Once More to Die

by Jim Johnson

  “It’s beginning to make sense to me, Suze,” said the brunette. “If you’re going to make a quick getaway, go where you got a stash of cash and documents for emergency. Go to an isolated location that you know well and have set up for such a purpose; García must have an escape plan and it’s only logical that he escapes from territory he controls. It makes it so much easier.”

  “Or it is the best location in which to fight your enemies: on ground you have trained upon,” said Quantrell quietly. “We can prove that somewhat if we search his home here. If we turn up nothing, that would mean his escape kit, documents, money, whatever is elsewhere in a place where he controls everything.”

  “Let us finish tossing the place then,” said FBI.

  CIA pointed at Tommy. “Secure him somewhere. I don’t trust him loose.”

  Tommy’s mind worked quickly. He was going to miss his opportunity. Not that Linda Landover had given him that opportunity, not even half of one.

  The drapes around the window smelled of cigar smoke. García at least had good taste in cigars, he thought. Cuban and the finest, Tommy decided.

  CIA’s cell phone rang and she clicked it on. She listened for a moment. “The same name? CUBAN BEAUTY?” The blonde turned to look at Tommy. “Wow. You don’t fuck around.” She listened another moment. “Okay, thanks Sandy. Stay in touch.” She pocketed the phone and shook her head at him.

  “What?” asked Landover.

  “Mr. Atkins,” said the blonde, “perchance did you shoot up an exclusive neighborhood this morning?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “And while you were not exactly shooting up the place with automatic weapons did you pause in your efforts to burn down a multi-million dollar mansion?”

  “You bet, sweetie.” He nailed her with his eyes. He was tired of sparring with these women. It wasn’t getting him anywhere and María Elena was no closer to being rescued.

  Quantrell observed him for a moment. She turned to Linda. “I can only guess that when they took the girl this morning, that Mr. Atkins over-reacted and drove all over this highly secure gated community with guns ablaze and, out of spite, torched a large mansion.”

  “C’est la vie,” said Tommy.

  “Wow,” said FBI and Tommy wondered if he’d detected a small dose of awe and jealousy. This thought comforted him: the feds were not all cookies and cream and bureaucrats and paper pushers. FBI was one who realized stuff needed to be done and went ahead and did that stuff.

  CIA went on. “Secure him somewhere out of the way. Then let’s finish tossing the place and get going.”

  “What do you want to do with him?” Linda asked.

  “We have to decide if it’s safe to take him with us, or should we get a SWAT team and an armored paddy wagon to cart him out of here.”

  FBI stepped toward him and inched the gun upwards a couple of times.

  Tommy stood and she motioned him to go ahead of her toward the patio.

  “Outside,” she said.

  He nodded and slid a pair of sliders aside and stepped onto the patio. The early night was warm and lights were coming on up and down the beach. He looked down at the beach and saw only small waves lapping ashore. Late afternoon was the best chance for thunderstorms, but not tonight.

  FBI urged him toward the waist-high railing. He stood next to it. She tossed him a handcuff key. “You know what I want.”

  He removed one handcuff and threaded it around the top rail and resecured it. He held the key out to her awkwardly, not able to reach far because of the handcuffs restraining him to the railing.

  She shook her head and nodded to the floor.

  Tommy dropped the key and kicked it over to her. She scooted it farther from him, past the reach of his feet and legs, and, bending over, retrieved it. Of course, his eyes cued to her cleavage as the dress dropped away from her body. When she straightened, he just shook his head. Her eyes flashed acknowledgement and she turned and went inside. He watched her as she went to the table with the laptop and set her automatic down. Then she began a professional job of opening and closing drawers, searching behind furniture and shelves.

  Tommy leaned on the rail. The design of the condo units were such that it would be highly dangerous for him to try to drop to the patio of the unit beneath him. And the other towers were too far to jump between. The construction of the outside walls contained no fancy decorations he could use for climbing. Five floors below him was the Olympic pool. It looked almost as if you could jump off this patio and land in the water, at the diving end. But he knew this to be an optical illusion. You’d need a boost like a trampoline or a spring board to reach out far enough to land in the water.

  There was no way he was jumping off that balcony anyway. He did know that he had zero chance of making it through the condo with the two feds alert as they were.

  But he had no choice. While leaning over the railing and appearing to be watching the pool below and the flight of pelicans winging over the Atlantic, he manipulated his necklace cross and the hidden handcuff key popped into his hand. Quickly, while blocking any view of his activities with his body, he uncuffed himself and slid the cuffs inside his jacket pocket. As he tried to formulate a plan, he reaffixed the key back into the cross design.

  He decided to attract FBI out on the patio to take her and then deal with CIA after.

  He glanced over his shoulder to place the two women inside.

  But Linda Landover apparently had ESP and knew something was wrong, for her head was craning around toward him. She was alongside the wall leading from the patio searching an entertainment center. Her gun was still on the far table.

  She must have smelled something; the good ones can do that. She dropped what she was doing and ran toward him. The two sliders were still open, so she had to jump slightly to miss the threshold and the slider tracks.

  That was her undoing.

  Tommy stayed as he was until the last second. When she was airborne for that second, he made his move. Likely he could beat her hand to hand, but that would take too long and it was not a guarantee. He could kill her while she was vulnerable. But he respected her and didn’t kill women. No, there was only one choice. He kept his hands at the patio rail, seemingly still handcuffed to the cross piece.

  As Linda lunged forward, Tommy ducked and grabbed her by the perfect curve of her ass and under her shoulder and, harnessing her forward motion, threw her high up over his head and the railing.

  As she sailed over him, her eyes smoldered with the urge to kill him.

  “Suze!” she shouted. She wasn’t hollering for help, Tommy knew, but to warn the other woman.

  FBI arced up and out. Tommy knew exactly what she was thinking. Her hand darted under her dress to her thigh. He watched the thoughts process through her eyes. She had a hideout gun, no doubt. A lightweight belly gun likely, one well rounded and sleek so as to draw quickly and not snag on clothing. She could take the time to draw and kill him or she could take the time to orient herself for any possible chance of survival. Surely she knew of the pool below? He also thought she’d want to shoot him in order to protect Quantrell from him. He saw all these thoughts process through her in a micro second, just as they would have through him were the situation reversed. He saw her decide that since he hadn’t killed her outright, he likely wouldn’t kill Suzie Q unless it was absolutely necessary. He saw her conclude that their best chance was for her to survive the fall.

  She discontinued the attempt to draw her hideout weapon and at the apex of her forward arc, she swiveled her head to locate herself in relation to the building and the ground below. Without a moment’s pause, FBI rolled her body into a perfect swan position for the fall toward the pool.

  Tommy knew this was a mistake, and he saw the realization on her face, too. As she started her fall, she jackknifed her body to a feet first orientation. As her fall accelerated, that wonderful yellow sun dress flared up like a storm of butterfly wings and exposed her lower body. What an ass, he thought.
A thong revealed a whole lot. But he also saw that on one thigh, she had strapped a hideout gun, likely a snub nose, something light, smooth, and sleek, as he’s speculated, easy to draw and not get hung up on clothing. Maybe a five shot revolver, but probably a six since FBI obviously liked firepower.

  On her other thigh, some kind of knife was snuggled in by a black strap.

  Fascinated, he watched as she flew down faster and faster. He wondered if he’d tossed her far enough to clear the pool deck and land in the deep end. She certainly had a chance.

  The yellow dress billowed and she stretched her arms over her head, a good move, so that she could bring them down and brake her out-of-control knifing into the pool water.

  And she cleared the pool deck and lip of the pool and cut into the water like a dolphin. Her dress captured water and tugged her to a stop as she flayed her arms to keep herself from slamming into the floor of the pool. In seconds, she popped up and stroked for the side of the pool. She levered herself up and her eyes searched above until she saw him leaning over the railing watching her. If her eyes were lasers, they would have struck him dead.

  Tommy Atkins gave Linda Landover a friendly wave and smile. At least one thing had gone right today. Then he cursed himself, for he’d been witnessing the drama and should have been moving. CIA could well be standing behind him fixing to shoot him.

  He whirled and didn’t see her anywhere in the living area. He hurried inside and grabbed FBI’s gun and strode quickly to the master bedroom. A circular bed made him angry and he didn’t know why for a second.

  “Goddamn it,” he said, realizing the source of his anger. García and María Elena had likely shared that bed. “Goddamn it,” he said again. An ameliorating thought struck him: García might have bought this condominium after the two had separated. Somehow that thought helped a little.

  He heard a toilet flush and flattened himself against a wall. Then he heard water running into a basin. It stopped and in ten seconds Suzie Quantrell walked into the master bedroom oblivious. It was almost anti-climatic.

  Tommy put the barrel of the automatic up against CIA’s head. “Do exactly what I say. We are in a hurry. Into the living room.”

  She looked at him fearless. Her gray eyes pierced into him. “Where is Linda?”

  “She went for a swim. If you hurry, I won’t have to shoot her when she returns. She’s gonna be hot enough to fuck.”

  Suzie Q processed this information and, probably since she’d heard no gunfire, nodded acquiescence.

  Tommy produced the handcuffs. “Put these on one wrist.”

  She did so as they moved quickly into the living room. He maneuvered them to the sideboard and retrieved his two weapons. He dropped FBI’s automatic on the sideboard. No need to steal her gun.

  “Where is she?” CIA demanded.

  “She went for a swim.”

  Quantrell’s eyes told him she’d extrapolated what happened. Her expression turned to fury.

  He ignored her and hustled her down the hall and into the lobby. FBI would be coming up here soon, mad as a swarm of pissed off wasps.

  He thought about using CIA as a hostage for when FBI came boiling up to this landing. Likely that wouldn’t work, not with a professional like Landover. She might sacrifice a co-worker. But considering the vibes between the two, the bisexual business, and the obvious comfort level they had with one another, they had to be a couple. Like everything else lately, there were no easy answers. The best plan was to separate himself from them, quick and total.

  In front of them was the only elevator. Off to the right was a fire exit, obviously stairs. On the left wall was another exit, a bit farther. He had to guess which access FBI would use. And whichever, she’d come through it on fire with her finger already tugging of the trigger,

  What would he do? That’s it. He’d take the elevator up knowing that the enemy is likely standing there waiting for you. But he’d go to the sixth floor and maybe walk down one of the stairways. He could just push five and come flying out at the last second gun ablaze, but that wasn’t the best percentage move. That’s it, take the elevator to six, push five and rush down a stairway to burst out of the landing when the elevator hit five and opened, drawing his attention.

  Okay, which stairwell? The nearest or farthest? The nearest, it had to be, since she might figure the farthest stairwell would take too long and not allow her to beat the elevator to five.

  Tommy urged Suzie Q to the nearest stairwell and snapped the remaining cuff on the door handle. Let Landover deal with that. Just in case, he went to stand next to the farthest stairway exit up against the wall. That way he covered all possibilities.

  The elevator pinged and the numbers began climbing. That had to be FBI. Tommy didn’t want a firefight here; there’d be no winners. The look on her face as she went over the rail and then climbed out of the pool told him she would be on fire.

  CIA was moving stealthily, looking to open the door she was chained to.

  He pointed his gun at her and wagged it.

  Linda was very sharp. Were it him, he’d think it through by now and do the unexpected. She had to bank on the fact that he had CIA captured. If it was the other way around, she had no problem—except how to take her anger out on him.

  She would figure the problem just as he had; and then she would know he’d think the same thoughts and defend for that specific approach.

  Goddamn it!

  Instantly, he ran back inside the condo. The elevator was climbing quickly.

  He dashed into the kitchen and tore through two cabinets near the stove.

  “There you are,” he said, relieved. He grabbed the large bottle of olive oil and ran back out.

  Pocketing his automatic, he wrenched the cap off the bottle.

  Quantrell was pushing into the stairwell, her arm still tethered to the door handle. Her intention had to be to warn Linda if she wound up coming down that way.

  But Tommy now knew what Landover would do. He looked at the elevator floor indicator and it read “6”.

  Against the elevator door, he heard the ping of the door closing above.

  She was going to fake him out and come back down on the elevator, a move he ostensibly wouldn’t suspect.

  He poured olive oil all over the tiles in front of the elevator. He tossed the bottle aside and saw Quantrell watching him through the almost closed exit door.

  Tommy grinned at her and waved once. He ran to the farthest exit door and opened it quietly. He heard nothing, meaning there was no pissed off killer FBI agent breathing fire scrambling down the stairs.

  He turned and pulled the door almost closed. He saw the elevator door open and nothing happened. He counted five slowly and the elevator doors started to close and Linda Landover dived out, snub nose revolver swinging back and forth.

  Suddenly, her feet lost purchase and her legs bicycled trying to stay upright. Her feet slammed out from under her and she went down hard on her butt and slid across the oily floor.

  Tommy didn’t see where she ended up, for he’d pulled the door closed and took the stairs down three at a time. He thought he ought to have some small satisfaction for at least one battle won, but such was not the case. He was angry at the delay.

  On the first floor, he came out of the stairwell behind the security guard. The man was standing, phone to his ear, his eyes glued to the rotating screens in front of him. Tommy saw one shot of Linda coming out of the condo, probably not looking for him as Suzie would have told her he was gone, but likely bringing the handcuff key. Even though the CCTV images were black and white and a bit grainy, he could tell her dress was still plastered to her hips and breasts. Whether from the pool water or the olive oil, he didn’t know, nor was it important. Still, the clinging material was sensual.

  Tommy ripped the phone from the desk guard. He checked and the man had no weapon.

  Tommy stuck his automatic into the man’s ear. “Go to the men’s room and don’t come out for ten minutes.”

>   The guy’s Adam’s apple bobbed worriedly. “Yes, sir.” Maybe Elmer’s story about the madman shooter and arsonist had made it this far.

  As the rent-a-cop headed down a corridor, Tommy went out the front door and through the parking lot and into the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: HER

  “Why is it then, Eduardo, that you treat me this way? You say you wish to atone, yet you are delivering me to Don Diego, to a certain death. Why, Eduardo, why?”

  He shook his head and walked to the companionway. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, anguish on his leathered face.

  “Is it because Diego will kill you if you don’t cooperate?”

  He shrugged. “Kill me he would, yet somehow that does not bother me.”

  “Then why?”

  He looked at her sadly. “I do not know exactly; perhaps it is because I have lived a lie for so long? I don’t know. I do know that I would continue as I am. You belong to Diego García, legally and more so in our culture. Perhaps it is because I no longer wish a constant reminder of your mother and my perfidy, my complicity in her torture and death. Perhaps I would wish to continue living a lie rather than going to prison or being assassinated. Perhaps I have no choice, do you not see?” He went up the companionway. In a few seconds he returned. “Also? Perhaps it is the mountains of money involved now.” He flashed a crazy look and went back up.

  María Elena was disgusted with her world. It had shattered in the swamps and now she found it would never return.

  CUBAN BEAUTY moved for hours. Sometimes she could tell they were at sea, other times they were in calm waters. It could be they were just cruising until dark. She had no way of guessing.

  They let her go to the head and drink and eat. Then they strapped duct tape around her once again.

  It was night now. Eduardo came down into the cabin. “It is time to go, my dear.”

  “It goes without saying you’re taking me to him?”

  “I am.”

  “Thereby condemning me to death?”

  He avoided her eyes. “Not necessarily.”