Trouble Under Venus

by Autumn Piper

  And, oh, holy hell. That other thing in my backpack, the thing Stu had read. The thing I’d told Mitch I didn’t have anymore. Shit. Would Dennis have respected my privacy enough to stay out of my journal? Doubtful. Truly doubtful.

  Yet…he hadn’t mentioned it. What did that mean?

  One thing was for sure: Tino did not need to squeeze my butt cheeks to check my pockets for a driver’s license.

  Since my right wrist pained me so, I used my left hand to slap his face.

  He laughed, which was lucky for me. Pissing off a young horny powermill like Tino was pretty stupid.

  Geez. I really did need to learn to think before acting. Or speaking, but that was off the table for awhile. For me anyway, but not for Tino.

  “You have a hot head, Dru. Like many Cubans. But do not worry. I like it.”

  How flattering. Was that why he’d kidnapped me? Because he liked me?

  He must’ve read my mind. “Papi will not be happy you cannot speak. He wishes to question you.” With a decisive nod, he added, “Not happy at all. The man who did this to you will pay.”

  Oh, crap. I didn’t want them doing anything to Stu. Steve. Whoever. He needed to remain right where we’d left him so when my father or Mitch came looking for me, they could pound the details out of his lying face, and then come rescue me from the clutches of these crazed Cubans. No, much as I wanted Stu to pay, he couldn’t, absolutely couldn’t disappear now. If he did, maybe Dad wouldn’t go missing and I’d never come looking for him. Or meet Mitch. Or maybe if Stu never stole Dad’s invention, then Dad would hit it rich and during his life of leisure decide to find his daughter. Either way, I’d be history. Not history. Lost in Space-time.

  “No!” I tried to say it, but all I got out was a gravelly squawk.

  Too late. Tino had turned his attention to barking orders at his attendants up front. Sinking into the cushy seat, I could only hope he wasn’t giving them instructions to go back and cap the Travolta look-alike. It was hard to tell though—I couldn’t follow what they said. Either they were talking much faster than normal or my brain simply wasn’t processing. Despite my predicament, drowsiness blanketed me. In the big, comfy seat, it seemed futile to resist. I’d all but succumbed when the car slowed and turned.

  The sedan sailed in and parked between a black limo and a newish white Corvette with t-tops. The muscle car had Tino written all over it.

  As my band of Cuban companions accompanied me in the back door of Conga, I prayed I’d hear motorcycles roaring into the lot. Would Mitch and my dad even know where to come looking for me?

  Were they done pounding the snot out of each other yet?

  At least by entering through the back door, nobody witnessed how ridiculous I looked, leaning on Tino for support as my skates skipped and caught along the Spanish tile floor.

  Nor did anybody but his two helper-thugs see him whisk me into his office and lock the door behind us.

  Chapter 30

  Red rock formations loomed on the horizon. A hawk shrieked overhead, its shadow flickering by.

  The stones came into focus. Bell Rock.

  Sedona. A quieter, less-populated Sedona. The smells of sage and cedar, the sounds of…nothing. Ahhh. No planes, no helicopters. From this spot, no cars.

  Only me. And, knowing the hand interlocked with mine, Mitch. So we’d made it back to the vortex. We were going home. Could we just do that? Was it time, already? Didn’t we have more work to do in 1980?

  “Randi. Come on, you’re not focusing.”

  Focus. I needed to focus so we could go back through time, or forward through time, or whatever. Surely I was supposed to have some image in my head, but I couldn’t recall it. Something was gone, something…

  “Something wrong? Babe, we’ve gotta go.” Mitch’s patience was wearing thin.

  I couldn’t go, though. I’d forgotten something. What was I missing? Besides my entire left arm. Odd, how I could look with such detachment at my gaping shoulder socket, which incidentally, was neither stitched nor bleeding. Simply empty.

  My left hand was gone. How could I ever marry again, with no left hand on which to wear a ring?

  “Mitch. We can’t go. We’ve got to go back. I forgot something.”

  But he didn’t listen. He’d resumed meditating, and must be doing it quite successfully, for part of me was being tugged along with him, my right side melting into the oblivion of the wormhole.

  I’d never make it. I wasn’t finished in 1980, a part of me would remain there. I’d never be whole, unless I could make Mitch wait.

  “But Mitch, your case! Did you ever solve your case?”

  Thud! His hand was gone from mine.

  * * * *

  Around me, semi-darkness. Beneath me, the cool leather of Tino’s sofa. I shivered under a cold sweat. That thud echoing in my mind…the door. His office door had just shut. Did someone enter or exit?

  If anyone had entered, they sure didn’t need much light to get around, and they weren’t making any noise. It was safe to assume whoever had been there was gone.

  Good. I had enough to worry about with that dream. Would Mitch really try to drag me bodily back to the future? What would happen to me if I couldn’t focus, when it came time to transport back? Could I focus, if I didn’t solve the mystery of my dad?

  These could all be needless worries, since I might never escape Tino and Rico.

  Tino’s door was locked from the outside last he’d left. I’d feigned sleep until he was gone and, skates in hand, padded over to the door, determined to slip out unnoticed. Only to discover I was locked in. A real, true, prisoner. Good thing I’d collapsed dejected on the couch, because he’d been back with Rico in short order. And Rico had not been pleased when he was unable to “rouse” me. He’d ordered Tino to get a “medico.” And left.

  The doctor’s arrival had been noisy and actually did wake me, though I’d continued to feign sleep. Throughout his exam, I’d had the strong impression he knew as much. Maybe he’d been irritated at being called out for a two AM house call. Or was it good luck?

  I had the little turtle in my front pocket. One of its legs had broken off during the tussle with Stu, but surely an eight-sided turtle was still good luck with only three legs?

  Around three, Tino had tiptoed out, snicking the lock shut behind him.

  What time was it now? Oh, God, my head hurt when I stood up. If the damn doctor hadn’t been digging around the knot back there, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Pretending to be out cold while he’d poked and prodded had been tough. Sure seemed like the swelling should start going down.

  I read my watch by the light of a high window. Six AM.

  Who in the hell was running around Conga this early? Not sneaking around, but banging a door shut.

  Guess it wasn’t Keen or Mitch, since they’d surely have rescued me.

  Time for me to figure out how to escape. Which might be as easy as phoning for help...

  How foolish of me to imagine they’d leave me a phone.

  But the cord was still there. A mighty long cord, too. It might come in handy, if I could get up to that window.

  That window wayyy up there. Damn.

  Geez, I could actually feel my pulse pounding through that lump on my scalp. Ouch. What I really needed to do was concentrate on what good came out of that colossal wipeout.

  Maybe I’d better sit down to formulate my plan. Save my energy for the big escape.

  Big. Crap. The Big was tonight. In twelve hours, I was due on La Pilar with Mitch and Keen.

  Where were they? Settling back in a corner of the enormous couch, I hoped neither of them had ended up in the hospital.

  Hmm. Maybe I could stack the desk chair on top of the desk. Could I push that ginormous desk over to the wall, though?

  Made me tired, just thinking about it.

  Thunk!

  I jolted awake, immediately regretting whatever time I’d wasted by snoozing again.

  Another thunk! This wa
s not the door to the office, but a pounding on the wall.

  A groan and some fast male talk, possibly in Cuban.

  Another groan. Pleading?

  Thunk.

  Who was getting beat up, and who was the beater? Maybe if I moved closer, I could hear better. Placing my ear against the wall between two velvet posters, I listened. If memory served me right, next door was Rico’s office.

  Laughter, from more than one man. The associates. They must be doing the pounding. But who were they pulverizing? Oh, please, God, not Keen or Mitch.

  More pleading from the victim. This time I caught “deal” and again, in a higher pitch, “deal?”

  The soft, hissy voice of Rico. I pressed my ear harder against the wall. “…Bee Eye, no, ehStu?”

  No reply, then another thunk and a groan. Scratching sounds as the victim slid down the wall. A whiny and familiar, “Yes.”

  Stu. Shit! Rico had captured Stu. Who sounded quite eager to compromise. Deal. He wanted to make a deal. What kind of deal could he offer Rico? I almost hoped he could pull it off. Because if he didn’t, if Rico offed him, the space-time line could get all mucked up. He shouldn’t even be here, should he? If it wasn’t for Tino seeing him trying to kill me, Stu would be tucked in safe and sound at his duplex or maybe in the sack with Grandma. Not here, in the clutches of the Cuban mob. They couldn’t strike a deal, either. That would have never happened if I hadn’t brought them together, however unintentional it was. Stu needed to play his regular part in The Big, which would surely be the end of Dennis’s comfy game of pull-the-wool-over-the-gangster’s-eyes, and then he had to steal the invention idea and skip town. If he didn’t, I was toast.

  Now, what were they saying? Rico’s hiss, something about his son. His son, on the inside. Inside of what? Conga?

  Stu. Training, tests. Personal recommendation. Name change?

  Uh-oh. Rico didn’t like the idea of a name change.

  And Stu sounded determined it had to happen.

  A name change for Tino? What was Tino’s real name, anyhow? Why would he need to change it? If Stu helped him get in…hmm…the FBI? Could he really do that? Was Rico setting his son up to be his inside contact?

  Oh, God. He needed a new source to keep him abreast of what the cops were up to. Which meant one thing to me: he wasn’t going to need Keen’s services any more. And he wouldn’t just quit using Keen. Something told me when Rico finished with somebody, when they weren’t useful to him anymore, it was curtains for them. What had my dad said to me? Something about how you don’t walk away from a relationship with a guy like Tino. Or his dad. When they end it, they end you.

  Okay. So I couldn’t allow Rico and Strangler Stu to strike a bargain. But I also couldn’t let Stu come to his untimely—if deserved—demise here, either.

  Meanwhile, I hadn’t figured out how to save my own neck.

  Speaking of necks, mine was definitely not feeling spectacular. The floor-to-ceiling mirror along one wall of the office gave me an eyeful of nasty purple and red marks on my neck. How very lovely. And how conspicuous, if I tried to escape and blend in. There wasn’t much to be done for it. Or for all the pretty fuchsia floor burns on my arms.

  But I couldn’t think about that now. I had to focus on getting away, and no nodding off to sleep this time.

  Stu droned on about inventing a background for Tino, a new identity. But Rico remained adamant about keeping the name.

  Moot points, boys. It’s not gonna happen, if I have any say in it.

  And then I could swear I heard Stu telling Rico something about the woman, Drew, and how she knew too much. Rico said he’d handle it.

  Stu liked that. He felt they had a deal.

  Great. A deal that included killing me off?

  At last, Rico sounded a bit agreeable. Then, with a wicked chuckle, his voice lowered.

  More thunks, his thugs guffawed, a whump which had to be Stu’s head hitting the wall, and then a far-away door opened and shut.

  I raced back to the couch and forced myself to breathe slow and deep. Somebody quietly opened the door—looking in on me?—and then shut it. With about the same amount of force as last time.

  So it had been someone looking in on me. Too bad for them, they’d woke me. Who knows how long I’d have slept if they’d been quiet about it.

  Their steps retreated down the hall and eventually car doors opened and shut. Three of them. A low engine sound and then quiet once more.

  Conga was truly still and deserted so early in the morning.

  All except the noise next door. My God, was he sobbing over there?

  Now or never. So the window was my best option for escape. But I didn’t only need to escape. I also had to break back in and free Stu from the inside hallway. Good Lord. I’d never picked a lock in my life.

  Unless…what if I could go through AC ducts and get Stu, then bring him out the window of this office? Would he kill me when he saw me again? Why was I even bothering to save his lousy tail? Oh, right. Because if I didn’t, I might become one of those prodigal space-time accidents everyone speculates about. I’d be trapped in non-existence, without Mitch. Reuniting with Mitch was good incentive.

  Okay. There was a vent right above Tino’s desk. Of course, optimal air flow, right over him while he was working. Probably a must during a Miami summer. I bet I’d find another vent above his father’s desk, too.

  All I had to do was heft this big old desk chair—the wood was a good thing because it made it sturdy but damn, it was heavy!—on top of the desk. Those wheels were going to make for a risky climb into the vents, but I’d have to give it my all.

  This was probably a balancing act best performed sans concussion, but as I wobbled atop the desk and then teetered on the chair, I knew it was my one and only way out of this mess. The only way I’d ever see the safety of Mitchell Goodbody again.

  The vent cover was a bit skewed, like it had been jammed into a spot it was too big for. It didn’t want to come out, and protested with a loud squeak.

  The sobbing next door ceased.

  “Heh-hello?” Stu called. “Hello?”

  No need to answer the dipshit. Let him sit there and sweat it out until I came to his rescue.

  The grate dangled by its hinges, beckoning me up, up into the duct. The opening loomed far above my head. It would be a stretch, but I should be able to pull myself up. If only the ceiling tiles would support my weight.

  I grabbed hold and pulled. With twin puffs of powder, the tiles cracked and I landed in a heap on the desk, the chair crashing off the side to the floor.

  Well, hell. It wasn’t at all like the movies. Come to think of it, there was no way I’d have fit through that duct, anyway, let alone Stu. And my wrist still hurt like a son of a—

  “Hello?” My nemesis pounded on the wall. “Who’s there? Get me outta here! Hey! Hey?”

  Bastard.

  Mitch. I had to focus on Mitch. Because it’d be really fine revenge to leave Stu the Shit to be disposed of by Rico. Once he’d gotten Tino on the “inside”, Rico would get rid of Stu in fine fashion.

  Mitch.

  I climbed down from the desk and wiped the plaster powder from my hands. Along with some blood. I must’ve sliced my hand open on the damn grate.

  Nice. Time to get out the window. The phone cord went for miles from under the desk, over to a wall, which it followed into a corner. I yanked on it, but it wouldn’t come out. I’d have to cut it. Maybe there was something in Tino’s desk. It would have been stupid for him to leave me something sharp, but in my experience he wasn’t the brightest penny in the bank.

  Scissors. Big, gleaming, barely ever used. Perfect.

  Quick snip, and I had a handy rope. Bingo.

  Feeling very much like Indiana Jones with his trusty whip, I imagined myself looking suave as I looped the cord in a neat roll and slung it around my right shoulder. And stood rubbing my chin and wondering how in the hell to get that behemoth of a desk under the window. I was really
weak, and…hmm. Better put the scissors in my back pocket. Might come in handy later on.

  Or maybe I could push the couch over to the wall and pile the coffee table on top of it and go out that way. I tried to budge it, to no avail. Good God, did the Cubans screw everything to the floor or had I become the weakest chick ever? No way was I going to give up. If only I had some of those neato furniture sliders like back at my apartment. I’d managed to move all my own furniture around with them. Sliders, wheels…my skates! Could I possibly get the skates under the sofa and then roll it over to the window? I’d need some leverage to lift the sofa in order to shove them under. The coat tree! I could use the coat tree as a lever and—something bugged me about that coat tree. Who the hell needed one in Miami, anyhow? Coat tree. Man, my head hurt. Trees. Trees were for climbing. Maybe I could move the coat tree over there and climb it. It wouldn’t be quite high enough. I could push the coffee table over, then stack the coat tree on it.

  My poor, aching head. Didn’t Tino have any aspirin?

  I had to check before doing anything else. Bupkiss, except… In a lower drawer of his desk, one fancy bottle of…Amaretto. Room temp. It was something. There’d be sugar for a bit of energy and maybe it’d help numb the throbbing pain. It took all I had to twist the lid open and break the seal. Swigging straight from the bottle renewed my Indiana self-image. And it felt damn nice going down. I tried to shove it inside the waist of my jeans, to no avail. Way too tight of a fit for anything like that. Kinda made me giggle at my own silliness. But hey, another swig for the road would be fortifying.

  Now where was I? Oh yeah, moving the coffee table. It grated and ground and scraped along, causing my neighbor to yell more. Still, I did not answer him.

  Next, the coat tree. The easy part. Before I moved it, I’d best have one more drink of Amaretto.