Putting the thought from his mind, he braced himself against the rail and took aim at the Plantation. It was still farther away than he would have liked. He needed a few more seconds, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a commotion at the end of the pier. The police were here, and two officers were running down the boardwalk. With no time to spare, he sighted the boat and pulled the trigger.
The shell left the barrel, taking the explosive with it. The C4 slowed the projectile, but the target was close enough. Just before it hit the bow of the boat, the gunpowder burned through and ignited the flare. A loud explosion filled the air. The boat stopped and in slow motion wallowed in the water. Flames were visible now and he saw the crew come on deck. Just as he saw two figures dive into the water, he felt the cold steel of handcuffs about to close on his wrists. Mel was behind him, screaming at the police to listen to her, and it bought him just enough time to vault the pier. He dove into the channel and stroked after the two figures. They had a hundred-yard lead, and he hoped he was the stronger swimmer.
The incoming tide carried them back inside the channel. He paused his stroke to get his bearings and saw the tip of Dodge Island emerge across the Intracoastal. The pair were headed directly toward it, but they weren’t reading the water and he saw his chance to close the gap. Changing his course to the right and farther into the channel, he swam at an angle to use the current to his advantage. They were swimming straight toward the island and would have to fight against the tide that was pulling them farther away from their goal with each stroke. His tactic was working, and he closed to within twenty yards, hoping the choppy waves hid him. Taking advantage of the moving water, he conserved energy, pacing the swimmers in front of him. He worked his stroke and breath together, regaining energy with each revolution as they approached the island.
The tide had pulled Dusharde and Jane past the point, and the current was no longer a factor. Mac wanted to get on land before them and focused on the row of huge black bumpers secured to the seawall to protect freighters when they docked. Picking the closest, he looked back at the water, cursing the small ferry running between them. Deciding it would be better to be on land, even if Dusharde continued in the water, he stroked hard for the bumper and grabbed the thick rope securing it to the dock. Once he had a firm grasp, he pulled his legs onto the hard plastic and used it as a step to reach the seawall.
Once he gained his feet, he looked back at the water. They were gone. He scanned the water again, not believing they could have escaped, when he saw two figures huddled near the transom of a tender running toward downtown Miami.
33
Mac stared into the dark hole, watching the headlights of the Dade County recovery team flash back and forth as they rappelled into the silo. What had taken him hours took them only minutes, and he heard the call over the radio to send down a body bag. Minutes later, Vernon Wade was unceremoniously dragged back to daylight. The group stood around the bag while the coroner opened the zipper and inspected the body, allowing Mac and Mel to move away unobserved.
“Wait,” he said.
Mel looked at him as he moved inland. “I remember something flew from Dusharde’s hand when I tossed the snake.”
“His phone!” Mel said. “He had just taken a picture of me with the signs.”
They quickly separated and started a search of the parking lot. Mac stood by the posters and closed his eyes, trying to remember the scene. He moved to where he recalled Dusharde had stood, mimicked the movement, then walked in the direction his hand had gone. A glint of glass caught his eye, larger than the other specks scattered on the ground from broken bottles and windows. He moved to a clump of weeds where he found the phone. The screen was shattered and black. With a hand signal, he let Mel know he had recovered it, and they moved quietly away from the silo in the direction of the canal.
They were quiet as he drove to Key Largo, allowing him time to reflect on what had happened. The adrenaline had faded, and he felt the accumulated fatigue of the past few days. Looking over at Mel, he saw the same worn look on her face. As with all life-and-death situations, it was hard to return to the real world. He was not even sure this was over. Jane and Dusharde were still at large, and he would probably have to make at least one court appearance in Miami.
After losing Dusharde and Jane, Mac and Mel had spent the rest of the morning with the Miami police. Word of the incident had gotten out, and a confusing fight about jurisdiction ensued between the alphabet agencies. Finally, after much pleading from Mel and a few calls to some well-placed, and not sugar-related, political contacts, they were released. The Dade County coroner’s office agreed to let them have another look at the abandoned Aerojet facility.
“Damn.” Mel was getting frustrated trying to power up Dusharde’s phone. She glanced over at Mac with a look that could have been defeat, exhaustion, or probably both.
“Maybe better get Alicia to look at that,” he said. “We should be there in another hour. Why don’t you try and reach them on the car’s system.”
“Where’s my boat!” TJ exclaimed when they pulled up in the driveway.
“That story’ll have to wait. She’ll clean up okay,” Mac said.
“Never mind the boat. Let’s get upstairs and see what you have,” Alicia scolded him.
Before they entered the house, Alicia gave Mac a look that told him to wait where he was. She came back with a towel and directed him to the outside shower down by the shop. He complied, and after several rounds of wash, rinse, and repeat, he couldn’t smell himself anymore. The bites on his stomach had subsided to small pricks, and although they still stung, there was no sign of infection. Otherwise, he felt beat-up, but they had made it.
With another new T-shirt and a pair of TJ’s shorts, he dressed and went back upstairs. “How’d you get the indoor facilities?” he kidded Mel, who was drying her hair with a towel in the guest bedroom.
Together they entered the war room and watched the couple busy at work. Alicia had Dusharde’s phone apart and TJ was working lines of code that Mac couldn’t understand.
“He’s got a pro wiping this thing regularly. I’m not going to be able to get much. But I did get this,” she said, clicking on a small image on her desktop monitor. The staged picture of Mel with the protest signs taken at the silo showed on one of the big screens.
“I’m glad that won’t see the light of day,” Mel said. “Can we destroy it?”
“Not so fast. This could be our way to get him,” Alicia said.
Mac moved closer. “Aren’t we done? We sunk his boat and stopped the explosion.”
Alicia and Mel both turned to him. Then looked at each other. It was Mel who spoke. “If only it were so easy. I’d be fine with walking away too, but do you really think he’ll leave us alone? We’re eyewitnesses.”
“We didn’t see the murder,” Mac said.
“I don’t think that matters to him. His MO is to bulldoze everything in his path. And that woman’s with him. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s on her way down here to find us.”
Mac thought about what she said and had to agree. Dusharde was not a forgive-and-forget kind of guy, and looking at Mel, he could see she was not that kind of girl either. Her sights were set on him, and she wouldn’t rest until he had paid for what he had done.
“I suppose you have a plan?” he asked.
The room fell silent.
“What kind of phone is that?” TJ asked.
“iPhone 6s. Why?” Alicia turned the phone in her hand.
“Live photo. I’ve seen some of the customers on the dive boat use them. It records a few seconds on either end of the picture, like a video. Shoot that file over here,” TJ said.
They watched the big screen as he went to work. First he took the picture file and saved it as a video, then opened a player and they stood mesmerized, eyes glued to the screen, as the five-second clip played over and over. It clearly showed a headshot of Dusharde, then he must have flipped the screen to show Jane movi
ng Mel in position, then the actual picture he intended. Finally Jane was back in the frame, pulling Mel away. It was only five seconds, but it was enough.
“He said he wasn’t good with that thing. But it looks like he was good enough for our purposes,” she said.
Jane pulled the Mercedes out of her driveway. The tires squealed and she accelerated to correct the fishtail, cursing the cumbersome vehicle. She quickly hit ninety as she flew down the highway. The project had gone off the rails and the loose ends needed to be handled—and now. Dusharde did not seem to be concerned. With a slew of lawyers, he would suffer no repercussions from the failed plan, and he was already working on another. But his ignorance was her problem. It was her job to protect him.
He had done surprisingly well yesterday, and she silently thanked his personal trainer. After throwing him overboard, he had held his own during their swim and had actually signaled the launch driver to pull them from the water and with a wet billfold had paid for a ride to the marina and the Mercedes.
Now he was back in his office and she was on her own—with her black duffel in the back seat—the way she liked it. She drank coffee and focused on the road. The miles flew by, but her fury remained and she reached Key Largo just before noon. Forced to slow by the local traffic, she tried to remain patient. There were a half dozen people on her list, and she knew it might take a few days to erase them. Just before she reached Islamorada, she got an idea.
Hitting a number in her contacts, she waited for the call to be answered. “Call that redneck and get him and that crazy woman over to the bait place. I’ll be there in an hour.”
The two Cubans were on top of her list, and if she could use them to help knock off the Cajun and his girlfriend without having to search them out, so much the better.
Trufante looked sideways at the phone. “There’s no way I’m going near that bait chum grinding place.”
“I’m telling you, Hector said he’d pay for the net. Something about some deal with the Feds or something. I heard those two cried pretty loud when they got picked up after your buddy toasted their engine,” Jeff laughed.
“Shit. I’m laid up hurt. You go get it, and I’ll split it with you.”
“No dice, dude. I beat up and finally got my boat. Can’t believe I walked away from that jet ski. I’m on the straight and narrow now.”
He pushed himself up on the couch and took another sip of beer. The way things were going, he would need the money.
Pamela walked into the living room. “You need to get some exercise instead of lying on your butt all day drinking beer and popping pills. I heard the doctor.”
“Ain’t a thing, babe. I’ll start tomorrow.”
“You’ll start right now.” She pulled his feet off the couch.
Her mood had been severe since they had gotten back yesterday. After putting the hospital bill and taxi ride back to Marathon on her credit card, his crude calculations showed she was probably well into next month’s funds. And that made him broke too. If those jokers at the bait place were serious, it was worth a shot. If not, nothing ventured. He turned to Pamela. “There must be some way outta here, said the joker to the thief.” It was his turn to quote lyrics. Swinging his feet to the floor, he tested his balance and stood. The world swayed, but in a good way, and he went for the door.
Riding his motorcycle was out of the question and he decided to walk. He had heard the doctor too, and although he liked to be contrary, he wanted to be back on the water. With a slight limp and wobble, he set off for Monster Bait. By the time he reached the gravel road, the handful of pills he had taken, aided by the exercise, were coursing through his bloodstream. He was feeling good until he saw the Mercedes parked by the bait shed. Even in his current state, he knew he had been set up.
He turned, but it was too late. Hector had seen him.
“Yo, Tru. Where’s your wheels, man?”
“Just give me the money and I’ll be gone,” Trufante said.
“Sure thing, man, but it’s the lady that’s gonna pay you.”
Trufante hesitated, knowing this was not going to end well. He was about to turn to leave when he saw Jane step out of the shack with a rifle pointed at him.
“That’s right. The lady’s going to pay you,” she said, approaching slowly.
He’d spent a lifetime studying women, and he noticed something different about her, but with the cloud of drugs swirling around his system he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Ain’t no need. I’ll just be going.”
“No, I don’t think so. You remember the chum grinder, don’t you?”
Looking around for anything he could use against her, he reached for an old trapline, but lost his balance and fell.
“Drag him over here,” she called to Hector.
The Cuban came toward him flashing a knife and a grin. Trufante grabbed the barnacle covered line, and pulled, trying to regain his feet. Just as he stood, Hector grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. He frog-marched him toward the bait shack. Jane entered behind them and he stared at the teeth of the grinder. The same teeth that had already taken the tip of his finger. Edgar smiled from behind the machine. He was getting tired of this scene replaying over and over and swore he would make the machine a reef if he walked out of this.
“It would be easier if he was dead,” Hector said.
“Maybe after I hear him scream. For all the trouble he’s caused, I need to see some pain,” she said.
Edgar came toward him and took his free arm. Sweat rolled down Trufante’s face and the adrenaline overcame the drugs. He saw clearly where this was going as his good hand moved closer to the whirling blades. They were only inches away when he saw the gaff leaning against the far wall. Yanking his arm away, he tried to reach it, but the two men were on him and his hand resumed its descent.
“Wait. I want to do it,” Jane hissed over the sound of the motor.
She moved in front of Edgar and grabbed Trufante’s arm. In the split second that Edgar looked over at her, Trufante tensed his neck and brought his head back before slamming his forehead into the bridge of the big man’s nose. The impact stunned him and he fell, pinning Jane below him and feeding her arm to the waiting teeth. Three hundred pounds of unconscious man held her in place. As she fought to move the man, gore flew from the opening as the teeth pulled the woman’s arm deeper.
Trufante turned, grabbed the gaff, and faced Hector. They both stared at each other as Jane fell to the floor. Blood streamed from what was left of her arm, but neither man moved. Another minute passed and the blood stopped. She was dead.
Trufante looked at her and then back at Hector. “We got what you might call a common bond now. Ain’t no reason we have to like each other, but we can coexist and share this secret,” Trufante said. Using the gaff as a cane, he walked out of the shack.
34
Mac was deep in thought. He and Mel had were headed up Highway 27 to Clewiston, the hum of the Audi’s engine the only noise. The plan had been laid out last night with Alicia and TJ; now it only had to be executed. Dusharde would not be expecting them, and the surprise of seeing them would hopefully be the first step in unsettling the sugar magnate. Mac knew his role, and he expected Mel was rehearsing her lines or whatever lawyers do before they go into court. His job was to get them in the room; she would take it from there.
Jane was out of the picture, which he hoped would make this easier. Alicia had found Trufante last night and had come away with a story about Jane feeding the crabs in the canal by Monster Bait. She couldn’t pry any kind of a coherent story out of him besides him saying that he had taken care of that problem.
The shotgun lay under the back seat, just in case, but they had agreed it was a last resort. Dusharde was worth more alive than dead. They turned into the long serpentine driveway and parked.
“That car’s still here. I wonder if it’s Wade’s,” Mel said.
Mac looked around the front of the property. There was no sign of anyone.
“Ready?”
He nodded and reached into the back for the shotgun. “One thing first.” He walked toward the sedan parked in front of the house. Bending over, he noted the parking pass for the state capitol. “You’re right. It’s the congressman’s car. We ought to take a picture with the house in the background.”
“Good idea.” Mel pulled out the phone that Alicia had lent them and took several pictures, showing the license plate and the parking pass. She moved toward the entry. “Remember, the gun’s a last resort. Let me do the talking,” she said.
Mac followed her, standing back and ready as she pressed the handle. It was locked. He was about to press the intercom button.
“Wait. A place like this’ll have surveillance cameras,” Mel said.
Mac pulled her away, hoping they hadn’t been noticed and hid the shotgun behind his back. “We need to surprise him.” Remembering the office windows, he led her around the garage to the back of the house. With their bodies pressed against the stucco exterior, they slid along the walls, ducked underneath the large window behind his desk, and stood next to the double glass doors leading to the patio.
“I’m going to see if he’s in there,” Mac said, creeping back to the window. He rose slightly and looked inside. Dusharde was there. Back at the patio doors, he tried the handle. It was locked and he gave Mel a questioning look. Before she could answer, he heard barking and the dogs were quickly on them. Thinking this could be what they needed to get Dusharde away from his desk, and the gun he expected was there, he got on his knees and started to play with them. “Take over, and lead them away from the doors,” he said to Mel. Once she had their attention, he slid to the side and readied the gun.
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