Insane City

by Dave Barry

  “I know,” said Cyndi. “It jumped back in.”

  Seth was staring at Trevor. Trevor gave Seth a look that Seth interpreted, correctly, as unfriendly.

  “Jesus,” said Seth, “what’re we gonna do?”

  “We can’t stop, at least not now. I think there’s police behind us.”

  Seth was still staring at Trevor, who was squatting on the seat, his ridiculously long arms folded in front of him.

  “Holy shit,” said Seth.

  “What?”

  “He still has the ring.”

  34

  Quite a few of the guests in ocean-facing rooms at the Ritz-Carlton were awakened by the helicopter. It sounded as though it was right outside their windows. This was because it was right outside their windows.

  Those who got out of their beds and went to the window to investigate saw the helicopter land on the lawn behind the hotel. They saw a man leap out, holding a large brown paper bag. He ran toward the beach, ducking down as he passed under the spinning rotors. The helicopter engine kept running. A minute later, the man returned empty-handed. He climbed back into the helicopter, which immediately took off.

  Those who were curious enough called the hotel’s front desk. They were informed that the helicopter had been making an emergency medical delivery and the Ritz-Carlton regretted any inconvenience. A few people wondered what kind of emergency medical supplies would need to be delivered to a beach in the middle of the night. Eventually these people decided that this was just another one of those strange things that seem to happen in Miami.

  In the end, everybody went back to bed.

  Except for Meghan. She’d left Tina sleeping soundly in the bedroom of their suite and gone to the living room window to see what the racket was. She wasn’t particularly surprised to see a helicopter; she lived in a world where people often came and went by helicopter. She watched it leave, but she didn’t feel like going back to bed. She hadn’t been sleeping anyway; too much on her mind.

  She’d started out by being angry at Tina for ratting out the Haitians to her father. But the more she thought about it, the more she directed her anger at herself. In her mind she kept replaying Tina’s words: And why the hell are you being so self-righteous about this anyway? When have you ever cared about this kind of thing?

  The truthful answer, Meghan knew, was: Never. Tina was always the one who cared about things. Meghan had never really cared about anything. She’d always been perfectly content just being a rich man’s daughter. She’d grown up knowing that she would never have to work, and she’d never given much thought to what else she might do with her life. She had managed, thanks to a generous donation from Daddy, to scrape through a mediocre college with shitty grades, and since then she had done . . . nothing, really. She traveled wherever and whenever she felt like going, bought whatever caught her eye, occasionally dated men as rich and shallow as herself, watched television, smoked weed. In fact the more she thought about it, the more she realized that, in terms of time and effort, the main thing she had done with her adult life was smoke weed. She had no interest in anything else. She didn’t really know what else there was.

  She thought about this, staring out the hotel window at the darkness over the ocean, and it made her depressed. More and more these days, that was how she felt. But she knew what to do about it.

  She crept into the bedroom, put on jeans and a T-shirt, slipped on some sandals. She opened a dresser drawer and felt beneath her bras and panties, found the baggie and her lighter, stuck them in her pocket.

  Then she went out to smoke some weed.

  35

  Laurette had been asleep in the bedroom with her children when the two big men opened the door, banging it hard against the wall. They turned on the bright lights, and one of them grabbed Laurette’s shoulder and shook her awake. They were speaking to her in harsh voices. She did not understand their words, but she knew she had to do whatever it was they wanted her to do or they would hurt her. There were men exactly like these in Haiti.

  They yanked her off the bed onto her feet. The baby woke and started crying, which annoyed the men. Laurette picked the baby up quickly, tried to quiet her. One of the men went over to the other side of the bed and yanked Stephane out from under the covers. He half fell to the floor, then scrambled over to stand next to Laurette. He was crying, too, but quietly.

  The men were talking to Laurette, but she didn’t understand them. This also annoyed them. She struggled to understand what they wanted her to do so they would not hurt her or her children.

  They were pushing her toward the bedroom doorway. They wanted her to leave. She wished she could ask them to wait just a moment, to let her take the diapers for the baby, and some milk, but she didn’t know how to ask them and she didn’t want to make them angrier. She held the baby in one arm and guided Stephane with the other, gently pushing her terrified son ahead of her, whispering to him that he should not cry, that everything would be all right, although he knew she did not believe it.

  She looked around the big room. It was empty; LaDawne and Wesley were not there. Laurette was very afraid now. She hadn’t understood much of what LaDawne had said to her—and LaDawne almost never stopped talking—but Laurette knew LaDawne cared about her and her children. She was a warm and strong woman. She made them feel safe. Laurette knew that LaDawne wouldn’t have left them without being forced to go by these men.

  These were bad men.

  Where were they taking her and her babies?

  36

  The Escalade was still headed north on U.S. 1. Cyndi was still driving, staring straight ahead, trying not to think too hard about the fact that Trevor was less than a yard away. He was still squatting in the second seat, motionless, his gaze locked on Cyndi, ignoring Seth. Trevor was still holding the red velvet ring box in his right hand. Neither Seth nor Cyndi had yet come up with a plan for getting the ring away from him.

  Seth was looking back, past Trevor, through the rear window of the Escalade. He saw blue lights flashing in the distance, caught the faint whoop-whoop-whoop of a siren.

  “There’s a police car coming,” he said. “I’m pretty sure it’s coming after us.”

  “What do we do?” said Cyndi.

  Seth looked forward. They were approaching a twenty-four-hour drive-through convenience store on the right. He looked back. The lights were gaining fast.

  “Pull in there,” he said, pointing to the convenience store.

  Cyndi veered right. The drive-through window was on an alley between the store and the building to the right.

  “Pull forward to the window,” said Seth. He looked back; the Escalade was well off the highway and partially concealed by the building next door. He hoped the police wouldn’t look to the right as they went by. He stared out the back window. The siren was getting louder.

  A Lexus convertible pulled in behind them, driven by a guy wearing a Marlins cap. Seth was glad; the Lexus would further block the view of the Escalade from the highway. Cyndi lowered the window, preparing to speak to the store clerk.

  Then she went rigid.

  “Oh God,” she said.

  “What?” said Seth.

  “It’s touching me.”

  Seth looked and saw Trevor reaching out his left hand and touching Cyndi’s hair with the tips of his long fingers. He was touching her gently, with a slight downward stroking motion. She was vibrating with fear. Seth started to reach out his hand toward Trevor’s arm. Trevor turned and looked at him. Seth pulled his hand back.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Seth said. “It doesn’t seem to want to hurt you.”

  Cyndi remained rigid, saying nothing.

  The siren was getting louder.

  “Can I help you?” The clerk, a man in his fifties, was leaning out of the drive-through window.

  Cyndi kept staring straight ahead, as if in a trance.

  “Miss, can I help you?” said the clerk.

  Cyndi said nothing.

  Beh
ind them, the Lexus’s horn honked. Seth looked back. Marlins cap guy was holding both hands in the air in a What the hell? gesture.

  “Look, miss,” said the clerk, “if you’re not going to buy anything, you have to move your car.”

  The siren was louder.

  “Cyndi, order something,” said Seth. “Anything.”

  Cyndi was frozen.

  The clerk opened the half door under his window and stepped out. “Miss,” he said, “you’re blocking the drive-through.” He stepped close to the car and leaned in toward Cyndi.

  Big mistake.

  Trevor leaned forward, his head suddenly appearing in the window behind Cyndi’s. He showed the clerk his fangs.

  The clerk emitted a non-masculine whimper and stumbled backward.

  The Lexus honked again.

  The clerk, keeping his eyes on the snarling Trevor, reached back, feeling for the cash register. He found it, glanced back quickly, punched a button. The cash drawer opened. His eyes on Trevor again, the clerk scooped out some bills. Keeping his distance, he tossed them through the window onto Cyndi’s lap.

  “Please,” he said. “That’s all I have. Please.”

  On U.S. 1, the police car shot past, not slowing down, the siren now growing fainter.

  The Lexus honked again—a long, angry honk.

  “Cyndi!” said Seth. “Go, OK? Just go!”

  This time he got through. Cyndi, still facing rigidly forward, put the Escalade in gear and pulled ahead. Trevor, having driven off his rival for the affection of the female, settled back into his squat, no longer touching Cyndi’s hair.

  Cyndi drove around behind the convenience store and onto a side street. She pulled to the side, put the car in park and looked down at her lap strewn with random bills. She was shaking. “What just happened?” she said.

  “I think we just committed a robbery,” said Seth. He nodded toward Trevor. “Or he did.”

  Cyndi was still looking at the money. “Oh God. We should give this back.”

  “I think that’s a bad idea right now. He’s gonna call the cops. We need to get out of here. Listen, you’re pretty shook up. I’ll drive.” Seth got out and hustled around to the driver’s side. Cyndi slid over and Seth got in. In the backseat, Trevor moved over, too, so he was still behind Cyndi. Seth put the Escalade in drive and got back onto U.S. 1 northbound. He checked the rearview. For the moment there were no flashing lights.

  “We’re like in serious trouble, aren’t we?” said Cyndi. “With those guys back at the strip bar, and now this . . .”

  “Yeah,” said Seth. “And the whole mess back at the monkey place.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Seth thought for a moment, then said, “OK, here’s what we do. We stop at the next place we see that looks safe, like a gas station, and you get out, and you call a cab and go home. I’ll take the car and the gorilla and park somewhere near the hotel, see if I can figure out how to make it let go of the ring. It seems to be kind of getting used to me.”

  “What about the police?”

  As if on cue, a police car appeared ahead on the southbound side, speeding, lights flashing. Seth and Cyndi held their breaths as it reached them. But it shot past and kept going, apparently heading to the convenience store. Seth and Cyndi exhaled.

  “I’ll just hope for the best,” said Seth. “But look, there’s no reason why you should be involved in this. This is totally my mess. I really, really appreciate the way you’ve helped. Especially getting me out of that parking lot back there. But I don’t want you getting in trouble. I am so sorry you got dragged into this.”

  “What about the Haitian woman? And her kids?”

  Seth shook his head. “I just have to hope her sister comes through. It’s all I can do.” He pointed ahead. “OK, here’s a Shell station. I’ll let you off here.” He pulled into the brightly lit service plaza, stopped toward the back, near the air pump. He put the Escalade in park and turned to Cyndi.

  “OK,” he said. “I really don’t know how to thank you. But . . . thank you.”

  Cyndi looked straight ahead. She shook her head.

  “No,” she said.

  “No what?”

  “No, I’m not getting out. I’m staying.”

  “Cyndi, this isn’t your problem.”

  “Maybe it didn’t used to be. But I feel like it is now. I want to make sure Laurette’s OK. And her kids.” She paused, looked down. “And I want to make sure you’re OK.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I know I don’t have to. I want to. Listen, Seth, you’re a really nice guy. You didn’t have to help those people but you did. You didn’t have to let them stay. A lot of people wouldn’t have. But you did, even with the wedding and everything else. You did it because it was the right thing to do. I want to do the right thing, too.”

  She raised her head, turned toward Seth. “I’m staying.”

  Seth turned toward her. Her eyes were shining. To Seth, even in the garish light of the Shell station she looked beautiful. He reached out and rested his hand gently on her arm. Her skin was smooth and soft. “Thank you,” he said, his voice strained. Cyndi smiled and put her hand over his hand. Her hand was warm. She left it on his. Seth hesitated for a moment, the two of them looking into each other’s eyes. Then he leaned closer to her, and she leaned closer to him, and in that instant they both knew that, wrong as it was, they were about to kiss.

  Trevor made an unhappy noise.

  They quickly pulled their hands apart and sat upright. Seth, smiling ruefully, shook his head, put his hands on the wheel. “I guess he’s right,” he said.

  “It’s like having an abuela,” said Cyndi.

  “A what?”

  “An abuela. A Cuban grandmother. If you’re a Cuban girl from an old-school family, when you go on a date your abuela goes with you to chaperone. She rides in the backseat, keeps an eye on you, makes sure nothing happens.”

  “Did that happen to you?”

  “Absolutely. I went on dates when I was sixteen, seventeen years old, some boy driving me, my abuela sitting right behind us. And, trust me, she was at least as scary as that thing is.”

  Seth snorted, his first laugh in many hours. Then he said, “You really sure about this? You don’t want to get out now?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Seth put the Escalade in gear and pulled out of the gas station. “Listen,” he said. “Back there . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Cyndi. “It’s been a crazy night.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Seth. “Crazy night.”

  They drove on, neither talking, both thinking.

  37

  Meghan had settled on her bench by the lawn on the ocean side of the hotel. The night was pleasant—warm, but not too sticky, an easy breeze carrying the salty tang of the Atlantic. She sat for a few minutes staring at the sky, then dug the baggie out of her jeans, fished out the papers and began to roll a joint. She took her time getting it right. She enjoyed rolling joints, anticipating the buzz to come.

  She finished the joint and pocketed the baggie. She was just about to light the joint when the hotel door opened, the one that led to the elevator lobby. Meghan saw the massive form of Brewer emerge. Behind him loomed Castronovo. Between the two big men were the much smaller figures of a woman and a boy, both very thin and dark-skinned. They passed by a pathway light, and Meghan saw that the woman was carrying a baby. She and the boy looked frightened.

  Brewer left the path, turning right; the others followed, Castronovo herding the Haitians. They were going around the side of the hotel apparently to avoid going through the main lobby. They hadn’t seen Meghan on the bench. They disappeared in the darkness. Meghan guessed they were headed for the parking lot.

  She inserted the joint in her lips, dug into her jeans, pulled out a butane lighter. She flicked it, brought the flame up, anticipating taking the first hit, sucking the sweet smoke deep into her lungs, holding it, letting it blend with her
blood, feeling the mellow descend . . .

  She held the lighter an inch from the tip of the joint, staring into the yellow-blue flame.

  She released her thumb. The flame went out. She lowered the lighter and said, “Fuck.” She stuck the joint into her bra, stood up and started walking quickly around the side of the hotel.

  She caught up with them on the hotel driveway, heading toward the parking lot.

  “Wait,” she called.

  The group stopped and looked at her. Laurette and Stephane still looked scared. Castronovo and Brewer looked annoyed, although they kept their voices grudgingly respectful when they spoke to the boss’s daughter.

  “Meghan,” said Castronovo. “What are you doing out here, this hour?”

  “That’s what I want to ask you,” said Meghan. “What are you doing?”

  “This doesn’t concern you,” said Brewer.

  “Don’t tell me what concerns me. I want to know where you’re taking these people.”

  “Listen, Meghan,” said Brewer, “we’re just carrying out your father’s wishes here. These people were staying in Seth’s room and they weren’t supposed to be there, no legal right. So your father asked us to . . . to relocate them.”

  “Does Seth know you relocated them from his room?”

  “It’s not his decision,” said Brewer. “Your father’s paying for the room.”

  “So that means it’s OK for you to just yank them out of there in the middle of the night? A woman with two kids? With a baby?”

  “They’re going to be fine,” said Castronovo. “Nobody’s going to hurt them.”

  “They don’t look fine to me,” said Meghan. “They look terrified.”

  Brewer stepped closer to Meghan, looming over her, putting his large frame between her and the Haitians. A big-man intimidation move.

  “Meghan,” he said. “Your father’s not going to like this, you interfering with us. Why don’t you just go back to your room and chill out, OK?”