JET - Escape: (Volume 9)

by Russell Blake

  “Who’s going to overhear?” Adrian protested.

  Drago ignored the question. “Walk in front of me. South. I’ll be right behind you. Try anything and you’ll get a bullet in the kidneys. Which is a horrible way to check out. You don’t want that.”

  Adrian complied, and Drago allowed him to put about ten feet between them. “Where are we going?” Adrian asked.

  “Keep walking.”

  They did, past the Milan, and Drago spotted the floating wreckage he’d selected for his interrogation.

  “There’s a fishing boat on your right. The green one. Climb aboard.”

  “That thing? It looks like it’s ready to sink.”

  “Beauty’s in the eye. Just do it.”

  Adrian snorted. “You’re serious? Why can’t we talk up here?”

  “Because I said so.”

  Chapter 45

  The taxi driver groaned and clutched his side, where four bullets had hit him as they stitched through the side of the car. Jet rammed her hand down on his right leg, mashing the accelerator to the floor, and the car surged forward. She grabbed the steering wheel and narrowly missed an overloaded truck coming from the opposite direction, and then swerved, trying to hit the gunman as he drew alongside.

  The move surprised him and he nearly lost control as he fought to avoid being struck. He almost collided with a cart selling fruit as he swung into the other lane, and had to pocket his gun to work the clutch.

  Another motorcycle drew parallel with the passenger side and she swerved again, twisting the wheel hard to the right, and it dropped back. Hannah screamed as they headed straight for the rear of a van, and Jet let up on the driver’s leg and guided the slowing car around it, scraping one side in a shower of sparks as metal tore at metal.

  The driver stiffened, coughed blood down his shirtfront, and groaned out his final breath. Jet pushed his leg aside and reached for his door handle as the car slowed further. Her fingers found the lever as the motorcycle on her left revved toward her, and she threw the door open and pushed the dead driver out of the car with all her might.

  The bike had to dodge the body as it rolled to a stop, which gave Jet enough time to slam the door closed and accelerate as she stomped on the gas and downshifted the automatic transmission to get more torque. The car lunged ahead, and she jerked the wheel as the second motorcycle neared, shrieking sideways onto a narrow street before upshifting and straightening out.

  Glass blasted from behind her head as a round struck the rear window, and she weaved back and forth in an effort to keep the bikes from pulling alongside. “Lie down on the floor,” she told Hannah, who nodded and slid down. “Stay down there with your eyes closed until I tell you it’s okay to sit back up, okay?”

  She was interrupted by the first motorcycle drawing even with her again, and she tromped down on the brake and gave the steering wheel a brutal turn. The bike hit the front fender, sending the rider over the handlebars, tumbling head over heels as his limbs broke from the high-speed collision. The motorcycle continued on, riderless, for a dozen yards before crashing over and skidding into a building.

  Jet goosed the accelerator again and resumed her run as the second motorcycle slowed. She watched in the side mirror as the rider stopped by his fallen companion and then tore off after them again.

  Another hard turn onto another street, and after five harrowing seconds Jet locked up the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel right, causing the car to drift sideways in a slow, balletic turn. It came to a stop and she floored the pedal, spinning the front wheels as the tires clawed for traction on the dusty pavement.

  The motorcycle came around the corner and the rider braked hard when he saw the car hurtling straight at him. He slowed to a near stop as she adjusted her trajectory, and threw himself off the bike when Jet rammed it, sending it cartwheeling through the air in an explosion of plastic and metal. She didn’t wait to see whether the rider had survived or not, and accelerated through the intersection while honking the horn in warning.

  When she dared a look in the mirror, she saw pedestrians rushing to where the motorcycle had landed, but couldn’t make out the fallen rider from the sea of islanders. Keeping her attention on the road, she reached down and tapped Hannah on the shoulder.

  “You can open your eyes and sit up now.”

  Hannah crawled her way up into the seat and looked at her mother. Jet smiled and forced herself to slow, ignoring the screeching from the front axle, which had been damaged in the collision.

  “We’re fine,” Jet said. “Those were bad men.”

  “Why?”

  “They wanted to rob us, I guess.”

  “Rob?”

  “Take our things.”

  Her face grew troubled. “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry. Mommy’s not going to let anything like that happen.” Jet cocked her head and listened to the alarming sounds from the front of the car. “Believe me?”

  Hannah nodded.

  “All right. We’re going to walk for a little, okay? Find another taxi. You ready?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jet pulled into an alley and left the car running as she climbed from behind the wheel and rounded the hood. She opened Hannah’s door and lifted her out, and then set off toward the waterfront, where she hoped she could find a cab before more of the city’s miscreants mistook her for easy prey.

  Two blocks later she saw one of the neon-painted pickup trucks and flagged it down. The driver looked at her in surprise as he pulled alongside. She opened the passenger door, sat beside him with Hannah on her lap, and gave him the name of the hotel. He nodded and put the truck in gear, and they bounced their way along the uneven street toward the town center and, hopefully, tranquility.

  The inn proved to be a walled oasis situated on a hill overlooking the city and sea, a colonial plantation home turned into a hotel, but with all its stately charm intact. An armed guard stood at the gates and only opened the barriers for the taxi to enter after seeing Jet and Hannah in the cab.

  At the front desk, a courteous clerk informed them that a room was available. Jet swallowed hard when she heard the price, but nodded. One night wouldn’t break her. And she had no desire to spend another in the cramped cabin of the ship, as kind as Adrian had ultimately been.

  After a shower with Hannah and a rinse of their clothes in the sink, she set their wet things on the terrace and watched as the sun dried them in minutes. Reinvigorated by bottles of juice and water from the minibar and after snacking on the fresh fruit platter left as a welcome gift, Jet led Hannah downstairs and stopped to speak with the concierge. She asked about attorneys with influence, and the concierge leaned toward her, his voice low.

  “They’re all liars and thieves here. But my cousin is a top name, and probably the most honest of them.”

  “That would be fine. Does he specialize in criminal cases?”

  The concierge laughed. “Can’t make a living if you don’t, not here, you can’t.”

  Jet took down the information and asked the woman to call a cab. Fifteen minutes later, she was sitting in the reception area of Frantz Aristide, Esq., under the watchful eye of a receptionist who could have moonlighted as a sumo wrestler.

  Frantz proved to be jovial and competent, and immediately understood the gravity of Matt’s plight. They agreed on his legal fee and spent a half hour discussing details, the first of which was Frantz accepting a diamond as his payment in full. By the end of the meeting, Jet had a better feeling, although Frantz cautioned her that the system had its problems, and not to take anything for granted. He placed a call to the magistrate while she waited in the lobby, and when he was done, invited her back into his office.

  “They wanted twenty-five thousand. I got them down to ten by explaining that you aren’t prosperous world travelers or you wouldn’t have been on a cargo ship to begin with. He agreed.” Frantz looked over his reading glasses at Jet. “So now I need the ten thousand dollars, plus my retainer, plus…the transport
ation we discussed. Do you have this diamond with you?”

  “I can get it today, but I need to find someone to watch my daughter. I don’t want her involved in anything more. She’s sick and needs rest.”

  “My receptionist can double as a babysitter if it’s only for a few hours,” Frantz offered.

  “That would be wonderful.” She paused. “We have attorney-client privilege, right?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “So if I told you about something that happened today, you couldn’t discuss it with anyone?”

  Frantz nodded and regarded her. “Within reason. But if you tell me you’re planning on committing a crime, I’d have to alert the appropriate authorities.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. We were attacked by two motorcycle gunmen after leaving the jail. They killed our taxi driver. I was able to escape with Hannah, but I think I ran over one of them. Maybe both.”

  Frantz didn’t blink. “Carjackings are a serious problem here. I’m sorry you had to experience it. If you’re worried about the robbers, nobody is likely to mourn them. Most crimes go unreported due to police corruption, so the chances that anyone will volunteer that they saw anything are slim.” He frowned. “You’re lucky you’re alive.”

  “That occurred to me.”

  “Bon. Come, let’s introduce Hannah to Rosie, and get you on your way, shall we?”

  “I appreciate this. I don’t want Matt in jail a moment longer than he has to be.”

  Frantz nodded again. “It shall be my pleasure to act as the swift arm of justice in this case, and see him freed before nightfall.”

  Chapter 46

  Matt winced in pain as the guards manhandled him to his feet, the blood-crusted bump on the back of his skull throbbing. He’d put together what had happened, and while he was furious, there was nothing he could do about the guard’s brutality other than remain silent and wish him dead. Haiti was clearly not the place to file a complaint, and his justified fear was that if he did, he’d be inviting far worse.

  “You. Face the wall and put your hands behind you,” the nearest guard ordered, and Matt did as he was told. The man clamped handcuffs on him so tightly that they bit into his skin, but he didn’t make a sound. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

  Matt was relieved to see that these were different guards than those on duty the night before, or he would have been in fear for his life. Once Matt was cuffed, the guard prodded him in the lower spine with his club. “Turn around, you. We’re moving you to the main jail.”

  “What? Why?” Matt demanded.

  “Because you got into a fight last night, and those are our orders,” the second guard said.

  “But I was attacked. They had knives. I was defending myself.”

  The two men looked at each other and smiled. “Right. Prisons everywhere are full of innocent men, they are.”

  “Ask him,” Matt said, inclining his head to one of his two cellmates.

  “I don’t know nothing, I don’t,” the prisoner said, averting his eyes.

  “You saw the whole thing,” Matt accused.

  “I don’t want no trouble wit’ nobody.”

  “There you go, white bread. Now come on and move, or I’ll have to make you. You really don’t want me to do that,” the first guard said with an evil grin.

  The other guard laughed. “Not unless you wanna be peeing red for a week, you.”

  Matt shuffled down the hall, past the bloodstains that had yet to be cleaned up from the night before, a guard on either side of him. They moved him from the cellblock to a waiting van and, after passing a chain through the cuffs and locking him to a filthy steel bench in the rear of the vehicle, slammed the door closed.

  The ride in the unventilated hotbox was mercifully short, but Matt’s heart sank when he was pulled out into the sun, blinking against the glare. The building looked like a condemned industrial warehouse, the walls partially collapsed in one place and everything coated in grime.

  The new guards were just as unfriendly as the ones at the port jail. After processing him, they led him down the cellblock corridor past chambers packed with humanity to the last cell on the end. The maintenance crew responsible for keeping it clean was apparently the same one in charge of doing so at the port. The cell was as noxious as the last, only with eight occupants in a space intended for two.

  Once the cuffs were removed and the door locked behind him, Matt gave his cellmates a cold stare, and was relieved when they made room for him without being forced. He could sense fear in the men, and it was quickly obvious that word of his tussle the prior night had spread because nobody met his eye, which was just as well. He didn’t know how long he’d be in for, but he wanted no more trouble, and could only hope that none of his fellow captives had murderous intentions.

  He sat down on the floor beside the rest of the unfortunates and, after nodding to the nearest, closed his eyes, determined to make it until Jet could arrange for his release, assuming she’d appeared before the magistrate and worked a deal. His only fear was that she’d also been attacked, but the moment he thought it, the idea made him smile inwardly – he would have undoubtedly heard about it, because anyone foolhardy enough to try it would have been carried out in a body bag.

  Matt opened his eyes when footsteps approached from across the cell. He glanced up to find himself looking at a powerfully muscled islander with full-sleeve tattoos and a shaved head. The man glared at Matt and then spat on the floor near his feet.

  “Don’t look so tough to me, he don’t,” he said, his Creole accent thick.

  Matt didn’t say anything.

  “You hear me, you? I said you don’t look tough at all. After hearing ’bout how you laid out two of Renoir’s boys, I figured you’d be a badass. But you ain’t shit, you.”

  The other men were staring at him, waiting for a response. Matt didn’t rise to the bait. The bully was clearly trying to establish his dominance over the cell, and anything Matt said would escalate the confrontation. So he remained quiet and kept his expression neutral.

  The islander spat again, but no closer, and addressed his cellmates. “See? Ain’t no thing at all. This boy ain’t going to cause no trouble long as I’m around, he ain’t.” A few of the men nodded, and the big man moved back to his corner, his position at the top of the cell pecking order reconfirmed.

  Matt closed his eyes again, glad he’d made the right call. His head was splitting and he didn’t need to get into another fight. But now he had a puzzle and a name: Renoir.

  And the question was, who was this Renoir, and why had his men tried to skewer Matt in his sleep?

  Chapter 47

  Adrian waited on the fishing boat for Drago to climb aboard, taking care to keep his hands where they were visible at all times and not make any sudden moves that might set the gunman off. The captain had been in his share of dangerous situations, after a lifetime spent in lowlife ports in Central and South America, and was still breathing. Whatever the man wanted, Adrian intended to give him, because he wasn’t ready to willingly shed his mortal coil quite yet.

  The hull shifted and the rotting floorboards creaked as Drago stepped onto the aging vessel. Adrian eyed him nervously. “So here we are. What do you want to discuss that requires all this?” he asked.

  “I’m interested in your passengers. I have a bone to pick with them, and I need to know when they’re planning to return to the ship.”

  Dawning awareness crept across Adrian’s face. “You’re…you’re the one who was after them…”

  “Is. I’m the one who is after them. And you’re going to tell me what I need to know.”

  “I have no idea. The Haitians took them. Ask the coast guard.”

  Drago nodded, expecting the response. “Yes, I heard. But I also know that you’re their way off the island, which means you expect them back.”

  Adrian shook his head. “No. As soon as we’re allowed, we’re leaving. They can fend for themselves.”
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br />   Drago’s eyes narrowed. “You know, one of the things I’m really good at is telling when someone’s lying. It’s like a sixth sense or something. Been that way my entire life. And I know you’re lying. I don’t blame you for it or take it personally, but you will tell me the truth or you won’t be getting off this boat.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. But you don’t have to believe me. You can just watch the gangplank until we head out to sea.”

  “I intend to. However, it would be most helpful to understand exactly when they’re going to arrive.”

  “I swear I don’t know.”

  Drago shook his head as though disappointed, and cocked the hammer back on the pistol. “I can see you’re not taking this seriously. That’s a shame. If you’re not going to help me, you’re my enemy, and I see no reason not to end this now. Make your peace with whatever God you pray to, because you’re about to meet him.”

  Adrian believed the gunman. His eyes met Drago’s, and it was like looking into an open grave. He shuddered and looked away. “She called earlier. She’s coming sometime today. That’s all I can tell you. I swear I’m telling the truth.”

  “Why’s she coming?”

  “To get her kid’s pills.”

  “Where’s your crew? Be specific.”

  “Everyone’s hanging out up in the galley. It’s air-conditioned.”

  “Where is that on the boat?”

  “Up two levels from the cabin level, in the superstructure – one level below the bridge and my cabin.”

  “So the lower part of the boat is empty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nobody in the cargo area?”

  “No. Everyone stays in the superstructure, where it’s cool.”

  Drago moved so quickly he was a blur. The gun butt caught Adrian on the temple, stunning him. He dropped to his knees and Drago hit him again at the base of the neck. Adrian’s breath blew from his mouth like a muffled sneeze and he fell to the deck, unconscious.