“I’m still not convinced, babe. It may be just a hell of a coincidence, but whatever it is, we need time to plan our next move.” He wrapped his arms around her and touched her cheek with his index finger.
“Hell, we’re fugitives without a country. We’ve got all kinds of time.”
CHAPTER 65
Flush with cash from an oil rich economy, the Venezuelan government had constructed numerous, gleaming white apartment buildings in Caracas. The buildings blended nicely with the existing structures, which were some of the most impressive examples of modern architecture in North America. The apartments were offered to the poor for next to nothing, but there were few takers. The poor elected instead continued to live in the vast expanse of ranchos, which were sprawling slums consisting of corrugated metal shacks covering the hills surrounding the city, where goods and services were cheaper and family was close by. Luis Martinez was one of these inhabitants. Carlos had succeeded in verifying that fact by tracking Martinez’s license plate.
Servito’s black Rolls Royce followed Luis’s green Pontiac onto a narrow dirt road. Both cars stopped less than thirty feet from Martinez’s tin shack. The stench of rotting garbage and urine pervaded the track. Servito and Carlos emerged from the Rolls and approached Martinez. “Are you Luis Martinez?” Servito barked.
Martinez immediately recognized both of his visitors. “Si,” he replied, terrified and clinging to his steering wheel.
Servito frowned. “I know you speak English. Now get the hell out of your car and talk to me. I want to ask you some questions.”
Martinez climbed from his car and trembled as he faced Servito.
Servito’s evil smirk was a portent of what was to come. He pointed to Carlos with his right thumb. “You’ve already met my bodyguard. His name is Carlos. He doesn’t like liars, and he particularly doesn’t like people who come snooping around my house. In fact, I’ve given him instructions to kill people who do that. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Martinez gulped, his lower lip quivering.
“Good. Then tell me what were you doing at my house today. Tell me the truth and I won’t let Carlos kill you.”
Martinez closed his eyes and shook his head. “I… I can’t tell you,” he mumbled, his entire body consumed with fear.
Servito turned to Carlos. “We’re wasting time. Kill him and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Carlos removed a machete from the front seat of the Rolls and approached Martinez with a menacing scowl. He lifted the machete above his head and prepared to swing.
Martinez raised his arms in defense. “Please don’t kill me,” he begged. “I’ll tell you.”
“Good. Do it.”
“My boss ordered me to do it. He—”
“Who’s your boss?”
“Mr. Blankenship.”
“Why did he order you to do it?”
“He… for a friend of his.”
“Who’s his friend?”
“Mr. King.”
“Who?”
“His name is Mike King. He was in the car with me when I came to your house.”
“No!” Servito gasped, surprise and shock contorting his expression. “Was there anyone else?”
Martinez nodded. “Her name is Karen. She’s looking for her son.”
Servito rolled his eyes and shook his head in amazement. “I can’t believe it. How the hell did they find me?” His right hand shot for Martinez’s throat, and he gripped tight, with bared teeth. “How did they find me?” he shouted.
“I don’t know,” Martinez whimpered.
“Where did you find them?” Servito screamed.
“At the Residencias Anauco Hilton.”
“Is that where they’re staying?”
Martinez nodded. “In suite two hundred and twelve.”
Servito released Martinez and spat on the ground. “This is the last fucking time!” he vowed. He turned to Carlos and nodded. Carlos lifted the machete and decapitated Martinez with one powerful swing.
CHAPTER 66
Marty Piniero turned his white, 1977 Cadillac Eldorado into Servito’s driveway and accelerated toward the house. He leaped from the car and ran to the double front doors, anxious to see his old friend again and to learn how much money he was going to make. Immediately following his false confession to the Ontario Provincial Police in Fort Erie, Piniero had returned to his native Venezuela. To finance the trip, he used a portion of the fifty thousand dollars Servito had paid him to implicate both Mike and Karen in gasoline theft. He pressed the doorbell button and whistled happily while he waited.
“What do you want?” Carlos growled.
Piniero gulped and stepped backward, his eyes riveted on the gold skull and crossbones dangling from Carlos’s neck. “Is… is Jim here?” he asked.
“Who are you?”
“Marty… Marty Piniero. He… Jim’s expecting me.”
“He’s okay, Carlos,” Servito said as he stepped into the doorway behind his huge bodyguard. He smiled as his eyes shifted to his guest. “Marty, baby!” he said, shaking Piniero’s hand and patting his back. “Good to see you. Come on in. We have a lot to talk about… how have you been?”
“Good,” Piniero replied. “You?”
“Fantastic.” Servito led Piniero to the swimming pool deck, and Carlos followed. “Have a seat, Marty. I’ll get Carla to bring us drinks. What’ll you have?”
“You got any beer?” Servito turned to Carlos. “Tell Carla to bring us two cold Corona.”
Carlos nodded and returned to the house.
“You got a great place here, Jimbo,” Piniero said as he relaxed in one of Servito’s deck chairs.
“Thanks. I’m very happy with it.”
“How come you’re here so soon? I thought you were gonna stay in Canada for a couple more years.”
Servito shrugged. “Long story—I’ll tell you later. Right now, I have a job for you to do, and I want you to listen very carefully.”
Piniero quickly hoisted himself to an erect position.
“That prick, Mike King, is in Caracas.”
“You’re shittin’ me! I thought he was in jail.”
“So did I, but he isn’t. He’s here with my beloved wife, who also isn’t in jail.”
“How the hell did they find you?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care, but I’m going to make sure they never find me again!”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Set up a nice little surprise party for them. I want you to phone King at his hotel and introduce yourself as Pedro Montoya, first cousin of Luis Martinez. Tell him Luis asked you to call because you work for the City of Caracas. You’re in the tax department. Tell him how sorry Luis is about not being able to get the names of the people living in this house.”
“I don’t understand. Why the con?”
“I want you to tell King and my wife that you’ll bring them up here and get the job done. Tell them you’ll pick them up at their hotel. Carlos and I will be joining you and I want to be sure they’re going to be there.”
“You gonna kill ‘em?”
Servito flashed an evil smirk. “They’ll be taking a nice, long swim.”
CHAPTER 67
“Luis Martinez is dead, Mike,” Blankenship announced over the telephone. “His wife found his body on the ground beside his car last night. He was decapitated.”
“My God! How could that happen?” Mike asked, guilt wracking his heart and mind, horrified that a man had died as a result of his poor planning.
“I have no idea, and nor does anyone else. Luis had no enemies—everyone loved him. It’s the strangest damned thing.”
“Did he have any cousins?”
“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“I got a call an hour ago from a man named Pedro Montoya. He said he was Luis’s first cousin. He also said he works for the City of Caracas and that he’s prepared to help us get the information we want.”
“You want me
to check him out?”
“I’d be grateful if you would.”
“It’s the least I can do. I’ll call Luis’s wife and a friend of mine who’s in city politics. What did you say his name is?”
“Pedro Montoya.”
“Are you at your hotel?”
“Yes. We’ll be here all night.”
“Good. I’ll call you when I have something.”
Mike hung up and turned to Karen. His face was white as a sheet. “Luis Martinez is dead. He was murdered.”
Karen covered her distraught face with both hands. “Oh, no! How did it happen? Did Adi say?”
Mike shook his head and turned away. “He told me Luis’s wife just found him beside his car last night.”
“Jim did it! I just know he did it!” Karen declared. “Every time we get close to him, somebody gets killed.”
“That’s a hell of a stretch, babe. How could your husband have known where to find Luis Martinez?”
“I don’t know, but it’s one hell of a coincidence,” Karen insisted. “What about Luis’s license plate?”
Mike closed both eyes and nodded, privately chiding himself for letting Luis use his own car. “You’re right,” he conceded. “How could I have been so stupid? I’ll never forgive myself.” He wrapped his arms around Karen. “I’d give anything to change what happened, babe. Sending Luis in there was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
After midnight that night, Mike and Karen were awakened by the cry of the bedside telephone in the otherwise silent night. Reluctantly, Mike reached for the receiver. “Hello,” he groaned.
“Mike, it’s Adi. Sorry to bother you so late, but I have some extremely interesting information. I spoke to Luis Martinez’s wife tonight. She told me Luis didn’t have a cousin by the name of Pedro Montoya. In fact, she said he didn’t have a cousin at all. Also, I just got off the phone with a friend of mine. He’s a solicitor for the City of Caracas, and he confirmed that there’s absolutely no record of Pedro Montoya on the city’s payroll.”
“Thanks, Adi. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the call.”
“My pleasure. Good luck to you and Karen. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
“I will. Goodnight, Adi.” Mike deposited the receiver in its cradle. “Pedro Montoya’s a fraud, babe. He’s not on the city payroll and Martinez’s wife has never heard of him.”
“Then it’s obvious that Pedro Montoya is Jim, or one of his henchmen.”
Mike nodded in the darkness.
“What are we going to do about the meeting tomorrow?”
“Find out what his game is.”
CHAPTER 68
Marty Piniero’s white Cadillac rolled to a stop beside the curb in front of the Residencias Anauco Hilton at 8:45 a.m. He opened the door and stepped out onto the street. Carlos and Servito emerged from the back seat.
“Remember, no noise and no shooting,” Servito warned. “I don’t want the cops swarming all over this place.”
The three men hurried to the hotel and raced up the stairs to room two-twelve. Piniero knocked several times. No response. He turned the door knob and was surprised to find the door unlocked. All three men rushed inside and found the apartment unoccupied. Livid and infuriated, Servito raced to the reception counter in the lobby of the hotel. “Where’s the manager?” he shouted.
“You’re talking to him,” Clifford replied.
“I’m looking for a man named Mike King. He’s with a woman by the name of Karen Servito. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find them, would you?”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Arthur Durant. I’m with the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Clifford examined Servito suspiciously. He doubted that a man dressed in jeans and a red T-shirt was FBI. “Do you have some identification, Mr. Durant?”
“Yes, but I’m not at liberty to display that to you or anyone else. I’m outside my jurisdiction. I am, however, authorized to pay a substantial reward to anyone who can provide information leading to their arrest and conviction.”
Clifford leaned across the counter. “I appreciate all donations, Mr. Durant, but I don’t understand why you think I’m in position to help you.”
“Come on, Clifford,” Servito cajoled. “We know King is registered at this hotel, and we know he’s in two-twelve.”
“And how do you know that?”
Servito smirked. “We have our sources.”
Clifford grinned. “I think your sources are incorrect, sir. We have a Mr. and Mrs. Kendall registered in two-twelve.”
“How old are they?”
Clifford pressed his lips together and looked skyward. “I’d say they’re in their late thirties. Maybe forty.”
Servito’s frown transformed into a broad smile. He removed one of George Lanotti’s photographs of Mike and Karen from his jacket and showed it to Clifford. “Is this Mr. and Mrs. Kendall?” he asked.
“That’s them,” Clifford replied without hesitation, then shook his head. “Mercy! What have they done? I can’t believe it. They appeared to be such a nice couple.”
Servito frowned. “Let’s just say they’re on the run from the law.”
“How much is the reward?”
“One hundred thousand dollars,” Servito replied, and then handed ten fifty dollar bills to Clifford. “Put these in your pocket. They’re to help you to remember to call me when you know where King is.”
“Is there a number where I can reach you, Mr. Durant?” Servito printed his home number on the top of a desk pad. He ripped off the top sheet and handed it to Clifford. “Call me here any time, day or night.”
Clifford leaned across the counter. “Mr. King and the woman left here at eight thirty this morning,” he whispered. “I don’t have the slightest idea where they went.”
“Will you call me when they get back?”
Clifford nodded. Servito smiled and extended his right hand. “The Bureau will be grateful, Clifford.”
Mike and Karen sat the comfort of a lime green 1966 Chevrolet taxi, parked a half a block away. Mike smiled when he saw the three men returning to the white Cadillac. “He doesn’t look happy, babe. I’d love to see the look on his face when he found us gone.”
“That son of a bitch was going to march in there and kill us,” Karen said.
Mike’s triumphant smirk transformed into a worried expression. “The good news is that we’re still alive. The bad news is that he knows we’re here.
Mike leaned forward and tapped the middle-aged taxi driver’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here, Julio. Give us the tour.”
Julio drove Mike and Karen to El Junquito, a tiny mountain village where they bought oranges and barbecued spare ribs. Afterward, they continued along a narrow mountain road that provided a spectacular view of Caracas on one side and the Caribbean Sea on the other. The road ended at Colonia Tovar, an isolated mountain village at over six thousand feet of elevation, which had once been so isolated that a few of its blond and blue-eyed residents still spoke the Black Forest German of their ancestors who settled there in 1843.
The taxi returned to Caracas at four in the afternoon. After an hour of shopping, talking, and planning, Mike and Karen ordered Julio to return them to the hotel.
“Come back here in an hour, Julio,” Mike instructed. “We’ll be right here waiting for you.”
Clifford smiled when he saw Mike and Karen enter the lobby. “Did you have a nice day?” he asked.
Mike nodded and approached the counter. “The best in a long time. Thanks, Clifford. Julio’s a great tour guide.”
Clifford nodded. “He’s not just great. He’s the best.”
“Clifford, you must know the city pretty well. Where’s a really special place to have dinner?”
“Is Julio waiting for you?”
Mike shook his head. “I told him to come back in an hour. Karen and I just want to shower and change our clothes.”
�
�Tell him to take you to Casa Zavala. It has the best food in Caracas and it’s not far from here. You’ll both love it.”
Clifford waited until the elevator door had closed behind Mike and Karen, and then lifted the telephone receiver.
CHAPTER 69
Marty Piniero’s white Cadillac Eldorado screeched to a halt in front of Casa Zavala within seconds after Mike and Karen emerged from Julio’s taxi. Carlos leaped from the Cadillac, wrapped his long arms around Karen, and dragged her, kicking and screaming, into the front seat. Before Carlos could slam the door, Piniero pounded his foot on the gas pedal, causing his Cadillac’s rear wheels to screech in agony against the dry pavement.
Mike’s heart pounded wildly. His stomach writhed and twisted into knots. During the seconds he had taken to pay Julio, he had once again lost the love of his life. Enraged, he raced on foot in a vain attempt to catch up with Piniero’s car. “Damn you, Servito!” he screamed as he quit his unequal race with the Cadillac. He turned and ran back to Julio’s taxi. “Follow them, Julio!” he puffed. “Don’t lose them! I’ll pay you anything you want—just don’t let them get away!”
Julio’s lime green taxi immediately took off in pursuit of the Cadillac, weaving and dodging through dense city traffic.
“Faster, Julio!” Mike urged, his eyes focused on the Cadillac, his mind refusing to touch on Karen’s fate. “You’ve got to go faster!”
“But I want to stay alive,” Julio protested.
“I want Karen to stay alive. She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved. They’ll kill her if we don’t stop those bastards!”
Julio crossed himself, clenched his teeth, and depressed his gas pedal almost to the floor. His taxi caught up with the rear of the Cadillac within ten seconds. “Try to get in front of him and cut him off,” Mike demanded.
Julio again crossed himself and floored the gas pedal, gradually moving his taxi beside the Cadillac.
THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS: A DOUGLASS CRIME AND ROMANCE THRILLER SERIES (THE KING TRILOGY Book 1) Page 26
