by Paul Carr
Candi had kissed La Salle in one of the photos. She had lied about her relationship with him, and now about what she knew. Sam felt the familiar tickle at the back of his neck and wondered if this might be a good time to say goodbye to Candi Moran.
“I’ll split the money with you and we’ll go our separate ways.”
“What?”
“And you can have the account number, if that’s what it is. Maybe you can get your own money back.”
Candi’s face turned red and she glanced at Sam, back at the windshield, then at Sam again.
“Wait a minute. You have to help me, there isn’t anybody else.”
“Sorry, no can do,” Sam said, his tone firm.
Candi stepped on the brakes and turned into the edge of a liquor store parking lot, the Chevy’s tires screeching to a halt. She turned off the engine and looked at Sam, her eyes watering and her lips pouting.
“Please....” Then her lips parted as if to say something else, but remained silent. She reached her hand to Sam’s face and touched his cheek.
Something fluttered inside his chest, and he wondered if having her close to him might be as fatal as putting a gun to his head. He wished he had the strength to tell her where to go.
Sam sighed and looked out his window. A pay phone hung from the outside wall of the liquor store, and he decided to try the telephone number from La Salle's safe.
“I’ll be right back.”
He glanced at the note, dropped coins into the phone and punched in the number. It rang four times before a man answered and said, “About time you called.”
Sam listened for a second and his head began to throb. He hung up the phone, walked back to the car and got inside.
“Who did you just call?”
Sam looked at her and wondered why things had to be so complicated.
“I don’t think you know him.”
“Try me.”
“His name is Jackson Craft.”
Chapter 9
“WHO’S JACKSON Craft?” Candi asked, her face a question mark.
“He’s the man whose phone number happened to be in the safe with La Salle’s money.”
Maybe Jack had been waiting for La Salle to dial the number. Sam didn't know the answer, but he knew Jack Craft, and that man could be up to just about anything.
“So, what does that mean?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Sam opened his cell phone and punched in the number he normally used to call Jack Craft. Jack answered immediately.
“Sam?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you hang up?” Jack sounded like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, just shooting the breeze with an old friend.
“Well, I guess I might have been a little surprised to learn that La Salle had a pipeline straight to you, especially since you never mentioned anything about knowing him.”
“Yes, I can see how you might have that reaction.”
“How did you know it was me calling?”
“La Salle called about an hour ago and said you had the telephone number. He also said you cleaned out his cash.” Jack chuckled on the other end of the line.
“How did he know I did it?”
Jack didn't say anything for a couple of seconds. Probably making up his answer.
“He might’ve learned about you from those guys who followed you,” Jack said.
Sam decided to let it go for now.
“How about telling me what’s going on, Jack.”
Another pause.
“Not on the phone. Meet me in the parking lot of the restaurant where we last ate. I’ll be on the far side toward the back at seven o’clock.”
“Why would I do that? Could be a set-up.”
“When did I ever betray you, Samuel?” His voice had an edge to it.
Sam took a deep breath and sighed.
“Okay, I’ll see you then.” Sam closed the phone and put it into his pocket.
Candi started the car again and pulled out into the traffic. “Okay, what's the deal?”
“I’m not sure. He said he’ll tell me about it if I meet him tonight.”
“You trust that guy?”
Sam thought about Jack Craft, shook his head and said, “I really don’t know. I need some answers.”
He decided they would go back to the Palma Hotel, since no one knew they were there, and wait for his meeting with Jack. They ordered room service and were finishing the meal when J.T. called on the cell phone.
Sam held his hand over the phone and said to Candi, “It's the guy checking on the numbers for me.” He went to the sitting area where a sofa and a picture window overlooked the Atlantic and spoke into the phone. “What did you find out?”
“Those numbers don't have anything to do with a bank. I checked several, especially those in the Caymans, and none of them resembled that coding structure.”
“That’s too bad,” Sam said. “Might have been an easy answer.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. I did have another idea, though. The numbers might be GPS coordinates. Reading the string of numbers like it's written points to a place up around Greenland. In another order the numbers point to somewhere in Asia. But one sequence puts the location on Grand Cayman.”
Sam remembered what Marcus had said about the project in the Caribbean, and wondered if there might be a connection.
“Yeah, well, might not be anything important, but tell me the Grand Cayman sequence anyway.”
J.T. called off the numbers and Sam wrote them down.
“Did you find out anything about Danilov?”
“Oh, yeah. If it’s the same guy, he’s been involved in a couple of shady business deals in Florida. He lived in Havana before the Russians packed their bags and checked out.”
“What would he have to do with La Salle?”
“Beats me, except they’re both criminals.”
According to Marcus, La Salle had been talking regularly with Danilov, who, it turns out, used to be stationed in Cuba. Cuba is in the Caribbean and La Salle has some kind of project going on in the Caribbean. Did that mean the project could be in Cuba, or at the Grand Cayman location J.T. had interpolated from the string of numbers?
“Hmmm.” Sam closed his eyes and kneaded his brow. “What about NeoWorld Corporation?”
“Oh, yeah, NeoWorld is a pretty big deal. It incorporated a few months ago in the Cayman Islands, and my sources show that they have assets of close to a billion dollars.”
Philip Moran’s two million sounded to Sam like a drop in an enormous bucket. It also sounded like it might be a lot harder to find than by just digging around in La Salle’s portfolio.
“That sounds like more money than somebody like La Salle would be able to scrape up.”
“Yeah, it does sound a little rich. I didn’t see any mention of La Salle, though.”
No surprise there, but NeoWorld owned La Salle’s Jaguar, so he figured in there somewhere.
J.T. continued. “NeoWorld’s business is stated in their Articles of Incorporation as ‘Financial,’ but that doesn’t mean much. They can do just about anything they want by owning holding companies, and nobody is the wiser.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s about it, I guess.”
Sam looked around at Candi, who appeared to be reading a hotel brochure. He turned back to the window and spoke as quietly as possible into the phone. “Okay, this information has been a big help. Just let me know your fee and I’ll make a deposit to your account, if that’s what you want. I’m going to slide out of this one pretty quick. It’s getting too risky.” He planned to stay on the job until he learned what was going on, but J.T. didn't need to know that.
A pause on the line stretched into several seconds.
“That’s too bad. I wanted to come down and help you out.”
He wanted to get his fingers into NeoWorld’s money, and he figured Sam might uncover just enough inside information to make that happen. Just what Sam needed right n
ow, J.T. busting up the china shop.
“Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check.”
“You sure? I can be there on the next flight.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll let you know if anything changes, though.”
J.T. said okay, and Sam heard disappointment in his voice. He told Sam to forget about paying him, that he didn’t have much time invested. That worried Sam, because J.T. usually got paid, one way or another, for everything he did. Sam closed the phone and turned to see Candi standing directly behind him.
“I heard what you told him,” Candi said. “Can I say anything to make you change your mind?”
“Maybe. It depends on what you say.”
She gave him an innocent, pouting look. “What do you want to know?”
The photograph bothered him more than anything else. There had been a romantic relationship between Candi and La Salle, and that could cause a dangerous situation at some point down the road.
“How about you and La Salle?”
“What do you mean?”
“Were you intimate?”
Candi’s eyes widened and she glanced out the window, then sat on the sofa and looked up at Sam.
“What if I said we were?”
Sam nodded and said, “Keep talking.”
“I didn’t want to tell you about it because I was embarrassed. He killed Philly, and I felt like a traitor. I promised myself I’d get him, and I came to you.” Candi’s eyes turned shiny with tears and her mouth twisted out of shape as she began to cry. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and composed her face. “I told Philly to watch his back, and he must have known what that meant, because he tried to get out.”
Sam nodded.
“So you haven’t seen or talked to him since then?”
“I had the phone conversation I mentioned to you, and then he put out the hit on me like I said.”
Something had to be missing from the equation. La Salle wouldn’t try to kill her because of her father.
“How about what Marcus said, that you know something important about La Salle?”
“All I know is he lined up a bunch of investors to set up some big operation in the Caribbean.”
“What do you suppose it might be?”
Candi shrugged. “My first guess would be something to do with gambling.”
Sam remembered the sketch of the scene that looked like Las Vegas, except on a waterfront.
“Maybe you’re right. The company that owns La Salle’s Jaguar also has a billion dollars in assets.”
He sat on the sofa, pulled the car registration from his pocket and showed it to her.
Candi’s eyes widened. “You’re saying this is La Salle’s company?”
“Maybe.”
“If he has that much money, why would he be interested in Philly’s measly two million?”
Sam shrugged. “I’m sure he didn’t get rich by turning down money.”
“Do you believe me?”
Sam nodded. “I still believe you might know something else, but I’ll settle for what you said for now.”
“And you’ll stay on the job?”
Sam sighed. “I might as well. For the time being, at least. La Salle’s going to be looking for me whether I do or not.”
Candi smiled and her eyes got dreamy. She slid closer on the sofa and put her hand on his chest. Then she pressed her lips to his for a long, hungry kiss. Alarms sounded off in Sam’s head; or it could have been the blood pulsing in his ears. He ignored the noise, reached his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. She held the kiss for another second or two, then broke away, took a deep breath and let it out.
“Whew,” Candi said. “We should cut back on the voltage a little if we’re going to work together.”
Sam leaned back on the sofa and ran his fingers through his hair. “Sure.”
She had total control of the voltage and could turn it off as fast as she turned it on. Maybe it would be better if they kept their distance for now.
****
SAM LEFT Candi sleeping in the room and drove to meet Jack Craft. He hadn’t planned on her going anyway. If things got dangerous, it would be a lot easier if he were alone.
The sun lay on the horizon over the Intracoastal Waterway by the time Sam entered the restaurant parking lot. He spied Jack’s Mercedes toward the rear of the place, away from the other cars. The spot overlooked the Waterway to the East, with a wall about three feet high bordering the property. Sam saw a man behind the wheel of the car, but with the tinted windows he couldn't be sure it was Jack. He pulled in next to the Mercedes, stuck his gun in the pocket of the new jacket he'd purchased in the hotel gift shop, and got out.
The air was still and smelled of fish spawn. A brown dog sat close to the wall. His ears stood up and he had large intelligent eyes. He had a stately manner, and looked as if his name should be Prince Alfred. Sam saw a stick lying next to the wheel of the car; he picked it up and threw it in the air. The dog glanced in the direction of the stick, then back at Sam, and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “You must be kidding.” Sam shrugged and walked around the rear of the Chevy toward the Mercedes.
He saw something moving in his peripheral vision and turned to see a man in a motorized wheelchair bouncing across the shell-and-sand lot. Grimes. His head and leg had been wrapped with bandages and he made a beeline for Sam. It looked as if part of his leg might be missing under all that gauze. Grimes lifted a silenced handgun from his lap and pointed it at Sam. Sam dived behind the Chevy as Grimes fired three times. The shots made a noise like an angry cat spitting: pffft pffft, pffft.
Each round punched through the trunk lid with a clank. Sam pulled the gun from his jacket pocket, pushed back the slide, and stood so he could peer over the edge of the car. Grimes had come to within a couple of feet of the car, the wheelchair moving fast, his eyes wild, and he raised the gun to fire again, but didn’t seem to notice the car in his path. The wheel chair slammed into the bumper, bounced and turned over.
Grimes fell out of the chair and landed on his side. The chair’s wheels continued to turn, even faster now without any weight on them, and threw sand and pieces of shell into Grimes’ face. He cursed and retrieved his gun from the sand where he'd dropped it. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he fired two rounds at the chair. The chair’s motor hissed and smoked, and then the wheels jerked to a stop. Grimes crawled on his hands and one knee around the bumper to the space between the two cars. Sam backed up until his legs touched the wall behind him. No way out.
“This is all your fault,” Grimes said. His speech slurred, as if he had been drinking or taking drugs.
“Put down the gun,” Sam said.
Grimes kept crawling toward Sam, now only a couple of feet away.
“Final warning,” Sam said.
Grimes pointed the gun at Sam’s midsection and Sam kicked it. The toe of his shoe made contact with the barrel and the gun spun in Grimes’ hand and fired. He dropped it and grabbed the side of his head. Blood seeped through his fingers, and when he looked at his hand, his eyes rolled up like slipped window shades and he fell to the ground. Sam saw something fall from the sky several feet away. Prince Alfred trotted over, picked it up in his teeth, walked past Grimes, and dropped it at Sam’s feet.
Sam had forgotten about Jack Craft in all the excitement. Jack got out of the car and looked down at Grimes. His eyes narrowed.
“What’s he doing here?”
“You didn’t see him try to kill me?”
“No, I saw you drive up. I waited for you to come over and get in the car, but you disappeared.” He stared at the thing lying at Sam’s feet. “What’s that?”
“It looks like what’s left of Grimes’ right ear.”
Chapter 10
JACK GLANCED at Grimes’ unconscious body lying between the cars. “Let’s get out of here. You want to go to your hotel?”
“My hotel?”
Jack shrugged. “I knew you weren’t on your boat.”
“Let’s go up the road a few blocks. There’s a bar on the right.”
Jack looked at Grimes and said, “What about him?”
“He’ll live.”
Jack nodded and got into his car.
Sam pushed the wheelchair away from the Chevy and opened the driver’s door. Prince Alfred brushed by him and jumped into the car seat. He glanced at Sam and blinked his eyes.
“No, you can’t go with me,” Sam said. Just what he needed, something else to look after. Sam pointed at the ground and said, “Out.”
Prince Alfred shook his head and hopped into the passenger seat. Sam looked up and saw Jack’s car leaving the parking lot. He also saw the front end of a Cadillac parked behind the restaurant with two men sitting in front. It didn’t look like the Cadillac La Salle wrecked while chasing Sam in the Jaguar, but he probably had others. Sam got into the car and said to the dog, “Okay, but you’re getting out at the next stop.”
Prince Alfred grinned at that and looked out the windshield, ready for his ride.
After backing the car out, Sam pressed the accelerator. The tires spun and propelled the Chevy down the driveway toward the street, leaving Grimes and the crippled wheelchair lying on the ground. In the mirror, he spotted the Cadillac ease around the edge of the restaurant and follow him onto the driveway.
Sam entered the street, drove about a quarter-mile, and turned into the parking lot of the Coral Corral, a country-western bar. Jack’s Mercedes sat next to a wide pickup truck with dual tires on the rear. A car backed out a couple of spots before Jack’s and Sam took its place. The Cadillac Sam had seen at the restaurant idled past as he turned the engine off.
Sam got out of the car and the dog followed. He stepped over to Jack’s Mercedes, got inside and closed the door. The dog waited by the car.
“Who’s in the Caddy?” Sam said.
“What Caddy?” Jack turned and looked.
“It’s parked somewhere down the way.”
“Oh, I didn’t see it.”