Trouble Under Venus

by Autumn Piper

  His hands gripped his head. But at least he wasn’t looking at me, which made my other confessions easier.

  “Stu went through my bag too. And found something else.”

  Mitch looked up at me.

  “Um. You remember my, ah, travel journal?”

  His jaws flexed.

  “I’m pretty sure Dennis read it too.”

  He gave me a half-sick smile. “So you failed to tell me about the money, kinda like I failed to tell you about Keen making me.”

  Didn’t sound too bad. I nodded. Getting all this off my chest felt better already!

  Then he straightened to his full height. “But you outright lied to me when I asked you about that notebook.” Ugg. “You jeopardized everything by dragging that thing around, writing God-knows-what, and you’ve got the nerve to point your finger at me?”

  Oh, this wasn’t going right. Here we were, fighting again. I hadn’t fought this much since I’d been married. Maybe I wasn’t ready for another relationship. Mitch was well and truly mad. He’d brushed past me to look out a porthole, and the back of his neck and ears were very red, even through his fake tan. “You know, if everybody would stay out of my private stuff—”

  His head dropped. Was he sobbing? His body shook and there was that howling sound…

  Then he turned and wiped at his eyes. Laughing.

  “The only girl I’ve ever known who would break into my hotel room and go through all my shit, is indignant because somebody returned the favor!”

  He had a point, but it didn’t mean I had to like it. So I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away from him, lest I start laughing too.

  “Randi. Jesus, you’re a pain in the ass.” Pain in the ass or no, he took me in his arms again. “Baby. You know, I’d do anything for you. But this Witness thing, I can’t. It’s not…safe for us. You understand?”

  “Back to my question: What the hell do I tell my dad when I go back out there?” He was only going to hate Mitch more. “Do I tell him to call somebody else at the FBI tomorrow morning? What?”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  “So you guys can fight again?”

  “I won’t beat him up as bad next time.”

  Ha! He said with his semi-black eye!

  “Funny. We’d better get back out there. I’m under strict instructions to not be ‘making out’ in here.”

  “Yeah. Better not push him. He might ground ya or something.”

  I started walking toward the door, but he caught me and spun me to face him.

  “Look, Randi. This is important. When we get back to land, stick close to me. I know you don’t wanta hear it, but we don’t know the outcome tonight.”

  Some sour part of my dinner threatened to come back up. Anything could happen in the coming hours. If it came between finding out my dad died during this fracas, or being left in the dark about his destiny, I wasn’t sure which I’d choose.

  “Okay.” For once, I’d be compliant. Regardless of what happened to Dennis, there was no way I’d go home without Mitch.

  Chapter 33

  The yacht’s wake sunk into the water around, becoming shorter with each second.

  Conversation on the deck ceased.

  Safe inside a stateroom were five Cuban national women, two old ladies, and three small children. Ten political refugees, caught in the backlash of power and enmity, the turmoil men and money churned. I’d watched them board, seen the fear on their faces. In their world, they followed the orders given by men. Plucked from familiarity and set down in a frightening place of different words, strange values, they must wonder if they’d ever see home again.

  I could only hope Keen was right, and they’d be returned safe and sound.

  Keen’s plan sounded too simple to work. He’d told Armando to dock at a different port, where the nationals’ connection should be meeting us. Only, he’d contacted the connection and told him to meet us at another port. And at the dock we’d left from? Rico’s guys would be waiting with a van.

  But first things first. Somewhere in the shadows of the dock ahead, federal agents waited.

  Armando would believe Keen was surprised by the agents too. The agents would take the women into custody and seize the heroin.

  Keen had quite a large bottle of sedatives to tranquilize the crew, as well as our hosts. If Mitch and I helped and everything went as planned, they’d all be out cold when Keen pulled his scam on Rico.

  Did I feel the least bit guilty for helping Keen bilk Mr. Mob Boss Himself out of twenty-five grand? Nope. In fact, my blood was pumping faster than it had been before my first base-jump. We’d have to sneak, ambush, act, drug, act some more, and then run like the hounds of hell themselves—or several angry mafia men—were after us, to make our big escape.

  Oh yeah, I was ready.

  What I wasn’t ready for was all the terrified shrieks from the women when a band of intimidating men with guns met them at the docks instead of Fidel’s friend. Nor was I prepared for the accusing look Pilar gave me when she—far more cunning than her spouse—put two and two together, guessing the mission had been compromised and I knew about it. Luckily while she blurted her accusation, Keen slipped the sedative into her drink. One tiny burst of bubbles and visual evidence had evaporated. One long drink, which I admit to encouraging her to take while I acted shocked and confused by her allegations, and she calmed right down. By the time she settled into the corner of her couch for a little rest, Armando was well on his way to joining her. Thank God, because there was no way he’d have bought Keen’s story of being surprised by the Feds. Especially since not a single one set foot on the boat. They herded the women toward the van, seizing bundles of ‘joy’ three of the young women carried. And who should shut the door of the van as the yacht backed away, but Stu.

  For old time’s sake, I gave him the finger.

  Good thing Keen had experience driving boats, because he sure didn’t have a problem getting the captain to enjoy a cocktail with him. Mitch took care of the cook and I conned the butler-maitre d’ into a drink.

  Which left Act Three. Rico and Company.

  Still no sign of Tino, and everyone had searched the yacht. Somehow, he’d disappeared. Mitch assured me it was probably part of his plan. He didn’t remember the case file mentioning Rico’s son. If he faked Tino’s death, nobody would suspect a new agent. I didn’t draw a relaxed breath, though. Tino could still be lurking somewhere on that massive raft waiting to botch Keen’s plans.

  The intrigue was awesome, though. Intrigue for revenge is really exciting.

  Another dock, another van. Deep breath. It was almost over. Almost.

  Low and behold, the great and magnificent Rico, emerged from his limo, the first and only time I’d see him outside Conga.

  Show time.

  Mitch took the wheel so Keen could be down at the gate when Rico approached. I stayed above, where I could watch and not be seen. But Mitch had stuck a pistol in my jacket pocket with the scissors.

  Below, there were words, heated words.

  Keen shaking his head.

  I rubbed the turtle, soothing, hoping.

  “Fuck it, Rico. I’ve got two higher bidders. I don’t have to deliver to you.” And turning his head up, he yelled, “Armando, fire up the engines. We’re going to Plan B.”

  Rico looked anxious. Something about “half” drifted up to me.

  Keen wasn’t going for half. He was getting all the money up front, before he let Rico aboard. Only then would he walk Rico back to the stateroom where the ‘refugees’ were. I’d get the honor of turning the key on the outside of the door after Keen shoved Rico in said room.

  Rico bitched and complained.

  Mitch started the engines.

  Rico balked. And paced.

  Off in the distance, a freighter blew its air horn. An ominous portent?

  Keen reminded him how far back they went, like the good old boys they were, but he couldn’t trust Rico to not double cross him. Didn’t
he remember that other time Keen came through and then Rico shorted him?

  God, did I even want to know? Nope.

  “Ay, dios mío!” Rico motioned one of his guys down, a bundle of cash under his arm.

  “Do I need to count this?” Keen asked. Without waiting for an answer he tossed it up to my deck. “Can you check that for me?”

  Um, sure. Duct tape wrapped around a black Hefty bag, which would presumably be the future mode of transport for this heap of cash. I fumbled with the tape, attempting to not tear the bag too much.

  Stacks of twenties. I’d seen enough movies to check the bundles and make sure they were twenties through and through, not only at the ends.

  Below, Rico had the nerve to ask how I’d ended up on The Big instead of safely tucked away in his custody.

  I’d have laughed, if I wasn’t so busy counting. How many in a bundle? How many did we need to make twenty-five thousand? Hmm. Five per hundred, fifty per thousand.

  Keen told Rico in no uncertain terms to Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

  Five, ten, fifteen…twenty-five bundles. Assuming each bundle had the requisite fifty bills, we were in business.

  “Christ, she calls herself a teacher!” Keen muttered below me.

  “Hey, bite me.” I checked a couple more stacks to make sure Rico’s guys didn’t slip in a bundle of fives or ones. “It’s hard to concentrate with you yammering down there. Yeah, it looks like twenty-five g’s.” Man, me and the gangster lingo. Was I getting cool or what?

  From the lower deck, “Geez.” Or was it “G’s.”? Probably. Geez didn’t really fit in the Keen vocab.

  Rico wanted his guy to come aboard with him.

  In all fairness, Keen had come up with a good plan, but he should have seen this one coming. After all, Rico wasn’t used to going anywhere without an entourage.

  More arguing.

  I re-bundled the money in preparation for our upcoming flight.

  Keen conceded and swung open the gate.

  I turned and looked at Mitch in the cockpit. He nodded and followed a few paces behind me down the spiral stairs.

  Pilar and Armando were safely tucked in the master bed, snoring when I paused at the bottom of the stairs. Now how were we going to get both Rico and his groupie in that stateroom? I turned to see what Mitch had planned, and he was gone.

  Gone. Oh, shit. What did that mean? Had Tino reappeared and knocked him out or thrown him overboard? There hadn’t been a splash. And Mitch’s substantial bod would certainly make a splash. I hadn’t heard any thuds or scuffling. That sour part of dinner was returning when I looked to the other end of the hall again. Mitch approached behind Rico and his guy, gun in hand.

  Guns. Exciting graduated to scary. Surely the Cubans were packing, too.

  I suddenly, really, wanted this night to be over.

  Keen opened the door. Rico peeked inside, then turned around in time to see the big hairy hands shoving him in. Señor Thug put up a bit of a fight, which I’m proud to say Mitch handled quite well. I had no idea he was such a badass. And he didn’t even need to use his gun, what with all the cool karate moves and stuff. By the time he pushed the oversized, underconscious bundle through the door, Keen’s mouth had dropped open. Perhaps he was feeling relieved Mitch hadn’t opened that particular can of whoopass on him at the rink parking lot. I was.

  Though I did lock the door with a flourish, my part truly paled in comparison to the guys’.

  Then we were hustling out the gate, Keen waving Rico’s guys down the dock toward the yacht.

  “Rico said come on down and help! Arriba! Andalé!”

  Most of them hurried past us as we made steady progress toward Mitch’s and Keen’s bikes. Figuring it’d be a bit over the top to steal Rico’s bike right in front of him—again—I grabbed my helmet and kept close to Mitch.

  As we reached our wheels, all hell broke loose down on the yacht.

  Amid the chaos of Cuban expletives, several brilliant pops rang out, spurring us to greater haste. Following Mitch’s orders, I got on behind him and clung for dear life as he took off much faster than I’d ever known him to.

  From in front of Rico’s limo, another bright flash and Keen screamed, but I didn’t understand why. He made a fast u-turn and whipped around toward the car. As Mitch drove on, I looked back and saw one more flash and then Keen’s shoulder recoiled. He all but fell off his bike, but the few shots he fired made the bad guys duck and run for cover.

  “Mitch! He’s hit! Turn around, he’s hit!”

  Keen was speeding off in one direction, and we were speeding in the other.

  “Mitch! I’ve got his money! I’ve still got his money, Goddammit, turn around.” I pulled the packet of money out to wave it and get his attention. It stuck to my jacket, though. When I’d freed it, I knew why. “Holy shit! They shot the money!”

  Mitch slowed and looked down at the bundle, the plastic now rent with a huge hole which most certainly would have been in my rib cage if I hadn’t been holding it.

  “He thought they shot you!”

  And in the process of his vengeance, he’d gotten himself shot. And now he was heading off who-knew-where. Alone. In the middle of the night with a big hole in his shoulder.

  God. My eyes blurred.

  Mitch took a left down the next side street, another left, and drove like a complete maniac back the way we’d come.

  I held on, mentally rubbing the little glass turtle. He was shot, but only because of me. We had to fix this.

  Once Mitch got on the main road again, he opened his throttle.

  Hopefully we hadn’t lost him. We couldn’t lose him.

  Down on the water, red and blue coast guard lights flashed everywhere.

  Surely Dennis would pull over someplace and wait? He had to want his money. I got a sinking feeling. What if he’d deliberately made sure I was holding the money, so he could leave it with me? What if it was some kind of penance because he felt guilty about not being part of my life?

  As this black thought hit, a single taillight appeared ahead. I poked Mitch in the ribs and pointed. He nodded and tucked forward. I followed suit, trying to slow my pounding heart. It was definitely my dad, favoring that right shoulder.

  We pulled alongside him and he nodded at us. I took it as a good sign that he was still riding, but he had blood flying out the bottom of his jacket. He kept looking over at me, probably at the big hole in my jacket below my left elbow.

  At the speed we were traveling, it wasn’t exactly safe to let go of Mitch and show my dad that his money had saved my life. But Mitch was a smooth driver and I had really good balance…

  I’d never been one to worry about risks overmuch.

  Mitch’s body tensed in front of mine when I let go of him. As I held the bundle of cash up, Dennis nodded and I could swear his upper body shook with laughter. He gave us a thumb-up and pulled ahead.

  I wrapped my arms around Mitch, planning to never let go again.

  Chapter 34

  My wounded father finally turned into a well-lit gas station and pulled up to the pump as nonchalant as could be.

  Mitch parked on the other side of the pump, dug out his wallet and ambled inside to prepay for fuel.

  “Um. So…you gonna, like, go to the hospital now or what?” I wasn’t sure if it was safe, or if the hospital would call the cops if they saw a gunshot wound.

  Dennis laughed. “Relax, kid. I got no plans to die any time soon. Although from the sounds of things, I’m pretty damn good at disappearin’.”

  The meaningful look he shot me confirmed what I’d suspected all along: he’d read the journal. For once, I said nothing. Not that I could have; there was a really big lump in my throat and my stomach had bottomed out.

  “Listen. Tell your boyfriend I changed my mind about the Witness Protection thing. I been thinkin’. I got my own agenda and it doesn’t include followin’ somebody else’s rules for the rest of my life.”

  “Oh.” Was that really why, or had h
e reconsidered, realized the changes it might make and the possible consequences? Or maybe he and Mitch had talked. He wanted me to believe what was a fairly plausible excuse though, so who was I to question it? “Here.” I handed him the bundle.

  “You okay to get back to…Arizona or wherever? How ’bout I toss you a couple grand for all your help?”

  The lump in my throat grew. Soon Mitch would be back, we’d get our gas, and then part ways. I shook my head, but he dug out two stacks of cash.

  When my tears started to fall, he chucked me under the chin. “Hey look, kid— damn, can’t believe I’m callin’ you kid—but look. Our jackets match.” He pointed to his bullet hole and then mine. “We both got somethin’ to remember Rico by. Guess I got a little extra, though, huh?”

  I’d progressed to full-blown bawling.

  “Hey. Damn. Look, I got a cop I can call, he’ll get my arm looked at. It’s just a flesh wound, anyhow.”

  “Uh-huh.” I could see Mitch inside. He’d long since paid for the gas but seemed to be giving us some time alone. I really needed to pull myself together or I’d miss my chance to say some important things. “Um. Look. You know your invention? It’s awesome, and it’s a really huge hit in the future.”

  His face lit. “I’ll have to start from scratch with the plans, though. Gotta split town for awhile. I’ll have Castro breathin’ down my neck now.”

  I sniffled and wiped my cheeks. “Don’t bother.” His eyebrows shot up. “I mean, to start the plans over. Stu already stole the idea. He gets rich off it. I hope your money wasn’t in the house, too?”

  He blew a raspberry. “See what I told ya? Corrupt fucker. Nah, I took the money to that ‘safe place’ where your money is.”

  “Okay.” I looked over at the store, where Mitch was taking his time at the drink cooler. “I gotta do this before Mitch gets back out here. He’s something of a stickler for the rules.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got some advice. Kinda like a cheat for the future. But you have to promise not to change your mind and decide to get in contact with me, like, before summer of 2010.” At his nod, I plowed on, knowing Mitch would go ballistic if he knew. “Bottled water. Take all the money you can spare and buy stock in it as soon as possible. Trust me. You might question it once in a while, but if you stick with it, you won’t be sorry.”