sofa. It was fat . . . packed with dirty hundreds and a few twenties, just the way he liked it. No bars tonight. Maybe a little TV and a slump on the cushy mattress. He heard the knock on the door and the voice with the Hispanic accent.
“Room service.”
He hadn’t ordered anything. “Wrong room. Go away.”
“But senor, such a lovely bottle of champagne from your friends. It should not be wasted.”
Eric went to the door irate and insistent. “I told you, wetback, I didn’t order . . . “
T.K. kicked hard and the crack in the door spit open. Hernando shoved the surgeon in the chest with an iron hand. The man fell back with a thud into a white wicker easy chair. A sudden click and Hernando’s switchblade was gleaming against the would-be doctor’s throat.
“Okay,” he stuttered, “it’s a robbery. My wallet is on the bureau in the bedroom. Take it all, cash, credit cards . . . it’s yours.”
“Perhaps, amigo, we need something a bit more valuable.”
Eric seemed confused. The blade pressed into his neck. I had drawn my Taurus and pointed it at the man’s gut. I kept silent. Hernando was plenty scary all by himself. The stocky biker took a step back while I kept my barrel trained.
“This man have a lady. Your friends de Messageros take her. You have only to reveal to us where she is and your blood will remain in your body. But if you lie, I will slice you into small red chunks and feed you to the crabs in the harbor.”
Eric smoothed back the hair on his head with one pink hand and held up the other like a traffic cop.
“My friend, I am afraid you are mistaken. I know no such people, or this woman you talk about. I am simply here on vacation, soon to return to Miami to continue my profession.”
“Yes, senor. I know your profession. You are a butcher. You cut things up and distribute the parts that are valuable to you and others. But now you must be still.”
Eric obeyed.
Hernando unbuckled his belt and slipped it from the loops of his jeans. He approached the man and placed one end under the arm of the chair. He wrapped the leather once around the butcher’s forearm and twice around the wrist. He pulled it tight and locked it in place with the shiny silver buckle.
The surgeon struggled and flexed his fingers, but he could not move it. Hernando then gave me my instructions.
“Keep the pistol trained on him. If he moves shoot him in the belly.”
“Now Dr. Eric. Where is the girl? The one they call Sunny.”
“I told you I didn’t know.” Hernando eyed the silvery blade, tested it with his thumb. He grinned and nodded, then passed it in front of Eric’s face.
“Mucho sharp, no, doctor? Maybe even cut thru de bone. You should know. Tell me what you think.”
He placed the knife against the tops of the surgeon’s first two fingers where they met his right hand.
“Maybe I try.”
“If I tell you, they’ll kill me,” he whimpered.
“So will I, but first I must take my trophies.” He grinned and made a sawing motion just above the flesh.
“You fool. These are the hands of God. What God has wrought, let no man put asunder.”
Hernando laughed, “You give me bastard quote of de scripture, but I know your god. It is green and leafy, and it buy you all dat you desire. Perhaps you have a secret . . . maybe even know a way to take it with you.”
With his left hand, he forced the blade down onto the fingers and made a quick slice. There was cracking sound. The two digits hit the floor at almost the same time. Eric howled . . . and bled.
Hernando’s voice took on a sing-song quality, like a demented child taunting a wounded animal. Eric’s eyes darted between the fingers and the knife. His howling had become more guttural. Soon he would beg.
“Dis is your last chance, medico. Tell us where she is and we will leave here before you bleed out. You are de great surgeon. Maybe a man of your skill can even sew dem back. If you don’t . . . de next slice will be at your throat. You will choke to death on your own life’s gore.”
Eric froze, then stared again at the meat and bone soaking the carpet with thick blood.
“There is a place. Francisco uses it to keep things of value, things that no one else should see.”
Hernando hesitated for only seconds, then nodded and retrieved his belt. He wiped it on the surgeon’s shirt. He gave me a wild wave and headed for the door. I kept the .38 trained on the doctor as I eased it closed. The last thing I saw was him scrambling for the oozing red clumps of flesh.
Hernando’s thick legs bounded to the Harley. The sun was gone and the chill of darkness swallowed us. He fired up the monster and I vaulted onto the back.
Chapter Twenty-One
Frank reluctantly turned on his cell. His son had a made a nifty play at second base, leaping for the line-drive, stealing what would have been a crucial single from the other team’s top slugger. Then in the bottom of the seventh inning, his boy scored the winning run from third on a sacrifice fly. His wife was beaming with pride and Frank joined her as the opposing teams lined up for the final handshake. The detective . . . the former basketball star at FSU . . . was always into sportsmanship. It was a good lesson for the kids, and he’d always tried to instill the concept of respect and fair play in his own.
There were two messages on his voice mail. One from T.K. and another from a number that he didn’t recognize. Sunny missing? Shit. He hit speed dial, but no one answered T.K.’s phone. That was a bad thing.
He didn’t know the voice on the next one, but he noted the Hispanic accent.
“The blond one. Danger. An abandoned fisherman’s shack north of Stock Island. Be quick.”
He looked at his wife and shook his head. She whispered something. He thought it was “Be safe”. Another long night. He just hoped not one that ended in tragedy. He rushed to the unmarked, checked his Glock, and headed out of the parking lot. He knew the place. It had been under surveillance once before. He debated a call for backup, then decided to wait until he’d had a chance to scope the scene. Later he wished he had been a little smarter.
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Hernando tore through the streets on the Harley. He ran a couple of red lights. I held on with a death grip and tried to get as many deep breaths as possible. The bike bounced onto A1A and heade
d north. The speedometer rarely got below sixty and the engine shrieked and roared in alternating voices. The traffic was thinning out, and even in the glow of the full moon, the road got black and lonely. Suddenly Hernando laid back on the throttle and they eased to a stop. He walked the Harley as far to the side of the asphalt as possible, nestled it behind a mango, and kicked the stand into place. I had no idea where we were, but I thought he knew why. In the distance I caught the slight glow . . . a single naked bulb barely visible through the mass of palms and underbrush.
Hernando pulled a Sig Sauer .38 from under his leather vest. He wracked the slide and put the forefinger of his left hand to his lips to signal silence. Then he pointed to my hip. I sucked a breath, and palmed the Taurus. I followed as Hernando waded quietly through the brush.
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It was maybe ten minutes before we got close enough to really see anything. I got as close as I could to the window. The yellow light poured out it, illuminating the inside. My face froze at what I saw.
Sunny lay spread-eagled on a scarred single bed, her wrists bound to the posts. Her legs were apart, the ankles tied at the base. Her feet were bare and dirty in the bottoms. They had used a piece of old dock line and it chafed her wrists, but there was no trace of blood, at least not yet. She looked scared, but calm. I guessed they’d only roughed her up a bit. She didn’t seem to be hurt . . . maybe they hadn’t pawed her, but they would sooner, if not later. One of them sat on the edge, a knife brushing against her cheek. Francisco quickly flashed a fiery warning at the man. I could just make out the words.
“Not to frighten our honored guest. We must make her visit most exciting and filled with pleasure.”
I retreated back to the clump of hibiscus at the edge of the small clearing.
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The hair rose on her arms and the back of her neck. She shuddered and tried not to imagine what kind of pleasure he meant. Francisco had two of the uglier Messageros with him. Pedro and Anal resembled short sweating blocks of brown granite, grinning through their drooping moustaches, passing a joint, and spitting out floods of Spanish. She couldn’t make out most of it, but the tone was angry and aggressive. It reeked of violence. In the corner of the shack was what looked like an AR-15 standing at attention like a sulking soldier anxious for orders.
Hernando and I waited. Any subsequent approach meant putting ourselves in plain view of the short porch that fronted the ramshackle structure. As silently as possible, Hernando placed a scarred boot past the edge of the bushes. The sandy soil made a crunching sound as he planted his foot. I crouched close behind him.
He took one more step. Then the clattering burst. I could see the outline of the barrel barely poking from the crack in the door. But it was done. Hernando lay on his back, his right arm extended, and the Sig inches away, the barrel buried in the soft sand. His face had already gone pale, but his hand seemed to beckon, the palm pleading for a final blessing. His belly was opened up like a slaughtered pig. He had taken several rounds, but one was through the neck and one that had taken the side of his head off. The soft sand soaked up the thick blood as quickly as it came. He was as still as a corpse, and that’s exactly what he was. The man was dead. Then the silence. Now a voice.
“Dr. Fleming. You come out now. Leave your pistol on de ground. Your woman in here. She is safe. I think she wish to speak with you.”
I had no choice. I did as he commanded. I was certain I was walking to my execution, but I did have something up my sleeve. I only hoped I’d get a chance to use it . . . and that it might save Sunny.
The boards on the weathered porch creaked my arrival. In the dim light, my eyes immediately went to her. She looked better than I expected, a swollen lip and a couple of bruises on her cheek, but nothing more that I could detect. She managed a thin smile and sucked at her bleeding mouth. I didn’t expect much time to assess the situation. I saw a web of plastic ties on the table. Soon at least a few of them would be around my wrists. I only had two rounds in the derringer. There were three of them and I could see the hand guns bulging at each of their belts.
“Okay, you’ve got me. Let the woman go.”
“Yes, Dr. Fleming. We do have you. But let me not be rude. Actually Francisco would let you both go, but I fear your blasphemous tongues. A promise of silence would be false . . . merely the way to buy the time to sic your detective friend on the Messageros. Then we must kill him also. Bad for business, this killing a federale. Our skilled surgeon already make this mistake. I know he has paid a dear price. Two times, I hear. You know . . . news travel fast in the Keys. Unfortunate, but no problem, he was getting mucho expensive. As for de traitor, Hernando, he get what he deserve along with his junkie slut . . . although she did have her uses, eh muchachos?”
He grabbed his crotch and laughed. Pedro and Anal nodded appreciatively.
“Okay, so kill us. At least have the decency to make it quick. Then you can get on with your business of butchering the defenseless, and savaging your own people with drugs and cheap illegal sex.”
“Oh, Doctor, you are most entertaining. Cherish your foolish sense of morality. Tell yourself dis thing you value truly exists . . . tell us man is noble . . . created in the image of de loving God. Hold it to your heart. Then take it to your grave. You give Fernando a good chuckle.”
He looked at his two blocks of granite and raised his eyebrows. One of them passed the joint to the other and burst into a booming growl. They shook together like whimsical, but malevolent, thunder.
“Tell me dis, amigo. If not us, then who? When I am dead . . . another will take my place within days. It does not stop. De hunger for our goods goes on . . . it is just a question of who satisfy it. Why not the Messageros? Business is strong. We create jobs, stimulate the economy. Just like all of your honorable politicians. So what is wrong with dis?”
I choked back the rage and tried one more time.
“She knows nothing. Let her go. When I am gone she will leave the Keys. You will be free to conduct your ‘business’ without interference.”
“You know, Doctor, you are so sincere. Francisco is thinking about granting your request. Pedro, release her hands and feet. Let Dr. Fleming see her as a free woman. It may be de last thing he ever sees.”
The man looked twice at his capitan and shook his head. Francisco gritted his teeth in a snarl and pointed. Then Pedro lumbered beside Sunny and cut her bonds. He clutched the knife in his hand and stepped around in front of her. He knelt and clipped the rope around each of her ankles. Then he glanced to collect the approval of his warlord. She sat up on the edge of the bed. That’s when Sunny struck.
She buried her right fist in his balls, withdrew it in a flash, and hammered again while the dark man gasped for breath and crumbled to the floor. She grabbed the knife and turned toward Francisco. Meanwhile, Anal had snatched the AR-15. He fired a burst into the back wall of the shack. The wood splintered and Sunny froze.
Francisco’s face was a mask. He might as well have been watching an old Vin Diesel movie. His voice was controlled and demonstratively unconcerned.
“Ah, the lady is quick . . . or perhaps Pedro is too slow. I must council him on the necessity of ignoring orders when dey make little sense. But all is well. It is time for us to walk out into the night. There is the moon . . . , and a nice little swamp. The gators be very hungry by now.”
Anal waved the barrel of the AR to remind us. It wasn’t necessary. We exited the door and I saw the body of Hernando barely leaking the last of his life’s blood, and the Sig that lay near his dead hand. It was too far. I would never make more than a few steps and Anal would open me up like ripe fruit. Sunny would be next. Francisco followed us out. Pedro was still writhing, whining, probably wondering if his dick would ever work again.
We were down the steps and onto the sand when I heard a popping sound in the distance. At first I thought it might b
e small rounds from an automatic, but then I saw the moon reflecting the cloud of dust that was growing.
A crotch rocket with two passengers slid to a stop. Carlos . . . and Vee on the seat behind him.
“Ah,” Francisco cooed, “it is my esteemed brother, another man of God, riding up on his white steed to save the day. Welcome, compadre. You are just in time to see de feeding.”
Anal clutched the AR, finger on the trigger. He waved it in a menacing arc, a hellish smile on his lips. Carlos approached slowly while Vee stood motionless next to the bike.
“Francisco. You must not do dis thing. There is still time. Take your riders and head north. I will give you two days to exit the Keys. Take your money. Get lost in Florida and set your operation in motion in a place where no one knows who, and what, you are. I grant you dis as my brother.”
“You are de king of fools, Carlos. You can grant nothing.”
“Francisco, my despised blood, you bear the mark of Cain . . . a dealer in death . . . to your people and to our sister. You stink of evil.”
“Ah, my foolish brother. I grieve for Carmen. It was not as I intended, but she is gone, and part of her lives on in others. It was written. We must accept it and go on.”
Carlos was now close. Francisco held his hand up, looked at Anal, and shook his head. Anal understood, but he continued to wave the deadly weapon, focusing for a moment on us, then back to Carlos. Carlos stepped forward and pushed his brother violently in the chest. The man stumbled for a moment, then grabbed his twin and spun him around. Anal watched and waited. It was my chance.
“Sunny. To the ground,” I shouted.
Then I flexed my right forearm. The derringer slid into my hand. I dove and fired. The .22 hollow point snapped into Anal’s kneecap. It seemed to explode and the man screamed like a wounded panther. He hit the sand and grasped the bloody pulp. Sunny scrambled for the Sig.
I bounded up and pointed the small pistol at the two before me.
“Kill him. He is my brother, but he is de devil. He must die.” the man commanded.
“Wait. I am Carlos. He lies. I show you.”