The Alex Shanahan Series

by Lynne Heitman

  “She’s tying up loose ends,” Jack said. “Like Jimmy.”

  He didn’t say it, but I knew he was thinking what I was. To Vanessa, Felix was one big loose end.

  “Start the car,” he said.

  “What?” I looked up and the trooper was waving at me. I rolled down the window and he told me to drive over the service road, go half a mile to the shopping center, drive under the police tape and park in the lot. “Jack, what are we doing?”

  “I got us a ride.” Just as he said it, I looked up and saw a sheriffs helicopter dropping down to land on said parking lot.

  “How did you do that?”

  “I still have a few well-placed friends around town. Let’s go.”

  The pilot told us he would have to fly out over the Everglades and come back to the old airfield in order to go around the smoke. He flew low, skimming over the thousands of small islands of grass and mud that made up the vast network of waterways and inlets. It was amazingly intricate, as complex and impenetrable as the network of arteries and capillaries that carry blood to and from the human heart.

  We approached the airfield in a swooping roller coaster arc that disrupted the workings of my inner ear and left my stomach in a free fall. With all the holes in the roof, the hangar looked from above as if it had been bombed. The lights were on. Parked in the front were two flatbed trucks, one with a crane attached. Next to them, a silver Mercedes with a dark blue drop top, and a dark red four-door sedan—kidney bean red.

  “Jack.” I pointed, but he had seen it, too.

  The sheriff’s deputy wanted to make sure we really wanted to land there. Jack assured him we did, then gave him his card after writing Pat Spain’s phone number on the back. He asked the pilot to get in touch with her and tell her where he’d left us.

  He put us down out in a perimeter field, as far away from the hangar as possible. After he left, it took a few minutes for me to adjust to being still, and to the quiet. Between the visual pandemonium of the smoke and ash and haze, the incessant thumping of the rotor blades, and the chaos going on inside my head, standing on the ground in the stark quiet of the abandoned airfield felt like an altered state of being.

  Jack was all business. Besides his Glock and what I was coming to think of as my .22, he’d brought a bag of extra goodies. It was a good thing we hadn’t had to clear a security checkpoint before we’d gone up. He pulled out a pump action shotgun, and boxes and boxes of extra rounds, which he stuffed into the pockets of his hunting vest, the same one he’d worn the last time we were here. He gave me an extra clip for my gun and showed me how to load it.

  We watched the hangar as we worked. The air was not very clear and we were far away. There could have been movement and we wouldn’t have seen it. “Do you think they heard us?”

  “It would have been hard not to. But between the news people, the fire departments, and the forestry service, a lot of helicopters have been flying around here the past few days. If we’re lucky, they heard us and didn’t pay any attention. We’re lucky Jimmy’s not with them. He would have heard us.”

  “Do you think Felix is in there?”

  “If he’s alive.”

  “Why didn’t they contact us?”

  He didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.

  “Did you check your weapon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “Yeah.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. His solid touch and level gaze made me feel steadier, made me want to be steadier. “Follow my lead. Follow the plan. You can do this. And remember, we got lucky. We found them before they got out of here. One way or another, we’re going to find that kid. If they hurt him, I will personally blow their fucking heads off. Ready?”

  My eyes started burning and watering the instant we began to move. The air felt as if it was filled with tiny, searing particles that embedded themselves in my corneas. I could feel the soot and ash building up on my skin.

  Jack carried the shotgun in his right hand away from his body. My .22 kept working its way out of the waistband of my jeans, so I took it out and carried it in my hand.

  It was faster and easier getting into the hangar this time because it was familiar and I knew what to expect, and because of the intermittent noise overhead that served as cover for our movements. After scrambling through the window, the two of us stood in the bathroom and peeked out into the lighted interior of the hangar. It was my second time seeing the dead aircraft splayed out in pieces large and small across the floor and the workbenches. But it wasn’t any easier. We heard voices toward the front, which was the part of the building with which we were least familiar. I recognized Vanessa’s voice. She might have been talking to Arturo, but the man’s voice was hard to hear, and I couldn’t remember if I’d ever even heard Arturo speak.

  “What about those FBI guys?” I whispered. “Shouldn’t they be patrolling around here somewhere?”

  “This area has been evacuated. I don’t even know how these two got in unless they’ve been out here for a while.”

  A helicopter flew over and we used the opportunity to push through the door and move out into the wreckage. The smells were all still there, strong and acrid, blended into an aroma I was sure I would never smell again. Jack had said Vietnam had its own smell. So did this place.

  We moved up slowly, taking our time, slipping from a pile here to a massive assembly there. It was easier to move through the wreckage if I thought of the pieces as my protection rather than what they really were. At one point, I caught sight of the two of them.

  Vanessa, who I would have expected to be the cool one, was pacing and jittery. She wore a bright red pantsuit that made her look like the only flame of color in an otherwise black-and-white landscape. Arturo stood a few feet off to the side, his big arms folded over his chest. He wore his traditional black garb and even had on dark sunglasses. No sign of Felix.

  When we were close enough to hear both sides of the conversation, we stopped and listened. My body, as I rested against a larger piece of the aircraft, was so tense my muscles felt as if they’d been wrung out and twisted dry. Their voices were hollow in the large warehouse, and they spoke to each other in Spanish. I had to strain just to hear the words. All I could really get were the tones—Vanessa’s, as usual, arch and superior as she prattled on at her brother in clipped and forceful sentences. She may have been anxious, but she hadn’t lost her abusive spirit.

  Jack looked as if he might be getting most of it. “What’s she saying?”

  “She’s talking about Jimmy. About what a horrible place this is. Something about how disgusting this whole affair has been and all for nothing. A pile of junk. Tons of crap. That sort of thing. She’s really pissed off. She called this place a monument to Jimmy’s stupidity.”

  “Can you hear Arturo?”

  “He basically agrees with whatever she says.”

  “Anything about Felix?”

  “No. I think they’re waiting for someone or something to happen, but she hasn’t said what.”

  “Do you think it’s just the two of them?”

  “So far.” He poked his head up. “I can’t see anyone else, and she hasn’t spoken to anyone else. But if someone else is coming, we need to do something fast.”

  I looked out and spied Vanessa pacing and Arturo standing. They were in an open area next to an enclosed office. “They’re not expecting us,” Jack said. “We can take these two. You and me. Let’s figure out how.”

  I looked around to see if I could find where Vanessa had left her bag, and hoped it wasn’t in the car. I spotted it, sitting on one of the workbenches with her keys on top. It was the same flat, black clutch she’d carried every time I’d seen her. Must have been a favorite. It wasn’t an ideal placement for what I had in mind, but it would have to do. I pulled out my cell phone and looked at Jack. “I have an idea.”

  A few minutes later, Jack was working his way around to a particular spot in t
he wreckage he liked. It was close to one of the engines where the pieces were piled into something like a box canyon. A long piece of wing laid on its edge ran almost the length of the hangar on the side closest to Vanessa’s bag. I found a place to squeeze in behind it and moved along to the end, which actually put me past them, closer to the front hangar doors than they were. From the looks of it, it was as close as I was going to get and stay hidden.

  Vanessa and Arturo continued to talk to each other, mostly Vanessa rattling on in what was beginning to sound like compulsive dialogue. It was good that I couldn’t understand her. It made it easier to tune her out.

  When Jack’s signal came, it was loud. Louder than I had expected. The hollow, warped sound of a flat piece of sheet metal hitting the ground, followed by the crashing and banging of things, multiple heavy things falling on top of it.

  I pushed the speed dial on my phone. Vanessa spun toward me and her chirping bag. Arturo pulled his gun, snapped at her, and headed for Jack’s position. He must have told her to silence the phone. She was ten feet away from me, her back turned, her long red nails on the bag as she unsnapped it. I heard something over in Jack’s quadrant. A shout. Couldn’t tell whose. Vanessa’s hand was in her bag. The phone was still twittering. Do it, I thought. Do it. Now. I pushed forward and up, raising the .22, and yelled at her.

  She turned, twisted in my direction, and shot at me.

  She shot at me. The gun must have been in her bag. It was small, smaller than mine, but just the same it made a hole in the wing inches from my shoulder. I ducked behind one of the workbenches. It didn’t work as cover unless… It was solid and heavy and piled high with heavy tools and crap. The bullets were dancing around me, splintering wood, bouncing off metal, shattering plastic. I could feel them whizzing by in the air. How many damn bullets did she have? I put my back against the bench, found something to brace my feet and pushed with both my legs. It tipped. It teetered. It went. It crashed over into the next bench, and the two of them went over in her direction like dominoes, dumping all those heavy tools and stolen parts at her feet. The firing stopped. She tried to turn and run, twisted out of one of her high heels, tripped, and fell flat on her stomach. The little gun banged the cement and went scuttling across the floor. Before she had a chance to even turn over, I was on her. I grabbed the collar of her jacket, put my knee into her back, and jammed the gun against her head. I was so pumped up, it was hard to hold still, but that’s what I did. I stayed on her until I started to breathe again.

  She turned her head. Her pale face was a sharp contrast to the dark floor. “Kill me,” she said. Her tone matched the contemptuous sneer that turned her beautiful features ugly. “Can you do it?”

  She had emptied her gun at me. She might have killed Felix. She was probably responsible for John’s murder. I didn’t know if I could pull the trigger and put one of those small, stubby .22 caliber bullets through her blonde head. But if there was anyone I could have killed, it would have been her.

  I heard the sound of a helicopter outside. This one seemed closer and louder than usual. It masked the sound of Arturo coming toward me. I caught the motion out of the corner of my eye. His hands were cuffed.

  Jack was behind, pushing him along. He smiled as he came upon the two of us and waited for the sound of the chopper to pass. “Good job,” he said. “Any sign of Felix?”

  “We’ve just gotten started.” I backed off and pulled Vanessa to her feet by the collar of her jacket. She stood up, kicked off her orphan shoe, and smoothed the wrinkles in her suit. “Put your hands behind your head… Valentina.”

  She ignored me and beamed at Jack as she assumed the pose. “It’s nice to see you again,” she said. “Although I would have preferred different circumstances. Did you recognize me the day you came to my office? I was certain you knew my secret.”

  Jack’s response was to raise his gun and point it under Arturo’s chin. “Where’s the boy?”

  Her forehead crinkled. “What boy?”

  He nudged the gun high enough to tip Arturo’s head back. “What did you do with Felix?”

  She looked genuinely perplexed and she stared first at Jack, then me. Then she asked Arturo in Spanish, “Who is Felix?”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Either they were very convincing liars, which was entirely possible, or Vanessa and Arturo had never heard of Felix Melendez Jr. After another few minutes of tense, frustrating, and fruitless Q&A, Jack decided to take Arturo out and check the cars. That left Vanessa and me alone in the hangar. We had found a length of rope among the ruins and used it to tie her hands behind her. I had her sit in an old kitchen chair that came from the office, and I dragged over a stool from one of the workbenches. I liked towering over her. And I liked having the gun.

  “You never told me,” she said.

  “Told you what?”

  “You never told me what it was like to kill that man.”

  “You already know. You killed two men. At least.”

  “I know what it was like for me.” Her smile grew more intimate, sultry even. She blinked at me coolly, and settled back in her chair. “A rush like I’d never felt before or since. I can’t get it from money. Not from my orchids. Not from climbing mountains. Sex doesn’t even come close. Revenge. Only revenge. I love the word. I love the way it sounds. I love the way it feels in my mouth. It’s the best drug. The only drug. It fills you. It fills you in places you didn’t even know were empty.”

  “Like the revenge you’ve planned for your father?”

  “He is not my father. A father does not leave his child to die with the wolves. Not even wolves. Scavengers. Curs. Mongrels who take their pleasure… A father does not leave his daughter to die alone in a closet. To be… Her face seemed to grow harder and softer at the same time, as if her shell was stiffening, but also turning transparent so that I could see what was beneath the surface—see it but perhaps never touch it. Probably even she couldn’t touch that part of herself. She looked at me with stone cold killer eyes. “They raped me. They took turns.”

  “Ottavio deserves everything he’s got coming to him. But John had nothing to do with it. John didn’t deserve what you did to him.”

  “Necessary losses.” She tried to cross her legs. It was awkward with her hands behind her back and God knows she didn’t like looking awkward. She gave up. “Losses are sometimes unavoidable.”

  The hangar door slid open. I looked up for Jack, hoping to see an extra silhouette, a slight one with spiky hair, against the darkness. Felix wasn’t there. I slipped off the stool and circled around to put Vanessa in front of me. There were five silhouettes, five men coming toward me. Arturo was no longer handcuffed. Jack walked with his hands on top of his head. Behind them were three new guests at the party, two of whom carried automatic rifles.

  The last man to enter the hangar was not armed. He had dark olive skin, almost black eyes, a dark mustache that rivaled Bic’s for thickness and camouflage. His hair was on the bushy side, black with signs of graying at the temples. His looks were wholly unremarkable, but he carried himself like a general leading an invading army, even if in this case it was only an army of three. When Vanessa jerked up from her chair as if I wasn’t even there holding a pistol at her head, I knew exactly who had just walked in. I just didn’t know what to do about it.

  “Poppy,” she said, in almost a whisper. “Poppy, what are you doing here?”

  “My dear Valentina. As beautiful as ever. Every time I see you, I am startled by how much you resemble your mother.”

  Ottavio’s English was as flawless as his daughter’s. He turned his attention to me. “Lower your weapon.”

  “Poppy—”

  He raised a languid hand that shut Vanessa down instantly. “Put your weapon on the ground and put your hands over your head. If you do not do that, I will instruct my associates to shoot this man”—he nodded casually to Jack—“and then to shoot you.”

  In the time it took me to find Jack’s face, to und
erstand that there was only one choice here and he knew that, too, Ottavio had gone back to stand between Arturo and his thugs. “Do it now.” I knew it was the last time he would say it. I put the gun down and raised my hands.

  “Excellent. Arturo…” He gave him an order in Spanish, which must have been to free his sister’s hands. Arturo whipped out a jackknife and cut through the thick rope around Vanessa’s wrists with one deft stroke.

  Vanessa stood in her elegant red silk suit with pant legs that pooled around her feet because she no longer stood on high heels. “Poppy,” she said again, “why have you come?”

  “You said you wanted to be rescued.”

  “I said… I asked that you send a plane for my use.”

  “And where were you planning to take my airplane?”

  “To Colombia. Back home.”

  “You haven’t been home in seventeen years, hijita.” He walked over and touched her face as tenderly as any father would touch his daughter. She let him, but looked as though it was all she could do to endure it. “Who are you?” he asked, facing me. “What is you business here?”

  If it’s true that whatever does not kill you makes you stronger, this man looked very strong, indeed. It was in his eyes. He was a man who had not just survived but prospered in the world’s most dangerous profession, by his wits and his willingness to do harm. I wasn’t about to lie. I wasn’t about to test the instincts of a drug lord.

  “Can I lower my hands?”

  “You may both lower your hands.”

  I let my arms swing to my side. My hands tingled and my fingertips hurt as the blood rushed back. I swallowed to loosen my throat and took a breath that was meant to give me momentum, but only made me shudder.

  “My name is Alex Shanahan and this is Jack Dolan. I came down from Boston to find information regarding a friend of mine who was murdered. The cops think you did it because of the way he died.”