Downward Dog in Miami

by Larry David Allman

  “Clear,” several of them said into their comm units.

  I took my hands away from my ears and opened my eyes. Of course, I was looking at the floor and the back of the couch… but I was alive, my eyes could see, and my ears could hear.

  “Mr. Randall, stay down,” someone said.

  Gladly, I thought… then fear spiked through me, paralyzing fear.

  What about Lauren? My breath stopped.

  * * *

  The big man muscled Lauren through the door, closed it, then pushed Lauren onto the bed. He had a gun in his hand. Lauren tried to get further up on the bed and move to the other side, away from the brute. He laid down his gun on the chair and took off his suit coat. He was big.

  He walked over to the bed, grabbed Lauren by the ankle, and pulled her back. He grabbed her blouse and ripped it open. She tried to kick him. He blocked her foot with a big hand. Then it happened.

  He heard and felt an explosion out in the sitting room. Then he heard the front door smash inward. Then muffled shots. He swatted Lauren’s feet away, rushed over to the chair, and reached for his gun. It was not good enough.

  Shots tore through the balcony glass door and riddled his chest. Two triple taps, six shots. He went down, backward, dead before he folded to the ground.

  Hank kicked away the remaining glass in the balcony door and stepped through into the room. He went straight to Lauren and removed the towel gag.

  “It’s okay now; it’s all over. You’re safe,” he said, easing the towel from her mouth and the binding from her hands. He helped her up from a sitting position, off the bed to standing.

  “Thank you.” She silently mouthed the words. She reached for Hank’s shoulder to steady herself. He quickly grabbed her around the waist with his right arm and made sure she was steady.

  “I’m good,” she said aloud, taking small steps and breathing for clarity.

  “You got a robe or something to cover up with?” Hank said, trying to be discreet about Lauren’s exposed chest and ripped blouse.

  She went to the closet on her own, reached in for a hotel robe, and put it on.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Hank said, smiling. “This is no place for a lady.”

  “Amen, brother,” she said as they walked past the large man on the floor, his chest and upper body riddled with bullet holes, blood soaking the area around him on the floor. Hank opened the door and gestured for Lauren to go through.

  * * *

  One of the SWAT guys helped me up from behind the couch. I was shaky at first until I got my feet planted firmly. He looked to my face.

  “So you got hit,” he said, pulling a medical wipe out of a pouch on his tactical outfit, and started dabbing the wound on the top of my head and my bloody cheek. It smelled like a hospital.

  While he worked on me, I scanned the room. The SWAT guys and Agent Ross and Lenny were all busy in different places with different tasks. The commander was busy on his cell phone, barking orders to someone, somewhere. Lev and his fellow criminal were lying on the floor. Their faces were intact, but their bodies were ripped with bullet holes, blood pooling on and over them and tissue exposed.

  Seeing Lev dead in this way did not generate a happy thought; rather, I felt sad at what had happened in that room. Human carnage. Live by the gun, die by the gun. Lauren and I had been drawn into the angry center of that rot.

  As the SWAT guy completed wiping my cheek, I heard the door open to the bedroom. I turned, and Lauren walked out, wearing a hotel bathrobe. A shot of fear spiked through me: what had the man done to her in there?

  We saw each other at the same moment. She bolted for me, and I for her. We met in the center of the sitting area, open arms reaching and embracing. I held her, and she held me. It felt God-like. We both had gone through what could only be described as military warfare… and survived.

  While I was holding Lauren and letting my heart fill up, Lenny came over and wrapped his body and long arms around us in a group hug. Man, that felt good! These were the two most important people in the world to me, and we had come through this horror safely, together. That moment was precious. As we held each other in silence, another thought filled my awareness: I reflected on the SWAT guys and how incredibly professional and proficient they were. This was the government doing the right thing, helping when necessary. I generally thought the government was the problem—not today!

  Agent Ross came over to us with the commander in tow. “This is what SWAT does,” he said, looking mainly at me.

  I wasn’t sure what to say. “Thank you” would have been a good start, but then the commander said, “You both okay?”

  “Thank you, yes, I think so,” I managed to say.

  Lenny released us and stepped back.

  “Okay,” Lauren said, releasing me and pulling away a little. She looked up at me and saw what remained of the blood in my hair. She pointed to it and said, “Was that in your op plan?”

  That she was able to joke now—wow, what a woman.

  “We will need to take statements from all three of you,” Agent Ross said. He gestured for one of the FBI guys to come over, and asked him to start that process. “Oh, Mr. Randall? Make sure you include all the information you have about Daryl Chapman in your statement.”

  * * *

  Lenny, Lauren, and I spent an hour giving our statements to the FBI. We gave them separately. When we finished, we went over into Lenny’s room to sort things out.

  “I think we’re safe now,” Lenny said. “With Lev gone, I think we’re safe.”

  “I’m hungry,” Lauren said. “With all this military stuff, I missed lunch… Let’s eat.”

  “Room service?” Lenny said.

  “Let’s get away from all this. Let’s go to the restaurant. It should be just opening for dinner,” I said. It was almost six. This had been a long adventure and had included two military-type episodes… in one day!

  Lenny and Lauren agreed. I went into the bathroom and cleaned the blood off the top of my head. Lauren and I changed into some clothes we had brought from my room, as did Lenny.

  We exited Lenny’s room and went down to the dining room. On the way to the elevator, I called the hotel manager and asked him to meet us. He knew what had happened in my room—he also had given a statement to the FBI. I did not have to remind him that the hotel had some level of liability for the clear security breach of armed gunmen waiting in our room! I told him that I would not be raising that issue, but rather that I thought the hotel was one of the finest in America, and that I would complete my trip to Miami here and would return whenever I had business in Miami.

  He thanked me by making a call on the spot to his assistant manager. He ordered her to make the presidential suite ready and to have our clothes and things moved from my room as soon as the FBI finished their work there. He walked us into the dining room, summoned the restaurant manager, and ordered him to take care of us even though we did not have a reservation.

  It was then something out of a movie: two waiters carried a table to a nice location, two other waiters carried chairs, and then two different waiters set the table with silverware, plates, glasses, and even flowers. The restaurant was full, so all of the other diners got a real show—who were these important people? It was just us, the survivors of a lethal attack that had been completely thwarted by a crack FBI SWAT team. We sat at our royal table and had one of the nicest meals I have ever had.

  “You better get that wound taken care of,” Lenny said.

  “Whatever that SWAT guy wiped it with must have had some extra something… It doesn’t hurt at all,” I said.

  “There’s probably a hotel doctor who can come and take a look,” Lauren suggested as our salads arrived. We had all ordered super large steaks with the usual sides. We needed protein.

  “I need to get back,” Lenny said. “I told Julia I’d be h
ome tomorrow, but I think I’ll stay one more day and make sure everything’s good.”

  “Yeah, you need to get back there and finish that deal. You’re going to have a family, bro,” I said, smiling at my best friend for his good fortune.

  “When’s the wedding?” Lauren asked.

  “Soon,” Lenny said. Then he looked at me. “What do you think about cutting that pie in thirds?”

  I knew exactly what he was talking about: the cash in the suitcase. Pablo had said his was one million; ours was probably the same. Lenny meant to cut Lauren in for a third. Why not? She had been through more than me and Lenny combined, plus we had already taken in three million each from the Cayman bank hack.

  “I like that,” I said without having to think about it.

  “I can wash it here; I know people,” Lenny said. “I can do it tomorrow.”

  “Done,” I said. “If you’re flying Thursday, we’ll drop you at the airport.” I looked at Lauren, who was finishing her salad with her usual gusto. “Can I take you away for a few days?”

  “What do you have in mind?” she said.

  “Well, there are a few cool places down in the Keys I’ve heard about,” I said. “I have a yoga program in New Orleans starting on Monday. I don’t have much time—I need to leave here on Sunday.”

  This was the first that Lauren had heard of my plans. Her face showed it.

  “I’ll be back here on Saturday,” I quickly said. She offered a hand, and I reached out to take it. I felt the connection; it was strong.

  “When I come back, we can do something really special—go somewhere in the Caribbean for a few weeks. Would you like that?”

  “Sure. But remember, I have a job. I can’t just come and go at will.”

  “After what happened, I think they’ll be flexible with you. Plus, I have something in mind. How does this sound: the Cathy McAvoy Minority Scholarship Fund? I can work that out with Jerry.”

  “Wow. Like money in a fund… Who’s going to pay for that?” she asked.

  “Lev has already made a contribution,” I said. Lenny and I both chuckled. Then our main courses arrived, sizzling steaks with an aroma that made me salivate instantly. We dug in. What a day it had been.

  * * *

  We left the dining room stuffed and tired. It had been a day of warfare, real warfare, and we were the victors. We agreed to meet for breakfast. Lenny went to his room, and Lauren and I went to the presidential suite, a lovely space with two separate bedrooms and bathrooms, and large everything else. We passed out almost immediately, but sometime in the middle of the night, Lauren woke me, gently, and we connected on that important primal level. We were good together. I had serious thoughts that Lauren was the one, finally. Then I started to think, what about this, what about that? No, no, no… No negative thoughts!

  After our interlude in the middle of the night, we slept as soundly as it gets and awoke around six a.m. I led Lauren through some yoga breathing, then we meditated together. Lauren followed me through a short flow of postures to get the day started right.

  Since we had two bathrooms, we showered and cleaned up without unnecessary delay. Lauren was quick, which I found different from other women I had known. I called Lenny just before eight, and we went down to the breakfast buffet.

  In the dining room, Lenny and Lauren attacked the world-class breakfast buffet while I had the kitchen prepare a world-class protein shake with the usual array of exotic fruits.

  “I made arrangements to wash the pie,” Lenny informed us. “I’ll handle it after breakfast.” You can’t buy that kind of competence and integrity. “What about you guys?” he asked.

  “I definitely have stuff to do,” I said. I mentioned that I needed to go to Sabra Security, I needed to see Jerry Rodriguez at Prime Mortgage, I needed to speak to my Realtor concerning my apartment building, and I needed to see Olivia, the intrepid reporter.

  Then Lenny surprised us. “I have a flight this afternoon at five,” he said.

  I felt a slash of sadness, then suppressed it and said, “We’ll take you and see you off.”

  “How can you just leave us?” Lauren said… with a smile.

  “Priorities,” he responded.

  I changed the subject. “What’s the cost on the wash?”

  “Ten points.”

  “Well worth it,” I said.

  Lauren just looked at us, probably understanding what the conversation was about without knowing the details.

  We agreed to be ready to leave the hotel at three p.m. to go to the airport for Lenny’s flight. We retreated to our respective rooms, now on different floors.

  Lauren would come with me for the day to all of my stops. This was my business and schedule, and these were my relationships, but I was happy to share all of them with her. She seemed pleased to take a deeper peek into my business life. I had been taught that life is better when it’s shared—today would be the manifest proof.

  I called Marty Collier and Olivia and made arrangements to see them in the next few hours. Both agreed to be on standby to meet. Lauren and I left the hotel shortly after ten.

  * * *

  We walked into Sabra Security without an appointment. I asked for Charlie. She came out quickly and said that Ed was still in Israel, attending to the funeral of young Arthur. She told me that Ziv, Avram, and Ronnie were there, so I asked to see them.

  We met in Ed’s office. I informed them that the Siroco threat had been neutralized and shared as many details as I could. I made special mention to Ziv that the Ukrainian Minister of the Interior had been taken away—without going into the separate business details, whatever that business was, as he was the one who had run Katarina Truska’s hack op on him. They were pleased by this news.

  The Sabra business was going as well as ever. Ed would be back in a week or two.

  That was that. The three Sabra guys walked us out to Charlie. I handed her the retainer check of fifteen thousand dollars, which I had never deposited—again, no financial details given—and told them that I was always available should anything arise in the future.

  My business with Sabra had gone quite successfully. They were all nice people, and I intended to stay in touch. You can never have enough friends.

  * * *

  We drove the short distance to Prime Mortgage. The building was still closed to the public. Lauren had contacted Jerry Rodriguez earlier this morning; he said he’d be there all day.

  Lauren had a key to the building, which she used to open the front door. The lobby was devoid of furniture, and the tile floor was sparkling clean. There was no evidence of the horrible event that had taken place there Monday… and this was Wednesday.

  We went up to Jerry’s office. He and his secretary were discussing something at his desk when we entered the room. She said her hellos and left. Jerry got up, grabbed a cane, shuffled around his desk to Lauren and hugged her, the gesture deep and meaningful. He had been shot in the leg but was wearing normal pants, so his bandages must not have been too heavy. He gave me a hug too, like we were old friends.

  He told us that the Prime Mortgage building would be closed for the rest of the week to the public, but employees were welcome to come in and do their work if they wanted. Or they could work from home—their choice. Lauren immediately said that she would like to come to work during the day, starting next Monday. Was that a subtle reminder that I had offered to take her away to the Keys?

  I told Jerry what I had in mind. “I’d like to start the Cathy McAvoy Minority Scholarship Fund here at Prime,” I said. “In her honor. What do you think?”

  “We don’t usually do stuff like that. Corporate is pretty—”

  I cut in. “Jerry, I will fund it. I was thinking five hundred thousand dollars. I thought you would be the co-trustee, along with Lauren. Does that help?”

  “Well, uh, that we could prob
ably do. We’d need to go to legal and—”

  I cut in again. “Those are details. I know you can work it out. I can give you a letter and a check when I get back. I’ll be away for about a week.”

  Jerry agreed to work on it immediately and asked Lauren to check with Cathy’s family about their thoughts, as their approval would be necessary.

  We left with an ethereal pleasantness and thoughts that Cathy was watching and was pleased. I told Jerry I would like to stay in touch, just in case. He enthusiastically gave me another hug.

  * * *

  We drove to Marty Collier’s office in Coral Gables. Lauren knew him by reputation and was pleased to have a solid contact for future business. Marty appeared to feel the same. I told Marty that I had decided to have a presence in Miami, starting as soon as possible, and that I wanted to begin the process of converting my apartment building into condos. He said that it would take about a year to complete that, which was also my understanding. Then he informed me that two units were coming up for re-leasing as of yesterday. One couple was moving into assisted living, and a single man had died. The two apartments were next to each other on the top floor, a two-bedroom and a three-bedroom, about five thousand square feet if combined. He pulled out renderings of each, which he had prepared way back as a sales tool. Lauren oohed at the pictures.

  “I want to do this. Can you manage the project?” I asked.

  “Of course. I would expect to have the exclusive agency on the condo sales.”

  “That’s a given, Marty. You’ve been fantastic with the building ever since we met. Propose a fee for your management services, get the attorneys, and keep me informed,” I said, which pleased him greatly. “When are the two apartments available?”

  “I can have them cleaned out in about a week,” he said, reaching for his business calendar. “How’s that?”

  “That works nicely,” I said, smiling at Lauren, who saw a plan forming and reflected a tangible inner joy. Then I offered a thought. “I’d like Lauren to have some kind of built-in financing deal for the condos, some kind of exclusive. Can you work with that?”