Flamingo Road

by Sasscer Hill

  My breath caught in my throat as Shyra walked into the room. She carried more beer for the men. Her body language with Valera and his thugs seemed relaxed and comfortable. She must be related to Valera. She’d said her family practiced the Santeria faith, that they came from Florida. Her call to me had been a setup. Bitch.

  She left the room, and treading softly, I followed the outline of her progress past curtained windows. She entered the kitchen, where she spooned chili from a pot onto a paper plate, stuck a plastic fork in it, and grabbed a bottle of water. Food for Jilly?

  She left the kitchen, walked to the front, and as I hid in the shadows, she came outside, holding the plate of food. I tracked her dim figure, touching the mud plastered on my skin, relieved it was not yet dry enough to cake and crumble off.

  Shyra followed a track to the left and stopped at a dilapidated, prefab hut surrounded by vegetation. A dim light from inside threaded through the undergrowth pressing around it. Moving closer and tucking myself behind a leafy plant, I watched as she unlatched a door and swung it open.

  I didn’t see Jilly, but a man in shackles sat on the floor. Who was this guy? Staring, I realized the chain between his wrist irons was attached to a steel cable connected to an overhead wire. He’d be able to slide the cable and hobble back and forth for maybe ten feet. I had to make myself breathe as I stared at his beaten, gaunt face. It held a look of utter defeat.

  Damn, where was Jilly? Please, God, let her be alive, somewhere in Valera’s house. A sudden lurch of nausea hit me. I made myself breathe until the sensation passed

  Shyra took a step toward the man. “Get back.”

  Like a hungry animal, he stared at the plate of food in Shyra’s hands before shuffling as far away from her as the overhead line allowed. Shyra set the plate and bottle of water on the floor, then backed away. She latched the door behind her, leaving the man alone in his cage.

  I waited until she was gone, then raced to the shed, unlatched the door, and went in.

  I put my finger to my lips, and whispered, “I’m here to help.” I hoped he wasn’t a rival thug who’d just as soon kill me if I set him loose.

  He stared at me, wary and unconvinced.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Steve Craigson.”

  “The chemist?”

  His eyes widened. “You know who I am?”

  “You’re the guy everyone’s looking for.” I took in his surroundings. Two long tables stretched beneath his overhead tether. The tables were cluttered with beakers, a scale, glass flasks, and jars of what appeared to be chemicals.

  “Please,” Craigson’s voice cracked with desperation. “Get me out of here. They’re forcing me to make an illegal drug. It’s—”

  “Blue juice!” I said, hurrying toward him. “Anything in here I can use to break the chain or pick these locks?”

  “Bolt cutters in that cabinet.” He pointed at a corner with his bound hands. “But even with those, I doubt you’ll be strong enough to break these chains.”

  The abnormal strength still boiled through my veins. “Watch me.”

  I darted to the cabinet, grabbed the cutters, and fastened the blades over the chain between his wrists. I gritted my teeth pressed with my elbows, shoulder, and arm muscles. I felt a muffled spasm of pain in my shoulder, but ignored it. The chain broke. I switched the cutter to the chain on his leg irons, and with a loud crack, it snapped.

  Panting, I asked him, “Have you seen a girl?”

  “No.”

  “How many men are there?”

  “Six, including Valera,” he said. “And there’s the woman who feeds me.”

  “How many stay in the house?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Thinking out loud, I said, “So there’s still four men.”

  Confused, Craigson said, “No, six.”

  “I killed one, and another one’s out of commission.”

  He recoiled slightly. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Fia. I’m a TRPB agent. You have to go. Follow the path to Flamingo Road. Run like hell, and when that dead-ends, turn right and keep going. Everyone’s tied in with Valera. You won’t be safe until you get to Okeechobee Road.” I picked the machete up from the floor where I’d laid it down with the twelve gauge. “Take this,” I said, handing him the machete. “Get help.”

  “No, come with me. These people are horrible!”

  “My niece is in that house. They will kill her.” If she was still alive. “I’m not waiting for help. You need to go!”

  We ran from the shed, and when we reached the spot where the path split, I veered away from Craigson and sprinted for the house.

  41

  Once I’d seen a drawing of a Minotaur in a Greek mythology book. The man I saw when I peered into the front room of Valera’s house reminded me of that hideous image. He was the fourth man, the one I hadn’t seen before now, and he had to be well over six feet. He had a bullish, oversized head. His body was substantial, and as he sat in the middle of the couch, it sagged beneath his weight as if ready to fold in half.

  The black-eyed man I’d seen earlier sat on the floor as if loath to share the couch with a bull. Valera was still in his chair next to the bag of money. The man with the big gut and Shyra were absent.

  With dismay, I realized I would need a SWAT team to rescue Jilly. What were the chances of shooting five people with six shells? Especially with two people hidden somewhere in the house? A wave of exhaustion began to spread through me. Nausea returned and I retched, only nothing came up. My energy level was crashing fast, pain stabbing at my arms, back, and shoulders. The pounding began torturing my head again. Damn it.

  My pulse thundered so loud in my ears, I never heard the man who came up behind me. A thick arm snaked around my neck. A powerful hand snatched the Winchester from my grasp. I kicked back, trying to strike his shin, but my strength had dried up and my pitiful effort made him laugh.

  It was the Santeria with the large gut. He held a knife to my throat, dragged me and the shotgun through the front door, and into the room with Valera. The air stank of body odor, stale beer, and grease. The man on the floor glanced up, his eyes black holes in his face. He stared, expressionless. The bull man gazed up from the couch and looked away without interest. Valera leaned forward in his recliner, his lips curling into a malevolent smile that matched the brutality in his eyes.

  “Ah, the bitch who thinks she can piss on Valera. What have you done with my men? You stupid puta, you should never have left Baltimore.”

  He saw me start, and his eyes gleamed with amusement.

  “Sí, I know who you are and where you come from. I know where your brother lives and your mother in California.”

  Fear spiked my blood, replacing the courage that had strengthened me earlier. The first prickle of sweat rolled down my forehead.

  Valera rose from the recliner, strode across the room, and pressed cruel fingers on either side of my jaw. “Before you die, you’ll learn respect. You will understand who I am.” He dropped his hand and looked at the Santeria who still held the knife near my throat. “Put her in the room.”

  The man with the knife hauled me down the hall. He dragged me past the kitchen where Shyra was cutting a joint of meat. She looked up and quickly dropped her gaze to the floor, as if ashamed. We were almost to the end of the hall when he unlocked a door, and shoved me into a dark room. I fell to my knees, heard the door slam and lock.

  Pain stabbed my head so bad, I stayed down, waiting for the accompanying wave of dizziness to pass, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Cloth blocked what little ambient light might have come through the window. I could hear the receding steps of the Santeria, and then … someone breathing.

  “Jilly?” My whisper was almost a prayer.

  I heard a little sob, then, “Aunt Fia?”

  “Yes.” I crawled toward the sound of her voice.

  A shape darker than the space around it rushed to me, and I felt her ha
nds touching my head. She dropped to my level and we wound our arms around each other. I could feel her tears on my neck, and my eyes welled with relief as I breathed in the scent of her skin, the shampoo in her hair, felt the live warmth of her body.

  She trembled so hard it shook me. “Jilly, are you okay?”

  “Yes.” She stifled another sob.

  “What happened?”

  “That man with the big, ugly head … he grabbed me. He, he put his hands on my…” Her shaking intensified. “He made me feel horrible … like I’m dirty.”

  “Jilly, you’re not. He’s the horrible one, not you!” I hugged her closer, stroked her hair. “He didn’t force you to—”

  “No! The other guy, pushed him away—the one with the black eyes. Then Alvera came in the room and got real mad at the man who tried to … hurt me. After that, no one but the woman has been near me. She’s nice to me.”

  Oh, yeah, Shyra’s a real peach. “Good,” I said. “Jilly, how did they catch you?”

  “Angel brought me here to look for Last Call, and they found us. I’m afraid they hurt him. Did you see him?”

  “No. But, Jilly, how did Angel know to come here?” I wondered if the kid had been involved in a setup.

  “Something he heard from Mr. Serpentino,” she said. “They held a gun on him to keep him back. Then they dragged me into this house. I’m so afraid for Angel.”

  She should be afraid for herself. “But no one hit you, or hurt you?” I asked.

  “No. I guess I’m lucky they didn’t beat me up or anything.” She was trying to sound strong, but fear rattled her voice.

  “We had one bit of luck,” I said. “You remember there was a missing chemist?”

  “Yeah, but what does—”

  “He was here, locked in a shed. I got him out. He’s gone for help.”

  “Oh! How long do you think—”

  “I don’t know. If I can figure a way to get us out of here before that, I will.”

  “There are bars underneath the blanket on the window.” Her next words were shrill. “We can’t get out!”

  I felt sick with fear myself. No one but Craigson knew where we were. How long would it take him to walk to Okeechobee Road? For help to come. Would he even make it? A chill touched my spine as a sensation struck me, an absolute certainty a rifle butt was swinging at my head. I ducked, then looked up. There was nothing there. A hallucination. Damn it. I shook it off.

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway. A key rattled the door lock, and an overhead light switched on, momentarily blinding me. Was I imagining this, too? I blinked and looked up.

  The bullish man’s massive form blocked the doorway, and I could feel Jilly recoil. In the newly lit room, she stared at me. “God, Aunt Fia! What happened to you?”

  My head had to be bruised, and swollen where they’d hit me with the rifle butt. I was still covered with mud, and stripped to a bra above my waist. I felt green with illness and fear. “I’m fine.”

  Behind the bull-sized man, the black-eyed guy stared at me from the hall. The larger man shambled into the room, leaned over, and pulled me away from Jilly. His dull eyes were devoid of intelligence or humanity.

  “You stay there,” he said, placing his tree trunk–sized legs between Jilly and me. The black-eyed man moved in and grabbed Jilly’s hand.

  “No!” she screamed, squirming and fighting like a cat, trying to claw at his face. She was no match for him.

  Folding my hands into a club, and rising to my knees, I swung my fists into the bull man’s crotch. He grunted, bent over. I sprang to my feet, ready to take on the black-eyed man.

  “Pequeña leona,” he said quietly. “Stop.”

  Shocked, I stared at him. But had he really said those words? Just one person had called me “little lioness.” I knew his voice.

  Calixto.

  He put a warning finger to his lips just before the bull man stood up and came at me.

  “Oso,” Calixto shouted, “leave her alone! Valera may have plans for her.”

  Oso laughed. “Her? She look like shit.”

  “She’ll heal, no?” Calixto said. “Leave her alone.”

  My head spun so fast. Calixto? Missing at the races, called on to another job. He was here, undercover. This was real. But his eyes were so black. Of course, he wore contact lenses. I swallowed, took a breath.

  I made my voice shrill and angry. “Where are you taking her?”

  “She’ll be fine. Just a little patience, leona.”

  Oso laughed. “Sí, she’ll be fine, until the men get to her.”

  Calixto pulled Jilly through the door into the hall. Oso backed out of the room, making sure I couldn’t follow. He killed the lights, closed and locked the door. I could hear Jilly screaming and shrieking as Calixto pulled her down the hall. Her cries broke my heart and the hardest thing I’ve ever done was not to scream, “He’s one of us, Jilly. You’ll be all right!”

  But would she? I hated not knowing what was going on. Obviously, if Calixto had a plan, my unexpected arrival had interrupted the hell out of it.

  Moments later, I heard an engine turn over, then the sound of a vehicle revving up and speeding away from Valera’s. Had to be Calixto taking Jilly. But where?

  I rose and just for the hell of it, tried the door. Locked. Before Oso had shut off the light, I’d scanned the room hoping to see another door. No such luck. I crossed the room and ripped up a corner of the blanket tacked over the window. Jilly was right. Iron bars secured the window.

  Dread turned my insides watery, filled me with weakness. I felt as if I’d burned up my life fighting the two men at the pigpen. Dizziness flooded me, and I sank to the floor. The new wave of terror that gripped me was something I’d never known.

  A key scraped at the lock outside the door. Instead of tensing, preparing myself for battle, I cringed, barely keeping from folding into a fetal position. Damn it, Fia.

  The door creaked open. I dug deep inside, found a scrap of resolve, and prepared to fight.

  The light from the hall silhouetted Calixto’s body, and I stifled a cry. The night had been like a carnival ride, the kind where you’re strapped in, turned upside down, and spun until you don’t know which way is up. How many times was I supposed to go from sure death to life?

  “Fia,” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where’s Jilly?” I asked, stumbling toward him.

  “I gave her Valera’s truck. She’s long gone.”

  I envisioned her tearing down the road, heard her screaming to release her fear. I suppressed a bubble of wild laughter.

  “There’s two trucks out front,” Calixto said. “Window at the end of the hall. Come on.”

  I followed him down the corridor to the bedroom I’d seen earlier. The window I’d looked through before had been opened. Calixto boosted me over the ledge and out into the night, before jumping down beside me. As we scurried along the side of the house, a shout sounded from inside.

  “Shit,” Calixto hissed. “They know you’re gone!”

  Someone closed in behind me. I whirled. No one was there. “I’m in a bad way, Calixto.”

  “Get it together, Fia.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. His touch was solid, strengthening. We sprinted past the front of the house, trying to reach one of the vehicles.

  The front door burst open and Oso ran outside holding the Winchester. Calixto pulled a handgun from his waistband and fired off two shots. One hit Oso, but the man pivoted and stumbled back inside the house.

  A loud crack. A shot whizzed past my ear. It struck Calixto. I whirled, saw the man with the big gut running at me with a large handgun. Twisting back, I saw Calixto on the ground. I dove toward him, snatched his gun, and dropped to one knee, firing at the running man. This was happening. Two of his bullets zinged past me. I kept firing, hit him. He fell, but started hunching toward me, so I shot him again. He stilled. I cursed at myself for needing so many bullets, for being uncertain what was real and
what wasn’t.

  Shouting erupted from inside the house. Oso staggered back onto the porch and took aim at me with the Winchester. I zigzagged toward him. His gun boomed, but his shot missed me. I could almost smell the heat of the fired shell. I squeezed off more shots, still zigzagging toward him and firing. Miraculously, he went down.

  Valera busted out the front door with an assault rifle. I squeezed the handgun’s trigger. It clicked—empty and useless. Valera’s laugh was hideous. His aim at me was almost lazy, until he started ripping the night air with bullets. But the shots went wide, and he fell forward as a haze of red burst from his forehead. Was I imagining this?

  Then Shyra emerged from the house, holding another assault rifle in one hand and dragging the bag of cash with the other. She gazed at Valera’s other men on the ground. As if for good measure, she riddled Oso and the other thug with more bullets. I froze, waiting again for my death.

  “I ain’t shooting you, cop lady.” She paused and looked at the motionless bodies of Valera and his men. “Those other two weren’t necessarily dead yet, so I shot ’em for you. Knowing how you suffer from guilt and all. Anyways, looks like everyone’s dead who should be. I were you, I’d get my boyfriend into one of those trucks and haul ass.”

  Not sure of anything, I was afraid to move. I darted a glance at Calixto. He had rolled to his side and was trying to sit up. There was so much blood.

  Shyra nodded at me. “Go on. Help him.”

  I ran to Calixto and dropped to my knees. “Don’t move,” I said. “It’s over. I’m getting help.”

  He tried to nod, but his eyes fluttered shut, and he passed out.

  Shyra leaned over Alvera, pulled a cell phone from one of his bloody pockets, and tossed it to me.

  I caught the phone, called 911, and quickly explained the situation to the dispatcher. When I finished the call, Shyra slung the assault rifle over her shoulder, and dragging the canvas bag of cash, she took long strides to the closest truck. She heaved the cash inside, then turned, giving me a long, assessing stare.