The Black Palmetto

by Paul Carr

  “I don't know. He got tired of me asking questions and told me to come by the police headquarters in the morning if I wanted to know anything else.”

  A few minutes after turning north on US-1, headlights appeared in Sam's side mirror and grew larger by the second. As the vehicle passed under highway lights, it appeared to be a black SUV. He thought it would go around them, but it slowed about twenty feet from their rear bumper, and a flashing red light burst on inside its grille.

  “What's going on?” Lora asked. “I wasn't speeding.” She started to slow the car.

  Sam turned and peered through the rear window and saw two men who didn't appear to be in uniform.

  “Speed up,” Sam said.

  “What?”

  “They're not cops. Floor it. Now!”

  Lora pressed the accelerator and the car picked up speed again. Sam knew they wouldn't be able to outrun them, but he needed time to think. Sure enough, the big engine roared up behind them and started around Lora's car. When it got alongside, the man in the passenger seat motioned for them to pull over.

  “Are you sure they aren't the police?”

  “Yes. Pretty sure.”

  “Pretty sure?”

  The man in the other vehicle motioned again, this time with a handgun.

  “I'm sure now, okay?” He glanced at the speedometer, which indicated almost eighty miles per hour. An intersection appeared up ahead. “We need to lose them. Keep it on the floor, and when I tell you, hit the brakes and turn into that road on the left.”

  This time she didn't ask questions.

  “Now! Hit the brakes and start turning!”

  The car slowed to about sixty within a couple of seconds and the SUV kept going. Lora's tires skidded and then caught traction as she slowed more and cut into the turn. The SUV was pulling to a stop a hundred yards ahead when Sam lost sight of its brake lights.

  “What are we doing?” Lora asked.

  “Just go! We'll talk about it later.”

  A dirt road appeared on the right, and Sam told her to turn onto it. They pulled in about a hundred feet, cut to the left through the undergrowth, and circled back behind a stand of palmetto. Brittle shrubs scraped the bottom of the car until they stopped. She killed the engine and lights, and he opened the door to get out.

  “Stay here, and be ready to go again.”

  “I'm scared. What are they going to do to us?”

  After a moment's hesitation, he said, “Don't worry, I'm the one who's going to be doing things.”

  He eased the door shut, pulled his gun, and stepped to the edge of the palmetto cover. The conversation from a half hour before with Simone flickered into his head. Had their employer sent these two to kill him because he'd found the flash card? Maybe they were just here to retrieve it. Then, knowing that hopeful thinking had little power in a situation like this, he decided to assume the worst case.

  Headlights from the SUV appeared and stopped at the mouth of the dirt road. A moment later the vehicle turned in and moved slowly past the palmetto thicket for about eighty more feet before stopping. Probably saw their tracks turn into the brush. Sam picked up a baseball-sized rock and threw it, striking the rear hatch. They cut their lights, and Sam took cover again. He watched as two moonlit silhouettes exited and made their way toward the rear of the vehicle. Each held a handgun, ready to fire.

  “What do you want?” Sam asked. “I have a gun, and I'll shoot you if I have to.”

  “Put down your weapon,” one of the men said, “and let's talk.”

  “Forget it.”

  Moments passed.

  “We want the computer card. The fat man told us you took it. Turn it over, and we'll let you be on your way.”

  They were triangulating on his voice, moving closer.

  “I don't have it. You come any closer and you’re dead.”

  “Are you going to force us to take it?” Still closer.

  Sam thought he'd said enough, and had given them their chance. All he could see was an occasional shadow, but he could hear their footsteps as they crushed dead grass and twigs. It sounded as if they were moving apart.

  Easing down to the ground on his stomach, he wondered if he would run into any snakes or spiders. The noise of the men's footfalls stopped a couple moments later, and Sam picked up on their shadows about a car length away. He grabbed another rock that his knee had bumped and tossed it to his right, away from the thicket. A beam of light flashed on from the driver's side and pointed toward where the rock had rolled through the bushes. Two shots followed. Bam! Bam!

  Sam squeezed off his own shot. The light dropped to the ground, and Sam thought he heard the body of the man drop with it. The driver screamed a string of obscenities and moaned with pain. Two reports then came from the other man's gun, the projectiles zinging a couple of feet over Sam's head. He fired back at the muzzle flares and heard the other man fall.

  Moments passed.

  “Larson!” the driver said, “you okay?”

  “I'm hit, but I don't think it did much damage.”

  “I'm bleeding all over the place, man. You got to get me to a doctor.”

  “What about the flash card? We can’t just leave it.”

  “Forget the flash card. We'll get it later.”

  “But—”

  “I said we're leaving.”

  Sam heard the two men struggling into the vehicle. He got up and almost bumped into Lora. She had gotten out of the car without him hearing her, and could have been shot had she been there a few moments before.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I'm fine. Let's get out of here.”

  “What about them?”

  He sighed. “They'll probably live.”

  Back in the car, she started it up and sped around the palmettos, onto the dirt road and back to the highway.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “Just head on to Miami.”

  Sam thought about Simone and J.T., pulled out his phone, and called.

  “Where are you?” Simone asked.

  “On the highway. Two guys in a black SUV tried to waylay us on US-1.”

  “You get hurt?”

  “No.”

  He could hear her breathing into the telephone. “How about them?”

  “They'll need medical attention.”

  “You know, I saw a vehicle like you described pull out of the parking lot right after you left, but I didn't think about it following you. There were a lot of cars coming and going. You think it was the people we talked about earlier?”

  “I don't know. It might have been somebody else.”

  “Yeah, but who?”

  “I've got an idea. We'll talk when I get back. Just be on the lookout.”

  “Okay. Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I'm glad you're all right.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment before they said their goodbyes. Simone had sounded more worried and sentimental than usual.

  “Who were those guys?” Lora asked, bringing him back to the present.

  “I don't know.”

  “I heard you say you had an idea about them, though.”

  He really didn't know anything for sure. Agent Crease had told the cops, He's with us, referring to Sam, right after talking with someone in the big Mercedes. It became pretty clear a few minutes later, though, that Crease didn't really mean it, and had just said what he'd been told to say. But Sam hadn't thought of the reason until now. Mr. Mercedes wanted to let the pigeon fly and they would follow him home. Only one problem: they followed the wrong pigeon.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lora kept asking questions he didn’t want to answer.

  “What did they want?”

  “They wanted what Spanner stole.”

  “You mean the flash card?”

  She must have heard the guy ask about it.

  “Why did they think you had it?”

  “Someone told them I did, but they were wr
ong.”

  She paused for a moment. “That was your girlfriend you spoke with?”

  “Simone is a business partner.”

  “Tell that to somebody who'll believe it. I saw the way she looks at you.”

  “The way she looks?”

  Lora chuckled. “The way you look at her, too.”

  Well, they actually had been pretty tight at one time.

  “Let's drop it, okay?”

  She shook her head. “You men.”

  It got quiet as the miles peeled away. Then, as Sam's eyes began to droop, she said, “Tell me about this flash card they were looking for.”

  “I don't know anything about it.”

  “I don't believe you. And you know what else? I think you know a lot more about this killer than you're saying. You gave me those photos and made up a story about your client giving them to you.”

  “Believe what you want.”

  “I'm going to find out, one way or another.”

  “Listen, the less you know about this, the better. Most of it is classified.”

  “Do they have something to hide?”

  Sam looked at her. “Of course they have something to hide. That’s why they call it classified, and it would be very dangerous for you to know about any of it, much less put it into print.”

  “You know about it. That means you're in danger, too.”

  “Yes, I am.” Though he hadn't thought much about that aspect yet, the target on his back seemed to be growing by the minute. The threat from the guys on the highway was just the beginning. They probably wouldn't stop until they got the flash card and killed everyone who knew about it. Unless somebody killed them first.

  Lora quieted then, leaned back in her seat, and stared through the windshield.

  The white noise of the road droned, and after a few more minutes of highway lull, she sighed and said, “You might as well take a nap if you want. I'm wired. All this is going to spin around in my head for hours.”

  “Okay, I might catch a few winks.”

  ****

  They arrived in Miami a few minutes after 4:00 a.m. and went straight to Jackson Memorial. After locating the Intensive Care Unit, a policeman standing guard at the nurses’ desk told them that Ford had lost a lot of blood and hadn't awakened since surgery. The cop wouldn't have given Sam the time of day, but never even asked Lora for identification. Just volunteered the information after she told him why she was there.

  Deciding to stay around for a while and see what happened, they took a seat in the visitors' room outside the unit, along with about fifty other people. After a half-hour or so, a man who looked like a detective entered the room and headed through the door to the ICU. Probably looking for the policeman. A few minutes later, Mr. Detective came out and looked over the crowd, his eyes settling on Sam and Lora. He walked over and asked if they were the couple asking about Charles Ford.

  “We are,” Lora said. “He's a friend of mine from Iguana Key. Someone from Miami PD called me about him a few hours ago.”

  “That was me.” He pulled out a card and handed it to her. “Mr. Ford had your card in his wallet. He also had money in his pockets, so we don't believe he was a robbery victim. We're hoping he can identify his assailant when he wakes up. Do you have any idea who would do this to him?”

  The detective sat down next to her and opened a pocket notebook.

  “No, but Charles is a defense attorney, and he’s representing a man in a murder case.”

  “You mean he might have run across the real killer, trying to prove his client’s innocence?”

  “Yes, that could be it.”

  Sam wondered about her reticence. Maybe she just didn’t want to get embroiled in a Miami investigation.

  “The officer inside said you work for the newspaper down there?”

  “That's correct.”

  The detective stared for a couple of beats, maybe waiting for more, which didn’t come. “Okay, I'll touch base with the PD in Iguana Key and see what they have.”

  Good luck with that, Sam thought.

  The man’s eyes drifted toward Sam. “And who are you?”

  Sam introduced himself.

  “What's your interest here?”

  Sticking to the story he'd given the police in Iguana Key, he said he’d been hired to track Sean Spanner and retrieve money he had stolen. “I think Spanner might be mixed up somehow in this case.”

  “You think this Spanner could be the guy who stabbed our vic here?”

  “Maybe.” Anything is possible, he thought.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Here in Miami, at a marina.”

  “Oh, yeah? Which one?”

  Though the man seemed to ask the question offhand, Sam knew he would check him out. He couldn't think of any reason to worry about it, so he told him.

  The detective got Sam's phone number and made more marks in the notebook. “Okay. It looks like you might be in for a wait.” Getting up, he said to Lora, “If you think of anything that might help in the meantime, call me at the number on the card.”

  “What do they say about his chances?” Sam asked, nodding toward the ICU.

  “About fifty-fifty, I think. But you know, they're just guessing.” Turning to Lora, he said, “Don't forget. Call me if you think of anything.”

  Lora eyed the card and gave it a thump. “Don't worry, I will.”

  “Okay, I've got some other cases to look into, so I'm out of here.”

  He forced a smile at Lora, but lost it as his face turned to Sam, and then he went back into the ICU. Sam assumed he wanted to tell the officer about the murders, and to be watchful for anyone who seemed interested in seeing Ford. A minute or so later, he came out and left, not even glancing their way. Other things on his mind.

  They decided to get coffee in the hospital cafeteria, and after a few sips, Sam said, “I'll be right back.” He headed toward the restroom down the hall, kept going, and pulled out his phone.

  Jack Craft didn't answer, and Sam wondered whether he might still be sleeping or just had his phone turned off.

  Back at the table, he said to Lora, “I need to leave and take care of something, but I should be back in a couple of hours.”

  Lora touched the napkin to her lips, her reporter eyebrow elevated. “I could take you.”

  “Sure, if you don't mind.”

  With Sam navigating, they took the Dolphin Expressway and continued east on the MacArthur Causeway. The sun's rays burned through the horizon as they rode into Miami Beach and headed toward his marina.

  When she turned the car into the parking lot, Lora said, “Is this where you live?”

  “This is it. I need to talk with a friend who lives here.”

  Jack's new BMW sat in its parking spot. He'd traded the Mercedes a couple of months earlier. Said the big luxury liner projected a cooler image. It did look good.

  “Does this have something to do with Spanner?”

  “Maybe indirectly.”

  They got out and strode down the dock. Sam noticed the newspaper on Jack's walkway.

  “I don't think he's up yet. Why don't we go to my boat and have a cup of coffee?”

  She linked her arm in his and smiled. “I bet you use that trick on all the girls.”

  The post-dawn sun shone on them with a pleasant warmth and hue, and electricity seemed to flicker in Lora's eyes.

  He smiled and led the way down the dock. “Seemed worth a try.”

  Chuckling, she pulled her arm away.

  As they approached Slipstream, his forty-foot cruiser, Lora let her eyes roam over the vessel. “How do you like living on the water?”

  “It isn't much fun when a storm comes along, but other than that, it's good.”

  “My dad had a boat. It wasn't this big, but it had a cabin. We would take it out on the Gulf for day trips.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah, this brings back some good memories.”

  Sam stepped aboard and opened the door,
and they went into the lounge.

  “Have a seat and I'll make the coffee.”

  “Okay if I look around?”

  “Sure, if you don't mind the mess.”

  She came into the galley a few minutes later as the java machine finished brewing.

  “Nice setup.”

  “Thanks. It serves its purpose.”

  He poured the cups and they each stirred in cream and sugar.

  She took a sip and peered at him over the cup. “Umm. Good.”

  They stood there, only a couple of feet apart. She moved closer and Sam set his cup down. He touched her hand, and Lora’s eyes zeroed in on his lips. Then the coffeemaker sputtered and popped, and she gave him a sad smile, turned around, and stepped away. Sam flipped off the offending machine.

  The moment had passed, and he felt an uncomfortable silence taking its place. He pointed at the door. “Let's go outside on the deck.”

  They exited and ambled aft to the chairs under the awning. Fog rose off the morning water, and skipjack and mullet broke the surface, feeding and playing. A pelican with part of its foot missing sat on a timber nearby. It eyed the fish and scratched underneath its wing with the tip of its long beak.

  “That's Pete,” Sam said, nodding toward the bird. “I think he's pretty old. I usually feed him when there isn't much fishing activity. Sometimes he'll take the food out of my hand.”

  “You're kidding. I've never heard of a tame pelican.” She looked around as they took a seat. “I could get used to this. So calm and peaceful.”

  “Yeah, everyone is asleep right now. Give it a few hours and you'll hear music and boat motors.”

  “Still, pretty nice. I kinda had you figured differently.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, more like military. A cabin in the woods, dogs patrolling the perimeter, security systems.” She glanced at him, her expression sober. “From the way you shot those men in the dark, maybe also doing a lot of target practice.”

  “Maybe I should look into that. A cabin in the woods.”

  Smiling, she said, “No, I like this better.” She took a sip of coffee and set the cup on a nearby table. “And I like you better, too.”

  Sam grinned. “What? Because of the boat?”

  “No, not just that. I liked the way you handled that situation back on the highway. Most guys would have just tried to outrun them, but you knew what to do.” She touched his arm and smiled. “Feeding the pelican out of your hand sounds kind of cute, too.”