by Paul Carr
They talked for another thirty minutes and had two more drinks. Then Candi stood up.
“I’m going to bed.” She went into the bathroom and stayed for a couple of minutes, came out and padded over to Sam. Leaning over, she gave him a quick kiss on the lips. She tasted like mint.
She walked to the bed, stopped and looked at the floor for a few seconds, as if contemplating something.
“I guess Tommy knew you pretty well.”
“What do you mean?”
She turned and looked at him.
“You saved my life.”
How do you respond to a remark like that? Besides, he still had the kiss and those smooth, long legs on his mind.
Candi opened the robe and dropped it to the floor.
“Look if you want to,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m just too tired right now to care.” She slid under the sheet with the grace of a cat.
Sam did look, only because he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She looked very sexy settling under the thin sheet. He wondered if her remark might be a cue for him, but he had his answer a few seconds later when she fell asleep.
He sat at the table for another hour, drinking gin with very little tonic, thinking about his plan for La Salle, and he got slightly toasted by the time he finally got up and went into the bathroom. He took a long, cold shower and tried to wash away the searing image of Candi Moran lying naked just a few feet away.
****
THE SHAFT of morning sun sliced its way through the east window, illuminating the tiniest of airborne particles, and covering the table with a pleasant brilliance. La Salle sipped espresso from a tiny cup and read the front page of the Miami Herald. The limousine explosion and death of the coffee shop waitress garnered only four square inches of news space.
La Salle looked up from the paper at Marcus who stood on the other side of the table with his hands hanging crossed in front of him, his right hand bandaged with gauze and tape and appearing twice its normal size. Poor Marcus. Maybe he had learned his lesson. Marcus glanced away from his boss and rolled his shoulders, then glanced back, probably to see if he still stared at him. La Salle ate a bite of toast and marmalade and had another sip of coffee.
“Tell me again how it happened,” La Salle said.
“Gino waited up the street until he had her in the cross hairs, but by the time he fired, she dropped out of sight.”
“He missed?”
“That’s correct, Mr. La Salle.”
“So he thought he would salvage the operation by blowing up Tommy’s car.”
“Them was his words, exactly.”
“He knew Tommy was in the back?”
Marcus’ eyes slid away for a split second, and then came back.
“Yes, sir. That’s how he found Candi, by following Tommy.”
“How did he blast the car?”
“I believe he said he used a rocket launcher.”
La Salle sipped espresso and nodded.
“Is Gino outside right now?”
“Yes, sir, I believe he is.”
“Ask him to come in. I want to speak with him.”
Marcus turned and walked out. He returned a few seconds later with Gino in tow.
“That will be all, Marcus.”
Marcus glanced at Gino and then nodded to La Salle and made a fast exit. Gino sidled up to the table, his face flush and hands trembling.
La Salle leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms in front of him and stared at Gino. Gino, about forty, carried a little extra weight and had thin black hair with a business cut. Though he seemed nervous, his eyes stayed steady and gave away nothing. La Salle liked that.
“Marcus told me how you blew up Tommy’s limo. Do you realize the kind of damage you caused on that street?”
“Yes, sir. I didn't realize the rocket thing could do that.”
“You put me in a bad position, Gino. The authorities are already after me about Philip Moran, and they know Tommy and I are competitors.”
“I’m really sorry, boss. I didn’t mean to....”
La Salle waved his hand in the air and closed his eyes. Gino stopped talking.
“No explaining, Gino. You screwed up, big time. But your biggest problem is that you missed your target. I want you to get out of here and find her, and this time you’d better not miss. Is that understood?”
La Salle leaned forward and his eyes connected with Gino’s.
Gino nodded. “Don’t worry, boss, I won’t miss.”
“Okay, see that you don’t.” He gave Gino the look again. “I’d hate for you to miss out on our little project.”
Gino had to know what that really meant. He would be dead if unsuccessful again. Gino took a breath, let it out and nodded.
“That will be all.”
Gino thanked him and walked out of the room.
La Salle leaned back in his chair and thought about Tommy Shoes. Without a doubt, he now would keep his nose out of things that didn’t concern him. The law probably wouldn’t be a problem.
He picked up the telephone and punched in a cell phone number. The phone rang several times before Grimes answered, and then a clacking sound followed, as if the phone might have been dropped. Then Grimes answered again.
“Hello.” He sounded as if in a hole, and something made a swishing noise in the background.
“What’s your status?” La Salle said.
“We’re in the hospital. Olsen has a machine hooked up to his insides, pumping stuff, and my leg is gone.”
“What do you mean your leg is gone?”
“I think an alligator ate it.”
They had botched it. This fellow Sam Mackenzie led them down the garden path. Mackenzie would have to be eliminated, of course.
Grimes said he’d be back on the trail when he could get a pair of crutches and a supply of heavy duty painkillers. He also said Olsen would be out of commission for awhile, so he’d be flying solo. La Salle shook his head and sighed; these guys might be too stupid to live. He would have to think about that.
He punched the intercom button and told Marcus he wanted to go see Danilov in one hour. Then he poured another cup of espresso, picked up the Miami Herald and went back to his toast and marmalade.
Chapter 7
SAM WOKE at ten-thirty and found Candi gone. He got out of bed, put on a fresh pair of pants and went into the bathroom to shave. A few minutes later he heard Candi come in the door and set a rustling paper bag on the table.
She leaned into the bathroom and said, “I got breakfast from the restaurant.”
Sam rinsed off the shaving cream, dried his face and walked out.
“You know, La Salle’s place is close by, and his men could have been in the restaurant.”
Candi shrugged. “Yeah, but they weren’t; I was careful. I happen to know something about these guys, remember?”
Sam nodded, reached for the bag and pulled out the coffee and sandwiches. “I’ve been thinking. If I could get inside La Salle’s house, I might find some information about the money he took from you.”
Candi picked up her sandwich and said, “Maybe, but it’ll be dangerous.”
“I’m sure of that,” Sam said. He took a sip of coffee. “What would be the easiest way to get in there?”
Candi reached into her pocket and came out with two discolored keys on a wire ring. “There’s a back door that not many people know about. Philly showed it to me a long time ago. He said I should use it if anybody ever came to kill us.”
Sam took a bite of his sandwich and looked at her. “It must have been tough growing up like that, always afraid.”
Candi smiled and said, “I wasn’t afraid. I had an escape hatch.”
She laid the two keys on the table in front of Sam and he picked them up. “How long have you had these?”
“Ten or fifteen years.” She shrugged.
Sam nodded and put them into his pocket. The locks might have changed since then, but he could try the keys.
THEY
LEFT the hotel at eleven. Sam drove them to La Salle's house, slowly passed the front grounds, and turned up a side street that bordered the property. The street was narrow, cars parked on either side with little room for traffic to pass. An eight-foot wrought iron fence surrounded La Salle's place. It looked like a thousand pitch forks lined up side-by-side, not something Sam would want to climb.
“You can go through a gate behind that thicket of palmetto,” Candi said, pointing toward the back corner of the fence. “One of the keys should open the padlock.”
Sam turned the car around and parked where he could see the entrance to La Salle's driveway from the street. He pulled the field glasses from his bag and focused.
“Two guys are always in the house when La Salle’s at home,” Candi said.
“You know them?”
“Sure. Marcus and Gino. I don’t remember their last names, but they’ve been there for years. They have bedrooms on the back side of the house.”
“Do you know if they have a safe for keeping valuables or important papers?”
Candi frowned. “I don't know.”
“What about an alarm?”
“Philly didn't have one. He never thought he needed it.”
They sat for an hour before an old Ford came into view and drove down the driveway toward the street. A middle-aged woman with skin the color of cinnamon sat behind the wheel. Sam gave the glasses to Candi. “Who's that in the Ford?”
Candi put the glasses to her eyes. “Miranda, the maid. She comes in for a few hours each morning and usually leaves about noon.”
An entrance gate opened and Miranda drove out. They waited thirty more minutes before a white Jaguar sedan came down the driveway.
“That’s La Salle’s car,” Candi said.
Sam dropped the glasses and glanced at Candi.
Candi shrugged and said, “So, I know what kind of car he has.”
A Cadillac Seville followed the Jaguar. Two men rode inside and Sam assumed they were Marcus and Gino. The entrance gate opened, and both cars drove out and turned toward South Beach.
“Okay,” Sam said, “I'll go inside while they're gone. Why don't you follow La Salle and keep an eye on him?”
Candi agreed and Sam got out of the car and took his bag from the back seat. Scooting over to the driver’s side, Candi sped off to catch up with the Jaguar and the Caddy.
Sam ambled to the palmetto thicket and looked around to see if anyone watched. A couple of cars passed, and an old man walked by on the other side of the street with a poodle on a leash. He glanced at Sam, then at Sam’s bag. The dog jerked on the leash and pulled the man into the grass along the street. The man lost interest in Sam, talking baby talk as the poodle bowed up with an urgent expression on its wooly jaws. Within a few seconds the dog scratched the earth and they walked on.
Sliding behind the thick foliage, Sam found the gate with the padlock Candi had mentioned. The lock appeared to be new and neither of the keys fit. He unzipped a pocket inside his bag, pulled out a noise suppressor and screwed in onto the business end of the 9mm. Stepping a couple feet away, he held the tip of the suppressor to the lock, turned his head and fired. The mechanism burst open with a noise that sounded like a cow bell clanking. He put the gun in his waistband and removed the remains of the lock. The gate groaned as he pushed it open and slid inside the yard.
Mangrove, banana trees and palmetto grew in thickets. Although well manicured, the grounds had been designed primarily to limit visibility. He made his way through the well-tended jungle to the side of the house and found the escape hatch Candi had described. It was a full-sized door, close to the rear corner of the house, encased in the limestone base.
Satisfied that no one could view him from the street, he tried one of the keys in the lock. The lock snapped and he felt the door release. Pushing it open, he looked inside. It was dark, and he pulled his flashlight from his bag. He stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind him. The light illuminated a basement straight ahead and to Sam’s right. The air felt damp. An odor of mildew reminded him of the smell in his grandfather’s cellar a lifetime ago.
Sam shone the light to the right. A stair led up to a door. He climbed the steps, turned the doorknob and heard the lock click. The door swung inward to a room dimly lit and cool. Stepping through the doorway, he found himself in a pantry. He turned to push the door closed and saw that it actually served as a swinging pantry case containing several shelves of canned soups, vegetables and meats. A key hung from a hook underneath one of the shelves. Probably for the gate, and now they would need a new one. He turned off the flashlight, dropped it into his bag and walked through the pantry to the kitchen.
Soft music played somewhere in the house, and fractured notes of a by-gone era floated in the air. Sam wondered if someone might have been left to watch the place. He pulled the 9mm from his waistband and eased through the kitchen and down a wide hall. He passed a huge living room with paintings on the wall, wool rugs partially covering hardwood floors, and lots of blond, antique furniture. Next door was an office with a desk in the center. The music came from a radio on the desk corner. A computer sat on a table beside the desk. Sam eased inside and turned off the radio. The silence made him feel vulnerable. The drawers of the desk were unlocked and he opened each one and looked inside. A few loose papers dotted the center drawer: old utility bills and charge card receipts belonging to Philip Moran. None of them held any interest for Sam. The other drawers contained only pens, pencils and paper clips.
Sam figured there had to be a safe. He searched a credenza next to the wall and behind two paintings. Then he looked at the desk and saw a black chair pad underneath. He slid the chair back, lifted the pad, and found a loose piece of wood about the length and width of a phone book. Underneath the wood, someone had put a safe with a combination lock.
Sam removed his equipment from his bag and stuck the rubber cups next to the lock. He turned the dial and watched the digital screen flash numbers as the tumblers fell into place. It took about five minutes to get the door open.
The safe, about a foot deep and half-full of cash in bound stacks, also contained a note with a telephone number. Sam put the note into his pocket and looked at the cash. The bills were hundreds, and he counted thirty stacks of about a hundred each. Probably walking-around money for this guy. He put all the cash and his equipment into his bag and shone the light into the bottom of the safe. Empty. He closed the door, spun the dial and replaced the board and the chair pad.
Sam’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket, causing him to jerk. He pulled the phone from his pocket and pressed the answer button. “Hello,” he said, his voice a whisper.
“You have to get out of there,” Candi said. “La Salle just slammed on his brakes and made a U-turn. He’s headed back to the house.”
The safe had a silent alarm.
“Where are they now?”
“MacArthur Causeway, probably less than five minutes away. Get back to the fence as soon as you can, and I’ll pick you up.”
“Okay,” Sam said and broke the connection. He wanted to check out the computer before he left, and they were at least five minutes away, considering the traffic, so he punched the power button and waited for the machine to boot up. It required no password. Familiar icons appeared on the screen and he started the e-mail program. Finding the Inbox empty, he checked the other message folders. They were all empty, and he opened the one for deleted items. He found a single message from a person named DeliveryBoy and opened it. Dated about four months earlier, the message contained only a string of numbers. Sam thought the numbers might be for a bank account, and he wrote them on the note from the safe.
Sam searched for other documents on the computer and found nothing of interest. Someone had recently gone through the system, purging it of all information. But the person who got the e-mail message didn’t realize it would hang around in the deleted files folder after being deleted. Sam turned off the computer and glanced around the offi
ce.
The paintings on the walls appeared to be works from the Renaissance period, but surely were copies. Photographs covered the remainder of the wall space. A middle-aged man appeared in several, some posing with Candi and some without, and Sam assumed he might be Candi’s father, Philip Moran. In another photo, Candi posed with a younger man. He appeared to be a giant, at least a foot taller than she, with longish hair. His arm draped around her waist as she stood on tip-toe, kissing him on the side of the mouth. He looked uncomfortable, as if the photographer might have caught him off guard. Sam thought the big man must be La Salle.
He had the sudden feeling of intruding on something private, and backed away, bumping into an easel and grabbing the board cradled in its tray to keep it from falling. The board contained an artist’s rendering of some sort of coastal development project with structures resembling those in Vegas, each with a showy theme of some kind. Casinos. The shoreline didn’t look like Miami Beach, though. He wondered where it could be, with gambling illegal on all the Florida coasts. Maybe La Salle had something working in the legislature.
The cell phone vibrated in his pocket. How long had it been?
He started out the door and answered the phone.
“What are you doing in there?” Candi, her voice frantic.
“I’m on my way out now.”
“Well, forget about the side gate. Marcus dropped Gino off there and headed toward the front to meet up with La Salle.”
Sam put the phone into his pocket and pulled the 9mm from the bag, which he slung over his shoulder by the strap. He raced down the hall. Gino would be coming in through the pantry, so he went through the kitchen and a utility room to a back door he thought led to the garage.
He heard the tinkle of a key in the front door, the door open, and the sound of footsteps. They would go to the office first, which would give him time to go out through the garage. Sam reached for the doorknob and it turned in his hand. He stepped back and waited. The door opened, spilling light into the room, and the man Sam had seen in the waiting room of Carling Research stepped inside. He had a gun in one hand, the other hand bandaged. Must be Marcus.