by Andrew Allan
“This where you’re staying?”
No answer meant it was. And something I’d learned all too well was where there’s one Kith, there are plenty more.
Blondie coughed.
I stared at the hotel, at the windows near the top. The expensive suites. Somehow, I knew Razook was in there.
I took the gun and the room key.
Here I come, you bastard.
61
I LEFT BLONDIE back in the car, bloody and choking on his rage. He was too cut up to move much. I tossed his car keys into a sewer half a mile up the road.
The Del Sol Hotel stood tall across the street. A pair of fifties-style motor lodges that had way more charm flanked it. They were evidence of a time gone by. Made me wonder how insignificant this in-the-moment mayhem would seem years from now. That depended on what happened today.
I crossed the street and walked past a quadriplex on stilts. Sandy beach ephemera was scattered about. Beach towels that had been drying over porch railings dripped.
The Del Sol tennis courts were empty, despite their lovely view of the beach. I kicked an abandoned tennis ball into the net then hopped the low, chain-link fence.
A winding, well-manicured paver path led up to the hotel tower. To my right was a vast and empty parking lot. To my left was a pool overlooking the ocean. The waves were green and choppy, creaming against the shore as birds coasted on the wind.
I stopped.
A man strolled onto the wood deck near the tiki bar. Tall, confident, and wearing the Kith uniform. I stepped behind a pair of arcing palm trees and watched him watch the sea. Couldn’t tell if he was security or an attendant waiting to show the important people every courtesy. Either way, he was a good sign that the people I was looking for would show up here.
Had Stokely told Ilsa what was happening? Did she and DG know I had been released? Were they cursing my name and summoning misfortune?
What’s the plan, Walt?
Razook, I had to presume, was in the building or would be. If so, he’d have the nicest suite. That meant top of the tower. There’d only be so many ways to get up there. And, there’d be plenty of people in the way.
I had a kakute ring and a pistol. Perhaps misfortune had already arrived.
Another man strolled out of the lobby. Kith guard, fo sho. He spoke to the other man. I couldn’t hear their discussion.
How to enter?
The lobby would never work. Even with a disguise, which I didn’t have. I couldn’t just play tourist and stroll in. The whole joint looked tourist-free.
Service entrance? It would be occupied with hotel staff. Even though the tourists were gone, someone still had to feed the team.
I peered up at the tower. On all sides, and starting three stories up, it featured rooms with balconies. A black, chunky stone facade separated each balcony. Every guest had a view.
And, one of those views could be accessed via wind-swept palm tree, about twenty-five feet straight up.
I searched for a ladder, something tall, anything to get me up there. No dice. The only thing taller than me was a patio table umbrella. Could I hook it? No.
A noise behind me. I ducked. But, my hand—the kakute—caught on the tree. The blades had dug into the wood with little effort. I had to lift my hand upward to pull the prongs out. I crouched in the bushes and waited. Held my breath. Irritated. This would be a lousy way to get caught.
A housekeeper pushed a cleaning bin along the pebble-pocked sidewalk. She appeared to be Haitian, humming to herself, her mind elsewhere. She never saw me. Just kept walking.
I pocketed the pistol and climbed the tree. The kakute would work, like a claw on the inside of my hand. I used it to climb and keep from falling while I inched my body up the tree trunk. It was a slow process. I felt exposed, with altitude as my only cover. But, the balcony was close.
I stretched my leg, released the kakute from the tree, and grabbed the railing.
A gust of wind almost blew me loose.
I held tight.
The wind dissipated.
I released the tree and swung over the balcony rail.
Shit.
The gun dropped out of my pocket and landed in a planter. I wasn’t about to climb back down to get it.
The balcony was adorned with sandy beach towels, flip-flops, and damp bathing suits, male and female. The room was not vacant. The sliding glass door was cracked open.
I peeked into the window—no one in sight. I slid the door open just enough to slip inside. The air conditioner was cranked.
A light was on in the bathroom. No water running. No sound. Did I have the room to myself?
No.
A woman, she looked Eastern European, was lying in the tub, red lacerations striping her naked body. Her hands were tied. She had the mark of the Kith branded into her shoulder, just like all the other captives I’d seen. Monsters.
Instinct took over.
I rushed to help her. I stuck my hand under her nose; she was breathing. Limp bodies are tough to move. But, I was able to get her into the bed and under the sheets. She’d been worked over so much bruises wrapped 360-degrees around her torso, onto her arms, legs, and face.
It respired my hate. Where was the creep who did it?
I searched the room. A Tumi suitcase spoke to quality and wealth. Wasn’t expecting women’s clothing to be inside it. Did it belong to the girl on the bed? No. My little insight into women’s fashion told me she was well below a size twelve. Had a woman beaten her?
The suitcase meant that someone would return to the room. I hurried to the door and attached the chain lock. The “please do not disturb” sign was missing from the inside doorknob. Way to cover your tracks, sicko.
I looked over at the sleeping woman. Even unconscious, trauma twitched muscles in her face.
Change by the bedside, a scratch pad and pen. I held it to the light. No depressions from previous notes. Not a clue.
Back in the bathroom. A makeup bag and the expected toiletries. Back in the bedroom, I spotted another suitcase I hadn’t seen earlier. It was loaded with ropes and restraints, and an array of sadist’s delights. I thumbed prongs on the kakute and imagined hateful ways of exacting revenge.
Beyond that, there were no clues. None were required. I just needed to get Razook before these goofballs blew up that bridge. The fuck was that about?
It was enough to warrant a call to Stokely. I picked up the phone but didn’t dial.
No doubt I owed Stokely an update. But, what could he do about it? I hadn’t secured much proof. Had I been overestimating my success?
Yes, construction was in progress on DeSoto Beach. The Kith and the Governor, would play it off like hurricane repairs. But, add the resort plans to it, which Stokely had…and there was some kind of a connection forming.
Here, in this tower, a swarm of Kith was poised to strike. Conspiracy in motion. Were they not proof enough? Given their penchant for brutality, I was willing to bet every suite in this building was a crime scene. Wouldn’t that be enough to hurt their plans? Even temporarily? Disruption might shut the window on their land swindle.
“Where you calling from?” said Stokely.
“I’m surprised caller ID didn’t show up,” I said.
“It did. Are you really that close?”
“Yes.”
“They’re going nuts here looking for you.”
“I bet. They won’t have to look much longer.”
“Why? What’s going down?”
After getting the facts straight in my head, I told him what I had learned, including about the bridge.
His response was slow.
Was he pleased?
Were the leads promising?
Had it been worth letting me escape?
“You got something,” he said.
“Enough to risk your career further? And, expose our theory?”
“You just get us someone we can talk to. I wouldn’t mind speaking to Winton.”
“
If I can find him, I’ll give you the guy who actually pulled the trigger in Tallahassee,” I said.
“I’m coming now.”
“Good,” I said. “Make a big commotion. They have nowhere to go.”
62
DING.
Top floor.
Blondie’s key granted access.
The elevator doors parted and presented a lavish new world, with smart wood flooring, elevated design aesthetic, and a pair of armed gentlemen standing just outside the elevator, each holding an AR-15.
“Hi. Here to see Razook.”
They sized me up and didn’t look impressed.
“ID?”
“I’m a guest.”
One looked to the other. The other checked a list on his smart watch. “Name?”
“Walt Asher.”
It was a beautiful thing. They knew the name and had that same star struck look when you see a celebrity in public but aren’t really sure if that really is the guy. What do you say? What do you do? They recovered quickly, and instead of asking for a picture, they pointed their guns at me.
“Step out of the elevator.”
They frisked me and marched me down the hall to another guard stationed outside the double doors to a suite. My escorts told the guard who I was. Celebrity surprise struck him, too. But then, his cold, tight expression returned. He gave a curt nod, pivoted on the balls of his feet, and slipped behind the suite doors.
As we stood there, I realized I had just stepped over the point of no return. The Kith had me. They were likely to kill me, plain and simple.
The doors swung open. I was shoved inside and pushed into a chair that had more style than comfort.
A scan of the room revealed what you’d expect—high-end hotel furniture, a sitting area, a dining area, and a counter packed with snacks and drinks, water bottles and liquors. A double door at the far end of the room led, I presumed, to the bedroom. It was guarded by a man whose size was enough to obscure most of the door. I took him to be Samoan.
“Can I get a water?” I said to one of the goons.
I almost felt in my element. No more worrying or wondering. It was all happening, all action.
None of the guards fetched me water.
“I can’t say I’m surprised to see you.”
I heard Razook before I saw him walk out from behind the bedroom doors. He closed the door behind him. I took it as a discretionary move for the courtesy of his conquest back on the bed. I was grateful his next move was to tie his monogrammed robe shut.
“Good for you,” I said.
Razook took the seat in front of me. The jerk I’d asked for a water brought one to Razook without him even having to ask. Maybe this Kith business wasn’t overrated. Problem was, I had a conscious.
“Your tenacity was expected. Your survival, uncertain. If not doubtful. But, for you to hand yourself right over, that is a shock.”
“Surprise,” I said.
Just seeing Razook made me rethink Ilsa’s no killing rule.
“I hope you’re not expecting another invitation to join us. Not after you reneged on our deal in Tallahassee.”
“Right. No, I’m not here for an invitation,” I said.
“Then why show up? You didn’t really think you’d stop us, did you? Forget how you found out we were here. I’ll have an organizational autopsy done to find out who buckled.”
“Go easy on them. They didn’t want to do any of the things I made them do. Just like with your little slaves.”
Thumb, forefinger, bang bang, right at me. “Points for that one,” he said. He leaned in. “Still, coming here was nothing short of suicidal, no matter what you hoped to accomplish.”
“I didn’t arrive expecting to die.”
“It’s that or I hand you over to the authorities. I’m not sure which would be more satisfying.”
“Probably killing me. Because I’ve brought the authorities. Although you wouldn’t want to kill me with them so close.”
I thumbed to the window. He looked that way, then rose and walked over and took in the view.
“You son of a bitch.” He turned from the window…smiling.
“That a compliment? I expected you to be less pleased.”
Razook laughed.
My heart sank.
He walked back over to me. “You bringing the police is adorable. Actually, I am impressed. You’re the most wanted man in Florida, maybe the South, possibly the country. And, you got them to show up on your behalf?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. This wasn’t at all how I imagined it happening.
“So, it was a suicide mission, wasn’t it?”
I wanted to jump up and tackle him. But, the seat was unnaturally low. It would take too long and the guards were too close.
Razook glowed, “Tell them where you are while making sure you’re with me. That way, they’d have to ask what was going on, you could tell them everything and expose us, right?”
“Well, I hadn’t looked at it like that. More like, they believe my story and I gave them enough proof to warrant an investigation.”
He stopped pacing.
“Oh, that is surprising. You were able to get proof over the last few days? I’ve been hearing your name pop up all over the state. At my house, at Winton’s.…”
I nodded. “Only small things like blue prints, files on Tompkins and Gertz, crime scene specifics from the Governor’s mansion. Few other things.”
Razook’s inner light seemed to dim.
“You’re too late. The resort, as you call it, is already happening. The land is ours.”
“Wrong line. This is where you’re supposed to say I’m a more formidable foe than you’d anticipated,” I said.
“True,” he said. “But, now is no time to get cocky,” he said.
He squared up to me, hands tucked in his robe pockets. “I don’t think the police are as reliable as you hoped.”
“How so?”
“You already know what kind of influence I hold over them.”
“Some, not all.”
“One good cop, huh?”
“I’m sure there are others.”
“Probably. But, I doubt they’ll be outside.” He gave a gesture to the big Samoan. With a nod, the Samoan opened the door to the bedroom.
A chick sleeping in his bed. Okay.
What’s that? Some guy on the floor. Hands tied. Razook kink.
The girl stirred on the bed.
Wait.
Is that?
Hell wasn’t adorned with fire. It was covered in white linen sheets, down comforters, and the image of my wife in the bed of my enemy.
“Ilsa!”
I leapt up. The guards grabbed me. I flailed like a toddler in full meltdown. They held me tight.
Ilsa was tied to the bed, naked, beaten, cut, and nearly demolished.
“You fu—.”
Razook laughed. “Open the door wider, Mando.”
Mando the Samoan obliged. The bound man on the floor was DG.
Stung again.
“On the off chance you live to hear about it, your good buddy over there can share all the details.”
I was numb. Words didn’t exist. Only hate. Only rage. Only terror.
A voice said something. I didn’t catch it. There was ringing in my ears. It was all surreal as a Dali painting, only here the melting clock seemed to be strangling me.
“Don’t worry, she’s alive. And, every bit as attractive as I had heard. Through the grapevine, that is.”
I snapped clear.
“What did you say?” I said to Razook.
“I said—,”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
“We’ve poked the tiger too hard. I’d hate for you to get mad and try to do something about it. Right, Von?”
“Right, sir.”
Von, the Assassin, walked into view. He looked proud to be there. Proud as ever to be Kith despite any doubt I’d tried to plant in his mind.
He held up a
n iron bar. It was twisted at the end. It was a brand in the shape of the Kith icon. The same design I’d already seen stamped into melted skin.
A goon sparked a blowtorch. He held it to the brand. The brand glowed orange-red.
Von held out the torch.
Razook accepted it with a smile. He strolled into the bedroom. A swing of the brand. The hot glow left eye trails even in the daylight.
Razook yanked the sheet off Ilsa. Red marks ran from her shoulders to her feet. Red splotches on the sheets.
Razook spun the brand. He dangled it close. “How confident do you feel now, Walt?”
No confidence whatsoever.
Razook lowered the brand. Close enough for the glow to orange Ilsa’s skin. “She’ll be very popular at the new resort. All members get a turn.”
When you’re pushed over the edge like that…when your world crumbles with the swing of a door…when you know all is ending…it’s not a feeling. It’s a certainty. And, that certainty throws a switch inside your mind, where you feel the inevitability of loss sizzling and slicing through your veins, where all decisions are made for you. You become fearless.
When I didn’t respond right away, Razook said, “What, no last-minute pitch?”
I shook my head.
I said, “Look. I know I’m just an infomercial writer. And, you’re a supremely enlightened guru. But, you don’t need to hurt them.”
“Hurting them hurts you.”
“But, it makes you look weak.”
Razook shrugged. “An indulgence. I want you to die knowing that because you failed, your loved ones will be subject to years of agonizing punishment.”
I tried to project cool and calm. But, I felt annihilated inside.
“You certainly have the freedom to do that,” I said.
“Now, you’re getting it.”
“But…what about my maximum freedom?”
“Excuse me?”
“I dig killing your guys. I groove on burning your buildings. I get off on tormenting you. Aren’t you supposed to allow me that indulgence? Isn’t that what you preach?”
“Members only.”
“So, if I was a member could I continue to torture you?”
“Hardly.”
Von said, “We should be leaving.” He tapped his watch.
“What if I wanted to disembowel Von? You’d allow that, right?”