At first sight, nothing seemed out of place. His stuff was just as he’d left it in the living room. The TV was off, so was the lamp. There was a sweater on the floor next to his recliner, that was normal.
Then he saw it.
In the kitchen, the range had been dragged forward about a foot and a half.
“Christ…”
Gripped by fury, he jumped back to the other balcony, the 60-foot potential drop barely registering. He went back into Esther’s apartment and she was sporting a bewildered look.
“What’s going on, Gene?”
He grabbed his jacket which he’d left behind and put it on.
“I’m leaving right now and you’re coming with me.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not safe here,” he barked. “My apartment’s about to blow up. And I need you to drive me.”
Explosion-by-natural-gas was always a nifty assassination method. It was messy, did a great deal of collateral damage, but it was effective. He figured the door had been rigged with an ignition mechanism and the second he would have entered his apartment the whole floor would have blown up. He gathered all his notes and evidence and stuffed everything into his red gym bag.
Esther was shaking her head. “I can’t leave, the election is tomorrow. I’ve got too much work to do.”
Spicer stopped and faced her.
“Look, my best friend just got killed because of what I involved him in. How long until they do the same to you? You stay with me, you improve your odds.”
“By how much?”
“Ten to one. Bring an overnight bag. We’ll buy whatever else we need.”
He went back to his bag to finish packing up.
Esther was at the wheel of her Audi and she left the parking garage like a racecar driver, clearing the bump and merging into traffic in one fell swoop. Spicer waited two blocks before raising himself from his concealed position down on the floorboards. He’d figured it someone was watching the building he was clear by now.
He allowed himself to breathe easier when they got onto the southbound 395 which was thankfully pretty much against traffic. He wasn’t exactly relaxed but he figured he had 10 hours before anyone tried to kill him again.
“That’s a nice car,” he said. “It’ll come in handy if we need to sell it.”
That concerned her. “We’re not gonna be using my credit cards, are we?”
“You wouldn’t want to get me assassinated, would you?” He chuckled at her sudden fright. “We’ll try to get by with cash only, as much as we can anyway. It won’t be long before they realize you’re with me and they’ll use the credit cards to track us. We’ll try to avoid that.”
She nodded with rule. Meanwhile, he lowered his seat and reclined into it.
“When we hit I-95, call the building super and tell him to turn off the gas ‘cause there’s a leak in 708. Wake me up in three hours and I’ll drive.”
She agreed to do it and cranked up the speed to 75.
Chapter 23
The sun was starting to go down and Spicer was driving. The long ride and the lack of sleep should have made him drowsy but the South Florida surroundings gave him his second wind. He’d lived here for over a decade when he wasn’t on missions and he found that he missed it dearly.
Esther was sipping a giant soda and the car was littered with empty burger wrappers. Humming softly to the music coming from the satellite radio, she cleaned up, wadding the trash in a brown McDonald’s bag.
She glanced at him sideways before turning back to staring at the road. She hesitated and looked at him again, this time longer. It wasn’t lost on Spicer.
“What is it?”
“You scared me last night,” she said.
“I know.”
“I… I’ve never met anybody who’s killed before.”
“Trust me, it’s not on my resume.”
“Are you really done with it?”
Spicer didn’t dither. “I will never ever kill again, Esther. That’s why I’m doing this. Nobody should ever have to do this. I promise you.”
She extended her hand over to him across the seat and he took hold of it. They smiled to each other and he hoped it wouldn’t be the last time.
With what was lying ahead, there was no guarantee.
The Salvador Sea Hotel was busy. It wasn’t the trendiest spot on South Beach — its heyday was behind it, way behind — but it boasted a lush poolside area and live music every night. This, combined with the inescapable Art Deco influence, made tourists flock from nearby hotels.
The band was on a cramped stage on the far side of the pool and they played bad reggae music. Even Spicer knew it was bad and he knew nothing about music. Still, steel drums and a mellow vibe were enough for the crowd in attendance. With warm humid air and exotic cocktails, everyone was dancing.
Esther and Spicer were at the bar, sitting sideways so they could keep an eye on everybody else. She was nursing a terrible soda fountain Coke which tasted like bleach while for his part he was holding a Blue Hawaii, complete with tiny umbrella. She glanced at her watch: it was 9:21pm.
“Do you think he changed his mind?” Esther asked.
“Parking is hell in South Beach at this hour.”
He was trying to inject hope in his voice though he wasn’t sure he was successful. Almost simultaneously, a Blue Margarita appeared next to Spicer’s drink.
“I wouldn’t know, I took a cab.”
Spicer jerked his head at the Southern voice. The man standing behind him was David Weller, the assistant research director of the Texas Tech project. He knew that guy had been shifty the moment he’d laid eyes on him.
“Still wanna know about Anchises?” he continued.
“More than ever.”
“It’s all about mind control.”
“Come again?”
“Let’s get up to my room so we can talk.”
“I know a safer place.”
Weller shook his head. “It’s my room or nothin’ at all.”
“I’m as scared of this being a setup as you are. My place’s safer.”
He kicked his red gym bag over so that it touched the young man’s foot.
“You can carry my bag if you want. There’s a gun inside, it’s loaded. You feel like I’m fucking with you, you blow my brains all the way to Cuba.”
He stood and so did Esther.
“Who’s she?” Weller asked, pointing at Esther with his chin.
“Kisses and sunshine. Let’s go.”
He started walking away and the other two followed.
Spicer owned a building in Little Havana and he’d had the foresight of buying it through an offshore corporation which was registered to a fake identity. It wasn’t where he lived — his official Florida address had been up in Aventura. There were six units which were rented out except for one which he’d always kept for himself in case of an emergency, something he saw as likely working in the intelligence business.
And tonight qualified as an emergency.
He led Esther and his new best friend through the door and turned on the light. The place was thoroughly unimpressive, dusty and sparsely furnished. Weller carried the gym bag as well as his suitcase while Esther brought in a grocery bag. At least the place was cool, the air-conditioning running constantly to avoid the humidity to set in. Spicer knew a guy who had traveled one summer and had forgotten to turn on the AC. Two months later, tiles were falling off because of the humidity.
“We should be all right here. Nobody knows we’re here.”
He quickly explained how he owned the building covertly and proceeded to remove bed sheets from the furniture. The scientist came to help him. At the same time, Esther put the grocery away. The brief moment of normalcy helped to make everyone at ease.