‘Leave your hands right where they are, Les. Don’t move them and turn around slowly. Very slowly.’
Norton winced and closed his eyes for a second. He knew who that voice belonged to and he knew exactly what to expect when he turned around. Nonetheless, when he did, he managed a look of complete surprise which turned to mild joy then mystified innocence.
‘Lori,’ he blinked. ‘What are you doing down here?’ Then Les pretended to notice the gun pointing at his face. ‘Lori, what’s the gun for? What have I done? Was it the meal? Did I give you a dud root? If I did I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’
Les was stalling for time; but all he was doing was wasting his time and hers. It was no good one way or the other. Lori, or Special Agent Benshoff from the Department of Justice literally had Norton right in her sights and if he tried anything cute she’d shoot him; and being a seppo she’d probably love it. Behind her six men got out of the plain-looking cars either side of the coffee shop wearing sunglasses, shirts and jeans the same as Lori. Three of them were carrying shotguns as well as pistols and all looked very grim and determined as they walked carefully towards the front door. Oh shit, Les groaned to himself. This is fuckin’ it. I’m gone. Now I know what the movie is we’re in today. Midnight bloody Express.
Lori might have been a cop to the core, but she did show a modicum of decorum towards Norton. As she spoke a tiny smile did flicker round the corner of her eyes. ‘Lover. I don’t know how to tell you this. But…’
Lori would have continued and her colleagues would have moved in on the coffee shop except that the next second Ricco’s Rendezvous erupted in a boiling cloud of orange flame and a violent explosion that shook the whole neighbourhood. The windows disintegrated, showering broken glass everywhere, along with the windowsills and the door frame, and all the awnings flew up in the air, taking the neon sign with them in a spiralling cloud of black smoke and more roaring orange flames. Being cornered off a bit from the coffee shop Les missed the full blast of the explosion as it angled off left and right flinging wreckage everywhere. It didn’t help Lori much though, who spun around just as the shop went up. Les, normally the perfect gentleman, would have flung himself on top of Lori to protect her; this time he got behind and held her in front of him. She missed most of the broken glass and other flying debris, but the force of the explosion scattered all the chairs and tables outside the coffee shop in all directions. One chair came rocketing across the carpark and smacked straight into Lori, the chrome bar at the back hit her flush on the forehead, the seat part thumped into her stomach. She gave a groan of pain, dropped her gun and fell back against Les, out like a light. Les grabbed her and held her up in front of him as more bricks, splintered wood and other junk came flying down around them.
‘Holy bloody shit!’ he cried. ‘What the…?’
Les was dazed, partly deafened and shocked as the explosion died away and he stared at the carnage in front of him. Lori might have been knocked silly, but her colleagues were a lot worse off. They’d unexpectedly walked straight into it and those that weren’t dead or unconscious were lying on the ground moaning with pain. Ricco’s Rendezvous was no more. All that was left was a pile of smouldering rubbish, full of small fires everywhere, and a thick cloud of black smoke billowing up into the bright blue sky. Half the shop next door was gone, several waterpipes in the coffee shop had buckled, sending water and steam up into the air as well, and the blast had shattered the windscreens and blown off the bonnets of both the Mercedes and the Cadillac parked out the front. What was left of those inside the coffee shop wouldn’t be worth looking for. Les looked at the mess then looked at Lori still lying in his arms, blood starting to ooze down from her forehead. Carefully he laid her against the wall of the carpark. He looked at her colleagues still lying on the ground, had another quick look around him then drew back his fist and punched Lori right on the jaw about as hard as he could, smiling to himself as he felt the bones break and several teeth come loose. Like going through her handbag it definitely wasn’t the gentlemanly thing to do, but Lori literally never knew what hit her.
Blood now bubbling out of her mouth as well, Les left her propped against the wall and got in the car. A few stunned people had now started to emerge as he kicked the motor over, wondering what the hell had happened. Norton reversed the T-bird out of the parking lot, just like Grandma Duck, and if it had of been Grandma Duck driving he would have turned right and proceeded on slowly and carefully. But Les wasn’t Grandma Duck and he was used to driving on the wrong side of the road. There was a slight break in the traffic, he gunned the T-bird across the highway and straight over the median strip. Whether there was a break in the traffic on the other side of the highway he didn’t know. But a lot of cars had slowed down to geek at the fire and smoke. Les found a small space in front of an oncoming truck and went for it, fish-tailing the T-bird and burning rubber for about two hundred yards up the freeway. The car radio was blaring and the DJ had announced the track playing as ‘Papa Loved Momma’ by Garth Brooks. It was a howler and Norton vaguely heard the words. ‘He never hit the breaks and he was shifting gears.’ Somehow it seemed appropriate.
Les slowed down about a mile further on and casually mingled in with the other traffic. Nevertheless, it was a drive home full of trepidation and he kept his mind on the road and not much else for the time being; especially when a fire engine and two cop cars went screaming past about two miles south of the Siestasota Shopping Mall. Les made it back to the condo. When he pulled up and turned off the engine he noticed his hands were shaking a little and his adrenalin was still pumping; the sweat down the middle of his back wasn’t entirely from the heat either. Still stunned and somewhat incredulous he locked the car and went inside. This time, for some reason, Norton found he couldn’t see the funny side of things at all.
The smell inside the condo hadn’t improved any since he left. But it was home so to speak and there had to be something left to drink in the fridge. There was; several bottles of Coors Cutter. Which suited Les in a way, he’d need to keep his head together and right now wasn’t exactly the time to be getting half pissed. He opened the bottle, took a mouthful then went out and sat on the enclosed verandah, away from the mess, resting his feet up on the cross-bar of the old pushbike. Outside two or three people were splashing around in the pool and he thought he saw Jerome shuffle past the cabana carrying a hose. Les closed his eyes for a moment, wiped some sweat from his face then stared grimly out the verandah window.
That was just too close for comfort. Too close. If he’d stayed at Ricco’s for another cup of coffee… If he’d stopped for a few minutes longer at Howdy Neighbours … If he’d got held up at a set of lights, left a few minutes later than he did… If, if, if. If what bloody ever, he’d have been blown all over Salmo, along with the other four in the coffee shop. Norton moved his gaze up to the sky for a moment. What could he say? Thanks again? He started to surmise what was going on and it wasn’t that hard, especially when one of those three movies he’d been joking about came to mind. Ricco had probably got sprung keeping the money he was supposed to pick up or, with the Godfather in New York getting thirty years gaol, there was a power play in the mob and some other family wanted to take over. Maybe a bit of both. But more than likely Ricco got sprung, which was why they all seemed to be shitting themselves in the coffee shop. The bomb arrived in that bundle of linen. It was two hours late, the usual girl was doing another run. You can bet the girl with the Walkman was a female killer for the mob. Prizzi’s Honor was today’s movie alright. And I must have bloody ESP, thought Les, taking another mouthful of Coors. Then there was Lori and her little team turning up. Probably they were under surveillance all along and now was the time to swoop and get Ricco along with the money. Or it could have been part of a big FBI, Department of Justice bust to get the mob off-guard with the goaling of Licavoli. Bad luck about their timing and the fact that they chose to play Elliot Ness just as the place got blown up. Which unfortunately was wh
y Les had to put one on Lori’s chin. The other cops were either dead or close enough to it. But Lori, being only slightly injured, would be able to give a statement when she came to in which she would undoubtedly mention Les, where he lived and to go bring him in for questioning. However, with her jaw wired up, a few teeth missing and full of sedatives for the pain she wouldn’t be saying too much. Not even for a woman. This, along with her other injuries, would be put down to the force of the explosion and it would also give Les breathing space to make his next move. Anyway, serve her fuckin’ right, scowled Norton. It’s not as if I did anything and she would have shot me for sure, the low moll. On top of half a good root and a grouse feed too. See how the cunt likes eating her meals through a straw for the next few months. He took another long swallow of Coors. No, Florida was getting too hot; even for summer. Apart from all this Mafia shit, his footprints were all over the floor back at Hank’s. Not counting failing to report a murder and indirectly destroying a nightclub with considerable loss of life and limb to the various customers. It was only a matter of time before there’d be a knock at the door. So even though there was no immediate need to panic, it was definitely time to get going. But where? Back to Australia? That would be the best idea, except he’d only been away about a week. New Orleans? Las Vegas? LA? Les shook his head, finished his beer and got another, then sat out on the verandah again. No. Somehow Les was starting to get a bit sick already of the land of the free and the home of the brave. He got into the second bottle and had a think. It didn’t take long to both finish the bottle and make up his mind. Les looked at his watch, put the empty bottle in the kitchen and changed into a clean white T-shirt. With his VISA card, passport and other ID tucked in the back pocket of his shorts he locked the condo and walked out to the car.
There were three women in the little travel agency just across from the Amish restaurant. One look hispanic, the others had brownish blonde hair. They were all around thirty and well groomed, wearing double-breasted, orange cotton jackets with ‘Manatee Keys Travel Agency’ written across the breast pocket in black. There was a desk with a computer on it and a chair sitting in front when Les walked in. One of the blondes was working there. On the right was a small room with a lounge and a coffee table full of travel magazines, something like a doctor’s waiting room. Behind another desk and computer the hispanic woman was talking into the phone. The third woman sat behind her and behind her another area was partitioned off with bamboo walls covered in travel posters. The girl at the front desk was fairly attractive except for this horrible Tammie Bakker kind of hairstyle. Les approached her and almost fainted when he looked at the name-tag on her jacket and it said Lori. On closer inspection it said Loni. Thank Christ for that, he thought. I don’t think I could handle another one of those.
‘Good afternoon,’ Loni smiled up at Norton. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes,’ replied Norton, sitting down. ‘I’d like to book a flight to Jamaica, direct to Montego Bay. When’s the next one leave?’
‘Just one moment.’ Loni hit the computer, looked at the screen then punched the keys a few more times. ‘There’s a North West flight leaves Tampa at 1.30 tomorrow afternoon direct to Montego Bay. Arriving 5.30 in the afternoon, Jamaican time.’
‘That’ll do me,’ said Les.
‘Do you have somewhere to stay?’
Les shook his head. ‘Can you get me into the Rose Point Resort?’
Loni consulted some travel manual then clattered away at the computer again. ‘How many nights?’
Les thought for a moment. ‘Can I take two, with an option on another week or more if I want to?’
‘That shouldn’t be any trouble when you get there. It’s the off-season.’ Loni hit the computer again. ‘I can get you a deluxe room for two nights, at $110 US a night. How’s that sound?’
‘Absolutely sensational, Loni,’ smiled Les. ‘And one more thing, I have to take my car back today. What’s the best way to get to Tampa from here?’
‘Unless you want to take a taxi, the airport shuttle service. That drops you right at the airport. Where are you staying?’ Les told her. ‘There’s one calls in that way at 8.30 tomorrow morning.’
‘Can you arrange for me to be on that?’
‘No problem at all,’ smiled Loni. ‘It’s a good idea to leave a little early too. Now. How do you wish to pay for all this?’
‘VISA,’ replied Les, placing his passport and the rest of his ID and travel documents on the desk. ‘My American entry stamp gets me into Jamaica, doesn’t it?’
‘No problem at all.’ Loni checked Norton’s passport and his Qantas ticket. ‘Yep, no problem at all.’
Les sat back in the chair and his smile widened. ‘Terrific.’
Between the phone ringing, Loni having to help the other girls now and again and other customers arriving demanding this that and the other, it took a good hour to get everything together. While he waited, Les drank two cans of soft drink from the nearby supermarket and thought out his plan of attack, or retreat, before he got out of Florida. There were two ways he could go about it. By the time Loni had his accommodation and his flight to Jamaica stapled together and his Qantas ticket rearranged Les was certain he’d chosen the right one. He picked up his travel documents and thanked Loni. She wished him a good holiday then after saying goodbye Les walked out to the car and headed back to the condo. All he had to do now was sort a couple of things out, keep his head down and with a bit of luck he’d be on his way to Jamaica at 8.30 in the morning. Goodbye Sepposota, Hello Montego Bay. No matter what, the first thing Les did when he got back to the condo was have another bottle of Coors and a long, probably last, swim in the pool.
After he’d towelled off and had a shower, Les left his Speedos on and started cleaning up the condo. He didn’t really have to; the chances of the present owner complaining about the mess were minimal to say the least. But if the place was left reasonably neat and tidy and the police did dome after he’d left, it wouldn’t look so much as if he’d galloped out of the place like some fugitive on the run. After working at the Kelly Club and being involved with Price for some time Norton had a reasonable idea of how the police mind worked, and they wouldn’t be all that much different over in this neck of the woods. Besides, the place stunk anyway and he didn’t fancy sitting around in the mess and smell all night. He could have packed his gear and moved into a motel for the night. But why bother? Besides, the woman at the travel agency had arranged for the shuttle to pick him up at that address in the morning, he’d have to change all that and he’d probably stuff things up over the phone anyway. One thing did occur to Les, as he shoved more rubbish into a plastic garbage bag. He hadn’t taken into account what would happen when Lori came to. Although she wouldn’t be able to talk, she could still write out some sort of a statement or whatever. If Les had thought of that at the time he’d have broken all her fingers as well. The way things were, though, he figured he had about twenty-four hours up his sleeve from the time of the explosion.
As for the car? Well, he could leave it out the front. But there was a chance some concerned citizen might have got the number. Even in a nuthouse like America that scene at Ricco’s Rendezvous would have to make it on the news, and there’d have to be a few concerned citizens living on the estate. It was only a chance. But at this stage why leave anything to chance? No. The best place for the car would be to rip up all the documents then take it back to Vinnie’s and leave the keys in the glove box. A thin smile formed around Norton’s mouth and a shitty, evil gleam emanated from his eyes. And leave a present on the back seat for someone too.
It took Les a bit longer than he thought to clean the flat up. He found where the dump-masters were out the back and a vacuum cleaner in a closet; however, he didn’t bother to vacuum, just gave the place a good sweep. Even with the air-conditioners on it was hotter than he thought, so he ended up going for another swim. Then he started on his room.
He began by sorting out his gear and travel documen
ts. While he did, he listened to his cassettes and not the radio, figuring the explosion would probably be on a news bulletin and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Les also could have rung home for free, but he figured they might trace the calls back to Australia or something so why take another risk, small as it might be, for the sake of saving a few lousy dollars. There was junk and clothes, some dirty, scattered from one end of the room to the other and it was getting dark when he finally had everything packed except for a pair of jeans, joggers and a T-shirt to wear on the plane. Merv Hughes was gone, but he still had Dean Jones and David Hookes. I’ll arrive in the Dean Jones, thought Les. Nothing like making a good impression with the cricket-loving natives. Apart from that there was nothing left except his shower kit and one awfully stained sheet lying on the bedroom floor. Les took it out to the kitchen, slopped a little cajun dressing on it just to give it some more colour then folded it up and put it in another plastic bag with the top tied. In one of the drawers he found a black texta- colour and wrote on the light grey garbage bag: To Special Agent Lori Benshoff, C/- US Department of Justice. In another drawer Les found an envelope. He put the same address on the front, put a short note inside and taped it to the garbage bag. It read: Dear Lori, I’ll never forget the night you held this against me in evidence. Promise me you won’t stain my reputation as well. Love Vinnie. Satisfied, he took the bag out and placed it on the back seat of the T-Bird, then went inside and arranged over the phone for a taxi to pick him up at the caryard. Les got into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and checked Vinnie’s address against his map of Siestasota. It was only a few blocks north of the estate and should be easy enough to find. He locked the condo and drove off.
The drive to Vinnie’s was easier than Les thought. So easy in fact that he drove round the block a couple of times and sussed the place out. There was no one about, the coast looked clear enough so he pulled up in the driveway. There was a chain across the gate so he couldn’t drive into the yard, though he was well off the main road. He locked the car, gave the parcel on the back seat a last smile and then stood out the front and waited for the taxi. The taxi was five minutes early and Les jumped straight in the back.
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