by Jan Thompson
“This cell here is facing east. I can tell from the morning sunlight.”
“Okay.” It might be useful later, Corinne figured. Or not. Right now the little slit of window was dark. Probably from the heavy rain.
“I just get sunlight. I don’t know where they put me.”
“Looks like a room?”
Corinne nodded. “Yeah, a regular empty room.”
“Then it’s one floor up.”
“You know this place.”
“I’ve been here exactly twice,” Flavian said. “With Nikos, no less.”
“Maybe he bought the island.”
“Rent is more like it. He’s too broke to buy one.” Flavian’s eyes steeled. “Don’t tell him anything.”
“He wants your diamonds.”
“You gave half of them to your cousin Stephanie, didn’t you?” His eyes showed Corinne that he knew.
“I was under duress.” Corinne didn’t explain what sort of duress.
It wasn’t from the FBI, for sure. She couldn’t raise a child in the dark world that Flavian operated in.
“I forgive you. You did it for our daughter. We should’ve left Vegas. You like Miami? When this is over, we can move to Miami.”
Even as he said it, Corinne knew he could make no promises to leave his life of crime.
The door opened before they could talk more. Corinne had no idea what Flavian wanted her to do, but she didn’t want to jeopardize Dahlia’s safety.
Yet, before she could leave the cell peacefully, Flavian was already attacking the guard.
Corinne rushed forward, but a muzzle pointed at her nose.
Miss Executioner shook her head. “Were you two thinking of fighting your way out?”
She nodded to the guard, who immediately tasered Flavian. The latter writhed in pain on the dirty floor.
“Flavian!” Corinne screamed. “No!”
Miss Executioner dragged Corinne out of the cell. Her last words to the guard were, “Break his legs.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Key West nightclub was neon loud in every way, psychedelic glow-in-the-dark colors splattered all over the walls and ceilings, and swirls of fluorescent paint on the bar, booths, and surrounding tables.
It was too noisy for Martin, but he pressed on, pushing deeper into the crowd reeking with the smell of liquor concoctions and cigarette smoke.
Suffocating!
Martin popped out of the dance crowd on the other side. He glanced around to gain his bearings and to see if he could remember his way out of here.
He looked at every face but did not see Pilar. The lighting had turned everyone’s clothes another color, and Martin suddenly couldn’t remember what Pilar had worn when she stepped off the van still parked outside.
He thought back to the last sixty hours he had spent with Pete and Angelina. It had turned out that in their spare time—back in the days—Pete and Angelina had been two small-town private investigators. They had retired from it twenty or more years ago after they had a falling out with each other.
Since they both liked the beach so much, neither refused to leave Key Largo. After their spouses had died, they patched up their differences.
Now they were called back to action again.
It took two days for the trio to track down the SUV that carried the two hunky men who ran Martin’s car off the road on Monday night. Perhaps two days were a feat to some, but to Martin, it felt like forever.
Nevertheless, here they were.
The SUV had a stolen tag.
Tracking the story with their Private Investigator hats, Pete and Angelina scoured news reports until they found an interview with the original owner who had a security camera in his garage that recorded the theft.
The police sketch of the man looked like one of the two men in the SUV.
On Wednesday, Pete dusted his old PI business card, drove up to Miami, and found the owner of the car whose tag had been stolen. Pete found out that the man knew the thieves. He had reported them to the police because they wouldn’t pay him squat for something else.
Pete paid him whatever he needed—out of Martin’s bank—and the dude talked like a parakeet.
Pete returned to Key Largo triumphant and loaded with new information, such as the name of the two men. It had turned out that when the two men came to Key Largo to find Dahlia—whom they knew as Gail—they had recruited a third man, then dumped him on the wayside once they had what they wanted from him.
When Martin found out what Pete had discovered, he swallowed his pride and called Pilar again, adding a condition that his team would be involved.
Thursday night came, and Pilar let Martin, Pete, and Angelina sit in the back of her rental van, while she went inside the Coconut Sunset Club.
Unfortunately, two hours later, Pilar did not emerge.
Martin decided he would go in. He found himself wandering—or trying to—down a dark hallway.
“Off limits, sir.” A burly man twice Martin’s height said.
Well, okay, he wasn’t exactly twice Martin’s height, but he must be at least six foot seven. However, he was twice Martin’s width. His arms were huge—
“You cannot come in here.”
“Sorry, I’m…”
“What are you looking for?” Mr. Burly asked again.
“He’s looking for me,” a sweet voice said behind Martin.
He turned to find himself staring up at a woman with a face painted like a mask. She was smiling through thick lips and even thicker eyelashes. Her sequined dress sparkled as she changed position from one stiletto heel to the other.
She dipped her head down at Martin. Eyed him with a “you poor thing” look. Not one of disdain, but more a pity that he had to be here at all, outside his elements.
Or something like that.
Martin felt rather small with all these tall people around him, as though he had turned into a short elf all of a sudden.
The woman put a palm out. “Let’s have it.”
“How do I know you’re the one?” Martin asked.
She laughed. Then placed a hand on Martin where no one other than his wife should—
“Stop it.” Martin clenched his fingers and walked away.
He couldn’t get through the crowd of dancers. He tried walking around them, but the tables were full now. Someone spilled drinks on his shirt.
“Hey, watch it!” It was the same woman, who had apparently followed him.
Martin was flicking liquid off his shirt with his free hand, but it had absorbed through to his chest. There was a piece of lemon sitting on top of his hip pack.
“Here, let me help you.” The woman started to wipe his shirt with a cloth napkin.
Martin jumped back, playing the part. “No, no!”
“No, no?” She laughed. “I’m not a dog.”
“No, no, no!” Martin placed both hands on the hip pack.
“Everything okay here?” Another woman’s voice said, close to Martin’s ears.
Martin made eye contact—
Agent Tanaka?
In a retro pink wig and black leather from head to toe.
“Who are you?” The woman with Martin asked Tanaka.
“Name’s Free. Fancy Free.” Tanaka turned to Martin. “What’s your name, handsome?”
“Nobody.” Two can play the part.
“Well, Mr. Nobody, let’s finish this, shall we?” She strong-armed him, and led him back toward the hallway Martin had come from.
The other woman was left standing there.
Or so Martin thought.
Until he felt a prick in his neck—
Chapter Twenty-Five
Martin opened his eyes to a dark room and a stench that reminded him of sewage, to put it mildly. “What is this place?”
“The dungeon,” a raspy voice answered.
Martin flinched. He realized he was lying prone on a concrete floor. “Am I hearing things?”
“I’m here.”
&nbs
p; Martin froze. Then: “Who?”
“Your fellow prisoner.”
“Prison?” Martin rolled over and tried to sit up. He supposed he could play along. If he was stuck in this room with another prisoner, the last thing he’d want to do was make an enemy out of his cellmate.
“What are you in for?” Martin asked.
“Women problems.”
“Ha.” Maybe that dude had been in here too long. “What’s your name?”
“Flavian.”
“No last name?”
“Not to you. What’s your name?”
“Martin.”
“Martin?” His fellow prisoner cursed and started to yell. “That twisted Nikos puts two exes in the same cell.”
“What? What exes?”
“Gail.” The answer was almost a whisper, but Martin heard it.
Gail, also known as Dinah, also known as Corinne?
“You’re Dahlia’s dad.” Martin still couldn’t piece the whole puzzle together, but that much, he could guess.
“Yes. And you’re the old boyfriend from back east, the reason Gail wouldn’t marry me.” There was no bitterness in Flavian’s voice, as if he had resigned to his place.
“What?” Martin didn’t want to presume anything beyond his own thoughts.
“She said she can’t commit. Then she ghosted me.” Flavian laughed.
“She ghosted me too,” Martin said before he realized he might have spoken too much.
“But we both found her.”
“Presumably.”
“Ah, a philosopher in our midst.”
“She might run again,” Martin explained.
“Not from this island, she can’t. Nikos will make sure of it.”
“We have to get out of here.” Martin touched the floor around him to see if he could find a wall. There was gunk on the floor. He wiped his palm on his pants and decided to wait until morning to explore. “What does Nikos want?”
“My diamonds. My business. My family. My daughter.”
“Diamonds?” This story was getting more bizarre day after day to Martin.
“You shouldn’t have gone to Key Largo. Why couldn’t you let her be?” Flavian’s voice tapered off. It seemed like he wanted to be angry with Martin, but he’d rather have the company.
“You said Key Largo. You knew where she is.” Martin assumed they were both talking about the same woman.
Flavian didn’t answer him.
“Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Your men?” Martin asked.
“Who?”
“Two big guys. Not quite sumo wrestlers.”
“Ah. Slam and Slime.”
“Did they sell you out?” Martin asked.
“That’s a lie.”
Martin told him about looking for Slam and Slime at the club and getting abducted. Martin didn’t mention Agent Tanaka. He decided to hold some cards for later use. “Somehow I woke up here.”
“Doesn’t mean my men turned. Maybe Nikos had his men follow you.” Flavian snickered. “Who are you? A PI or something?”
“Nope. I restore classic and muscle cars.”
“You a mechanic?”
“I mostly do paperwork in the office.” Martin decided not to mention Dad either. Or any other member of his family.
Flavian laughed. “I asked for a muscle man, not a muscle car man.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Get some sleep.”
The last thing Martin wanted was to sleep in this foul prison. He closed his eyes and prayed to God for mercy.
And a swift death if needed.
A small stream of light came through the slit of a window far above Martin’s head, but it was enough to wake him up from his uncomfortable slumber on the concrete floor.
He took inventory of his surroundings, but there was nothing much to report. The floor was dusty and grimy. Cobwebs hung above him here and there, but he could not see any spiders. He hoped they were the friendly neighborhood kind. Garden variety spiders or harmless ones that he could tolerate.
Five or six feet away, Flavian slept on his back. His pants were ripped and caked with dried blood. One ankle was askew on one leg, and the other knee bent the wrong way. He must be in terrible pain.
But he seemed to be sleeping, albeit noisily.
How long had he been in here?
Was he really Corinne’s ex? Ex what, exactly? Boyfriend? Fiancé? Husband?
Who was Nikos who had thrown them in here?
Martin tried to remember what had happened to him, but his recollections ended at the moment he passed out in the nightclub.
The last face he had seen was FBI Special Agent Tanaka. Had she been abducted too? If so, where was she?
And whatever happened to Pilar the PI?
Were Corinne and Dahlia somewhere in this building too?
Flavian groaned, and then cried in his sleep.
Martin guessed the man might be in his forties. Early forties, maybe. Martin couldn’t place his ethnicity, and he couldn’t tell if Corinne’s daughter looked like him.
Someone tell me what’s going on and who everybody is!
Martin heard noises outside the door. Then the door opened and two bowls appeared on the floor just inside the door. Sticking out of each bowl was a plastic spoon.
The door slammed shut.
“Would you mind getting my bowl for me?” Flavian had woken up.
Martin nodded. Well, he didn’t mind, so he should have shaken his head. Whatever.
He picked up the dirty melamine bowl, and wondered what that gook was. It looked like a cross between oatmeal and grits.
Martin handed the bowl to Flavian. “I’d ask what happened to you, but it’s clear they beat you up.”
“Broke my legs so I can’t get out of here.” Flavian dug into his breakfast.
“How long have you been in here?” Martin sat down up against another wall.
“I don’t know, to be honest. I went to Key Largo after I found out what happened to Gail…” He pursed his lips, but Martin could see his chin tremble a bit in the morning light.
“What happened to her?” Martin asked quietly.
Flavian described the assault in the dark lane in some detail that Martin didn’t think he needed to hear. He went on to talk about hiring someone to kill the rapist who had defiled his ex-girlfriend, and then stationing Slam and Slime to watch over Gail until now.
He was on his way home to Las Vegas when he was carjacked. Next thing he knew, he was in this prison.
“Carjacked? Cor—Dinah—Gail was also carjacked.”
“If it works, why change the method?” Flavian pointed his plastic spoon at Martin. “You want to eat your breakfast? I don’t mind having seconds.”
Not knowing when he might be allowed to eat again, Martin declined the offer. He bowed his head and thanked God for the food. He wondered if this had been how Joseph felt after he had been thrown into prison in Egypt. The Bible story from Genesis was one of his favorites.
Then he prayed for Corinne, Dahlia, Pete, Angelina, the police, the FBI, Tanaka, Corinne, Dahlia, whatshisname over there, Dad, Tina and her husband, Corinne, Corinne, Corinne…
His prayer was all over the place.
When he opened his eyes, his food was still in the bowl. He forgot for a moment that there was not a chance Flavian could crawl his way to grab the bowl out of his hand.
“I thought you fell asleep,” Flavian said.
“I was praying. Talking to God.”
“Ah, God. If there’s a God, why are we still in prison?” Flavian asked.
“I don’t know.”
Flavian tried to change position and winced.
“You need a doctor,” Martin said.
“I need a priest. Last rites and whatever you call it.” Flavian made hissing sounds through his gritted teeth.
“I wouldn’t know about that.” Martin ate up. It tasted like bits and pieces of soggy cardboard stirred into dirty water.
“Huh?”
“My church doesn’t do last rites.”
“What kind of church is that?”
“We believe that when we Christians die, we go straight to heaven to be with Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior,” Martin explained.
“Just like that?”
Martin nodded. “II Corinthians 5:8 says, ‘We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.’ My ticket to heaven has been bought and paid for by Jesus Christ. You believe?”
“Nah. Fairy tales.”
“When you see God, it’ll be too late, man.”
“I’m my own god.”
“Sure. And here you are.” Martin put down the bowl. The plastic spoon clattered in it. It was so flimsy there was no way he could turn it into a weapon so they could stab their way out of here.
Maybe the next stop for him was really heaven.
Martin prayed that God would take care of his family and Corinne’s family too if he didn’t make it out of here.
He even said a prayer for Flavian’s salvation.
Chapter Twenty-Six
If there was one thing that Flavian had taught Corinne, it was to use guile to get her way. Flavian had thought that she might become an able confidant to him in his business and activities. Little did he know that she would become an FBI informer, leave him, and take his only child with her.
Lying there on her prison bed, awake just before dawn, Corinne stared at the small slit of a window where morning light was crawling in across the ceiling.
She longed for freedom.
“Set us free, Lord Jesus.” Her whispered prayer rose up to heaven. “I don’t want to live in fear like this the rest of my life. I want to be free to take Dahlia to school, to church, anywhere, without looking over my shoulders. Thank You, Lord, for the brief freedom in Key Largo. I pray that You’ll give us more of it—of sunshine, a yard to play in, beaches to walk on…”
Corinne touched her belly. Someone else’s baby was in there—
No, my baby.
“You’re mine now, little one. I’m your mommy.”
But neither Dahlia nor the unborn baby would have a father. Corinne shifted position on the bed, and a tear streamed down her eye.