Burn Notice: A Key West Thriller (Kelly Maclean Book 2)

by Nate Hawk

  “Yeah, well I sure wish you would tell me the detailed significance of involving him.”

  “Look Kelly, I’ve got a couple of cards that I still need to hold close to my chest. I’m going to tell you soon but I have to make sure all of this works out like I’m thinking it will. Otherwise none of it matters anyway.”

  “You know I trust you, Owen. I’m just a simpleton my man,” Kelly said with a sarcastic tone. “You just tell me when it’s time!”

  Therapeutic island air rushed through the cracked windows on Kelly’s Magnum as they blasted their way east towards the warehouse. Despite the events of previous days, most of the island seemed to be continuing the same daily rituals it had for the last hundred years. Residents were dusting the sand off of their walkways or fetching their mail from their postal boxes. Landscape crews were trimming palm tree leaves and blowing freshly cut grass back into the postage stamp sized lots. Residents rode bicycles in an effort to propel themselves somewhere out of necessity and tourists pedaled rented bikes in no hurry with seemingly no destination in mind.

  Kelly parked his car in the small customer lot next to two other expensive-looking European cars. He donned his battle vest and AWS gear belt. Owen looked a little less prepared for battle with only the large revolver tucked in his pants gangster style. After the explosion that had taken place moments before, neither man had any desire to use their weapons. Surely the details could be worked out with Deluca and Franco in a civilized manner. Especially after all of the death that had just been dealt out by the CIA’s placement of the bomb on what used to be Kelly’s boat.

  Keeping a bit of distance between them, they both walked up to the main personnel door out front. Owen twisted the knob and pushed and pulled with the same frustrating result, realizing the door was locked. He walked around to the side of the warehouse and through the open gate that led to the loading docks. The entire place seemed battened down as if someone were anticipating a category three hurricane to make landfall any moment. Kelly and Owen looked at each other and then glanced at the two closed bay doors. Kelly pulled his rifle up into a ready position, pulling the density of the stock into his shoulder. Owen tried to lift the first door but it was locked up too. Then he tried the second bay door and instantly felt movement. Owen locked eyes with Kelly and both men simultaneously nodded.

  “Do it,” Kelly whispered.

  Owen pulled the door open with ease, attempting to mute the sounds. This wasn’t a D-Day invasion but rather two men attempting a clandestine shake down of two other men. Kelly had to duck under the open door to get himself into the warehouse. Owen was even taller than Kelly so he squatted and propelled himself inside, directly behind Kelly. Immediately the foul smell of death hung in the air and pulled at the calmness that had previously occupied the men’s stomachs. There were pallets and boxes of various shapes, sizes and colors. A cursory glance showed Custom’s declarations paperwork attached to each of the items. The men gave each other a putrid look after noticing the smell. It was a sensation familiar to them both. Kelly slithered forward effortlessly and fluidly like a snake gliding on ice. He moved himself around a high wall of stacked pallets where he found the kill scene.

  Deluca had a gunshot wound directly through his forehead and his brother Franco lay sprawled out beside him with multiple gunshot wounds to the face. Kelly and Owen had both seen violent death before. The sight of bloated death was almost tolerable to them but the smell was one that was nearly impossible to get used to. Both men could taste the heavy decay that was coming off of the two corpses. Kelly and Owen attempted to temporarily push the smell from the forefront of their minds. They cleared the remainder of the warehouse before entering the small office area up front. Convinced that no one was lying in wait for them inside of the building, the two men walked back over to the two bodies.

  “Somebody already got your guy, Kelly!” Owen said pointing towards the man with the leg cast.

  “I guess we don’t have to worry about them gunning for us now,” Kelly said. “Somebody did us favor with these two.”

  “True. But somebody’s going to have to clean this mess up. Rigor’s just setting in which means this just happened. It’s gotta be those suits that were with the bikers at your boat.”

  “The guys in the suits! I didn’t get a very good look at ‘em once I was hiding under the dock. How ya think they fit into this?” Kelly asked, wondering if he’d have to deal with them too.

  “They’ve gotta be the guys from Miami. All three of them looked like mobsters to me but the smaller one had more class. You should have seen his reaction when he was knocked backwards into the boat! The other two guys in suits were probably just soldiers. Man they were pissed after they climbed out of the water. They probably showed up after I left, found ‘em bound and gagged here. Probably decided to tie up some loose ends: cut their loses.”

  Outside, the crushed coral in the parking area began to crack under the weight of four tires. Kelly and Owen glanced around in hopes of sneaking out a rear door but were instantly discouraged when they saw that the only options of escape would require them to walk in front of the open bay door. One of the closed bay doors had a small tinted window in which Kelly and Owen peered out. A white van had pulled up close and its driver had jumped out. The outside of the van read Fast and Furriest; your solution for mobile pet grooming.

  “What the hell is this clown doing here? We’ve got a double homicide on our hands! This guy’s shown up at the wrong address for a doggie haircut.”

  “This is big goddamn problem,” Owen said.

  “No shit! He comes in here and sees these two we’re gonna get hit with capitol murder charges.”

  “Stay here Kelly. I’ve got this.”

  Owen moved over beside the half opened bay door and pressed himself flat against the wall. The mobile grooming man was wearing high-end chinos and a white silk shirt. As he continued nearing the open door Kelly noticed that he had on an expensive pair of boots. Then Kelly’s eye went to the man’s watch. Kelly knew expensive watches. This man appeared to be wearing a Rolex. Knowing he was on an island where nothing ever turned out to be what it initially seemed, Kelly asked himself why a mobile groomer would be wearing such an expensive outfit and an unfathomably expensive watch. Was the pet grooming business that profitable in Key West? Maybe the watch was a fake and for some reason the guy had on his Sunday best. Or maybe there was another explanation.

  As the man ducked down slightly to peer under the door he placed his hand on the metal door track. Owen saw the man’s hand was littered with gaudy rings as the man let out a yell.

  “Lou! Franco! Anybody home?”

  After hollering the man took a deep breath and gagged at the decaying smell that had entered his throat. He coughed and spat and began to pull away in disgust. Owen knew he couldn’t let the man just walk off and call the authorities, even if they were all busy over at the marina a couple miles away with the boat explosion. As the man started to motion away Owen reached through the door opening and grasped the man’s hand that touted the golden rings. He yanked the man towards him with the force required to start a lawn mower’s engine. The man was completely unprepared for the abrupt change of direction and smashed his head into the underside of the partially opened metal door. He fell past the threshold and landed in a heap on the floor. Seeing no real threat, Owen had stuffed the big revolver back in his pants and begun to pull the man upwards towards him and away from the open door. As he did so the man finally lost his battle to keep his stomach settled and the smell of rot raised his lunch up through his esophagus like a cobra in a trance. The mess projected itself towards Owen’s shirt in bits and pieces as if the man had consumed dog food for lunch himself.

  Owen dodged the brunt of the discharge but a few stray pieces cemented themselves to the left sleeve of his shirt. The man, still not in control of his senses, bent over at the waist and begun heaving again. As he did so he lost his balance and fell on all fours.

  �
�Do we look like we need a barber?” Owen said. “A dog groomer… What the hell is your name?”

  The man knew he had to back-paddle to save his life. He realized that he’d dumbly stumbled into something several pay grades over his head. “I didn’t see noth’n. I’m outta here,” he said before quickly being corrected.

  “Like hell. Sit down,” Owen said. “You’re not here for a mutt cut so state your business.”

  “I don’t know whaddaya talking about… I’m…”

  Owen retrieved the large revolver from his waistline in a matter-of-fact manner. “My patience ran out about two days ago. Tell me how you’re involved with Lou and Franco.”

  The man knew his cover wasn’t working. Plus, he could smell death in the air so he figured his only possible way to redemption was telling the truth. Kelly had remained hidden behind a stack of crates to maintain the element of surprise.

  “Alright, look,” he said. “I’m Russo. I don’t give two shits if that’s Lou and Franco that I smell over there.” The man coughed again as some stomach bile continued coming up. “They paid me for high-end identity documents and I came to deliver them is all.”

  He began carelessly tugging at something in his pockets.

  “One wrong move and there will be more than your puke splattered all over the concrete here. Are you armed?”

  “No! No, sir! I’ve just got these documents.”

  Owen confiscated one of the ID’s and looked closely. He was no stranger to fake ID’s and these two fakes were good. In fact, they were State Department quality. Owen had contacts that could produce that quality but they were all part of his network back in D.C.

  “These aren’t just normal fakes,” Owen said. “These are the kind of fakes that you buy when you’re getting ready to embark on a new start. How much you charge for IDs like this?” Owen asked.

  “With verifiable RFID chips that pass through Immigration?” Russo asked. His eyes were scanning back and forth as he contemplated how he could get out of this mess. Apprehensively Russo answered, “You’re right… Those aren’t just fakes. Those are a new life! They’re as good as witness protection… well, ya know… without the protection part. They paid fifty thousand for ‘em up front and I am to get another fifty upon delivery. That includes deleting their real identity from the state and federal systems so that their facial recognition software can’t pair the aliases to the real names.”

  Owen looked through the half open door and eyed the two expensive sedans sitting out front next to Kelly’s Magnum. “These two were a couple of top shelve dudes, I guess.”

  “Please don’t kill me! I’ve answered your questions honestly. I’ve got a kid!” Russo pleaded.

  Just then Basciano and his soldiers navigated themselves back under the door with their pistols drawn and pointed towards Owen. They clearly had Owen dead to rights. What they didn’t know was that Kelly had them out gunned with the short-barreled rifle he’d brought. Kelly kept his calm and bided his time, knowing he had to be patient for a few more seconds. The foot soldiers surrounded Owen leaving him no room for escape. Then they took the .41 magnum that he’d been carrying and dumped the shells out on the floor and tossed the gun.

  “Nobody is going to fug’n kill you Russo. I told you that you were protected when you established your loyalty to me… by mentioning that two of my suppliers, Lou and Franco, were getting ready to skip town. Relax! Your hard work is what brought us down here, Russo. Now get up off your knees and go find your fug’n dignity.”

  Russo did as he was told and scampered to his feet. The clothes that had recently looked so sharp were covered in various types of filth. As Russo stood up he did a careful two-step around the lunch that he’d left on the floor. He was terrified and he sure hoped underboss Basciano would let him leave before any more killing could take place. Basciano walked closer to Owen with a gleam in his eye.

  “I guess you get to join those two that are stink’n up the fug’n place. Get over there away from the door you fug’n son-of-a-bitch!” Basciano commanded. “I’m guessing you’re the one that stole the million bucks!”

  As Owen walked towards the center of the warehouse he noted a gap between two crates. He made a quick dash and dove as he longed for the protection of the crates. He was further in the warehouse and the mobsters knew that Owen couldn’t escape. No concern registered on their faces. They’d seen many men do desperate things right up to the point when they were tortured and killed. A Hail Mary dive? Where was this fug’n clown going, anyways?

  Just then Kelly worked his way around a pile of crates and got the drop on Basciano and his boys.

  “Back the fuck off,” he said as he leveled his short-barreled FAL at the men. “Nobody else is getting killed. Everybody is gonna be real cool now, aren’t we? Now drop those weapons guys.”

  ***

  Chapter 19

  Megan had climbed the steps to the stately mansion known as the Artist House. The Victorian building with its towering turret was a beauty to behold. But something else was on her mind. She was terrified of what was to come for the two men in her life. At times she had worked closely with Owen and to her, it felt as if he was a brother. They had a close working relationship that had gone back years. Then there was Kelly. He had been a former patient but now all of that was mostly a distant memory, as he had become her lover. Just the thought of him had the capability of warming her up inside.

  They sure had gotten themselves into it deep this time though. The group of bikers had only been the first challenge. The CIA had chased Megan and Owen down the Eastern Seaboard to the last stop in America: Key West. Congressman Swanson had gotten himself wrapped up in it but he and his pants-wetting aid didn’t seem like any real threat. But then the mafia had shown up. That was even worse than a rogue CIA element. Once Rick Quinn was eliminated then the Agency dogs might be called off. With Basciano it was different. Megan knew the mob never forgets and she didn’t know how they’d get out of this.

  She was greeted at the door as she walked upstairs to the turret suite. She opened the parlor style doors and slipped inside quietly. As she turned and closed them behind her a man reached around her arms and torso and clamped another hand tightly over her mouth. She tried to fight the man but he spun her around and pressed her down on the nearby couch.

  “Keep quiet or it’s Owen’s and your boyfriend’s asses,” he promised.

  The fear in her eyes began to dissipate as she nodded her head in agreement. She recognized the man from the reconnaissance they had done from the electric car at the import building. The man took her Glock, ejected the magazine, unchambered a round and tossed the ensemble into a pile of clothes.

  “You’re Rick Quinn,” she said.

  “Oh, look! Somebody’s been paying attention in class. You want a piece of candy or what? Now keep your mouth shut or this will end even worse for the three of you. So start talking and tell me where those two idiots are headed right now.”

  “I’m not telling you anything! Your agency is tasked with keeping us safe and you’re going around with the full force of the law to settle personal vendettas. You’re an asshole! I’d never sell out my own people.”

  “Ah, Megan. So cute and sweet… and naive. You’ve got a lot to learn. Everybody talks. You will too. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Megan had anticipated that Quinn would be there. Part of the plan to get rid of the CIA involved orchestrating just this scenario. Megan, Kelly and Owen figured that Quinn would make a move to take Megan hostage in an effort to gain leverage to reel in Owen and now Kelly. Then his team would “disappear” them for good. It seemed like a solid plan but Megan had an idea that might just interfere with Quinn’s intentions. Even with the plan, she knew that she had to play her part in acting uncooperative. Rick was no dummy.

  “Alright, just don’t hurt us. They’ve got a meeting down the street at a pub. I don’t know who it’s with but they’ll be there in about twenty minutes,” she lied. “Please don’t
hurt us,” she pleaded.

  “Shut your mouth. And they better be down there. We’re all just going to have a nice little chat. Let’s go,” he said. “Oh, and if they don’t show up or I get the idea you’re mess’n with me, this will end badly.”

  “Alright, I’ll go but we both know you’re going to kill us. Would you do me a favor first though?

  “Probably not but what do you have in mind?”

  “Will you tell me what Congressman Swanson’s secret is?”

  Quinn chuckled to himself. He’d come across the information while working a different case. It was simple, really. He decided that he didn’t have anything to lose by telling a dead woman what another man’s secret was. What did Quinn care? The explanation took less than thirty seconds. It was a family secret that Swanson had no control over. But if it got out, his political career would indeed be ended by the media buzz that it would create. Megan was surprised at the simplicity of it really.