Deep Down Dead

by Steph Broadribb

  I peered over the top of the paper, stared at the screen. My heart banged double-time against my ribs. Drugs. Was that what JT had gotten himself mixed up in? There was only one Florida cartel with that kind of power: the Bonchese crime family, otherwise known as the Miami Mob. I’d never dealt with any of their players, but everyone in my line of work knew exactly who they were. Their fingers were stuck deep into many pies. Drugs, trafficking, gambling and prostitution formed the mainstay of their business.

  What I couldn’t figure out was how JT was connected to them. I thought back to the ranch house, remembered how JT had leant close to Gunner as we’d turned to leave, how he’d given him a message for his boss, something about having information and working out a deal. Sure it’d been a long while since I’d last seen him, and people changed, I knew that. But JT being a willing player in the Miami Mob’s business just didn’t sit right. Maybe that was why they’d gotten him restrained.

  On the television, the news report continued on to the next story, ‘… also in West Virginia, an attempted robbery at a gas station earlier today has left one man dead and another with serious concussion, as yet…’

  The Miami Mob were vicious and smart. If the people who’d taken Dakota, Emerson’s men, had killed three mob guys, then they were at least as dangerous, possibly more so.

  I felt sick.

  The certainty descended on me: no matter what we did we’d be dead, all three of us. We’d seen their faces. Once they’d gotten what they wanted, we’d be done. Ended.

  No. I could not let that happen.

  The elderly guy in line behind me tapped me on the arm. ‘Lady, you’re up.’

  I lowered my newspaper. A peroxide blonde sporting heavy make-up and an artificial smile was looking at me real expectant. A spot of crimson lipstick had rubbed on to her top teeth – a red smear, like blood. I couldn’t help but stare at it.

  I put my items on the counter. Forced a smile.

  ‘… this man is wanted for questioning in connection with both incidents…’

  I glanced at the television screen. There it was, JT’s mugshot. Not mine, not right at that moment anyways. That was some relief, but only a little. I handed lipstick-woman a twenty.

  ‘He’s believed to be travelling in a blue Chevrolet with the plate number…’

  Shit. I grabbed my stuff. Didn’t wait for the change. Had to get away, and fast. I ran from the store.

  The Chevy was still parked where I’d left it. JT was slumped low in the driver’s seat, good as his word.

  I was ten yards out when a large SUV with blacked-out rear windows pulled up beside the Chevy and reversed into the adjoining parking spot. I slowed my pace. Didn’t want to get too close. Wanted to avoid them getting a good look at my face. Limiting my risk, just in case my mugshot joined JT’s on the news report next time around. I didn’t want these people to remember me.

  They tumbled out of the vehicle. A father, momma, and three little kids. The kids were hyped up, the parents looked exhausted. They were talking about getting food at the taco place. The smallest boy wanted the bathroom. They locked the SUV and headed towards the buildings. Didn’t even glance my way.

  Perfect.

  The SUV was parked butt-in, tight against the fence. I slipped along the gap between it and the Chevy, glanced at JT through the windshield. He nodded like he knew just what I was thinking, stayed low. I flicked my gaze across the parking lot, made one final check. No one was close by.

  Dropping to a crouch, I eased myself between the rear of the SUV and the wooden fence. There wasn’t much room. I slid my legs beneath the SUV, and sat my ass down on the blacktop. The fender pressed tight against my chest, and the rough wood fence scraped my back where my shirt and leather jacket had risen up.

  The SUV’s plate was from West Virginia. Good. They only required a rear plate. With just this one we’d be good to go. I reckoned the family would be a while having their meal. And I was counting on them being too preoccupied with getting back on the road to notice their missing plate. With the SUV parked back against the fence, there was little chance they’d spot right away that it was gone. And we only needed a few more hours to get to the cabin.

  I took the screwdriver from the plastic bag, lined it up with the first screw and began to undo it. Working it was real awkward. I was too close, couldn’t get enough purchase. Leaning to my left, I angled my elbow higher and drew back until it was pushing against the fence. Better. The screw came out. I repeated the process for the second. The plate came away real easy.

  Putting it and the screwdriver into the plastic bag, I swung my legs left and crawled around the SUV into the gap between it and the Chevy. I was sweating, my singlet felt damp against my skin. But I’d gotten the plate. Things were halfway done.

  The next part would be trickier.

  I walked between the SUV and our Chevy, scanned the parking lot for trouble. It was pretty quiet. I spotted a few people around the storefront but none of them seemed to be coming our way. Good enough.

  I popped the trunk. Eased the spare wheel out, and propped it against the fender. From the direction of the store it’d look like I was fixing some car trouble.

  The Chevy’s plate was old and mud-crusted. I crouched beside it, pulled the screwdriver from the plastic bag, and got to work. The left-side screw came out easy enough, but the right one was altogether tougher. It had rusted tight. The screwdriver slipped out of position. I pitched forward. ‘Son-of-a-bitch.’

  I regained my balance. Lined up the screwdriver. Pressed hard, tried again.

  It twisted in my hand. My palm felt like it was on fire. I cussed under my breath. It wasn’t no damn good. The plate had to come off, and fast. I was going to have to ask JT to help. But him being out of the car made him easier to spot, plus just the thought of asking grated real bad. I’d lived alone a long while. I didn’t want to start relying on a man just because he was around. But time was passing, and we needed to be out of there. I had to suck it up and ask for help.

  I stepped around the spare tyre to the passenger door, opened it.

  JT straightened up a little. ‘You done?’

  I shook my head. ‘One of the screws is rusted solid.’

  He got out, followed me round back. Handing him the screwdriver, I positioned myself in direct line of sight from the store to JT. ‘Be fast.’

  The screw was real stubborn. JT gripped the screwdriver double handed – the only option with the cuffs binding his wrists together – and put some effort into it. Didn’t work, he needed more leverage.

  He shifted to the right a few inches, angled the screwdriver. Tried again. The screwdriver slipped off the screw. No dice.

  I glanced back towards the store and the taco place. More people had parked up, families unloading from their vehicles and heading inside. We’d not attracted attention so far. No way of telling how long our luck would hold.

  I looked back at JT. He was still struggling to get a better grip on the screwdriver’s plastic handle. Shit. If he was going to get this done, I needed to remove the cuffs.

  ‘Hold up,’ I said, reaching into the plastic bag for the wire-cutters.

  He raised an eyebrow at me.

  Kneeling beside him, I slipped the mouth of the wire-cutters around one of the plasticuffs’ straps. Hesitated. If I did this, I left myself vulnerable, at risk. JT could overpower me and run. I’d lose the lead on Scott, on the device, leaving me nothing to trade for Dakota. But if I didn’t do it, we’d be stuck driving a stolen car with a plate known by every law enforcer in the state. Get stopped and the game would be over. Dakota would be as good as dead.

  Rule number three: Limit your risks. I thought on it a short moment more, weighing up the choices. Picked the option that gave me the best chance of getting my daughter back safe. Hoped to hell I wouldn’t regret it.

  Snipping the plastic from around JT’s left wrist, then his right, I pulled the plasticuffs away and shoved them into the plastic bag with the pliers.
I tried to ignore the raw, bleeding cuts around his wrists.

  He tried again. This time the screw gave way and the plate came off. I took it from him, handed him the plate from the SUV. ‘Hurry.’

  As he got to work, I heard voices behind me. My breath caught in my throat. Were the owners of the SUV back already?

  Turning, I saw a couple of teens sauntering our way. Not the owners of the SUV. These dudes weren’t paying us any attention; instead they were looking at something on the lankier guy’s cell phone, laughing. But, damn, just a few yards closer and they’d get a good look-see at JT and what he was doing.

  I glanced back at him. He was still kneeling by the plate, had gotten one screw done, and was finishing up on the other. The teens were getting closer. They’d stopped looking at whatever had been on their cell. Damn. How long before they noticed JT? How long before they figured they’d seen his face someplace?

  The lights flashed on a red Honda parked opposite. The teens were three yards away and closing. Shit. I had to do something.

  My options were limited. The taser in my holster was spent, the spare cartridges sat in my carryall on the back seat of the Chevy. And anyways, I couldn’t fire on these kids, it’d only bring more attention; the precise thing I was looking to avoid.

  No, this situation called for a little more finesse.

  JT stood up. ‘We’re all set.’

  I leant towards him, whispered, ‘Stay facing the trunk.’

  When I turned back, the teens were looking at us, curious. I willed them to keep on walking.

  They didn’t.

  The shorter one stepped closer. He glanced at the spare wheel, then at me, his eyes stopping at my boobs. ‘You need a hand?’

  I forced a smile. Bent down as if about to pick up the spare. ‘No thanks, we’re about done.’

  Now both the teens were looking. Good. Hopefully that’s what they’d remember. Not my face. Not JT.

  I lifted the wheel into the trunk. Let JT push it back into position. When I turned back around the teens were getting into their Honda. Moments later they pulled away, stereo thumping.

  Closing the trunk. I looked at JT, nodded to the Chevy. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

  Back on the highway, I pushed the Chevy to the max. The muffler was blowing, almost shot by my reckoning. Loud and unrelenting, it joined the constant rattle of the passenger-door window in a duet.

  ‘I appreciate your helping me,’ JT said after a spell.

  ‘Isn’t like I had a choice.’

  He was silent a moment. I could feel his stare on me, but I kept driving, didn’t look.

  ‘We’ll get her back, Lori. I’ll make damn sure of it.’

  His words were nice an’ all, but they didn’t do a thing to fetch my daughter home safe. I swung out around a slow-moving truck. Accelerated hard. ‘Those men at the ranch, they were Miami Mob. Did you know that?’

  He looked out of the rattling window. ‘I did not.’

  A lie, it had to be. So much for his appreciation. ‘You sure? They had a television playing in that store. The news report made out it was some drugs deal gone bad, so quit holding out and tell me the truth. Are you working for the mob?’

  ‘If I was, do you think they’d have tied me up?’

  If he’d double-crossed them on a deal, sure they would. I met his gaze now. Wasn’t done yet. ‘They must have had a reason.’

  ‘It’s not about drugs.’

  I swerved back into the slow lane. ‘So what is it about?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Meaning you won’t tell me.’

  ‘Meaning there are some things it’d be safer for you not to know.’

  I gritted my teeth. Felt the anger rising inside me. ‘Is that right?’

  Silence.

  There was a large rig ahead of us. I reckoned we were travelling a good twenty miles an hour faster. I held the car steady, didn’t move to overtake, kept accelerating.

  ‘Lori? The truck.’

  I ignored him. Held my line.

  JT cussed under his breath. ‘Look, the Miami Mob have a grudge against me due to a skip trace I did on one of their boys. It’s got nothing to do with Scott.’

  ‘So, what, Merv’s working with the mob?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nope. Gunner and his boys finding me at Merv’s ranch was bad timing is all. They were foot soldiers, a search team, under order to hold me until one of the main guys from Miami arrived.’

  ‘Lucky for you I showed when I did.’

  JT nodded. ‘Yep.’

  I eased off the gas a little. ‘So them finding you was what, coincidence?’

  He shook his head. ‘I doubt it, but that isn’t important. The mob aren’t working with Emerson. They don’t have Dakota. Like I said, they’re trying to get payback for a skip trace I did.’

  Shit. If he’d kept this from me, what else was he hiding? The cuffs were off, and I didn’t have another pair.

  I glared over at him. ‘So we’ve got two sets of murderous bastards on our trail. Thanks so much for the heads-up. You got any other secrets I should know?’

  ‘We’ll get her back, Lori,’ he said, his expression all intense.

  I pulled out around the rig, rattled the Chevy past, and swung us back into the off-side lane. ‘So you keep saying.’

  ‘Let’s get to the cabin, get Scott and the evidence. Then we’ll have what Emerson wants and we can trade it for Dakota.’

  I shook my head. ‘They’ll kill us anyways.’

  ‘I’m sure as hell not letting that happen. We won’t let it happen.’

  ‘And why should I trust you?’

  He looked at me a long moment. ‘You know why.’

  And I did. The memory of that night all those years ago flashed into my mind. I heard the gunshot echo, saw Sal fall, smelt the blood, felt the horror. Watched her bleed out. Remembered what JT had done to help me fix things. What I had let him do when I had fixed them. Knew that should be reason enough.

  The rage ebbed out of me. In its place I felt an ache, deep and raw, like a festering wound that would never heal right. Sal had been taken from me all those years back, just as Dakota had now. My fault, both times. I should have protected her, protected them.

  I suppressed a sob as the memory of Dakota being taken replayed in my mind. Nausea ripped through me. I clung to the wheel. Focused on the horizon. Told myself that losing control now would solve nothing. I had to believe we could get her safe. Knew I’d go crazy if I didn’t.

  I glanced at JT. He was still watching me. The man I’d known before would never have gotten mixed up in the Miami Mob. He was a loner, sure, but he was all about justice. Thing was, whenever he was around me bad things happened. So I promised myself I would hold true to the vow I’d made ten years previously: however this thing played out, I would not allow myself to get close to him again.

  I exhaled softly. Stared at the highway through the grubby windshield and shook my head. ‘Why? I don’t know you anymore.’

  22

  We reached JT’s cabin at six o’clock that evening. Nestled deep in the forest, the building stood alone, shielded by the trees surrounding it. The nearest civilisation was the town of Martinez, a few miles away. The only passers-by found here were the occasional hiker or hunter, and mostly they stuck to the trails.

  The place looked pretty much as I remembered. Of course, the wooden cladding had been a shade or two lighter then, but aside from that, it felt like I’d stepped back in time. If only the circumstances were different. But they weren’t. This was about getting Scott, and saving Dakota.

  It was almost nine hours since Emerson’s men had snatched her. I’d kept my cell close all the while I’d been driving, coaxing the old Chevy through to Georgia, even when we’d stopped for gas, and refuelled on sandwiches and water. I’d checked the display every few minutes. Willed for them to call.

  They hadn’t.

  Still, I knew that my cell was working just fine. Quinn
had called again, twice. He’d left a voicemail, both times. I’d listened to them as we crossed the state line into Georgia. He hadn’t anything new to tell me, just kept yakking on about how he wanted me to take JT to the nearest police precinct. When he’d rung a third time I aborted the call. If I’d have answered he’d have given me grief. There was nothing of value to be had from us speaking.

  Taking us a little ways past the cabin, I parked beside the wooden barn JT had always used as a garage. Turning off the engine, I checked my cell once again. No messages and, now we were in the forest, no signal either. I didn’t like that. What if Dakota’s captors tried to make contact? We needed to get Scott and get out of here. Fast.

  JT eased open his door. ‘You ready?’

  I nodded. Climbed out of the Chevy and stretched, trying to ease my aching muscles and the throbbing pain in my injured ankle. Paused. JT was already in the yard. He had an intense stillness about him, like a mountain lion measuring up a deer, calculating its next move. He watched the cabin; I watched him.

  Mirroring his stillness, I listened hard. High above us, a bird twittered in the tree canopy, the leaves rustling as it moved from branch to branch. Aside from that, I heard nothing. This place had always felt secluded, sheltered. Safe. The silence was a part of that.

  ‘Something’s not right.’ JT pulled the handgun he’d taken from the dead guy at the gas station and stepped slowly towards the cabin, beckoning for me to follow.

  I eased the taser from my holster, glad that I’d gotten JT to swap out the spent cartridges on the drive over, and followed a couple of paces behind. I couldn’t spot any sign of activity – no tyre tracks or disturbed ground – but that meant nothing. High summer never brought much rain. The dirt was packed solid. A ten-ton rig could have passed through and we still would’ve been none the wiser.

  Ahead of us, the cabin stood on wooden stilts, the only access via six steps up to the porch. In the crawl space beneath, I noticed a neatly stacked pile of logs. The handle of the axe that’d been used to chop them stood tall, its blade half buried in a medium-sized stump. I sped up, closing the gap between me and JT, and whispered, ‘Did Scott drive here?’