“Chance?”
“We have a rare window of advantage. They don’t know where we are, but I know where they are.”
“Where?”
“In your room. The guy got the number from the mail slot in the office when he dropped off the ring. And I’m positive we left the curtains open.”
“Oh my God! They’re here?” said Spooge. “In our room!”
A group freak-out. “We should definitely split!…”
“I’m calling my parents!…”
“No!” snapped Serge. “Stop pissing yourselves. If one of you really is the target, the first thing they’ll do is watch relatives’ houses and tap their phones.”
“But they’re not cops. How do they get inside to tap?”
“They can do it across the street in a car. Parabolic receivers pick up portable phones and now even hardwired landlines. Back in the eighties, Miami had a counter-surveillance store on every block.” Serge hopped down from the ledge. “Until I find out what we’re dealing with, nobody makes any outside contact.”
“What about the police?”
“Especially the police,“ said Serge.”Coleman and I do a lot of pawning, and I have a pretty good idea how they found that ring.”
“How?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“If you want us to trust you…,” said Spooge.
“Okay,” said Serge, and he told them.
“Dear Jesus,” said Doogie. “The police are in on it?”
“Only takes one,” said Serge.
“Where do we go in the meantime?”
“I’ll get you registered into this place.” Serge headed back toward the resort. “Then I have some business.”
The Challenger sat behind a liquor store three blocks up A1A from the Dunes.
Serge whistled merrily up the sidewalk, climbed stairs and walked along a second-story landing. Eyes peeked from a curtain slit as he passed room 24. He stuck a key in the next door.
City and Country were kicking back with a bong and HBO.
“There you are!”
“We thought you ditched us again!”
Serge went straight for the door to the adjoining room and quietly locked it. He pressed his right ear to the wood.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“We have a problem,” said Serge.
Country blew City a shotgun. “You’re the one with a problem.”
“This isn’t a joke. I need a favor.”
“What’s happening?”
He told them, play by play. “… They’re in twenty-four right now, but they don’t know we have the adjoining room. I can’t do this without you.”
“Bullshit on that,” said City.
“Double bullshit,” said Country. “We got enough trouble as it is.”
“But these kids are sheep,” said Serge. “They don’t stand a chance.”
The pair stared and stewed. Finally, City snatched the bong and lighter. “You bastard.”
“That means you’ll help?”
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
Randall Sheets saw his future disintegrating.
“Turn the other way,” said Agent Ramirez, sitting with him in the back of a speeding sedan.
The agent twisted a tiny key; cuffs popped loose.
Randall rubbed his wrists. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“Better than if we didn’t show up.”
Waves of panic were so strong, Randall felt himself drowning. Then it came from nowhere, an eruption of sobs and babbling. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know what to do. My wife. The bills. These guys. The briefcase. I’m so sorry!…”
Ramirez gave him a handkerchief. “We know about your wife.”
Randall blew his nose. “You do?”
Ramirez continued facing forward. “So did they. You got played. It’s how they operate. You never had a choice.”
“I didn’t. What would you have done?”
“Same thing. But that’s behind you.”
“It is?”
“You’re going to testify before the grand jury.”
“Not a chance. They’ll kill me for sure.”
“There’s a duffel bag waiting for you in Bimini,” said Ramirez.
“You know about that, too?”
“Weighs the same as the others with coke.”
“Not coke?”
“Bomb.”
“Doesn’t make sense. I’ve got a perfect delivery record, making them a fortune.”
“They change pilots every six months. And not by mutual agreement. That’s why we had to take you in now.”
Randall’s face fell in his hands. “How long have you known?”
“Two days. Finally got an informant, someone on their inside. Been trying to get a pilot for years but, well, you’re the first.”
“Oh my God!” Randall just remembered. “My family!”
“All taken care of. Picked up your wife and son an hour ago.”
That’s what mattered most to Randall, the next less so: “How much prison am I looking at?”
“None. You testify, we put you in the witness program.”
“Where?”
“Won’t be as warm as here.”
“How long do I have to stay?”
“You don’t understand.” Ramirez gazed out the window as a DC-10 touched down at West Palm International. “These people never forget.”
THE PRESENT, MIDNIGHT
Pop.
Country uncapped a wine bottle in the backseat. “Nobody’s left the room for hours. Maybe they’re not there.”
“They’re still there, all right.” Serge leaned toward the windshield of the Challenger, strategically parked face-out in an alley with a full view of the Dunes. “They don’t want to open the door and give away their ambush position in case the kids are on their way back.”
“So why are we waiting over here?”
“Everyone eventually gets hungry.”
Another hour.
“Now I’m hungry,“ said City, stubbing out a roach.”Me, too,” said Country.
“So is someone else.” Serge looked up at the second floor, where a man had quickly slipped out the door of room 24, then pretended he hadn’t. He leaned nonchalantly against the landing’s rail, scanning the parking lot and street. All clear. Cowboy boots trotted down stairs.
The Challenger rolled out of the alley without headlights.
Boots clacked across the street and up the opposite sidewalk.
“You were right,” said Country. “He’s heading for Taco Bell.”
“I’d kill for a taco right now,” said City.
Serge pulled along the curb. “You’re going to get your wish.”
Pedro’s arms were weighed down with bags of grande meals when he finally came out the restaurant’s side door.
A distressed female voice: “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” said City. “We might have to ask a stranger.”
“But that’s dangerous.”
“Excuse me.” Pedro politely bowed his head. “Couldn’t help but overhear. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Flat tire,” said Country, reaching in one of his bags for a taco.
“But the lug nuts are too tight.” City reached in another bag. “We’re not strong enough.”
Pedro puffed out his chest. “You beautiful ladies shouldn’t have to change a tire. Especially at night.”
“You’ll help us?” said Country.
“You’d really do something that nice?” said City.
“Of course Pedro will help you. Where’s your car?”
“Right around the corner. Just follow us.”
He did.
They turned the corner.
Pedro dropped his tacos. “Who’s that guy?”
“Oh,” said Country. “You mean the one with the gun?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
Belle Glade sits near the middle of the state, on the southeast shore of Lake Okeechobee. The horizon low and flat. Cane elds forever. Plumes of dark smoke rose in various directions, some from intentional burns of harvested fields, others out the stacks of sugar-processing plants. Below the town was a prison camp. A yellow crop duster swooped, the one that terrorists with rashes on their hands had tried to hire. To the north, an uninviting, single-row motel with a leaking tar roof on the side of Route 715. Scraggly bushes, termite damage, a cracked office window fixed with masking tape.