I turned back. “Yeah?”
“Don’t do it. It won’t solve any problems. It won’t bring her back. You’ll only lose your soul.”
I nodded and continued walking.
“God bless you, brother Titus,” he said.
“You too, Reverend,” I said and headed toward West Lido Drive.
The black SUV pulled out from its space and followed me at a distance.
FORTY-EIGHT
THE DOOR BUILT INTO THE CORAL-PAINTED FENCE between cobblestone pillars beckoned me again. There was a black wrought-iron gate on a coded security system across the wide stone driveway, but the door in the fence to the left of it interested me more. It would be easier.
The night was remarkably similar to my first one in Miami, when I stood on this spot across the street from this house here on West Lido Drive—burning with a desire to kill. The insects were loud, the smells were fragrant, the breeze was hot, and distant flashes of silent heat lightning lit high cloudscapes at rough three-second intervals.
But there was one thing missing.
I looked around for Sofia, but she was nowhere in sight. Nobody is going to save me from my fate tonight.
The house was lit with an effervescent glow from a variety of lights that had likely been designed by a lighting consultant who charges more than I’ve ever made in a year. The palm trees gleamed in spaced rows behind crisp squares of glass and concrete. It wasn’t a Hinraker mega-mansion nor a Gables Estates small nation. This neighborhood was nothing but average Miami bayfront mansions for average Miami multi-millionaires.
Unlike last time, I didn’t smoke. Oddly, I had no cravings. First time since I quit.
I turned to my left and smiled at the black SUV parked three houses up. I waved.
Then, I took a deep breath and removed my Sig from its holster. Time to get this over with, once and for all.
I walked across the street to the door in the high coral fence to the left of the driveway. I was prepared for a challenge—any kind of a challenge—but I didn’t even have to jimmy the door nor pick a lock. At my touch, it swung open gently. No alarms.
I stepped into a Japanese garden with a pathway running through it along the side of the house. The lighting designer earned his keep over here for sure, a multitude of colors projected at artful angles around a koi pond surrounded by blue gemstones that reflected the light like a sea of candies.
An enormous Easter Island-like carved face stood at the head of the pond. Its expression was grim, as if it were saying “Such a pity.” I nodded in agreement.
A stone lantern sat at the head of the garden in front of a large carved water basin. In the pond, the koi swam back and forth, rippling the water ever so softly. They didn’t seem worried about anything.
I continued through a small thicket of big leaves that rustled louder than I would have preferred. Not that he doesn’t know I’m here. He’s making this very easy for me.
I rounded the corner and there he was, sitting in a lounge chair facing away from me. An iPad was in his lap. He scrolled absently while sipping from a large martini glass. His coiffed blond hair shimmered in the warm glow from the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. I bet he has it foiled and trimmed once a week at the cost of a few hundred dollars.
Strangely, this is just how I pictured the whole scene would look—him, the lounge chair in front of the aquamarine-lit pool, the yacht moored just over to the right so as not to spoil the view of distant downtown skyscrapers in brilliant splendor across the bay, the gentle lapping of the waves against the dock pilings, the occasional flash of red taillights on cars crossing the Venetian.
Something else was missing, though, come to think of it. The voice that had prompted me on before was now silent. Was Luther right? Had I truly got the devil behind me?
I stepped out from the shrubbery and raised the gun. I wasn’t afraid. My heart rate was low. I wasn’t even sweating.
I took two steps forward to his left, almost into his field of vision. I studied his face.
Hard to believe I’m so close to this face—a face I obsessed about in prison, a face that once meant so much to me, and yet I dreamed about smashing it into pieces every time I pictured Ariel’s lifeless body on the medical examiner’s table.
I took another step forward, the gun pointed at his head.
“What are you waiting for, Titus?” he said in an even voice without looking up from the iPad. “Pull the trigger.”
“Hello, Cassius,” I said.
My brother looked up at me for the first time. He hadn’t changed. His blue eyes shone brightly in the lights of the patio. Ripples from the lights in the pool danced across his face. He wore a plain white shirt and tan slacks. He was barefoot.
We looked at each other, a lifetime passing between us. He was as calm as I was. As if we were both relieved to be getting this over with.
“Well,” Cassius said, “go ahead, Titus. It’s what you came here for. I’ve made it easy for you. I disarmed the security system and I have no weapon. Kill me.”
I laughed, not sure why. It all seemed so silly now. It was so dramatic in my head every time I went over it, but right now it struck me as comical.
“I had it all planned,” I said. “I sat there in my cell rehearsing this moment. I knew exactly what I was going to say. I knew exactly how you would react. I went over it a thousand times at least. Then another thousand times in cheap motel rooms, on buses, and in rental cars from the sidewalk along Route 2 in Concord all the way here to Miami. You would say this. I would say that. You would use your Harvard Law School skills on me. You would get me to agree to X. I would twist out from under your legal trap and say Y. And then I’d shoot you. Bang. Point, shoot, done.”
“Then what?” he said, sipping his martini casually, like people walk onto his patio pointing guns at him every night of the year.
“Then,” I said as a brief flash of heat lightning lit the sky on fire, “then I—don’t know. I had never moved past the part where I shoot you. I couldn’t see it. Would I turn the gun on myself? Would I even bother trying to get away? I just don’t know, Cassius.”
“Why are you telling me this, Titus? Why don’t you just shoot me?”
I sighed, lowered the gun, and holstered it. I clasped my hands in front of me and kept on looking at him.
He placed the iPad and the martini glass on the table next to him and stood up. He was still an inch taller than me at six-two. His eyes met mine head on.
“I rehearsed this moment, too,” he said. “I knew you’d come to kill me. I pictured me, right here, waiting. I had some good lines in mind, some from movies like ‘Go ahead, Titus. Kill me. You’d be doing me a favor.’ I even worked on my Humphrey Bogart inflection. Thought you’d appreciate that.”
He looked down and away, a pained expression on his face.
“Funny thing is,” he continued, “I meant it. If this was right, you’d kill me. It was my fate. I refused to allow myself to prevent you. I couldn’t not let you. I had to give you every chance.”
“Why?” I said.
“Because I had faith in you, Titus. You’re not a cold-blooded killer. I couldn’t deny you the opportunity to prove to yourself that killing me isn’t going to bring Ariel back. I knew you’d snap out of it. I knew you’d return to the land of the living. The only way to get it done was to put my life on the line. And if you pulled the trigger, then you pulled the trigger. I wouldn’t want to live in a world where my own brother could kill me like that.”
I glanced over at the Venetian. A cop had pulled someone over. I wonder if it’s a broken taillight.
“So here we are,” I said.
“So here we are,” he said.
Bugs chirped. Frogs croaked. Water lapped.
“So,” he said, “what changed, Titus?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I heard voices. Voices telling me what to do. Ever since Ariel died. Dark voices. I lost it. I lost everything. Including my mind, for a while. Then I came here and—I d
on’t know—lately I’ve become someone else. I became a part of something that has nothing to do with you and me and Ariel and I—uh—felt something.”
“Felt what?”
“Something I hadn’t felt in a long time. A kind of—I don’t know—belonging. Everything is turned on its head.”
Cassius folded his arms, looked down at the expensive stone walkway surrounding the pool, and then looked me in the eyes again.
“So,” he said, “where do we go from here, Titus?”
“What happened to Ariel?” I said.
“I told you, Titus. I don’t know. I swear to you on the grave of our mother: I. Don’t. Know. I didn’t kill her and I don’t know who did.”
“I may not shoot you, but I can’t forgive you.”
“I don’t blame you. I acted badly. I feel just as awful about Ariel. Remember, I loved her too.”
“Don’t go there.”
Cassius put his hands up, folded his arms, and stared at me. He reached into his pocket and took out something small and rectangular.
“This is for you,” he said and tossed it to me.
“What’s this?” I said as I caught it. It was a flash drive.
“Everything Ariel was working on—files, records, notes, recordings. Stuff the police and the FBI don’t know about.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“Why did you keep this from them?” I said.
“You know why, Titus,” he said. “I’m not exactly Mister Clean. There’s stuff in there that could put me away.”
“Why are you giving this to me?”
“Because I trust you. I know that sounds ridiculous after all we’ve been through, but I really have nobody else. Stay here. I’ve got a room for you in the house. Work with me and let’s solve this. Let’s find out what really happened to Ariel. Let’s find out who killed her. Together. My legal skills plus your street skills. We can do it. What say?”
I spun the thumb drive in my hand.
“I wouldn’t live in this gaudy monstrosity if it were the last place on earth,” I said.
“Suit yourself,” Cassius said. “But let me help out.”
“No. Your money is dirty. I wouldn’t take a dime of it. But maybe I’ll—uh—look into this. Thanks.”
I pocketed the thumb drive and turned to walk away.
“Where are you headed?” he said.
“Don’t know,” I said. “Away from this place.”
“Aw, come on, Titus. Stay. Seriously. Don’t do it for me. Do it for her.”
I turned back at the hedge. “You’ve been following me.”
He scratched his neck. “Not me, personally. But if I’m going to be killed, I like a little advance warning. Who do you think sent you the text about Z?”
I nearly fell down. I took a step toward him.
“You?” I said. “That was you?”
“Yes, me,” he said. “My guy spotted him and identified him. So I had him text you from an anonymous number.”
“You were looking out for me?”
“Been looking out for you since you were fifteen and showed up at my door beaten to a bloody pulp. Besides, I didn’t want you to miss out on completing your task here.”
I watched as the police cruiser on the Venetian drove away in a flurry of flashing blues. The ticketed violator sheepishly pulled back out into the road.
“Thanks,” I said. “But I don’t need you to look out for me anymore. I’m leaving.”
Cassius put his hands up. “Fine. I can’t make you stay.”
“No. You can’t.”
I turned away and walked back through the hedge, past the koi pond, and across the street. I picked up my duffel from behind the bush where I had left it. I walked up the street. The black SUV was gone.
I walked onto the Venetian Causeway and headed to the bus stop that would take me to the bus terminal and from there to a different city. The Intracoastal glistened between the tall buildings on the left and the low sparkling houses on the Sunset Islands. Miami actually looked clean in the night.
At the bus stop, a heavy-set short woman and a tall younger woman sat on the bench talking in Spanish. They went silent when I stood near them.
I took the flash drive out of my pocket and twirled it around again. What’s on this? My curiosity fired up, even though I had promised myself I was leaving Miami tonight.
What good would it do? Vengeance is mine, says the Lord. That’s what Luther would say. I should just get on this bus, go to the bus terminal, and get out of town.
As if to answer my question, the bus showed up. The two women got on. I paid the driver and sat down. There were only five people on the bus. I sat in an aisle seat.
The doors closed and the driver put the bus in gear. It moved forward. We passed West Lido Drive and were almost to San Marino Island when I stood up.
“Stop!” I said as I approached the driver.
“No can stop,” said the driver. “Only at bus stops.”
I opened my suit coat to show him my gun in its holster, being careful so that the other passengers couldn’t see.
The driver slammed on the brakes.
“Let me out,” I said.
He opened the door, letting me know he was annoyed by shaking his head. I got out and the bus drove away. As I passed, I glanced over at Lido Island to the house where I had just been. Cassius had gone inside.
I walked all the way back to my apartment, hoping my Chromebook was still sitting on the table where I left it.
Once I got there, I noticed a light in the window. I moved up to the corner in the courtyard and looked in. A heavy-set man with a bad comb-over was in his plaid boxers walking around. He was eating from a McDonald’s bag.
Damn. Looks like my landlord didn’t waste any time. Didn’t even clean or paint. Doesn’t matter. It isn’t that kind of building. Not that kind of tenants.
There was no sign of my Chromebook. The landlord probably sold it already.
I walked to the little park at the corner of Washington Ave and 2nd Street. I found the bench I slept on my first night in Miami and sat down.
I took out the flash drive and looked at it again.
I’m going to have to stay here and finish this, aren’t I?
Which means I’m right back where I started. Same park bench. Same cash problem. No job. No place to live. Here we go again.
Maybe Paulie and Trina will come by and get mugged again so I can save them and Paulie can offer me a job again.
No, it’s going to have to be different this time.
I put my duffel bag on the bench and fell to my side, using it as a pillow. I closed my eyes and allowed the hot breeze to lull and relax me.
Somewhere between reality and sleep, I heard Ariel’s voice.
“I told you,” she said.
I opened my eyes.
“You were right,” I said.
I closed my eyes and went to sleep.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JOHN D. PATTEN occasionally skipped class in college because he was glued to a Spenser book by Robert B. Parker. He would be late for jobs because he got caught up in a Travis McGee book by John D. MacDonald. He memorized Philip Marlowe lines from books by Raymond Chandler. Now, after all these years, he’s finally figured out what he should really be doing. He’s currently working on the next Titus thriller. Visit John at johndpatten.com.
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Miami Burn (Titus Book 1) Page 29
