by Tim Dorsey
Andy wiped rain from his eyes, surveying the street again from behind landscaping.
A Delta 88 crossed a drawbridge at the causeway and made the northern swing onto the strip.
“Maybe he went the other way,” said Coleman.
“You might be right.” Serge made a skidding U-turn where A1A forks at the Oasis Cafe.
Andy waited for the taillights to fade, then jumped out from behind a coconut palm at the Oasis and bolted across the street through honking traffic.
Guillermo drove past a marina just as Andy dove behind a closed ticket shack for fishing charters. But Guillermo wasn’t looking for Andy. He turned to his passenger in the front seat. “Get both hands back on the dash.”
“What are you going to do to me?” asked Melvin.
“Nothing,” said Guillermo. “Just need you to straighten something out for me.”
“Why do we keep driving back and forth?”
“Waiting for a phone call…”
Guillermo reached Oakland Park, passing a southbound Challenger in the intersection.
“I’ll never forgive myself,” said Serge. Another U-turn. And another.
Coleman rode out the centrifugal force against the passenger door. “I have no idea which way we’re going anymore.”
The driver of an ’07 Mustang tried to make the light at Sunrise, then changed his mind. Tires didn’t hold the wet street, and he spun into a lamppost.
“Why are we slowing down?” asked Coleman.
“Must be some kind of accident.” Serge strained to see through sweeping wipers that couldn’t handle the volume. Flares in the road. “Can’t even imagine Floridians driving on snow.”
Police put out the cones, snarling traffic to a single lane.
“Dammit!” Serge punched the steering wheel. “What a time for this!”
They crept along, getting closer to the traffic cop in a rain poncho waving cars by with a lighted baton. Only twenty vehicles back now, which put them five behind a Delta 88, ten behind a Dodge Monaco and fifteen behind a Crown Vic with government plates.
The rain became a sheeting downpour, killing visibility. Hazard lights blinked. A glowing baton waved the Crown Vic by. Ramirez hit the gas and raced a block to the appointed street corner.
The Vic hadn’t come to a complete stop yet when Ramirez saw Andy jump from behind the charter-boat shack and sprint down a knoll. The agent leaned across the front seat, opening the passenger door, and Andy dove in.
Ramirez took off.
A Delta 88 and a Challenger rolled through the intersection.
“Serge, what’s the point…”
“I’m not giving up on Melvin and Andy!”
“I ain’t saying give up, just that all this driving back and forth isn’t working.”
“I know, and time’s running out! It might already be too late. If only there was some way to turn back the clock and give me time to think-” Serge cut himself off and snapped his fingers.
“Is this like what you were talking about before?” asked Coleman. “A thought pops into your head later?”
“Hang on to something.” Serge cut the wheel hard for a vicious right turn.
Three blocks ahead, Andy crossed his arms tightly, soaked and shivering.
“Sorry,” said Ramirez, turning off the car’s AC. “How you holding up?”
Teeth chattered. “I’m not.”
“That’ll change,” said the agent. “It’s all over now. You made it in.”
The Crown Vic passed Bahia Mar and disappeared south on A1A.
The rain let up. People emerged from restaurants and bars, resuming the nightly sidewalk stroll along the strip. A Delta 88 drove south past Bahia Mar.
Chapter Forty-Seven
TWENTY MINUTES LATER
Andy sat on a couch in dry FBI clothes that were three sizes too big.
Ramirez peeked out the curtains again. “What now?” asked Andy.
“Wait.”
“Can I watch TV?”
“No. We might not be able to hear.”
“Hear what?”
Ramirez laid out a collection on top of a bedspread. Glock, extra clips, pistol-grip twelve-gauge, Taser,.38 ankle backup with snap release.
“Agent Ramirez,” said Andy. “Hear what? What are we listening for?”
“Anything. Just a precaution.”
“Thought you said I was safe now.”
“You are, as long as we follow procedure.” He grabbed his phone. “Just have to make final arrangements.”
Ramirez went in the bathroom and dialed.
A half mile away, Serge burst through the door at Bahia Cabana.
City and Country looked up from a bong at the clamor.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Wal-Mart.” Serge ran across the room.
“Wal-Mart?” said City.
“Time slows down,” said Coleman.
Serge pawed through luggage. “Just the cushion I needed to retool the Master Plan and catch back up… Here it is!“ He grabbed Andy’s disposable cell and frantically pressed buttons.
”What are you doing?” asked Coleman.
“Trying to find his call log…” More menu buttons. “Here it is.” Serge scanned the tiny screen, the same number repeating all the way to the bottom, both incoming and outgoing. “Just as I thought.”
He hit redial.
“That’s right,” Ramirez said into his cell. “With me right now. Perfectly safe… Okay, we’ll sit tight.”
The agent hung up; the phone instantly rang again.
“Agent Ramirez.”
“Where’s Andy?”
“Who’s this?”
“Serge. What have you done with him?”
“Done with who? I don’t know any Andy…”
Andy sprang from the couch in alarm.
Ramirez held out an arm and shook his head: nothing to worry about.
The boy tentatively sat back down.
“You’re not a good liar,” said Serge. “This phone number’s all over his cell. That’s why we’re talking right now.”
“Why are we talking?”
“I want Andy.”
“I just told you-”
“Knock off the act. I know about his mother.”
“Why don’t you come down to the local office and discuss it with us?”
“That’s the last thing you want.”
“This conversation’s over.”
“You killed her.”
“Now it’s really over.”
“Hang up on me, and the next call I make will be to the local office.”
Ramirez looked toward Andy, then faced the other way and lowered his voice.
“You still there?” asked Serge.
“I’m here,” said Ramirez. “You need to calm down. I know you cared about Andy, but he’s safe now. Your mind’s playing tricks.”
“My mind tells me women don’t shoot themselves.”
“Some do.”
“You’re the informant.”
“You really do need to settle down.”
“Seen The Godfather?”
“You’re insane.”
“When I figured out there was an informant, I knew that whoever eventually contacted Andy to take him in would be someone he trusted. And the traitor. But what sealed it was his mother.”
“Quite an imagination.”
“Let me tell you a story. A long time ago, Madre had an agent on the payroll. No biggie. Just a little intel now and again-tip-off to a raid or shipment about to be intercepted. Then it all changed with a witness for the prosecution. It wasn’t what you bargained for, but too late. They had enough leverage for a life sentence. Now are you following?”
No answer.
“So you went to see Andy’s dad in Battle Creek-one of the few people who knew where he lived. He wasn’t home. But Andy’s mother was. Except you didn’t shoot her.”
“I thought you said I did.”
“You were
responsible for her death, but no, you’re not cut out to be the shooter.”
“Who then?”
“My money? Guillermo was with you. Madre would have insisted, so you couldn’t fake McKenna’s death and have him pose for confirmation photos with ketchup on his chest. Guillermo was the right age back then and the wrong psychological makeup to find the house with no McKenna. I’m guessing you tried to stop him.”
“Some story…”
A Delta 88 made a U-turn. A phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Guillermo?”
“Hi, Madre. I have great news. I got Andy. Was just waiting for the call from you where to meet Ramirez for the positive ID, so we don’t go through another Panama City.”
“What do you mean, you’ve got Andy?”
“Right here in the front seat with me. Matches the convenience store video.”
“My name’s Melvin.”
“Shut up.”
“Guillermo,” said Juanita, “I did get the call from Ramirez. He says he has Andy.”
“That can’t be right.”
“Somebody’s wrong. I hope you can sort it out.”
“Where’s Ramirez?”
She gave him the hotel and room number. “How far are you?”
Guillermo looked in the distance at a giant lighted sign atop a high-rise hotel. “Almost there.”
“I don’t want you to disappoint me.”
“I won’t, Madre.”
“I know you’re a good man,” Serge told Ramirez on the phone. “That’s why I’m betting you lied that you couldn’t gain access to the family’s new address when they were relocated. They’ve just twisted you for so long you can’t see up or down.”
“How’d you know about his mother?”
“I didn’t. It was guess,” said Serge. “You told me just now.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”
“So her condition hadn’t recurred at all,” said Serge. “She was in perfect health?”
“She was fine.”
“Hasn’t this gone on long enough? There’s still time to make it right.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“It gets worse,” said Serge. “You have a second problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’ve got Melvin.”
“Who’s Melvin?”
“Another kid that Guillermo apparently got confused with Andy.”
Ramirez fell down in a chair.
“I’m guessing Panama City didn’t stomach well,” said Serge. “You have a conscience, but Guillermo’s out where the buses don’t run. You couldn’t stop Battle Creek, but you can stop this…”
Banging against the wall of Serge’s room. Laughter, shouts, students getting restless and deeper into the alcohol supply.
Serge walked toward the window to hear better. “Listen to me. If I know anything about human nature, this is one you’re not going to be able to live with. There’s a defining point in every life where you have to do the right thing no matter what personal cost…”
Ramirez could no longer face Andy.
“… Tell me where you are,” said Serge. “We’ll take out Guillermo together. And I won’t say anything to Andy or anyone else about our conversation.”
“It’s too late.”
“No, it’s not! I can… hold on-” Serge pressed a hand over his other ear as more noise drowned out the call. A fire engine screamed by with all the sirens and bells, fading down the street. Serge uncovered his ear. “I’m begging: Tell me where you are!”
“I have to go…”
“Don’t hang up!”
From Ramirez’s end of the line, Serge heard a fire engine.
Click.
Chapter Forty-Eight
A1A
A ’68 Dodge Monaco raced south.
Mahoney punched buttons on a cell.
Agent Ramirez’s phone rang. He stared at it for the longest time. Mahoney’s name in the display. Then:
“Ramirez.”
“Where are you?” said Mahoney.
“What’s going on?”
“Please don’t hurt Andy.”
“Andy? Why would I do anything to him?”
“You’re the informant.”
“What are you talking about?” said Ramirez. “I was the one who told you there was an informant.”
“Nice ruse. Like when you’re playing Clue and hold the card for Mr. Mustard but ask other players if they have Mr. Mustard.”
“You’re insane.”
“You’re the one who told Madre about the class ring and the credit card trace.”
“Madre?”
“I know about the convenience store.”
“What convenience store?”
“The work of one of her boys.”
“Her boys?”
“You should be familiar,” said Mahoney. “You’re one of them.”
“What I am familiar with is your hospital stays.”
“Got your juvenile record. Probation lists Juanita as your employer. Fits her MO, grooming young guys out of jail.”
“How many times were you committed?”
“I also know about Andy’s mom. You had a Detroit flight the same day.”
Ramirez’s brain reached overload.
“You still there?” asked Mahoney.
“What do you want?”
“Andy.”
“I have to go.”
“Where are you?”
Click.
The Challenger screamed out of the motel parking lot.
Coleman slammed into the door again. “He told you where they are?”
“No, the fire engine did.”
“What fire engine?”
“Passed our hotel northbound. At that speed and the delay I heard on the phone, it’s a half mile, give or take. Which can mean only one hotel…”-a skidding left up a driveway-“… This one.”
“But how do you know which room?”
“We’ll just have to play that by ear.”
They jumped from the car.
“Coleman! Watch out!” Serge grabbed his arm and pulled him from the path of a speeding Delta 88 that screeched to a stop in the fire lane.
“What a jerk,” said Coleman.
“Guillermo!” said Serge.
“And there’s Melvin!”
Guillermo entered the lobby. Melvin was two paces in front and one to the right, standard separation for someone at gunpoint, unless the gunman’s left-handed.
Serge and Coleman ran for the entrance.
Behind in the street, squealing tires and rubber smoke. Even in darkness, there was no way Mahoney could mistake the distinct outlines of that odd couple running for the hotel.
The Monaco backed up and whipped into the lot.
Guillermo reached the elevators, holding a black leather briefcase in his left hand and staring up at descending numbers. Serge charged through the front doors and immediately saw the pair on the far side of the lobby. Couldn’t risk an all-out assault with Guillermo’s gun still pointed at Melvin. He broke stride and walked casually toward the elevators, mentally walking through the next few moments: standing next to Guillermo waiting for their lift. “Good evening…” Guillermo responding in kind. Then all three getting in the elevator, and only two would get off. Serge just prayed Melvin could hold it together and not give him away.
He was closing fast, walking as briskly as he could without drawing notice. Thirty feet to go. He didn’t count on one thing.
Guillermo and Melvin stepped into an elevator.
“No!” Serge sprinted across the rest of the lobby. The doors closed just before he could stick a hand through the crack and pop them back open.
A thumb mashed the up button.
Coleman arrived. “What’s happening?”
Serge muttered to himself, staring up at ascending numbers.
The next elevator dinged open. “Coleman! Hold that one!”
“I got it.” Colem
an stood on the second car’s threshold, its doors repeatedly banging open and closed against his shoulders. “Aren’t you getting in?”
Serge continued staring up. “Just a sec.” The numbers went higher and higher.
Mahoney dashed into the lobby. “Serge!”
Serge watched the elevator numbers pause. “Eighteenth floor!”
He jumped in the second car with Coleman, and the doors closed.
Mahoney ran to the elevators, pressed a button and looked up at numbers.
Agent Ramirez sat on the edge of a bed with eyes closed.
Knock-knock.
Andy flinched. “Who’s that?”
Ramirez didn’t respond, just walked across the room and opened the door.
Guillermo came in with his briefcase and young guest.
“Melvin,” said Andy. “What are you doing here?”
“Not my idea.”
A poke in Melvin’s back. “Over there with your friend.”
He walked toward Andy, revealing the gun behind him.
Guillermo set his briefcase on the dresser. “What’s this business about two Andys?”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” said Ramirez.
Guillermo flipped latches and raised the top. “It’s all there, two fifty. You can count if you want.”
Andy backed up against a wall. “Serge was right.”
The agent closed the briefcase.
Guillermo cracked an unfriendly smile. “We always did work on trust.”
“That’s not it,” said Ramirez. “I want to make a deal.”
“Deal?”
“You keep the money. Nobody will ever find out, not even Madre.”
“What do you get?”
“The kids.”
Guillermo laughed.
Andy eyed Ramirez’s weapons spread out on the bed.
“I’m serious,” said the agent. “He was just five at the time, never had anything to do with our business.”
Guillermo turned with his.380 automatic. “Little too late to grow a conscience.”
“Serge was right,” said Ramirez.
“Serge!” said Guillermo. “What is it with that guy?”
“Listen to me,” said the agent. “This accomplishes nothing.”
“Accomplishes revenge.”
“You can’t deposit that in a bank.”
