Better Run

by Shel Stone

  Palmer undid the strap of his vest, feeling some relief from the pain. It still hurt as all hell, but he was alive, and that was what counted.

  “Everyone out,” Carlos ordered and Palmer followed. They each went in the directions they had come from.

  “The cops are on the way,” he said to the girl with the shot leg. “Just put pressure on it.” He felt a bit like an asshole leaving her, but he had to. They had to go before the cops made it on scene. And before the media who’d probably get there first.

  They got to the car and quickly sped off, seeing sirens in the distance. Cop cars rushed passed, one after another, not noticing them going the other way.

  The mercenary drove slowly, not drawing attention, while Palmer’s itchy feet would want to floor it. Intellectually, the mercenary was right not to draw attention to them. They drove unbothered to a location Palmer had never been to before, a house inland somewhere, deep in suburbia. This was the meeting point and they efficiently and silently made their way into the house.

  “I’ll drive us home,” Carlos said.

  Palmer nodded. He was both exhausted and not. Adrenalin ran through his system and he knew he wouldn’t be calming down for a while yet. The deed was done and he’d lived through it—mostly unscathed. Carefully, he took the vest off and pulled up his shirt. A raw flare of pain marred his side. It was already darkening into a deep, heavy bruise. There would be another at his back, but he couldn’t see it.

  “Ouch,” Carlos said, seeing the bruise. “That will hurt for some time.”

  “Not as much as actually getting shot.” And he knew the difference. Coming away with a nasty bruise was a whole sight better than a couple of holes in his chest.

  Chapter 35

  THE MEDIA, THE COPS, the Feds and everyone in between was talking about what had happened in north South Beach, with endless speculation. The cops put out a statement, condemning the violence that had erupted, confirming to the best of their knowledge, it was drug-related, and that some of the victims were indeed from the Mexican Del Diablo biker gang. There was endless talk in the media, worrying about the brand of violence known to occur in the border town having come to Miami.

  Everyone in the know, even the journalists, knew Palmer was responsible. Many of them grateful the interlopers had been dealt to, but no one could say it.

  Palmer again was sore as an invalid, struggling to sit and walk normally. Angry bruises marred his side and back, and his bullet wounds were still healing. Physically, it had been a bitch of a time, but hopefully it was over now.

  His phone pinged beside him and he looked over. “Usual place. D,” it said. Seemed the mayor wanted a word. Palmer groaned, because he’d known this was coming.

  Rising, Palmer carefully pulled on his jacket. Keeping up appearances was necessary. The car keys were on the side table in the foyer and he grabbed them. Nook snuck into his mind as he did and he exhaled. He missed her—more than he’d ever imagined.

  But it wouldn’t be long now. This message suggested so.

  Taking his car out of the underground garage, he noted the lack of security sitting around. The threat was gone, or Carlos had been convinced of it. It could be that Del Dia would retaliate against this, but they would find the same greeting next time. No one here wanted them coming to town, and it would be shit for everyone if they pushed the issue. But you never knew with groups like that. The fact that they were irrational was what made them so dangerous.

  For all the chatter over the airways, the city was calm. Business was returning to normal. The club owners breathing a sigh of relief. They, least of all, wanted to be under the thumb of a foreign gang coming in.

  Donny was sitting on the bench by the park by the time Palmer pulled into a nearby parking space. He nodded his greeting as he sat down and looked out across the calm park, where a couple of kids played with a dog in the distance.

  “You had a dog growing up?” Donny asked.

  “No,” Palmer admitted. He was the dog in many respects, and before that, his mother had been allergic.

  “Gotta love dogs. Can’t really trust people who don’t, you know?”

  “Not a personality trait I usually look for, I have to admit.”

  “No, I guess not,” Donny said with a chuckle. “You’ve caused one hell of a shit show.”

  “It was necessary,” Palmer said, placing his ankle over his other knee and leaning back.

  Donny nodded. “No one wanted those fuckers in town. Still, though. The mayor’s fighting fires in every fucking corner. No one wants gang violence in this town. It was part of the deal.”

  Biting his lip, Palmer inhaled deeply, then exhaled. That had always been the deal—to keep things quiet and slowly ticking along. “I am aware I have to take the heat,” he finally admitted, and he had known that from the start. “I saw no other way of dealing with them.”

  Donny looked over at him. “Hank can’t keep the DEA and the Feds at bay now. Everyone’s coming to this fucking party. This shit’s been reported in Washington.”

  “I know,” Palmer replied. “I’m stepping down.”

  With his big head and rounded face, Donny nodded. “Good. ’Fraid you gotta fall on your sword for this one. Sorry to see you go, but there’s no protecting you now.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a casual smile.

  “All the best, Palmer,” Donny said, rising and straightening his suit. “Don’t drag your feet leaving town. They’ll come looking for you.” Lifting his watch up, he checked the time. “Probably be knocking your door in within a couple of hours, I’d say.” Which meant they were breaking down his door to arrest him within two hours. It wasn’t surprising since there had been countless witnesses to the raid on Conners’ crew. Federal judges would be signing search warrants right now.

  “See ya, Palmer,” Donny said as he walked away, “but not anytime soon.”

  Palmer performed a half-hearted salute with his fingers, but Donny wasn’t looking back. Chewed up and spit out, but he’d known this was how it would go. Loyalty only worked when interests were aligned, and now he’d become a pariah. They couldn’t wait to get rid of him fast enough. His time was over, but the organization wasn’t.

  Reaching for his phone, he called Carlos. “I need a boat,” he said. “A fast one with a big fuel tank.”

  With federal warrants out on him, he wouldn’t be able to get out through the airport, which left Cuba. Not too many people were trying to break into Cuba. Surveillance was always for people coming back from there, but they’d be disappointed searching this boat coming back.

  Getting in his car, a light feeling washed over him. Effectively, he’d just quit his job and was a free agent—provided he got away. He didn’t even bother going back to the apartment. There was nothing there he needed. Instead, he drove straight to the marina he’d told Carlos to meet him at.

  Carlos stood waiting as he arrived, the wind catching his pants as he waited.

  “So I guess I am finally doing all the classic kingpin things,” Palmer said, taking a look at the sleek speedboat with its long nose and million horsepower engines. He wasn’t sure what horsepower they actually had—not a boat guy, or really an engine guy.

  Carlos frowned. “Is this necessary?”

  “Yeah. It was going to end this way.” Palmer held out his car keys to Carlos. “The ship’s yours to steer now, provided they don’t take you down for that raid, but I think it’s me they’re interested in.”

  “So just riding off into the sunset?”

  “That sums it up. It’s been a pleasure.”

  They shook hands. Carlos knew the business. Knew all the contacts and the processes. He’d do well. “Don’t be a hothead. You have to watch that temper of yours.”

  “I have learned from the best.”

  It was a compliment and Palmer took it. He stepped into the boat. “Apparently they’re raiding my apartment in an hour or so. They won’t find anything.”

  “Of course,” Carlos said. Rul
e one of being good at this was not to leave any incriminating evidence behind. Even the shit in his safe was bullshit, designed to steer anyone breaking into it on a goose chase leading them nowhere.

  “So long, Carlos.”

  “Palmer,” he said with a nod. Palmer could almost swear there was a sheen of moisture in his eyes. Had to be the sea air.

  The rumble of the engines vibrated through the whole boat. Sitting down in the back, he patted his inside pocket, ensuring he had the documentation and cash he’d cleared out of his storage locker at the back of a local pet store.

  The boat pulled away, slowly gliding with the speed restrictions with the marina. It always paid to follow the rules, he thought with a smile. Once they reached open waters, the driver gunned the engines and the boat roared. The wind ripped at his face and hair and he crossed his arms to keep his jacket closed. Wouldn’t do to go out with piles of cash flaring behind him.

  Fuck this was cheesy, he thought. But this high-powered speedboat served a vital purpose. A last hurray doing shit he’d sworn he’d never do.

  In truth, he wasn’t even sad—just wanted this over with. The Cuban officials wouldn’t be hard to bride. All he wanted was a ride to the airport, and then he was off south. There was a girl waiting for him. And a part of him couldn’t wait.

  On the other hand, it was a little disconcerting being unemployed. What the fuck was he going to do with his time? Leisure wasn’t something he was good at.

  Behind him, the glittering chrome and glass vistas of Miami were moving away. It was a gorgeous day, the sun was bright, the water was blue. While apprehensive, he wasn’t sorry to leave it behind. It was a place that had made him.

  Chapter 36

  COPACABANA WAS A place where rich people lived. An endless string of fancy cars, women who looked like their daughters and had more designer gear than Nook had ever seen. The beach was packed with people exercising first thing in the morning. Then the sunbathers came.

  As of yet, she hadn’t been in the water because she didn’t have a swimsuit. It was on her list, but for right now, she was simply exploring the neighborhood. A little too chicken to explore further afield, but there was so much to see just along this beach and the roads leading from it.

  The clothing stores were crazy. Every single designer she’d ever heard of—with eye-watering price tags. Besides, not really her gig, but she didn’t mind looking. And the people-watching—it could occupy her for hours. The ice cream was pretty good too.

  Today she’d walked all the way down to the south end and was sitting on the rocky outcrop, looking back at the beach.

  A guy was smiling at her, clearly hoping she would hop up from her seat and come over to him. Not today buddy, she thought.

  The guys seriously had no shame. They whistled, they hit on her, constantly trying to get her attention. Maybe because she looked like a tourist. Well, she didn’t look like a local anyway. Maybe tourists came down here and partied with the local boys. Couldn’t blame them. They were hot. But she wasn’t interested in dudes. In fact, her heart felt beaten and tender in that regard.

  Balancing her water bottle on her knee, she stared back at the bright beach and the gently lapping water. The sun beat down on her. She’d had to buy some sunblock.

  She hadn’t gone any further than this yet, but there was another beach on the other side of this peninsula. Maybe tomorrow, she’d go have a look. Right now, she was getting a bit hungry. A day or so back, she’d found this little restaurant—just a hole in the wall, really—where they sold these awesome meat skewers. They were divine and she craved some right now.

  Getting up, she wiped any dirt and sand off the back of her shorts and started walking back. There was no hurry. It wasn’t as if she had anything to do.

  For right now, it served her to think small. One day at a time. It stopped the enormity of all this from crashing down on her. Really, she was just a tourist. It was just impossible to think beyond that right now, and she had the luxury of the apartment and a bit of dough she was trying to make last as long as possible.

  There was no denying that things had fallen to pieces, and the best she could do was to just be good for that moment. And she was managing. Completely alone in a foreign country. It was scary shit, but she was managing from one moment to the next. And if she needed to hear a familiar voice, who was absolutely no practical help at all, she could call her mother.

  At one point, she’d tried to search google maps to find Palmer’s building so she could leave him a message, because she didn’t have his number. It all looked so different from above, but she thought she’d found it, but she hadn’t heard back from anyone.

  It hurt her a little that he hadn’t called. That promise he’d given her on the tarmac just as she was getting on the plane was like a lifeline to her. She held onto it tightly, even as she knew their situation wasn’t good. Just because she wanted it didn’t make the situation better. She was here and he was back in Miami, doing, whatever he was doing dealing with his problems—which she had been partially responsible for.

  He’d saved her even when it did him harm to do so. A spear of sorrow and longing pierced through her. There was so much she’d never had a chance to say to him.

  Hopefully he would turn up, at least once, so she could say some of the things that weighed on her heart. Thank you, being one of them—for sending her here, out of reach, for the apartment, for not killing her. A funny thing to thank someone for, but she knew the decision had cost him.

  There were just so many things left unsaid.

  With a sigh, she walked along, her water bottle gently swinging from her fingertips. This really was a crazy place and she’d decided that she was going to love it. Hopefully that appreciation would continue when she’d have to start supporting herself—but somehow, she’d find a place for herself in this crazy city.

  She wasn’t as stressed about it as when she’d first arrived. There were tons of tourist bars, and one of them was bound to take her on as a bartender or a server. It would help if she knew how to speak Portuguese, and maybe short term, that should be her focus.

  Walking down a street that was now starting to be a little bit more familiar, she found her hole in the wall restaurant and ordered five sticks of beef, and a bag full of strange cheesy balls that were really nice. The old woman put it together into a bag for her and she grabbed a cold coke out of the fridge as well, and paid.

  “Thanks,” she said as she left, making her way back toward her apartment.

  The one thing she hadn’t found so far was a supermarket, suspecting she had to go deeper into the city. It was probably a good idea to find one. Maybe she should just ask Matteo, although he probably lived quite far away. Rio was huge, apparently, even though she’d only hung around this one beach.

  Again, manageable was how she had to approach this stuff.

  Coke in hand, she walked back, taking sips of the cool, familiar taste. Rounding the corner, she made her way home. As she got closer, she saw a guy sitting on a bench and it looked a little like Palmer. Her heart twisted painfully.

  The guy had sunglasses on and jeans, which Palmer had never worn as far as she’d seen. A white suit jacket. He looked over toward her and smiled, and her heart just about stopped. It was him. He was here.

  Dropping the coke and her bag with food, she ran to him and jumped up into his arms, wrapping her legs around him. “You’re here,” she said, her arms tight around his neck.

  “I’m here,” was all he said, smiling as he kissed her. Those lips, that taste—it suffused through her mind. This felt a little like a dream, but here he was, real and solid.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said. “I didn’t know if you were coming.”

  He placed her down, but didn’t let go. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure exactly how things would play out for a while.”

  “How long are you staying?”

  Palmer shrugged. “Can’t really go back.”

  Nook blinked, trying to absorb
the words. She’d expected him to say a day or two, and then he’d have to go. But this was something else entirely. “You’re staying?” Excitement bubbled through her whole body, making it impossible to stand still. “The apartment is right up there,” she said, pointing back at the building. “It’s really cool.”

  “I know. I did pick it. By pictures, but it looked nice.”

  Of course he had, she thought, feeling a bit slow. Had this been the plan? No, he’d just said he hadn’t known how it would go. But he couldn’t go back, which meant that things hadn’t gone well, or at least not great. Well, he wasn’t dead, which was the one thing she’d feared. And now he was here with her.

  “Come,” she said, taking his hand. “It’s nice and cool inside. You don’t have any luggage?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Kind of like me, then,” she said with a smile. Using her card, she swiped them into the door. “Hey, Matteo,” she said and they walked past toward the elevator. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she’d ever been this happy in her life, she thought as she turned back to look at him. He was here with her, and they would be here together. “This is it,” she said as she opened the door, showing the place like a game show hostess.

  His eyes traveled around the place, but there was a seriousness there that said something wasn’t well.

  “What?” she said, her elated mood crashing a little.

  Stepping a little closer to her, he reached out with his hand a nudged her hip, then smiled. “You should know, though, that even though I think everything will be okay, I can’t say that for sure. I’ve basically retired, but that doesn’t necessarily mean everything’s cool. I had to do some shit that certain individuals might be upset by.”

  Exactly what, she didn’t want to know. If he wanted to tell her, she would listen, but she wasn’t going to push. He did the things he had to do—that much she’d learned about him. Things had obviously gone down.

  “It might mean I have to move at short notice. Even get lost somewhere less civilized than this. I can’t really tell yet if there will be people looking for me.”