Cahill saw his opportunity. He could drive his car at them, mount the kerb and mush them under his wheels. Job sorted, as Dan StJohn, an English buddy of his, might say. But that was rushing things again. He couldn’t be positive that Hunter wouldn’t hear his approach, and divert Trey into the park out of harm’s way. If they dodged into the park then he’d have to pursue them on foot, and what then? He was currently unarmed. Hunter had already shown his mettle in knocking down a hard-ass like Mikhail, and who knew if he was the one responsible for taking out the hitters who killed his pal. Cahill was no slouch in a fight, but why bloody his knuckles when other opportunities to kill them would come, opportunities he could walk away from uninjured? Show caution, he warned, and think.
He required backup and weapons.
That was fine, because even in the dead of night he had access to both. Keeping an eye on the couple, he took out his cell phone and began rounding up assets far worthier of his trust than the punks he’d agreed to pay with all the cocaine they could snort over a weekend. He sent two of the first guys who answered his call to silence Greville-Jones. By then Hunter and Trey were almost out of his line of sight, so he set his car rolling after them. But only insofar as he gained on them enough where he could pull over once more and continue with his arrangements. He powered down his window. It was hot and humid, but before the night ended Miami was going to grow much hotter for his targets. So hot, he thought that Mikhail’s assertion that he wanted to be on a flight out of the country before the bodies were discovered sounded like the best prospect for Cahill too… and that was before anything came of Mikhail’s plans for that damned parade.
11
Trey was flagging and it had little to do with the intense humidity. She stumbled along as if drunk, murmuring incoherently at times, and her head hung forward as if she lacked the strength to hold it upright. Shock could do that. I’d noted her downward spiral from the instant I dragged her from my room and threw my jacket over her shoulders. She’d progressively weakened, and I suspected she was almost at a point of collapse. She needed time to come to terms with what had just happened, and to gather her wits and strength, but time wasn’t a luxury available to us. Despite what Velasquez had said, other people did know we’d been at the violent scene, because on exiting my room it was into a corridor flanked by open doors and anxious fellow guests peeping out to ensure they weren’t next to be caught up in the gun battle. Exiting the room adjacent to the one where the fight had occurred might put off a few suspicions, because we could look like an innocent couple fleeing the horror next door. But once the police were on scene and the connecting door found smashed open and Trey’s shoe embedded in the gangbanger’s eye, it would only be a matter of time before somebody recalled our rapid departure. Velasquez had offered to take the rap for killing those who murdered McTeer, but any investigator worth their salt would know he was covering for a friend, and likely one registered to one of the rooms rented by McTeer. Rink had an alibi, I didn’t: ergo Joe Hunter would be a wanted man, and so too his female companion who’d supplied the impromptu murder weapon. I’d tried explaining that to Trey as we slipped away through the hotel’s grounds, but she’d only stared back at me with a glaze of incomprehension over her slack features.
Counter-surveillance comes as second nature to me, but it was difficult losing myself quickly when struggling to hold Trey upright. I had to dump my overnight bag – once I’d removed my jacket and other necessary belongings and secreted them about my pockets – in order to help her without it becoming an extra encumbrance. I had my phone, my wallet, some loose cash, and that was about it. I’d been tempted to take one of the guns from the dead men, but that would have confused the issue for Velasquez and made it look as if he’d killed an unarmed man. He would claim self-defence, and also that he was trying to save McTeer from armed and dangerous individuals, but he’d be treated like a cold-blooded killer if all the weapons weren’t accounted for.
I was still torn about leaving him behind to suffer the fallout alone, but it was a choice I’d been pushed into. He was right about Trey needing my protection, and the only way I could offer it was to get her out of harm’s way. The cops could only do so much to ensure her safety, and little for mine. The majority of cops are decent folk, but some are susceptible to corruption, particularly by an individual with the influence Mikhail Viskhan wielded, be that by reward or threat. A turnkey paid to leave a cell door unlocked, to turn a blind eye, while an assassin slipped into my cell wasn’t an unfeasible prospect, the assassin possibly wearing an official uniform or prison coveralls. Handcuffed and cornered, I’d be hard put to save my skin, let alone Trey’s. I’d made a promise to my dying friend and another soon after to Velasquez, and my greatest fault is the value I lay on my word: it often comes back to my detriment. But I’d vowed to protect Trey from her husband, and to avenge McTeer’s death. So be it.
Lummus Park was to our left, Ocean Drive stretched out before us, and I’d no destination in mind. The sidewalk made for easier barefoot walking than the park’s gravel paths would, so I stuck to it for now for Trey’s sake, but we had to get off the main strip and fast. It was nearing 3 a.m. so there were few other pedestrians around; early birds were tucked up in their beds, partygoers sequestered in nightclubs. Vehicles still prowled the streets, mostly cabs and limousines, and most recently emergency crews responding to the hotel we’d just fled. Soon, I bet, police patrols would be following a grid search pattern as they attempted to bring us to ground. I steered Trey into Lummus Park, and towards the beach. The sand underfoot would be better for her comfort, but that wasn’t my only consideration. We could make distance along the beach without attracting too much attention from passing squad cars.
Trey sat down abruptly. She huddled over, wrapping her arms around her knees, face concealed under her hair.
Sobs racked her frame.
‘We have to keep moving, Trey.’
‘Please…’ Her throat was full of mucus, and her voice a series of popping bubbles. ‘Just give… me… a minute.’
‘We have to get somewhere safe.’
‘Where?’ She looked up at me and her dark eyes were pools of despair. ‘It doesn’t matter… where we go, Mikhail will… will find me.’
‘He won’t.’
‘You don’t know him the way I do.’
I was more than curious about Mikhail Viskhan; already I’d had the inkling there was more to him than the big-mouthed braggart I’d first assumed. Sending hitters after us had proven he didn’t make empty promises and that he wasn’t afraid of a fight. Paraphrasing Sun Tzu’s The Art of War – ‘Know yourself, know your enemy, and you shall win a thousand battles’ – I couldn’t agree more with the master warfare tactician. To take on and beat him, I needed to know more about Viskhan. ‘You can tell me about him as we move.’
‘He… he has these people.’
‘Yeah, he’s already shown that.’
I took it that she meant employees, and clients, and those in his pocket, and even those he could press into his service through fear or reward. Yes, he’d have dozens at his beck and call but he wasn’t omnipresent, and certainly not omnipotent. I wished now I’d proven that by slashing the edge of my hand across his trachea instead of simply giving him a love tap on his chin. Hopefully I’d get the opportunity to put things right again, but not if I allowed Trey to remain seated on the grass while the cops moved in.
I pulled her up. She was a dead weight in my arms, but to be fair she wasn’t the heaviest of burdens either. I hooked one arm under her knees and the other around her back and lifted her to my chest. ‘We have to keep moving, or he will find you.’
I didn’t have to carry her far. It wasn’t her physical body that had burned out, just her will, and perhaps my closeness comforted her enough that she began thinking clearer again.
‘You can set me down now,’ she whispered against my shoulder.
‘Maybe best I carry you until we get onto the beach,’ I said, but
didn’t return her to her feet.
‘I… I can walk. Sorry. For being a burden.’
‘You’re not a burden.’
She coughed out her disbelief. ‘I shouldn’t have come to you. I’ve put you in danger.’
‘I think I did that to myself when I intervened in that bathroom.’
‘Yes. You should have walked away.’
‘My bad.’
‘I wish I could have too. Before this, I mean. Then your friend wouldn’t be dead… or those three men.’ Her voice hitched in her chest.
‘Those three deserved what they got.’
‘No. They were there because Mikhail sent them. Maybe they had no choice in the matter… the way he forced me to do things I didn’t want to do.’
‘My fucking heart bleeds for them,’ I growled.
‘Please, Joe. Put me down.’
I lowered her feet carefully, checking first the ground underfoot wasn’t littered. She leaned against me, and yes, my closeness was a comfort to her. ‘I’m so, so sorry your friend died. I feel responsible, and…’
‘He was called Jim McTeer,’ I told her bluntly. ‘He was a good man. He didn’t hold you responsible and I don’t either. Neither should you. There’s only one person at fault, and he’ll get his comeuppance. But only once we’re out of here. Are you sure you’re OK to walk?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry for being such a weakling.’
‘It took bravery to walk out of that washroom with me,’ I reassured her. ‘Especially when you’ve feared the consequences for years. We’re going to have to send your parents a warning, make sure they go somewhere safe until this blows over.’
‘My parents died. First my dad a year ago, my mom only a month ago. It’s the only reason I had the guts to follow you, because Mikhail can’t reach them now.’
‘Aah, I see,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ Trey said, as she took a wavering step away. ‘Now you know I’m not as brave as I seemed a minute ago.’
‘You still understood the consequences of leaving him, though, so the decision couldn’t have been easy.’ I offered her a hand to rest on while she found her balance. ‘It was a brave move.’
‘Or desperate?’
I shrugged. ‘It’s moot. You walked away, and if you’re determined to keep walking, then you’re OK in my book.’
‘Then let’s walk.’ She gave me a trembling smile before pushing her hair back behind her ears. She snugged my jacket over her shoulders and began picking her way across the grass beneath the trees. I smiled at her. Then turned to peer back the way we’d come. There was a car idling at the kerb where we’d veered into the park. I couldn’t make out any detail of the driver but for a pale splotch of skin, slightly blued by the glow from a cell phone screen. In a less paranoid reality I might have believed it was simply an innocent guy who’d pulled over to safely make a telephone call, but I didn’t buy it. He could be a cop, a witness who’d felt it his civic duty to follow us while guiding the cop to our position, or it could be someone worse. One of Mikhail Viskhan’s people. In my perfectly paranoid reality, I’d choose the latter until proven wrong. I hurried after Trey, swept my arm around her waist once more and propelled her into the shadows beneath a stand of palm trees. Confident our observer couldn’t spot us in the darkness, I halted and turned to study him.
‘What’s wrong?’ Trey craned for a look.
‘Nothing,’ I lied, because the car was driving slowly away from the kerb, continuing along Ocean Drive. Not because the driver had lost interest in us; I believed he was hoping to head us off. ‘You said you could walk,’ I asked Trey. ‘How do you feel about running?’
The obvious strategy was to double back the way we’d come and try to slip unseen behind our hunter. But he might be savvy enough to expect that, so it was better that we go for broke, continue in the direction we were headed but at a faster clip. Once we were on the sand the driver would be at a disadvantage behind the wheel and would have to get out on foot if he’d any hope of spotting us again, and following closely. If I could get him alone on the sand, I could possibly hide Trey while I turned the tables and became the hunter.
Trey shrugged into the sleeves of my jacket, then hitched up her dress to a point it barely protected her modesty but freed her legs. ‘Now I can run,’ she said.
‘OK. Then run.’
She was fleet-footed, assisted by a fresh surge of adrenaline. I kept pace easily enough, keeping between her and Ocean Drive until we approached the end of the park and found ourselves in among shrubs planted at the edge of a wide beachfront walkway. I quickly scanned to the right: if our hunter had made it to an appropriate parking spot at the end of Lummus Park in time, he could already be on the walkway and heading our way. I couldn’t see anyone. A brief glance left showed we didn’t have the walkway to ourselves, though; a trio of youths was walking along, drunkenly swaying, but they had their backs to us.
‘OK, Trey,’ I said, halting her urge to rush onto the path. ‘I’m going to cross first. As soon as I give you the sign, cross as quickly as possible and get over that wall.’ I indicated a low balustrade that separated the walkway from the beach, along the top of which were seats where beachgoers could sit while wiping sand from between their toes. ‘Then I want you to duck down behind it.’
She didn’t argue, so I trotted across the path and sat on the wall. There I folded my arms on my chest, just an ordinary nonchalant guy taking a rest before continuing his beachside stroll. It wasn’t a convincing disguise, but it would suffice for my purposes. When I was positive we were unobserved, I gestured Trey across and she came at a loping run, then went over the wall in one swift vault. I heard her feet thump into soft sand below. She didn’t have to duck, because the drop was more than I’d expected, the wall taller than her. I waited, still observing, then swung my legs around so I was facing the beach and dropped down after her. Trey turned as if she was prepared to run for the sea, but I caught her. I turned her north, to her surprise, as it was back towards the direction of the hotel we’d recently fled. ‘No. Stay close to the wall where you can’t be seen.’
‘Why not go that way?’ She pointed south.
I didn’t tell her about the man in the car who could be waiting for us down there. He’d put paid to my escape plan. ‘They’ll expect us to try to put as much distance between us and the hotel as possible, I’d rather not be predictable. Go on, that way.’
She did, and I hung back a few paces. I had enough height to peer over the wall, but due to the angle I couldn’t see all the way to the far end of the park. I followed Trey. She picked her way tentatively, and I wanted to usher her on, but I could see her problem. The beach was regularly cleaned of detritus and trash, but up so close to the boundary wall the sand was littered with tinier pieces of trash and carpeted by spiky lengths of palm leaves and other flotsam. In her bare feet Trey must have felt as if she was negotiating a bed of nails. It was small discomfort considering the alternative, but perhaps unnecessary. I hadn’t been able to determine if the guy from the car was following us, so maybe I was putting Trey through discomfort for nothing.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Head down towards the surf.’
Trey glanced over her shoulder. Lamps on the walkway painted a gleam of gratitude in her eyes. She began cutting across the sand, running with determination. I allowed her to go. Continued moving along at the base of the wall until she was at the surf line, then stopped. I again peered over the top of the wall, craning to see all the way down the walkway. The lamps formed interlocking pools of shadow and wan light. A figure moved through them: there briefly, gone for longer, then back in view again. I had no way of telling if it was the man from the car; he could be a guy like myself who enjoyed a walk by the sea at night. He wasn’t in a hurry, and though his gaze regularly swept out to the sea, he could have been enjoying the sights. Occasionally he glanced into Lummus Park too, but again his actions were natural enough. However, my Spidey Sense was tingling. As he stepped into the latest pool o
f light and paused to look around him he was about fifty yards distant, but close enough that I could make out his colouring and body shape. I could pick a soldier out of a crowd of civilians any time.
He held himself erect, as if standing to attention was his default pose. He was muscular, strong, but his wasn’t a build cultured in a gym. Most of his power was in his shoulders and thick forearms, and the muscles of his legs that swelled against his jeans. His musculature was similar to mine, though he edged me on bulk. He wore his reddish hair short, but not aggressively, and a neat moustache. A pale blue shirt was tucked into his belted jeans, a bit prim looking, but he’d casually rolled his sleeves up his forearms. Because they were permanently attached to their smartphones, subliminally aware of the hour and date at all times, fewer people wore wristwatches these days, but he did, and I thought that was out of habit. No other jewellery, though, and no distinguishing tattoos I could spot. I made myself a bet he was tattooed, but like mine they were hidden under his clothing.
It was one thing being harried by drug addicts and gangbangers that Mikhail could press into service, another when it came to a professional soldier. But to tell the truth, it wasn’t a surprise: some of the wealthier criminals employed the services of veterans and mercenaries as their closest line of defence. I wondered about this man’s story, and how he’d fallen into the servitude of an abusive scumbucket who’d made his fortune off other people’s misery. Not that I cared, or had any affinity with a brother in arms, just that knowledge is power when it comes to facing any enemy. And yes, this man was my enemy. I knew it in the depth of my bones, and that was before he moved to the edge of the walkway, stared across the sands and pulled out his cell phone from his pocket. Under the blue wash of his screen, and in profile, he presented the same image I’d noted not long ago when spotting him seated in his car.
Marked for Death Page 7