Miami Run

by David Robbins

  The Genie’s mouth slackened. “Three keys? Are you putting me on?”

  “No.”

  “Three keys is a lot of bread, man,” the Genie said. “You have that much on you?”

  Blade patted his right front pocket. “I have it on me.”

  “You wouldn’t be trying to stick it to me, would you?” the Genie queried suspiciously.

  “I want to do the honorable thing,” Blade said.

  The Genie hesitated, his dark eyes roving over the Paratrooper on the giant’s right shoulder and the Bowies in their sheaths. “I don’t know—”

  “Suit yourself,” Blade stated, and started to turn.

  “Wait!”

  Blade faced the Genie.

  “All right. We’ve got a deal,” the man in white declared.

  Blade began to reach into his right front pocket. “Do you want the money now?”

  “No!” the Genie replied hastily. “Don’t go flashing that much bread! Some of these hit-and-run types might see it!”

  Blade removed his hand. “Where then?”

  The Genie jerked his head to the rear. “My wheels, man. They’re parked down the block. I’ve got the stuff in the trunk.”

  “After you,” Blade said.

  “What about me?” the girl asked.

  “You stay put, bitch!” the Genie snapped. “I’ll deal with you later.”

  Blade looked at his companions. “You two stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  “You sure, pard?” Hickok responded.

  Blade nodded.

  “Follow me,” the Genie directed, and hurried down the block.

  Blade warily followed, deliberately holding his hands away from his Bowies. He spotted a row of flashy cars parked along the curb.

  The Genie hastened toward an enormous automobile notable for its sparkling golden finish and more chrome per square inch than any other vehicle in sight. “I knew this was my lucky night!” he declared excitedly over his right shoulder.

  “Mine too.”

  “You never can tell,” the Genie went on. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this business, it’s never to judge a book by its cover. You never now how much bread a customer will have.”

  The front passenger door on the gold car suddenly opened and a huge black in a black suit climbed out. His head was bald, his expression tainted with a cruel edge.

  “This is Hugo,” the Genie said, introducing his henchman as he halted next to the front fender.

  Blade stopped and nodded.

  Huge said nothing, his eyes radiating distrust.

  “This gentleman wants to buy three keys,” the Genie stated. “Open the trunk. Give him a peek at our goodies.”

  Huge moved to the rear of the car, withdrew a key ring from his left front pocket, and unlocked the trunk.

  “See for yourself,” the Genie said, walking to the rear and motioning for Blade to join him.

  The Warrior moved to within a foot of the trunk.

  “Open it,” the Genie said.

  Hugo slowly raised the lid.

  Blade’s eyes narrowed as he beheld the bewildering collection of drugs and drug paraphernalia. The trunk was filled to the brim.

  “I’m as good as my word,” the Genie declared. He reached into the trunk and patted three large bundles. “Three keys. Just what you want. Now I need to see the color of your money.”

  Blade reached for his right pocket.

  “Wait a second,” the Genie said. “Why don’t we do this right? Step into my parlor. We can have a drink while we finalize the deal.” He stepped to the rear door and threw it wide. “After you.”

  Blade leaned over and peered into the spacious, indulgently furnished interior. The back seat was covered with a lustrous brown leather, and the floor was a rich, thick, green carpet. A handsome wooden cabinet was positioned behind the front seat.

  “Slide on in,” the Genie urged.

  Blade hunched his broad shoulders and eased into the plush vehicle. He looked out the rear window to see Hugo standing next to the trunk.

  “Close it,” the Genie ordered, then bent down to enter the car.

  Blade was in the middle of the seat, his buttocks resting on the edge, his body slightly twisted to the left, his right hand touching the wooden cabinet, his left on his left Bowie.

  The Genie was halfway inside, the cane in his right hand.

  Blade tensed and watched as Hugo walked to the rear and was momentarily obscured by the trunk lid.

  Now!

  The Warrior’s body unwound, his right hand sweeping up and over the Genie’s head, his fingers locking on the man’s neck and yanking the Genie forward even as his left hand brought the Bowie around and up in a savage arc. The tip of the razor-honed blade penetrated the Genie’s neck just below his chin, and the knife slanted upwards and was buried to the hilt.

  For an instant of incredulous shock, the Genie’s only reaction was a widening of his eyes. He gurgled as a crimson spray gushed from his throat, then abruptly lunged, hissing, spearing the cane at the giant’s face.

  There was a muted click and a five-inch sharpened metal spike popped out the top of the cane.

  Blade jerked his head aside, but the spike dug a red groove in his left cheek. He tightened his hold on the Genie’s neck and slammed the man to the seat.

  The trunk lid closed with a thump.

  Blade kept his eyes on Hugo as the black came around the driver’s side.

  His arms bulged as he held the Genie flush with the seat, and he felt the spurting blood spatter his left forearm. Would Hugo look inside first or simply open the driver’s side door? Blade gritted his teeth as the Genie thrashed and heaved, the cane swinging wildly.

  Hugo reached for the rear door.

  The Genie uttered a strangled gasp and went limp.

  Blade yanked his left Bowie free as the door on the driver’s side opened.

  He spun, the Bowie going straight out, knowing he had to take Hugo down without attracting the attention of anyone outside.

  Hugo was leaning down when the Bowie sliced through his trousers and into his groin. Totally stunned, racked by torment, he inadvertently doubled over and clutched at his genitals.

  Blade clamped his right arm on the bodyguard’s throat and hauled Hugo inside, onto the floor. The small oval overhead bulb cast a garish yellow glow on the black’s stupefied expression.

  Hugo brought his bloody hands up, clawing at the Warrior.

  Blade wrenched the Bowie out, then sank the knife in Hugo’s chest.

  Hugo stiffened, his lips moving formlessly, then sank back, his eyes open but unfocused. He expelled a lingering breath and was still.

  Blade glanced at the avenue. Cars and other vehicles were passing, but not one appeared to have noticed the struggle. He pulled his Bowie from Hugo’s body, wiped the blade on Hugo’s jacket, and replaced the knife in its sheath. Working quickly, he closed the driver’s side door, then reached for the passenger door.

  And froze.

  The Genie’s black shoes were protruding from the passenger side.

  Staring at those shoes, not two feet from the car, was the young girl in the lacy red dress.

  Blade prepared to pounce, expecting her to scream.

  Instead, she looked him in the eyes, her features composed and licked her lips. “I get half or I’ll roll over to the Narcs.”

  “What?”

  She moved closer. “Don’t try and scam me, turkey! I want half!”

  “Half of what?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You know damn well what I’m talking about! What’s it going to be? Fifty-fifty, or the Narcs?”

  “I don’t want the Narcs involved,” Blade admitted.

  She slapped the Genie’s shoes. “Dump his ass on the floor.”

  Confounded, Blade rolled the man in white on top of Hugo.

  “Keep your hands away from your knives,” she warned as she slid in.

  “Close your door,” Blade said, “Do I
look stupid?” she countered. “The door stays open!” She reached for the wooden cabinet and jerked on a gold knob. “Fifty-fifty is fair,” she commented nervously.

  Blade did a double take as his gray eyes alighted on the contents of the cabinet. Under a shelf containing liquor bottles and glasses was another shelf piled high with stacks of bills and rolls of gold and silver coins bound by plastic bands.

  “Look at it!” the girl said in awe.

  “You want to split this fifty-fifty?” Blade asked.

  The girl stared at him defiantly. “Damn straight! Unless you want me to go to the Narcs!”

  “You seem more concerned about the money than the Genie,” Blade commented.

  She glanced at the corpse in white, scowling. “Who the hell cares about that bastard? I can always get me a new pimp. Young fluff is always in demand. Know what I mean?”

  “Fluff?”

  She nodded at the cabinet. “Look! Enough stalling! Do we split this or not?”

  Blade studied her for several seconds, then sighed. “Take as much as you want.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t need half of it,” Blade told her. He removed two half-inch stacks of bills and two rolls of coins. “The rest is yours.”

  She looked like she was going to lay an egg. “Are you for real?”

  Blade stuffed the bills into his left front pocket, then placed the coins in his left rear pocket.

  “Are you for real?” she repeated.

  The Warrior gestured at the cabinet. “Help yourself.”

  She laughed and opened her purse. “I may never have to hustle again!”

  “You could start a new life,” Blade suggested.

  She grabbed stacks of bills and crammed them into her purse. “You don’t know the half of it!”

  “You could give up the drugs.”

  Her hand paused in midair. “Why would I want to do that?” She laughed and resumed filling her purse.

  “You like using drugs?”

  “Sure. Doesn’t everybody?” She giggled. “With this, I can get a buzz on like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Why not do something constructive with your life? Why not find a mate and settle down? Why not rear a family?”

  She gazed at him in surprise. “Get real, man! You sound like my grandmother. Those old ways are for nerds! Number one is all that counts, and I intend to look out for number one.”

  Blade waited as she finished stuffing her purse.

  “That’s it!” she exclaimed happily, looking at him. “Thanks. I’ll never forget you!”

  Blade said nothing.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a freebie? I feel like I owe you. How about a quickie right here?”

  “No,” Blade responded softly.

  “What’s the matter with you? A big hunk like you, and you don’t want to make it? Why not?”

  “I doubt that you’d understand.”

  “Try me,” she prompted.

  “For one thing, I’m married—”

  “So? Three-fourths of my Johns are married.”

  “For another, sex should be an expression of love, not lust.”

  The girl laughed. “You’re weird! Do you know that?”

  “We should leave before someone looks inside,” Blade advised.

  She glanced at the sidewalk, at the people hustling past. “I guess you’re right. If I had the time, I’d snatch some of the trunk stash. But we’re pushing our luck as it is.”

  “May you know true happiness someday.”

  The girl laughed and climbed out. “Ta-ta, lover!” she said in parting, and dashed to the south.

  Blade emerged from the car and closed the door. He spotted a man in a brown suit standing a few yards away, watching him. “Do you want something?” he demanded.

  The man shook his head and blended in with the throng.

  Blade turned to the north.

  “Havin’ fun, pard?”

  “We could have helped you.”

  Hickok and Rikki were near the front fender, their bodies positioned so that anyone walking past would need to swing wide of the vehicle.

  “Let’s find the Oasis Resort Hotel,” Blade said.

  Hickok nodded at the car. “What was that all about?”

  Blade frowned. “I don’t know if I could explain it.”

  “Yeah,” Hickok said thoughtfully, surveying their surroundings. “This city is gettin’ to me too.”

  Blade headed north.

  Chapter Eight

  “Can I be of service?”

  Blade stared at the middle-aged desk clerk in the blue suit. “I hope so.

  The Narcs sent me to the Oasis.”

  The desk clerk was suddenly all attention. “The Narcs? Whatever about?”

  “I’m to deliver some papers to a man staying here,” Blade detailed.

  “Who is the gentleman?”

  The Warrior reached into his right front pocket and extracted the three folded sheets. He deposited them on the counter and read the name written on the yellow paper. “Tom Barbish.”

  “Mr. Barbish!” the desk clerk exclaimed.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Of course! Everyone knows Mr. Barbish!”

  “We need to see him.”

  The desk clerk glancced at the giant’s two associates and his nose crinkled. “What about?”

  “That’s between Mr. Barbish and us,” Blade stated.

  “Mr. Barbish is one of our top tenants,” the desk clerk said. “He occupies the Presidential Suite, and has for years. I’m not about to risk interrupting him over a trifle.”

  “This is important,” Blade persisted.

  “So you say.”

  “All right,” Blade said in feigned resignation. “But I’ll need your name.”

  “My name?”

  “To tell the Narcs,” Blade explained. “They’ll want to know the reason Mr. Barbish didn’t receive the forms.”

  “I don’t see why I should be involved,” the clerk said defensively.

  Blade shrugged. “You know the Narcs.”

  “I don’t want the Narcs on my case.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Blade folded the forms again and took a step from the front desk.

  “Hold it,” the clerk stated.

  Blade looked back.

  “I can phone Mr. Barbish’s suite for you. If he consents, you can go up.”

  “That’s fair,” Blade said. “We’ll wait.”

  The desk clerk moved to a white telephone on the wall behind the desk.

  Hickok leaned toward Blade. “I don’t see why we didn’t just mosey upstairs and tend to Barbish.”

  “Take a look at the elevators,” Blade advised.

  Hickok glanced to the right at the row of four elevators. Three were set off by themselves and were being used by the general public. The fourth, though, isolated by itself in the corner, was distinguished by a large sign above it with the word PRIVATE, and by the pair of guards blocking the elevator door.

  “I want you to stay in the lobby,” Blade directed the gunman. “Keep your eyes on those guards. If an alarm sounds, take them out.”

  “Piece of cake,” Hickok pledged.

  The desk clerk returned to the counter. “You’re fortunate that Mr. Barbish is in and has consented to see you.” He pointed at the isolated elevator. “Take Mr. Barbish’s private elevator to the penthouse on the eighteenth floor.”

  “Thank you,” Blade said. He led Rikki through the crowded lobby to the far wall.

  The two guards straightened, their hands hovering near their belts.

  “You want something?” the burliest of the duo demanded.

  “Mr. Barbish wants to see us,” Blade replied. “The desk clerk said we can go up.”

  The guard glanced at the desk clerk, who nodded. “Okay. But the hardware stays here.”

  “We can’t take our weapons?”

  “Not if you want to see Mr. Barbish. No ones goes up armed. That’s
the rule. No exceptions,” the guard stated.

  Blade unslung the Paratrooper and leaned the automatic rifle in the corner. He hesitated before drawing his Bowies. “These had better be here when I come back down.”

  “No one is going to steal your hardware,” the guard assured him.

  “What do you think we’re standing here for? Our health?”

  Blade rested the Bowies on the carpeted floor.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi rested his katana and M-16 in the corner.

  The second guard pressed a button to the left of the elevator and the door hissed wide.

  Blade moved toward it.

  “Not so fast,” the burly guard said. “Leave the backpacks.”

  The two Warriors removed their backpacks and dropped them next to their weapons.

  “Anything else?” Blade asked impatiently.

  “I’ve got to frisk you.”

  Blade frowned.

  “Don’t blame me, buddy,” the guard said. “I’m just doing my job.” He stepped in close to the giant and expertly ran his hands over all potential spots where a weapon could be concealed. “You’re clean,” he declared.

  Rikki raised his arms from his sides.

  The guard frisked the martial artist. He was running his fingers around Rikki’s back when he froze. “What’s this on the back of your belt?”

  “My pouch.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “My kyoketsu-shogei, four shuriken, and a yawara.”

  “What? Show me?” The guard stepped back.

  Rikki opened the pouch and withdrew the weapons, holding them in his palms.

  “What the hell!” the burly guard declared. He picked up a metal star and inspected its sharp edges. “What’s this thing?”

  “A shuriken.”

  “What do you do with it?”

  “Throw it.”

  The guard snickered. “You use this dingy thing as a weapon? Give me a .357 any day!” He tapped a black round piece of metal an inch in diameter and six inches long. “And what’s this one?”

  “The yawara.”

  “What do you do? Poke people with it?”

  “Something like that.”

  His eyes narrowing, the guard inspected the last item, a doubled edged, five-inch knife attached to a length of cord with a metal ring at the end.

  “And what the hell is that?”

  “My kyoketsu-shogei.”