Marked for Death

by Marked for Death (retail) (epub)

  I checked for Trey.

  At first I couldn’t see her – not a bad thing, because it also meant she couldn’t be spotted by the soldier – but then noted a small hummock of shadow against the tumbling surf. Realising that I hadn’t followed, she’d taken my instructions by the letter. She’d headed for the surf, then waited there, crouching down to offer a smaller target. The natural contours of the beach obscured her from the man’s view. But if I cut across the sand to join her he’d spot me. Hoping she was staring back at me, I held my left hand horizontally, gesturing for her to stay down. She didn’t. She couldn’t see the man I was observing and, misinterpreting my gesture, she stood. That simple action was enough to catch the man’s eye and he turned abruptly. I watched his head crane forward as he pinpointed her in his sights. He was under no illusion that he was looking at Trey Shaw, but it gave him pause. Last time he’d seen her she was accompanied, so where was I? He checked the obvious, and I’d nowhere to hide. I stepped away from the wall, set my heels in the sand and openly regarded him.

  He was stock-still.

  So was I.

  It was a tableau that must change.

  I was tempted to approach him, see how things played out. I was confident he was unarmed. He had no idea if I’d a gun or not. He began walking away, backwards, his gaze never leaving mine as he lifted his phone to his mouth again and began speaking rapidly.

  Others were coming.

  12

  The best form of defence is offence. But sometimes you just have to run for it. I hailed Trey, sweeping my arms at her to get moving and was pleased she complied without argument. She raced along the wet sands, sending up plumes of phosphorescent spray as she plunged through pockets of surf. I churned through drier sand, the going a little tougher. I kept glancing back, noting the position of our hunter. He had halted his backwards march the second we took off, and was progressing at a steady clip along the walkway. I noted, though, that he was careful that he didn’t gain too close on us, and I doubted it was through cowardice. It made sense: why risk a confrontation when he could raise the odds in his favour by coordinating reinforcements? I was certain that when they arrived they would have weapons, and numbers. But with the best will in the world they would take time to arrive, so we still had an opportunity to slip the noose the man was tightening.

  I called Trey to me, and we met about midway between the sea and the walkway. There the beach was at its darkest. There was a storm moving in from the Caribbean, bloated clouds the colour of old bruises piling overhead. Off on the southern horizon lightning flickered, sending tendrils of luminescence across the sea like fiery veins. We were, at most, a few minutes away from being blasted by its entire fury. I wasn’t fearful of being struck down by a thunderbolt, but gunfire.

  ‘We have to get off the beach,’ I told Trey. ‘We’re too exposed out here.’

  ‘Who is that man?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘I’m guessing he’s one of your husband’s men. Looks tough, and capable. Ex-military.’

  ‘Cahill,’ she said in a way that I knew I’d correctly read him. ‘I wasn’t sure, but hoped it wasn’t him.’

  ‘Dangerous?’

  ‘More dangerous to me than Mikhail,’ she assured me.

  A pithy part of me wanted to joke that being more dangerous than Mikhail was no great feat, but that would have been misinformed bullshit. I’d rattled Mikhail with a swift uppercut when he’d made the mistake of underestimating me. To make the same mistake with him would be the greatest sin in battle. Instead I said, ‘I was hoping you’d tell me he was someone benign like Mikhail’s accountant.’

  She shook her head, and her throat crackled as she tried to raise a sensible reply.

  ‘I’m joking,’ I said. ‘Now let’s keep moving. There.’

  I pointed out an opening from the beach between low-lying dunes back onto the walkway. There was a series of concrete steps, and a platform on which there was a freestanding shower. I only noted the latter because I briefly considered tearing down its pole as a makeshift weapon, but it’d take a stronger man than I. Speed and mobility was still our best bet. The guy – Cahill – was disinclined to chase us down in a foot race, though his insidious advance told me he wasn’t for backing off either. He caught my eye, and nodded in silent promise. I jerked my head, inviting him to come on.

  But then we ran again, kicking up sand even as thunder rumbled overhead. I hoped for rain, a tumult that might help conceal us from view. But for now the heavens clung to their heavy load.

  We charged up the steps, and onto the walkway. It was smooth pavement, so no hindrance to Trey’s bare feet, but sooner or later I’d have to do something about them. Barefoot she could be injured too easily, and an injury would slow her down. I didn’t want to have to carry her again when it meant compromising my fists.

  We caught up with the trio of drunken youths, and flashed around them. They hooted and hollered, possibly misconstruing the reason for an older guy chasing after a pretty young thing with her dress rucked up around her hips. On another occasion it might have been funny. I urged Trey across the path, placing the trio between Cahill and us. Any small inconvenience to his view was still an inconvenience. I pictured him craning, ducking side to side for a better look at where we were.

  I grabbed Trey’s elbow and yanked her into Lummus Park. Lewd comments followed us from our drunken friends. Then we were pushing through exotic fronds and could hear nothing but the swish of our bodies through the foliage. Trey made a pained yelp, but kept going, hopping slightly until she found her rhythm – footwear for her was becoming a priority. As finding a weapon was for me.

  There were small saplings in abundance, and huge trees, none of which would be of much use as a club, so I didn’t bother trying to tear anything down, but on reaching a cinder path I ducked down and worked at a loose edging stone. I hefted it even as I took up the chase after Trey, who’d carried on. It was about the size of a baseball but twice as heavy.

  We raced out of the park at 15th Street, and to my annoyance found it quite busy with late night revellers spilling out from a nightclub. More people meant more opportunities to lose ourselves in the crowds, but it also offered more witnesses. The way we bounded out and across the road caught a number of eyes, and they didn’t stop staring as I pressed Trey into a service alley alongside a boutique-style clothes store. Cahill had any number of witless allies to point out our direction when he arrived. Fleeing the way we were, he could claim to be a cop and nobody would challenge him, but they’d eagerly point out where we’d gone. That was OK by me. Because as soon as we entered the service alley I again caught Trey and made her halt.

  ‘Over there,’ I said bluntly.

  I pointed at a tall stucco wall that separated the alley from an adjacent hotel’s grounds. It stood seven and a half feet tall.

  ‘I can’t climb that!’

  ‘I’ll boost you over,’ I promised. ‘Now come on, quick.’

  Trey glanced down at her bared legs. Looked up at me, her gaze scolding.

  ‘I’ll avert my eyes,’ I reassured her.

  ‘You’d better.’

  I underhanded the rock over the wall and heard it thud harmlessly on a lawn. Then I leaned with my left shoulder against the stucco wall, cupped my hands. ‘Use it like a stirrup,’ I told her. ‘Left foot in, and then I’ll lift so you can swing over your right leg.’

  Balancing with one hand on my shoulder, she stepped up and I took her weight. Her sole was gritty in my interlocked fingers. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Ready.’

  She aided my lift by flexing her supporting leg, and I almost hurled her aloft. She swung her trailing leg backwards, more like a kicking mule, and her knee knocked painfully against the top of the wall. But, gritting her teeth, she grasped hold with both hands and squirmed over so she was lying astride it. She peered down. ‘Who’s going to boost you over?’

  ‘Just keep clear.’ I backed up a couple of steps, then charged forward, spring
ing up and hooking both elbows over the wall. I swung my legs the opposite direction from her, then came to rest facing her, a leg swinging over space on both sides of the wall. ‘Need to be lowered down?’

  ‘Ordinarily I could make that drop myself, but not without my sneakers on.’

  The hotel grounds were beautifully cultivated, well maintained, but, exactly where we’d chosen to go over the wall, they’d employed the area as some kind of storage ground for unused lawn furniture and other sundry items. Chairs and tables were stacked loosely directly below us, alongside a lean-to type shed. I shuffled closer to Trey, took a quick look back to ensure Cahill hadn’t caught up too soon, and then offered her both my hands. Her palms were soft, cool, her fingers slim, but there was the strength of determination in them. She gripped tightly as I supported her while she brought round her trailing leg, then lowered her until she was standing on top of one of the tables. From there she hopped down, stumbled and almost fell. A couple of ungainly lunges and she’d caught her balance. She looked back at me, embarrassed by her clumsiness, but saw no reproof from me. She blew out loudly at her near miss. I swarmed down, and also jumped off the table. My boots sunk inches into soft earth. Thankfully the forgiving landing dampened the thud, as from the other side of the wall came the soft slap of jogging feet on asphalt. I snapped a finger to my lips, and Trey played at being a statue.

  The footsteps continued past where we’d scaled the wall, the sound diminishing. It was Cahill, or it was a cop or security person who’d spotted us heading into the service alley and followed to investigate what we were up to. It didn’t matter who it was; they’d taken the bait. I found the baseball-sized rock I’d chucked over the wall, then ushered Trey away silently, whispering that she should lower her dress now. She did so without question, and to my relief the shimmery material retained its luxuriant form around her long legs. Not that her bared legs weren’t a pleasing sight to me, just that she no longer looked like a woman on the run. I also took my jacket back from her and slipped it on, and pushed my rock in a front pocket. It pulled down on the material but it wasn’t obvious I was carrying a blunt weapon.

  Soles slapped asphalt again, the sharp cracks resounding off the boutique’s exterior wall. I halted Trey, listened and heard a faint but hurried one-sided conversation, picking out only sporadic words. Whether the speaker was Cahill or not, he was sending his reinforcements to cut us off on Sixteenth, the adjacent street to our north. Good enough for now. I urged Trey west, towards the side entrance of the hotel.

  We walked inside as if we were regular guests – my reason for the rapid change of appearance – and I slowed Trey to a stroll. Rushing would draw unwanted attention; best we appear as if we had a right to be there and all the time in the world to enjoy our stay. Trey’s feet made little sucking noises on the tiles. We took a left turn and we were in the main entrance foyer. There were a few guests around, lounging in plush chairs, almost nodding asleep or too intent on their cell phones or tablets to give us any notice. They were guests taking early flights home after their vacation, and some had their suitcases poised for action for when their cabs to the airport arrived. I spotted one young guy dozing in his chair. He had a bag on the couch alongside him, but a hand rested protectively over the top of it. But for his comfort he’d kicked out of his sneakers. Without stopping I stooped and snatched up the shoes and kept moving, concealing them under the front of my jacket. Thankfully nobody took note of the brazen theft, and the young guy didn’t even stir. I hoped he’d an extra set of shoes in his bag for his journey home.

  I took Trey to one side, hiding from view in an alcove at the entrance to a ladies’ restroom. ‘Put these on.’ I pushed the shoes towards her.

  She took them, inspected them momentarily with bemusement painting her features. ‘They’re too big.’

  ‘Pull the laces tight,’ I told her. ‘They’re better than running around in your bare feet all night.’

  She saw the sense in my words, and crouched to brush sand from between her toes.

  ‘Trey, we don’t have time for that. Just put on the sneakers, OK?’

  She sighed in exasperation, but again did as commanded without argument. It struck me then that obeying without question had probably been the template of her life for so long that she knew no other way. I suddenly felt a pang of guilt at treating her the way Mikhail had. But it was short-lived. As soon as she’d laced the sneakers, I checked we were still unobserved then nodded at the front exit. ‘We go out that way.’

  ‘Back onto the main strip?’

  ‘Yep. Cahill thinks we’ve snuck off through those back alleys to the north, so we go the way he’d least expect us.’

  There was logic in my plan, but not a little daring. Emerging from the front of the hotel, we’d be only four or five blocks away from the hotel we’d recently escaped. But I was hoping that the proliferation of cops in the vicinity might deter Cahill or his people from making an attempt on us if we were identified.

  We headed back out into rain.

  But it wasn’t the deluge I’d hoped for. Electrical storms were a feature in this neck of Florida, but often they were more noise than substance. Then again, some raging tempests did occasionally scour the area during the hurricane season. Things could turn nastier yet.

  Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and the rain pattered on the hot pavement and on Trey’s bared shoulders. Further to the south the red and blue gumball lights of emergency vehicles added their own light show to the early morning hours. I distractedly wondered how many people currently stood around the body of my friend, and his killers, back in that room. It also made me think about Velasquez, and where he was now: probably downtown in some cell awaiting interrogation. And where was Rink?

  Velasquez and McTeer were my friends, but Rink was a whole lot more. He was more like a brother to me, more so than my deceased half-brother John had ever been and, discounting my ex-wife Diane and my aloof mother, the nearest thing to family I’d ever had. I’d bet that right then Rink was going crazy at my disappearing act, but for all the right reasons. Rink wasn’t stupid, though; he’d bide his time before trying to make contact, allow me to find somewhere safe before we spoke. I made a mental note to ensure that happened as soon as possible.

  To add to our disguise, I offered my elbow to Trey and she hung on. Supporting her assisted her to walk in her flapping sneakers. She kept her gaze stoically ahead, so she didn’t attract any attention, but I could tell she was mortified that she was stepping out in clown’s shoes.

  ‘I’ll find you something more appropriate to wear as soon as possible,’ I whispered out the corner of my mouth.

  ‘Can’t you just steal us a car or something instead?’ She was joking, but to be fair it wasn’t the worst suggestion of the night.

  I nodded towards a path between two buildings. My limited knowledge of the neighbourhood was being tested, but I was sure the path would give access to further shops and boutique-style hotels serving the Art Deco area. Beyond that would be another major highway called Collins Avenue, and I wanted to gain its freedom.

  Sadly Cahill hadn’t easily been fooled. Putting himself in my shoes, he must have figured out the false trail I’d set, and backtracked to where we went over the wall. Considering that we would then have used the hotel for cover, he needed to only watch for us exiting again, and his vigilance had paid off.

  When I happened to glance back, he was a hundred yards distant but paralleling us on the opposite side of the street. We had no option to turn towards the police cordon unless we wanted to throw ourselves at their mercy, so we had to carry on, and I suspected we were heading directly into a confrontation. I told Trey to keep walking, then dug my hand in my pocket and tested the lumpy edge of the rock I’d carried with me from the park. Let the bastard follow us down that path and I’d smash Cahill’s skull to pulp.

  13

  Cahill still wasn’t prepared to make his move. If he followed up that path he’d just bet that Hunter wou
ld be waiting for him. Ordinarily he was a proponent of the old adage that if you’re afraid of what lurks in the cave then walk in and challenge the beast, but he wasn’t stupid. You could only overcome fear by taking positive action, but his decision wasn’t based on fear but sound reasoning. There was another old saying he was fond of: ‘You don’t buy a dog and bark yourself.’ His reinforcements were almost on the scene, some of them heading to rendezvous with him, others to cut off Hunter and Trey. His prey was pinned between the two converging forces, so why risk injury when he could assure it for Hunter within minutes?

  Cahill was full of old sayings as he pursued Hunter. We are like peas in a pod, two sides of the same coin, and – another saying learned from his English pal – six and two threes. Yes, he’d recognised Joe Hunter as a man cut from the same cloth as he. Physically they were alike, at least, and he suspected they had similar training and life experiences. They were both ex-servicemen, warriors. They were both killers. If he pursued Hunter into that alley he would guarantee that only one of them would emerge alive and, frankly, he had no wish to die to simply soothe Viskhan’s damaged pride. And it was a possibility. Shit happens: another saying he was prone to.

  He’d gotten his first inkling of Hunter’s mettle when spotting him lurking behind the wall at the beach. Hunter’s instinct wasn’t to scurry off, to try to conceal himself in the shadows; he’d stepped out in the open, meeting Cahill and offering a direct challenge. Hunter was a man who knew his abilities and played to his strengths. It wasn’t macho posturing; his stance had said come and try to kill me, but be prepared to die in the attempt. They had been like reflections in a warped mirror. Cahill had been tempted to close the gap, but logic won out.