Make Them Sorry

by Sam Hawken

  Ignacio clicked his tongue. He looked around, still playing with his hat. “So what do you want to talk about? Maybe someone has a deck of cards. What do you think?”

  “Why do we have to talk about anything?”

  “Sure. Sure, sure. Why don’t you rest? I’ll be right here.”

  She felt her eyelids grow heavier. It was as though she were already asleep, though she knew she wasn’t. “Go home,” she said.

  “Maybe later.”

  Camaro sank into a complete darkness with no moon or stars. It was as black as the depths where the swordfish hunted, but there was no sound, no space. Even underwater there was the pulse of the sea. Here she heard nothing and saw nothing. She drifted alone. From time to time she stirred, but the black had an inertia, and it held fast to her.

  She tried to form some conscious memory of being awake and alive, but it was difficult. Swimming up through the turgid darkness was as arduous as making it to the surface of the water in the marina as the Annabel burned. Except here there was no visible surface, no defining line between sleeping and wakefulness.

  Camaro opened her mouth and said, “I am alive.” The words were silent.

  Time had no meaning here. All was stopped. She heard the murmur of hushed voices, and the flow of moving air, and then Ignacio speaking. “She’s waking up.”

  “I’m waking up,” Camaro mumbled, and this time she heard herself.

  Someone touched her face. “Can you open your eyes?”

  Camaro obeyed. A nurse shone a light into each pupil. The intensity was painful after the void. The light went away. Camaro focused on the nurse. “I’m fine,” she said.

  “I think so,” the nurse said with a Haitian accent. “I’ll tell the doctor how you’re feeling. She’ll be in after a while. Rest.”

  She left and Camaro saw Ignacio standing by the wall. “I have to get out of here,” Camaro told him.

  “I’ll take you home.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  KAUR TOOK A room at Fontainebleau in Miami Beach. It was on a high floor by request, and he asked the front desk to make his registration under another name. Passing two folded one-hundred-dollar bills across the marble counter made any problem disappear. He tipped the bellhop to make him go away. He made sure all the locks were secure and the curtains drawn over the view of the beach in the brilliant afternoon sun.

  The room came equipped with a small bar stocked with bottles of brand-name alcohol. Heedless of the cost, Kaur made himself a drink, and another, and another. He got into a hot shower, stayed there until his fingers turned to prunes. His hands still shook.

  He let afternoon turn into evening and evening into full night. He used a prepaid phone he had bought on the way to the hotel. It was still in the plastic shell, and it took wrangling to get it out. The phone worked when he tested it. He made certain the GPS was turned off. He dialed an international number.

  A man whose voice he didn’t recognize answered. The connection was scratchy. “Who is this?” the man demanded.

  “It’s Kaur. Mr. Kaur. I need to speak with him.”

  A pause. “Is your line secure?”

  “It’s as secure as it’s going to get. This isn’t my phone. I’m not calling from work or home.”

  Another pause. “Wait at this number.”

  The man hung up. Kaur listened to dead air before returning to the bar. He could have used some ice, but he didn’t want to leave the room.

  It took almost half an hour for the call to come. Kaur cleared his throat. He answered. “This is Mr. Kaur.”

  “Señor Kaur,” Carlos Lorca said.

  “I’m calling to ask you to call off your people.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. My people? All my people are here, with me.”

  “Now, I know—” Kaur started. He checked himself, continued in a softer manner. “I got the messages from your people. I know they killed Brandon. I know it was a warning. I understand what it means. Now, please…call them off.”

  “Mm,” Lorca said. “I see why you are frightened. The way Señor Roche died was so terrible. Yes, I know all about it. I have seen the pictures, of course. I am told he was very cooperative at the end.”

  “Then why did you have to kill him!?”

  Lorca tutted. “Please calm yourself, señor. I understand the two of you were very close. In my country we look at such things a different way than you do in America. Here we do not trust a man who lies with another man. If he cannot be true to the laws of nature, how can he be expected to attend to his responsibilities as a businessman? You see where the breakdown of trust begins. I was assured by you all would be taken care of, only to discover this was not the case. You and Señor Roche planned to escape together and leave me exposed.”

  “I would never. The evidence they’re looking for is gone. Without the testimony of the woman, the accountant, and the information she stole, they have nothing. They can make life difficult for a while, but eventually they’ll go away.”

  “They will never go away. Once they smell blood in the water, they will circle and circle until they find their meal.”

  Kaur’s knees were unsteady. He sat on the end of the bed. He pressed the phone to his ear so hard it hurt. “You have to listen to me. This is my business. I know how to keep the situation in hand. My attorneys are hard at work resolving the issue. These are the very best lawyers in Miami. They know these sorts of cases backward and forward. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Where is the woman?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Then how do you know she won’t give you up to the government?”

  “I…Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. When things cool down, we’ll find her. She can be neutralized.”

  “It has already been done.”

  Kaur froze. He waited, but Lorca said nothing else. Kaur could not even hear Lorca’s breathing on the other end of the line. The connection popped and sizzled like hot fat.

  “I can tell you are surprised,” Lorca continued.

  “Is she dead?”

  “It’s only a matter of time. I simply did what you should have done in the first place and paid her a sum which made betrayal an unwelcome option.”

  “We paid her a quarter of a million dollars!”

  “And I paid her two million dollars. Two million dollars for the information in her possession and the destruction of all copies.”

  “You’ll never be able to hold her to it. These blackmailers, they’ll come at you again and again. We knew it was a possibility. That’s why we decided to finish her off.”

  “And this, too, I have foreseen. Soon there will be no loose ends left to tie. None whatsoever.”

  The words hung over Kaur’s head. “You don’t have to kill me,” he said.

  “Give me a reason not to.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll give you anything you need. Name it.”

  “Should we begin with the money you stole from me? Plus interest?”

  “You know?”

  “Yes.”

  Kaur didn’t hesitate. “It’s yours. All of it. It’ll be in your accounts by the end of the week.”

  “This I would like to see,” Lorca replied. “Goodbye, señor. Sleep well.”

  The line went dead. Kaur felt sweat prickle on his flesh. “General Lorca? General, are you there? Listen to me, General!”

  He tried the number he’d called before. No one answered. He tried three more times.

  Kaur slipped from the end of the bed onto his knees. He buried his face in his hands and folded over until he was curled on the carpeting. He cried, his body racked with shudders. The phone didn’t ring.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  IGNACIO TOOK CAMARO home. Her clothes were stained and torn. They were still damp from the water in the marina, and they smelled of diesel and smoke. The stink was almost overpowering in the confines of Ignacio’s car. Camaro said nothing about it, and Ignacio didn’t eithe
r.

  He parked at the curb directly in front of the house and leaned over to examine it from his seat. “Looks like no one’s home. You want me to go in and check it out? Our people already swept the place while you were laid up, but I can always make sure. You don’t have to go in by yourself.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Camaro said. “I need a shower and fresh clothes. Real food.”

  “You can always stay in a hotel somewhere. Grab some things and get out. I can wait.”

  “No. Thanks. I’ll be okay.”

  “All right. I’ll swing by tomorrow to check up on you. Call me if you need to.”

  “No phone,” Camaro said. “It went in the drink.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right. Maybe I should grab one for you? There’s a 7-Eleven right down the way.”

  Camaro shook her head and opened her door. “I’ll figure it out for myself. Don’t worry about me.”

  “It’s my job to worry.”

  “Not about me. See you.”

  She got out and walked up the uneven concrete to the front door. Her keys were in her pocket, unscathed. They jingled in the dark, surprisingly loud. She paused once to look back. Ignacio waved before he drove away.

  Camaro turned on the porch light, and then the light in the front room. Yellow illumination spilled over the disaster left behind. The floor dusted with white fluff, the scent of spent gunpowder in the air.

  She locked the door behind her and went straight to the bedroom. She stripped off her old clothes and threw them in the trash. Under a hot stream in the shower she felt a deep ache in her muscles and the bruising on her body that over days would turn many colors. She wrapped a towel around her head and another around her body when she got out. She opened the bedroom closet.

  The gun safe was undisturbed. Camaro opened it. She took the first pistol off the upper shelf, a 1911 Mil-Spec, unloaded. Boxes of ammunition were stacked at the bottom of the safe. She grabbed a brick of jacketed hollow-point .45 rounds and brought them to the bed. She dropped the .45’s magazine. The weapon took seven rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. Camaro lowered the hammer and set the safety before she put away the ammo and locked the safe again.

  She kept the pistol with her while she blew out her hair, stopping here and there to listen for any change in the sounds of the empty house. When her hair was dry, she brushed it before dressing in sweats and a T-shirt. She left the bedroom.

  Wood scraped concrete on the back patio. Camaro stopped halfway to the kitchen and listened, the gun in her hand. The sound didn’t repeat. Camaro crouched, weapon compressed ready. She stole toward the kitchen, waited a beat, crept ahead. She tilted her ear toward the closed door to listen, but heard nothing.

  She unlocked the door. The click of the dead bolt seemed loud, but Camaro knew it was barely audible. She eased the door open, filled the space with her body. The patio was darkened, every light out. She saw the shapes of the heavy bag and the muk yan jong. She saw another silhouette move, black against gray. She brought the .45 up. “Don’t move or I’ll kill you.”

  “Camaro. It’s me.”

  Camaro reached for the light switch inside the door. The patio flooded with light. Faith was there, her hands raised.

  “It’s me,” she said again.

  Camaro looked past her into the yard. Nothing moved. She lowered her weapon. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Oh, my God, look at you!”

  “Forget that. What are you doing here?”

  “You didn’t come. You said you’d be there, but you didn’t come. I took a cab to the marina. You know, where you told me you kept your boat? I saw what happened there. I thought I’d come here and wait.”

  “Get inside.”

  Faith came in. Camaro doused the outside light. She locked the back door, left the kitchen, and crossed the front room to kill the rest of the lights. She was aware of Faith moving around in the dark.

  “Sit down,” Camaro told her.

  Faith did as she was told. Camaro took a seat in the chair. Faith had the couch.

  “Why did you leave the hotel?”

  “I thought someone knew I was there.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. It could have been people from the bank, or people from Colombia.”

  “How would the Colombians have any idea where to find you? Weren’t you careful?”

  “Yes, but there are ways to find anyone. No matter how careful you are, there are people who can find things out. I’m not a hacker, I don’t know all the tricks. I’m pretty good at some things, but not everything.”

  “And now you came here, which is the first place they’ll look for me after they find out I’m not in the hospital anymore.”

  “You’re here.”

  “That’s because I can take care of myself! You…You’re…”

  Camaro didn’t have to see her frowning to know it. “Say it,” Faith told her. “Go ahead and say it. Because I’m hopeless.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “I don’t know why I even came here. I was worried about what happened to you. I wanted to help you. But you don’t need help from someone like me. You don’t want it.”

  Camaro put her hand on her face. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to her eyes until she saw colors in the dark. “It’s not like that.”

  “It’s not? Do you even know yourself at all?”

  Camaro didn’t answer. “I want to take you to the police,” she said instead.

  “I can’t. I did the deal with the Colombians. I destroyed everything.”

  “Did you?” Camaro asked.

  Faith was quiet.

  “Did you?”

  Faith didn’t speak.

  “Faith,” Camaro said.

  “No. Not everything.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  IGNACIO PULLED UP in front of the house but didn’t get out. Camaro saw his hardened face clearly from the front window of the house. She had the 1911 in her hand. Faith was on the couch. “Okay, he’s here,” Camaro said. “When I go to the door, I want you to step up right behind me. I’ll open the door and we’ll move out together. Don’t get more than an arm’s length away.”

  “Do you think they’re out there?”

  “Do you want to take the chance?”

  “Okay.”

  “Here we go.”

  They did it the way Camaro said they would. Camaro went to the door and Faith followed. Camaro went out and didn’t stop to close the door behind her. It stayed open as Faith hurried to keep pace. They crossed the unprotected space of the lawn. At the car, Ignacio popped the locks. Camaro moved to the rear door and opened it. Faith ducked inside. “Lie down on the seat,” Ignacio told her.

  Camaro shut Faith in. She looked both ways down the street before she got in beside Ignacio. She held her weapon in her lap. “Okay, let’s move,” she said.

  Ignacio accelerated away from the house. “People are going to rob you blind,” Ignacio observed.

  “Anything they can take, I can replace.”

  “Why aren’t there any other police here?” Faith asked.

  “What I’m doing isn’t exactly approved by the powers that be,” Ignacio explained. “Anything I do, my department is going to tell the feds, and I want to keep you safe and secure until I’m a hundred percent sure it’s going to be all right. I don’t need anybody else getting blown up on my watch.”

  “Okay, but shouldn’t there be more police?”

  Ignacio glanced at Camaro. She shook her head.

  “Where exactly are we going?” Ignacio asked.

  “Miami Station,” Faith said from the backseat.

  “A train station? Are you kidding me?”

  “It’s the best I could do on short notice.”

  “She can use her laptop to get the bank records,” Camaro said. “And only her laptop. Anyone using another machine would never be able to break the encryption.”

  “How’s that?” Ignacio aske
d.

  “She explained it to me, but I don’t get it.”

  “Can I sit up?”

  “No,” Ignacio and Camaro said at the same time.

  Ignacio scanned the mirrors. Camaro glanced through the rear window. Morning traffic was light. “I think we’re good,” she said.

  “I don’t like it,” Ignacio said. “I should never have let you go back to the house. There’s a hundred ways they could trace you. No one has to camp out in the street to watch, not if they have the gear they need. They might already know Faith was there.”

  Camaro looked back again. She saw an SUV three car lengths back. A woman drove. “Why wouldn’t they rush us?”

  “Would you go busting in if you weren’t sure what was up? Especially after what happened the other night with those two Armenians?”

  “No.”

  “I rest my case.”

  It was no more than twenty minutes from Allapattah to Miami Station on a bad day. The vehicles following them came and went. Camaro saw no similarities among them. Only a few tailgated. Most kept their distance.

  “The station,” Ignacio said.

  She saw the building. It was low and old, looking as though it had gone up in the ’70s, Amtrak logo prominent on its face. Most of the space around it was given up for parking no one used at this time of day. Only a handful of cars parked close by. Across the road there was a power station, huge gray transformers behind chain-link fencing. The other nearest building was a warehouse almost a hundred yards distant. “It’s wide open,” Camaro said.

  “Good for seeing who’s coming,” Ignacio said.

  “How do you want to play this?” Camaro asked him.

  “She’s safer in the car. You take the key and go. I’ll cover from out here.”

  “Faith,” Camaro said.

  The key had a round plastic head with a locker number stamped on the end. The teeth were hidden behind a loose sheath of thin metal. The key weighed almost nothing. Ignacio pulled up in front of a door marked BAGGAGE CLAIM. “Okay, you’re on. I’ll keep the engine running.”

  “One minute,” Camaro told him.

  “Go.”

  Camaro swung out of the car and onto the sidewalk. She stuffed the .45 in the back of her jeans as she reached the doors. She stepped inside and icy air spilled over her. The morning glare was shut out, replaced with the sallow glow of fluorescent lightbulbs. Camaro saw benches and a revolving belt like an airport baggage claim. A small snack shop operated in the far corner. The ticket counters were open. On two walls were dark blue lockers made of high-impact plastic.