The Queen of Miami

by Heidi Lowe

  The night air was cool and pleasant. The lights of the 24hr casino lit up the parking lot. Willa stepped into the passenger's seat of her brother's sports car.

  “If it ever comes to it, they won't be able to prove that I was in Miami tonight.”

  “You'll still need an alibi.”

  She cast her gaze outside into the darkening evening, saw her reflection in the glass, and felt terrible. “I've got that covered,” she said as the car started off.

  She'd had a lot of time to deliberate over her next move, but of course one had to plan for mishaps; one had to be prepared for all eventualities.

  The trunk that sat at the bottom of her closet was always locked, the key she retrieved from the toilet cistern. She tossed aside the homemade quilt that an aunt in Cuba had made for her when she was a child, and lifted out the trunk's bottom, revealing a secret compartment beneath. Inside lay six handguns of various calibers, a couple of nifty-looking knives, and boxes of bullets. She selected a 9mm and slipped it into her waistband. Then she reached for one of the knives as an afterthought. She was still undecided about the method; she wanted variety, choice.

  As she crept out of her apartment, she tugged her baseball cap down, covering her brunette locks and concealing her face. The denim jacket, she'd never liked, and after tonight she would get rid of it for good. Not looking herself in case anyone saw her, that was the idea. Guy, Ghost and Asher were waiting for her in two separate cars. She jumped into Ghost's car and they sped off.

  “You're sure his wife's still away?” she asked as they cruised along. Up ahead she saw the bumper of the temporary car Guy was driving. “No little kids about to jump out and spook us?”

  “He's alone.” Ghost's smile and pale complexion coupled with the surrounding darkness made him look even more phantom-like than he usually did. “No one will come to his rescue.”

  “Remember what I said, no one does anything until I've spoken to him.”

  Ghost nodded. “Yes, boss.”

  She remained silent the rest of the ride; her choice. There was a pang in her heart that wouldn't go away, being in the car beside Ghost. This should have been Little Johnny, her unofficial bodyguard. It almost made her laugh how much she missed him, someone so quiet many people thought he couldn't speak. She would have given anything to hear his silence again. But thinking about him only made her clutch her sheathed knife tighter, made her blood simmer.

  The car ahead slowed down, prompting Ghost to reduce his speed. Then Guy turned into a clearing, well-hidden behind trees. Ghost followed them in.

  “We're about half a mile out,” Asher explained, checking the chamber of his gun to see if it was loaded. “If we follow the path along it should take us to the rear of the property, where we can scale the fence onto the grounds.”

  Everyone listened intently, and no one asked questions. As the only guy on the team to have done a stint in the military, Asher could have led this mission in his sleep. Breaking into someone's house was small potatoes to him.

  Then they took off, trudging through the mud and bushes, Guy's flashlight providing the only source of light. Willa stayed close to him as they walked, the branches crunching beneath them.

  “You weren't being serious when you said you wanted his head, right?” Guy asked, his voice a whisper.

  “What would I do with his head?” Willa said. “Of course I wasn't speaking literally.”

  “Good, because no one brought an ice box.”

  She took it as her brother's attempt to lighten the mood, but it didn't have the desired effect. She wished it hadn't come to this; it was the type of thing that she'd avoided, and with good reason. You never came back from something like this. It stayed with you. Her father's words on the subject had remained with her a long time: “Nobody else will have to look your reflection in the mirror every morning but you. Make sure you'll like and respect the person staring back at you.” She wondered, as she trudged towards the Ambrisi mansion, what her father, a man who had taken many lives, had seen when he looked in the mirror. Then she tossed the thought from her mind. No point thinking about her conscience now; it would only make a difficult task more grueling.

  At fifteen-feet, the fence surrounding the mansion was high, made of some tough, tropical hardwood with barbed wire running along the top. Luckily, a couple of large trees – particularly a live oak with low-hanging branches – stood outside of it, providing the perfect way in for those willing and able to climb.

  Stupid! Willa thought as she tucked her knife into her back pocket, and made sure her gun was secure. Why build your house here, making it easy for anyone to break in? Then the thought occurred to her that there were very few people brave enough to attack the Italian mafia; it was akin to breaking into prison. You didn't do it. It was likely arrogance that drove Ambrisi to make this grave folly.

  Asher and Ghost started up first and helped her up after them. It had been well over a decade since she'd climbed a tree, and was thus more than a little rusty. That she put down to the cramp in her arm. Had her injuries been more severe, none of this would have been possible, though.

  “Glad we're leaving through the front entrance,” she said, huffing, once they'd landed on the other side of the fence, on Ambrisi's lawn. Guy was the last one over, flashlight hanging on a strap around his neck.

  “Looks like somebody's up,” Guy commented, noticing that a couple of lights on the first floor of the mansion were on.

  “Good, saves me the trouble of waking him,” Willa said and started off towards the house, not waiting for the others, gun in one hand, knife in the other, a look of murderous intent on her face.

  “Good morning, sleepy head.”

  That was the first thing Layke heard when she woke from her slumber. She sat up, her head feeling light, her mouth tasting sour. Willa was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking refreshed, smiling warmly at her.

  “How long was I asleep?” Layke croaked, her voice groggy, her eyes still trying to adjust to the bright daylight.

  Willa shrugged. “A while. I went to the store and picked up some croissants and coffee. I think the coffee's cold now.”

  “It must have been the wine. How long were you asleep?”

  “I woke up a couple of hours ago. You looked so peaceful sleeping, I didn't want to wake you.” She leaned in and stole a kiss from a disoriented Layke.

  Ten minutes later, now freshened up, Layke returned to the room, still perplexed that she'd slept so long. Wine was her usual poison of choice; she considered herself a veteran drinker who didn't collapse after a couple of glasses. She picked up the bottle, checked the volume. Nothing out of the ordinary there – nothing she hadn't consumed before.

  “I don't get it,” she said.

  “What?”

  “We went to bed at around eight. Which means I was sleeping for almost eleven hours. I usually get seven.”

  Willa sighed, sounding slightly impatient. “Seven, eleven, what's the big difference? You slept a little longer than usual, so what?” She crossed the room, took the bottle from her, put it back on the table then embraced her. “We've been having a lot of strenuous sex the last three days. It was bound to take its toll on your body.”

  The memory of their three nights of bliss brought a smile to Layke's face. Her body had been put through its paces, been contorted, poked and prodded in ways she never could have imagined. Sooner or later it was going to give. This was it giving.

  “You're probably right,” she said eventually. “I guess I'm not used to being so worn out after sex.”

  “Why doesn't that surprise me? Whatever you had before we met, that wasn't sex. I bet your fiance couldn't find your g-spot with a sat nav!” She cackled to herself.

  Layke smiled but didn't find it amusing. True, but not amusing. It was as if her conscience was finally attacking, and it felt awful. How could she joke about Dustin when she was here, doing this? No matter how stiff their relationship had become, or how little she desired him physically,
he didn't deserve any of this. He certainly didn't deserve having digs thrown at him by her mistress, however accurate.

  “Has he ever brought you to climax?” Willa continued, still finding the whole idea hilarious.

  Layke pulled away, her fake smile gone. “Don't talk about him. That's not okay.” She managed to surprise herself with the sincerity. She didn't need to stand up for him, but felt obligated to. He was still her best friend.

  Willa frowned. “Why isn't it okay?”

  “Because...” She didn't know. “Because... it's not fair, Willa. You're screwing his fiancee. You don't get to insult him.”

  “You're actually defending him?”

  “I'm not defending anyone, I just... I just think it's a little tasteless to joke about him while you're sleeping with his fiancee behind his back–”

  “Hey, my conscience is clear. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm single.”

  “What about that busty blonde stripper you were kissing the day I started tailing you?” It was something she'd been meaning to ask but had never had the courage to, until now. Seeing as they were having a quarrel, she didn't see the need to keep it to herself any longer.

  “Olivia? Just a friend. Not a girlfriend, and certainly not a fiancee. So don't try to make me out to be the bad guy in this.”

  “That's not what I'm trying to do. I just don't want you talking about Dustin when we're together.”

  Willa's face twisted with rage. “It pisses me off that I have to bring him up at all.”

  Now it was Layke's turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why are you still together? Why is he someone I even have to think about?”

  Layke could only stare at her, gobsmacked, rendered speechless by what she was seeing and hearing. Could it really be that Willa was jealous? That in the small time they'd known each other Willa may have developed the same feelings for her that she had for Willa? That was the only explanation for her reaction.

  “You know what, Layke, maybe you should go back to him now, seeing as you're so concerned about his feelings.”

  She tore away, sat on the bed with her back to Layke. Layke followed her seconds later, stood in front of her, watching her sulk with folded arms and a pout that would have given a toddler a run for its money. The sight warmed her heart.

  “Willa.”

  “What?” she answered grumpily.

  “Look at me.”

  She didn't, so Layke sank to her knees in front of her. Willa had no choice but to look at her.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “I don't want to be anywhere else but here, with you. That's it. You must know that.”

  “All I know is that when this week is over, you're going back to him, and I'll be a distant memory.”

  She took one of Willa's hands into hers. At first there was some reluctance from Willa, but eventually she gave in. “You could never be just that, not now.”

  “I don't want him to touch you again,” she said, her eyes taking on that dark, menacing appearance. “Promise me that you won't let him.”

  “I haven't been with him in over half a year. I have no intention of changing that.”

  Willa expelled a rage-fueled breath, calming down again, seemingly satisfied with Layke's words. “You think I'm crazy now, don't you? The jealous lesbian lover who got attached too quickly.”

  Layke laughed, tugged her forward by her T-shirt and kissed her. “That could describe either one of us.”

  Layke was the first to wake up the following morning. Beside her, Willa slept soundly. Her tank top was hanging off one shoulder, revealing a tantalizing piece of boob, and the stitched up wound from the bullet on her upper arm. Layke was content enough lying there, watching her sleep (though she did worry that Willa would think it creepy if she woke and caught her). Up until then she'd always considered it creepy when other people did it; but she couldn't help herself that morning. It was especially significant as this was their last morning together; she had to be back at work the following day, bright and early, and planned to make the three-hour drive back to Miami that afternoon. What would happen once they were back, she couldn't say. Now there were promises – both spoken and implied – and feelings, and commitments, and all sorts of things that had been so freely given, but would require further discussion when they returned to their lives.

  She picked up the remote from the bedside table and switched on the television, reducing the volume so as not to wake Willa. There didn't appear to be anything worth watching on at half seven in the morning, besides children's cartoons and the news. She settled for the news.

  The story came on mere seconds after she flicked back to the channel. With the volume down she couldn't hear what was being said, but the headline was clear enough: Body of mob boss found in pool. She turned up the volume, momentarily forgetting that her lover was asleep beside her, and she listened, watched without blinking.

  The newsreader spoke with practiced, almost robotic, level tones as she reported to the nation that the body of Eddie Ambrisi, the infamous Miami-based Italian mobster, was found dead yesterday afternoon, by his wife. She'd apparently returned home from visiting family to find her husband lying face down in their pool. The police were treating his death as suspicious.

  “Willa, wake up.” Layke shook her until she heard her moan in agitation, and her eyes sprung open.

  “What?” she asked groggily.

  “Eddie Ambrisi's dead.”

  “You woke me up to tell me that?” Willa pulled the sheet over her head, but Layke yanked it off again.

  “He was found in his pool yesterday.” Layke studied her, all sorts of thoughts running through her head. This couldn't have been anyone else but the di Blasios. It had their name written all over it. Of course, she didn't yet have the full details – these she would get when she returned home – but instinct and logic told her who was to blame. “Do you know anything about it?”

  Willa was wide awake now. She sat up. “Why would I know anything about it? Actually, a better question is how.”

  “I know you've been with me, but that doesn't mean you didn't get one of your people to do it.”

  “Do you go around accusing all of your partners of conspiracy to commit murder?” Willa asked.

  “No, just the ones who have something to gain from doing it.”

  “What the hell would I have to gain by killing Ambrisi?” Her cool exterior was beginning to shatter.

  “He shot you and killed your friend. Let's start there.”

  Willa tossed the covers off and hopped out of bed. “I told you I didn't know who shot me.”

  “And I told you I don't believe you. Did you have something to do with this?”

  “Is there really any point me answering that? Seems like you've already made up your mind.”

  “Goddamn it, Willa!” Layke screamed, reaching boiling point. “Every time I think I understand you, I find myself back here again, wondering what crazy, messed up thing you've done this time. I knew this wasn't going to be easy – I knew having you in my life was going to test me – but I never imagined it would be this hard emotionally.”

  “Well try being accused of murder by your girlfriend and see how that feels!” Willa shot back.

  Layke went to speak, to shout something else out about not being able to trust her, when Willa's sentence registered. She used the word girlfriend. Holy crap. Perhaps in using it Willa had intended to throw her off, to make her falter. If so, she'd succeeded.

  “Everything points to your organization, Willa,” she said, more calmly this time. “I just want to... no, need to know if you were involved.”

  “And what if I was? Would you arrest me? Drag me off to jail?”

  “I would do my job,” Layke said, steely-eyed. If her job meant arresting the woman she had feelings for, or, as Willa put it, her girlfriend, then so be it. That was the hand she'd been dealt.

  Willa smiled bitterly. “A cop till the very end. I'm glad I know where I
stand with you.”

  “Tell me you didn't have anything to do with this,” Layke demanded, back to being furious, back to playing bad cop. She hated Willa's contravention of her question – it made her look guilty, and Layke would have done anything for her not to have been. She wasn't quite ready for their love affair to end before it had even fully begun. Perhaps she never should have asked.

  Willa sauntered over to her slowly. She didn't say anything, only looked at her, betrayed, holding her gaze. Until finally she said, “I had nothing to do with this.”

  That was it. She could either choose to believe her or choose not to, but nothing else Willa could have said would have made a difference at that point. Reading her was like trying to read a book with no pages – there was simply no story there.

  “If you don't believe me, Layke, we might as well call an end to whatever this is we're doing.”

  “I believe you.” She swallowed back any remaining doubt, praying that what she saw in Willa's eyes was ingenuous, honest. She needed to believe that Willa couldn't lie so easily to her without even flinching.

  “You do?”

  Layke nodded. And when Willa embraced her, she let the hug allay her fears that she'd just spent the last four days with a murderess.

  NINETEEN

  “The wanderer returns,” Corman announced to the room, throwing his arms out as Layke strolled into the department the following day.

  She rolled her eyes at him, said her hellos to her other colleagues.

  “Hey, who switches their phone off when they're on holiday?” Velazquez said with feigned anger. “I tried calling you a couple of times, but got your voice mail.”

  “She has a life, Velazquez,” Bishop quipped in passing. “You should try getting one some time.”

  She gave him a fake smile that disappeared almost as soon as it appeared, then turned back to Layke. “Did you hear about what happened to Ambrisi?”

  “I was out of town, not out of the galaxy! Everyone heard about it. What else do we know? Get me up to speed.” She shrugged off her blazer, hung it on the back of her chair and sat at her desk. Before she'd set off for her trip she'd made sure to clear her desk. Unfortunately, someone had taken it upon themselves to dump a pile of paperwork on it when she was gone. She just hoped it wasn't hers to go through, and that someone would collect it shortly. Paperwork made her head hurt.