It’s done.
My legs suddenly feel wobbly, and I drop onto the bed. The sour taste of bile is in my mouth. My breathing’s rapid and shallow. The ache in my left arm is turning into a throb. I ignore it. Keep staring at my cellphone, waiting for a reply from Luciano.
‘Did it work?’
I turn towards the bathroom. North’s standing in the doorway, scrubbing a wet flannel against his face.
‘No reply yet.’
‘Hope I didn’t have to get covered in ketchup for nothing.’
It’d been all we could get in the few minutes left before the hour ran out. The only red sauce in the vending machine was ketchup so that’s what we watered down and used for blood. It was pretty amateur – wouldn’t be convincing in real life for sure, but on a photo, with a filter that made North look even paler, by my reckoning it was just about passable. ‘You get cleaned up okay?’
‘Mostly.’ North disappears back into the bathroom.
My cellphone beeps. It’s a message from Luciano: Send me a video of you shooting North’s body again. Do that and I’ll believe you.
Heat flushes through me. We’re screwed. ‘Luciano wants me to shoot a bullet into your body to prove you’re dead.’
Cussing, North walks back into the room and sits on his bed.
‘We need a way out of this.’
North looks thoughtful. ‘I’ve got an idea. Tell Luciano you’re bringing me back to the compound so he can prove to the Old Man I’m a traitor and then execute me in front of him.’
‘That could work. The Old Man does like an eye for an eye.’ I cock my head to one side. Blink twice to stop the room from spinning. The throbbing in my left arm is getting worse. ‘But why would you let me take you back there willingly?’
He holds my gaze. ‘I’ve got something on Luciano that the Old Man will find interesting. I’m hopeful that, once we’re back, I’ll be able to get him to see reason.’
‘And me – my family?’
‘You said the job the Old Man asked you to do was bust me out of federal custody and bring me back to the compound. You’ll have done exactly what he asked of you – your job will be done.’
I think on it for a long moment, then nod. ‘Okay.’
Dialling Luciano’s number, I make the call. It goes straight to voicemail so I leave a message. Keep my tone no-nonsense as I lay out what will happen. I don’t ask permission; I don’t apologise. It’s not perfect, and the gnawing fear growing in my belly is due to the fact that Dakota and JT will still be targets until we arrive back at the compound and speak to the Old Man, but it’s the only plan I have for now.
I look back at North. ‘It’s done.’
He’s frowning, staring at the television. ‘Goddamn.’
I turn to look at the news channel. The sound’s muted but I don’t need to hear the commentary to realise that the faces on screen are mine and North’s. They’re hunting us both now. It’s worse than JT said.
As I watch, our pictures disappear and a blond man in a dark suit takes their place. He’s outside the Hampton Lodge crime scene, being interviewed by a reporter. On the screen the caption reads: Special Agent Jackson Peters.
Grabbing the remote, I unmute the sound.
‘…the fugitives at large are armed and extremely dangerous. If you see them, do not approach. Call us on the number on your screen and stay at a safe distance. I repeat: do not approach them.’
Jackson Peters looks more like a movie star than an FBI agent. I’d guess he’s in his mid-thirties. Tall, with short blond hair and the kind of smile that makes you want to trust him.
‘Our fugitives are Carlton North and Lori Anderson.’ Agent Jackson Peters looks straight at the camera. ‘And rest assured that we will do everything in our power to bring them in.’
Shit. Snatching my cellphone from the bed, I switch it off and take out the battery. If they’ve IDed me they’ll be fast as flies on shit to get a trace on my cell. I look at North. ‘You got a cell on you?’
‘I left everything in the room at Hampton Lodge. There was no time after Luciano’s men took out the lights.’
I decide not to go telling him that I overloaded a power socket and made the electrics cut out. ‘So the FBI and cops have your cellphone?’
‘Yeah. My wallet too.’
I can’t use my credit cards now they’re onto me. I’ve got a few hundred bucks in my go bag, but that’s not going to get us far. I gaze at my disassembled cell. I can’t contact JT on it, can’t talk to Monroe that way either, and if Luciano tries to contact me he won’t have any joy. From here on out me and North are off the grid and on our own.
‘We need to get out of here. Hitch a ride with one of the truckers and get back to Miami.’
North’s frown deepens. ‘And how is that going to work, Lori? Our pictures will be on every news channel. We’ll get recognised and sold out to the cops in no time.’
Standing up, I start packing my stuff back into my go bag. My head’s banging. My heart’s racing. It feels like there’s a Taser firing electricity through my left arm. The room seems to whirl around me. Putting a hand on the bed to steady myself, I glare at North. ‘So what do you suggest?’
As he starts speaking my legs buckle and everything fades to black.
29
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 21st, 11:09
I feel like I’m floating. My eyes are closed but colours dart across the inside of my eyelids like technicolour strobe lights; pink and blue and green. They move faster, dancing around each other, dazzling me. I feel like I’m about to be sick.
‘Hey. You okay?’
My mouth’s dry and my throat is sore. My voice comes out in a croak. ‘North?’
‘Right here.’
I blink open my eyes. The sunlight feels like needles stabbing into my retinas. My surroundings come into focus. I’m in a car, and North’s driving. The highway ahead of us isn’t one I recognise. ‘Whose car is this?’
North shrugs.
We pass a turn. The sign says we’re three miles from Woodville. ‘Where the hell is Woodville?’
‘About three miles away.’
‘Don’t be such a smartass.’ I’m sweating and my left arm feels boiling hot and leaden. ‘Where the hell are we going?’
‘Tallahassee.’
I frown, feel groggy … on go-slow. ‘Tallahassee … but…’
‘We need to get you fixed up.’
I shake my head. The movement makes me feel like I’m going to vomit. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Yeah, sure looked that way when your eyes rolled back into your head and you keeled over.’ He turns to look at me, a stern expression on his face. ‘You should have told me you’d been shot.’
I grit my teeth. ‘It’s a through-and-through. I was dealing with it.’
‘I saw that. You patched yourself up, but you’ve lost a lot of blood, and not had enough water. You need proper medical attention.’
The throbbing in my arm is intense. The pressure is growing and it feels like my flesh is going to burst clear out of my skin. But still I don’t want to admit that North is right. Dakota and JT are at risk – I have to finish this job and get the Old Man to make Luciano call off his dogs.
‘Tallahassee’s the wrong way, we need to go to Miami, we can’t—’
‘We can’t do anything until you’ve had medical help.’
Every bump in the road is making my stomach flip. It’s true that I’m in no kind of state to face down the Old Man and Luciano, but I sure do hate it that North’s talking sense. ‘Why Tallahassee?’
‘I’ve got a friend there who can help.’
‘But Luciano…’ My mind feels slower than molasses in winter. Black spots dance across my vision. Through the windshield the road ahead of us seems to tilt.
‘The Old Man is on his pilgrimage into the wild country, so he’s not at the house right now. You’ve got time to get right. Then we’ll go back to Miami. Trust me, I’ve got this.’
Trust
me, he says; but can I really? As my eyes start to close and I feel the blackness taking hold again, I think of Dakota and JT, and I hope to hell they’re free and clear of the heavies Luciano had watching them.
30
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 21st, 11:10
JT pulls off the road at the sign that reads Deep Blue Marina – orange script against a bright-blue background; the smiling fish pointing towards the words looking just as Lori had described it. He steers the Mustang across the lot, looking for a place to park. He needs someplace he can tuck it in behind a bigger vehicle – something large enough to screen it from the road and any eyes scouting them out for Luciano.
There’s not a whole lot of choice; the only half-decent spot is between a medium-sized RV and the high wire fence at the far corner. The RV has a dirty windshield and one of the tyres is almost flat. He’s guessing it doesn’t get taken out often, and right now that’s a good thing. Less good is that it’s been parked over the edge of the bay, cramping the space into which to squeeze the Mustang.
Pulling forwards, he sticks her into reverse and eases her backwards. It’s tight, but they fit. Just. It makes getting out a bit of a drama. In the end the window is the best option.
Dakota giggles as she climbs free of the car. As JT pulls their rucksacks through the window and then winds it back up, she turns to him. ‘Where are we?’
‘Near Tampa.’
‘Are we going to the beach?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not exactly. We’re visiting with a friend of your momma’s.’
Dakota looks at him all suspicious. ‘If a friend of Momma lives here, how come I’ve never been here before?’
‘I don’t know.’ JT says, giving what he hopes is a reassuring smile. ‘But you’re getting to visit now.’
They walk across the gravel lot to the white security hut. JT’s surprised that it’s empty but also relieved. It means he won’t have to sign the guest register and leave a record of their visit.
Continuing past the hut, they stride onto a wooden walkway flanked on both sides by boats. He can smell the salt on the air as the water laps at their sides. The marina seems to cater more for houseboat dwellers and Florida residents with smaller yachts; there are only a few big vacation boats, and none of the millionaire cruisers you see in the marinas around Miami.
Dakota frowns. ‘Are we going on a boat?’
‘Could be,’ JT says.
Taking her hand, he follows the directions Lori gave him to the end of the jetty furthest from the marina entrance. He stops outside the houseboat with the gleaming green and gold livery. This is it, just as she described. He hopes her judgement of the boat’s owner is as accurate.
Stepping onto the boat, JT raps twice on the door to the cabin then steps back onto the jetty and waits.
‘Who lives here?’ Dakota asks.
‘Your momma’s friend.’
‘Who are—?’
The door of the cabin opens. An older guy, barefoot and wearing sun-faded jeans and a black tee, steps out onto the deck. JT appraises him a moment; he’s fit and rugged with a deep tan and silver-streaked hair; he fits the description Lori gave.
‘Are you Red?’
The man looks from JT to Dakota and back again. His tone is guarded. ‘That depends on who’s asking?’
‘I’m James Tate – JT – and this is my daughter, Dakota. Lori said you’re a person who can be trusted in a crisis.’
‘Could be that I am. Where’s Lori?’
JT gives a little shake of his head and glances towards Dakota. He doesn’t want to get into specifics right now. ‘Handling the crisis.’
Red nods. ‘I understand that.’ He glances along the walkway then looks back at JT and Dakota. ‘Well, I guess you’d better both come on board.’
Holding his hand out to Dakota, Red helps her aboard. JT follows, watching how she’s doing. The last time she was on a boat it nearly sank. He’s amazed she doesn’t seem fazed by getting onto one again. He guesses kids are just a whole lot more resilient than most adults give them credit for.
‘Take a seat,’ Red says, gesturing to the padded bench seats that run around the side of the deck. ‘Can I fix the pair of you a drink? Coffee, sweet tea?’ He looks at JT. ‘A beer?’
Dakota glances at JT, seemingly overcome with shyness. JT answers for her. ‘Coffee would be great. Dakota’ll have an iced sweet tea if you’ve got it.’
‘For sure,’ Red says. ‘Make yourselves at home, I’ll just be a moment.’
As Red disappears back into the cabin, JT puts his hand on Dakota’s shoulder. ‘You okay?’
She looks up at him. Bites her lip. ‘This man, he’s one of the good guys?’
JT smiles. ‘Your momma says he is, and she’s known him a lot of years. Says we can trust him.’
Dakota smiles. ‘Okay.’ She looks out into the ocean and points towards the horizon. ‘It looks like it goes on forever.’
‘Not quite forever, but a long ways across the gulf to Mexico.’
‘Cool,’ Dakota says, her voice animated, her worry forgotten. ‘My friend Alejandra’s grandma moved here from Mexico.’
JT smiles. Tries to act normal. Doesn’t want to let on to Dakota just how much danger they could be in, and the fact that if Lori can’t finish the job she’s on to the mob’s satisfaction, they’ll have to skip town and Dakota won’t be seeing her friend ever again.
‘Here we go.’ Red steps back onto the deck, carrying a tray with two iced teas and a coffee. Setting the tray down on the bench seat, he hands the coffee to JT and one of the iced teas to Dakota. ‘I thought you’d like a straw.’
She grins. ‘Thank you, Mr Red.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Sitting down on the bench seat opposite, Red takes a sip of his iced tea then looks at JT. ‘So what kind of help is it you’re looking for?’
JT appreciates the guy’s directness. He’s never one for small talk himself. ‘We need a place to hide out until the job Lori’s on is done.’
Red looks from JT to Dakota. Leaning forwards towards her, he smiles as he says, ‘Honey, you want to go and explore inside the boat while I have a little chat with JT?’
Dakota looks unsure.
‘It’s okay,’ JT says, giving her a reassuring smile. ‘You go ahead.’
Red waits until Dakota has disappeared through the cabin door before speaking again. He takes another sip of iced tea, then rubs his hand across his face. ‘You know what happened last time I helped Lori, right?’
‘She said there was a bit of trouble.’
Red laughs, and shakes his head. ‘That’s one way to describe it. The Old Man’s heavies beat on me pretty bad. Only left me breathing so I could deliver a message to Lori.’
JT frowns. He’d not pegged this guy as a coward. ‘So you won’t help us?’
‘Didn’t say that. What I’m saying is the Miami Mob know who I am and where I live. They know I’m connected to Lori too. You staying, that’s fine with me – any family of Lori’s is family of mine. But don’t think for a moment that Luciano’s men can’t find you here.’ Red glances towards the cabin. ‘Or that they’ll go easy on you or the kid if they find you.’
JT thinks on what the man’s said. Appreciates his honesty. ‘Lori says you’ll help me protect Dakota.’
Red’s expression gets real serious. He nods. ‘That I will.’
‘Then I think it’s best we stay.’
Red smiles. ‘Well, alrighty then. I’d best make space for you to sleep.’
As Red heads into the cabin, JT hopes he hasn’t just made a big mistake. Two recently injured men and a nine-year-old child – if the mob find them, the odds will not be good. But there’s something about the calmness and quiet confidence of this man, Red, that makes him believe he’s a good person to stick with.
If the shit hits the fan, he seems the sort who’ll fight for what’s right, until the very end.
31
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 21st, 13:28
I wake to th
e sound of beeping. Opening my eyes, I see there’s a heart-rate monitor attached to my finger, and the beeping is from the machine that’s measuring each beat. There’s an IV line running from a cannula in the back of my right hand to an electric IV pump. The liquid in the bag is clear, and there’s no writing on it to tell me what’s being pumped into me.
I’m alone, lying on what looks like a hospital gurney in the middle of a small, windowless room. Bare white walls surround me. The door directly ahead is shut.
Where the hell I am, and where the hell is North?
My head feels like it’s full of cotton candy. My left arm throbs with a dull, continuous ache. My skin feels damp, clammy. It’s hot in here. Too hot. Airless.
There’s a cream blanket draped over me. I try to move my hand to push the blanket off, and that’s when I realise: I’m trapped. A prisoner. Strapped onto the gurney.
‘North?’ My voice is more of a croak than a shout, but even I can hear the panic in it. ‘North, where are you? What the hell’s going on here?’
There’s no reply. No one comes into the room, and I hear no movement outside.
In the car, just before I blacked out again, I remembered what North said: Trust me. Given my condition I hadn’t really been given a choice.
Never trust no one. That had been one of JT’s rules when I’d started training with him. I’d learned his rules by heart and followed them to the letter. Not trusting easy was a part of me now. But it hadn’t helped me this time.
‘North, show yourself,’ I shout. ‘Let me the hell off this gurney.’
Still nothing.
I thrash beneath the restraints. The movement sends needle-sharp pain jolting through my left arm and I gag, fighting the urge to vomit.
Looking around me, I search for something that will help me get free, but there’s nothing. The room is bare aside from the monitor, the IV pump and the bed that I’m on. My leather jacket and go bag are gone.
Then I spot the camera; a tiny spycam mounted in the far corner of the ceiling, like a brown widow spider waiting to attack.
Deep Dirty Truth Page 11