by David Banner
Charles reached out his arm, and grabbing his wife, he pulled her closer. My intention was to leave the way we came. To get to our boat, and go home, no harm done. But like all well laid plans, things just weren’t meant to go that way.
“Is that ...?” Micah said, looking toward the large picture window.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Mitchell. “I’ve triggered a silent alarm. The police will be here in seconds.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“L
ET’S GO!” MICAH SAID, GRABBING MY ARM, AND HEADING OUT THE BACK DOOR.
I ran closely behind my brother, first out onto the back deck, then down the tall steps, and onto the sand. Turning to head back to our boat I could see a police car was already sitting in front of the house. We had only seconds left before we’d be seen.
"We have to hit the water," I said. "We need to get to the other side of this thing!"
"You want to swim across Bimini Bay?" Micah asked. "I'm not that good a swimmer."
"You have a better idea?" I asked.
"No," Micah said. "But I have a worse one. Follow me."
Micah made a mad dash around the side of the house and headed right for the still idling police car parked in front of the house.
"Micah! No!"
"We're not gonna steal it. We're just gonna move it. Quick, grab that thing right there," he said, pointing to a cement garden gnome.
"A garden gnome?"
"We need something heavy to keep the gas pedal pressed down!" Micah said. "They need to think we're stealing this car. It's the only thing we have that can keep the police busy at the moment. Now grab it!"
"Wait! This is a bad idea!"
"I know! But look!" he said, pointing at the far end of the street.
Police sirens echoed through the air, bouncing off the water like stones on a pond. Three more police cars were on their way, speeding down the street, and heading right for us. There was no time left. No time to think of a plan and no time to talk. Micah was right, this was a bad idea, but at the moment, it was all we had.
"One ... Two ... Three ..." Micah said, throwing the car into drive and dropping the gnome on the accelerator. "Down!" he said, grabbing my arm and diving into the tall shrubbery that lined the other side of the street.
The car's rear tires squealed as the smell of burning rubber mixed with the warm ocean air. It was loud, much louder than I thought it would be, and after only a second the car sped away down the street, heading right for the water.
Blue and red lights bounced off the extravagant beach houses as it zoomed by. Interior lights flipped on one by one like dominos falling as the commotion stirred the residents of the otherwise quiet street. This was probably the most action many of them had seen in years. Not that I had ever given much thought to the matter, but I couldn't imagine living on a golf course would lend itself to a lot of high-profile drama.
I watched in awe as the police car reached the end of the street, hit a cement curb, and became airborne, landing in the dark Gulf waters. People, mostly older, poured out of their large waterfront homes, almost all dressed in bathrobes and silk pajamas, to watch the spectacle unfold.
"Let's go!" Micah said. "Just stay low."
We began heading across the beautifully sculpted golf course, trying our best to keep a low profile. The three other police cars headed for the end of the street, following the unmanned car Micah and I had sent sailing down the small street Thelma and Louise style as it splashed hard into the otherwise calm waters of Bimini Bay.
After a few minutes of sneaking through the tall grass, we finally found our boat and headed out into the dark waters of the bay, where we tried our best to move slowly, keeping the engine as quiet as possible.
The last thing either of us needed was to be arrested again. Especially given we had just threatened the likely new District Attorney and his wife at knife point. Looking over at the chaos my brother and I were responsible for, I couldn't help thinking one simple thought, it was official; my life had become one huge garbage fire and I couldn’t see a way of putting it out.
"We need to get back to the other side of the island," Micah said.
"Yeah. I don’t think anyone is looking for—"
My words stopped short when, in the distance, I saw the light of a police boat heading right for us. But we were still floating in Bimini Bay and there were only two ways out. The southern exit would lead us back toward the mainland where we would have to cross under the Highway 64 bridge and follow the island all the way down to Bradenton Beach before we could get back to our side of the island.
But that was too dangerous. I was sure the Anna Maria Police had already called for backup, and that side of the island would likely be swimming with law enforcement. Our only option was to head North toward Bayfront Park.
There was one small problem with that though. The narrow passageway that lead out of Bimini Bay was the exact same one the police boat was currently speeding towards. "We have to go!" I said.
"We'll collide with him!" Micah said.
"All we can do is hope that he moves," I said, anger rising in my voice. "Let's play chicken."
I wasn't sure why I was suddenly becoming so angry. Maybe it was the thought of Charles Mitchell lying to me and to the world with his whole 'good boy' façade. Or maybe it was the fact I had been through all this and was still no closer to freeing Rachel. Or ... Maybe I was just sick of dealing with drug dealers and criminals. Whatever the case, I was in no mood to back down.
"Go!" I said, pulling back hard on the throttle.
The engine roared to life, sending a sheet of water flying up behind us. Warm night air rushed through my hair as we sped head-on toward the police boat. He was still too far away to see much, but we were gaining on one another quickly
From the look of it, we would pass through the small inlet at almost the same time. The water was dark, with only the crescent moon and the blue and red police lights providing any illumination. "We're going to hit head-on!" Micah said.
"He'll move!" I said, my voice getting lost in the wind.
We sailed toward the police boat, with our speed increasing by the second, but from the looks of it he showed no sign of slowing down or altering his course. If we kept on our current trajectory we would collide right in the middle of the small passageway. "I don't think he's gonna move!" Micah said.
"Well neither are we!"
With only a few seconds left until the gap between our boats closed completely, I was sure the officer would turn his boat, and we would make it out onto open water. But as our boats became closer and closer, I realized it was too late, neither of us could turn away quickly enough to avoid a collision.
Looking over I saw that dry land was no more than a couple of hundred feet away and our only option was to make a dive for it. I grabbed Micah by the wrist and pulled him close. "Jump!" I yelled.
Just as our feet left the small boat I felt a surge of heat and flame under my body. The boats had collided, turning them into a fiery mess of metal and fiberglass. The powerful surge propelled my body forward, sending me flying across the water at what felt like a hundred miles per hour.
My body slammed hard against the sheet of water below me and as I slammed into it, the water rose around me like shattered glass. I was in a world of pain as I did my best to swim for shore, my body aching with every stroke. The taste of salt water invaded my mouth as it slowly slid down my throat causing me to choke for breath.
Finally, after what felt like forever, I felt wet sand between my fingers and against my face as I pulled my body onto dry land. The smell of smoke, and heat from the flames rising at my back, filled the air all around me. This was the second time, in almost as many days, I had been on a boat, speeding along Anna Maria's shore, that ended up exploding into a ball of fire and debris.
I did my best to breathe, trying hard to push the saltwater from my lungs. Shooting pains resonated from my head and throughout my entire body as I lay on the sand. But after a
few moments of trying to steady myself, I felt a hand grab me by my shirt and lift me up off the ground.
"Micah ..." I said as my world went dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I WOKE TO FIND MYSELF SITTING AT A DINNER TABLE. I was in a very fancy, and over-the-top room, with gold tray ceilings and marble floors. The smell of freshly cooked chicken wafted through the air around me, and as my eyes came into focus, I couldn’t help being shocked by what I saw.
There were three other people sitting with me. Micah, to my right, Rachel, to my left, and Sofia directly across from me. Each person was dressed in formal wear with Sofia in her signature purple, her neck adorned with shimmering jewels, and her hair high atop her head.
Micah was an all-black suit and tie, his dark hair slicked back on his head like he had just come out of the water. And Rachel in a ruby red gown that cascaded down her legs into a small pile on the floor.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"We're having dinner, Mr. Waters. A family dish from my home, my grandmother’s recipe."
"Why ..." My voice trailed off as I looked over at Rachel.
It felt like a lifetime since I had last seen her in person, and looking over at her now, dressed the way she was, I couldn't help being taken aback by how beautiful she looked. But there was worry in her eyes, not for herself, but for me. I could tell in the way she looked at me, in the way she kept her lips softly closed when she smiled.
"My men followed you to a hotel earlier, then to the house of Charles Mitchell. Not to mention they pulled you up from the sand before the police got to you."
"Yes ..." I said.
"Well, with all of that, I figured it was time for us to talk again. I don't like feeling like I lack information, Mr. Waters. And, at the moment, I'm beginning to feel that way."
It would have been easy for me to tell Sofia I thought all her problems could be solved by getting rid of the old lady, and her grandson Jacob, at The Spanish Reef Hotel. But I couldn't have innocent blood on my hands, even if the blood was that of a sadistic drug dealer. I would try my hardest to keep my mouth shut and let the police deal with them when this was all over.
"You gave me a task, I was just doing everything I could to get it done."
"I also gave you a time limit, Mr. Waters. That time is now up."
"I just need a little longer," I said.
"You're not eating ..." She tilted her head. "Do you not like my grandmother's chicken?"
"I'm not hungry," I said.
"Maybe the next course will be more your thing," she said, waving her hand in the air.
From behind her, a waiter appeared carrying a large silver domed plate. He moved slowly, careful not to drop it or let anything spill from under the dome topper. Sofia smiled gleefully watching the man sit the plate down beside her. I felt my stomach turn at the sight of it.
"On this plate is something very special, Mr. Waters. Something that will likely spur you forward, and maybe inspire you to work a little harder to get my information."
"I'm doing everything I can ..."
"There's always room for improvement, Brandon. Sometimes all it takes is the right kind of motivation. That's why I'm hoping what I have on this plate will help move you forward. Everyone deserves something special, and what I have here is very special."
I couldn't put my finger on why, but in my mind, I kept picturing Sofia lifting that dome then releasing a maniacal laugh as she looked down at a severed head. The thought made me sick.
"Wait ..." I said. "Where's Zoey?"
"How observant of you, Brandon. I'm afraid poor Zoey couldn't make it. She's otherwise ... distracted at the moment."
This was it. She would lift that plate and reveal the head of Zoey Mitchell. I knew it in my heart. And I just didn't think I could handle that. "Please ..." I said. "Tell me that isn't—"
"Isn't what?" Sofia interrupted.
"Where is Zoey?" I said, feeling my bottom lip beginning to shake.
"I told you ..." Sofia stood, her long emerald dress flowing under her. "She's not feeling herself right now."
I looked on in horror as she picked up the large silver plate, and began slowly walking toward me. "I understand you might not be hungry, Mr. Waters, but hopefully, what you see on this plate will shock you enough to maybe get that stomach rumbling."
I wrapped my hands around my thighs, trying my best to steady myself. The metallic clank of metal echoed across the room as she set the large plate down right in front of me. "Open the dish, Mr. Waters," she whispered in my ear.
"No ..." I said, digging my hands further between my legs and the thick suede seat cushion.
"I wasn't asking, Brandon. Open the dish and see what I brought to this table, just for you," she said as a guard pressed the barrel of his gun against Rachel’s head.
Taking the deepest breath I had ever taken. I lifted my shaking arms above the table and gripped the small handle of the silver dome. I slowly lifted it to reveal something I was not expecting at all. "What is this?" I said, looking down at the white mass in front of me.
"It's a Tres Leches Cake." Sofia smiled. "This cake was made this morning by the finest baker in all of Havana and brought here just for you, Brandon."
"I ... don't know what to say," I said, feeling a tear slide down my cheek.
"Say, thank you," Sofia said, walking back to her chair. "If not for the cake, then for what it symbolizes."
"And what does it symbolize?" I asked.
"It symbolizes everything it isn't. This could have gone so much worse, Mr. Waters. But here we are, the two people you love sitting across from you, unharmed. And as for Zoey Mitchell," she said, flicking her finger in the air.
From the table a security guard lifted an iPad and brought it to me. On the screen was a video feed of Zoey Mitchell sitting in a bed and watching TV. Just as Rachel had been kept this entire time Zoey Mitchell was healthy and well.
"I'll give you a little more time, Brandon. But keep in mind I am watching you, and I don't like feeling that people are keeping things from me. Especially when those people are my business partners."
"Okay," I said. "We'll go, and—"
"No," she said. "You will go alone."
"No!"
"Yes. I thought having the woman you loved would be enough to motivate you. Then I thought having an innocent child would motivate you further. Apparently, I was wrong. So, I will take the last thing you have. I will take your brother."
"You don't need him. But I do."
"I'm sorry, Brandon, but this is the way it has to be. I will keep them safe. I will keep them healthy, and when you bring me the information I desire, I will give them back to you. Fail me, and you will never see them again."
I felt my hands clench together and make fists under the table. Anger was rising in my body and I could feel my blood almost boiling under my skin. This woman had taken Rachel from me, then held an innocent child hostage. Now, she was threatening the life of my little brother.
With my emotions getting the better of me, I stood quickly from my seat, sending my chair falling to the ground under my feet. I was furious, and I could barely process the thoughts running through my mind.
"Hold still, Mr. Waters," Sofia said. "If you want them to stay alive."
A guard stood behind Rachel, and one behind Micah, holding guns hard against their heads. I knew she was serious, one more move from me, and the two people I cared about most would end up dead in front of me.
"Okay ..." I said, finally collecting myself. "Just don’t hurt them."
"Their safety is up to you, Brandon. Not me," Sofia said, motioning her hand toward the door. "My driver will take you home. Maybe after a good night's sleep you'll make better choices."
The guards lowered their guns and stepped back from behind Micah and Rachel, leaving them both still sitting in their chairs. Micah was strong, having stayed quiet and calm through all this, never flinching, never crying, or wavering from his stone-faced stare. But I
knew him well enough to know that under that tough veneer he was a mess. Not because he was worried about his own safety, but because he was worried about mine.
Rachel hadn’t fared so well, however. Tears rolled down her face in wide streaks, leaving her cheeks shining under the bright light of the chandelier. "Wait!" Rachel said, running toward me.
Her body slammed into mine, engulfing me in a warm and tight embrace. She pressed her head into my chest and I could smell the sweet scent of her beautiful hair. The scent of coconut and lime crept though my nostrils, invading my head, and sending me flying back through a world of memories. "Leave a message for the dog walker from Savannah," she whispered in my ear, sliding her hand deep into my pocket.
"You should really get going, Mr. Waters," Sofia said, standing beside the large wrought-iron door.
Sliding into the back seat of the long black car I reached into my pocket to find two things that puzzled me. A small black flash drive and a phone number crudely written on a scrap of paper. 'Leave a message for the dog walker from Savannah ...' Rachel’s words echoed through my head. What on earth was she talking about, I thought to myself, twirling the flash drive around in my hand. I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew Rachel wouldn't have risked getting these things to me if it didn't mean something.
I pulled the phone from my pocket and dialed the number. 'Please leave a message after the beep,' said the recording.
"This is Brandon Waters," I said. "I'm looking for the dog walker from Savannah."
Then I headed upstairs, and after a few minutes of sitting on the edge of the bed, and staring at nothing, I got in the shower. I was tired, and the hot water felt great on my skin. Steam began to rise all around me, filling the bathroom with warm and inviting moisture.
I needed to figure out how to deal with Sofia, and get Rachel, Micah, and Zoey away from her, and into safety. But in the moment, I was too tired to think about it. After quickly drying myself off, I slid into bed and gave in to the sleepiness that had been calling to me all evening.
It didn't take long for rest to find me, in only a matter of minutes I was out, gliding slowly into a deep sleep. My mind raced a million miles an hour that night with my dreams covering everything from Micah and Rachel to nonsensical moments on the beach chasing crabs through the sand. But even the most restful sleep can be woken by the weight of a stare.
