Shot Down

by Steven Sheiner

  He didn’t answer. We both knew I was right.

  “Hey, here’s a question,” James chimed in. “Whoever shot up the hotel... how did they know where to find us?”

  Ingo and I looked at each other. We both knew how.

  Chapter 87

  William’s office was open seven days a week, closing only when he felt like ignoring his clients for a round of golf or a roll in the hay with some bimbo. Even then, his cell phone was on his ear like it was a part of him. He didn’t believe in weekends or holidays. “Crime doesn’t take vacations,” he once told me.

  The clothes I’d borrowed from Ingo hung a little loosely, but they’d have to do. I’d left the hotel in a hurry, so Ingo’s closest was my only option. I couldn’t risk going back for them, so a shopping trip might be in order soon.

  William’s receptionist and I exchanged pleasantries.

  “He’s on a call,” she said.

  “It’s kind of an emergency,” I lied.

  She rose from her desk and cracked the door to his office. She peeked inside, and whispered something to William I couldn’t hear. A second later, she pulled her head out, turned to me, and waved me over. She pushed the door open. I stepped inside and she closed it behind me. William was barking into the phone at someone. As soon as he saw me, he lowered the phone away from his mouth, covered the receiver, and said, “If this is about the continuance, you can forget it, Simon. I told you, we have no legal reason for the judge to even consider such a motion.”

  I walked over to his desk, plopped down in a chair opposite him, and did my best to look defeated. “It’s not about that,” I said.

  Inside I was seething. I knew he’d been railroading me from the very beginning, and I wanted to call him out on his shit. I’d paid him a lot of money just so he could stab me in the back and sell me up the river. My only consolation was knowing he would eventually get his.

  He looked at me and I gave him the despondent look I’d been practicing in the mirror. He lifted the phone back up. “I’ll call you back,” he said, and hung up. He leaned forward with his elbows the desk. “You look like shit. What’s going on?” he asked, trying his best to seem concerned.

  From this point on, everything would hinge on what I told William, what he believed, and what he passed on to the people he was really working for. I took my time and spelled the whole thing out for him. I told him about recent events and that Sara and I were still in danger. He was particularly interested in hearing about my trip down to Miami and how I got to Christina. I told him what he needed to hear, nothing more, and I left Ingo and Callie Ann out of it. I told him nothing of James or his release from prison.

  He sat and listened intently as I spoke. He was rarely this quiet, and it creeped me out. As I described the assault on my hotel room last night, and how I narrowly escaped, his mouth was agape. I was dying to know if he knew who was behind it, but I didn’t dare ask.

  When I was done, he asked, “Who did that to your face?” pointing at my left cheek.

  “Your buddy, Barry Poole. He’s very serious about me showing up for court, and wanted me to know that. Thanks for the recommendation, by the way.”

  “It’s not like you had a choice, Simon. You needed money, and he had it. But yeah, his methods are somewhat thuggish. I probably should have warned you he’d be coming around about now.”

  I was less than surprised that he didn’t, but I didn’t say as much.

  “So what happened to that hot chick you had tied up in your hotel room?” he asked. “The one you thought was Christina?” He gave a snort of derision, still not believing I could be so dumb. It was notable that he asked about her, but I knew why and it wasn’t because she was smoking hot.

  “We had to let her go,” I said. “She was just another pawn in the game.” I watched his expression to see how he’d react to that, but he gave nothing away.

  Over the next several minutes, I told him about my plan. How I intended to lure Enrique and Gustavo out into the open using Christina’s funeral as bait. I spelled out in great detail every aspect of the trap I would set, knowing full well he’d be on the phone with the two brothers the second I left his office.

  He sat back and listened, his face expressionless. When I was done he said, “Hang on... All this time, you’ve been saying you’re an optometrist, not an assassin. But you shot Carlos Escalante. You killed Christina Escalante. And now you’re planning to take on the Escalante brothers single-handed?”

  “Not single-handed,” I corrected him. But I wasn’t about to tell him everything.

  “What, you think you and your South African buddy are going to take down the Escalantes?” He chuckled at the notion. “He’s good, Simon, but he’s not that good.”

  “I’m open to suggestions,” I said.

  “Maybe you should leave it alone, Simon. Christina is dead. You’ve got enough heat on you. Your trial starts in a few days. Don’t stir up more trouble than you can handle. These guys are crazy, all of them. You should know that by now.”

  “I don’t have a choice, William. It’s them or me. There’s no way they’re gonna let me live after this. As soon as the funeral is over, they’ll come for me. And my family. I have to do this. There’s no other way.”

  He sat back in his chair with his fingers interlaced in front of him, pondering what I’d told him. “Let’s go to the FBI again. With everything that’s happened, maybe they’ll grant you full-time protection.”

  I wanted to laugh, but held it in. I knew he was in cahoots with Agent Stamper, and that there was no way either of them wanted me protected. I thought back to that little show they put on in my hospital room the night I shot Carlos. They were at each other’s throats, about to come to blows, but it was all an act for my benefit.

  “Nothing has changed, William,” I said. “I’m still in the same position I was when all of this started. I have nothing to offer the government in exchange for their protection.” He knew that.

  “So you’re really gonna go through with this? You know they’ll kill you.”

  “Yeah, probably,” I agreed. “But it’s either this or prison. Which would you choose?”

  “Oh, dead, for sure,” he said, without hesitation. “I have a lot of disgruntled clients on the inside that would love to get their hands on me. I’d much prefer a bullet to the brain, thank you very much.”

  “Okay then,” I said, and stood.

  He held out a beefy hand and said, “Good luck, Simon. If I don’t see you in court on Monday, I’ll know why.”

  I fought off the urge to stab him in the neck with his own fountain pen and shook his hand. As I walked out of his office, I wondered how long he’d wait to rat me out to Enrique and Gustavo.

  Chapter 88

  The phone rang and rang, but she didn’t answer. I really wanted to talk to Sara, to hear her voice one more time before I went in. I didn’t know if I would ever talk to her again after today. The call went to voicemail and my shoulders drooped. I didn’t want to do it this way, but what choice did I have?

  “Sara, hey, it’s me. I really wanted to talk to you. I just wanted to tell you that I love you. You and the boys. And I miss you guys so much. I’m so sorry. For everything. This is all my fault. I never meant for any of this to happen, I hope you know that. So listen, there are some things I have to do, things that might not end well for me. With any luck, one day, I can tell you about it. But if something happens to me, I want you to run. Take the boys and leave the country as fast as you can. Get away from the Escalantes. Go somewhere they will never find you. Ingo will help. I love you so much. Give Jordan and Brock big hugs for me, tell them I love them, and I’m sorry. Love you. Bye.”

  I held my emotions in while I left the message, but as soon as I hung up, tears rolled down my face. My life was not the same without them. I’d been alienated from them for too long, Sara no longer trusted me
, and I couldn’t even imagine what the boys thought of me. But my family was everything to me, and everything I did was for them.

  Including this.

  I put the car in gar, drove the last quarter mile, and pulled off the road onto a short gravel driveway. James had been kind enough to hack into the FBI database to procure the address for me. The wrought iron gate that stood before me was at least twelve feet high and set back about fifty feet from the road. Just inside the gate on either end, two men stood guard with semi-automatic weapons at the ready. They both wore dark suits, silver sunglasses, and earpieces. They stiffened as I pulled up to the gate and gripped their weapons a little tighter. To my left was a speaker box with a white intercom button. I swallowed hard, then pressed it. The button made a buzzing sound until I released it. Part of me hoped no one heard it.

  “Sí?” came from the box.

  I leaned out the window and said, “Umm, Simon Spero to see Mr. Escalante, please?”

  What the hell am I doing?

  My heart pounded out of my chest as I waited for what seemed like an eternity. The two guards at the gate each pressed a finger to their earpiece to better hear what was being said. I watched as they listened, waiting for them to open fire. For all they knew, Christina was dead, and I’d killed her. Part of me expected them to start shooting any second. To my surprise, they did not. Instead, they both took a step back, away from the gate. There was a loud clank as the gate parted in the middle and then opened smoothly inward. There was a fountain about twenty feet beyond the gate and I could see a very large house in the distance.

  I eased my car through the gate, trying to avoid eye contact with the guards, but they stopped me.

  Oh, shit.

  One of the guards stood in front of the car, gripping his weapon. The other did a quick search in and around the car. He ran a long pole with a mirror on the end under the car and checked inside the trunk. I kept still, my hands on the wheel. I didn’t want to give them any reason to shoot me. After several minutes, when the guards were confident there were no weapons and no bombs, they waved me through.

  I drove slowly up the driveway, arced around the fountain and drove up the long paved road toward the house. There were hundreds of tall palm trees and beautifully manicured hedges and grass on both sides. As I neared the house, the driveway curved toward the front of the house and back out again like a giant horseshoe.

  Two more men wearing black suits and carrying big guns stood in the driveway near the main entrance to the house. As I drove up, they signaled me where to stop. One of them walked briskly around to the side of my car and I gulped nervously. He opened the door and motioned for me to get out.

  I did as he asked, and he closed the door behind me. I looked out at the breathtaking estate and up at the stunning mansion in front of me. The Escalantes had done well for themselves. This was beyond opulent. It was downright obscene.

  “Manos contra el coche,” the guard said.

  “Sorry?” I replied, my high school Spanish failing me.

  “Hands against the car,” he said, with an accent that reminded me of Christina’s pal, Raul. With the other guard covering me from the side, he searched me thoroughly to ensure I was unarmed. When he was through, he took me by the elbow and led me to the front door. It opened before we got there. Just inside, holding the door open, was a man in his mid-thirties dressed in cargo shorts, a short sleeve button-down beach shirt, and flip flops. His sun beaten auburn hair hung just above his shoulders, and complemented his bronze skin nicely. He gave me a big smile and held out a hand.

  “Hey!” he said enthusiastically as I took his hand. “You must be the famous Dr. Simon Spero I’ve heard so much about! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you! I’m Carlos Escalante.”

  Chapter 89

  The ice clinked against the glass held loosely in my hand as I stared blankly into space. It had been less than ten minutes since I’d learned that Carlos Escalante was, in fact, not dead, but alive and well. I sat directly across from him on the most comfortable sofa I’d ever sat on, and my mind strained to comprehend what was happening. He looked very much like the guy I shot in the bank, but if it wasn’t him, then who was it?

  “Take a drink, Doc. You look like you need it,” he said with a cheeky grin.

  I took a sip from the glass and coughed. Scotch on the rocks was not my usual drink, but it’s what I was handed and I wasn’t about to refuse. I stared at him, astonished by how much he looked like the Carlos that had been haunting my dreams for so long. But it wasn’t him. How was that possible?

  “I don’t understand,” I said hoarsely, the scotch still burning my throat.

  “Hang on. You will, soon enough,” he replied, and took a sip from a half empty bottle of water.

  As we sat and waited, I took in my surroundings. We were in a large sitting room covered by the biggest area rug I’d ever seen. There was a fireplace on the far wall which looked like it had never been used. Not a big surprise considering we were in Miami. Bookshelves lined the wall to my right, above which there were statuesque busts in curved nooks that had been set into the wall. Matching tea tables sat adjacent to our sofas, an ornate coffee table with curved legs and a brightly polished surface was between us, and there was a grand piano in the corner with its top propped up. The entire room smelled like lemon furniture polish.

  Someone behind me cleared their throat and Carlos quickly stood. I did the same, though I wasn’t sure why. A voice over my shoulder uttered something in Spanish and an older man, probably in his late sixties, walked past me and stood near Carlos. He had white hair, which was wet and combed back, a matching white mustache, thick glasses, and a dimple in his chin. He wore an expensive looking white robe that hung to the floor, and he looked like he’d just come from the pool. Judging by his dark tan, he spent a lot of time there. Two large men followed behind him and stood against the wall to my right in front of the bookshelves. They wore the same dark suits and earpieces as the guards I’d seen outside. I looked at them and wondered if the President was this well-protected.

  “Siéntate,” the old man said to me in a gravelly voice. I didn’t know what that meant, but he made a motion indicating I should sit. Carlos sat back down, and I resumed my spot across from him, anxiously looking back and forth from the two guards to Carlos to whom I could only assume was Luis Escalante.

  This was the moment of truth. If he thought I killed Christina, I was about to die.

  “¿Tu sabes quien soy?”

  I looked at Carlos. “He’s asking if you know who he is.”

  “Oh. I think so, yes,” I replied nervously, and nodded in Luis’s direction.

  “Debes estar confundido,” he said.

  “You must be confused,” Carlos translated.

  “You have no idea,” I replied, my head still trying to catch up.

  Luis laughed and took a seat next to Carlos, leaned back, and crossed his overly tanned legs. He reached behind him, over the back of the couch, popped open a humidor, and pulled out a cigar. He did not offer me one and I was relieved. The last time I smoked a cigar, I almost threw up. The scotch was bad enough. I didn’t want to have to pretend I was enjoying a cigar, too. As soon as he closed the lid, one of the two men in dark suits rushed over, cut off the end of the cigar, and whipped out a lighter. Once the cigar was burning, he snapped the lighter closed and retreated back to his post next to his associate. After a few long, smoky puffs, Luis started to speak, this time in English, but with a heavy accent.

  “Enrique and Gustavo have always been trouble. Even as kids they were selfish, impulsive, and angry. My brother and I tried to teach them the value of patience, that sometimes it’s best to think before acting. It was not a strength of ours, but we wanted them to be better. But they followed our example and not our words. Even though they’re twins, they’re so different in so many ways. Enrique was smart, reasonable. He wanted t
o listen, to do right, but there was no talking to Gustavo. He was ill-tempered, emotional, and rarely considered the consequences of his actions. He got that from us. The two were inseparable, and where one went, the other followed.”

  I nodded along, listening to every word intently. I was still alive and wanted it to stay that way.

  “When my brother died, the twins wanted to take control of the family. I would not permit it. Christina, who’s made her own mistakes, was my choice. She was confident, smart, powerful, and resolved. I knew she could take care of herself and the business. But I wasn’t naive; I knew how the twins would react. They were angry, and they vowed revenge. The two of them have an extremely strong bond, but their connection with the family was not nearly so. I knew, eventually, they would come back. I just didn’t know when.”

  He stopped, turned to one of his men and said something in Spanish. He must have asked for a drink because not one minute later, he had a glass in his hand.

  “Questions?” he asked, looking back at me as he took a drink.

  More than I can count, I thought. I nodded. “Yes,” I said softly. “If Carlos is alive, who did I shoot that day in the bank? And why does everyone think he’s dead? And who was in the coffin at his funeral…”

  “Hold on,” Carlos said, holding a hand up. He said something to his uncle in Spanish, who appeared to give him permission to answer with a nod. Carlos took a breath before speaking. “I had problems… drugs, gambling, women, you name it. I made one bad choice after another and wound up owing some people a lot of money. I was in deep. I couldn’t come to the family again. I’d embarrassed them too many times, and I knew they would no longer support me or my habits. Surprisingly, Enrique and Gustavo stepped in and smoothed things over. They bought up all my debt and I was free. Or so I thought. About a month later, they came to see me. They told me the juice had been running from the start. They roughed me up, told me they wanted their money back. But I didn’t have it, and had no way to get it. They knew that. When they told me about the bank, and suggested I rob it, I was terrified. I didn’t want to go to jail, and I certainly didn’t want to end up dead.”