by James Hilton
“I can’t do anything right around her lately. She shouts if I try to talk to her and shouts if I leave her to it. I can’t win. So it’s easier to stick around here sometimes. Don’t worry, I’ll lock up when I leave.” He ambled off, shaking his head. Danny and Clay exchanged knowing looks as they followed Garnett into the hangar.
“You know any good hotels that we can crash at?” asked Danny.
Garnett looked back over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised. He dropped into a parody of street slang. “Fuck dat. Y’all be crashin’ at my crib.”
Danny smiled but kept his tone serious. “We don’t want to bring any shit to your door.”
“Not a problem, man. I’ve never been one to sit on the sidelines. There’s a nasty rumour that I’m a legitimate businessman these days. Can’t have too much of that kind of trash talk going around.”
“The kind of guys we’re running from use semi-automatics, not switch-blades.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dodged bullets.” The humour was gone from Garnett’s voice. He looked Danny full in the face, their eyes locked. A moment of understanding passed between them. Then Garnett turned on his heel and pointed to the office that stood in a corner of the hangar. “I just need to drop off some paperwork, then we’ll be on our way.”
* * *
Andrea watched the exchange, the unspoken words she was sure were there. She took off her backpack and sat on it. Once again the feeling of events spiralling out of her control overtook her. Violence. Murder. She’d just crossed a continent, for God’s sake, with men she hardly knew but had no choice but to trust. When would this be over? She’d often thought of her life—a single woman, struggling to make a decent living in a dying industry—as dull and likely to remain so. Now a large part of her wanted nothing more than to be safe at home. Yet she was also thrilled at the Gunn brothers’ company. If this had happened in London, who would have helped me? Anyone? Or would I be dead already?
Danny squatted beside her. “You okay?”
“Just catching my breath. I feel tired all of a sudden.”
“We’ll get some proper sleep soon. And we’re safer out here in the Keys. We have time to figure out what we’re doing next.”
“I was thinking on the flight over…” Andrea paused, trying to gather her thoughts. “I know it’s connected to the mainland by bridges, but Key West is an island. Doesn’t that mean we could be trapped here as well? What if they box us in?”
Danny smiled. “A fair point, but you don’t need to worry. No one knows we’re here. Our names weren’t listed on the flight log. If—and it’s a big if—Trident tracks us here, roads aren’t our only way out. We’ve got planes, trains and automobiles. And boats.”
“I guess you know more about this than most.”
“Like Clay says—this ain’t my first rodeo.” Danny turned his head at the sound of footsteps. Garnett was walking back towards them.
“Ready to go?”
Danny nodded, then stood and held out his hand to Andrea. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. “Don’t worry, we’re way off the grid. They’ll have to be bloody psychics to follow our trail.”
Clay—who was using the duffle bag of looted weaponry as a makeshift pillow—grunted his agreement, then pulled himself upright and swung the bag and his backpack over his shoulders as if they weighed nothing.
Garnett led them out of the hangar and round the side of the building to a large, dark SUV that sat in a covered parking space. The corrugated roof had kept off the worst of the day’s sun but the vehicle’s interior was still hot enough to toast bread. Andrea slid into one of the rear seats, while Clay took shotgun. Garnett fired up the engine, which growled with a satisfactory rumble.
“What kind of car is this?”
Garnett turned and grinned at her. “Infiniti QX80.”
“Impressive.”
She was impressed. She was still getting used to the sheer size of the average American automobile. This one felt bigger than her London flat. And the contours of the seat seemed made to measure. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so comfortable. Not for a few days, that was for sure.
Danny silently slid next to her. Shadows rippled over his face as he settled into the seat, reminding her of the stripes of a tiger. He turned to face her and the momentary optical illusion was broken.
“You okay there?”
Andrea managed half a smile. “You keep asking me that.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mean to smother you. Anyway…” He looked down at her hand that had crept into his, almost without her realising. He returned her gentle squeeze.
“I know, and I appreciate it. I’m just not used to someone looking out for me twenty-four-seven.”
She moved her hand back into her lap, breaking the moment. Feeling a little self-conscious she added, “I live alone back in London. I don’t have a steady boyfriend and I don’t exactly live the high life on my earnings. The truth is, I spend a lot of time on my own, mostly trying to drum up work from whatever magazines are paying out to freelancers, who are getting fewer and fewer in this economy.”
Danny nodded as if he, too, understood the intricacies of freelance journalism. After a couple of seconds he asked, “Why don’t you work as a regular writer? You know, something permanent?”
“I did at one point, quite a few years back now. I worked for Time Out for a while and also a magazine called Holiday. Do you remember the TV show?”
“I think so.”
“Well the magazine was a tie-in to the show. It was a sweet deal for a while. Good pay and all expenses were covered. But it didn’t last. Nothing good does.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Danny was silent for a moment, and Andrea wondered if he was thinking about the army. She still didn’t know why he had left.
“Enough about me, tell me a little more about you,” she said.
Danny smiled. “Nice way to change subjects. But I’m not big on talking about myself.”
“I don’t need your inside-leg measurements, just tell me something. Clay said you were a Green Jacket back in your army days. Tell me about that.”
Danny straightened up in his seat, an unconscious action yet it conveyed an obvious pride that she had not seen in him before. “The Green Jackets are one of the best regiments in the world. More Victoria Cross medals than any other British unit. The count was fifty-six when I left.”
“Why did you leave?” she asked but Danny continued as if he’d not heard her question.
“They’re now officially known as ‘the Rifles’ but they’ll always be Green Jackets to anyone who matters.” He rubbed his chin ruefully. “We were shock troops, marauders, rough necks; but better lads you’ll never meet. Mind, some of them could cause trouble in an empty house.”
“Fascinating, but you still haven’t told me anything about you,” Andrea admonished him. Getting information out of Danny was like trying to get a loan out of her bank manager.
Clay turned in his seat, a mischievous look on his weathered face. “Forget it, honey, talking to him is too much like hard work. I’ll tell you what you need to know.”
Danny tried to look stern. “You better tend to your own knittin’ there, Yankee.”
Clay grinned at his brother’s attempt at a Texas accent. Then he fixed Andrea with a serious expression. “Did he tell you that he’s named after Daniel Boone, the old frontiersman? You know, the guy with the coonskin cap?”
Danny closed his eyes in mock annoyance. “Did I tell you that Clay got his name because he was born in Clay County, Texas? Lucky you weren’t born in Dildo, Newfoundland. Imagine that on the first day of a new school: here’s my little Daniel and my big Dildo.”
Clay burst into laughter, and Andrea joined in, deep stomach-aching guffaws. Again she found herself feeling conflicted. Laughing like a loon while death trailed behind her like an angry bloodhound. But surely it’s better to laugh, she thought.
38
“Brightwell.
”
“It’s me, Stewart.”
“I didn’t recognise the number.”
“Burner. Are you still in Atlanta?”
“Yes, why?”
“I need you to do some clean-up, the matter we discussed a couple of days ago.”
“I thought that was being handled?”
“It was, but questions are being asked. Banks thinks they’ll be asking very specific questions.”
“I see. You want me to make sure I’m the one to ask those questions.”
“Yes. And I want to watch.”
39
As they traced their way through the narrow network of tree-lined streets Andrea was intrigued by the uniformity of the pastel-coloured houses that flanked either side of the road. They all shared a common look, the porches, window shutters and verandas all decorated with fretwork.
“Why do all of the houses have metal roofs?” Andrea asked Garnett.
“Well spotted.”
“I can be observant when I want to be.”
“Many moons ago we had a big fire on the island, terrible, really. It got so bad that the flames were leaping from roof to roof. So after that a law was passed that every roof has to be made of metal. Makes them fireproof.”
Clay held up a finger. “But the rest of the house is still made from wood.”
“Yes.”
“Then wouldn’t the fire still spread anyway?”
“I didn’t make the law, just telling our guest about it, that’s all.”
“Makes sense, I suppose. The powers that be have to be seen to be doing something to make the public feel safer,” offered Andrea.
“And all of the properties on Key West have to be maintained and restored to their original style,” Garnett added. “No mock Tudors getting erected around here.”
Garnett looked over his shoulder at Danny. “Shit, I forgot you were back there, sittin’ all quiet like.”
“I’m still here, all right. I’m just listening and taking in the sights while I can.”
Andrea looked back at the gingerbread houses. “Well I like it. It’s lovely down here.”
“Lovely,” said Garnett in a posh English accent. “That’s such a British word.”
“Gee, but don’t they look swell. Cuter than a spring posy,” replied Andrea in a voice that belonged to a sitcom from the sixties.
Garnett elbowed Clay’s arm. “I love this girl—she’s wild.”
Danny smiled absently at the banter. Andrea followed his gaze to the ramshackle wall that formed the perimeter of a large manor house. She pointed. “What’s that?”
“That’s the Hemingway House,” said Garnett.
“Looks like a six-year-old built that wall with Lego and Silly Putty.”
“The story is that good old Ernest and his drinking buddies built that one afternoon while under the effect of one too many whiskeys.” Garnett tipped an imaginary drink back.
“I could believe that. There isn’t a single straight line in the whole wall. It looks ready to fall down,” said Danny.
“Nah, it’s pretty solid—and the drinking story is probably just that. It’s survived a couple of hurricanes and some idiot drove a motorbike into it going full tilt a year or so back. And it’s still standing.”
“Maybe looks can be deceiving after all.”
Clay turned and winked at his brother. “You know that’s true. There are times when you look halfway intelligent.”
“Is it much further to your house?” asked Danny.
“Just two blocks over. Why?” replied Garnett.
“Because when we get there, I’m going to have to kick his arse.”
Clay shook his head. “I don’t recognise that one. Gandhi?”
“Moe from the Three Stooges…”
“Ah, wise words.” Clay gave his best “Nyuck, nyuck,” then playfully speared two fingers towards Danny’s eyes. Danny caught the opened fingers on the edge of his raised hand in true Stooges style.
“How the hell did a beauty like you get caught up with these two reprobates?” asked Garnett.
“Some girls have all the luck, I suppose.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Wait till you meet my wife, Edith—she knows all about that.”
The house sat at the opposite end of the island from the airfield but was still a relatively short journey. Lights shone from every window of the pastel pink dwelling, which had stylised fish fretted into its woodwork.
They got out of the car and headed towards the house. Andrea looked down. “Are these yours?” she said, pointing at the three small chickens that were busy picking in the dirt.
Garnett shook his head. “They don’t belong to anyone. Those are the original free-range birds, livin’ free and wild. They’re all over Key West, help keep the streets clean. They’re nature’s garbage collectors. To tell the truth, I hardly notice them any more.”
“Wild chickens in the middle of a town—that’s weird. They’d get stolen and eaten in most places I’ve ever been to.”
Garnett shrugged as he opened the front door to his house. “If you think our chickens are weird wait till you see our cats.”
“Cats?”
Garnett led them into a long hallway that effectively divided the house in two. “It’s another Hemingway story, I’m afraid. There are over sixty cats around here all descended from Ernest’s cat Snowball.”
Andrea raised her eyebrows. “How can you tell?”
“Snowball the cat had thumbs. A lot of her relatives have thumbs and extra toes too.”
Andrea laughed despite trying to hold it in. “You must think I came down in the last shower. Cats don’t have thumbs. Not even in the Conch Republic.”
“Wait and see.”
Andrea looked at Danny but he too shrugged. “Don’t ask me. But it sounds a little like the stories of wild haggis running around the mountains of Scotland to me.”
Garnett shook his head in mock sadness. “Wait and see,” he said again. Then in a loud voice, “Hi honey, I’m home.”
A dark figure stepped into the doorway at the rear of the hallway. “And it’s about time too!”
Edith strode towards them with athletic grace. She wore black Lycra leggings with a cropped top that left her toned mid-section open to view. Although she didn’t offer to shake hands, the warm smile that she gave her guests made Andrea feel instantly at ease. “Come on in. Garnett baby, show these folks into the parlour. Can I get you all a drink?”
“Edie makes the best mojito ever. Or we’ve got beer: Dos Equis, the good stuff.”
Clay stepped towards his host. “Beer sounds good to me. Can I help carry them?”
Edith looked at the man taking up most of the hallway. “Sure, come on through to the kitchen.”
“We can’t thank you enough for your hospitality. I mean that. We would have been more than happy booked into a hotel,” said Danny.
“We’re glad to have you. It’s nice to meet some people who don’t smell of jet fuel and cigars. And I might get some decent conversation that doesn’t involve air-speeds or cargo weights.” She winked at her husband playfully.
“Hush now girl, you know that kind of talk gets you all hot and steamy,” Garnett countered.
“Dream on fly-boy. Come on Clay, let’s see about those beers.”
* * *
As Danny entered what Edith had called the parlour, he breathed a small sigh of relief. His gratitude was genuine. He was doubtful that Keys hotels would accept payment in cash only. That would mean swiping a credit card. The Keys had a reputation of being very laid back, yet so many things had changed since 9/11. Every scrap of information could now be logged on some innocuous database, and databases could easily be searched. It was always best to err on the side of caution when dealing with men armed and more than willing to end you. Credit card transactions were easily flagged and traced in a few keystrokes, if you had the right connections. He shuddered to think what information a private military contractor with money to burn c
ould glean. And it was safe to assume that the operatives knew Clay’s identity in addition to Andrea’s, now that he’d been identified in those news reports in Nevada.
While drinking the delicious golden Mexican beer, conversation remained light and jocular. Clay and Garnett exchanged tales of bravado and reckless behaviour from their younger years, Andrea and Edith smiling and laughing at the recounted idiocy. Danny sat quiet for most of the banter, tuning out the voices as he weighed various options and possible outcomes. He would have preferred to sit outside, alone, but certainly didn’t want to appear ungrateful to Garnett and Edith for their hospitality.
After drinking two beers, Edith made her way to the kitchen, promising to return with some “real food like my mama used to make”. She politely refused any help from her guests. Twenty minutes later she called them through to the dining area.
The middle of the room was dominated by an oval table, on which was a serving platter laden with homemade cheeseburgers. A large bowl filled with mixed green salad sat next to it, flanked by two smaller bowls, one heaped with potato salad the other with crispy onion rings. After brief encouragement from Edith, food was scooped, ladled and grabbed.
Clay devoured one of the large onion rings with gusto. “These are great. How do you make a simple thing taste so good?”
Edith sat back in her chair. “It’s all in the batter. A little bit of beer, a lot of pepper, paprika and a squirt or two of Tabasco sauce.”
“Well I’m jealous as hell. You look like a supermodel and cook like a professional chef.” It sounded like Andrea was only half joking.
After the food had been eaten, more Dos Equis was served. Andrea and Clay insisted on clearing up. Once the dishes, plates and glasses had been washed and put away Edith thanked her guests then said goodnight. She didn’t bother asking Garnett if he was joining her. She was clearly well accustomed to sleeping alone when her husband had business. Garnett kissed her and playfully patted her behind as she left the room.
Garnett leaned back in his chair. “So, time to tell me why you fellas are on the run with this lovely lady. What happened in Vegas that meant you had to make a quick getaway?”