Say Your Goodbyes

by Linda Ladd

  Now they were hitting stoplights, braking at every intersection. Lines of traffic honked and crawled along in both directions. But Novak viewed that as good news. Nobody would notice the old Winnebago in this kind of traffic jam. It had to be ten or twelve years old. Even so, Jenn would have it souped up like brand-new.

  So they drove on with very little said. Novak was glad he hadn’t picked up a tail behind them. The farther they got into the city, the better he felt. At least, he did until Jenn slowed down at the next stop sign. That’s when he heard Marisol’s swivel chair squeak. He twisted around to look at her, but before he could move, she had thrown open the door, jumped out, and was fleeing the vehicle on foot. She took off running through the traffic, darting in and out between cars and trucks. Then she nearly got herself hit by a taxi, followed by a lot of honking horns and angry drivers yelling at her.

  “What’s she doing?” Jenn cried out from the driver’s seat.

  “She’s running, damn it. I guess I’m gonna have to go get her. She’s dead if he finds her. Where’s the safe house? We’ll meet you there.”

  Jenn told him the address. He knew the place, had stayed there a couple of times with her. “Be careful, Novak!”

  Novak stepped down onto the road and slammed the door, just as the light turned to green. Jenn pulled away and made a sharp right at the next corner. Novak headed across the street after Marisol, not running but walking swiftly so as not to draw attention. Once he stepped up on the opposite curb, however, he hurried faster and kept his eyes glued on Marisol’s back. She was running down the sidewalk in front of him. She turned right at the next corner and disappeared from sight. He started jogging, avoiding other shoppers on the sidewalk. When he got to the corner, he caught sight of her again, rushing headlong down the sidewalk, weaving in and out of pedestrians and heading toward a crowd of people at a band concert going on inside a large median in the middle of the street. He slowed to a walk and kept the Ruger hidden in his waistband.

  Furious, Novak cursed to himself. The little fool was going to get herself killed. He lost sight of her for a moment but got a glimpse of her almost at once, pushing through a crowd of laughing children in front of an ice cream shop. He peered up the block in front of her. The only thing he saw that she could be going for was a public telephone. Then he saw another girl, with blond hair and wearing big sunglasses, about two blocks up the street. It looked like she was waving for Marisol to hurry. She was standing in the open door of a gray Nissan, parked and headed in the opposite direction. Marisol saw her, too, and took off running toward her.

  Novak had to stop and wait for cars to pass so he could get across the street. That’s when he saw him. The Mayan. Small, black shirt, driving a new white Subaru Outback. The killer himself, right there, only yards away. At first, Novak just froze where he stood. How could the guy have found them so fast? It wasn’t possible. At least, Novak thought it was the killer. Maybe not. Surely not. He hoped to hell not. About that time, the man in the car caught sight of Novak and threw on his brakes. It was him, all right.

  Novak ducked quickly behind a group of people heading for the band concert, and then darted down the next alley. He ran hard toward the end of the block, wanting to cut off Marisol before she met up with the other girl. He was pretty sure the Mayan hadn’t seen Marisol yet. He had been driving along the street slowly in the opposite direction, glancing side to side, searching the crowded sidewalks. Somewhere behind him, Novak heard a car pull into the alley. He glanced back. The Subaru was coming at him fast. Novak took an abrupt left and headed down a narrow back passage between two ancient brick buildings, avoiding the trash cans and dumpsters. He took another abrupt turn into a different alley. Above him on both sides, old-fashioned iron fire escapes clung to the buildings, stopping about fifteen feet off the ground. But the ladders were pulled up and secured on the second floor. Novak glanced behind him again. The Mayan was on foot now, running down the alley behind him. Novak could hear the thud of his feet on the cracked pavement.

  Novak made it to the far end of the block, trying to judge where he could come out between Marisol and the unknown girl beckoning to her. It was a rendezvous, no question. Who was the girl? He burst out into the street, right in front of Marisol, and she skidded to a stop. Novak grabbed her and looked up the street. The other girl must have seen him intercept Marisol, because she jumped in the Nissan and took off. Marisol jerked and twisted, trying to pull free, so Novak grabbed her bodily from behind and clapped his hand over her mouth. Then he backed her into a recessed doorway that led into a crumbling stucco apartment building. Marisol kept trying to punch him, and Novak cursed and put his mouth to her ear.

  “The Mayan’s right behind me, damn it. He found us already, and you’re the one he wants, not me. If you want to stay here alone and let him get you, fine by me. I’ll be glad to let you go. That what you want? Better make up your mind fast because he’s coming hard.”

  Marisol sagged against him, her fight gone. Novak took his hand off her mouth. “I don’t think he made the street in time to see us. How the hell did he find us so fast, Marisol? And who the hell was that girl you were waving at? Tell me the truth, damn it. Did you contact somebody? How did you do it?”

  Marisol became immediately distressed. “No, I swear, I didn’t call him. I don’t know any girl around here. But he wants to kill me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, help me get away from him. I got scared and ran, that’s all! I thought I could disappear in the crowds and he’d never find me.”

  “Who’s the blonde? I saw her up the street waving to you, Marisol. Tell me who she is, or I’m going to let him have you.”

  “I don’t know any blonde. She couldn’t have been waving at me. I don’t know anybody in this town. I’ve never been here. Please, let’s just go. I’m scared!”

  Novak cursed under his breath. She was lying. He knew she was. “Just do what I tell you to do from now on. If you try another stunt like this, you’re on your own. You get that, Marisol? I’ll wash my hands of you for good.”

  “Let’s go, let’s go, before he gets me.”

  Grimacing, the Ruger in hand now, Novak took her elbow and pulled her into the lobby of the crumbling apartment building. Inside, it appeared to have once been a grand lobby, the walls covered with colorful murals of Mexican dancers with a backdrop of volcanic mountains, but the artist’s paint had long ago faded to pastels, and parts of the murals were dark with grime. A staircase lay off to his right and he headed straight to it. He kept a tight grip on Marisol’s arm as he took the steps to the second floor. The place was in major ill repair. The yellow paint on the walls was peeling, and some ceiling plaster lay scattered on the intricate brown mosaic floor tiles. The halls were pretty dark, just one window at each end, and most of the ornate brass sconces were not working. The whole building smelled of cooking grease.

  Novak pulled Marisol along with him, holding on to her wrist, angry as hell, wondering why he kept rescuing her. She didn’t deserve a second chance, much less a third or fourth. He should have stayed in the motor home with Jenn and left Marisol to whatever horrible fate befell her. They made it down the length of the hall in a matter of seconds and took a turn into the adjacent corridor that ran toward the front of the building. When Novak heard somebody clattering up the steps far behind them, he started trying doorknobs along the hall. Most of the doors were locked up tight, but he finally found one that opened under his hand. He pushed Marisol inside in front of him, shut the door quietly, locked it, and placed his back up against it. He listened, his weapon up and ready, well aware the Mayan wouldn’t give up.

  Then he saw the two small children standing at the other end of the hall. He hid the weapon down behind his right leg. The little boy looked about four, maybe, and the girl was probably eight or so. They were both still dressed in pajamas. Matching red ones. They just stared at him and Marisol. Novak lowered his voice and spoke to them in Spanish, trying to sound friendly.

  “Hello the
re. Sorry to bother you, but we’re trying to find our way out of the building. Could we use your fire escape, maybe?”

  The girl had long black plaits twisted up and pinned atop her head. She just pointed down the hall, never taking her big brown eyes off him. Novak headed that way, pulling Marisol along with him. She was cooperating, for a change. The hallway led into a large kitchen where an old woman sat at a white kitchen table, shucking ears of corn into a bright orange bowl. She stopped in mid-motion, the ear of corn suspended in her hands. She stared silently at him.

  “We’re lost, señora. Mind if we use your fire escape?”

  The woman blinked once, and then she pointed at the window across the room. Novak moved there in a hurry and glanced down into the alley below. The apartment faced the street on the far side of the building, away from the foot traffic and band concert. He didn’t see anybody down there. Not in the alley, not in the adjacent street. Everything looked pretty much deserted. So he climbed out the window onto the iron balcony and then helped Marisol out behind him. The woman started stripping off husks again as if nothing had happened.

  “Okay, we’re gonna get to street level and we’re going down fast. Can you jump down when we get to the bottom?”

  Marisol nodded, breathing hard. “Yes, yes, let’s just do it. He’s going to get me!”

  Novak was going to find out how the guy found them so fast later, but right now they had to get out of there. So they started down in a hurry, their feet thundering on the iron rungs, the sound ringing out like gunfire. On the second floor, Novak sat down on the fire escape edge, grabbed the ladder, put one foot on the bottom rung, and rode it down toward the ground. It stopped about six feet off the pavement, and he jumped down the rest of the way. The girl was right behind him. She swung off the bottom rung like it was a trapeze, and he caught her when she let go. They took off running again. Novak headed for the vacant lot across the street. They didn’t slow down, crossing one yard after another at a full run, ducking under clotheslines filled with fluttering sheets and children’s clothing. Marisol kept up with him.

  Winding their way through back alleys, they walked now, but ducked in and out of yards and between houses. Novak flagged down the first taxi that drove into sight, pushed the girl into the backseat, and gave the driver the name of an area that he knew ran along the harbor. Fifteen minutes later, they left the cab at a stone wall that separated the street from a beach full of tourists. Novak paid the guy with more stolen pesos.

  The Boulevard Bahia skirted the curve of the sea. The sidewalk in front of them had public viewing binoculars attached to stands, the kind people used to watch ships far out on the ocean. Marisol trailed along with him, acting docile, but constantly looking around. He had a feeling she was looking for the unknown blond girl that she denied knowing. Novak knew better. She had a lot to answer for, but he didn’t have time to force the truth out of her, not now.

  Ten minutes later, after walking swiftly down the sidewalk, Novak hailed a new taxi and told the driver to head for the airport. If the killer was on their trail and somehow identified the cabs they’d taken through his own secret sources, which had proved pretty damn on the mark so far, he might assume they had flown out. But they weren’t catching a plane anywhere. Going through customs without a passport would flag him and Marisol, and he didn’t want to give up the Ruger. What he wanted was to get out of the public eye.

  Once they were mingling in the busy line of people waiting at the baggage curb for Delta Air Lines, Novak watched their taxi disappear into traffic. Then he led Marisol to the first taxi in the cab line. He gave the driver the name of a public park he knew, one located about three blocks from Jenn’s safe house down on the coast. The ride there took twenty minutes, but Novak was fairly certain they’d lost the Mayan. The blonde, too, if she was following them. What Novak wanted to find were some answers.

  The park was large and shady and crowded with local picnickers, which was encouraging. Maybe for once Novak was going to catch a freaking break. There was a big party, looked like some kind of family reunion, with maybe twenty or thirty family members, all having a hell of a good time under a large covered pavilion. Other people were spread out around it under the trees, sitting on blankets, and laughing and talking in small groups. He mingled among them for a while, holding tight to Marisol’s arm, hoping they appeared to be out on a stroll but all the while gradually making his way across the grass to the other side of the park. They passed a big swimming pool surrounded by a chain-link fence, and then four tennis courts, all busy with people swatting the ball and shouting out scores. Also good. Nobody watched them. Nobody cared what they were doing.

  Not long after that, Novak heard the distant sounds of the sea. The beachfront was about two or three short blocks south of them. Jenn had chosen this safe house in a popular beach area that had several international hotels and plenty of families milling around. He could see the tops of the high-rises from where he stood. It was a good choice. American tourists came here and went home on a regular basis, tourists that nobody in the neighborhood knew or wanted to know. Another stranger entering a rental house would set off no alarms, and it would be easy to mingle on crowded beaches if one needed to escape in a hurry.

  Jenn’s street was the next one over, and Novak slowed to a casual walk and held Marisol’s hand, hoping to portray a couple on their way back to some hotel. He hoped nobody saw her bruises and called the cops on him. The girl was behaving herself now, so they walked down the quiet, shady sidewalk to the two-story house that looked pretty much like any other house in any other beach community in the world. There was a dirt driveway that led back along the side of the house and down a small slope to where Novak could see a closed garage, one big enough to hide the Winnebago and Jenn’s other vehicles. Jenn was good at choosing perfect sites. Jenn was good at everything she did.

  Novak kept a tight hold on Marisol and strode up to the door. He spotted the cameras up high on the porch, hidden well, but he knew where to look. He pushed the doorbell and waited. There were trellises, thick with beautiful pink bougainvilleas, the flowers shielding the front porch from the street. Lots of plants in terra-cotta pots sat around on the front porch, filled to overflowing with verbena and lilies and miniature roses and pansies, all lush and fragrant and well cared for. There was a galvanized iron watering can beside a spigot and a red surfboard leaning up against the wall. Several beach towels hung from hooks for show but had probably never seen the water. Jenn had a green thumb, along with all her other virtues. All her safe places had plants everywhere, and lots of those plants had microphones and cameras hidden inside the foliage. He’d been holed up inside places like this one way too many times not to recognize the signs.

  “Where are we?” Marisol’s voice sounded tentative.

  Novak ignored her. He stared up into the eye of the camera above the door until he heard the soft click of the door latch. Then two other locks slid back. He turned the knob. Novak shut the door behind them and all the automatic locks slid back into place. They were standing inside a dark hall, no windows, no lights at all, three closed doors at the far end. There were cameras mounted on the ceiling, focused on whoever entered the front door.

  “Where are we?” Marisol whispered again.

  “A safe place, at least for the moment. C’mon.”

  He let her precede him, because he wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t above slugging him in the head and making another run for it. He’d never trust her again. At the end of the hall, the middle door opened, and Jenn appeared in the threshold.

  “About time, Novak. I thought I was going to have to come looking for you and save your hide again.”

  “We took the scenic route. Where’s the hold?”

  “Good, you’ve finally come to your senses.”

  Novak gave her a dead-eyed stare.

  Jenn took the hint. “In the back. Red steel door. Like always.”

  Novak took Marisol’s arm and pulled her along. She was not r
esisting, but her muscles were all tensed up. Probably thought he was going to shoot her. That sounded pretty good to him. He opened the heavy red door and put his hand on the small of the girl’s back and shoved her inside.

  “Wait, don’t leave me here!”

  “You’ve got a bathroom in there and a comfortable bed and everything else you need. Food and bottled water in the fridge. No windows, no phone, no nothing. You can’t escape, so don’t even try. And it’s completely soundproofed, like the rest of this house, so yelling for help is not going to do you any good, either. Take a nap and relax. You’re not going anywhere.”

  Marisol stared back at him. “Okay. I’m going to do everything you say from now on, Mr. Novak. I promise.”

  “Yeah, you sure are, kid. Trust me.”

  Novak closed the door in her face and slid three outside bolt locks, and then he sought out Jenn. He found her in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “Want some?” she asked him.

  “You bet. Got anything good to eat?”

  “Don’t expect me to wait on you, Novak. I haven’t forgiven you yet for slinking off in the middle of the night like a damn coward.” But then she smiled. Novak did like her smile. And the yet she’d used was an encouraging sign. It looked as if she had gotten back home in time to take a shower. Her hair was damp, and she had on tight red capris under an oversize black silk shirt that buttoned up the front. Red Nike sandals with tiny mirrors on the straps. Toenails painted fire engine red. She didn’t have on anything under the shirt, except maybe her weapon at her waist. He could smell some flowery shampoo, the scent of roses, maybe. Brought back some good memories. Made him want her again. He looked away, getting ahead of himself. She held grudges forever, so romance probably wasn’t in the picture.