Better Run

by Shel Stone

  Picking up the phone again, she dialed zero.

  “Hello, Miss Sarah,” Matteo said.

  “I want to call my mom.” Even she could hear that she had that whiny teenage voice she used to do when thing didn’t work out for her. “But a Portuguese guy answers.”

  Matteo was silent for a moment, which only made her feel worse. “Okay, for America you have to dial zero, zero, one before the number. Always. You understand?”

  She nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I’ll try,” she replied. Hanging up, she tried again and dialed. The phone rang this time, the ringtone sounding different.

  “Hello?” her mom answered and Nook’s shoulders slumped in relief.

  “Hey, Mom,” she said.

  “Hey, honey. It’s a bad line. I can hardly hear you. You alright?”

  “I’m alright,” she lied. With her mom, she had to be alright, because she would only stress her mom out otherwise and there was never anything she could do to help. Her mom just couldn’t get things together beyond something super simple. “Guess what? I’m in Brazil.” She forced brightness into her voice.

  “Brazil? What the hell are you doing there?”

  “Just, you know, an adventure.”

  “That man ended up giving you some money, huh? Lucky you won. I’ve never won at anything.”

  “Yeah, he did,” Nook said. “I’ll send you some money when I can, okay?”

  “That would be great. So Brazil, huh? What crazy thing will you think of next? What’s it like?”

  “Well, there’s a lot of people and they speak really fast. The traffic is crazy. I can see the beach from my apartment.”

  “That’s great, baby.” Nook could hear her mother smiling through the phone.

  “Maybe you can come visit some day.”

  “Sure,” her mom said, but Nook heard the lie. Her mom would be too scared to travel anywhere. She’d never left Buffalo in her life.

  “Alright. Anyway, you can reach me on this number for a while. How about I call you in a couple of days?”

  “Sounds good,” her mom replied.

  “Bye,” Nook said, not wanting to hang up, but doing it anyway. Speaking to her mom made her feel better—made her feel that something of her life was still within reach. And even if someone in law enforcement went so far as to bug her mom’s phone, there was nothing they could do about it.

  Sitting on a barstool, she stretched out her legs. It felt as though this apartment belonged to someone else and she was trespassing, but Palmer had got her this apartment, and right now she had no option but to accept it.

  Carefully, she started wandering around the apartment. It had a balcony, a living room and open plan dining room. Then a bedroom, again with spectacular views down over the beach. There was a kitchen, and a rougher looking utility area in the back, with another tiny bedroom. Clearly not a kid’s room and too rough for a guest room—unless you really didn’t like your guest. This was for a servant, she realized and shook her head. This so wasn’t a place for her.

  Returning to the bedroom, she lay down on the bed and tucked her hands under her cheek. Exhaustion nipped at both her mind and her body. It was all too much to think about now and if she did, she’d start crying and there was nothing she hated more than crying.

  *

  Nook woke with a start and had absolutely no idea where she was. It was both disconcerting and disorientating. Her body felt cold. She’d fallen asleep on top of the blankets and now she was stiff—and thirsty.

  Moving out of the bedroom, she walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. A couple of water bottles were in there, but nothing else. Grabbing one, she twisted the cap open and walked out into the lounge and to glass doors, which she pulled open. The noise of the traffic below crept into her ears as the warmth of the outside air hit her.

  The sun was hot, maybe a little harsher like it was in Las Vegas, but it was hard to tell. Sitting down on a balcony chair, she pulled her knees up. Everything felt better now, after a sleep. This might all have happened fast and without her really having a say in it, but it beat a decade in prison for something she’d had no intention of doing.

  It was a new city, and she would just have to learn how to have a life here. It wasn’t impossible, was it? And who knew, she might love it. She’d always wanted to go somewhere, and now she was—in fucking Brazil. She would just have to manage. Palmer getting her this apartment was a real kindness. It gave her space and time to set up a life. What kind of life, she didn’t know. Didn’t even know what she could do here. Maybe work in a hotel or something, where her English was appreciated. She’d find a way. She always managed. This would be no different.

  Right now, though, she might have to get some food. Hunger nipped at her and there was nothing but water in the kitchen.

  Standing up, she went to the balcony railing and looked down each way, not seeing anything that looked like a supermarket. There was what looked like a convenience store. That would have to do for now. Might be chips and ice-cream, but that was better than nothing. If being forced to flee to another country wasn’t a good excuse for comfort food, she didn’t know what was.

  Grabbing the swipe key to the apartment and some money out of the envelope, she made her way out and down to the lobby. Matteo sat behind the desk and she smiled at him. With urgency, he rose to get the main doors for her. “Miss Sarah,” he said with that ever-present smile. “Careful of pickpockets. They try to steal, especially from tourists.”

  “Sure,” she said. When it came to thieves, she knew how to deal. He obviously didn’t know what kind of neighborhood she came from. “And I’m not a tourist,” she said as she walked away. “I live here now.” If he heard, she didn’t know, or care. It was more for her than him. This was her new stomping ground and she was going to do fine.

  Walking across the road down the block, she saw a Starbucks further down, away from the beach. “Fuck, yes,” she said and changed her direction. Not usually one of her haunts, but right now, she’d take it. McDonald's, Starbucks—over time, she’d probably find all sorts of vices. Things could be worse.

  Chapter 34

  PALMER SWORE. There were more reports of Conners running around town, pressing his will on people. News was also filtering through that it was Del Dia boys pushing this new wave of violence. They were coming into the city, and the cops were basically unable to respond to anything proactively.

  Being in the position he was in, the slow speed at which the cops put together cases related to drug offenses was normally in his favor, but not now. They tried, but the whole system was set up to thwart them. They were powerless to stop this gang coming in and wreaking havoc, which basically meant there wasn’t anyone other than him that could deal with them.

  With Nook, the law could move quickly, but with any real criminal, they were glacial. That was how the system worked, unfortunately.

  Palmer suspected this was all out of Conners’ hands at the moment. It probably had been from the very start. Conners had invited the foxes into the chicken coup and they were on a rampage.

  “Where are they holed up?” Palmer asked when Carlos came in the door.

  “A house in north South Beach. They’re partying hard, inviting the people rolling over for them.”

  Mostly club and bar owners, who had no defenses against guys like this. Now this truly was a threat Palmer had never faced before. He had no power to quell Conners and this new crew. Coercion hadn’t worked. The people up the food chain had been bypassed and were powerless too. The mayor was furious and the different divisions of law enforcement were having an emergency meeting. And none would be able to do much of anything, getting themselves forever tangled in red tape.

  Leaning back against his sofa, he ran his fingers through his hair. At this point, he had to consider what he’d never thought he was going to do, a proper drug lord shootout.

  These Del Dia boys might be uber violent, but they were outnumbered. They depended on their violence co
wering everyone, but the existing structure wasn’t going to be replaced because these dudes were trigger happy.

  “So we move just after dark,” Palmer said. “We take the house they’re in—clean it out. You got your assets in place?”

  “They’re ready. What about Conners?”

  “Him too,” Palmer said. Conners was beyond saving, and his uncle would understand at this point. Truthfully, Palmer had no qualms about it. The dumbass had brought this on himself. “We will, of course, try to preserve anyone innocent.” Palmer could just imagine having to tell Nook that a whole bunch of strippers had died in the crossfire. “But anyone in Conners’ or the Del Dia crew has to go.” And by go, he meant permanently. Again he swore under his breath that this was necessary, but it really was. And it wasn’t just defending his business at this point—he was defending the town, like some fucking superhero. In reality, there was nothing heroic about this. It was going to be a fucking mess.

  “We need to come into the house from all directions,” Carlos said, going on to detail his plan. Carlos lived for this shit. Contingency planning got him off, and Palmer could tell he was excited. There was military in his background, so he loved this. At least someone was getting something out of it. Palmer only saw this as strictly necessary.

  This operation was going to cost quite a bit, because he wasn’t dumb enough to give a bunch of guns to gangbangers and telling them to let loose. The men they were taking were proper paramilitary mercenaries that would quietly disappear afterward. In real life, superhero shit cost money. But at its most basic, this wasn’t some heroic deed—this was preserving his turf and pushing out interlopers. As a side effect that they were ridding the city of an influx of violent gangbangers—all necessary to maintain the calm stability that was needed.

  “You coming down for the briefing?”

  “Yeah,” Palmer said. “I’ll be down.” Checking his watch, he saw he had half an hour.

  After Carlos had gone, Palmer walked into the kitchen and got a cold bottle of water and returned to his couch to drink it. The apartment was silent and still. Such violence planned, but everything was utterly still.

  Before going down, he went to the bathroom and leaned on the sink with his arms. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel nerves. This was an operation like he hadn’t done before. There had been the odd skirmishes, but nothing like this. Conners and these Del Dia boys would be prepared for an assault. They would be firing back.

  Splashing cool water on his face, he calmed himself. There was nothing to guarantee that he would survive this evening, and that this was necessary was something he’d known for a few days now. Conners especially would be gunning for him, because the kid probably knew that with him dead, he had a chance of actually taking over this town.

  If they didn’t move on Conners, Conners would eventually move on them, if they got to the point where they thought they were strong enough. It suggested that Del Dia would increase their numbers. It was what Palmer would do if he was in their position. It also meant they had to strike now before Del Dia could implement their full plans.

  Part of him wanted to call Nook. To hear her voice. What he really wanted was to tell her that he might not make it through the night—but he wouldn’t. It was shitty to offload any of this on her. She’d find out soon enough if he didn’t make it.

  She would be the only person who would care, and for some reason, that felt important now. When it came down to it, the only real and substantial thing he left behind would be this brief and impossible thing he’d had with her. To everyone else, he was simply an employer, at a stretch, a friend.

  No, enough of this, he thought and pushed himself away. It was time to be analytical, logical and cool. It was time to get this started, which meant they were closer to it being done.

  Drying his face off quickly, he left his apartment and made his way down into the basement parking level, where the guys Carlos had hired were all standing around. An eclectic group, but they all looked steady. These guys didn’t give in to nerves and Palmer appreciated this. The last thing he wanted to deal with were guys whose nerves were getting to them.

  They were going in four cars and each approaching the house from different directions. Any wheels on the property were to be inactivated. They used terms like that—inactivated. It was so very clinical—something else Palmer appreciated.

  Carlos was good at this. Could be hotheaded at times, but when it was needed, he was cold.

  “Here,” Carlos said after the briefing was done, handing him a bulletproof vest. Palmer put it over his head and fastened the Velcro straps around his waist. It was both heavy and bulky, but it was worth it. “If you take a hit, you won’t be able to breathe for a while, but you’ll be alive.”

  Palmer nodded.

  “You sure you want to join us for this?”

  “Yes,” Palmer said coolly. The truth was that he had to. This had to come from him, and he had to be a part of it. Would he prefer not to do this? Yes, but not because he was quaking in his boots. A good leader had to be willing to do what had to be done.

  Carlos checked his watch. “It’s time.”

  Palmer headed to his designated car and took the passenger seat. A guy he’d never met before was driving and there were two guys behind him, their weapons resting between their legs. One of them was telling jokes as they drove through the now dark streets of Miami. The tension in the car was palpable.

  They drove along backstreets, all cars splitting up and taking separate routes. Palmer's heart beat heavily, blood rushing through his system as they got closer to the house where Conners was holed up.

  Lights were shining through the windows and music was pumping. They pulled in sharply, breaking hard. The guys all moved swiftly out of the cars and spread out, everyone knowing exactly what to do without having to be told.

  A woman in a tight, strapless dress was walking toward the house, about to go in.

  “Hey,” Palmer said. “Other way and don’t come back.”

  Her eyes darted between them, seeing the guns and she hurriedly took off her heels and ran. Didn’t need to be told twice.

  There was a substantial lawn and they slowly moved across. It wasn’t entirely unguarded and before long, a guy was yelling out and then started firing. Only got a few shots off, but enough to alert the people inside that trouble was here.

  Conveniently someone opened the door for them and quickly got gunned down. There were now screams inside. And Palmer hung back while the trained people claimed the door. More fire came and Palmer could now hear it around the other side of the house too.

  The two leading paramilitaries slipped inside the house and firing continued. Palmer followed. Once inside, firing increased and Palmer couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

  A girl was running and screamed as she was shot in the leg. Palmer fired back at the guy who shot her from up on a mezzanine balcony. He disappeared from view. “Stay down,” he said to the girl, who was still screaming.

  Palmer moved to the stairs and climbed upstairs. His heart was beating so wildly, he thought it would break through his chest wall. Blood rushed in his ears and all his senses were honed on the danger that could crop up from anywhere.

  A guy appeared and Palmer didn’t hesitate, watching as he fell backward. He didn’t have a gun, but there was a knife in his hand, his belt not quite done up. Had been using one of the bedrooms when this all broke out, it appeared.

  Palmer carefully walked down a corridor. Most of the firing was happening downstairs. ‘Clear’, being shouted out intermittently as they went from room to room.

  A half-dressed girl was cowering beside a bed. She was terrified. “Stay down,” he said, moving to the next room.

  The corridor led to another mezzanine area, where he could look down on the shooting. Lining up, he took a shot at a guy firing wildly around the place, hitting him in the arm. Someone else got him in the head and it was over for that dude.

  A shot rang be
hind him and he felt a hit in his back like a baseball bat. It pushed him into the railing. Then another shot as he turned to fire back. The guy was half naked and boldly walking forward. Outdressed and outgunned. Palmer shot back and the guy dropped.

  The hits now stung and burned. His lungs burned and he worried that the shots had actually penetrated his vest, but he couldn’t worry about that now. There was too much going on. Beneath him, one of the paramilitaries went down and Palmer saw Conners darting across an open space. Too fast to get him, but he searched for a way down and saw a staircase.

  A girl screamed behind him and Palmer held up his palm to stop her, but she ran past in blind panic, in the worst possible direction to go. She jumped out of his reach when he tried to grab her and just kept on running. If she made it out, he didn’t see.

  Downstairs, he followed the direction of the firing and saw Conners flail as he went down. Truthfully he was a little sorry it hadn’t been him directly, but it wasn’t to be.

  A Del Dia boy was face down at his feet, clearly wearing his motorcycle patch on a jacket. As Palmer watched, he slowly moved and Palmer fired a shot. He stilled.

  Was he going to have nightmares about this later? Sometimes he did about things that had happened in the past—particularly when he’d been powerless and trapped. Those weren’t feelings he had right now, but he wasn’t calm either. A cold rage was perhaps what he felt—that this was necessary and that they had brought this violence to him.

  The firing quieted down. The girl shot near the entrance way was still screaming and in the distance, the sound of sirens were blaring.

  “Cops are coming,” Carlos said. “We better go.”

  “Did we get them?” Palmer asked. Clearly they got Conners who was now sprawled on the floor, his long hair covering most of his face. It was a pitiful sight, and not the resolution Conners had expected, Palmer would guess. Probably never considered that he’d fail in his ambition. A kid who’d grown up with everything given to him, except the respect he clearly craved and thought he could simply commandeer.