The Queen of Miami

by Heidi Lowe

  “I know that.” Well, she wanted to believe that at least. To imagine that he would work against her, would do anything to jeopardize their family business over his jealousy, was unnerving. She didn't want to think that way; it was too depressing a thought.

  “And what's best for us isn't sitting on these weapons, or scouring the whole world searching for someone to take them from us. It makes us vulnerable. The more people who know about it, the more chance there is that we get robbed or the police find it.”

  Everything he said was true, though she hated to admit it. Had she been so blinded by a prejudice that didn't even belong to her, against the Armenians, that she was unable to see sense on this? She tried not to rule with emotion, but it had a way of sneaking in without her knowing. It was just that, even without her father's prejudice influencing her decisions, she had heard the stories of the hostile takeovers, the ambushes, the revenge-killings against innocent family members, all the Armenians' doing. Their reign of terror across America and Europe was well-documented, widely-known. It wasn't just her gut that told her to steer clear, it was common sense.

  She let out a long, loud breath. The world seemed so bleak when you were all out of options. “What are they asking?”

  Trent's face lit up just enough for Willa to notice a marked difference in it. “They'll take everything, the whole lot.”

  “And then what? Because there's always more with these people.”

  “They're looking for a new, regular supplier. Doesn't have to be top military grade stuff. We can go back to our usual; AK-47s, MPX SIGs, the semi-automatics.”

  She didn't like the fact that he'd clearly met with them enough to know their requirements, because it meant that he'd been meeting with them behind her back. And when she thought harder about this, it brought up a bunch of other questions, like why.

  “How regular?”

  “Maybe three or four times a year to start with. As a trial run.”

  She let out another loud sigh. “All right, set up a meeting. It's just a sit down. I'm not agreeing to anything until I meet with them.”

  Relief spread across the room, mostly from Guy and Noah (who had remained silent during the discussion, as they often did). Even she was slightly relieved, if only because they might finally be rid of that cursed container that had the blood of so many men on it already. But she still had many reservations.

  “I'll get right on that.” Trent started off, but Willa stopped him. There was something that had been bugging her for a couple of weeks.

  “Did you by any chance see what happened to Ambrisi's cash? The money that he brought for the exchange?”

  Trent frowned, shook his head. “Nope.”

  “You didn't see it?”

  “I saw it when they showed it to us, but I can't say what happened to it after that. The cops probably have it in an evidence locker somewhere.” He gave a little laugh.

  “They don't. You didn't take it?”

  He looked at her, offended. “I didn't take it,” he said evenly. “Are you accusing me?”

  “No, I'm asking you.”

  “We were too busy trying to get out of there with our lives, Willa. We didn't have time to steal Ambrisi's money. And even if we had he would have deserved it, don't you think?” He strutted off with his outrage. Noah said goodbye and followed him out.

  “Don't look at me like that,” Willa said to Guy, once they were alone. He had that look, that whimsical, dubious, raised-eyebrow look he did when he had something to say that he didn't want to say.

  “As much as I'm glad we might finally be rid of those guns, I can't say I'm happy to be doing business with the Armenians.”

  Of all her siblings, Guy was more like her in pretty much everything. They even had the same taste in women. It came as no surprise to her that they shared the same sentiment on the Armenians.

  “Neither am I,” she admitted. “I don't trust them. Call it instinct. They've screwed over most of the people they worked with in the past, what makes us think we'll be any different?”

  “But we don't have a choice.”

  “But we don't have a choice,” she echoed. “Maybe we could do this one deal and cut ties for good. Who says we have to partner with them indefinitely?”

  Guy's face reflected the same doubt Willa's voice did.

  Fifteen minutes later, Willa's buzzer sounded. Guy went to answer it.

  “Wills, it's the police.”

  Two things happened upon Willa hearing this news: the first, the in-built reaction all di Blasios had whenever a cop came a-knocking – panic. The second, a much newer reaction, and one that had never gone hand in hand with the first – excitement. She shouldn't have been as hopeful as she was, but she couldn't help it. The possibility of seeing Detective Owen again did that to her. It didn't even bother her that her place of abode was now known by the Miami Police Department, thanks to Layke. Although they hadn't seen each other since their kiss, Layke had been creeping into every spare thought.

  The kiss was exceptional; such a connection, such synergy. She'd never experienced anything like it. It was as though their mouths had been long lost lovers, reuniting after a lengthy separation, not that they were meeting for the first time. A kiss like that, she had thought at the time, could tear down all walls, or at the very least penetrate them. Willa had spent a long time erecting walls around herself – as was the di Blasio way. “If you're smart, honey, you'll do what the Germans did and build a wall around you. You can't be sure where the threat will come from, just that it will come. Make yourself an island, then build a wall.” Those were her father's words of wisdom. She'd been eight at the time, and a lot of changes were taking place in the family. At that time her father went away for a while and she didn't know why or to where. Only when she grew older, old enough to know the truth, did she find out that he'd been in jail awaiting trial for murder.

  “But how will anyone visit me?” she'd questioned, doe-eyed and taking everything literally. “What about my friends?” What about the cute little blonde girl at her school who she vowed she would marry? Because even then she'd known she was gay, (though even at that age she'd sensed her father wouldn't have approved).

  “When you get to my age, honey, you'll realize those are the first people to keep out.”

  He must have had a similar talk with the boys, because romantically, nothing seemed to stick with her brothers. No strings attached sex seemed to be all any of them could and would commit to.

  So why did her walls now feel threatened?

  When she and Guy went downstairs to meet the cops outside her building, her heart sank.

  “My name's Detective Bishop, and this is Detective Velazquez. We'd like to ask you both a few questions.” Detective Bishop was a clean-cut black man, and Detective Velazquez Willa recognized as Layke's friend, the one who'd accompanied her to the club the other night. No Layke in sight. Could Willa have been the first person in criminal underground history to be disappointed by a cop not being present?

  “What is this regarding?” Guy asked, taking on the debonair stance he used with the cops. It made him sound like a law-abiding citizen, not a smooth-talking criminal.

  “It's regarding the four Cuban men you met with a few days ago. Are you aware that they were found dead last night on Lummus Park Beach? Their throats were slit.”

  She felt Velazquez's eyes scrutinizing her, trying to gauge her response.

  “I heard about that. It's awful.” She meant it, though doubted they believed her. Why not use guns like normal folk? Such a messy, painful way to go. When you used a knife, it was so personal. It was as if you were sending a message to the world that you were only too happy to get your hands dirty. That you had no intention of backing out. That you enjoyed taking a life. To slit the throats of four strong, grown men required a great deal of determination.

  “When was the last time you saw these men?” Velazquez asked, only focusing on Willa.

  “The last time we saw them was wh
en you and the other detective saw them.” Willa smiled. “Where is Detective Owen anyway? Haven't seen her around lately. Hope she's all right.”

  “We're not here to talk about Detective Owen,” Bishop snapped. “Do you know any reason why someone would want these men dead? What was your connection to them?”

  Guy, sensing that accusations were about to start flying, stepped in. “They were friends from overseas, and we have no idea why someone would want them dead. I can assure you, detective, that we're just as shocked as you are.”

  Now that they did appear to believe, and it also happened to be true.

  After a few more routine questions, the brief visit ended and the detectives went on their way.

  “I think they wanted to pin this one on us,” Guy said as they watched the detectives step into their car. “Which means they don't have any real leads.”

  Willa smiled and waved to the cops as they drove off. “If Ambrisi really is behind this, then he's more stupid than I thought. And he's a dead man.”

  She saw her parked across the street, in her usual spot outside the club. Two evenings in a row. Both times she approached the car, but Layke took off and didn't come back until the following evening. It was about the kiss, Willa knew it. The kiss Willa herself couldn't forget, and neither, it seemed, could Layke. So now she was committed to avoiding her target, observing from a distance, and fleeing if she ever got close.

  That didn't work for Willa.

  She needed to see her again, and not from a distance of fifty yards. How would she ever get a repeat with so much space between them? And a repeat was what she craved.

  On the third evening, she was ready. Just as before, she saw the Nissan Sentra parked across the road from Yum Yums. She climbed into her own car and set off at a pace Layke could keep up with. After a little while she looked into her rear-view mirror and saw that she was being followed.

  Phase One complete.

  She stopped at a Chinese take-out drive-thru, went crazy ordering a little bit of everything, then set off again. Behind her, Layke trailed on, stopping when and where she stopped.

  Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up outside a two-story building – or at least the makings of a two-story building. Construction on it had ceased for the night, but the scaffolding and some of the building materials remained. The street was quiet. She stepped out of her car and removed the heavy take-out bag from the passenger's seat, then took out a black bag from the trunk, ignoring all temptations to peer down the street at Layke's car. She pretended to look around stealthily, as though afraid someone might catch her doing something illicit. It was all for show, and she knew it would work.

  Bright light spilled out from the second floor, through the large glassless windows, as yet unfitted. The only way up currently was by way of a wooden ladder from the back of the building. Willa took one bag up, placed it on the floor, then collected the other and lugged it up. She tore open the black bag and removed a thick, navy blue blanket, and spread it across the bare floorboards in the middle of the room, before laying out the food on it.

  Then, she waited.

  Footsteps ascended the ladder ten minutes later. She swallowed back her nerves, relaxed herself on the blanket, and summoned the smug persona that would get her through this encounter, because she couldn't cope without it.

  “What took you so long? The food's getting cold,” she said when Layke appeared at the top of the ladder, gun in hand. Her nonplussed expression upon seeing the blanket and the food laid out on it only made Willa laugh.

  “What's going on?”

  “Well, I knew you wouldn't come if I invited you to dinner. So I thought, I'm going to get her to come to dinner without knowing she's coming. And what better way to do that than to make you think I'm getting up to no good. Genius, don't you think?”

  Layke folded her arms. “You got me here, great. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stay.”

  Willa gestured to the assortment of dishes. “I think you might. There's a lot of food, and you've been in that car for hours. Have you even eaten this evening?”

  Layke bit her lower lip, her arms still folded. Her eyes hovered hungrily on the food, until finally, hesitantly, she made her way over to the blanket, over to a grinning Willa. She sat down as far from her as possible while still being on the blanket. She set her gun down close to her, out of Willa's reach. “This isn't about you, this is about the food. I'm starving,” she said.

  “Of course.” Willa only continued smiling, watching her help herself to the food.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, Layke shooting her looks of distrust while gobbling down the food.

  “What is this place?” she asked eventually.

  “The shell of our new restaurant. A work in progress.”

  “You're getting into the restaurant business, huh? What, is that in addition to gun-running, or are you finally going on the straight and narrow?” Layke said with a little smile of her own.

  “Gun-running? Why, detective, you must have me mistaken for someone else. I have no idea what you're talking about.” Willa placed a hand over her heart, unable to keep a straight face.

  “Right. And I suppose those dead Cubans were here on holiday and not to buy the guns you stole?”

  “Right.”

  They stared at each other, neither one willing to look away first, both trying to stand their ground. It was Layke who looked away first.

  “You can't get rid of it, can you?” she said, a laugh in her voice. “The container? I can't imagine anyone would want to do business with you when everyone you try to trade with ends up dead.”

  If anyone else had said these things to her it would have riled her up to the point of lashing out. But this was how she and Layke communicated; the back and forth, like Tom and Jerry, only with lots of sexual tension. She tried not to appear too flabbergasted that Layke had read the situation so perfectly.

  “Do you have an off-switch, Layke, or do you just keep on working?”

  “I work when I'm at work. This is work,” she said. “I'm sorry if you think this is something else.” She stuffed in another mouthful.

  “Ah, work. I guess you were also working when you kissed me the other night.”

  Layke reached for one of the cans of soda, and gulped some down, avoiding Willa's gaze.

  “Is that why you've been avoiding me? You didn't want to face me because we kissed?”

  “I'm sure you do that sort of thing all the time, but for me... that's not who I am.”

  “You mean you don't make a habit of going around kissing girls?” Willa chuckled. “You seemed pretty comfortable with your tongue down my throat, I have to say. It was a good kiss.”

  Layke cut her a look, didn't say anything, just carried on eating.

  “So where do we go from here?” Willa continued, putting her food aside.

  “I'm going to finish my meal then I'm going to leave.”

  “I have a better idea.”

  “I'm not interested,” Layke said tiredly.

  Willa rummaged through the black bag the blanket was in and retrieved a pack of playing cards. She opened the pack and shuffled the deck, Layke's curious eyes upon her.

  “Playing cards? That's your better idea?” Layke asked dubiously.

  “Just one game. One round of blackjack 21.”

  “What are we playing for?”

  A mischievous shadow fell on Willa's face as she smiled lopsidedly. “How about we make it really interesting, detective. If you win I'll confess to everything, everything there is to confess to. I'll give you locations, dates, names, the whole shebang.”

  “And if I lose?”

  “If you lose... I have you, right here, right now.”

  No one could have missed Layke's huge gulp then; Willa certainly didn't.

  “Those are some high stakes,” Layke said finally, her voice shaky and hushed.

  “No point playing if the stakes aren't high.”

  “How do I know you'll kee
p your word?”

  Willa shrugged. “How do I know you'll keep yours? Trust, detective.”

  “I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you.”

  Willa handed her the deck. “You shuffle. Then we play.”

  Layke shuffled, her first attempt sending the cards scattering everywhere because her hands were trembling. When she was done she handed the pack back to Willa. “Deal.”

  Willa dealt. Two cards each. “May the best woman win.” She looked at her hand. Queen of diamonds and an ace of spades. She smiled. “Stand.”

  “Hit me,” Layke said. She reached for another card from the deck, and let out a relieved sigh.

  “Ready?” Willa said. Layke nodded. “You go first.”

  Layke slowly turned her cards over. Twenty.

  Willa bit her lip, feigning worry, dragging out her reveal, reveling in Layke's anxious wait. Until finally, she flipped her hand over. She heard the mortified breath Layke expelled when she saw that her opponent had blackjack.

  Layke swallowed, her face paler than it usually was, like a woman who had lost everything. Willa almost felt sorry for her. Almost. But she wanted her a whole lot more than she sympathized with her.

  “You played a good game, detective. But there can only be one winner,” Willa teased, climbing to her feet. She stretched her hand out to help Layke up. “I know you're thinking of backing out–”

  Layke took her hand. “A bet's a bet,” she said evenly, and got to her feet. She didn't ask where Willa was leading her, she went silently, hand in hand. They stopped at the builders' workstation, a waist-high desk with bits of wood on it. Willa shoved everything out of the way, pushing them to the other end.

  “Right here,” she said. She knew exactly how she wanted her, and this was the perfect spot. She positioned her against the workstation, Layke's back to her. Willa whipped off her own T-shirt and tossed it behind her, before sweeping Layke's auburn locks to the side and pressing her lips to the nape of her neck, eliciting a shaky gasp from her.