by Jim Johnson
The woman sighed and her shoulders slumped. She clicked the mouse again and moved it around. Then she wrote on a sticky-note. “Here’s McAllister’s address. It’s off Ninth Avenue in Ft. Lauderdale. The bum told me he was tired of working and was gonna retire.”
“Thank you,” Tommy said. He stared at her and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Do not think about calling him about this. Am I clear?”
“Yessir.”
“If it works out, you might not hear from me again and you don’t have legal problems or insurance problems.”
“Yessir.”
“Then you forget this conversation.”
“Yessir.”
As María Elena drove out of the parking lot, she said, “I know the area. Want to go there now?”
“Why not.”
“What was in 408.”
“Same ole. Getaway suitcase with clothes. Maybe a hundred grand. A couple of handguns and ammo. Damn it, I wanted this. We’re not running low on cash—nowhere near broke, you understand, but I wanted to clean this out since I doubt we’ll have time to return here later and I likely don’t want to ever revisit this area.”
The house was modern, maybe a three bedroom, two baths. It had a circular gravel driveway eating up most of the front yard. The garage door was open revealing a Lexus SUV and an expensive looking boat, skewed slightly sideways to fit in the garage. Alongside the front door and in the U made for the circular drive were children’s toys, including two small bicycles and a big wheel for a toddler.
On the driveway lip of the garage sat a strange contraption: to María Elena it looked like a Harley with a metal or plastic case affixed upright which had the shape of a golf bag.
“What in the world?” she asked.
“Pretty,” said Tommy. “It’s called an Autolinx case. It’s centered on the back of the bike for weight and balance and is positioned so it doesn’t interfere with your mirror vision. You can carry anything in it, but most people, golfers that is, put their golf bag and clubs in it so they can show off their Harley to their golfing buddies. It’s a status thing. But if you go on a cross country trip, you can take a lot more stuff. It’s made of high density polyethylene and you can even use it to carry your golf clubs on airlines.”
María Elena pulled in the circular drive and continued around until the Nissan was facing the road, just short of the sidewalk. A lesson she’d learned from Tommy: always park so you can leave in a hurry.
“Stay in the truck,” said Tommy. “I don’t want anybody to be able to identify you later.”
He climbed out and closed the door.
Just then a big Chevy pickup pulled in behind them. A large man got out, a questioning look on his face.
“McAllister,” said Tommy through the open window. Tommy walked around the back of the Nissan and McAllister came forward. They stopped together at the left rear corner of the 4X4. María Elena had a good view in both the inside mirror and the driver’s mirror.
McAllister wore a ragged Fu-Manchu and a wife-beater tank top. His face was rugged and he was maybe six five. “The fuck are you and the fuck you want?” His size made him aggressive and not careful.
“408,” said Tommy.
“The fuck is a 408?” His voice was rough, but María Elena could see comprehension dawning on his face.
“McAllister, you robbed my unit. I paid ahead ten years. I want my money and, ah, equipment.”
McAllister glanced at the garage with the boat and Lexus SUV. “Shit, I didn’t hear from you annually, so I confiscated the contents of your unit.”
“Even though I paid you plenty in advance?”
“Look, Jack, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but them guns was prolly illegal. And all that money and guns, all bein’ hid out for ten years? Yeah, right, go call a fucking cop.”
“Am I to understand you are not cooperating?”
“Fuck off. Get off my property.” McAllister turned to walk toward the house.
That was when Tommy hit him with two short jabs to the abdomen. McAllister folded immediately and vomited. Tommy straightened the man out and slapped him hard.
María Elena saw that Tommy had chosen the protected space between the two trucks so that their altercation was not visible to much of the street or the front of the house. A glance told her no neighbors were out and watching.
Tommy slapped McAllister again, whipping his head around. “I spent it all, man. Nothing I can do.”
“And my guns?”
“I sold them. Don’t want no guns around with young kids.”
Tommy slapped him again with the other hand, and McAllister’s head whipped the other way. “Shit, man.” He raised his hands to protect his face. Tommy jabbed him in the kidney. McAllister went white and bile spewed from his mouth. Tommy ducked aside. María Elena once again marveled at how fast Tommy moved. “Please?” McAllister mumbled. Tommy pulled the man’s right hand down from his face and snapped his thumb. The digit stuck out at an obscene right angle. “Fuck!” McAllister’s voice was shrill now.
María Elena was amazed such a big man could be transformed into a whimpering idiot so quickly. Suddenly, she was so glad Tommy was on her side. Don Diego, start looking over your shoulder.
“I spent most of it, man. I thought I’d never see you again!” Tears were rolling out his eyes.
Tommy pointed at the garage. “The boat. The Lexus. Sell them. Withdraw whatever you have in the bank. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Ain’t no way can I do that, man.” He held his right wrist with his left hand staring down at them.”
“Sure you can,” Tommy said. “And no cops, understand?”
McAllister looked thoughtful.
Tommy leaned down and picked up the big wheel. The plastic was bright red. Causally, he spread the forks around the front wheel and pulled the front wheel off. He spun it out onto the road. Then he tore off the steering handle and tossed it aside.
The south Florida sun beat down on the silent tableau. María Elena wiped a drop of perspiration from her brow. She almost felt sorry for McAllister. But she’d known a few real punks in her life and this one was no different. He understood only strength.
“Am I clear?”
“Yeah, man, fuck. Leave my family out of this.”
“Your choice, McAllister. Have the money tomorrow by noon.”
“Shit. Fuck.”
Tommy shoved the man headfirst into the front of his Chevy truck and walked to the Nissan and got in beside María Elena. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: HIM
Tommy drove, threading through the bothersome Miami traffic. He didn’t know this part of the city. It was on the bay and there were numerous so called “islands” and “peninsulas”, manmade, sitting right off a winding bayside road. All contained multi-million dollar homes. Some of the islands were small, others large. Some had only a few homes, others twenty, thirty, more.
Their night at the Westin hotel had been memorable. There was no pole in the room to dance around, but María Elena had managed to make the night into—Tommy shook his head to clear it. No time for this now. Time for business.
“This one,” said María Elena and he turned right onto the entry road to the island. He slowed to a stop at a guard house where a uniformed rent-a-cop stepped out.
María Elena leaned forward and waved at the man. “Hey, Elmer.”
“Miss María Elena! Long time no see.”
“Has Eduardo left yet this morning?”
Elmer leaned in to talk to her and saw Tommy and straightened immediately. “No ma’am, not unless he took his boat.”
“All right, thanks, Elmer.”
“I’ll tell him you’re on the way in,” Elmer said.
“Fine. See you.”
Elmer hit a button and the gate arm rose. Tommy accelerated away from the gate. They climbed a small bridge, more of a decoration than a functional structure.
Eduardo’s circular driveway was not gravel: it was comprised of variou
sly colored pavers. The house was on the water with lots of lawn. It sat two stories high with a crow’s nest atop the second floor. Tommy knew little about homes these days, but he did know this was one expensive place. As he pulled into the driveway, the angle showed him a cabin cruiser docked behind the house, gently rocking from the wake of a passing boat.
He drove through the circular driveway until he was facing out. In his outside mirror he could see the back half of the boat and part of the bay. Tommy didn’t like the fact that the security guard had called ahead. He didn’t like anyone having a few minutes warning, if that were to be the case.
“You go ahead on in,” he told María Elena. “I’ll stay out here for a while and pay attention.” He didn’t say he didn’t trust this Eduardo Quinones. He did not know the man which, therefore, put Quinones in the do not trust category. Even if the man was María Elena’s godfather and an original founder of 13 de enero, and her father’s oldest friend.
She nodded and stepped out of the 4X4 pickup. He watched the inside mirror as she approached the ornate front door. It opened and an elderly man with a fancy moustache rushed out. “Alejandrina,” he called.
They embraced and he ushered her inside. After a few minutes a likely servant opened the front door and peered out at Tommy and the truck. Tommy thought it odd that anybody would have on a long-sleeve dress shirt and a short cut jacket in the Miami heat this early in the day. After a minute, the servant went away. Tommy turned in his seat and studied the house. Just another Miami mansion. He hoped María Elena would learn enough for them to formulate a detailed plan. If not, she intended to find out Don Diego García’s location and particulars.
Tommy fiddled with the radio then turned it off. He wanted no distractions. A fancy Mercedes drove past and pulled in the mansion at the end of the cul de sac. He figured that was on the outer tip of the island where it jutted into the bay.
A few more minutes passed. In the right side exterior mirror, Tommy watched two crewmen jump onto the cabin cruiser. Shortly, the engine started. Tommy wished he could see the front of the boat where the boarding ladder was. One of the crewmen, dressed smartly in white pants and a white pullover shirt, moved through his line of vision quickly and reached out to free the rear tie down rope. He certainly showed a sense of urgency.
“Oh, fuck.” Tommy slammed his door open and ran to the front door. The damn thing was locked. He drew his gun and shot twice into the lock. The doors swung open. Tommy rushed in. The jacketed servant was running toward him down a long hallway, his right hand pulling an automatic from under his left armpit.
Tommy shot him midsection, knowing that he might need the man alive, but couldn’t take the time to be certain to only wound him and take him out of the action. The servant slammed sideways into a wall, dislodging a fancy beach painting.
Tommy kept running, spilling into a great room with an enormous plate glass window overlooking the dock and the bay.
“María Elena!” he screamed.
Nothing. Maybe running feet upstairs.
Outside through the plate glass window he watched the cabin cruiser swing away from the dock. The pilot must have applied a lot of power for the boat surged ahead. Tommy knew little about boats and boating in the bay, but he did know that you don’t power up immediately; usually there is a no wake zone, especially around residential areas.
He saw a door off to the side of the room and ran out of it to the dock. The cabin cruiser was moving out quickly. He read the name on the transom: CUBAN BEAUTY.
He smelled fuel, likely diesel. The engines sounded like they were going full throttle. Someone on the boat saw him then, one of the crew, shouted and extended his arm pointing at Tommy.
The tanned guy with a mustache stepped through a doorway and stared at him
“Goddamn it!” Tommy raised his automatic and fired the rest of the magazine at the man. The sound of the shots seemed small in the embrace of the bay. He ejected that clip and slapped another in. CUBAN BEAUTY was still accelerating, which wasn’t yet very fast as it was a large boat.
Tommy spun and sprinted around the house and leapt into the truck, glad he’d left the driver’s door open. He cranked the engine without closing the door and slammed the shifter into gear with the gas pedal to the floor. Tires spun and caught and the truck took off, fairly leaping into the air. He guided it to the left and headed toward the end of the street where the island peaked. The door whipped closed. He fishtailed up the street driving with one hand. With his right, he reached behind the seats and grabbed the heavy duffle. He threw the duffle on the passenger seat and unbuckled it, helping to steer with his knees.
Immediately, he reached the last house on the street, the fancy super-mansion. He jumped the curb still accelerating. The Nissan’s tires ate up fancy lawn and spewed it out behind. The engine was screaming in protest, the RPM’s already past the redline on the tachometer. He clipped the edge of an aluminum patio pool cage sending most of the cage crashing against the mansion. The truck plowed over shrubs and out onto the grass of the final spit of land. He downshifted and hit the brakes and the throttle at the same time, going into a four-wheel slide to the right.
As the truck slowed, he dragged an AR-15 out of the duffle and opened the door simultaneously. He jumped out not caring about the truck whether it continued going into the bay or not. The truck was going too fast, and he went over, tucking into a paratrooper’s roll, ducking his shoulder and protecting the rifle. He continued the roll and converted the energy into powering himself back on his feet.
Tommy jacked a shell into the chamber and tucked the weapon into his shoulder steadying on the CUBAN BEAUTY. He didn’t know where to aim, so he aimed at the cockpit beneath the fly bridge. He selected full auto and loosed a three-round burst. He couldn’t tell if he hit it or not, but it seemed he was close for the boat veered to the left and then the right. A moving target, he fired another three-round salvo. Then another. The boat continued to slew right and left. Tommy finished the magazine knowing it was fruitless and he wasn’t going to stop the boat.
People were coming out of nearby houses. A woman still dressed up came out the back of the mansion and stared at him through crushed screen. At once they seemed to realize he was probably an armed madman and ducked back inside.
Tommy was castigating himself for his failure and ignored them. Then a thought occurred to him. He searched the docks nearby. A couple of boats, bigger if anything than CUBAN BEAUTY. It would be impossible to hijack one and catch up. Not now. And he certainly didn’t know enough to crew and pilot one all by himself.
Time slowed and he realized this place would be full of cops really quickly. Not only was he wanted, probably dead or alive, but he couldn’t talk his way out of this one. He looked around for the Nissan. Thirty feet to his right the 4X4 had stalled out, nudging onto the sea wall. He trotted over and climbed in. The truck started and he slammed it into reverse.
Think! he told himself. The truck slewed back toward the street kicking up more grass and dirt, plowing through a flower bed. He jumped the curb back onto the street.
He realized it was imperative he send a message; he needed to do something to keep them from harming María Elena. He screeched up the street, the truck complaining all the way. Into Quinones’ driveway once again, he skidded to a stop. He pushed the AR-15 aside and grabbed his automatic.
As he stepped out, Elmer the security guard, on a golf cart drove quickly into the driveway. Elmer was fearless.
Tommy stepped to him quickly and stuck his gun into Elmer’s throat.
“Elmer, they took María Elena. You gotta talk to the cops, but likely some other people will question you, too, not good guys. I have a message for you to deliver to them. You tell these other guys to not touch her and they can expect me. Understand? If they kill her, I have nothing to lose and I will hunt them down and kill them. Then I will find their families and kill each one of them, too. Understand?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” His face was scru
nched up and head stretched backward to avoid the pressure of the gun sight and barrel. “What do you mean somebody took María Elena?”
“Guns, kidnapping. They’re going to kill her.”
“No!” squawked Elmer. “Move your gun, please.”
Tommy did so and Elmer sat up. “What happened to Mr. Quinones?”
“I don’t fucking know. They’re all gone and I’m wasting time.”
“If I can help.”
“Cops ought to be on the way. Stall them.”
Elmer gulped. “If I can.”
Tommy saw the beginning of disbelief crawling across his face. “All right, now get out of here.”
Tommy pushed the man back onto his golf cart and turned and ran through the ruined front door. He needed to send a message in case they didn’t grill Elmer. Something to tell them Tommy Atkins was on their ass and they better hedge their bets and cover their ass until they dealt with him.
Nobody was stirring downstairs and he didn’t have time to search upstairs. The body of the “servant” he’d shot was still where he’d fallen. That the servant/body guard had attempted to shoot Tommy and impede him finding María Elena told Tommy that somehow Quinones was involved. He didn’t know but his anger boiled over.
Tommy found himself in a large library office. Bookshelves were lined with law books and another section contained history books, hundreds of them. He saw a fancy wet bar and looked behind it and saw dozens of bottles of liquor.
Off in the distance through all the doors he’d left open, he heard sirens approaching. He didn’t have much time.
Making an instant decision, he tore dozens of books off the shelves onto the floor in a flurry of action. The desk drawer and desk surface provided handfuls of paper. Then he went to the bar and began smashing liquor bottles. High end booze, Makers’ Mark and single malt scotches and expensive vodkas, all earned a regretful smash against the desk and poured over the accumulated books and papers. The 100 proof stuff would be the best.
Sirens were closing in on the island.
Tommy tossed the contents of the drawers in the bar itself and found what any good man would keep there: matches, whether you needed them or not, every man should have matches handy for emergency. Just like a church key.
