Deep Dirty Truth

by Steph Broadribb

  We move as quietly as we can. The roots are slippery in places, brittle and prone to snap in others. The stench of death and decay grows thicker in the air as the humidity intensifies. I grit my teeth. Keep watching for snakes. And keep on going.

  We’ve gone maybe fifty yards when a shot rings out. I dive for cover, the bullet slamming into the trunk of a tree to my left. North returns fire.

  There’s a groan, and I see a spray of red mist plume close to the roots maybe thirty yards ahead. I catch a glimpse of a shaved head. It seems the shooter was already floored. North may have finished him off.

  We approach with caution, North first, the gun trained on the shaved-headed guy. He stays down. Doesn’t move. When we get to him he’s lying, his face planted in the roots, real awkward. North turns to me, and I nod. Reckon he’s dead.

  North uses his foot to push the guy onto his back. There’s a dark patch spreading across the side of his black wife-beater and a crimson stain in the knee of his torn cargo pants. His eyes are open.

  He’s hit, but he’s still breathing.

  54

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 11:14

  His breathing’s getting real laboured, but there’s no way in hell North will let him rest. Me neither. Our plan’s gone to shit. We need us some answers.

  North stands over him. ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘Yep.’ The guy’s voice is a hoarse rasp.

  ‘Good. Where’s the Old Man?’

  Shaved-headed guy says nothing.

  North shakes his head. ‘I’m not your enemy. Those wounds have got to hurt. I don’t want to add to your pain, but I will if you force me.’ He gestures towards me. ‘Even if Gabriella wouldn’t like that.’

  The man grimaces. There’s blood in his mouth, bright crimson against the white of his teeth.

  Taking the cue from North, I step closer and kneel down beside the guy.

  He gasps. Frowns. ‘Gabriella? But you’re—’

  ‘Won’t you help us?’ It seems my altered hair, brows and make-up is enough to convince him. I keep my voice soft. Search his face for a sign he might talk. I have to try to make him see that we’re not here to hurt the Old Man. ‘We just want to talk to him. We have information he needs, and I need him to remove the—’

  ‘Stop.’ North’s hand is on my shoulder.

  I look up at him, confused.

  He pulls me to my feet. His expression’s grim. ‘This man doesn’t care about the Old Man and him seeing anything we might want to show him.’

  Shaved-head guy wheezes as he forces out his words. ‘You’re fucked.’ His grimace morphs into a smile. ‘Both of you.’

  North puts his foot over the wound on the man’s stomach and presses down. ‘Tell me why.’

  The guy coughs, choking. Spits up blood. But doesn’t speak.

  North raises his boot, then stamps down hard.

  The man bellows in agony. Writhing beneath North’s weight.

  ‘Tell me what Luciano told you to do. Tell. Me. Now.’

  I stare at North, surprised. Luciano? I thought the men accompanying the Old Man were his most trusted. How does North know this guy is one of Luciano’s and, if he is, how did he come to be here?

  The shaved-head guy splutters a volley of cusses and tries to roll onto his side but fails. That’s when I see it – the tattoo on the back of his shoulder, half visible beneath the wife-beater. A stylised MM with a serpent in an L-shape around them – Luciano’s mark. The man spits out more blood, gasping now.

  North changes tack. He leans down beside the guy and lifts his vest, inspecting the wound in his stomach. It looks bad to me, but North looks the guy right in the eye and says, ‘You’re a mess, but if I get you to a doc, you’ll be okay.’

  ‘Why … would you…?’

  ‘I’ve seen enough bloodshed,’ North’s tone is sincere. ‘But I’ll only help you if you tell me Luciano’s plan.’

  The shaved-head guy is growing paler. He’s losing a lot of blood, and with the hour or so journey back to Everglades City, I really think he’s past saving. But the guy nods. It seems that when you’re fighting for your life you’re inclined to cling to any kind of hope, even if it means betraying your boss.

  Gasping between each word, the shaved-head guy speaks. ‘The Old Man came here as usual … brought Klate and me on Luciano’s recommendation … Luciano’s smart, he guessed you’d try and get here … You so sly … always favourite. Not anymore. We’d wait till you showed then kill you and the Old Man … tell everyone you killed him.’ He lets out a strangled laugh. ‘Problem solved.’

  North cusses. ‘Where is he, then?’

  ‘Old Man got a call this morning … early. Feds crawling round the big house … causing trouble…’ The guy grimaces. Bugs buzz around his wounds; he tries to bat them away. ‘He left with Klate first thing … You’re … too late.’

  That can’t be true. I lean over the guy. ‘What time did they leave?’

  ‘Seven … maybe … but don’t make no difference. We had to change up the plan … Klate will have done it by now.’

  I check my watch. It’s near on eleven-thirty. If the Old Man’s dead there’s no way for him to lift the price on me and my family’s lives. We’re as good as dead too.

  North’s hand is tight around the gun. The other one is clenching and unclenching at the air. ‘Why’d you stay?’

  The grimace turns into a grin. ‘Klate can handle the Old Man. Luciano wanted one of us … stay … case you still showed. Old Man didn’t take much persuading … Guess Luciano was right.’ He wheezes. Coughs. ‘You’re dead, North, just because you’re the Old Man’s favourite … don’t mean you’ll be saved.’

  ‘I’ve more chance than you.’ North raises the gun. Shoots shaved-head guy between the eyes.

  I look at North. ‘Thought you said you were going to help him.’

  He shrugs. ‘Sometimes I lie.’

  55

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 11:31

  We find the dead man’s kayak stowed on the mangrove roots a little ways from his body. I follow North as he carries it back to where we left mine. Both of us are silent, thinking on the shaved-head guy’s words and trying to come up with some kind of plan.

  If the Old Man is dead already, everything I’ve done these past few days has been for nothing. There’s no way I can get Dakota or JT safe. Even if we get away from Florida, we’ll always be looking over our shoulders. I can’t let that happen. There must be a way.

  We cast our kayaks back into the water. North’s still silent. I glance at him. See his jaw’s rigid, his expression real determined. He has different reasons from mine, but I know he’ll want the Old Man to be alive too.

  Right now, living seems a whole lot harder than dying.

  As we paddle away, I look up and see the number of vultures wheeling overhead has increased, their shrieks alerting more of their kind to an imminent feast. Nothing here is wasted. This violent, wild environment is nature at her most economical.

  North’s a half-kayak length ahead. I shout towards him, ‘We can’t let them kill the Old Man. We have to find them.’

  ‘Yep. I’m thinking the same.’

  I paddle harder. Wincing as pain shoots through my left arm. It seems to be worsening and I worry the infection is returning. Maybe the antibiotics North got for me aren’t strong enough to fight it off. ‘Do you know Luciano’s man, Klate? Can you anticipate how he’d do it?’

  ‘I know of him, yes. He’s been with the family a long time, but I never knew he was loyal to Luciano.’ North shakes his head. There’s regret in his voice when he continues. ‘It seems a lot’s changed since I left.’

  ‘This isn’t the time to get sad. We need to find the Old Man. What would he usually do on the trip back?’

  ‘He always takes one rest stop. A little place on the Tamiami Trail, close to the airport.’

  I paddle faster. ‘Then we need to get there.’

  As I draw level with him, North turns to look
at me. ‘Ain’t no point. They’ve got a four-hour head start on us for a journey that only takes a little more than two hours.’

  ‘But if Klate means to kill the Old Man, it might have taken longer.’

  North lets out a long whistle. ‘You’re clutching at straws, Lori. The best we’ll be looking for now is a body.’

  I can’t accept that. Not now. Not after everything. I grit my teeth. ‘We’re going to find him.’

  North holds my gaze a long moment, then gives a tight smile. ‘Well, damn, I guess we are.’

  We paddle on in silence through the waterways and back along the mangrove tunnel. After all I know now, the wild country seems a lot more hospitable than the world we call civilised beyond. North is in the lead again, and I see my gun sticking out from the waistband of his pants. I shake my head, thinking that things would be a whole lot better in this life if we could do away with guns.

  Back on Lake Placid, we come ashore a half-mile up from Jack’s Hire shop. We prop the kayaks around the back of a shrimp shack and head back towards Jack’s on foot. As we climb into the Jetta, I feel bad that we’ve not returned the kayaks to the mulleted attendant in the Hawaiian shirt. But given we lost one of them in the swamp, I’m figuring he’ll want to charge us. Right now, we barely have enough cash to pay for the gas we’ll need to get us back to Miami.

  We take Collier Avenue out of Everglades City and head up Highway 21 towards Carnestown. As soon as I’m out of the town, I dial JT’s number on my cellphone. Just like before, it goes straight to voicemail. Shit. Where the hell is he? I try Red’s again, then Dakota’s, but get voicemail on all counts.

  As I drive, my fear for my family increases. Luciano has had near-on every move me and North have made figured out; Missingdon, Carly’s place, now the Old Man’s pilgrimage. What if he anticipated I’d tell JT to run? What if he guessed I’d tell JT to ask Red to help get Dakota safe? I shudder. Feel sick to my core. What if I’ve sent my family and friend straight into the predator’s mouth?

  In the passenger seat beside me, North removes his boots and socks and sticks them into the back. He’s dried off from his dunking in the swamp, but smells all kinds of wrong. I open the windows, trying to freshen the air. I know that staying maudlin isn’t going to help my family none. If I’m going to save them, if they’re still there for the saving and I have to believe that they are – can’t bear to think on the alternative – I have to get my head back in the game.

  I keep the Jetta cruising along the highway. ‘So where next?’

  ‘Stay on this road. We’ve got a way to go yet. At Carnestown take Highway 41.’

  ‘Okay.’ I glance over at North. He’s been quiet and pensive-looking ever since the shaved-head guy told us Luciano’s plan. I punch him on the arm. ‘Don’t go bailing on me now.’

  He frowns. ‘I ain’t.’

  ‘You real sure about that? Because you’ve got the look of a guy who’s beat.’

  ‘I’m not beat. I’m thinking.’

  ‘Just make sure that you are, because the smart-mouthed son-of-a-bitch North that I know wouldn’t let some sorry-assed mobster stop him doing what’s necessary.’

  He raises one eyebrow. Cracks a smile. ‘Is that right? Well, I guess I’ve got a lot to live up to.’

  ‘For sure you have.’

  He gestures towards the highway. ‘You better put your foot down, then.’

  I won’t let the Old Man be dead. Can’t let that happen. I give North a half-smile and speak real determined. ‘We’re going to find him.’

  He nods. And I know that this isn’t damn well over.

  I stamp on the gas.

  56

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 12:13

  The Liberty is cruising easy at a steady speed. The sea’s calm and flat. Dakota’s napping. JT and Red are at the helm.

  Red’s set them on a course to reach Marina 42 near Pompano Beach within the next hour. It’s a good thing, too; they’re low on fuel, and won’t be getting much further without restocking. But that’s not what’s weighing heavy on JT right now.

  ‘How you doing, JT?’ Red’s voice breaks him from his thoughts.

  He flicks his glance towards the older man standing at the wheel. Confiding in folk, it’s not his style, but something about Red’s expression makes him decide to share. ‘Dakota told me about her illness. Said she could have needed a bone-marrow donor.’

  Red nods. Checks his compass and turns the wheel a little to the right. ‘Yup. Heard that.’

  JT clenches his jaw. Angry Red knew about his daughter’s treatment when he didn’t even know that she existed. ‘Lori kept it from me.’

  ‘Woman had her reasons.’

  He rubs his fingers across the stubble on his jaw. ‘Reasons enough to let my child die?’

  ‘Dakota didn’t die. And she didn’t need the transplant neither, not then; maybe not never.’ Red holds JT’s gaze, his usual laidback calm gone. He’s looking real intense. ‘If it’d come to that, maybe then Lori’d have gotten in touch. How she’d have afforded the procedure? Well, that’s a whole other matter. She’d have found a way for sure, though; she’d do anything for that kid.’

  JT shakes his head, the anger building inside him. Lori should have told him anyways. He’s Dakota’s father; should have been there. ‘I had a right to—’

  ‘Did you now?’ Red’s tone is harder now. Irritated. ‘You pretty much threw that woman out when she’d lost everything – her best friend, her home, her livelihood. And worse, she’d just killed a person in self-defence. And not just any person, but a man who’d spent the previous god-knows-how-many years abusing her. She trusted you, and you cast her aside. Made her feel like … nothing. You think that gives you the right to anything?’

  JT bristles. He’s been wondering about the relationship between Lori and this man. Why they’re so close. Why he knows more about her than him. ‘You seem to know an awful lot about our business. There something you’re not telling me?’

  Red exhales hard. Shaking his head, he says, ‘You’re way off base. She came out to Florida ten years back with nothing but her go bag and a whole bunch of determination to build a new life. We teamed up on a couple of jobs, helped each other out. She did some legwork for some of my PI cases, and I used my contacts to help her locate the occasional skip trace. She needed a friend is all – even more so when she found out that she was pregnant. Sure it took her a little while to get back on her feet, but she did it. She’s strong, smart. Every time life kicks her in the dirt, she gets up and fights back harder.’ He pauses. Narrows his eyes. ‘Look, it’s not my place to tell you about her life. You and her, you’re the ones that need to be having that conversation.’

  JT’s always avoided difficult conversations. ‘Not really my thing.’

  ‘And how’s that worked out for you so far?’

  He avoids Red’s gaze.

  ‘Look, you want my ten cents on this?’ Red says. ‘Talk to her about it. Not right now. Wait until you’re clear of this mob business and you’ve got your heads on straight. Then talk. Don’t let it fester; no good ever came of that. And don’t ignore it, ’cause it’ll come back and bite you on the ass soon enough.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Your call.’ Red gets up, walks across the deck to the cabin door. Opening it, he looks back at JT. ‘But if you act like a jerk, you’ll lose the love of a good woman.’

  As Red disappears into the cabin, JT looks out across the ocean. The sun’s high over the water, the light dancing on the surface, making everything sparkle.

  Red’s talking a lot of sense. Truths that take a bit of swallowing, but sense all the same. Lori’s one hell of a girl, a real good woman, and always has been – even on the day he acted like a fool, turned her out and watched her drive away.

  Her gumption and smarts, it’s a damn sexy combination. But she’s secretive too. And her being secretive on the matter of their daughter’s life or death still feels hard to bear.

  He keeps star
ing out at the ocean, fancying that he can see the hazy outline of the Miami coastline way in the distance. Runs his hand through his hair.

  Lori and him, they do need to talk this out.

  But first they have to survive the Miami Mob.

  57

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 12:17

  As we pull off the road into the rest stop he’s directed me to, North cusses loud and stamps his foot against the footwell. ‘The damn thing’s been decommissioned.’

  I feel a sinking feeling in my belly. He’s right. The gas pumps are sitting idle, the teller’s booth boarded up. Across the parking lot, what must have once been a store has been set about by vandals. The windows have been smashed, the door caved in. The scrub surrounding the lot has grown over the blacktop. Bushes have pushed their way up through the cracks, creepers sending out trails towards the teller’s booth and winding around the pumps. It’s as if nature is trying to reclaim the land.

  I stop in the middle of the lot and leave the engine idling. ‘Well damn.’

  ‘We should keep going.’

  I turn to face North. ‘And go where? If we can’t get to the Old Man, it’s over.’

  North’s face is ashen. He shakes his head. ‘It already is.’

  ‘No.’ Opening the car door I climb out into the midday heat. Slam my palm down onto the hood. ‘It can’t be over. I can’t…’ I think of Dakota and JT. Clench my fists. ‘We can’t just give up…’

  That’s when I see it. At the far end of the parking lot: a glint of metallic silver paintwork and the curve of a truck sticking out a fraction from behind a mass of overgrown bushes.

  I bend down, look at North. ‘What car would the Old Man have taken to Everglades City?’

  ‘What?’ North looks confused.

  ‘Just answer me.’

  ‘He favours a Lincoln. Oftentimes silver.’