Legend in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  Shit, I thought, not liking the idea of splitting up.

  For half a second, I debated dropping back down and helping her. Then I spotted movement. The guy who’d climbed up to the roof appeared from the other side of the large AC unit. He said something that sounded like “all clear” into his radio, then froze when he saw me.

  Fortunately, I’d spotted him first and had my Sig locked on him before he could level his own weapon on me. I fired off two quick rounds, but with a level of agility I hadn’t expected, he managed to drop back out of view behind the metal box of groaning spinning fans.

  I took off. Moving as fast as I could with my Sig raised chest height, I ran straight for him. As I rounded the corner of the AC unit, I was welcomed by a blindingly fast snapping kick that lurched me sideways and knocked my Sig out of my hands. It rattled and tumbled to the edge of the roof as he hit me with a rapid punch to the side of my head.

  My head jerked sideways as the powerful blow shot pain through my skull. He came at me with another attack, this time a wide haymaker that I just managed to avoid.

  With my enemy off-balance, I hit him with a quick slide kick that sent him flying backward. His head hit the side of the AC unit, and his back hit the roof hard. But he managed to grab hold of me at the last moment, pull me down, and force his hands into a chokehold.

  I gripped him hard and spun my body, causing us both to roll toward the edge of the roof. I reached for my Sig, but he kicked it, sending it flying over the edge and out of view.

  He grabbed a Beretta from his waistband and grunted as he tried to put me in the barrel’s view. He fired off a few rounds that shook my eardrums and whizzed right passed me.

  I grabbed his wrist, forced it up, then slammed it down until the weapon fell free. Enraged and in pain, he punched me in the chest and tried a second time to strangle the life out of me. I retaliated by sticking my thumbs into his eyes, forcing them deep into the squishy corneas. He yelled maniacally and loosened his grip enough for me to jump to my feet. But he wasn’t out yet. He staggered to his feet as well, then let out a barbaric yell. He blinked a few times, fighting to see with his damaged eyes.

  He came at me again, but this time I slid my dive knife from its sheath and stabbed it into the center of his chest. His yelling turned to gasps, and he stopped, then took a few slow steps back with my knife still sticking out.

  Forcing his bleeding eyes to work, he yelled out again, then reached for the knife’s handle. I lunged at him and hit him with a powerful front kick. My right heel slammed into the handle just as he wrapped his fingers around it, burying the sharp titanium blade even deeper in his chest.

  The force of the blow caused his body to fall back and tumble off the roof. His yelling continued as his body free-fell the thirty feet down, then stopped in an instant as he hit the grass with a loud thud.

  Holy shit.

  I’d fought tough, trained, hardened men before. That guy was right there with the best of them, and I knew at that moment that this Albanian mafia wasn’t messing around. They wanted Walt, they wanted the diamond, and they wanted us dead. And judging by the way the guy had carried himself, they usually got what they wanted.

  My mind shifted instantly to Ange and the guy she’d gone off to engage at the back of the house. I spun around to look for the guy’s dropped Beretta and was taken aback by what I saw.

  The tall, muscular woman we’d seen earlier was just thirty feet away from me at the center of the roof. She was standing stoically, eyeing me up and down.

  “You are a good fighter,” she said in a strong Albanian accent. “It is a shame you have chosen to fight for the wrong side.”

  She slowly raised a revolver with her right hand. I only had a fraction of a second to make a move. Any kind of move.

  My Sig was long gone, but the guy I’d just impaled had dropped his Beretta less than ten feet from me, where it rested with part of its barrel sticking out over the edge of the roof.

  I dove for it but lost my footing on the wet metal roof and slipped. Instead of going for the gun, I rolled to my side and fell over the edge of the roof just as the woman sent a bullet my way. It slammed into the metal, shooting up a spark as I fell to the ground.

  I landed about as athletically as could be expected given the circumstances, doing my best to roll and ease the downward momentum. My hip hit hard and caused me to grunt, but I got off easy. A broken or sprained ankle or a cracked bone would’ve been understandable given the height of the unplanned fall.

  I quickly got my bearings and scanned for my Sig, which I knew had fallen somewhere close by. It was nowhere in sight, however. The only thing I could see in the darkness was the dead guy right beside me.

  Suddenly, I heard sounds coming from up on the roof—a few gunshots, followed by a struggle. It was Ange. She’d engaged the mysterious woman, and my every instinct pleaded for me to do something. Anything to help her.

  I lunged over to the dead guy and ripped my knife from his bloodied chest. It was at that moment that the fourth and final guy decided to make his appearance. Having gone to the far side of the compound, he was now moving tactically around from Hemingway’s writing studio beside the pool to join the party.

  Without thinking and with no other option of engaging him from such a distance, I reared my knife back, lunged forward, and fired it through the air. This time my aim wasn’t as good as earlier with the shard of concrete. Instead of striking him through the heart, I barely managed to slice a gash in his left shoulder.

  It wasn’t a neutralizing blow, but it allowed me to distract him long enough to sprint straight over and close the distance between us. While he winced in pain and pulled the knife free, I dove at him, tackling him hard and sending us both flying into Hemingway’s swimming pool.

  We splashed and grappled for a few seconds, clawing at each other in a frenzy of bubbles and muffled voices as we sank to the bottom. He jabbed me with an elbow to my forehead while I struggled for a better grip to try and choke him out.

  We were at the shallow end, and we managed to break through the surface of the five-foot-deep water and take quick gasps of air before going back at it. I managed to take intermittent blurry glances through the palm trees at the fistfight that Ange and the mysterious woman were engaged in.

  Wanting to put my enemy down and help her as fast as I could, I punched him in the nose, then twisted him around and grabbed hold of him forcefully from behind. Splashing us both down to the bottom, I kicked as hard as I could, propelling us toward the deep end. It was clear from the fight that I was far more comfortable in the water than he was, so I knew I could take him easily in deeper water.

  He managed to strike me a few more times before I pinned us both to the bottom, holding him tight and waiting him out. It wasn’t long before his desperately struggling body went limp in my arms. I waited a few more seconds, just to be sure, then checked him over. He was gone.

  Letting go of him, I kicked for the edge of the pool. In one quick motion, I surfaced and jumped out of the water while taking in a much-needed lungful of air.

  I made a break straight for the guy’s Beretta at the edge of the pool. Grabbing it, I took aim toward the roof of the house.

  Ange and the woman were still engaged in a brutal fistfight, each blocking and barely avoiding strike after strike.

  In the heat of the moment, the woman managed to grab Ange from behind. Her eyes diverted to mine for a moment, then grew wide. Holding Ange as a human shield, she whispered something to her, then threw her to the roof and disappeared from view.

  I ran across the grounds, sprinting around the house in the direction she’d vanished. I heard only a distant shuffling of palm fronds and then utter silence.

  “Ange, are you alright?” I asked, redirecting my attention up toward the roof.

  “You see where she went?” Ange said, leaning over the edge.

  I let out a sigh of relief upon seeing that she appeared unscathed and shook my head.

  �
�No,” I replied. I spent a few seconds catching my breath from the ordeal and added, “Who the hell was that girl?”

  “That was no girl,” she replied. “That was a beast.”

  She climbed down to the second story, motioned for me to get into position, then leapt like Buttercup into Fezzik’s arms at the end of The Princess Bride. I caught her, though not with as much ease as the giant. After a quick kiss, I let her down to her feet softly.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Imagine if Rhonda Rousey and the Undertaker had a daughter. Then pump her full of steroids and teach her martial arts.”

  I laughed, and she pushed me into the light of the moon, then examined my face.

  “Jeez, babe,” she said. “Are you alright?”

  “Those guys weren’t amateurs,” I said. “Had to bring my A-game and still took more than a few hits. I’ve also had much better landings.”

  “Should we go after her?”

  I stared at the dark edge of the compound for a few seconds, then turned to face her.

  “I think she’s long gone.” I motioned toward the road. “Come on. Let’s call Jack and get him to pick us up someplace downtown.”

  I slid my phone from my pocket and dialed his number. Without a single ring, the robotic woman’s voice came over the line, letting me know that the number wasn’t available.

  “What is it?” Ange said, seeing the blank expression on my face.

  “Jack’s phone’s off,” I said.

  Her face matched mine. It was strange for Jack not to answer and even stranger for him to turn off his phone, especially given our present circumstances.

  Ange’s face went from blank to worried in an instant.

  “You don’t think…?” she said.

  Maybe. Maybe there’s more than one group of bad guys cruising downtown tonight.

  “Come on,” I said, raising my voice. “Let’s go!”

  I holstered my Sig and took off in a run with Ange right beside me.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Jack wasted no time climbing into the driver’s seat and starting up the Tacoma’s six-cylinder engine. Shifting to drive, he U-turned and accelerated over the bumpy pile of concrete tossed aside during their dig, thundering onto a small patch of grass. Weaving in and out of trees, he looked ahead at a long white fence that blocked the way in front of them. There was no opening, so he was forced to make one.

  “Hold on,” he said as he accelerated and crashed through the fence posts, sending cracked pieces of wood flying around them.

  He reached a small parking lot on the other side and cut a sharp left. Rumbling through the exit, he turned right onto Truman Avenue, then onto Thomas Street, heading northwest.

  The streets were electric. Music played on every corner, and the sidewalks grew more and more busy with foot traffic the farther they drove downtown. They had to stop for a group of shirtless Spartan warriors as they crossed the street while engaged in a plastic sword battle. A group of women wearing nothing but paint followed beside them.

  The three guys kept a sharp eye out for danger. Jack had watched the fight break out through his rearview mirror. He was pretty sure that Logan and Ange had been successful at drawing the SUV’s attention away from them, allowing them to make an escape with the chest.

  Jack glanced back and saw the artifact they’d dug up clutched in Walt’s hands. Pete sat in the passenger seat beside him. He had the window rolled down and was looking back, making sure that they weren’t being followed.

  “We should go back and help them,” Walt said, shaking his head.

  “Logan told us to split up,” Pete said. “So that’s what we’re gonna do.”

  After a few blocks, Jack turned to Pete and asked, “Where should we go?”

  He thought it over for a moment. “Let’s head over to the restaurant. I want to be relatively close so we can swing back and pick them up.”

  “I’m not sure you two understand how dangerous these mafia guys are,” Walt said. “That woman we heard is their leader. These aren’t the bottom of the barrel like the others were. They’ll need all the help they can get. Trust me.”

  “Walt, you don’t know them like we do,” Jack said. “Even if there are ten bad guys crammed into that vehicle, it’s still an unfair fight.”

  A woman wearing a skimpy bikini and a vibrant orange feathered headpiece walked in front of them. They looked past her at the oncoming traffic across the intersection.

  “Holy crap,” Pete said.

  “What?” Jack said, looking to his right.

  He didn’t have to wait for a reply to see what was wrong. A black SUV, identical to the one they’d seen earlier, was flying with reckless abandon straight toward them.

  “More of your old friends, Wally?” Pete said.

  Jack watched as the crowds of people scrambled to barely get out of the way as the SUV roared toward them. They yelled and cursed for the big vehicle to slow down, but the driver was on a mission. A mission to kill them and take the chest.

  Jack didn’t hesitate. He floored the Tacoma, causing the tires to screech and generate smoke as he jerked the wheel hard to the left. Once the treads gained traction, they accelerated down Southard Street. He just managed to avoid being struck by the incoming SUV, their grille just a few feet away from hitting the Tacoma’s tailgate.

  Southard quickly ended at a roundabout beside Truman Waterfront Park. Hitting the wide turn as fast as he could, Jack nearly brought the inner tires off the ground as he whirled them around and swiftly stabilized the truck onto Angela Street, heading south along the waterfront.

  There were much fewer cars and pedestrians, so Jack was able to accelerate them to up over seventy miles per hour on the long straightaway. Glancing at his rearview mirror, he saw that his pursuers were still right behind them, breathing down their necks.

  “What’s the plan here, Ruby?” Walt said.

  Jack’s mind was running wild. They were flying down the dark waterfront street, but the SUV was still getting closer and closer with each passing second.

  He reached to his waist and pulled his compact Desert Eagle from its concealed holster. Setting it on the front of the center console, he turned over at Pete.

  “You got your—”

  “Of course,” he said, grabbing his silver Taurus Raging Bull .44 Magnum revolver from his waistband. He glanced back at their pursuers and added, “But something tells me these guys have probably got us outgunned.”

  Pete was right. These were hardened mafia criminals on their tail. Walt was the only one who’d dealt with them before, and he’d warned them of just how dangerous they were.

  Jack’s heart pounded in his chest. He needed a plan. He needed to do something.

  We can’t beat them in a gunfight, he thought. But what if we…

  With the end of the road drawing near, something caught his eye far out over to the water to his right. It was the long stretch of the Fort Zachary Cruise Pier. The only cruise ship currently in town was tied off over near Mallory Square, leaving the one beside them empty and dark. He’d just barely noticed it due to the silver glow of moonlight.

  With the road seconds away from ending in front of him, he eased off the gas and turned the wheel to the right.

  “What the hell are you—” Pete managed to say before Jack drove right through a metal gate and a sign that said No Motor Vehicles Beyond This Point.

  The truck shuddered as the chain broke free, and the thick bars of the gate burst open. He spun a hard right and hit the gas again, and moments later there was nothing but water on both sides of them.

  “What’s gotten into that crazy conch head of yours?” Walt said from the backseat.

  Jack pressed the pedal harder, accelerating them up over eighty and making the dark world around them into little more than a blur.

  As he approached the end of the quarter-mile-long pier, he eased off the gas pedal. Just enough for the SUV to move right up on them.

  “You know the road end
s up here, boyo!” Pete said.

  His confidence in his friend’s decision-making skills was waning beyond belief. He was either insane or suicidal.

  “Just hold on!” Jack said, keeping his eyes focused ahead of him.

  When the end was less than a few hundred feet in front of them, he switched off the headlights, braked, and spun the wheel hard to the right. Their bodies lurched sideways with the sudden change of direction. A chorus of screeching tires rang out as the truck skidded sideways, struggling to complete the turn.

  As Jack had hoped, the pursuing vehicle’s driver was paying too much attention to their quarry and not enough attention to his surroundings.

  The SUV was moving too fast to stop. It thundered toward the edge, the front tires turning but failing to successfully redirect the vehicle’s momentum to keep them from going over. The front bumper of the big SUV managed to clip the Tacoma’s tailgate just before it flew over the edge and splashed far out into the dark water below.

  Jack tried to keep the wheel steady as the Tacoma spun frantically out of control. His right foot still had the brake pedal glued to the floor. In a chaotic blur of activity, the truck slid slowly toward the edge, causing the back right tire to jut out over nothing but air.

  Jack looked at his wide-eyed friends. For a moment, he thought it was over. That the truck would stay in place, and they’d make it out dry and unscathed. Then he felt an uncomfortable shudder, followed by a groaning chassis.

  It had been a battle between the truck’s balance and gravity. Gravity won. The truck suddenly began to slide. The three of them were barely able to make a sound, let alone speak as they quickly accelerated backward and down. Once over the edge, the truck immediately flipped over, spinning and free-falling toward the water.

  They yelled out and braced themselves. The truck hit the water on its side with a big splash that tossed the guys inside around more than a jerky old roller coaster. Water shattered the windows and flowed in rapidly. Within seconds, the interior was filled with seawater, and they started to sink.