The Black Palmetto

by Paul Carr

  An engine started up somewhere beyond the wall. It sounded large and powerful. Sam motioned for J.T. to follow and led the way to the stairway. By the time he reached it, the engine roared, and a boat shot out of a slip down below traveling away from them into open water. It was a Cigarette racer, and the man piloting it wore a motorcycle helmet with a tinted face shield. It had to be Knox. A small motorcycle stood atop the rear deck, strapped to a transport rack. The front end of the boat rose about a foot above the water before bouncing back and reaching a plane. Knox peered back over his shoulder, swung his arm around, and fired a shot that hit the corner of the wall next to Sam’s face. Sam returned fire, and Knox spun around and fell to one side when the round struck him in the back. The racer kept going, putting distance between it and the dock. More shots by Sam and J.T. missed their target, the Cigarette now more than a hundred yards away and gaining speed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The phone sounded off and Sam looked at the display: Simone.

  “You better get out of there,” Simone said. “I heard a siren, probably the Big Pine PD.”

  They put their guns away, opened the door, and stepped out into the rain. Retracing their steps along the back of the property, they headed toward the cars. Sam gazed out at the water. Knox had disappeared into the Gulf, leaving only ripples in his wake. A Cigarette might go sixty or seventy knots and could already be a mile away.

  At the cars, Sam told Jack that he would ride with J.T.

  “Okay, unless you need me for anything, I’m going back to Miami.”

  “Sure. Thanks for the ride.”

  J.T. suggested that Sam drive. He backed out and pulled away, and Simone followed within a few seconds. Spreading out, they maintained a lawful speed. When they got a few blocks outside the neighborhood, two cop cars flew past, their blue lights flashing. Neither of the occupants looked their way.

  “Something’s wrong,” J.T. said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t find Knox. He disappeared from the monitor.”

  “Keep looking. He’s got to be there.”

  “No, he isn’t. I’ve restarted the program a couple of times, and all the others show up, but he’s gone.”

  Something gnawed in Sam’s stomach as he thought back about the scene in the boathouse. “Maybe I damaged the transmitter when I shot him.”

  “Aw, man, that was the only way we had to track him. Why didn’t you go for a head shot? At least he’d be dead, and the money might be on that boat.”

  Blood pulsed in Sam’s ears, his face hot. “Hey, I did go for his head. That boat bounced out of the dock like a bucking bronco.”

  “Okay, okay, forget about it. No big deal. We’ll get him.”

  “What about Benetti? He still on the monitor?”

  “Yeah, he’s right where he was before.”

  “Okay, tell me how to get to him. Maybe Knox headed that way.”

  A few minutes later, J.T. said, “You spend the night with the babe?”

  Sam glanced at him. “Yeah, on the road and at the hospital.”

  “Simone was jealous.”

  “What do you mean?’

  “She fussed and fumed after you got out of the car. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, ‘Mind your own business.’”

  “News to me. According to her, she’s heavy into some guy named Karl.”

  J.T. clicked keys on the computer and said, “Huh,” his attention already turned back to the monitor.

  When they reached the main road where they’d entered the island, J.T. told him to turn right. The others stayed behind them. Sam had a hunch they were headed toward the old cruiser where Simone had been.

  They turned into an abandoned marina, obscured from the road by mossy oaks, and rode down a sandy road overgrown with weeds. About fifty yards ahead, Sam saw the old cruiser, tied up at a dilapidated dock. No sign of the Cigarette, but the rear end of a maroon hearse shone from the edge of a mimosa thicket.

  Simone came over as they got out. “Cates’ car is gone. He was waking up when I left the boat earlier.”

  “We lost the signal on Knox,” Sam said. “I think I damaged the transmitter when I shot him.”

  She gave a slight eye roll, but didn’t say anything.

  “Benetti is here somewhere, though,” Sam added.

  “Maybe he’s tied up on the boat. I didn’t have time to search all the compartments.”

  The man who had been sitting in the car with her got out. He stood about five-five, had curly brown hair going gray, and hadn’t shaved in a week or so. Though he might be homeless, he appeared to be wearing a fresh change of clothes, and he looked as if he’d recently bathed. One side of his face was swollen and bruised, probably from the explosion, and his eyes seemed dreamy, faraway. Maybe not a terrific witness, but if he had seen Knox, he might be helpful in finding him.

  Sam asked Simone to pop the trunk, and he retrieved a pair of field glasses. He hurried to where the boat sat and gazed up and down the coast. No Cigarette. When he turned around, Simone and J.T. stepped onto the dock.

  “You want to search the boat?” J.T. asked.

  “Yeah, hold on a minute.” Sam glanced back at the cars and saw Lora drive in and stop. She had been better at tailing them than Sam had expected. He didn’t see the homeless man. “Where’s the guy who was with you?” he asked Simone.

  She pointed toward the hearse. “He said he wanted to lie down in his car, that all this activity has worn him out.”

  “You think he’s the real deal?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s real, all right. Maybe your friend at the newspaper knows an artist who could do a sketch from his description.”

  “Good idea.” He turned toward the parking area. “Lora just pulled in. I saw her following us on US-1. Why don’t you go over and talk to the two of them about a sketch? J.T. and I will look for Benetti.”

  Simone narrowed her eyes. “Why can’t you do that, and I’ll stay and search?”

  “C’mon, you’ve been talking to the guy. He might clam up if I go.”

  She sighed. “All right, but you owe me for this.”

  After finding the main door on the boat locked, Sam and J.T. entered by the rear hatch and descended the ladder.

  Sam made a quick search of the Captain’s quarters and aft closets, and J.T. did the same for the forward spaces.

  Within a few minutes, they met back and J.T. said, “I don’t think Benetti’s here.”

  “Yeah, let’s check out the marina buildings.”

  They left the boat, stepped to the abandoned office that stood a hundred feet away and found it padlocked.

  “Stand back,” Sam said. He stood a few feet to the side of the lock and fired his 9mm at it. The mechanism burst apart and fell to the ground.

  When he swung the door open, J.T. leaned around its edge and called out, “Benetti, you in there?” No answer. He called again. Still quiet.

  They both entered. Sunlight stretched only a few feet inside the doorway. Sam flipped a wall switch, but nothing happened. After a few seconds, his eyes adjusted, and he saw a cot against the far wall. They edged closer. A man lay there on his side, his wrist attached to the bedrail with a nylon tie. Spent syringes littered the floor. Without the three-day beard, he would be the man in the Spanner/Benetti photograph.

  J.T. felt for a pulse. “He’s alive.”

  Sam cut the tie with his pocketknife as the man opened his eyes.

  “Who’re you?” he asked.

  Ignoring the question, Sam said, “We’re going to get you out of here, Benetti.”

  With some effort, he sat up on the side of the bed and rubbed his wrist. “Where’s Knox?”

  “Long gone,” J.T. said. “Do you know the name he’s using on Iguana Key?”

  “No. He slugged me, and the next thing I know, I’m lying here tied to this bed.” He slurred his words, maybe groggy from the drugs.

  “You try to shake him down?” Sam asked.

&nbs
p; “What?” He frowned. “No, I just called him up. I guess he held some grudges I didn’t know about.”

  “Get off it,” J.T. said, sticking his gun tip in the man’s face. “We have the flash card with the tracking system on it. That’s how we found you, so let’s start again.”

  “Right,” Benetti, said, eyeing the gun.

  Sam motioned for J.T. to put the gun away, and said, “You offered to sell him the card?”

  “Well, yeah, for a fair price. But he wanted it for free. I wouldn’t tell him where I hid it, so he’s been pumping me full of something he thought would get me to talk. Didn’t work, though, at least I don’t think it did.”

  “What about the money you stole?” J.T. asked.

  “Knox got it. He gloated about finding it in my hiding place at the motel.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  After picking up a bag of burgers, Sam, J.T., and Benetti headed toward Ford’s place.

  Their captive gobbled down two of the sandwiches on the way. When Sam asked him about Knox’s appearance, he described the man as maybe five-ten and about two hundred pounds, clean shaven, with longish black hair. And he always wore sunglasses, even inside. It didn’t sound like anybody Sam had run across in Iguana Key, but it might to Lora. They still needed to find the money, and if they could believe Benetti, Knox had it.

  When they got to the cabin, Sam said, “Go take a shower. Bathroom’s on the right down the hall.” He eyed the soiled shirt and pants. “And toss those clothes. I’ll get you some clean ones.”

  Wondering if he might try to escape, Sam stepped to the bathroom door and peered at the window. Too small for him to go through.

  When he got back to the living room, he and J.T. ate the burgers. By the time they finished, Simone arrived and came inside.

  “We found Benetti,” Sam said. “He’s cleaning up in the bathroom.”

  “Oh yeah? He tell you anything?”

  “Nothing we hadn’t already guessed.”

  J.T. pointed at the food bag. “We brought you a burger.”

  She smiled and grabbed a sandwich. “Oh, man, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

  “You get the drawing done?” Sam asked.

  “The guy was still working on it, said he’d send it to J.T.’s e-mail.”

  J.T. opened the computer and punched some keys. “Huh, it isn’t here yet.”

  “Give him a few more minutes,” she said around a bite of burger. “Harpo wasn’t very good at describing Knox, so I don’t know how it’ll turn out. I think something’s seriously wrong with the guy. He kept tapping the side of his head with his knuckle, as if that might help him remember.”

  “He was in the vehicle that exploded, right?” J.T. asked.

  She took another bite of the burger and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess he’s lucky to be alive. And who knows, maybe he was already a little crazy.”

  Benetti ambled down the hall, wearing clothes Sam had given him. He looked like a different person, after the shower and a shave. Sam introduced him to Simone.

  “So, you guys going to let me go?” Benetti asked. He still looked a little groggy.

  Simone chuckled. “Sorry, our orders were to recover what you took and bring you back.”

  Benetti ran his fingers through his damp hair and sighed. “What if I won’t go?”

  Sam smiled and pointed his gun at him. While the guy might still be under the influence of the drugs, he had been an assassin and could be dangerous. “Oh, you’ll go, one way or another. Knox might have given you a hard time, but you opened that door with your blackmail scheme. Your welfare isn’t on the top of our list of priorities.” Their guest turned to Simone, probably hoping for sympathy.

  “Hey, the picture’s here,” J.T. said, clicking the computer keys.

  The other three huddled around so they could see the screen.

  “That’s not him,” Benetti said. “Doesn’t look anything like him.”

  The face looked non-descript, except it had pointed ears and short hair brushed up on each side…sort of like horns. As a matter of fact, it bore a strong resemblance to artists’ renditions of Lucifer. Maybe the sketch hadn’t been such a great idea.

  Benetti had described Knox as having long hair. Maybe the homeless guy just wanted to lead them down an empty trail with the drawing and kill Knox himself. On the other hand, Benetti could still have hopes of catching up with him and taking the money.

  “You left Harpo at the newspaper office?” Sam asked Simone.

  “Yes. Lora said she’d get someone to take him back to the hearse.”

  “We should try to catch up with him and see where he goes. Maybe he can lead us to Knox and the money our man Benetti here stole.”

  Shrugging, Simone said, “It’s somebody else’s turn on bum duty.”

  Sam glanced at J.T., who gave a thumbs-up and said, “I’ll go.”

  “I can help you find Knox,” Benetti said, eagerness in his voice.

  “How could you help?” she asked. “You were tied up the whole time you were in town.”

  “But I know what he looks like and he said some things.” The last part sounded like an afterthought.

  “What things?” Sam asked.

  “You got to promise to let me go if I tell you.”

  Sam smiled. “Okay, I promise. Tell us what he said.”

  “No, you got to be serious about it.”

  “He is serious,” Simone said.

  “Then I guess I’ll have to trust you.” He seemed to think for a moment, then smiled and said, “When I first woke up, after he’d drugged me and put the cuff on me, he said he was closing in on the two million dollars that belonged to him, and he wasn’t going to let me get in the way of that.”

  “Yeah, we knew about the money,” Simone said. “What else?”

  The smile leaked away. “Huh. Okay, one time he came in stressed out, said he’d just killed two people at a funeral home.”

  Simone huffed a chuckle. “We know that, too. You’re going back to Homestead.” She turned to Sam. “Put him in the car with the cuffs. I’ll take him up there, and you and J.T. can stay here and search for the guy.”

  “No, I’m telling you, I know things!”

  Staring at him, she narrowed her eyes. “Fine, but it better be good. The people where I’m taking you won’t be too interested in due process.”

  Benetti’s face turned crimson. He was probably remembering some things he’d done to prisoners as an assassin.

  “But the Palmetto’s gone!” he blurted. “All they have there now is a bunch of scientists.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Sam said. “An organization like that never goes away. It just puts on a different mask.”

  “Aw, man.” He frowned for a moment. Then an ember of hope seemed to flicker in his eyes. “He said something about his father being an important man, that he would bust him out if he got caught.”

  The words lay there for a moment.

  “Did he mention a name?” Simone asked.

  “No, but he said he’s in Washington.”

  Sam said to J.T., “We didn’t ever find a birth certificate for Knox, did we?”

  J.T. shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Has to be Senator Blaine,” Sam said. “His name keeps coming up. You ever check out his family?”

  “Yeah, he’s married and has a daughter who’s a heart surgeon in California.”

  “Knox could be an illegitimate son,” Sam said.

  “Yeah, could be.” J.T. stood. “I’ll go back over to the marina and see if I can locate the bum.”

  “Okay, go ahead.” After J.T. had gone, Sam turned back to Benetti. “Did Knox ever hint at what he does in Iguana Key?”

  “He never said anything like that, but I got a glimpse of a car one day before he closed the door of the shack. It was dark, maybe blue or black, and had plain hub caps, like government issue.”

  “You think he’s a cop?” Simone asked.

  Benetti
shrugged. “Nah, I don’t think they let cops wear long hair.”

  “Could it be a wig?” Sam asked.

  “I guess, but he had hair like that the last time I saw him about a year ago.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  J.T. called and said he’d caught up with Harpo at the marina and followed him to a beach neighborhood.

  “He parked in a vacant lot with a lot of foliage and walked down the street to a house.”

  “Did you look up the owner?” Sam asked.

  “Not yet. The bum is carrying a machete, so if Knox is in there, somebody’s going to get hurt. I guess I need to follow him in.”

  Didn’t sound like J.T., but Sam had to read between the lines: If Marlon Knox is in there, the $2 million probably is, too.

  “Okay, keep us posted.”

  J.T. called back a few minutes later. “Nah, the place must have been empty. The homeless guy broke in the back door and came back out a couple of minutes later. I’ll find out who owns the place as soon as I get a chance.”

  “You following him again?”

  “Yep. He’s headed back toward town.”

  ****

  Harpo didn’t know where else to look. That day he’d seen the guy at the marina, he’d described him to Alton, and Alton said he thought he’d seen the same man outside the beach house Harpo had just left. But Harpo’s memory had been fuzzy since the explosion, and he wasn’t absolutely sure he had the right house. Alton had gone on to the great paradise in the sky, so he couldn’t ask him. He tried to concentrate. Dr. Worth had finished his afternoon sermon, so he tuned out the rest of the program. They were just advertising cars and fancy restaurants and sporting events, things he couldn’t afford anyway.

  He had a vague recollection of seeing somebody that looked like the guy park behind Chopin’s late one night and go in the back door. Maybe he would head over there and hang around, see if the man came back.

  ****

  An hour passed before J.T. called again. “Harpo parked a block away from Chopin’s bar. He walked through the trees toward the place, and now he’s just sitting there near the back door like he’s waiting for something to happen. One thing’s for sure, Chopin isn’t the guy we saw on that motorcycle.”