Miami Burn (Titus Book 1)

by John D. Patten

  Kelly Alves looked like she had swallowed a chipmunk. Then, she slowly recovered and began to clap.

  “Very well done,” she said. “Brilliant story. You should write fiction, Titus. But you can’t prove any of it.”

  “Really, Kelly?” I said. “That’s how you’re going to play this? Because all we need is the gun. Clark Erwin here has already uncovered the paper trail of money from Foundation Investments LLC to Jeannie Connors. We could even go further. We could exhume Allie Hayes’ body.”

  I looked at Rex and saw something I didn’t expect. He was crying. Tears streamed down his face.

  “I loved Allie,” he said. “I didn’t abuse her. I didn’t kill her. I loved my little girl so much.”

  “Is that right, Pam?” I said.

  Pam Hayes shook like she was possessed by a demon. Then, she regained control and her eyes filled with tears. She opened her purse, and removed a tissue.

  “Yes,” Pam Hayes said, “It’s true. Rex didn’t abuse Allie. He abused this trollop here, that’s for sure. Although the slut started it. But Rex didn’t kill Allie. I did. She would not obey me. She would not attend fundraising events. She was,”—Pam made a noise like an animal dying, “—pregnant with the child of some strange boy with long hair. I couldn’t help it. I hit her. She fell and struck her head. And she was dead. I didn’t mean to kill her, I swear. I’m sorry, Rex. I ruined everything for you. But you couldn’t keep your hands off this tramp, could you? You and your sex parties with those girls at that awful man’s house. You ruined it this time, not me.”

  I nodded at Sofia. Clark threw me a faint smile.

  Pam Hayes wiped her eyes again, tucked the tissue in her purse, and removed a small revolver. She pointed it at Rex’s left eye and shot. A gush of blood poured out from his face and he slumped over, his head hitting the big table with a sickening thud.

  Next, she turned the gun toward Tiffany and shouted, “You little whore!”

  Which were the last words Pam Hayes ever spoke. The two FBI agents both shot Pam Hayes simultaneously. Her suit exploded in red, splattering blood all over the desk and all over us. Hayley and Tiffany screamed and held each other with their heads down.

  Sofia and I looked at each other.

  “Shit,” we both said at the same time.

  FORTY-FOUR

  CLARK ERWIN AND I SAT FACING EACH OTHER AT A DESK in a bland office inside FBI Headquarters in Miramar, a ridiculous complex of glass buildings shoved together at odd angles. It looked like it belonged on the planet Krypton. I had just finished spending several long hours with three separate agents who were as thrilled to be interrogating me as I was to be interrogated. I told them all I knew. I felt like a wet rag wrung dry.

  “Are you okay?” Clark Erwin said.

  “Yeah,” I said, looking at the blood stains on my shirt and pants. “You just never get used to it.”

  “No, you don’t. So did you know it was Pam and not Rex?” said Clark.

  “Rex was always good for it,” I said. “I smell sleaze from him. But my gut told me Pam did Jake and Eddie. The only way to find out was to do what I did and level the abuse accusation at Rex. She freaked when I accused him of it before.”

  “It worked.”

  “Yeah, but who benefits? Tiffany and Hayley are now going to be scarred for life. They shouldn’t have been there. They shouldn’t have seen that. Nobody should see that.”

  “Christ, Titus. Nobody should ever see bad shit, but bad shit happens every day all over this world. None of us thought Pam Hayes was going to pull a gun.”

  “We can tell ourselves that all day long,” I said, “but Tiffany and Hayley are going to be paying the price for years.”

  “They were going to be paying the price anyway,” Clark said. “They drew a shitty straw being born to Jeannie Connors. If you want to put the blame on someone, put the blame on her.”

  “I guess.”

  “Your gut was spot on about Rex Hayes. Foundation Investments LLC shows up in some skanky paperwork.”

  “Where’s Kelly Alves?”

  “Fun gal, ain’t she?” Clark said. “She’s in the hold. We’ve got enough to send her away for life, but she’ll likely call in some favors, do two years at a country club prison, and be disbarred. I’m betting she’ll be back in D.C. in four years with a new lobbying firm.”

  “Okay,” I said, “so I have a question. How did you know I was in Miami?”

  Clark laughed. “I, uh, had a tracer on you. When your ID was pulled up by a Miami-Dade patrol officer who pulled you over for a broken taillight, the system flagged me.”

  I laughed. “That was Sofia.”

  “No way. The same chick who was with us in there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What was she doing on uniform patrol?” he said.

  “Doing too good of a job,” I said.

  Clark tilted his head and squinted. Then, he grinned. “You got something going on with her, don’t you?”

  “Naw,” I said.

  “Yes you do. You can’t fool me. Good. I’m glad. It’s been long enough. I know how much you loved Ariel, but it’s time.”

  For a moment, I was back in the cold mountains, Ariel’s red hair across my face. I swear I could smell her in the nondescript dull room years and miles away.

  I shook my head to snap myself out of it.

  “So,” I said, “you’ve had one of your guys following me around in a black SUV, huh?”

  He looked out the window and laughed. “Yeah, right, like the FBI can afford to follow you around.” He paused and his face dropped. “Oh, you’re serious. What black SUV?”

  “Cut the shit, Clarkie.”

  “No shit, Titus. I’m serious. We haven’t been tailing you. Why would we?”

  My heart skipped a beat.

  “The text warning me about Z?” I said. “That one was you, right?”

  Clark leaned forward.

  “No,” he said, “that wasn’t me, either. I saw that in the transcript from your interview with Donegan. That’s weird, huh?”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Clarkie.”

  “Hey, ease up. I’m not fucking with you. Nobody from the Bureau texted you, God’s honest truth.”

  I stared out the window at the big parking lot, a sick feeling starting up again in my stomach. The world realigned as the answer came to me. I broke out into a sweat and sipped some water.

  “You sure you’re all right?” Clark said.

  “Yeah,” I said, not believing it myself. “Come to think of it, how did I get involved in all this? Why did you tell Pam Hayes who I was, where I worked, and certain bullshit characteristics about me?”

  Clark Erwin blushed. “Look, Titus, I, uh, know you had some problems transitioning back out and I just thought I might want to, uh, I don’t know—help. She called me up and asked me to run a trace on Allie’s credit cards. I didn’t want anything to do with it. I don’t like Pam Hayes. Never did. So I sent her to you.”

  “To give me something to do?”

  “There was that, you could say. But I knew Pam was a rotten egg. I knew it the first time around when I worked Allie Hayes’ first disappearance six years ago. The real one. The story they shot me about her running off with some hooligans was bogus. But suddenly everything was ship-shape. Allie was home—replaced by Tiffany—and I was assigned a different case. I knew it was off, though. Way off. I couldn’t prove it and I had everybody working against me here, but I knew it. I also knew that if anyone could find anything and not let go of it like a pit bull, it was you. Hey, I got a question. How did you get Old Lady Elliott to talk to you?”

  “Pam’s mother?” I chuckled, brushed my face with my hand, and glanced down at the gray wall-to-wall carpet. “I, uh, pretended I was someone else.”

  Clark Erwin sat up. “Don’t say another word. Some things I should not know.”

  We laughed again.

  “Speaking of things I shouldn’t know,” he said, “the body of a fifty-two
year old man from Belarus identified as Zinoviy Belenko was found in Starke—or what was left of it, anyway. He called himself Z in professional circles.”

  I shrugged. Clark smiled.

  “You know,” he said with a fond stare, “all these years and you haven’t changed.”

  “Neither have you.”

  There was a long pause, the memories flashing before us as two old friends gazed at each other.

  “Have you seen him?” Clark Erwin said.

  “Who?” I said.

  “You know who.”

  I looked out at the parking lot again, a sudden craving for a cigarette hitting me hard.

  “No,” I said. “I was on my way, but got sidetracked.”

  “You should talk to him,” he said. “You both live in the same town now.”

  “Not for long.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Going back home?”

  “No,” I said as I stood up. “Someplace else. Not sure where. When I get there, I’ll be sure to get pulled over right away so your computer dings.”

  We shook hands. I opened the door, but turned back.

  “Clarkie,” I said.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  “What brought you over to the good side?”

  “I don’t know, Titus. All I know is the day you punched me in the face, you impressed the hell out of me. I didn’t realize it right away. It took some time, but the fact you were willing to stand up for what was right while I went along with everything. It made me realize you were really one of the good ones. And I was—uh—sick of not being one of the good ones.”

  “Bullshit. You were always the goody-two-shoes. I was always the troublemaker.”

  “Yeah, but in the end, who went to jail for the right reasons?”

  “True,” I said, “but who helped get me out behind-the-scenes for all the right reasons?”

  “True,” he said.

  We looked at each other for a long beat, the years too much to take now.

  “My jaw still hurts, you know,” he said.

  “Aspirin,” I said.

  “And I still haven’t forgotten about the peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

  “I’ll see if I can find it in my stuff and get it back to you.”

  We both laughed.

  “Take care, Titus,” he said.

  “You too,” I said. “Say hi to Theresa for me. And to your two kids I haven’t met yet.”

  “You bet. Say hello to You-Know-Who for me when you see him.”

  “Sure.”

  I walked out.

  FORTY-FIVE

  THE FBI PARKING LOT HAD ENOUGH BLACK SUVS TO OPEN a Chevrolet dealership.

  As I walked out, trying my damndest to push the thought of sweet smoke pummeling its death particles into my lungs away from me, one of the SUVs pulled in front and stopped in front of me. The window rolled down to a stunning sight.

  “Hey,” said Sofia. “Come here often?”

  “Hey,” I said. “So you do have a sense of humor after all. I just lost a bet with myself.”

  She smiled, almost laughed. “Need a lift?”

  “Only to the middle of the highway. I can walk the rest of the way.” I leaned on the open window with my elbows. “But this time, can you do me a favor and let me out in the fast lane? It’d be more of a challenge.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that. I was having a bad day.”

  “Oh, now you’re sorry. Now that I’ve delivered you a case on a silver platter that’s going to get you a promotion to lieutenant.”

  “Not likely.” There was a pause as we stared at each other. “Get the fuck in.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

  “Shut up.”

  We drove calmly and slowly to the Ronald Reagan Turnpike, something which I didn’t think Sofia was capable of, based on our last ride. We didn’t speak again until we were on Florida’s Turnpike heading south. I liked being quiet with Sofia. It felt natural, like we had grown comfortable enough with each other to enjoy silence together.

  “You know,” she said as we passed Hard Rock Stadium, “besides the blood and guts and all, what you did today was pretty cool.”

  “Oh my God, did you just compliment me? Who are you and what have you done with Sofia?”

  “Shut up. I’m serious. You owned that square-faced old cunt.”

  “Whoa, hey. You’re not supposed to say that word. Nobody is ever supposed to say that word.”

  “I’ll arrest myself later,” she said. “I just want you to know that the way everything went down was perfect.”

  “No,” I said, “it was far from perfect.”

  “There was no way you could know Rex’s old lady was going to do what she did.”

  I scratched the back of my neck. “I wish I could agree.”

  “Let it go.”

  I turned and smiled at her.

  “Look at you,” I said, “comforting me. You were about to shoot her yourself.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t have a chance. Those Fed boys are fast.”

  “No shit, huh? You were pretty fucking awesome yourself, Detective Sergeant. Your timing couldn’t have been more perfect. You just popped into the room and tossed that folder down. Pow!”

  We passed the I-195 interchange. Our time together was diminishing. I hate when our time together diminishes.

  “Your two brown Buick guys were found in an empty lot in Miami Gardens, by the way,” Sofia said. “They had been shot with a Luger. They were still sitting in the Buick with the shotgun.”

  “Shocking,” I said. “So much crime these days.”

  “We figure Pam hired them. They probably guarded her when she went to Eddie’s. Then, Z stepped in and eliminated them. So what happened to Z? They wouldn’t tell me.”

  I shrugged. “Must still be out there somewhere, shooting people. Pop pop pop.”

  She looked at me. I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Fine,” she said, “don’t tell me.

  I shrugged again.

  “You’ve seriously got to stop impressing me,” she said. “First, you rip up Rex’s check. Then, you promise a poor woman you’ll get her daughter back and you do. Then, you solve this big case that got a bunch of people killed before you came along. Then, a professional killer disappears in the same town you were in. You’re not the guy I thought you were the night I pulled you over.”

  “So this is probably a good time to ask,” I said with an overeager smile, “will you go to the Prom with me?”

  She burst into laughter, slapped the steering wheel with her right hand, and then my thigh. My thigh twitched with joy.

  “Stop making me laugh too!” she said.

  “I’ll try. No guarantees.”

  I turned and looked at her for a good long minute. Her smile was gleeful. Her face should have a gleeful smile on it all the time.

  We passed the Museum of Science on the MacArthur Causeway.

  “So,” she said with a furrowed brow, “I hear you gave your notice at Cap’n Jack’s.”

  I turned and stared at her. “How the fuck did you know that?”

  “I have my sources.”

  “Who?”

  She shook her head.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  We didn’t say anything else until we were in front of my place on Meridian Ave. She put the SUV in park.

  “Want to come in for some cheap bourbon in a red plastic cup?” I said.

  “I can’t,” she said, biting her lip. “I’ve got to finish my report. The FBI got their fill, but the Lieutenant won’t be satisfied until I’ve crossed all the i’s and dotted all the t’s.”

  “Oh,” I said, my hand on the door handle. “Well, thanks for the ride.”

  “Wait,” she said. “Don’t get out yet. I need to ask you something.”

  She took a deep breath and sat facing me, her hands clasped tight between her thighs. My heart nearly stopped.


  “Yes?” I said.

  “Where are you going?” she said.

  “Going?”

  “You’re going. I can tell.”

  I brushed my goatee with my hand and stared out the window at my building. The door to the second floor apartment had been boarded up.

  “It’s just time,” I said. “I can’t do Hamlet here for much longer. Somebody may think I’m a professional actor. I couldn’t have that.”

  She nodded. “I’ve got something to say.”

  “Okay.”

  Another long pause. She scowled, staring directly ahead, as she planned to say whatever it was she was going to say. Another near heart-stoppage enveloped me.

  “Are you going to say it,” I said, “or are we going to grow old here?”

  “I have issues,” she blurted out. “I lost someone. Someone very close to me.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “I’m not over it. But, that doesn’t mean that I don’t know I’m still alive and need to go on.”

  “What was his name?”

  She breathed a deep inhale and sighed. “Rick.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I know that feeling, too.”

  “But, I—uh, well—I appreciate your being there that night. You stopped me from doing something stupid.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “Wait. I thought you stopped me from doing something stupid.”

  “I did,” she said. “But so did you. You just didn’t know it until right now.”

  “So what are you saying? That we saved each other?”

  “Maybe. And that if you wanted to stay in Miami—that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe set yourself up as something.”

  “Like what?” I said. “Professional face-buster?” The hint of a smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. “Or how about something more elegant like Thuggery, Inc.?”