Long Way Down

by Paul Carr

  “Same one as behind the restaurant we just left. I didn’t recognize the guys inside and thought they were with Grimes.”

  Jack nodded and said, “Maybe. We’d better talk fast, in case he decides to crash the party.”

  “Yeah, good idea. So, what’s your deal with La Salle?”

  Jack sighed and said, “Someone gave him my number and told him I could put him together with a person to broker a big land deal.”

  “When was that?”

  “Five or six months ago.”

  Sam thought about the sketch of the casinos.

  “This is about gambling?”

  Jack looked at Sam and smiled. “Ah, I see you’ve been busy. How did you know that?”

  “A painting in La Salle’s house looked like a developers dream. Like Las Vegas, only on the seashore.”

  Two men with cowboy hats got into the pickup next to Sam’s side of the car, backed out and drove away. A couple of seconds later a large man with thinning, slick black hair appeared at Sam’s window and tapped on the glass.

  Sam looked at Jack and Jack nodded.

  “Better open it,” Jack said.

  Sam lowered the window.

  “You need to step outside, Mackenzie.”

  “Who are you?”

  “La Salle wants his stuff back.”

  The other man, who had spiked hair, stood with his hand inside his sport coat. They wouldn't kill him until they had the money and the car back. Maybe Jack could just drive away. Except they would be sitting ducks if one of the guys panicked and started shooting.

  “See you later,” Sam said to Jack.

  With his hand inside the pocket of his jacket, Sam wrapped his fingers around the stock of the 9mm and got out of the car. Slick and Spike stepped backward into the vacant parking spot, keeping their eyes on Sam.

  “Take your hand out so I can see it,” Slick said.

  “All right.”

  Sam pulled the 9mm from his pocket and pointed it at Slick’s chest. Slick drew his own gun and Spike flashed a broad grin and leveled another gun at Sam.

  “Looks like you’re outnumbered,” Spike said.

  Sam shrugged. “You kill me and La Salle will drop you in the Miami River like he did Philly Moran. I don’t have anything to lose, so I’m going to walk away from here. If either of you move, I’m going to kill you. Do you understand?”

  The men looked at each other and frowned as if they hadn’t thought about that.

  “You’re crazy, man,” Spike said, “you’re going with us.”

  Sam shook his head. “No way.”

  Slick lunged, swinging his gun at Sam’s gun hand, but Sam jerked out of range. Slick stumbled and cursed. Prince Alfred sprang between them, his lips curled back in a snarl, and sank his teeth into Slick’s groin. The man dropped his gun, screamed and fell back against Spike. Both tumbled to the ground. Prince Alfred growled and tore at the man’s pants as if fighting another animal over a fresh kill.

  “Get him off me, get him off!”

  Spike struggled to his knees and pointed his gun at the dog. “Hold still and I’ll shoot him.”

  “Shoot the dog and I’ll shoot you,” Sam said.

  The dog let go of Slick and leapt at Spike, locking his jaws on the hand holding the gun, while Slick moaned and rolled around on the asphalt. Spike’s gun dropped to the ground with a clack, and he screamed out a string of obscenities while trying to free his hand from the dog’s teeth.

  Curses replaced the moans from Slicks gaping jaws as his blood-covered hands grabbed for the gun he had dropped. Sam took a long stride and kicked him in the face. The man fell over and the gun fired in the air, the round exploding like a small bomb. Sam grabbed the gun from his hand and stuck it into his pocket.

  “Get him to stop, man,” Spike screamed, eyes bulging like tiny balloons. “He’s chewing my hand off! Please!”

  “Easy, boy,” Sam said.

  Prince Alfred stopped growling, let go of the hand and backed away. Sam looked at the dog, wondering if it might be his guardian angel. He reached down, picked up the gun and eased around the rear of the Mercedes toward the Chevy. His guardian angel followed.

  Jack backed the Mercedes out of the space, lowered his window and said, “If I were you, I’d go with Candi somewhere for a long vacation until this blows over.”

  Before Sam could answer, the Mercedes engine roared and the big car shot out the driveway.

  “Hey,” Slick said, “you got my gun.” He pressed his hands against his crotch, as if something important might fall out if he didn’t.

  Sam turned back and said, “This dog might have rabies, so both of you should get checked out.”

  They glanced at each other, scrambled to their feet and headed toward their car, dripping splotches of blood on the white parking space stripes on the asphalt.

  A throng of cowboys and cowgirls stood on the porch of the Coral Corral, most of them with beer mugs in their hands. One of the men with a belly like a watermelon, slurred, “Hey, man, what happened over there?”

  Sam nodded in the direction of the two bleeding men and said, “Dude tried to shoot my dog.”

  The man looked at Prince Alfred and then at the two men and took a sip from his beer mug. “I hope he chewed them up good.”

  Sam didn’t answer, already inside the Chevy, the dog in the passenger seat. The Cadillac drove from the parking lot, tires screeching as it sped south. Sam drove out a couple of seconds later and turned in the opposite direction.

  Jack Craft hadn't told him everything he wanted to know, but that would have to wait. He called information and got the number for Cayman Airways. When he reached the airline, he learned that the last flight of the day left Miami International in forty minutes.

  He spotted an electronics store in a shopping center, turned in and parked. Prince Alfred sat next to the car while he went inside. A chubby young man with gelled hair and pimples ambled over and asked if he could help.

  “Do you have any GPS units?” Sam said.

  The pimpled man showed Sam a mouthful of crooked teeth and said, “Global Positioning System.” His look said, “Finally, someone to appreciate my knowledge in fine electronics,” but he only said, “Sure, follow me.”

  They had several different varieties and the pimpled man began his spiel about the virtues of each.

  “I don’t have much time,” Sam said, interrupting, “I have some coordinates for a place I want to go, and I just need something that will help me get there.”

  The pimpled man nodded and reached for a unit slightly larger than a cell phone. He spent a few seconds demonstrating the unit until Sam said, “Okay, that’s enough.”

  He purchased it for cash and hurried out, leaving the register still printing the receipt and the pimpled man talking about the warranty.

  The dog wagged its tail when he returned, and Sam wondered what he could do with him. He hated to leave him at the airport, but he didn’t have time for anything else. A Burger King stood at the entrance to the shopping center and he used the drive-through to buy two Whoppers. Prince Alfred looked at him and at the bag of burgers, and whimpered as they rode out onto the street. Sam dropped the bag onto the floor, pressed the accelerator, and drove the few miles to the airport in less than five minutes.

  He parked in the short-term lot, the closest to the terminal, and got out of the car. Prince Alfred jumped out after him and stood next to the back tire as Sam unwrapped the burgers. He placed them in front of the dog and turned to leave. The dog started to follow and Sam pointed at the food and said, “Stay.”

  Prince Alfred looked almost as if he nodded, went back to the burgers and wolfed them down. Sam thought about the guns in his pocket, went back and opened the car trunk. He put in his own gun and the ones liberated from the mob men. Then he got the bag with La Salle’s money and took enough cash to last a couple of days. He also took one of his passports and a Florida driver's license. Prince Alfred polished off the second of the burgers
as Sam went inside to purchase a ticket for Grand Cayman. The agent looked at her watch and squeezed her lips together.

  “I don’t know if you’ll make it. You still have to go through security.”

  “Yeah, I’ll make it,” Sam said.

  He did make it. A pretty flight attendant, about to close the door, smiled and took his boarding pass.

  The flight was about half full, which surprised Sam, thinking most people would travel earlier in the day to Grand Cayman. He took his window seat, opened his cell phone and called Candi at the Palma Hotel. Candi sounded as if she had just awakened.

  “I have to make a trip,” Sam said, “and won’t be back tonight.”

  Candi paused and said, “What do you want me to do until you get back?”

  “Hey, the room’s paid for, so order room service and watch some movies. It won’t hurt you to rest a while. You seemed to be pretty tired earlier.”

  “You’re just mad because I wouldn’t...you know.”

  “No, not a problem, believe me. I just have to do something.” After a long silence, Sam said, “The plane is taking off, so I have to hang up. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He punched the Off button and put the phone in his pocket.

  A smiling young man sat in the seat next to Sam’s, his eyes jittery and wide. He introduced himself as Harold Shakes.

  “I’m scared to death of flying, especially over the water.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Sam said.

  “Yeah, I know, but it still scares me. I wouldn’t be here except I have to return to Grand Cayman. I found this job in a hotel on the Island and went back home to get rid of all my stuff. I start work tomorrow. I hope I don’t throw up.”

  Harold’s plans didn't interest Sam, but he didn’t want him to be sick, at least not sitting next to him, so he decided to keep him talking.

  “Did this have anything to do with a woman?” Sam said.

  Harold’s eyes got wide and his mouth stretched back in a quick smile. “How did you know?”

  Sam looked out the window and said, “Just wondered.” It was a pretty safe bet. Most things men did had something to do with a woman. He thought back about the situations he’d gotten himself into over the years, and couldn’t seem to think of a single case where a woman didn’t play a prominent role. It might be a weakness of some kind, and a psychologist would have a fancy name for it to stick onto Sam’s forehead, if Sam showed enough interest to find out.

  The plane lifted off and the lights of nighttime Miami sped by below the window, getting smaller by the second. The pilot banked the plane and the sky turned dark.

  Candi Moran, the catalyst in this latest quagmire, remained a mystery. Something about her bothered Sam. The involvement with La Salle aside, Sam still needed to determine her true motivation and knowledge about La Salle’s operation before he would be satisfied.

  Sam turned and noticed Harold talking again.

  “...she works at the hotel, too. It was love at first sight. You know what I mean?”

  “Oh, yeah, man. I know what you mean.” Did he ever.

  Harold seemed to settle down after they reached airspace, and Sam opened a magazine in hopes that Harold might take a nap. He didn’t. They both ordered a couple of drinks from the flight attendant, who seemed too young to serve alcohol, and Harold’s monologue seemed to relax a little. Even so, Sam learned more than he wanted to know about Harold’s jitters over the new job, his worry that his new girlfriend didn’t like him as much as he liked her, and his fear that she might have flown the coop while he went home for the past three weeks. Harold seemed to be afraid of a lot more than flying.

  The flight attendant announced the plane was approaching Grand Cayman. It had been a while since Sam had been there, and he couldn’t remember the flight taking so long, being only a few hundred miles from Miami. He guessed that flying around Cuba might be one reason. The lights of beach hotels rose under the plane, pale in comparison to those of Miami. This happened to be the home for much of the money in the world that people wanted to hide, probably many billions. But for all outward appearances, the island was just a laid-back tropical paradise with nothing on its mind but sun and drinks and slow, warm afternoons. Sam might come back again when he could stay a few weeks, and lie in the sun and drink rum until his head buzzed. Right now, though, he had to find the place identified by the coordinates written on a note in his pocket.

  A few minutes later the plane descended to the runway and Harold grabbed onto Sam’s arm. Once on the ground, Harold wiped perspiration from his forehead and thanked Sam for his patience.

  “Glad I could help. Good luck with the new life.”

  They deplaned and Sam pointed him toward baggage claim. Sam got in line, showed the passport and license to an airport official, and headed for the taxi stand outside.

  He had to wait in line a few minutes before a taxi became available.

  “Where to, Mac?” The driver appeared to be American, probably retired from a factory job in the northeast.

  “I don’t know, give me a minute.”

  The old driver looked at him with one eyebrow raised and just nodded. Had he been in Miami, the driver probably would have told Sam to get out of the cab and gone on to the next customer. Sam fired up the gadget, compared the coordinates on the screen with the ones J.T. had given him, and found he needed to go north. He vaguely remembered a main highway running north and south on the west end of the island.

  “I want to take the road that heads northwest.”

  The driver hesitated and said, “Not much going on up there this time of night, and it’s pretty dark out. You sure you know where you’re going?”

  “Yeah, I know exactly where it is,” Sam said with as much confidence as he could muster.

  The driver shrugged and started the engine. They rode for about twenty minutes, passing a turtle farm that lit up the dark, but not much else. The latitude coordinate on the GPS unit increased in numbers and got closer to the coordinate on the note, then the road turned slightly east and the longitude coordinate, which had stayed right on the money since their journey began, started moving away from the target. Sam hadn’t seen a building or anything else that might be his destination, but he asked the driver to stop and turn around.

  “I think the place I’m going is close to here, so go slow.”

  The driver mumbled something Sam didn’t understand, but he did as asked. They approached a path on the side of the road, a swath about ten feet wide cut in the scrub, and Sam said, “Turn here, I think this is it.”

  The driver put on the brakes. “Sorry, I can’t go down there. The sand might be soft and we’d get stuck.”

  Sam looked at the GPS screen. The place couldn’t be more than a hundred yards away.

  “Okay, how about waiting for me, then? I won’t be there more than a few minutes.”

  The driver shook his head. “I don’t think so, I--”

  Sam handed him a hundred dollar bill and said, “Here, I’ll give you another one if you wait twenty minutes and take me back to the airport.”

  The driver took the bill and nodded. “All right. But after twenty minutes, I’m gone.” He looked at his watch and back at Sam with a warning stare.

  Sam nodded, got out of the car and strode down the dark path.

  Chapter 11

  THE TAXI’S lights grew dim as Sam entered the woods. He heard something sliding in the grass a few feet away, and wondered what kind of snakes might be indigenous to Grand Cayman. The sound stopped a moment later, and he continued through the woods. About two hundred yards from the road the swishing of surf reached his ears and a metal building appeared through the trees. A flood light glowed from a pole on its corner, a steel fence surrounded it, and a business van sat outside the fence. He stepped closer and saw that the land inside the fence had recently been scraped clean of all vegetation, and the musty smell of raw earth hung in the air.

  The fence had a gate with a padlock, and Sam didn’t have
any tools with him that would open it. Beyond the gate, a strip of light glowed underneath a door entering the building.

  He went to the passenger side of the van and pulled the door handle. It popped open, almost without sound, and the interior dome light flashed in his eyes. He reached into the door jam, ran his fingers along the surface until he felt a button, and pressed it. The light went off, and he stood for about thirty seconds, listening to his heart pound in his ears, wondering if anyone had seen him. A bead of perspiration rolled down his cheek.

  With his free hand, he reached in, snapped open the glove box, and felt around inside. An envelope aroused his interest. Taking it, he closed the glove box and pushed the van door shut.

  He went past the building along the outside of the fence. The property ran right up to the sand dunes where the surf lapped just a few feet away. The back yard, if it could be called that, was illuminated by the glow of a dim, yellow light mounted on the rear eave of the building, and two large dish antennas stood in the dirt like twin sentries. Between the roar and hiss of the surf, Sam heard a whirring noise as one of the big antennas moved.

  A plastic chair sat next to the wall of the building, and cigarette butts lay in a pile underneath. Sam wondered what could be going on inside. It obviously was some kind of communications facility, but it could be a perfectly legitimate business enterprise. He thought about the envelope from the van and stepped behind the trunk of a large pine. He opened the envelope, unfolded the piece of paper inside and turned on the GPS unit. Faint markings of a government form were visible in the glow of the screen. It looked different from a Florida vehicle registration, but it had to be the same kind of document. He searched in the dim light for several seconds before finding the name of the vehicle’s owner: NeoWorld Corporation, the same as with La Salle’s Jaguar. So much for the idea of the legitimate enterprise. NeoWorld, the new company with almost a billion dollars in assets. Sam turned off the GPS unit and returned it and the papers to his pocket.

  J.T. had hit the nail on the head by interpreting the numbers in the e-mail as transposed GPS coordinates. The e-mail confirmed delivery of the dish antennas and whatever else was inside the building. But what did it have to do with La Salle’s project?