White Hot

by Carmen Faye

  West agreed. “That was my feelings on the matter as well. Good hunting.”

  “Thanks,” Neil said, and broke the connection.

  His next phone call was to Detective Selene of Miami Vice, who he talked with briefly, ignoring her introductory flirtations.

  “You sure about this, Neil?” she asked.

  “About the amount? Not really, but it will be enough,” he told her.

  “No, about going against the club like this. You might be starting more problems than you are solving,” she advised.

  “I tried to walk away, and gave him two chances already. Now the woman I love is in the hospital after being shot by a paid assassin. Wasn’t even club. This time he goes down, and if I don’t get him, you will. Simple as that.”

  “Alright. I’ll be there. Thanks for letting me in on this, I guess, though it seems like a shitty thing to say thank you for,” Selene told him.

  “It will help your career?” he asked.

  “Sure it will, but—”

  “Then you are welcome. Something good should come out of this mess,” he told her.

  “She’s not dead, Neil,” Selene told him. “She’s fine. It was on the news. She’s already in recovery.”

  “Did they ID the shooter yet?” he asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

  “Simon Grimm. He an assassin with an impeccable reputation—until tonight. Word is that he even did wet-work for C.I.A. types, but that’s just talk. Maybe. So, did you kill him?”

  “When I left, he was breathing,” he lied.

  “Death rattles, I’ll bet. I’m not telling anyone a thing, Neil. Not my case, and good work if you did. The world is a little brighter with that one gone,” she told him.

  “It will be brighter yet by sunrise,” he replied. “Talk to you later.”

  “I hope so,” she said before he hung up.

  His next stop was an all-night home repair place to pick up ten large packs of mothballs, four large cans of compressed air—the type used to clean computer keyboards—a crowbar, and a plastic crate.

  Neil arrived two blocks from the club house at just after ten in the evening. He took the crate full of mothballs, the crowbar, and compressed air with him, leaving the rifle wrapped in a blanket on his back seat. With any luck, it would be stolen by the time he was back, saving him the hassle of disposal.

  He crossed the street, mostly ignored, and then used the crowbar to open up a fake manhole behind the club bar. An alarm would be going off inside Anton’s office so he moved quickly, grabbing up the crate and dropping it down the eight feet to the floor of the tunnel below. Then he pulled out from his jacket one of his thermite grenades, pulled the pin, and dropped it into the middle of the mothball pile.

  After the massive stink bomb was set, he hurried back across the street, almost reaching the curb before hearing the explosion and seeing the suety-yellow flame pour up out of the hole into the night. Traffic came to a stop as people gawked at the flame, which began to decline rapidly. The heat and explosion likely vaporized the mothballs, so that would ensure that no one was going down into that tunnel without vomiting and that the fire department would definitely investigate—of course, the presence of a thermite burn down there would have been enough for an investigation.

  Neil called the 911 emergency line and was told that response was already on the way. As he hung up the phone, he could hear the sirens crawling through the night air.

  Just as the Fire Department showed up, he saw Selene and her partner pull up in their unmarked car with the lights going. He waited by his trike, hoping to see Anton flushed out of the front door and into a waiting car.

  The exodus that came from the bar a few moments later was massive. The bar was probably packed since it was Friday night. The stink of the vaporized mothballs pouring into the place out of the trap door in Anton’s office would be enough to clear the bar, but seeing that the Fire Department was about to discover a large cache of cocaine down in that tunnel helped move anyone with a patch on their back out as well. There was no way of tracking Anton through that crowd, and bikes and cars were starting up and taking off as soon as their drivers could put keys in the ignition.

  Neil moved back into the shadows, cursing himself for not thinking of this possibility. He could try to pick up the trail back at Anton’s house, but decided that would only result in his arrest. He checked the back seat of his trike, and was surprised that the M-16 was right where he left it, wrapped up in the blanket.

  Things just weren’t working out tonight.

  He broke down the M-16 and put it into the storage area under the seat, and then started up his bike and headed for the hospital.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When Shayla woke Tuesday morning she was slightly disorientated until she moved and the pain in her shoulder reminded her that she was in the hospital. Her next thought was that she was alone, and she didn’t like the feeling. She looked to the side to see if there was a glass of water on the bed table and saw Neil, asleep in one of the visiting chairs. She smiled and moved a little more to see if she could reach the cup of water, and let out an involuntary gasp. Neil’s eyes opened.

  “Morning lover,” she said to him, trying to control the pain in her voice.

  He gave her a sleepy grin and then stood up, retrieved the cup for her, and let her sip from the straw.

  “You don’t have to hide it from me,” he told her, as he set the cup back down. “Being shot hurts like hell. Been there, done that.”

  “I never noticed a scar on you from that,” she mentioned.

  “Can barely see it. I had some plastic surgery done on it, so the girls wouldn’t know it happened,” he told her.

  “Hmm, maybe I can salvage my Italian photoshoot after all,” she mused.

  Neil shrugged, saying, “Probably. I never did find out what he was using as a weapon, but the holes in the door frame weren’t all that large.”

  “I’m glad you are alright,” she told him.

  “I’m rather happy about that myself. I’ll go get a nurse to get you some pain pills and see what the prognosis is for you getting out of here,” he told her.

  “Alright,” she said. “Are West and Brian still here?”

  “No, they took off at three o’clock. Fire and Swift are here right now. Why?”

  “I was just going to suggest some coffee for them or something. Have you been here all night?”

  “Came in about eleven,” he told her.

  “Anton?”

  “We’ll talk after we get you a nurse, but he still lives. He’s in hiding, and just as dangerous.”

  “Shit,” she said.

  After the nurse left, promising to check on a release time for her, Shayla waited until the door closed to say, “So, tell me. Sydney said something was on the news.”

  She listened while Neil caught her up on his activities last night and also the information on the shooter.

  “A real assassin?” she said, unable to hide the shock. “I suppose we should feel honored, though I don’t feel anything except pissed off.”

  “I think I was the target,” Neil informed her.

  She frowned and said, “I fail to see how that should make me feel better.”

  Her doctor came in and helped a nurse to change her bandage, giving Neil instructions on when and how to change the wrapping after discharge.

  “We should have you out of here by ten o’clock,” her doctor said.

  “Thanks,” she said. “How long before I can deal without the pain pills?”

  “At least a week. I’m giving you three weeks’ worth in your prescription,” he told her.

  She frowned. “What about mobility?”

  He smiled, and said, “If you are planning on a triathlon, best to cancel.”

  “What about weight lifting, or aerobics?” she asked.

  “Give it a month,” he advised. “Then start slow and build back up the damaged tissue. You might look into some non-aggressive yoga as well. Ri
ght now, use the sling and keep it as immobile as possible for at least three weeks. Do you have a regular doctor?”

  “No, but I’ll get one. Thanks,” she told him.

  “All things considered,” he added, “You came through very well. Could have been much worse. An inch to the left or right and you might have been here for a week or more.”

  Once the doctor left, Neil said, “I want you to go to the safe house, the two-bedroom in North Miami. I’m going to call Sydney and have her meet you there. You’re going to take a cab.”

  “I can ride on the trike,” she objected.

  “I’m sure you can, but the trike is easy to spot and follow,” he reasoned. “Now, here’s how you get there so that you aren’t followed,” he told her, and then outlined the actions she should take.

  She nodded and memorized the procedure. It wasn’t exactly elaborate, but certainly more than she would have put into a simple cross-town journey.

  “When am I going to see you again?” she asked.

  “Tonight,” Neil assured her.

  “Alright,” she said glumly.

  “Selene called me just after I got here last night,” he explained. “She said there is a warrant out for Anton’s arrest for the twenty-five kilos of cocaine they discovered in the tunnel. The tactic he used to keep himself out of jail from the raid are going to sink him this time. The trap door is right under his chair in his office. He’s looking at some serious time. So, we’re going to lay low and let the cops pick him up.”

  She searched his eyes. “What about the club? What kind of backlash are we looking at for the stink-bomb?”

  “No one knows it was me,” he told her. “No one saw me, and when I got here I told West and Brian that the club was crawling with cops and firemen when I arrived looking for Anton. The timing is suspicious, but I can live with that.”

  “I hope you mean that literally,” she said.

  “I do,” he agreed.

  “Good,” she said. “I had a lawyer come in for us last night, Margret House, because I wanted you to have as much freedom to move as possible. She backed the detectives off of us, but only until Thursday. Then I have to come clean about you being at the house. So, we’ll need to talk about that once we’re all at the safe house tonight.”

  “How are the girls?” he asked, sounding worried.

  “Good,” she told him. “More worried about me than being shot at. I don’t think they have really put together the fact that they could have been shot as well. It just hasn’t occurred to them, or if it has, it’s just a theoretical event. Not something real.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I hate the idea, but it will be best to distance ourselves from them until we have an upper hand again.”

  She met his eyes and said, “We’re not going to have that until Anton is dead, Neil. You know that, right? Even from prison he can hire gunmen and have us harassed. Thanks to that asshole last night, and the news, everyone knows where we live.”

  Neil grimaced, but nodded his head.

  “Neil, I’m not fond of the idea of killing either. In fact, I hate it, but Anton is not giving us any choice. He’s dangerous, and has now proven he’s willing to go to extreme lengths to kill us. The gunman was after you last night, but he would have been after me and Sydney next. And what is stopping Anton from using your sisters as hostages? He has to be taken care of. He’s too dangerous to do anything else.”

  Mentioning his sisters as potential hostages made Neil look like she just slapped him. She wanted to apologize instantly, but refrained. The fact was, if she was Anton, that’s exactly what her next move would be. From the look in Neil’s eyes, he was coming to grips with that bare-bones fact as well.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” he told her, and walked to the door. He opened it and talked to Swift and Fire, asking them to head over to his mother’s house to make sure nothing happened to them. “I’ve got this,” he said, “And I’ll call Mom and let them know you are on the way.”

  Swift’s eyes went wide instantly as he did the math and came up with fuck. It took Fire a few moments longer, but his eyes suddenly glowed with a deep anger that Shayla was sure had a lot to do with how he got his road-name.

  “On our way,” Fire told him. “Food is probably better there anyway.”

  “I don’t doubt it. How long can you guys stay there? I’ll need to make a call to West to see about relief,” Neil asked him.

  Swift said, “How’s next Tuesday? Better yet, I’ll just plan on living there for a while. I still owe you for that night at the strip club. Consider this my payback.”

  Neil nodded and shook his hand. “Thanks, Swift.”

  “I’m with Swift,” Fire told him, and without another word he started walking for the elevator, Swift following close behind.

  Neil came back in and pulled out his cellphone. After calling Amanda and explaining his fears, he told her about Fire and Swift. His voice was subdued for the rest of the conversation, mostly grunts of agreement and apology.

  Once he hung up she said to him, “Amanda did mention to you that none of this is your fault, right?”

  Neil gave her a grin and admitted, “Yeah, she did say something like that.”

  “Take it to heart, Neil. We’ll get through this, and while it’s not our fault, it does fall to us to fix it, so keep your head in a productive state of mind.”

  He nodded and sat back down. “Right,” he agreed.

  “So, how do we find Anton?” she asked.

  “Never been much of a tracker. I assume he has one or more safe houses. His house is mostly burned down, according to the news, and the cops are looking for him. He’ll go to ground for today, and probably tomorrow. He’ll use Skype to talk with his trusted men. There are five of them who stand firmly behind him, though they are all solid club members as well. They won’t allow him to use Knights resources for tracking and killing me or you. This morning Selene and Miami Vice are going to freeze his accounts and assets. So, he’ll have what he has in caches. Let’s say fifty grand.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” she agreed. “Will he leave the city?”

  Neil thought about that for a while. “I don’t know. He has a sister up in Palm Beach Gardens.”

  “Too obvious. The cops will be all over that one,” she mused.

  “He’s originally from Orlando. He might have connections there,” Neil offered.

  “That’s a possibility,” she agreed. “I hope not, though.”

  “If he’s out of the city and low on funds—at least the kind of funds he needs to hire assassins—he’s less of a danger,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, but we still can’t go home,” she told him. “The problem isn’t solved. I’ll sell the condo. I’m not attached to it yet, though I did like it. It was our first home. But even if we move again, that’s still a temporary fix. He wants to find us. Unless we move out of the state, he’ll eventually find us.”

  “So, you aren’t going to be happy with him just in prison?” he asked. “Yes, he’ll have contacts still, and have some pull with the club, but like I pointed out, he has few personal resources and none to throw at us from the club.”

  “I hate to put it like this Neil,” she said sadly, “But are you willing to bet your sisters on that?”

  Neil’s eyebrows furrowed in deep thought—an expression she was sure she didn’t need to see again on his face for the rest of her life.

  “No,” he finally relented. “No, you’re right. We need to get to him before the cops. It will be much more difficult to deal with him once he’s in jail or even out on bail. We’ll be the first suspects if he turns up dead.”

  At ten o’clock Neil walked her out to the cab, got her into the back, and leaned in and gave her a kiss while discreetly passing her a 9mm Baretta to slip into her purse.

  “You good on the route?” he asked.

  “I’ll see you there. You be careful as well,” she told him.

  Then he closed the door and she told the driver to
take her to the airport.

  At the airport she bought a ticket for the next flight to New York, paying cash. Then she skipped the Departures area and went straight to Arrivals. There, she picked the first cab she came to and told the driver the address of the safe house in North Miami.

  On her way to the safe house she called Amanda, and then called Sandy, chatting with both of them for most of the drive. After that she called Sydney and found that she was in a cab as well, heading for the safe house.