by Paul Carr
“He never drew his gun,” Sam whispered.
“What?”
“La Salle never drew his gun.”
“So?”
Sam pulled open La Salle’s coat and saw the butt of a 9mm sticking out of an inside pocket. They hadn’t searched the dead man. Sam reached for the gun, and a hand clamped on his wrist. He jerked it away and saw La Salle’s eyes pop open.
La Salle took the gun from the pocket and thumbed the hammer. He winced from the sudden movement and touched the side of his head where his hair was wet with blood. The bullet must have just grazed his scalp, and he probably had the grandmother of all headaches. He pushed back so he could prop his head against the side of the van and peered at Sam and J.T. “Where are we?”
“Better keep it down,” Sam said, whispering. “We’re at the docks, a place owned by Gideon Barge. They’re going to kill us and drop us in the ocean. Of course, they think you’re already dead.”
Sam glanced at the men in front who faced the other way, comfortable that Sam and J.T. were no danger behind the thick glass.
La Salle touched his head again. “Candi did this to me.” He took a deep breath and sighed.
“Well, you did kill Philly Moran, who happened to be her father.”
La Salle rubbed his eyes. “He didn’t give me any choice.” Then he said, “Where’s the statue?”
“Long gone. Barge took it away in a helicopter.”
La Salle’s eyes narrowed and he pointed the gun at Sam. “I should kill you both where you sit.”
Sam shrugged. “It’d save them the trouble.” He glanced through the glass and saw that the men still looked the other way. “Better stay still, though. If they see you’re alive, you won’t get a chance to use that gun.”
La Salle closed his eyes, his breathing shallow and his face covered with sweat, then opened them wide, as if fighting unconsciousness. “How many are there?”
“Four, with automatic weapons.”
La Salle nodded and dozed off again. Sam leaned forward, but La Salle snapped his eyes open and glared at him.
The van stopped and backed up, and the engine went dead. La Salle stuck the gun inside his coat and closed his eyes. Tattoo and the man with gold teeth opened the rear doors, illuminating the van from flood lights outside, and reached in for him. Their weapons hung from their shoulders on straps. Renaldo and Scarface stood several feet behind them with their guns pointed at Sam and J.T.
Tattoo and Gold Teeth lifted La Salle’s hulk out of the van, walked sideways a few steps and dropped him on the ground. He hit, rolled onto his side and fired at the men holding the guns. Renaldo’s eyes grew wide and his mouth opened as if to scream. He grabbed his stomach and stared at the blood running between his fingers, his face went slack, and he dropped to the ground. The other man, Scarface, stumbled on a wounded leg, yelled a string of words in Spanish, and brought his weapon up to fire. La Salle shot him again, this time in the head, and the man fell backward, firing a burst of rounds into the night sky.
One of the men who had carried La Salle, Gold Teeth, struggled to get his weapon unstrapped from his shoulder. La Salle shot him in the chest and Gold Teeth dropped his hands and fell to the ground. Sam hit the other man, Tattoo, in a tackle. As they descended, the gun fired wild next to Sam’s head, and the heat from the barrel singed his ear. Sam straddled the man, ripped the gun away and back-fisted his temple. The man’s eyes rolled up and he passed out. Sam stood up and turned around.
“I’ll take that gun,” La Salle said.
La Salle had gotten to his feet and pointed his gun at Sam. Sam wished he’d had his finger on the trigger, ready to fire, but La Salle would certainly get a shot off before Sam could. He handed over the weapon and looked around. Four men lay on the ground, three of them dead and holding silenced weapons. The smell of exploded gun powder bit into Sam’s nostrils like an ammonia cap. Although grateful to be alive, Sam knew La Salle wouldn’t have raised a finger to save them had his own life not been in danger. It angered Sam that he might have bought only a little more time.
“You need to let us go,” J.T. said. “After all, we did help you.”
“Forget it,” La Salle said. He put his hand to his head, staggered slightly, as if dizzy, and glanced at Sam, probably wondering if Sam had seen him falter. “What did you do with the case of money I gave you at the airstrip?”
Sam thought the big man might have a concussion. The longer they strung him along, the better their chances would be of staying alive. “I hid it before Barge came in and took the statue.”
“Where?” La Salle put his hand to his head again and closed his eyes for a long blink, but held the gun steady.
“I’ll take you to it.”
La Salle seemed to consider the offer for a couple of beats, then said, “Okay get in the van.”
They closed the rear doors.
“You’re driving,” La Salle said, prodding J.T. with his gun. “And you sit up front with him,” he said to Sam.
La Salle got in the seat behind J.T. and said to Sam, “I’ll have the gun on you the whole time, so don’t try any funny stuff or you’ll die.”
They rode out the gate, and Sam wondered where the security guard had gone. Probably took a break when the van came in; what he didn’t see he couldn’t talk about. Too bad; Sam had thought he might do something to help them after hearing the shots.
Sam glanced at La Salle, hoping he would drop off to sleep in the back seat, but he seemed better now that he sat down. He would kill them after he got the cash, so if he didn’t pass out before getting to the airstrip, Sam would have no choice but to try to take him and hope for the best.
La Salle made several calls on his phone, keeping his eyes and the gun trained on Sam. He didn’t seem to get any answers to his calls and finally closed the phone and put it in his pocket.
Sirens screamed in the distance, but that seemed normal, like any other night in the city. The noise faded away as they rode toward the Everglades.
Sam turned to La Salle. “Can I ask you something?”
“Quiet. I’m trying to think.”
“How were you able steal all that gold from Barge? He had to have tight security around it.”
Several seconds passed, and Sam wondered if his appeal to La Salle’s ego might have failed.
“Danilov and I worked for him. We engineered the theft of the statue from the museum, and Barge had agreed to pay us five million each. He kept putting us off so we finally just took everything.”
“What about Barge’s security?”
“We were the security, but one of Barge’s men drove in as we took off and fired several rounds into the side of the plane. If not for him, we would have flown out of there without a scratch.”
“What about the dead guy on the plane? Was he in on it?”
“Yes, but when the plane started losing fuel, he freaked out and pulled a gun. We had to kill him.”
“So you escaped in a raft?”
La Salle glanced out the window and the gun dipped slightly. Sam thought it might be his chance to grab it, but La Salle looked back and said, “That’s right. Danilov had friends in Cuba who helped us get back to Miami.”
“What part did Miro play?”
“Who?”
“Miro, the dead antiquities expert.”
“Ah, him. Danilov knew the man. After a month or so, Danilov dived the wrecked plane and brought up some of the items to help finance a salvage operation. Miro examined them and found a buyer, but he got greedy.”
“I thought you were a Government agent of some kind.”
La Salle hesitated, shook the tip of the gun at Sam, and in a loud voice said, “That’s none of your business.”
End of conversation. Sam didn’t want to provoke him, since La Salle probably realized he could kill Sam and still force J.T. to take him to the cash.
So La Salle did work for the Government, maybe investigating Barge, the possibility of getting rich a little too tempt
ing to pass up. Sam wondered if La Salle regretted what he had done, and decided that he probably just regretted failing at it.
They rode the rest of the way in silence.
The Acura sat where they had left it. They got out of the van and Sam saw the metal case lying underneath the edge of the Acura. J.T. probably had pushed it there when the van showed up the first time. La Salle saw it, too. He told J.T. to get it and hand it to him. J.T. did as he was told and La Salle laid it on the hood of the car and opened it. It looked exactly the same as when he had given it to Sam.
La Salle nodded toward the rear of the Acura. “Open the trunk.”
“You have your money,” Sam said.
“Open it. I want the money you stole from my safe.”
They walked around the car and La Salle staggered, but regained his footing and followed them to the trunk.
J.T. pulled the key from his pocket and popped the trunk lid.
La Salle saw the bag and told them to step away. When they were several feet from the car, he laid the case on the floor of the trunk and opened the bag. Seeing the statue inside, he glanced at Sam and smiled. “Ah, what have we here?” He grabbed the statue and examined it, remaining careful to keep a watch on Sam and J.T. “I suppose you told Barge that Candi took this.”
Sam glanced at J.T. “Actually, it’s a fake. Barge got the real one.”
La Salle’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you. It looks just like the one I saw earlier.”
Sam shrugged. “It’s good quality, gold plated.”
La Salle looked at it for a few seconds, still keeping a watch on Sam and J.T., then closed the trunk and said, “Whatever you say. I’m taking it anyway.” He pointed the gun at Sam, as if ready to shoot, but then staggered and leaned against the side of the car. Sam started to step toward him to grab the gun, but hesitated, thinking there might be a safer way out.
“That’s a pretty bad head injury,” Sam said. “You might die if you don’t go to a hospital. We’ll take you. You’re in no condition to drive. You’ll never make it.”
“You’re just trying to stall for time. This is no big deal. I’ve been hit on the head worse than this.” La Salle tried to sound confident, but his eyes said something different.
“You probably made things worse when you fell on the ground and shot those guys back there. You probably have a blood clot traveling to your brain. You’ll have a stroke, and even if you live, you’ll be paralyzed.”
La Salle pushed away from the car, but staggered again and leaned back against it. “A hospital will ask too many questions.”
“You can tell them you fell down and hit your head.”
After what seemed like an eternity, he narrowed his eyes and said, “Okay, put the statue in the case with the money and give it to me.”
They got into the car, Sam and J.T. in front, La Salle in back. J.T. searched his computer for the nearest medical center while Sam drove. Sam felt a surge of relief as he realized that this part of the nightmare might be over. Even La Salle wouldn’t kill them in a public place and risk being caught.
Within a couple of minutes J.T. located a hospital on the outskirts of town, and they rode the rest of the way in silence. They found the place, and Sam steered into the driveway designated for ambulances and stopped a few feet from the entrance.
La Salle opened the door and said, “We’ll finish this later.” He got out of the car, holding his gun hand behind the case, and staggered toward the door.
Sam drove away, watching in the rearview mirror as La Salle dropped his free hand by his side and went into the building.
“He didn’t have the gun,” Sam said. “Check the back seat.”
J.T. reached into the floor behind Sam’s seat and came back with La Salle’s gun. “Yeah, here it is. His head must have been working okay. He knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to go into the ER carrying a gun that had just been used to kill three men.”
J.T. wiped down the gun, and twenty minutes later he tossed it out the window as they crossed the Miami river.
The clock on the dash read 3:00 AM, so the man with the boat had already taken their retainer and gone home. They drove to a hotel on Miami Beach, and after checking in Sam went to his room and called Candi’s cell phone. She answered after several rings, sounding sleepy.
“Where are you?” Sam asked.
“I just got back to the island. Why?”
“La Salle is still alive.”
“What do you mean?” Sleep left her voice and alarm took its place. “I saw him fall and he looked dead.”
“Yes, he did. But we just dropped him off at the hospital ER and he walked in the door. You need to get out of there as soon as you can.”
Candi was silent for a moment and said, “He won’t be able to get back to the island before morning. I’ll leave at first light.”
They said their goodbyes and Sam hung up. His phone chirped before he dropped it on the nightstand. It was J.T.
“Hey, I just wanted to let you know about something. You know when you called me from your cell phone before you went out on the airstrip to meet La Salle?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I connected the phone to my computer and started a recording. I didn’t get a chance to break the connection until we got in the car to take La Salle to the ER.”
“Why would you record the conversation?”
J.T. hesitated before saying, “I guess I wanted something I could pinch La Salle with, in case he flew in there, and, you know…took the statue and blew you away.”
Silence. A couple of seconds passed. Sam knew J.T.’s reason had to be a self-serving one.
J.T. continued, “I checked out the recording, and it picked up everything. Barge admitted stealing the statue from the museum and gave the order to execute us. La Salle admitted killing Philly Moran and the man on the plane, and as much as admitted killing Miro. I’m not sure what it’s worth, now that you’re okay, but it seems like it could come in handy.”
Maybe it could.
“Can you clean it up, take out the parts we don’t want in there?”
“Sure.”
They hung up and Sam went to bed and slept until 10:00 AM. Sun shone through the window and a gull stood on the patio ledge, squawking. Vacationers probably fed the gulls regularly, and this one had come by for his snack. Sam got up, showered and called J.T. They met in the restaurant at 10:45 and had breakfast.
J.T. remained quiet for most of the meal, probably thinking about the fortune he almost had. Finally, he said, “There’s something I wish you’d explain to me.”
“Sure.” Sam poured a second cup of coffee and stirred in cream and sugar.
“Why’d you tell La Salle the statue’s a fake?”
“I was hoping he wouldn’t take it.”
J.T. raised an eyebrow. “That’s the only reason?”
“What other reason would there be?”
J.T. nodded. “Okay, that’s what I thought.”
“You get a chance to work on the recording?”
J.T. nodded. “The quality’s almost perfect. I enhanced the voices and eliminated most of the background noise.”
They paid for breakfast and left the hotel. Sam called Jack Craft on his boat line and told him they would drop by.
“Sure,” Jack said, “I heard from Gideon. Sounds like we should celebrate.”
“Yeah, maybe, but you might hold the beer for later.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
They drove to the marina and parked, and went straight to The Clipper. Jack stood on the deck, waiting, and asked them inside. He offered them something to drink and they both declined. They sat in the chairs in the lounge and Jack raised an eyebrow.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“No problem. I just wanted to let you in on something.”
Jack leaned back and crossed his legs. “Tell me.”
“I want to ask you something fir
st.” Sam said.
“Go ahead.”
“Why did Barge hold you responsible for La Salle stealing his collection?”
Jack looked at them and smiled. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I met Thomas Beeker--the guy who became La Salle--in Mexico City several years ago. He worked for the Government, investigating a company that did business with Gideon Barge. The man who owned the company asked me to talk with Beeker and try to get him to back off. Beeker was pretty ruthless, even back then, and I sensed that he could be paid off. I negotiated a settlement, so to speak. Beeker wanted me to recommend him for a job as a security consultant with Gideon Barge. I think you can figure out the rest.”
Sam shook his head, wondering how Jack had lived as long as he had.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Sam smiled and said, “Nothing,” then nodded at J.T. “Play the recording.”
J.T. opened his computer and played the part to do with Gideon Barge. The voices came to life; J.T. had altered his own voice and Sam’s to sound like those of other people, and had taken out any references to their names.
The recording finished and Jack’s eyes tightened at the corners, as if he might smile. “Pretty damaging stuff for someone like Gideon Barge. There are probably a dozen people who would love to have that recording.”
“I’d say.”
“Why did you play it for me?”
“We gave Barge a fake statue.”
Jack’s eyes widened and he stood up and stepped to the bar. “I see,” he said over his shoulder. “Sure I can’t get you something?”
“Yeah, we’ll take whatever you’re having,” J.T. said.
Jack came back with the glasses and handed them out. He sat back down, took a long drink, and sighed.
“Barge certainly thought it was real from the way he sounded when he called.”
“It’s a good fake.”
Jack shrugged. “Then he might never know the difference, unless someone tells him.”