by J. A. Marley
The bodyguard returned, dropping a mobile phone in his lap.
“What’s this? I don’t use…”
Ines cut him off. “It is a burner phone, from Mexico, hard to trace. You are to use it to update me. All such calls must last less than three minutes and should be made from different, sterile locations. Like the mall or the beach, never the same place twice. I want daily updates, even if there is nothing to tell. You still call. And finally, you will text message me, using the WhatsApp on that phone at the beginning and end of every day, your location and agenda for that day.”
“Now, listen…”
Ines waved him off before he could get started. “Pendejo, I have been claro, no? I expect to hear the plan for the robbery soon.”
Harkness was silent. He was trying to judge what was leverage he might bring to this meeting that had run away from him like no other he had ever had.
“The plan is still… evolving.”
“I know, señor. I know. Which is why I called you here today. To set you on the correct path and to leave you in no doubt as to who is running this particular show. And, by the way, we will follow you from time to time. I am so slow to trust, señor. Please, forgive me.”
Ines stood and dismissed Harkness with a desultory wave of her hand. The bodyguard once again appeared at his side to escort him out. Harkness took the hint.
As they arrived at the door of the suite, Harkness stepped to one side and brought his elbow sharply up in the air, expecting to feel the contact of bone on bone. But nothing. His arm simply flailed through the air, as Harkness turned to see that the big guard had anticipated his move. Harkness was then on the point of the knife again. The guard smiling from behind it.
“I have had a few coffees this morning, cabrón. I was awake to your thought before you even had it. Now leave, before I slit your worthless throat.”
All the way down in the lift, Harkness could barely contain his sense of anger mixed with embarrassment.
Vincent was in his office when his security manager knocked softly on the outer door. “Come in, Greg.”
“Good afternoon, sir. I have the updates you requested.”
“Thank you, Greg. But before that, I want you to arrange something for me.”
Cardell held his hand up, reaching behind his desk to switch on a radio, making sure to turn the volume up loud. Norby looked a little confused until his boss pointed to a sheet of paper on his desk. He lifted the sheet to read the note that had been handwritten on it.
Norby, I want you to organise for that friend of ours that we met after church on Sunday to be shown around the Miami Urban Conference Centre after hours. Preferably this week, but as soon as is humanly possible. This is to be done with a high level of discretion, please.
Vincent gestured for him to hand it back. He instantly passed it through a shredder.
Vincent leaned closer to Norby so that he could be heard over the radio but didn’t have to shout. “Do you understand who I mean?”
Norby nodded.
“You know where to find him?”
Another nod.
“Good. Now, update me on June?”
“We now have a fix on her new cell phone, sir. She has spent part of today at the W Hotel.”
“Who with?”
Norby spread his hands in a gesture which indicated he had no idea.
“I think it’s time we started to stick to June a little more closely, don’t you, Norby?”
The security manager nodded his agreement again.
“See to it. In the meantime, I will pray on it. We are living in interesting times. Stay focused please. We have our Lord’s important work to do.”
Once alone again in the office, Cardell switched off the radio and sat heavily into his chair. His mood had suddenly darkened. His resolve tightened in his gut, turning into something much harsher. He picked up a framed photo of him and his wife on their wedding day. In the picture, she was smiling, her happiness somehow making him feel even more angry. In that moment, he wanted to hurt her. Hurt her very badly.
Nothing… and, by God’s will, I mean nothing, will stand in my way. Don’t doubt me, June.
24
The Happiest Place on Earth
Danny’s tea was tasting particularly good when he heard the crunch of car tyres on his drive.
An early morning visitor was the last thing he wanted as he stood on his deck watching the sun slowly climb into the morning sky, but it sounded like he had no choice in the matter.
However, when he made his way round to the front side of the house, he was pleasantly surprised to see the green and white sheriff’s cruiser parked on his drive. Amparo climbed out of it, raising her hand to him as she did so.
Danny smiled. If there’s trouble brewing, a copper rarely gives you a little wave.
“Good morning, Deputy. Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”
“Buenos Dias… I’m just ending my shift. Got any coffee on the go?”
“I’m sure I could arrange something.”
It was then that Amparo noticed the Harley Davidson Electra Glide parked just in front of the carport. Danny saw the question form on her face before she spoke it aloud.
“I have a good friend staying.”
He could see disappointment replace the puzzlement in her expression, and his stomach did a flip at the sight of it. Had she turned up hoping for a little more than coffee?
“I see. Maybe I should not disturb you? I can come see you another time.”
“Come on up. My friend, he’s not one for alarm clocks.”
She stepped up on to the decking, and Danny bent to kiss her hello. He aimed for the cheek but was thrilled when she angled her head and kissed him on the lips. It turned into a long kiss. Setting his mug of tea on the rail of the porch, he reached his arms around her, pulling her close, enjoying the smell of her. They stayed that way for a few minutes. Kissing, like teenagers. It wasn’t until Danny’s arm brushed against the automatic pistol strapped to her waist that he thought how stupid he was.
Gently, he stepped back from her, a huge smile on her face as he did so.
“Have I earned my coffee, muchacho?”
“Oh, I think so. Come on round.”
They walked around the outside of the decking that surrounded the little clapboard house, finally coming to where the kitchen door opened onto the view which stretched out over trees and into the Gulf.
Danny flicked his kettle back on to boil, reaching for a cafetière.
“Hombre! I get the French press? I must be special.”
“I like to treat local law enforcement every now and then. You know, to keep in their good books.”
“How many of my colleagues drop by for coffee?”
“It’s a regular java stop round here, madam.”
They laughed at his joke as the smell of coffee grounds filled the little kitchen.
“So, Ingles, I thought I would stop by and ask you for another date. Seems to me I’m doing all the work, but if a girl don’t ask, she don’t get.”
“Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”
“Better that than being investigated, eh, amigo?”
“Except if I’m being investigated, you might have to frisk me. See? Every cloud… silver lining.”
“I am investigating. You’d be helping me with my enquiries… and my next one is ‘how good a dancer are you?’”
Danny held his hands up in mock submission. “Me and dancing never quite got along. My sister used to call me ‘knock kneed’.”
“Knock what?”
“Kneed. When I dance, I look like someone gave a flamingo a triple bourbon on ice.”
“You just need a good teacher. I could be your profesora.”
Danny stopped what he was doing and looked at her. He was enjoying himself, relishing the flirtation, pleased she had dropped by, but at the same time, he could feel his heart sinking. A tinge of sadness started to grow in his chest. None of this could be his. He neither d
eserved it nor could sustain it. I need to stop this. Stop it now. And yet, he couldn’t, didn’t want to, even with all the risk it entailed. He felt torn.
“I’m, eh, I’m not sure I’m quite up to dancing lessons, just yet.”
She instantly looked crestfallen, as if he had just told her to piss off. Awkwardly, he handed her a mug of coffee. The silence was brittle between them.
“Okay… I just thought… I mean…”
“Look, Amparo, you have to excuse me. I’m not really any good at this kind of thing. Not only am I knock kneed but when it comes to… what I mean is, I’m a bit of a useless wanker around women. I never know what to say or…”
“Or do? Did we not just kiss? That felt like you knew what to do… Oye, amigo!”
She smiled, and he returned it, feeling the pleasant buzz of affection, followed instantly by a mixture of doubt and sadness. Danny went to speak again when she stood up. She stepped close to him and put her index finger on his lips.
“Señor, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand that you are going to go dancing with me?”
Danny shook his head, starting to laugh.
“Don’t make me cuff you, hombre.”
“Now, girl. Can ye tell me, are you arrestin’ this eejit, or are ye playin’ some kind of weird, dressy-up sex game?”
Ciaran stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and more ginger hair than both Danny or Amparo had even seen in their lives.
“Cos, if it’s the latter, I’ve got at least five outstanding warrants and a price on me head…”
Ciaran winked at them both and made off towards the bathroom, leaving Danny gobsmacked and Amparo blushing like a schoolgirl.
They dissolved into fits of laughter that soon went into another deep kiss.
“Are ye feckin’ mad? A copper? Talk about poacher and gamekeeper… Ye live long enough, ye feckin’ see everything.”
Once Amparo had left, Ciaran had emerged from the bathroom and left Danny in no doubt as to what he thought of his friend’s flirtation.
“I know, I know, I’m a twat. But it just kind of… happened.”
“When I was young, that was the kind of thing ye said to your ma right after ye’d showed her the pregnancy test.”
“Ciaran! I’m not sixteen.”
“Exactly! Have you lost all sense of who ye are? Who we are? Do you remember? Stand and deliver… Yer money or yer life?”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“Deal wi’ it? Danny, it is a she, and she’s a feckin’ sheriff’s deputy. No wonder ye asked me to come. Yer feckin’ losing it.”
“I’m not. Trust me. I know it’s wrong, but I will deal with it. We both know, whatever way this job plays out, I have to up sticks and get the fuck out of here. So, in a way, there is nothing to deal with. I’ll be in the wind in a matter of weeks.”
“If ye don’t end up with your trousers round yer ankles. Mind ye, I tink she’d quite like that.”
“It changes nothing. We have a job to do, and it will soon be time to do it. I think I now have a fix on what Harkness is up to. I’m going to see a friend today, one who will be able to confirm what I suspect.”
Ciaran looked at him. “Another ‘friend’. What kind is this one? A CIA agent?”
“Actually, this one’s a stripper.”
“Have ye’ turned into some kind of sex maniac? If this were home, I’d be getting the priest out to ye!”
Danny couldn’t help but laugh. “No, I haven’t, and you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”
“Told me wha’?”
“The stripper… she’s in her seventies.”
Ciaran looked aghast. “Aw, sweet Jaysus. Let me smell your breath. Have you been at the poitín? It’s still only eight in the morning.”
“I’m serious. She’s a bit of an institution.”
“So’s Pamela Anderson, but she’s not still droppin’ her drawers for a livin’.”
“Speaking of drawers.” Danny stood up and crossed to dresser in the corner of the small kitchen. He opened the top drawer and took out an envelope. He handed it to Ciaran.
“Wha’s this?’
“A little folding for you.”
Ciaran looked inside; there was a thick sheaf of hundred-dollar bills.
“Now, I suggest you climb on that motorbike you hired for yourself and take a couple of days to drive north. Go and see Mickey Mouse. If you don’t do it now, you might not get the chance.”
“There’s a shitload o’ cash here, Danny. I don’t need this much.”
“You’ve obviously never been to a theme park. It takes a lot of dosh to buy a ticket into, what is it Disney call it? Oh yeah, ‘the happiest place on earth’.”
“And the happiest place after earth, at least that’s what them yokes we’re going to rob seem to think, anyway.”
Ciaran had Danny laughing again.
“I will finish up the research here. Be back by the weekend, we’ll need to start putting our plans into action by then.”
“I promise to be back on time, as long as ye promise ye won’t go on a date with a federal prosecutor… grand?”
“I’ve got my eye on a cute district attorney. Does that count?”
Ciaran made a playful swipe at Danny’s head.
June Cardell was in tears. Just moments before, she had felt raging anger. It had been this way since she had left the W Hotel a couple of days earlier. She felt like a latter-day King Lear, railing against the storm, tortured by her own choices, tormented by her own frailties. She was enraged by the man – men – who had seen fit to use her, to play with her like a dog does a toy. To violate her at their will.
She wanted to claw Harkness’s face off with her bare hands. She wanted to plunge a knife over and over into her drug-dealing ex’s chest, the man who had set her on this life of relentless opportunism. She imagined slitting Vincent Cardell’s throat from ear-to-ear for giving her a glimpse of love and affection, only for him to turn out like the others – volatile, unreliable, self-obsessed. And just as quickly as the boiling fury would rise in her veins, she would then be dashed into despair, a feeling of powerlessness and self-loathing, diving deep into the notion that she was to blame. She had brought most of this to her own door.
She had to do something. If she didn’t, this maelstrom would devour her. Everything she had endured, every play in her game, every desperate choice she had made would be for nothing. If she lay down under this blanket of shame and excoriating ire, then they would have won. She would have proven their point for them. She would be consigned to being labelled a weak, emotional, unstable bitch of a woman. Men could play power games, be described as ‘ruthless’ when they took what they wanted, be feted for their ‘fearlessness’ as visionaries when they defied convention or played hard and fast with the rules. But when women did it, they were ‘psycho-bitches’, they were ‘fishwives’ and ‘witches’.
It was in the midst of her darkest hour when a moment of pure clarity came to her. A flash of inspiration. Wiping tears from her eyes, she dug her nails into her own hands, feeling them bite into her flesh, watching her knuckles turn white, her palms flush deep red. She’d see their revulsion and scorn and raise it by some measure. She’d show them just how powerful a woman could be. All at once, she intuitively knew how to deflect this clusterfuck right back into their faces. June Cardell was now mad. But more importantly, she was going to get even.
When Danny walked into Woody’s Strip joint, his eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dark. The sunny, spring afternoon outside might as well have been on a different planet. Inside, it was permanent midnight, coloured neon and thumping music robbing the customers of any sense of time or place.
It may have only been four o’clock, but there was a smattering of customers already chug
ging down beers, taking advantage of happy hour. Not that they looked very happy to Danny.
He took a seat at the bar, and without even having to ask, Sal the bartender set a shot of Blanton’s Bourbon in front of him, ice on the side in a separate glass. The Red Hot Chilli Peppers were blasting out Californication while a mousy blonde threw herself into the dance with an energy that belied her surroundings. Danny was already jiggling his knee, hoping that it wouldn’t be long before he could leave the stench of beer mixed with coconut body butter behind.
His wish was soon granted. Slow Tina emerged from behind a beaded curtain, like a latter-day silent movie star. She was slow and elegant with an air of haughtiness, despite the fact that she was dressed in nothing more than a translucent chiffon kaftan over leopard print lingerie. She spotted Danny and picked her way through the bar towards him as he caught Sal’s eye, making sure Tina’s drink was on order.
It arrived just a moment before she did. Danny winced at the electric orange concoction in the glass.
“Why, if it ain’t my liddle English gennelman caller. I do declare, you look finer every time ah see you.” Tina proffered a wrinkled hand, and Danny obliged, gallantly kissing it like a knight from an old-fashioned film.
“Tina, it is always a pleasure, never a chore.”
“Are you here to indulge in your love of the terpsichorean arts or solely to flutter those long, dark eyelashes at me, Danny?”
“I’m here to bathe in your presence, Tina.”
As he said it, he palmed a hundred-dollar bill into her hand. She smiled demurely and slipped into a tiny handbag. It was done with such efficiency, no one would have ever noticed it.
“I was wondering, Tina. Have you ever heard of a lady called Zedillo?”
Tina never usually did anything particularly fast, but the name caused her to swivel her head and look at him. “Now, Mr Danny, please don’t tell me you are playing games with either me or her? She is not a lady to be trifled with.”
