The Black Palmetto

by Paul Carr

  “Let’s go,” Simone said. “He just went back the other way.”

  This time, Benetti slowed at an unpaved lane that led through a jungle of palms, pines and live oaks out toward the Bay. He turned in, and his car disappeared around a curve. A large red sign stood a few feet from the road that read: Danger. High Voltage Lines. No Trespassing

  Sam pulled onto the shoulder of the road and left the engine running. “Can you get an aerial view of this place on the computer?” he asked J.T.

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  He brought it up and studied the screen. “There’s a building back there. It’s on the bay and has a big boat dock, but there’s no boat there in this photo.”

  “Is it big enough for the yacht Knox stole?” Simone asked.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Sam wondered if this might belong to Knox, or somebody close to him. “Try to find out who owns it.”

  J.T. worked at the keyboard for a few minutes and came up with an answer. “It’s a company named GeoWatt. I couldn’t find any websites, though, so it could be bogus.”

  “If Knox is in there,” Simone said, “he might have cameras, and we’d be sitting ducks if we went down that road.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” J.T. said, eyeing the computer screen. “I just noticed something on the Palmetto monitor. A second person is showing up in there with Benetti.”

  That didn’t sound good. Sam turned in his seat. “He must have enlisted another of his cohorts, and told him about the two million Knox has. Do you have a name?”

  “Hold on,” J.T. said. “Should be on Whitehall’s list.” A few seconds passed before he said, “Here it is. His name is Morgan Lockman.”

  Simone huffed a laugh, but didn’t sound amused. “That’s just great. I had a funny feeling about following Benetti. Now, if we decide to take him down, we’ll have to deal with two goons instead of one.”

  “Don’t get excited,” Sam said. “This just means we need to back off and think the situation over before we make any moves.”

  J.T. set the computer aside. “You know, this other guy could be somebody Benetti brought in. The two of them might have captured Knox.”

  “You’re right,” Sam said. “Let’s find a place where we can get a good view of that dock and see if the stolen yacht is there.”

  They drove along the road until they found a house that appeared vacant. The place had a For Sale sign planted in the front yard. It included the name and number of a bank that was likely the beneficiary of a foreclosed mortgage. A two-story palace with a tiled roof, it would probably run several million in a good market. The lot across the street had a bulldozer and a back loader sitting idle, but no workers seemed to be present on the site. Sam turned into the circular driveway of the home and stopped the car near the front door.

  Simone picked up the field glasses and said to J.T., “Bring up the picture of the boat.”

  Once out of the car, they walked around the house to the back yard that led down a gentle slope to an empty dock. It ran about sixty feet along the property. They hurried to the point that jutted out the farthest, and Simone used the glasses to gaze along the coast.

  “A boat is docked there,” she said. “Hard to say if it’s the one we’ve been searching for, though. Trees are in the way, and I can’t see a name or number on it.”

  Sam studied the picture the dock master had printed for them and handed it back to J.T. “Let me take a look.”

  She gave him the glasses and he put them to his eyes. The property curved inward, and a stand of palms partially obscured the dock area. He could see the rear end, though, and it appeared that a name on the transom had been painted over, the color slightly different. The hull sides were not visible from their vantage point, but he suspected any identifying information would have a fresh coat of paint. The parts of the craft that he could see, though, were similar to the boat in the picture. “I think this is it.”

  Back in the car, Sam drove toward the entrance to the property, but pulled to the shoulder before reaching it. “Okay, let’s assume Knox is here and we want to go in. What are the scenarios?”

  J.T. spoke up. “Like I said before, they could have already captured him. If we can sneak in, we could take all of them, no problem.”

  “Could be,” Simone said. “But all three could have reached some kind of agreement to split the money, too. In that case, we’d have three guns to deal with, instead of two.”

  “There’s another possibility,” Sam said. “This Lockman guy could have hooked up with Knox. In that case, they might battle it out with Benetti before we get there.” He said to J.T., “Is he still moving?”

  J.T. looked down at the computer. “Nah, he stopped, and there’s maybe a hundred feet between him and Lockman.”

  “If he stays put, maybe that means he’s working alone,” Simone said.

  Sam shook his head. A feeling of dread swept over him, and he didn’t know why. “We have to consider the hostage, too. Lora might still be alive, so we can’t go in there spraying bullets.”

  Easy to say, but every way he examined the situation, it turned out to be a bloodbath.

  ****

  Harpo put his ear to the door and listened for a few minutes, but heard nothing on the other side. He readied his machete, twisted the knob, and pushed the door open with his toe. Peeking around the jamb, he saw no one. The room seemed as large as the living room, and had a big bed, a dressing table, and two closets. A bathroom lay to the left, and he stepped over to it. No one there, either. Everything looked as if nobody had been in the place.

  Making his way back through the passageway, he had the feeling the entire boat might be empty. He went out the main hatch and gazed ashore. A metal structure stood about a hundred yards away through the trees. That had to be where Knox had gone with his hostage. The smell of fresh paint wafted by his nose, and he wondered where that had come from.

  He strode off the dock and into the trees, and worked his way toward the building. A green car sat next to it. As he got closer, going from tree to tree, he saw a sign that read danger, and something about high voltage lines. Maybe this was the site of a transformer or something, and he wondered why Knox would be here. Could’ve just found it vacant and moved in. Harpo had done that many times. Perfectly fine places that nobody seemed to need at the time. Just going to waste.

  Dr. Worth started a sermon, saying, “Who’s ready to go to heaven?” He repeated it several times, and the congregation answered each time, shouting, “We are!” Harpo thought about that for a minute. Though he did want to go to heaven, he had some things to finish first. The task of banishing this devil from the face of the earth still had to be done.

  “Drop that blade and turn around.” Uh oh. Doesn’t sound like the good doctor’s voice.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Harpo didn’t drop the machete, but he did turn to see who gave him the command. A man stood there with a handgun pointed at Harpo’s head. Someone he’d never seen before. “Who’re you?”

  “I said drop it!” The man thumbed the hammer on the gun.

  “Okay, I’m putting it down.” He bent over, as if to lay the machete on the ground, but instead swung it upward and hit the guy on the wrist with the sharp edge.

  The gun flipped into the weeds. The man’s eyes shot wide with disbelief, and he grabbed his wrist. Blood spurted between his fingers. His eyes found his weapon on the ground and he dived for it. As he grasped it in his bloody fingers, Harpo stepped on his hand and he jerked it back, letting go of the gun.

  Now prone, the gunman rolled over on his back and watched blood cover his arm and hand. A moment later his eyes rolled up and he passed out.

  Harpo took the gun and stuffed it into the pocket of his baggy pants. Remembering bits and pieces of his medical training in the military, he cut a wide strip of cloth from the wounded man’s shirt and used it to fashion a tourniquet, twisting it tight with a piece of a dead limb. The blood flow stopped, and he was glad. O
ther than pulling a gun on him, Harpo had no quarrel with the man. He left him there, stood up, and peered around a tree toward the building to see if anyone had seen him. Nothing seemed to have changed from before.

  Cameras were mounted high on each corner. Others were probably on the other side of the place. He hurried back to the water’s edge and used the blade to scoop up a glob of black mud. Staying behind trees where he could, he worked his way back to the building, and ran under the eave at the nearest corner. While hugging the wall, he stuck a golf-ball-sized piece of the mud onto the tip of the machete and slapped it onto the lens of the camera. Within a few minutes, he had made his way around the building, blinding three more of the devices. Maybe the guy would come out in a few minutes. If not, he’d knock on the door and see what happened.

  ****

  Sam pulled the rental into a dense stand of mimosa and scrub on the same side of the street as the property. He killed the engine. “We have to figure out a way to draw them out.”

  “I saw a bulldozer up the street,” J.T. said. “We could roll in there with it and tear out a wall. That would bring them out.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “That would probably work, but Lora might get hurt in the process. We have to be more subtle.”

  “I think we can get them to come out on their own,” Simone said.

  Sam turned to her. “How?”

  “Call the reporter’s phone. When Knox answers, tell him the police chief in Iguana Key told you that the FBI is closing in on a location on Key Biscayne.”

  “He’ll wonder why I would alert him,” Sam said.

  “Tell him you don’t want Lora to get killed in the crossfire when the Feds come in with the heavy artillery.”

  Sam thought about that for a few moments. “You know, that might work.” He took out his phone and punched in Lora Diamond’s number.

  The phone rang several times before a man answered. “What do you want?” The voice sounded familiar. He couldn’t quite place it, but it had to be Knox.

  “Let me speak to Lora.”

  “Sorry, she can’t talk right now.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  “She might be. Why are you calling?”

  Sam paused for a moment. “I have some information, but I’m not giving it to you unless I can talk to her and know she’s alive.”

  “What kind of information?” Tension edged into his voice.

  “The FBI knows where you are,” Sam said.

  Knox laughed. “They don’t know anything about me, much less where I am.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. If she’s still alive, let me talk to her and I’ll tell you the rest.”

  Several seconds passed before Lora’s voice came on the line. “Sam, is that you? He said he’s going to kill me.” She sounded as if she had been crying.

  “Don’t worry,” Sam said. “We’re going to get you out of there.”

  Knox got back on the phone. “Okay, she talked to you. Now your turn.”

  “They think you’re in a facility on Key Biscayne, and they plan to storm the place within the next few minutes.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Why would they think that?”

  “The acting chief of police in Iguana Key said the FBI got the info from Senator Blaine’s office.”

  After a moment, Knox cursed, then a clatter preceded a loud pop, and the line died.

  “Did he buy it?” Simone asked.

  “I think so. Sounded like he threw the phone down and stomped on it.”

  They conferenced their phones and decided to enter the woods from three different directions.

  Sam pointed toward the driveway. “I’ll head in this way. That’s where they’ll probably focus their attention.” Likely the most dangerous path, too.

  “Let’s go,” Simone said. “If we see cameras, we knock them out first.” She took the middle of the woods.

  J.T. took the far side, where the trees had been thinned for a utility easement. He said he would go straight to the shore and work his way over so he could cut them off if they ran for the yacht.

  ****

  “I just saw two guys heading for the dock,” J.T. said on the speaker in Sam’s pocket.

  Sam put the phone to his ear. “You get a visual ID?”

  “Not on the first one. He was too far away, but the one in the rear came a little later, and he looked like the homeless dude.”

  Harpo?

  Sam passed the building about fifty yards to his left as he ran through the trees, briars snagging his pants legs. “Okay, I’m on my way. Simone, can you check on Lora in the building?” He almost tripped over a body on the ground and stopped. It was Benetti, his clothes covered with blood, a crude tourniquet affixed to one arm.

  “Will do,” Simone said. “I’m almost there.”

  “Benetti is out of commission. Somebody cut an artery and he’s on the ground.”

  Sam thought about Harpo again and recalled the blade. He hurried on and saw J.T. ahead of him, stepping onto the yacht. The big diesel roared to life as he reached the dock, and he leaped onto the craft’s deck.

  J.T. stood outside the cabin, peering through a door that stood open. When he saw Sam, he said, “Harpo is unconscious on the floor in there, so Knox must be at the helm.”

  Sam edged forward for a peek through the side of the windscreen into the wheelhouse. Knox stood there working the controls, a handgun on the console just inches from his fingers, a frantic expression on his face. Sam recognized him and stepped back. Dudley Crew, the police officer who had tried to roust him.

  It all fell into place. Crew had a prime position to observe Richard Boozler’s every move, stay ahead of the murder investigation, and wait for the money to show itself. Sam told J.T.

  They entered the cabin door, guns at the ready, as the yacht pulled away from the timbers. Harpo lay on the floor in the middle of the room. The wheelhouse was at the forward end, a step up from the rest of the room. It had sliding doors that were pushed wide open. Sam stepped to the far side of the room as J.T. eased forward along the closer bulkhead. It looked as if taking him would be easy, but then Harpo awoke and dropped his machete onto the hardwood floor.

  Knox snapped his head around, grabbed the gun, and pointed it at the homeless man.

  “Stop where you are,” J.T. said.

  The assassin turned to him. A surprised expression on his face morphed into a sneer. “Lay your weapon on the deck, or I’ll shoot the bum.”

  He didn’t appear to have seen Sam yet.

  “No dice,” J.T. said. “I’ll splatter your blood all over that windshield.”

  “No, you won’t. You’re probably after the money, like everybody else, and I didn’t bring it with me.”

  Sam leaped up the step and rammed Knox against the console. Knox sprang back and pointed his gun at him, but Sam knocked it away with his left hand and slammed his right fist into the side of his opponent’s face. He felt bone give way under his knuckles. When the man staggered back, Sam twisted the weapon from his hand and tossed it to J.T.

  Knox took a deep breath and sighed, as if outdone. Then, like lightning, he spun and threw a roundhouse kick at Sam’s chin. Sam jumped back, feeling the wind from the man’s foot as it whooshed past his face. He stepped in and kicked Knox in the stomach. The man doubled over, fell back against the console, and slid down to the floor.

  “Watch him,” Sam said to J.T.

  J.T. moved in and dragged the killer to the corner.

  Sam stepped to the controls, pulled back on the throttle, and reversed the propellers. After a few minutes of maneuvering, he had the craft back to the dock. This might work out after all, he thought. Get off this boat and take Lora home. He hadn’t heard back from Simone and hoped she’d found Lora unharmed.

  As he turned to go for the tie lines, Sam saw Harpo standing. In a blur, the homeless man flung the machete at Knox. The blade twirled end over end, like a boomerang. It struck the killer in the shoulder, and the tip of it
sank a couple of inches into his flesh. He screamed and grasped the knife by the handle, pulling it free. Blood soaked his shirt from his neck to his sternum.

  Knox stood up and swung the machete in J.T.’s direction, backing him up, and ran for the door. When he got within a few feet of Harpo, the homeless man fired a handgun at his head. It missed, and the killer slapped the pistol from his hand with the machete. He grabbed Harpo by the hair, pulled him close, and stuck the blade to his throat.

  “Stay where you are,” he said to Sam and J.T., “or I’ll cut his head off. I mean it, no one move.”

  Knox forced Harpo to squat down with him as he picked up the gun. He dropped the blade to the deck and put the gun to the side of Harpo’s head. Holding his hostage against him like a shield, he backed through the door. When he stepped onto the outside deck, Sam eased toward him.

  Simone came into view behind Knox, eliminating any chance Sam would have for a clear shot.

  “Hey, over hear,” Simone said.

  Knox turned his eyes toward her and jerked the gun around.

  She fired one shot. The killer’s head snapped back, a crimson spot the size of a dime spattering on his forehead.

  Harpo wriggled free as Knox fell back against the rail behind him and slid down. Sam strode to Simone’s side. The dead man’s eyes were frozen in a startled stare.

  Peering down at the body, she drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Guess that’s that.”

  J.T. came out a moment later, surveyed the situation, and made a clicking sound with his tongue. Sam knew he was thinking about what Knox had said about the money.

  Sam put his hand on the back of Simone’s neck. It felt warm and soft. “Good shot.”

  She turned to him, a thin smile on her lips. “He got what he deserved.”

  Maybe he did, and maybe he deserved a lot worse.