by Unknown
Vivian, oddly enough, was smiling with obvious delight. "That was wild," she said. "I thought you were going to drop me." I got up slowly and winced at the pain in my lower back. "Maybe I should have." The lot we had landed in was also owned by the Colo- nel, but he hadn't done much with the acreage except keep anyone else from buying it while he made up his mind what to do with it. About a hundred yards away, a solitary crane leaned over the rubble like a dinosaur looking for something to eat. To the left, near the street, a Cyclone fence stretched toward the next house, about 150 yards down the beach. Vivian couldn't run in her bare feet, and her heels were out of the question, so it took us a while to reach the fence. When we finally did, we had to follow it almost until we reached the next mansion before we found a hole someone had cut into the fence. The traffic was light on the causeway, but with no other pedestrians around to keep us company, we were far too con- spicuous. It would only be a matter of time before whoever it was who had come calling on the Colonel would head back to the mainland again, in which case we might easily be spotted. We had to get off the causeway, and fast. We walked east toward the beach, with me glancing back praying for a cab but seeing nothing. I was starting to lose all hope when I saw a yellow taxi heading our way. It was illegal to pick up passengers on the causeway, but, fortunately, for us, the Haitian driver swooped in like a hawk, did exactly what he wasn't supposed to do, and was off again even before I had the door closed. The driver looked us over through the rearview mirror, his eyes lingering on Vivian with obvious approval. "Where you come from?" he asked. "West Hell, New Jersey," I said. "We need to get to the 196
Holiday Inn up in Hollywood. You know where it is?" "West Hell, is this a real place?" "Sure." "The devil. He live there?" "No," I said. "He moved to Miami." "When he move?" the driver asked. "About the same time I did." The Haitian laughed. He thought it was funnier than I did. Vivian laid her head on my shoulder as I gazed out the window. The sun was beaming through the early morning haze, and a cruise ship was sliding toward port. A row of passengers stood outside their cabins, staring at the traffic on the causeway. Take away the cops, the FBI, and Williams trying to kill me and it would have seemed liked the begin- ning of a pretty nice day. I let my head fall back and allowed myself to fall asleep. I came back to myself when the cab swerved into the driveway of the hotel. While I had dozed off, the ten miles had slipped away like a silk scarf sliding off a stripper's neck. I nudged Vivian to awaken her. I paid the driver, and he swung out of the parking lot and back into traffic without so much as a single glance in any direction. The hotel lobby was quiet, but the little coffee stand was already opened when we walked in. Vivian insisted on some espresso, so we helped ourselves to two cups along with a crusty bar of Cuban toast slathered in salty butter, then went out to the pool and sat at a table under a green-and-white umbrella while the sky put on its makeup. "How do you think this is all going to end, Jack?" Vivian asked. "I can't keep going on like this. I can't keep running." "A lot depends on your father and Williams," I said. "And a lot also depends on how much the cops know or think they know. I'm betting that at this stage of the game all they care 197
about is your father's drug business. You can be sure they've been watching him for a long time. So far as I know, the feds have no idea what happened to Matson or Duncan. Let's hope it stays that way. It'll be better for everybody." "What about you?" Vivian asked. "If they catch Williams and ask about the yacht . . . well, let me put it to you like this: Either Williams can tell them the truth--in which case I go down--or he can plead igno- rance. If I had to put money on it, I'd pick the second choice. Not to protect me, mind you. Williams doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone except the Colonel. It would just be less complicated to say he didn't know what happened to The Carrousel. That's what I would do." I took the flash drive out of my pocket and held it up for Vivian to see. "What happens next depends on this," I said. "I'm pretty sure that once Williams gets hold of this, he and your papa-- wherever he is--will disappear, fade away, go off somewhere and find a friendly Third World country that will help them manufacture Morphitrex and whatever else they can come up with. My money is on Cuba." "Why Cuba?" Vivian asked. I looked out past the pool and east toward the ocean just as a pelican made a nosedive into the sea. "A couple of things. One, it's close. Two, Duncan, Mat- son's boat buddy, was a Cuban spy. Three, and juiciest of all, is that Cuba has a world-class biotech industry--as good as anything we have here, or damned close. A party drug like Morphitrex would mean a lot of money for Castro. Of course, he wouldn't be involved in it directly. He's too smart for that, but you can bet he'll have a hand in it, like a puppet master, from a distance." I took one last sip of my coffee. The sugar at the bottom of the Styrofoam cup slid into my mouth as slowly as maple 198
syrup, and I gulped a glass of water down to wash away the harsh sweetness. "Go get your brother," I said. "I thought you were going to go into business with Nick and me." "You're not the only one who can lie." "But you'd look so good in money, baby. Now you'll have to work." She made it sound like I was doomed to a life in the tin mines of Bolivia. "What's with you and the money thing?" I demanded. "You still have that cash in the Caymans, don't you?" I asked. "How can I get it now, with Matson dead? It's in escrow, and besides, he never gave us the account number." "Go up and get your brother. Forget the money. We'll be lucky if we get out of this alive." Vivian stood up, hooked her thumbs under the spaghetti straps of her dress and straightened them out, then gave her miniskirt just enough of a downward tug to keep it from be- coming a sash. Every time I looked at her, I understood once again why hell would always be crowded. "I'm not sure I trust you anymore," she said. "Now we're even." When the door of the elevator closed, I walked quickly out of the lobby and across the street to the cybercaf�n the corner. They had just opened up, and the sleepy-eyed kid behind the counter moved in slow motion as he set me up at a desktop near the front window. I wasn't high-tech enough to know exactly how to do what I wanted to do and had to ask him for help downloading the information on the drive we'd swiped from Vivian's room into an e-mail attachment, which I then sent to Susan with a brief explanation of its contents. All this was to buy myself a little leverage with the feds when everything hit the fan. 199
Ten minutes later I was back in the lobby of the Holiday Inn. I walked past the concierge toward the coffee stand, expecting to find Vivian and Nick waiting for me. My plan was simple: I would find Williams, give him the informa- tion, and try to convince him that he and the Colonel were free to go on their merry way without interference. I had no intention of trying to be a hero or of turning anybody in to the cops. As far as I could see, I was looking at a little trouble for my adventures at Krome. Eventually Hackbart might figure out that I had some connection with the Colo- nel, but there would not be much he could do with that. They'd put the squeeze on me for a while, but that would be the extent of it. Vivian and Nick might get away without so much as being questioned. All that mattered to me now was that Williams and the Colonel go far, far away and stay there. The table where I'd been sitting with Vivian was empty, so I went over and pushed the button for the elevator and rode up to the sixth floor. The Do Not Disturb sign was no longer hanging from the doorknob on Nick's room, so I continued down the hallway, expecting to find them in the room I'd shared with Vivian. I didn't bother to knock and just slid the key into the lock. The green light flickered, and I went in, past the closed door of the bathroom, behind which I could hear the shower running. I could see Vivian's feet hanging over the edge of the bed. My first thought was that she'd fallen asleep again, but as I bent down to give her a shake, I spotted a thin trickle of blood at the edge of her mouth. From behind me I heard the roar of the shower grow louder. I half turned, expecting to see Nick. I didn't even think to reach for the gun under my shirt. But it wasn't Nick. It was Williams. He smiled happily as he pointed the revolver at my chest. There was nothing I could do except stand there and listen to myself breathe. 200
"Throw your gun down
on the bed. Nicky told me you had one, so don't say otherwise." I tossed the gun on the bed, and Williams picked it up. "You're a good swimmer, Jack," Williams said, still smil- ing. "Better than I thought. Now, just stand there and don't move." I glanced down at Vivian. "What did you do to her?" I asked. "Injected her with a sedative," Williams said. "Of course, I had to slap the little whore first. That's something you should have done more often. But forget that. I believe you have something that belongs to me." "You mean to the Colonel." "Same difference." "Where's Nick?" I asked. "Give it to me." I fished the pod out of my shirt pocket and tossed it to him, but I threw it a bit wide so that he had to reach across his body with his left hand to catch it. As he reached, I lunged at him. I got hold of his wrist with one hand and his thick, muscular neck with the other. My weight carried us backward, and he slammed into the wall, causing the mirror hanging over the dresser to fall and crash onto the counter. For a moment I held him there. Then, slowly, inexorably, he began to push me back. I let go of his neck and hit him with the heel of my palm under the nose with enough force to send blood shooting out all over me. The back of his skull bounced off the wall, and he used the momentum of the recoil to head-butt me. The pain caused me to loosen my grip on his wrist. He broke free and in the same motion hit me across the temple with the barrel of the gun. It didn't hurt much, but I instinctively tried to duck, and as I did so, Williams crouched, straightened, and drove his massive fist into my solar plexus. 201
Every nerve in my body fired at once as I fell to my knees, clutching my guts. Still, I had enough presence of mind to reach for my own gun, but my hand was like a blind man without a cane. Williams hit me again under the chin, and I fell backward onto the carpet. I tried to get up, but before I could even get an elbow posted on the floor, he grasped me by the throat with one hand and squeezed just enough to shut off my breathing. I instinctively grabbed both of his wrists but stopped when he put the business end of the gun against my forehead. Then I heard the bathroom door open and click closed. Nick stepped into the room and frowned at the scene. He looked over at where Vivian still lay sprawled on the bed and frowned even harder. Williams, still with his hand around my throat, half lifted me to my feet. A twisting blue vein in his neck pulsed like a swollen river filled with blood. I had no idea what kind of 'roids he was on, but they were working just fine. When I was upright, he gave me a shove that sent me backward onto the bed next to Vivian. He pointed the gun at my crotch and spoke to Nick without looking at him. "You get the van?" he demanded. "It's in the parking lot, top floor of the garage, just like you said," Nick answered eagerly, like a Boy Scout anxious to earn a merit badge. I rubbed my throat and managed to coax my vocal cords back to life while Williams wiped the blood from his nose with an edge of the bedsheet. "So I guess you switched sides again," I said to Nick. "Too bad. I was starting to like you." Nick looked me up and down and smirked. "What did you expect me to do?" he asked. "Stick with a loser like you? Get real, would you?" "Let's go," Williams said, glancing quickly at his watch 202
but never once moving the gun from where it was still aimed at a point between my legs. Then to me: "I know what you're thinking," he said. "You're thinking this gun doesn't have a silencer and I won't risk making that much noise in here, but think again. Get up, and get up slow." I got up, and as I did so, Williams again pointed the gun at my forehead. "Where's the Colonel?" I asked. "I want to speak to him. He owes me some money." "Funny you should say that," Williams responded. "He's anxious to see you, too. Now pick up the whore. We're get- ting out of here." Nick glanced at his sister. "Is she all right?" "What do you care, you little prick?" Williams boomed. "Just shut up and open the goddamned door. You two have caused enough trouble already." "Jesus," Nick said. "You don't have to yell." I bent down and scooped Vivian up in my arms. I was still in pain from the beating, and my legs had lost much of their spring, but I managed to straighten up. She was barely 110, but I felt like a man struggling under the gravity of Jupiter. Williams smiled at the sight of my obvious struggle. "What's the matter, Vaughn?" he asked. "You too weak to carry her?" I walked with difficulty past Nick and into the hallway, hoping that a maid on her rounds might spot us and call the front desk, but no such luck. Williams followed behind us as Nick opened the door to the stairs that led to the garage. Vivian felt dead in my arms, and I wasn't in much better shape myself. I had to stop twice to rest. Each time I did, Williams nudged me in the back with the gun. Nick had parked the van next to the exit into the garage, for which I was grateful, since my back was about to crack with the effort of carrying Vivian down three flights of stairs. Nick slid the van's side door open and stood aside 203
while I placed his sister on the backseat. I had never been so happy to put down a beautiful woman in my entire life. Then Williams told me to stand with my back to him and my hands against the van. I don't know who jabbed me with the needle, but I jumped as I felt the point penetrate the skin on my left shoulder. I didn't know who was holding the gun right then, Williams or Nick, but it didn't matter. I kicked backward with my left foot and felt it hit something human. I spun around in time to see Williams staggering back, his hands waving in the air as he fought to keep from falling, and Nick looking on hor- rified as I made a run for it. I ran a good twenty feet before I was back on Jupiter again. Only this time I was running through a swamp as well. My legs started to vanish under me as though they were being erased while I ran. I stumbled, fell, and got up again, foot- steps coming up hard behind me. Somebody grabbed me and pulled me around hard. It was Williams. I swung at his head with everything left in the bank, but my arms had dis- appeared, too, and I felt myself falling for what seemed like forever without ever hitting the ground. When I opened my eyes, it was night. The sky was clear, and the stars glittered above me like peaceful angels, distant but benign, light-years away, too far to do anything but bear witness to the earth. I smiled up at the stars. I was glad to see them. The constellations began to make sense. Was that Mars with its faint rosy glow? Was that Aries rising in the west? I was lying on my back, and I couldn't feel my body, but it didn't seem to matter much, not when I could float like this. After a while somebody started to tell me a story, not with words but with pictures. There was a beautiful black-haired woman. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out when she spoke. There were three men standing over me as the black- 204
haired woman rubbed my cheek with the palm of her hand. Everybody seemed very familiar. I smiled up at them. They weren't as pretty as the stars, but they were a lot closer. Then one of the men--the biggest of the three--bent over, and I felt a stinging sensation across my face. And all at once I remembered who I was and that the strange dream I'd awakened into was real. "Wake up, Jack," Vivian said. She was kneeling beside me like a nurse. I looked up at her, then at the three men standing above us. One of them was young. That would be my buddy Nick. Check. One of them was on steroids. That would be Wil- liams. Check. The third man was the Colonel. Check. The girl was Vivian. I looked her over. Not bad, I thought. That left me. I was Jack. Jack Vaughn, personal trainer to psychos and killers. Former cop and cop killer. My hobbies were sinking yachts, finding dead bodies, and running from other cops. It's a great way to stay in shape. A lot more excit- ing than yoga or tai chi, I'll tell you that much. In a deranged sort of way, it was all starting to make sense. I found my legs and got slowly to my feet. Vivian helped. I looked around. It was night, all right. We were standing on the beach about twenty yards from the ocean, next to a long wooden pier that reached into the sea. There were no houses around, but I guessed we were somewhere near Edgewater. I brushed the sand from my clothes and smiled at the Colonel. He was wearing a black, two-piece running suit and looked like a fit and trim retiree out for an evening jog. He smiled down at me benignly, as though he had just happened upon me lying there in the sand. "We were starting to worry about you," he said. There was true compassion in his voice, which seemed odd given the 205
fact that Williams was pointing his gun at me again. "I was af
raid that Rudolph had given you an overdose." "Yeah," I said. "That would be illegal." There was sand on my face, and I brushed that off, too. Wil- liams took a step back, but he needn't have bothered. I was still way too woozy to try anything even vaguely heroic. Nick took a last drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt past my ear. "Stupid right to the end," he said. "Shut up," Vivian said. "He saved us all. Isn't that right, Daddy?" "Well," I said, "I guess the Partridge Family is back to- gether again." "What time does the boat get here?" Nick asked. "I'm not going to stand out here all night listening to this idiot make his asinine remarks." I looked at Williams. "You're not much without a gun in your hand, are you?" I said. "You're not much either way," Williams said. "I proved that at the hotel." "So what's the deal now?" I asked. "Can I go home?" "Vivian and Nick and I have come to an agreement," the Colonel said. "And I don't agree with it one bit," Nick said testily, scanning the ocean as he spoke. I looked with him. Far off, coming in at a good clip from the west, was some kind of boat. Williams saw it, too. He glanced quickly at his watch. "What kind of agreement?" I asked. "My daughter has agreed to go with the rest of us, in return for which, after we're gone, Williams will let you go. In a few weeks, once he's sure we're safe, he'll join us in our new home." "And where's that, Andy? Havana?" 206
The Colonel smiled. "I'm a man of the world, Jack. One place is as good as the next--as long as you have the money to afford it. As far as you're concerned, it's really quite simple. Just keep your mouth shut. You're fifty grand ahead of the game. Keep it that way." "Hey, do me a favor," I said. "While you're there, ask Fidel if he needs a personal trainer. He looks a little fat, if you ask me." "I can't stand this any longer," Nick said, rolling his eyes. "I'm going down to wait for the boat." He walked slowly to the end of the pier. I followed him with my eyes for a moment and saw the lights of a cabin cruiser heading toward us. "Suppose she decides not to go with you?" I asked. "I have to go," Vivian said. "It's all right. As soon as we get everything set up, I'll come back, and we can be together again." "I look forward to that," I said. "It's been so much fun lately." The boat made a wide, sweeping turn, cut its throttle, and eased up to the pier. It wasn't a big boat, but it was big enough to reach Cuba. "Good man," Williams said, checking his watch again. "Right on time." At that moment a car I didn't recognize appeared above us on the ramp that led down to the sand. The Colonel and Wil- liams must have been expecting it, because neither seemed surprised by its arrival. It was a black Chevrolet Impala circa 1968, with whitewall tires, tinted windows, and the horns of a steer for a hood ornament. Two men got out. One of them was Dominguez, the Colonel's chauffeur. The other was a longhaired man in his early twenties in a dirty white tank top that revealed a pair of shoulders festooned with tattoos. The young man opened the trunk and lifted out a pair of weather-beaten suitcases. The two newcomers embraced for 207