The laughter stops real abrupt. ‘Where are you?’
‘Fontainebleau, near the Mall of the Americas, in the far corner of the parking lot near Home Depot,’ I lie.
I hear him bark what I’ve said to someone near him. They respond a moment later with an ETA. ‘I’ll be there in thirty minutes. You pull any shit, I’ll end you.’
Finishing the call, I walk back towards the boat. I pick up my go bag, carry it onto the deck and sit down beside North and Red. ‘It’s done.’
As Red goes to the helm of the boat to get us moving, I look out across the ocean in the direction of Key Biscayne and pray to a God I don’t believe in that we can make our plan work.
We made for a motley crew: North with my gun, me with a bullet wound and my Taser, and the Old Man pretty much incapacitated. If I were a betting sort, I wouldn’t be putting my chips on us, that’s for sure.
But, whatever the odds, the stage is set.
How things play out now will be down to a roll of the dice.
62
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 18:31
The sun starts to lower in the sky as we near Key Biscayne via the Cape Florida Channel. Red has the boat moving at full throttle; we don’t have long before Luciano realises we’ve double-crossed him, and we need to be inside the compound before he makes the discovery.
We speed past the residential areas, continuing until the houses are spaced further apart, the plots of land they occupy far vaster. None of us speaks, all lost in our thoughts, hoping our plan will work.
As we get close it’s clear to see the Old Man’s compound is the biggest property on the island. There’s no way to see in due to the high wall that seems to stretch on for miles, but I can see a floating pontoon dock jutting out from the land. I point towards it. ‘We can get out here.’
‘No.’ The Old Man’s voice is weak but still has a core of steel. ‘Keep going. Further along there’s an ancient dock, right up against the wall. It’s not used anymore so there’s no cameras.’ He pats his pocket. ‘But I’ve still got the key for the original entrance gate. I keep it with all the others on my keychain, just to be safe.’
‘Got it.’ Red pushes the boat faster, the engine roaring as it propels us through the water.
Adrenaline courses through my body. We’re in the danger zone now. Although the Old Man told Red how far out he’d need to keep the boat to avoid the cameras that are part of the CCTV security covering the compound, I’m scared that we’ll be spotted. If we’re stopped before we make it to the residential area of the compound, North and me are as good as dead.
A few minutes later we spot the old dock up ahead, on the edge of the property. The Old Man directs Red, making sure he stays in the CCTV blind spots. North and me check our weapons. I’m leaving my go bag in the boat, but I pass North his messenger bag with the iPad inside. ‘You might need this to convince them.’
He takes it from me. ‘Thanks.’
There’s nothing more to say. We just need to get this done.
Red manoeuvres the boat alongside the dock. Up close I can see that this place must have been abandoned a long while ago – the wood’s brittle from age and decay; the mooring rings hang loose from their screws. The boat taps the side of the jetty, and it splinters. Red says a prayer under his breath.
I turn to him. ‘There’s no place to tie up.’
‘Don’t fret, Miss Lori. I’ll try holding her steady, but you best be quick now.’
The rise and fall of the ocean buffets the boat against the platform, and, despite Red’s efforts, the boat drifts away from the edge. It’s a risk to get the Old Man across, but we have to try. There’s no time to find another way in.
I turn to North. ‘We can’t wait – we just have to do this.’
He stands, and between us we bring the Old Man to his feet and take him across the boat to the steps. The gap between the boat and the dock is a good yard or so. Glancing down, I see the waves slapping against the platform. The structure looks so rickety it’s hard to tell if it’ll even hold our weight. Knowing there’s no way I can hold the Old Man up alone, I remove my arm from his waist and look at North. ‘I’ll go over first, test the stability.’
He opens his mouth to disagree, but I turn away and lift my foot to step over the gap onto the dock. As I push off from the boat a swell rises and pushes it away, widening the distance fast. I have to jump to make the platform. The wood creaks under my weight, and the plank closest to the boat falls into the ocean. Thankfully the rest of it holds. Heart pounding, I beckon to North. ‘Come on.’
Red revs the boat’s engine and gets in a little closer.
North springs across to the dock, helping the Old Man along with him. The Old Man’s legs buckle on landing, and I grab his arms and pull him to safety before he unbalances North. Breathing hard, we scramble off the dock onto firm land.
Turning, I raise my hand in thanks to Red. He gives me the thumbs-up, and chugs the boat away from the mooring towards the spot further along the coast where we’ve agreed he’ll wait.
The Old Man hands the key to North and he puts it into the lock on the gate. It’s old and covered in rust, but after some coaxing it opens. The three of us slip inside.
This part of the compound is completely unlike the area around the house I was in before. It’s dense with tall trees. Cooler. Darker. North gestures away from the wall, through the trees, and I nod. Supporting the Old Man we start down a dirt path.
A few minutes in, the effort is taking its toll on us all. The sun’s going down, but the humidity’s real high. Sweat runs down my spine. North’s face is damp with it. The Old Man slumps in our arms, unconscious.
I cuss under my breath. Glance at North.
Then a man’s voice, a little ways from us to our left, barks full of menace. ‘Get yourselves face down in the dirt.’
63
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 19:18
We freeze where we are.
‘You’re outgunned. Do as you’re told, don’t make me say it twice.’
The sound of my pulse races jackhammer loud in my ears, but I know that voice; it’s Growler, the man who held me captive here in the house just a few days ago.
I raise my hands, but don’t hit the dirt. Keep my voice calm, clear. ‘The Old Man’s been attacked by—’
‘Get. On. The. Ground.’ Growler steps out from the tree line: tall, medium build with cropped hair – it’s definitely him. He’s not holding a weapon but he’s got a bunch of guys behind him, all looking hostile, and each has their gun pointed at us.
‘The Old Man’s injured bad,’ says North. ‘He needs medical help.’
‘He’ll get it. Step away from him.’
North catches my gaze and gives a small shake of his head.
The Old Man is still unconscious. We keep hold of him and stay standing right where we are.
Growler gives a nod and two of his men – one older and bald, one younger with greasy long hair; both muscled and mean-looking – break away from the group and approach us.
I glare at the greasy-haired guy, who’s now in front of me. ‘Don’t you put a hand on me.’
Greasy-haired guy hesitates.
‘Traitor,’ says the bald muscle guy, squaring up to North. North doesn’t response. Frustrated, he spits in North’s face. ‘For what you’ve done, you’re dead.’
We really need the Old Man to vouch for us right now, but he’s slumped in our grasp, his breathing shallow and weak.
Growler shakes his head. ‘You shouldn’t have come back here.’
I gesture towards the Old Man. ‘He didn’t give me much of a choice.’
It’s a four-way stand-off: Growler’s men not wanting to do anything that’ll cause the Old Man further injury; North and me unable to go on the attack because that’d mean letting go of the Old Man.
We need to talk our way out of this. And we need to get it done fast. With the time that’s passed since the call to Luciano, he will have realised our bluff
by now and be racing on back here. A little ways from us, fastened to one of the trees, is a CCTV camera. Our presence here is secret no longer. If we’re going to survive we have to make the Old Man’s men listen and get on our side, before Luciano returns.
‘There’s things you don’t know about; that’s the reason we’re here. The Old Man—’
‘Shut up,’ greasy-headed guy takes a step closer to me.
I play the only move I can without letting go of the Old Man. I lunge forwards, bringing my leg up fast. Direct hit. Toe into balls. The greasy guy goes down.
While he’s groaning, curled up all foetal-like in the dirt at my feet, I could use the distraction to my advantage and make a play for Growler, but I don’t. To have any chance of this working out without bloodshed, we need a talked-out solution. There’s no way for sure to know where Growler and his men’s loyalties lie, so I go with my gut.
Raising my free hand, I say, ‘I believe that you’re loyal to the Old Man, and if that’s true you need to hear us out. North’s got a video, proving why he spoke to the Feds and why the Old Man here forgave him. You’re all in danger right now, you just don’t know it.’
Growler lets out a single, sarcastic laugh. ‘I think you got that all about face.’
‘No,’ I say, real firm. ‘Luciano is making a move for leadership of the family. If you take me and North off the board, you and your boss here are going to be taken down.’
Growler narrows his eyes. ‘Luciano wouldn’t do that.’
‘He would, and it’s not the first time he’s planned it.’ North reaches slowly into his bag for the iPad. He holds it across the Old Man and says to me. ‘Five, six, nine, two.’
Growler watches, saying nothing, his expression still suspicious.
I type the passcode onto the iPad and the screen unlocks, opening on the video of Tommy and Luciano at the fishing lodge ten years ago. I press play, and turn the iPad around to face Growler. ‘Watch this.’
As the video plays, and on screen Luciano and Tommy discuss their plan for getting rid of the Old Man permanently, I watch Growler’s expression change from sceptical to shock, and finally anger.
He looks back at North. ‘Is this all you have?’
North shakes his head. ‘No, there’s hours of it. I’ve got the paper trail of all the money Luciano’s hived off from the Old Man’s business since then, too. The Feds seized the accountant’s computer before I could get the files, but I managed to get them while they had me in protective custody.’
I bring up on the screen the spreadsheets and photographed hardcopy documents. Flick through them, one by one, for Growler to see.
‘Luciano murdered the accountant because he’d discovered the truth,’ North says. ‘Then a couple of hours ago, he had Klate try to kill the Old Man on the way back from Everglades City. The Old Man fought back, though, and killed Klate, but not before he’d gotten stabbed. He needs the medic.’
Growler looks at the two men flanking him and gestures towards the Old Man. ‘Help him to the house.’ He turns back to me and North, his expression determined, his voice filled with fury. ‘We need to get inside and decide how we’re going to deal with Luciano.’
The two guys take the weight of the Old Man between them, and the greasy-haired guy who came at me limps alongside them, making a poor job at helping.
Growler pulls a walkie from his belt, presses the button on the side and speaks into it fast. ‘Friendlies not hostiles. We’re heading back to base. Get the medic. Urgent. The Old Man’s wife, Juliette, too. ETA: ten minutes.’
As North takes the iPad from me and puts it back safe in the messenger bag the bald guy who spat at him starts to mumble an apology. North turns fast and slams his fist into the guy’s face. He goes down hard, blood pouring from his nose.
North shakes his head. There’s a look of total disgust on his face. ‘You ever spit at me again, I’ll kill you.’
With Growler leading the way, we move along the dirt path as fast as the guys carrying the Old Man can manage. After five minutes or so the trees clear, and although the light is fading now, I recognise where we are. To the side of us are the farm buildings – huge barns and warehouses filled with who knows what. I know that the enclosure with the pigs will be on the other side of them, and beyond that there’ll be paddocks with horses grazing. Growler leads us along the side of the buildings to the house. As we reach the back door I catch the faint odour of swine and my stomach turns.
Growler reaches for the door and opens it. The guys supporting the Old Man step over the threshold first, already calling for the medic.
I’m just about to follow when I hear it. The roar of a car engine at the front of the house; the sound of gravel spitting out from beneath fast-moving wheels; the squeal of tyres braking hard to a halt.
I look at North, and can tell from his expression that he’s thinking exactly what I’m thinking.
Luciano’s back.
64
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 19:42
Growler pushes us into the house and slams and bolts the door. He shouts for the medic. ‘Sophia, get in here.’
We stop in the rustic, farmhouse-style kitchen I remember from before; notes on the chalk board, pictures on the dresser. In the centre of the long table is a vase of gardenias, the sweet flowers scenting the air. Our guns and my Taser seems real out of place.
A red-headed woman in blue jeans and a khaki tee hurries into the room, followed closely by an older woman, mid-seventies at a guess, with high cheekbones and grey hair swept back into a French braid. The older woman cries out when she sees us. Throwing herself at the Old Man, she caresses his face, speaking rapid Italian.
‘Move back, Juliette, give him some air,’ the redhead says gently, her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. She looks at the two guys supporting Giovanni and gestures to a battered couch at the back of the kitchen, her voice more authoritative now. ‘Let’s move him over there.’
North helps and they do as she says. She’s Sophia, I assume. The medic.
‘This room’s our control centre. Get it safe-roomed,’ Growler says to his men. As they exit into the hallway at the run, I wonder what the hell they’re doing.
Growler pulls the walkie from his belt and barks orders to his other men outside, directing them to defend the house from the attack that we all know is inevitable. There’s a burst of static on the walkie, rapid talk, mostly impossible to make out: ‘…turned … guns … Luciano…’
Grim-faced, Growler points towards the windows, and I get his meaning. Hustling to them, I yank the drapes shut, scanning the room for something we can use to board them up.
Moments later we hear gunshots. Real close.
Bald guy, Greasy and the other two men return, arms laden with weapons. They dump them onto the flagstones in the middle of the floor and look to Growler for instructions.
I don’t wait for more orders. Striding across to one of the dressers, I shout towards the bald guy North punched. ‘Here, help me with this.’
Together we pull it across the large double window that faces out over the parking lot. It’s barely in place before bullets ping against the window frame and the windowpane shatters.
I flick off the lights. Turning back to the room I shout, ‘Everyone get down and away from the windows.’
Sophia’s got her medic kit out and is working on the Old Man. The older woman is kneeling beside him, stroking his hand, tears pouring down her face.
Growler barks orders to the men we have in the room. North and the greasy-haired guy pull the kitchen table across the door as a barricade. The other two move one of the other dressers over the door into the hall. We’re trapped inside our make-shift safe room, with a whole bunch of weapons for company; but right now it feels far from safe.
The volleys of gunfire continue outside, but most aren’t hitting the building. Staying low, I scoot across to the window closest to the parking lot. The dresser blocks most of it, but I’m able to peer around to get a
glimpse of what’s happening outside.
My breath catches in my throat. It looks like a scene out of an old Western movie. In the darkening night, bloodied bodies are strewn across the gravel lot. Luciano’s white Range Rover is jacked across the space, side on to the house. The windows have been shot out and its pearlised white paintwork is riddled with bullet holes. Behind its stricken carcass, I count five men, guns drawn, firing at a barn a ways over to the left. Behind them, shooting from behind the second barn and the other cars in the lot, I count at least another thirty. Thirty-five guns. There are a few men remaining loyal to the Old Men outside, firing back at Luciano’s mob. Inside, discounting the Old Man, Juliette and the medic, there are seven of us. Thirty-five to seven, that’s real bad odds.
North joins me beside the dresser. ‘What’s going on out there?’
I turn. ‘It’s bad.’
He peers through the gap above me and shakes his head. ‘We’re sitting ducks here. We can’t stay cowering; we’ve got to fight back.’
There’s a cry to our left and a young guy close to the house, skinny-looking and barely out of his teens, drops to the ground. He whimpers, convulsing in the dirt. Blood oozes out from his stomach.
North raises his gun and shoots at the men behind the Range Rover. They return fire, then duck down behind the vehicle. As North rises to aim again, the men on the inner entrance gate open fire with their automatic weapons. I count six more men. The odds are getting worse; forty-one to seven.
Bullets thud into the side of the house, the windows, the dresser. Heart racing, I drop to the ground. North and me scramble for the back of the kitchen.
‘How many?’ shouts Growler above the noise of the gunfire.
‘Forty, maybe more,’ North says. ‘I underestimated how many men Luciano has turned. The men loyal to the Old Man are outnumbered.’
Growler gestures to his four guys, pointing to the positions he wants them to take. ‘Get over there and return fire. We’re under siege here.’
Deep Dirty Truth Page 24
