Long Way Down (23 page)

“Okay, head toward Miami. I don’t know what La Salle had in mind, but all that’s off now.”

“You mean because of Grimes?”

“Yeah, that, and seeing that jet and the dead body down there. It looks like they planned to take the statue when we came back with it, and turn us into shark food.”

“What’s your take on what happened with that airplane?”

Sam told his theory about La Salle and Danilov stealing the gold collection and ditching the plane at sea.

J.T. nodded and said, “Yeah, that would fit.” He glanced at Sam. “What about Candi?”

Sam ran his fingers through his damp hair. “I think we need to put the statue in a safe place and talk to her before we make any plans for an exchange.”

THE STORM got worse with every mile, as if it might be following them and gaining strength. They flew off course a couple of times and the fuel got low by the time they saw lights in the Upper Keys. The engines sputtered and coughed, draining the bottom of the fuel tanks, and J.T. glided the plane to the edge of an inlet and landed. He killed one engine and cut the throttle as low as he dared on the other. It ran for a couple of minutes before giving out.

Gray light shone through the windscreen. Rain beat against the side of the plane and the wind blew them toward the coast and into mangroves that hung over the water. The limbs scrubbed against the sheet metal, cracking and screeching until the plane came to a halt and rocked gently in the blowing rain.

“What about these guys?” J.T. said. Grimes seemed to be coming around, moaning with pain. Randy still snored in his seat.

“They’ll be okay. Randy’ll figure out how to get some fuel when he wakes up.”

“No, I meant should we leave them here alive?”

Sam searched his face for any sign that he might be kidding, but already knew the answer.

“Yes, we leave them here alive.”

J.T. shrugged. “Okay, fine with me.”

Sam put the gold articles into his overnight bag and strapped it to his back. He popped the hatch and they slid down into waist-deep water and pushed toward land. Their shoes slipped on the slimy mangrove roots and they grabbed onto limbs to steady themselves. A small water snake swam toward Sam. He broke a branch, lifted the snake out of the water with it and tossed it several feet away. They reached the bank and slogged about twenty feet in swamp muck before the land became firm.

“How far to a road?” J.T. said, as if expecting Sam to be an expert on South Florida coastal geography.

“I don’t know, I’m guessing maybe a hundred yards.”

It turned out to be at least twice that far, and they took more than an hour to beat their way through the dense swamp growth. Both of them were breathing hard and soaked from the rain and wet foliage. They reached a muddy road and followed it in the rain to an old fish camp that had been closed for at least a decade. A weather-beaten sign indicated that the place had once operated as Captain Lamar’s Boats and Charters. Old wooden boats, half submerged in the water with weeds growing out of the wood, lay in the shallows next to a rotted dock. A shack stood next to the dock, and Sam saw a light inside a dingy window. An old Buick sat next to the shack. The tires on the front looked new. They eased over, stepped onto a rickety porch, and Sam knocked on the screen door. Rain pounded a rhythm on the tin roof while they waited.

“Who is it?” The voice behind the door sounded old.

“Our boat broke down and we need a ride.”

The door cracked a couple of inches and a man with thick glasses peered out, his eyes rheumy, like eight-balls behind the magnified lenses. Wondering if this might be Captain Lamar, Sam smoothed back his wet hair and smiled, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.

The man said, “Go away,” and slammed the door.

Sam looked at J.T., who grinned, and took two hundred-dollar-bills out of his wallet. He stuck his hand through a tear in the screen and slid one of the bills underneath the door, leaving a half inch or so outside. It disappeared in less than a second.

“I have another one for you if you’ll give us a ride,” he said through the door.

A couple of minutes passed and Sam thought they might have to travel on up the road. Then the door opened and the man swung it wide, leaving the screen door closed. Wearing a pair of old dress pants and a tee shirt, he had thinning hair and a drinker’s nose splotched with red, and looked about seventy years old.

“Where do you want to go?” His accent sounded northeastern, maybe New York.

“Just up to the mainland,” Sam said.

He shook his head. “Too far. I don’t drive up there no more.”

“We need to rent a car.”

He narrowed his eyes for a couple of seconds, as if thinking, then nodded his head. “Okay, let me get dressed and I’ll take you somewhere.”

He closed the door and stayed gone for several minutes. When he came back, he wore a Hawaiian shirt and a sporty straw hat. They got into the car, and he took off the hat and shook rain from it and said, “I want the rest of the money before we go.”

Sam looked at him and glanced up at the sign. “You Captain Lamar?”

The man smiled. “Yeah, I’m the Captain. What about it?”

Sam handed him the other hundred. “Just wondered.”

The Captain started the Buick and gunned the engine, spinning the tires as they slid onto the muddy road. They reached US1 within a couple of minutes and he turned south. He drove a few miles and turned into a gravel driveway that led to large metal building with closed garage bays.

The car stopped in front of the building and he said, “You can rent a car in there.”

A man wearing blue jeans and a hunter’s vest opened the entry door of the building and stepped out under an awning. He waved at the Captain and motioned for Sam and J.T. to come inside.

Sam glanced at the Captain. “You called this guy?”

“I sure did,” the Captain said. He smiled and patted his shirt pocket where he had put the hundred. “Pleasure doing business with you.” Captain Lamar looked about twenty years younger than he had when Sam first saw him.

The man under the awning motioned again.

They got out and the Buick sped away, throwing gravel and sand on their feet. Sam noticed the Dade County license plate and wondered why the Captain would have a Miami tag. A shiver ran from between his shoulder blades to the nape of his neck. He glanced at J.T., who had an odd look on his face, and then reached into his bag and pulled out his 9mm.

“Hey, what’s going on?” the man in the vest said.

Sam pointed the gun at his head and said, “Turn around and go inside.”

Vest Man went in and Sam and J.T. followed him. Another man, with a shotgun in the firing position, as if ready for a round of skeet, stood there waiting. He smiled, flashing a mouthful of bad teeth. Then he saw Sam’s gun and his eyes went wide. Sam kicked Vest Man in the back, and he fell into Bad Teeth.

The shotgun went off and Vest Man screamed and dropped to the floor. “My foot! I can’t feel my foot!” His shoe lay on the floor covered in blood, and a glob of bloody tissue hung from the end of his pants leg.

Bad Teeth’s mouth hung open. “Aw man, why’d you bump into me?”

“I think you shot my foot off!”

“It wasn’t supposed to work this way.”

Sam pointed the 9mm at Bad Teeth’s head and said, “Hand me the gun, stock first.”

Bad teeth glanced at his friend’s ruined foot and handed Sam the gun.

Two cars sat inside the building, one a late model Acura and the other a vintage T-Bird.

“Give me the keys to the Acura,” Sam said.

“It’s his,” Bad Teeth said, nodding toward the other man, who was sitting on the floor, staring at his foot, and sobbing.

“You can’t take my car,” Vest Man said from between clenched teeth.

J.T. pointed his gun at Bad Teeth and thumbed the hammer. “Get the keys, or I’m going to shoot
your
foot off, too.”

He reached down and grabbed the keys from the wounded man’s vest pocket and handed them over to Sam.

Sam opened the bay door and J.T. eased the Acura outside. Vest Man and Bad Teeth argued about getting medical attention for the injured foot.

“You got to take me to the hospital.”

Bad Teeth shook his head. “I’ll call the old man.”

“What? I’ll die before he gets back.”

“You’re not gettin’ blood on my leather seats.”

Sam got in the car and they rode to US1 and turned north.

Chapter 24

J
.T. RAN his hands over the steering wheel and grinned. “This is a pretty good car for two hundred dollars.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “probably stolen.” He opened the glove box and found it empty. “No registration.”

“They planned to rob us, and would have hit the jackpot if they’d gotten those gold pieces. I think we should go back to the fish camp and teach that old man a lesson.”

Sam glanced at him. “What would you do, beat him up?”

J.T. raised an eyebrow. “No, but we could shoot out his tires, or something.”

“Forget it. We’ve got better things to do.”

Sam tried calling Jack Craft and got no answer.

“We need to go to the marina,” Sam said. “I want to talk to Jack before we do anything else.”

They followed US1 through Florida City, for the second time in two days, staying on course toward Miami Beach. When they reached the marina, Jack’s car was gone.

Sam looked at the clock on the dash: 2:35 PM. He couldn’t remember the last meal they’d had and his stomach ached for food. “Let’s get something to eat. We can come back and wait around, see if he shows up.”

They went to a takeout shop for Cuban sandwiches, came back, and parked a block away from the marina. Sam could see the parking lot and
The Clipper
below the street with his field glasses. After they ate the sandwiches, the hours dragged on while they listened to the rain drum on the top of the car. They took turns watching for Jack and dozed between shifts. Two Miami Beach PD cruisers drove by late in the afternoon, but neither seemed to notice them. The list of stolen vehicles in Miami was probably too long to memorize, and there were lots of Acuras on the street that looked exactly like theirs.

About an hour after dark, J.T. said, “Well, if it isn’t the Casino King.”

Sam picked up the glasses and watched La Salle’s Jaguar turn into the marina. La Salle was driving and Gino sat in the passenger seat. They parked under the large flood lights and headed toward the docks, La Salle still walking with a limp. The rain had slackened, so Sam got out and peered over the roof of the car for a better view. No street lights burned close to the Acura, so La Salle would be unlikely to see him, even if he looked his way. La Salle wore a gray suit and held a large umbrella above his head. Gino wore an unbuttoned raincoat with his hands stuffed in the pockets. Rain washed over his forehead, colored a deep shade of blue, still swollen and resembling the front of a bicycle helmet.

They went directly to Sam’s boat and tried the hatch. It wouldn’t budge, and Gino glanced up and down the dock and then pulled a silenced handgun from inside his coat and fired three rounds into the lock. The hatch popped open and they went inside. Sam cringed, thinking it would take a couple of hours to fix that, if he could fix it at all. They stayed for a few minutes and came out, then went back to the Jaguar, sat there for awhile, and drove away.

Sam got back into the Acura and wiped the rain from his face. He handed the glasses to J.T. and told him what La Salle and Gino had done. “They didn’t come here for Jack. Didn’t even glance toward his boat.”

Sam and J.T. decided to get some more food, left their stakeout for about fifteen minutes, and returned with cups of hot chili and burgers. Nothing else happened until almost midnight. The rain had stopped and the streets looked like mirrors under the lights. Jack’s Mercedes passed them and Sam watched as he turned into the parking lot, got out and hurried toward his boat.

“Let’s go,” Sam said.

J.T. started the Acura and they rode to the marina and parked. They got out and strode down the dock toward
The Clipper
.

Jack saw them as he opened the hatch, glanced beyond them to see if anyone else followed, and motioned with a nod to come inside. He closed the hatch behind them. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

Sam shook his head and told about La Salle’s visit. Jack made drinks and they sat in the soft chairs of the big lounge.

“I’ve been calling you for a couple of days,” Sam said. “Where’ve you been?”

Jack sighed, loosened his tie and took a long drink from his gin and tonic. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

Sam waited for him to say more, but Jack just laid his head back and stared at the overhead.

“I know about your scheme and NeoWorld, and about Uncle Dave, too.”

Jack raised his head, smiled and glanced at J.T. “He’s a pretty smart guy, you know it?”

“Quit stalling,” Sam said.

Jack took a deep breath and another long drink. “Yeah, okay...I went to Grand Cayman, to try to keep this thing from falling apart.”

“How much did La Salle invest in NeoWorld?”

Jack looked at Sam for a few seconds before replying.

“It’s probably better if you don’t have any more information than you need, Samuel.”

“How much?”

“About eighty million, and he’s supposed to come up with twenty more.

J.T. whistled and Jack smiled.

“But he’s already spent most of the money,” Jack continued. “We were just in it for the escrow.”

“Escrow?”

Jack nodded. “Dave told him he had to keep ten percent in escrow until the rest of his money came through. Of course, he’ll never see the escrow again.”

Sam knew La Salle had lost all the gold. “Did the money belong to his clients?”

Jack nodded, drained his drink and got up to make another round. “He planned to replace it with what he got out of the gold.” Jack handed out the drinks and returned to his seat. “At least I think that’s what he intended.”

“You knew about the gold artifacts,” Sam said, more a statement than a question.

Jack grinned. “Oh yes.”