Miami Burn (Titus Book 1)

by John D. Patten

  I flipped open my Chromebook and ran an online search for ‘Kelly Alves.’ High-profile Washington, D.C. attorney. Office on K Street. Kelly Alves & Associates. Advisor to three Presidents and a slew of Senators and congressmen. Official title: crisis mitigation consultant.

  Kelly Alves’ face at her website looked like it was carved from ice a thousand years ago. Cold eyes framed by rimless glasses and an empty smile.

  Does she fit in all this? Where? How?

  I finished my drink, took off my jeans, turned out the light, and dropped to the right side of the airbed facing away from Allie.

  I tried to make sense of all this for about an hour, and then drifted off to sleep.

  Some time later—I’m not sure when—I was awoken by a warm presence at my back. Shit.

  I was about to get up when I realized that the warm presence was sobbing. I flipped around.

  “Allie,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I want to die,” she said. “I just want to die.”

  I wiped a tear from her cheek. “Why, Allie?”

  “I’m so tired. So so tired.”

  “Tired of what, Allie?”

  “I’m tired of lying. I don’t want to lie anymore.”

  “You don’t need to lie anymore, Allie.”

  She pounded my shoulder with a fist.

  “You don’t understand,” she said through sobs and pounds. “I do. I need to keep on lying. Lying forever.”

  She fell into a full-blown cry. I pulled her into me and held her tight. She squeezed me like a little kid hugging a parent.

  We stayed like that for a long time. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep.

  TWENTY-SIX

  IN THE MORNING, I SLINKED OUT OF BED AND INTO THE shower, making sure I took my Sig with me in case Z attacks—although I don’t think he will. He needs something first.

  I’m betting it’s Allie. What else could it be? He’s been tasked by somebody with bringing her back and killing me in the process. Probably just like Tom Langston.

  As I showered, I heard a thump against the wall. I shut the water and grabbed my gun from the toilet. I waited, but heard nothing more. Must be the couple upstairs.

  I finished showering and walked out. Allie was sitting at the table, texting on her phone.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Morning,” she said in a monotone without looking up.

  I threw on a pair of jeans, a black Henley T-shirt, and started the coffeemaker.

  “You want to shower?” I said.

  “Huh?” she said, texting furiously.

  “Do you want to shower?”

  “Oh. Yeah, sure. Just a sec.” More monotone.

  After a flurry of texting, she grabbed a pair of white shorts, a blue tank top, and pink panties that she must have laid out on the airbed while I was in the shower.

  Something is off here.

  Without a word, she went in the bathroom and closed the door. This is not the Allie who was here last night.

  Once the water was running in the shower, I checked my stash spot. My Airweight and her Ruger were both still there, both still loaded. I walked over to the corner of the kitchen, picked up the manila envelope, and opened it. Money still there. Looks like all of it.

  I put the manila envelope back inside the stash spot, closed it up, and poured a coffee.

  Allie came out, her blonde hair in wet tangles. She reached into her purse, took out a brush, and went back into the bathroom. Again without looking at me, like I’m furniture.

  Once she was done brushing, she resumed her spot on the chair at the table and began a flurry of texting again.

  “Coffee?” I said.

  “Huh?” she said.

  “Coffee?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure.” More texting.

  I poured a cup of coffee and placed it near her.

  “I don’t have any milk,” I said. “Do you want sugar?”

  “Huh?” she said.

  “Allie! Look at me.”

  She looked up like she was seeing me for the first time.

  “Just one sec,” she said.

  I again felt the urge to throw her in the street. For a brief moment last night, I actually liked her. Even started to care. Now, I had to force myself to push the idea of pouring hot coffee on her away from me.

  “Okay,” she said and put her phone down. “What’s up?”

  “So,” I said, “I have a friend on the Miami-Dade police force. She’s a detective. She’s not your typical cop. Let’s go out, get some breakfast, and then I’ll call her.”

  “Okay.”

  Alarm bells again. That was too easy.

  “Okay?” I said.

  “Sure,” she said. “Where?”

  “Ever been to Las Olas?”

  “No.”

  “Everyone’s been telling me to try the sweetbread there, so let’s go there.”

  “Okay. You want to go now or finish your coffee?”

  Yeah, something’s way off. Polite and agreeable are not Allie’s trademarks.

  “I’m going to finish my coffee,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  I sipped my coffee. She texted some more.

  “How do you spell Las Olas?” she said.

  “L-a-s-capital O-l-a-s,” I said.

  “What’s that mean in Spanish?”

  “Good question. I don’t know. Let’s ask when we get there.”

  “Okay.”

  She twirled a stringy piece of hair and pondered that like it was one of the most interesting things she ever heard. Then, she resumed texting.

  I got the feeling this was going to be another very long day.

  I finished my coffee.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  “Okay,” she said and grabbed her purse, jumping out the door ahead of me while texting.

  We walked in silence as I looked around for silver Audis and salt-and-pepper hair. Allie texted while we walked.

  When we got to Las Olas, a couple was just finishing their breakfast at one of the outdoor tables facing Euclid Ave. They stood up to go.

  “Let’s sit outside,” Allie said, plopping herself down at the table while texting.

  “Okay,” I said, looking over at the outdoor window and menu. “What do you want?”

  “Huh? Oh, I don’t care. Just coffee,” she said.

  I went over to the window and waited in line behind a young couple and a big man who looked like he could eat the entire establishment. I looked over at Allie, still texting. I wondered if I should call Sofia now and have her show up here.

  Yes, that’s what I’m going to do. I took out my phone.

  “Can I help you?” said the girl behind the window.

  “Yes,” I said and was about to order when a dark gray McLaren sports car screeched to a halt directly in front of the cafe, its passenger side gull-wing door flipping up.

  Without a pause, Allie rose and dove into the car. The gull-wing door slammed down.

  “Hey!” I shouted as I ran over, but too late.

  “Bye, asshole!” said Allie as both she and some kid I had never seen before gave me the finger. He revved the obscenely loud engine and hit the gas hard. The tires left streaks of hot rubber all the way around the corner onto 6th Street.

  “Fuck!” I shouted loud enough for everyone in sight to turn and look at me.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TO CALM MYSELF DOWN, I WALKED ALL THE way to Dunkin’ Donuts on Alton Road. Halfway there, I regained enough self-control to stop picturing my hands around Allie’s neck.

  By the time I got there, I had a plan. I was also starved so I sat down and ate two butternut donuts. Then, I bought two iced coffees and a strawberry-banana smoothie and walked to the Apostolic Rescue Mission Church.

  Luther and DaShawn had made progress on the right side wall. I noticed a new red-and-blue bike leaning up against the fence.

  “Not bad,” I said. “Not bad at all.”

  “And I tell you,�
�� Luther said, “you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. Matthew, chapter sixteen, verse eighteen.”

  “Actually, I’m Titus, not Peter. Different book. And you missed a spot. Up there, on the left.”

  DaShawn laughed. Luther shot me a dirty look.

  “Speak with you a minute?” I said.

  Luther made a show of putting down his can of paint and shaking off his brush with exaggerated annoyance.

  “Hi, DaShawn,” I said and handed him an iced coffee.

  “Hi,” he said, taking the coffee tentatively without looking at me.

  “Say thank you to Brother Titus,” said Luther.

  “Thank you, Brother Titus.”

  “Nice bike,” I said. “Is that new?”

  “Uh-huh.” I thought DaShawn might melt.

  I shook my head and followed Luther inside to his office. I put the strawberry-banana smoothie on his desk.

  “You bringing me a coffee?” Luther said. “You know how I feel about coffee.”

  “Does that look like coffee?” I said. “It’s all pink and fruity with a little lowfat yogurt. It’s kosher, or blessed, or whatever. You’ll be fine.”

  “Sugar?”

  “No—well, maybe—okay, yes—just drink it. Live a little.”

  He studied the drink carefully, reached into a drawer, removed two coasters, and placed one underneath each drink.

  “Coasters?” I said. “Fancy.”

  “You know,” said Luther as he sat behind his desk, “I do not wake up in the morning and say to myself, ‘What can I do for Brother Titus today?’”

  “You don’t?” I said. “That’s odd. Most people do.”

  “Are you here to discuss your decision to let go of your resentment and seek absolution from God?”

  I sipped my iced coffee. “No. DaShawn steals bikes, you know.”

  His right eye glared at me harshly, and then wandered off.

  “I know,” he said. “Not all he steals. Boy is a mess. Wait. How do you know?”

  “I, uh, liberated, a bike from him one night a while back,” I said. “I wasn’t going to say anything but I saw that new one out there. I promised him I’d smash his face in if he ever did it again but I don’t want to do that on the Lord’s property here. Just wanted you to know.”

  “Thank you, Brother Titus. It shall be resolved.” Luther peeled the wrapping off his straw, stuck it in the top of the plastic cup, and sipped. “Not bad. Thank you for the refreshment. And you have my full blessing to smash DaShawn in the face if you ever catch him stealing again.”

  “I thought the Bible was against that sort of thing.”

  He sipped his smoothie. “Sometimes people who deserve to be smashed in the face need to be smashed in the face, only way they learn. Book of Luther, chapter one, verse one.”

  I laughed. “You kill me. Speaking of which, there’s a pro cleaner following me around, name of Z. Ever heard of him?”

  “No,” he said. “You sure he’s pro?”

  “Definitely,” I said. “Not like the two locals who fired a shotgun at me yesterday.”

  His eyebrows went up. “That was you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My my my, is there anyone who does not want you dead?”

  “No. How’d you know about that?”

  “It was on the Channel 7 news. Right after the body found in the waterway behind the bank parking lot. Which I believe be your boy Jake Preston.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So you were involved in the top two lead news stories yesterday. You going to be on the news today?”

  “It’s my daily goal,” I said. “I’ve seen this Z. He’s not itchy to off me, otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here. I’m not sure who he’s working for. Whoever they are, I suspect, want to find Allie Hayes or determine what I know about Allie Hayes. Who, by the way, spent the night at my place last night.”

  Luther’s bad eye turned in his head to look directly at me. I swear it has a will of its own.

  “Tell me you did not commit a sin of the flesh again, brother Titus,” he said.

  “Not if my life depended on it,” I said. “Allie Hayes is my least favorite person on earth right now.”

  I told him about my afternoon after I borrowed his truck yesterday: Pam Hayes and Z at the Leucadendra Country Club, the mysterious black SUV I see everywhere, seeing Jake Preston’s body, the text with the warning, getting shot at, seeing Z again, Allie showing up at my place, our conversation, and her running off this morning with some kid.

  “Who this new kid?” Luther said.

  “No clue,” I said. “Probably another poor sucker she had her hooks into. She’s good. She could get her hooks into most guys in Miami. I think she had her hooks into Eddie Corrado. Something in the way she reacted to his name tells me she knows him. Meantime, I want to talk to Tommy Nero. Ask him if he knows who might have hired the locals in the brown Buick. Know how to set up a meet with him, Mr. I-Know-Everybody-in-Miami?”

  My phone vibrated. I looked. Call from JoJo Burley. I let it go to voicemail.

  “You don’t just call up Tommy Nero’s secretary and make an appointment,” Luther said.

  “That’s why I came to you, Brother.”

  “That’s Reverend to you.”

  “Whatever.”

  He sipped his smoothie. “Let me make a call.”

  Luther took out a cell phone and called someone. I listened to JoJo Burley’s voicemail while I waited. He said he had something important to tell me so I walked out into the empty nave and called him back.

  “Speak,” said JoJo.

  “That’s how you answer your phone?” I said.

  “Dude! I’m back in Miami.”

  “And awake. You do know it’s morning, right?”

  “I can’t sleep, dude. Been awake for three days straight. I’m on a high of some kind.”

  “You? On a high? I don’t believe it.”

  He giggled. “I know, huh?”

  “By the way, I left your Sapphire Key with the concierge at your building.”

  “Got it, thanks. Dude, I got bad news.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Vin Diesel is doing the Miami Vice reboot. And get this. It sounds just like ours.”

  “Dang,” I said.

  “Yeah,” JoJo said, “it would have been sick. I still think my idea for Miami Hotties is going to fly. I talked to a couple of producers about it and they love it.”

  “Great. Listen, JoJo, I’d love to chat all day, but I’ve got to—”

  “Dude!” JoJo said. “One more thing. I don’t know if I should tell you, ‘cause it’s kind of freaky. It weirded me out, totally. You know that girl you were looking for?”

  I inhaled sharply. “Yeah.”

  “Allie something, right?”

  “Allie Hayes.”

  “I know where she is.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it. Before I left for L.A., Eddie Corrado stopped by and she was with him.

  “Are you sure?” I said.

  “So sure, dude,” he said. “And get this. She’s the same girl in Hinraker’s show. Mistress Tiffany.”

  “I know.”

  “You saw the show?”

  “I saw it.”

  “Fucking amazing, huh?” he said with another giggle.

  “Not the word I’d use,” I said. “So you’re sure she was with Eddie?”

  “Positive, dude. My eyes like totally bugged out of my freakin’ head. Definitely her. The picture you showed me.”

  “So where is she?” I said.

  “She lives with him. She’s been living with him for a while.”

  “You got an address?”

  “Yeah.” He told me.

  “Thanks, JoJo.”

  “Hey,” he said, “I’m going to be at Sinz tonight. You should come by. I’ll patch things up for you with Tony V.”

  “Thanks, JoJo,”
I said. “We’ll see.”

  “Cool. It’s the least I can do ‘cause of the Vin Diesel thing.”

  “We’ll survive. JoJo, get some sleep.”

  “Yeah, I probably should. Okay, later, dude.”

  I shook my head, hung up, and walked back to Luther’s office.

  “Tommy going to be at his restaurant at noon,” Luther said. “He expecting us.”

  “Us?” I said.

  Luther finished his smoothie and smiled. “Thought I might tag along.”

  “Thought you had painting to do and all.”

  “Haven’t seen Tommy in a while. Might be nice to say hello.”

  I looked at my phone. 9:30 a.m.

  “Want to visit Eddie Corrado first?” I said.

  “Thought nobody could find Eddie Corrado,” Luther said.

  “A plump round birdie with frizzy hair just told me where he lives.”

  Luther stretched his neck to either side, massaging it with his hands.

  “You may need backup,” he said. “Eddie Corrado nearly killed you once.”

  “Nearly killed me is a stretch,” I said. “That was just a flesh wound.”

  “Your nose may disagree.”

  He sighed, folded his hands, looked at me squarely, and then got up. He motioned me down the short hall as he walked out.

  I followed him to a door. He opened it with a key and we walked into a small room. There was a generator, a hedge trimmer, a large toolbox, an ancient rotary lawn mower, a table saw, and a smattering of supplies.

  “Close the door behind you,” Luther said. “Make sure it’s locked.”

  I did.

  He walked over to the wall on which a pegboard held various tools on hooks. He reached to the side of the pegboard and I heard a latch click. The entire pegboard swiveled outward on a hinge and there, behind thick wire-frame was a collection of guns hanging on hooks.

  “You are so breaking the law,” I said. “Not to mention a couple of commandments, Father.”

  “Reverend,” he said. He grinned and unlocked the cage that held the guns. There were big guns, little guns, rifles, an AR-15, and an AK-47.

  “You planning on an invasion from the Catholic Church?” I said.

  “Be you prepared,” he said, “and prepare for yourself, you, and all your company that are assembled to you, and be you a guard to them. Ezekiel, chapter thirty-eight, verse seven.”