“You may think you know them, Jake, but you don’t. They will cut no deals. And I won’t betray them.”
“Honor among thieves, Alana? They took a video to use against you. You don’t owe them anything.”
“Office politics. It was the right move for them. After all, I was acting irrationally. I guess I still am. Love makes you do funny things, right Jake? It’s why I avoided it so long. After all, they didn’t try to hurt you, physically. They kept their part of the bargain, after a fashion. Of course, after your performance at the Forge all bets are off. Garza and Keitel want you dead, in the worst way. And they are experts in worst ways, as you know.”
“I’m pretty good at taking care of myself. Besides, after Friday, they will have other things on their minds.”
“Just the same, don’t go back to your hotel. Stay here. They would never do anything in my house. Maybe you can talk me into that Iowa hair salon.”
He knew he couldn’t. She was going to run.
“Whatever it is you’re planning, Alana, don’t do it. Turn yourself in. I’ll do everything I can.”
She put her drink on a table and leaned forward, searching his face.
“Darling, come away with me. We can have a wonderful life. I have plenty of money. I’ll do just about anything you want. But I’m not going into any fucking witness protection program. This isn’t an episode of The Sopranos. If I disappear, it will be to a beach somewhere, where it is warm, with a change of hair color, a new name and half a dozen passports. We’ll leave many well-paid lawyers behind to muddy the waters. In five years, everybody will forget about us. Who knows, maybe we’ll slip back into the country as illegal immigrants. Nobody ever finds them.”
“You are whistling past the graveyard. What about the Shields family?”
“You overestimate the power of the press, darling. Media properties go on the block all the time, at bargain prices nowadays. Who knows who will own that company in a few years? Maybe us.”
“And the various mafias you’ve bilked? Not to mention the people they’ve lost. Do you think they will forgive and forget?”
She waved her hand dismissively.
“They will be made whole financially. That’s all that matters to those people. We shouldn’t have panicked. A wire transfer here, a wire transfer there, and it’s done. It is being accomplished as we speak. Some other depositors, who are, let’s say, less prone to violence will find their accounts bare, but that’s what they get for evading banking laws. We will blame the recent disconnect in the credit markets. There is nothing that anyone can do about it. In this country if you steal a little money, especially if you are poor, they throw the book at you. And if you steal in the billions, well, then even your moribund regulators may be moved to action. But if you steal somewhere in between, like us, then you stand a fair chance of getting away with it. As for Garza and Keitel, they killed for years before we even knew them, and it didn’t seem to bother anyone. They leave few tracks. The only one to catch on was Brutti, a killer himself. I’m not particularly worried. You yourself said that it will be weeks before the police will rouse themselves to action.”
There was nothing more for Scarne to say. He realized that some of what she said was an act, perhaps to make it easier for him to despise her. He stood up. She didn’t meet his gaze. When she spoke it was as if he weren’t there.
“Just go. Stay away from your hotel until tomorrow. Then, it won’t matter.”
***
Scarne drove back to La Gorce and parked the car. He went back down to the lobby. Mario came out of the concierge cubicle.
“Mr. Scarne. I thought you were back when I saw the car gone. But I was getting concerned, so I called Mr. Shields. They told me he died! I couldn’t believe it. I spoke to a Miss Emma Shields and she said not to worry about the car until I heard from her. She said if I saw you that you should call her.”
So Emma was watching his back. He would make sure she got Josh’s files.
“Has anyone been looking for me?”
“No. Are you expecting someone?’
It was unlikely Garza and Keitel would check the apartment after his breach with the Shields family, but he gave Mario a description of the two killers anyway.
“If you see either of them, let me know. And there is something else I want you to do. I had to search the apartment pretty thoroughly.” He smiled at the understatement. “Arrange a cleaning service, the industrial kind, to straighten things up. You might also want your handyman to check it out. Here’s $500. Keep $100 for yourself and if you need more bill my office.”
Scarne gave Mario his business card.
“You have been one of our more interesting guests, Mr. Scarne. I’ll miss you.”
When Scarne got to the apartment, he took a shower and then remembered to call Noah Sealth. He told the detective to expect the files.
“Alana doesn’t want a deal. I think she’s going to run. Ballantrae and the boys, too. Not much any of us can do about it in the short term.”
“They’re not going to get far, Jake, and they have no long term.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you. Ballantrae overreached out here. The Brutti thing struck a nerve with our mob bosses. They don’t mind occasionally whacking each other but draw the line at outsiders bumping off locals, especially when trying to set them against each other. Ballantrae accomplished the impossible. He got these skels to work together. Their first joint project is him. One of my informants told us Boyko promised old man Brutti he’d settle accounts for all of them, personally. He’s heading to Miami.”
“He’s already here, Noah. I saw him last night.”
Scarne explained what happened at the Forge. As he did, he watched an Air France 747 turning in over the ocean on its descent into Miami International.
“Jesus. I wish I could have seen that. What did Boyko do?”
“Nothing. Just took it all in.”
“That’s not a good sign. The calmer Andriy is, the worse things are sure to get. I don’t know what he’s planning to do, or when, but based on past experience, it’s going to be like Nagasaki. Ballantrae’s two homos aren’t the only ones with imagination.”
“Alana told me that they are going to pay off the Bruttis and Boyko.”
“Won’t matter. That may just speed up things. This is personal. Ballantrae fucked with the wrong people. She did, too. Don’t go anywhere near her.”
They were silent for a moment. Finally, Sealth said, “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. What happened last night doesn’t matter. It’s a done deal. Go home. Let the Miami cops pick up the pieces.”
“You want to countenance murder, Noah? Isn’t it your duty to warn them?”
“Don’t fucking lecture me.” He sounded angry. “These scumbags have crapped all over my town. If I could get them myself I would, but I have to go by the book, and they’ll be long gone, one way or the other. You’re not exactly a hero in all this, my friend.” Sealth relented. “Listen, I made a call. All I got was Ballantrae lawyers and PR pukes. They clammed up, even though I told them they had nothing to gain since they, and a couple thousand other Ballantrae employees, were about to join the ranks of the unemployed. Loyal or afraid, take your pick. I called the Miami cops, too. Said they would look into it. Don’t hold your breath. Go ahead, give it a shot. Maybe you can convince the woman, get her out of it, cause that’s what you want. You don’t give a shit about the others. But Boyko probably wouldn’t mind a piece of your ass, now that he knows you. If I was you, I’d go back to New York. She made her bed, and you’re well out of it.”
CHAPTER 51 – TURKEY SHOOT
Scarne tried to reach Alana at home. Answering machine. Left a message warning her. Same with her cell phone. He got his jacket, checked his gun and pocketed extra rounds and headed to the garage.
Her front door was locked. He rang the bell and pounded on the door. He went around back and tried the sliders t
o the kitchen. The house was dark. He picked up a wrought iron chair from the patio and hurled it through the glass. An alarm sounded. The house was deserted. He checked her bedroom. It bore signs of a quick exit. As he drove away, he heard sirens approaching. He called her office. Everyone was “away on business.”
Miami was a big city. He’d never find her. Then he remembered her warning. He drove to the Delano, and spotted Keitel lounging against a red Lamborghini parked out front. Garza was behind the wheel. Every now and then Keitel walked into the hotel. Often he came back with a cell phone glued to his ear, smiling at the beautiful people pulling up in their exotic cars. Scarne wondered how long they would wait before joining their bosses. He assumed they would all be leaving together, wherever they were going. He had to assume that; it was his only chance of finding Alana. He briefly thought about walking over to them and telling them about Sealth’s tip. But once they had the information they’d probably just shoot him many times, this stretch of town being one of the few places on earth where you could be unobtrusive making a getaway in a Lamborghini. And if he killed them, he’d never find her.
At 6 p.m. sharp Keitel came out of the hotel for the last time and climbed in the car, which pulled away from the curb. Scarne followed them down Collins Avenue. They left Miami Beach via the Venetian Causeway, which travels through six small islands in Biscayne Bay on its way to Miami proper. Scarne had to be careful not to get too close. Halfway across, he was startled by a sign that read “Dildo Island,” until he realized that some wit had whited out the second “I” in “Dilido.”
Once off the causeway, Garza went south on US1. Scarne wondered if they were headed to the Ballantrae office, but they soon cut over to I-395 and then to I-95 South and sped up. Scarne had to weave in and out of traffic going 80 to keep them in sight but wasn’t worried about being spotted. On this stretch of I-95 maniacal driving was the norm. At one point, some lunatic passed both Garza and Scarne at probably 110 miles an hour. Soon, however, all the southbound traffic had to slow as I-95 merged into US1. Because of the traffic and lights, he almost missed their turn toward Coral Gables. There were few cars in this neighborhood, one of the richest in America. Scarne turned off his headlights, hoping he wouldn’t plow into one of the massive ficus trees that defined the area.
Garza entered the grounds of the Biltmore Hotel and drove up through the famous arched driveway and stopped at the entrance. Keitel got out, said something to the valet, and walked inside. Garza pulled off to the side. Scarne drove past the driveway and into a small lot that said, “Guest Self Parking.” He had a clear view of the driveway exit. He got out and put the top down on the car. There was nothing he could do about the vehicle’s color, but with convertibles a dime a dozen in this part of Florida, he hoped the change in appearance would help. After 10 minutes he decided to chance a closer look. Well screened by trees and shrubs, he walked to the bottom of the driveway and was debating what to do next when Garza came out of the hotel, followed by Alana and Ballantrae. Just behind them were Boyko and his two thugs. Ballantrae was smiling, but Alana looked tense. A large limousine pulled up to the group and Ballantrae held the door for Alana, as the other men crowded around. She got in, and so did the men. Scarne ran to his car and watched as the limo, followed by Garza and Keitel, left the driveway and headed away. Soon the little convoy, with Scarne bringing up the rear, was back on US1, once again heading south.
They passed the huge University of Miami campus. The drive rapidly became boring, with long stretches of car washes, auto shops, restaurants, check cashing stores, strip malls, motels and gas stations. Scarne checked his fuel gauge. Just over three-quarters full; plenty, unless they were headed for Cuba. The traffic wasn’t bad. They had missed rush hour. They passed Kendall and Homestead, with its huge Air Force Reserve base. Their destination was obvious: The Florida Keys. It made sense to Scarne. There were small airstrips in the Keys. And calm inlets for a float plane. They could fly out with less notice. And there were plenty of places for a boat to meet them.
Whatever their plans, Scarne was almost certain that not everyone would make – or finish – the journey. He thought about calling the police. State troopers might stop the cars on a tip of drugs or gun running, but that would only delay the inevitable. He had no proof. He had to wait for the end game.
***
They rolled past Florida City and headed into the Keys. They passed Key Largo. Bogie wouldn’t have gotten in this jam, Scarne thought. The caravan kept on, past the towns of Tavernier and Islamorada, then on to the academic-sounding Lignumvitae Key. Traffic had thinned, as weekenders and vacationers peeled off to various resorts and marinas. He smelled the salt water, the Gulf of Mexico on one side, the Atlantic on the other. He lit a cigarette to help stay awake. The distraction almost caused him to overtake the cars ahead, which were stopped at an accident scene. He could see the flashing emergency lights. He jammed on his brakes and heard a screech behind him. He waved an apology. Scarne knew he would have to be more alert. It’s considered bad form to crack up your car while tailing someone.
An ambulance and several Florida Highway Patrol cars passed him going in the opposite direction. Soon, he was on the move again, passing dozens of small islands: Fiesta Key, Conch Key, Duck Key and Key Vaca. The town of Marathon was next, a dusty strip of shopping plazas, gas stations and tourist traps. Before he knew it, Scarne was on the Seven-Mile Bridge, with only three cars separating him from his quarry.
A few minutes later he saw their brake lights. They turned off into Big Pine Key. Now they were the only three cars on a road, which got narrower and more isolated. Scarne wondered if he should chance turning off his lights, but a vision of his car shooting off the winding road into swamp deterred him.
***
In the front seat of the lead car, Andriy Boyko spoke into his cell phone. A closed glass partition separated him from Ballantrae and Alana in the back.
“Is he still behind you?”
In the second car, Christian Keitel looked in his rear mirror.
“Yes, maybe a quarter mile back.”
“Amazing.” There was respect in the Ukrainian’s voice. “But now it is time for the hare to turn on the fox. There is a sharp bend just before the cutoff. You will have to slow. If you go straight there is a road, but it has been blocked by a barrier of logs. Just past the turn is the road to the dock, on the left. There is no sign, but you can’t miss it. Pull in and you can go back and catch him when he slows for the bend. Take him out there. Then meet us at the dock. I have something else for you.”
“What about his car?”
“Pull it into the cutoff. Won’t be found for days. We’ll be long gone.”
Garza and Keitel saw the log barrier and slowed for the sharp bend. Almost immediately they saw the entrance to the small road on the left. As they pulled in and stopped, they could see the taillights of Boyko’s car diminishing in the distance. They got out and popped the trunk of their car. With practiced precision, they pulled out two 12-gauge pump shotguns and fed large shells into the magazines. Garza loaded with hollow point deer slugs; Keitel, heavy lead buckshot. They were taking no chances. Running back to the road, they could see the headlights of Scarne’s car, coming fast. He would have lost sight of their taillights and probably was speeding up. With any luck, he’d plow right through the bend into the logs. Then they could finish him off at their leisure.
They positioned themselves on either side of the road just past the turn. Keitel, with the buckshot, was closer to the bend on the right side of the road. He could fire the first blast without endangering his partner with the pattern spread. It would be a turkey shoot.
Now they could hear Scarne’s car. Its headlights began to illuminate nearby trees and brush. Garza thought he saw small pairs of eyes reflecting the beam. He wondered what animals were about. Not that he cared. His slugs could stop a car, let alone a raccoon. Scarne’s car was almost at the bend. Would he see the turn and the log pile in time?
&
nbsp; The two killers heard a low whine from Scarne’s car as he downshifted coming into the turn. He had seen the obstacle. But it wouldn’t matter. Keitel edged nearer the turn, raising his shotgun and bracing it solidly against his shoulder. He hadn’t used a 12-gauge in quite some time. It would have quite a kick. One never got used to it. It might leave a bruise, he thought resignedly.
There was a rustle in the undergrowth directly in front of him, and a small animal broke cover and ran directly onto the road into Scarne’s path.
Both gunmen heard the screech of brakes.
***
The Key Deer is a miniature breed indigenous to South Florida. An endangered species, the last wild herd of perhaps 300 individual animals lives only on Big Pine Key and surrounding islands. Mature adults rarely top two feet at the shoulders and weigh only 50 pounds.
The frightened deer spooked by Keitel darted down the road right at Scarne, who swerved and jammed on the brakes. The car slalomed through the turn, missing the animal but finding the log pile, smashing into it broadside. Some of the smaller logs at the top of the pile were dislodged by the impact and rolled into the convertible.
The car’s headlights were now pointing down the main road, into the ditch at its side. Caught in the beams was a startled Garza, who began moving towards the car, raising a shotgun to his shoulder. In the dusty haze on the other side of the road, there was also movement. Keitel! Scarne had stopped 50 feet short of their killing zone.
With one motion, Scarne unbuckled his seat belt and flung open the driver’s side door. But he didn’t go left. Instead he jumped onto the passenger’s seat and vaulted over the log pile.
The diversion worked. Garza, expecting Scarne to come out the driver’s side, pumped out three quick booming shots. Two of the heavy slugs clanged into the door with such force it almost closed. Keitel had a better angle as Scarne went over the woodpile. He got off two shots, but at a greater distance than he had wanted. The windshield exploded and some of the big double-0 pellets caught Scarne in the lower legs as he dove over the pile.
Two Jakes Page 38
