Backwater Key

by Steven Becker

  While we waited for the men to mount up, my phone vibrated. It was Martinez, and I could sense the panic in his words. Watching the two dots on his screen must have been driving him crazy. He had to know we were within the same block as each other, but not the circumstances. I texted back that I had seen her a few minutes ago and that she was fine. The last thing I wanted was for him to panic and, with too little information, make the wrong call.

  Pierce climbed aboard his bike and before starting the engine called out something to the other bikers. It looked like he was giving orders. He started the engine and revved the throttle, then pulled out of the lot, turned the corner, and headed east. He made another quick turn and I’d just lost sight of him when I heard the roar of engines behind me. The throttles revved and a few minutes later, the bikes sped out of the lot. I counted at least twenty. It looked like they were all going to follow Pierce until the group split in three at the first intersection and headed in different directions.

  “We’ve got to follow them.”

  “Easy there, Ranger. There’s no more chases. We’ve got traffic cameras and a hundred cars out there. Relax.” He called the number of bikers and the direction they were heading into dispatch and asked for any sightings to be reported. “We got rules now.” I sensed he wasn’t happy about it, but knew his next job was a security guard.

  I was used to taking action myself, not relying on the assets or policies of Miami-Dade. If Susan were wired, we would know their plans, but all we had was the questionable information from the biker sitting next to me. I started to fidget in the seat as Grace finally pulled into traffic. As a federal agent, I wasn’t subject to the same rules as the county, and was feeling stifled sitting here doing nothing.

  “Where’re we going?” I asked, as she turned the corner heading the opposite way from the bikers.

  “Got to take lover boy here to lockup. Procedure,” Tracy said. “Uniforms’ll keep an eye on the bikers.”

  I needed out of here and now. My gut told me something was about to go down. “Can you drop me at the forensics lab?”

  “You going cowboy on us?” he asked.

  “Just want to look at things from another angle. The meets have all been in or near the park. I should get back down there.” It was all I had and I hoped he bought it. Grace turned and headed toward the lab and I got the impression that they were happy to get rid of me. A few minutes later when they dropped me off, I turned to thank them and gave Tracy a tip of my invisible cowboy hat.

  I’d had an idea on the way over. They had their assets and I had mine: Martinez. If there was one thing he was good at besides CCs and BCCs on his emails to make everyone think he had his hands in everything, it was knowing where his people were. I watched Grace pull out of the lot and walked to my truck.

  After starting the engine I realized I had nowhere to go. I pressed the phone icon on Martinez’s contact page and waited. He answered quickly. “We need to track Susan in real time,” I started. I had called rather than text, needing to read his voice to see how he was going to react. Working under pressure was not in his wheelhouse.

  He was already watching her. “Got her east on 836. What’re they doing, Hunter?”

  I could hear the panic in his voice.

  “Wait, he’s pulled off and stopped.”

  “Give me the address.”

  It was his shop. Doubting he’d set up a meet that close to home, I guessed it would be a quick stop. A few minutes later, Martinez confirmed they were moving again.

  Before pulling out, I texted Justine. I didn’t want her to come out later and see the truck was gone. The phone vibrated before I had a chance to set it down.

  “What’s going down? I’m hearing about groups of bikers on the scanner.”

  I briefly explained what had happened.

  “You have a plan?”

  I wasn’t going to say I didn’t. “Martinez is tracking Susan’s phone. I’m about to follow.”

  “In your junior ranger truck?”

  It wasn’t a put down, just the reality. As discreet as the logo and light bar were on the park service truck, Pierce would know it. A minute later, she appeared outside carrying the backpack she used as a purse. I could see the smile on her face and knew I wasn’t going alone.

  “Pierce is running and he’s got Susan.”

  “Let’s go.” She started for her car.

  I knew there was no talking her out of it and was actually grateful she was coming with me. If I had to choose a partner, she was my first choice. We reached her car and I felt my phone vibrate again. It was Martinez and I put it on speaker.

  “Hunter, they’re heading north on 95 now. Where the hell are they going?”

  I could hear the panic in his voice. Justine started the car and looked at me. I nodded and she pulled out of the lot and headed east toward the Interstate.

  Fifteen minutes later, we crossed into Broward County. I was getting out of my comfort zone. I barely knew Miami and had only been this far north once or twice to pick up Allie. Without knowing the area, I looked down at my map app. It made sense that he wanted out of Dade County. If he had been found out, at least that eliminated Miami-Dade from the pursuit. The bikers, however, wouldn’t respect that boundary.

  I studied the map as Justine drove. The hundred and fifty miles of roads south of Miami ended at Key West. Running north gave him more options. I zoomed out to see where he might be heading and saw the tip of Grand Bahama Island on the right of the screen.

  There was the answer, just eighty miles away. With the wind down and the assistance of the Gulfstream’s northbound current, it would be an easy ride to Freeport. If you wanted to get to the Bahamas, Port Everglades in Ft. Lauderdale was as good a jump-off point as any. Of course there were extradition treaties, but you could disappear in any one of the hundred small islands there. I wasn’t sure if the motorcycle club was more or less of a concern. He hadn’t stolen directly from them, but killing a member called for retribution. They would probably hold a grudge for using them as a front, too.

  Martinez continued his nervous updates about Susan’s position until suddenly her phone stopped moving. Justine continued to Port Everglades while I zoomed in on Susan’s last known position. After connecting the dots in the map app, I was informed it was twenty minutes away. Not very long in South Florida traffic time, but an eternity in real time.

  Finally we pulled off 95 and headed east. The location appeared to be a parking lot next to a large marina. Pierce’s bike was parked off to the side, and I hopped out of the car to have a look while Justine parked. I was surprised to find the saddlebags unlocked. Reaching around in the empty interior of one, I found Susan’s phone. I scanned the area and found no sign of a struggle. Whatever was going on, Susan was still a willing participant.

  Twin outboards fired up, directing my attention to the water. It was a false alarm, with only four large fishermen aboard. Turning back to the bike, my eye caught the tire tracks in the gravel. I could see the trail from Pierce’s bike; where he had pulled in and then backed up with his feet to park. Off to the side, as if they had come together, were two other pairs of tracks. I didn’t need Justine to tell me they were from different bikes. I looked at the marina and then back at the parking lot, trying to figure out where they had gone.

  Pierce had proven to be a master at diversion, but my girl was an ace forensics tech. It only took her a few seconds to inspect the tracks and determine that there was more weight on the bikes after stopping here. Pierce had abandoned his bike, making it look like he was taking off by boat, but in actuality, he and Susan were on the road.

  There was a whole lot of water out there, but few destinations: the Bahamas, the coastal towns north, or the Keys. You could get lost there, but to the north lay the entire country. Even in the narrow peninsula of Florida there were many more alternatives if they went by land. Leaving Dade County was a smart move. As painful as it was to use their resources, at least I had access to them and Pierce
knew it. Just as I was about to ask Justine if she knew anyone in Broward or Palm Beach County, I remembered Stallworth and the Florida Highway Patrol.

  Scrolling through my text messages, I found the picture of him and the fish that he had sent the other day. I pressed the phone icon and hoped he was not offshore and out of range while I waited for the call to connect. I thought when it went to voicemail that I would have to make alternate plans, but before I could even update Justine, the phone vibrated.

  Apparently Pierce had set up quite a smokescreen. Bikers were well known for sending groups of riders in different directions when pursued. Looked at individually, each bike and rider were often works of art, if you like that kind of thing. As a group, though, they blended together. Stallworth told me there had been radio chatter for the last few hours about several large groups. One was heading west on Alligator Alley, another north on 95, and a third was cruising toward Orlando on the Turnpike. They had all the major routes out of South Florida covered. I had eliminated the first diversion, but now had to narrow it down. At least with the FHP’s resources, I might have a chance.

  “I’ll get back to you in a few,” I said, disconnecting the call. Turning to Justine, I explained the situation. Before we could come up with a solution or even a theory, my phone rang again. This time it was Ray. I almost let it go to voicemail, thinking it was some kind of routine park business, but he was not the talkative kind. A three-fingered man could count on one hand how many times Ray had called over the last year.

  “Hey,” I answered.

  “Y’all still lookin’ for that crabber we seen the other day?”

  I wasn’t sure if we were or not, but any information could prove valuable. The boat had already been involved in several incidents. “I’m looking for that FBI agent and Susan. Not sure if she’s with him willingly or not.” I figured there was no sense holding anything back from him. Another set of eyes at the park could help. “Any chance you can follow it?” I’m up in Broward County on a wild goose chase.”

  “That damned Susan is more trouble than a gator with the goddamned clap. Sure, got nothing better to do.”

  I thanked him and turned back to Justine. Our guess that they had gone north could have taken a turn to the south. Pierce had led us fifty miles in the wrong direction.

  26

  I gripped Susan’s phone in my hand, hoping it would provide me with a lifeline to her. Despite having talked her into working undercover, I had to remind myself that she had met Pierce, or rather, he had met her, before the murder. Justine and I sat in her car listening to the police scanner app on her phone, wondering what to do next and waiting for an update on the bikers. It was just the standard calls. There had been no reports about the bikers.

  “He’s not running.” I had been replaying the scene when the bikers left the bar and remembered the bags that several, including Pierce, had carried. “And it’s not one drop, it’s four.” The bikers had split into three groups and Pierce had one.

  “I bet the others took the straight ammo and Pierce has the drugs,” Justine said.

  Of course that was it. But that still left us nowhere. “It’s not the crabber. He’s a motorhead. Six knots an hour would kill him, especially if he thinks we are onto him.”

  We were missing something and I went back to the bike. The panniers revealed nothing. I opened the seat lid, but there was just the gas tank cap beneath it.

  “There’s nothing there,” Justine said.

  I stared at the bike, studying the after-market accessories. There was a custom fairing. It wasn’t the typical black plastic addition. The leatherwork was well done and I was running my hands over it, admiring the craftsmanship, when I found a row of small pouches stitched into the bottom.

  “Hey.” I called Justine over. If there was evidence we needed to handle it properly. She came by my side and gave me a maybe look but played along. Returning to the car, she grabbed a baggie with several pairs of gloves, handed me a pair, and put one on herself. We each opened the pouch on our respective sides. Mine had nothing.

  “Got something,” she said, pulling out a slip of paper.

  I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but this was not it. Trying to hide my disappointment, I leaned over her as she unfolded it on the seat. It was a receipt of some kind, and after seeing the store name, I knew what the something we had been missing was. The purchase was for a large quantity of shotshell hulls.

  “They have to be loaded and crimped,” I said.

  “What?”

  “There would be a process for loading the shells with the drugs. They would need to be measured, packed, and sealed, requiring special equipment: a grain scale and a reloader.” I looked at the store name again. It was a well-known chain.

  “Anyone can buy that stuff.”

  “Anyone can buy it, but you would need something more heavy-duty to do the quantity of shells he’s pushing.”

  “And a gun shop would have that,” Justine finished the sentence.

  I grabbed my phone from my pocket. Squinting at the thumbnails, I scrolled through the pictures I had taken over the last week. There were several dozen from Alabama Jacks and it took a minute to find the one with the man that had been sitting with Doc. He had the logo with a machine gun. Using my fingers, I zoomed in on the image and saw it was a range in Miami.

  “Here it is,” I handed the phone to Justine. Pierce had us looking everywhere but Miami, and that’s where he had gone. She handed the phone back and I entered the name: Lone Pine Range in the maps app. It was no surprise it was a stone’s throw from the biker bar. We ran for the car and started to backtrack south.

  “You going to call for backup?” Justine asked as we got onto 595.

  The range would certainly be closed now and I wasn’t sure what to expect. “Let’s have a look first.” I didn’t think this was going to be as simple as breaking down the doors and arresting him. The evidence I had to this point was circumstantial. I needed something more.

  She nodded her acceptance and forty-five minutes later we stopped a few blocks short of the address. It was in a commercial / industrial area with single-story cinderblock buildings. Slowly we approached the address and drove past it twice before spotting the small sign by a solid steel door. There were four bikes and a pickup in front. That would make at least seven people inside, assuming Justine was correct and Pierce and Susan had ridden double.

  “There’s going to be security cameras for sure at a gun range,” Justine said.

  With the numbers against us, I didn’t have a choice. I called Grace. She said she and Tracy would head over immediately with backup, but it would take about a half-hour.

  Justine and I sat down the block, waiting. I glanced at my watch every few minutes, which only increased the tension. After what I guessed was twenty minutes, three men came out of the steel door. The pickup and two bikes took off. That left only Pierce, Susan, and maybe two others. The odds were getting better, and I thought I saw an opportunity when the automatic closer stopped with several inches of daylight showing.

  “What are you doing?” Justine grabbed my arm as I opened the door.

  “We have to go now. That place will need to be breached if the door closes. I don’t expect there’s a doorbell.”

  “What about weapons?”

  “It’s a gun range, we’ll improvise.” I used we because wait in the car were not words she would listen to. This clearly wasn’t a public facility and I was counting on all the security being dedicated to keeping people out. She was several feet behind me as I ran across the lot and slid across the building, hoping if there were cameras their focus would be on the direct approaches. It would take a perfectly mounted fisheye lens to cover the long exterior wall.

  The door moved just before I reached it, but stopped again as the malfunctioning closer attempted to shut it. I barely got my hand in before I felt the pressure on it as the device attempted to complete its job. We were inside and moved back quickly to the sidewall whe
n the door clicked closed and I heard the distinct sound of an electromagnetic lock engage. We were committed now.

  In front of us were several old showcases with different weapons. There was a door behind them with a glass window. The room was dark. To the side were double doors with the same size window, but these were security glass. There were lights on behind them and I guessed they led to the range. For now, we were alone and I approached the closest case. It was open in the back and I pulled out two handguns. While I checked them and ejected the empty magazines, Justine scanned the shelves behind us for bullets. Less than two minutes later, we were armed.

  I moved slowly to the double doors and could hear several shots ring out. My immediate reaction was to barge in, but then I remembered where we were. Gun violence might be a problem, but ranges were statistically safe—ridiculously so. In this case, I wasn’t so sure and needed to see what was going on beyond the doors. I was just about to go through one of the windows when my phone vibrated. It was Grace and they were outside. I pecked out a quick response for them to be ready, slid my back against the door, and turned my head so I could see inside while presenting as small a profile as possible. Justine was by my side out of view.

  Pierce stood with two other men looking at an open case set on a table against the back wall. Susan was in a shooting stance in one of the far stalls. Several shots fired and she turned to reload. I saw her eyes and thought for a second that she had seen me, but she grabbed another magazine, inserted it in the pistol, and resumed firing downrange.

  Now that we were here, I wasn’t sure what to do. Whatever was in the cases was surely illegal, and Susan was armed. We could burst in and make an arrest, but trying to anticipate what Susan McLeash would do with a loaded weapon was a crapshoot. I was distracted for a second when my phone vibrated. Handing it to Justine, I continued to watch Pierce.