Second Chance (3 page)

“Would you tell me what was going on if you knew?”

Flynn had frosted hair and went heavy on the cologne. He covered his mouth and whispered, “We’re forbidden. We have to project a positive image at all times.”

“I don’t think they’re looking for the treasure of the Sierra Madre out there.” I handed him the completed paperwork for the hotel safe.

“I try not to pay attention.”

Flynn seemed largely disinterested with the police activity. Perhaps he had been truthful; maybe the presence of the police in Miami was something he just took for granted, part of the everyday landscape. Of course, Flipper might have gotten caught in a fishing net, and that would have been truly awful, but there were really only a few viable options: contraband, money, or a body—any and all were likely.

He looked up suddenly. “Hey, do you think they’re filming an episode of Dexter?”

“No,” I chuckled. “Dexter takes place in Miami, but they film the series in Long Beach, California.” Be that as it may, I’m a big fan of the show. Dexter, a psychopathic killer and forensics expert for Miami Metro, has a great boat, which is aptly named
Slice of Life
. He routinely dismembers his victims and disposes of them by dumping their remains into the Atlantic. I was troubled. Maybe …
Don’t do this to yourself. Not your job. Stash your sidearm in the safe and make a beeline to the pool.

“That does it,” he said as he checked over the paperwork. “I can take you into the safe room now.” He unlocked the security door, and I was just about to follow him when I noticed someone walking into the elevator. The gent’s blazer was familiar as was the back of his head. The elevator door closed, and he was gone. I paused for a moment with my mouth agape. It was the guy who had been sitting in front of me on the plane.

Chapter Five

The two-passenger Cessna flew at low altitude toward the Florida coastline.
The setting sun glowed like fiery lava, hot enough to boil the emerald waters of the Atlantic as it melted into the horizon. Ricardo Andrade had witnessed this glorious scene from the air many times before, and it never failed to captivate him. He was still staring out through the canopy as night exchanged places with day and the lights on the coastline came into view. He felt a tap on his sound-deadening headphones and glanced over at the pilot. His brother, Pablo gave him a thumbs-up, the signal that they were approaching the drop zone and for him to perform his last-minute safety check.

Ricardo went through a mental checklist, checking his bindings and pull handles, just as he and his brother had been taught in the army. He confirmed with Pablo with an identical hand gesture. The only light in the cockpit came from the soft, amber glow of the aircraft’s illuminated gauges. Pablo pulled back on the wheel, pushing the old Cessna into a steep climb. Watching the needle on the altimeter, Ricardo continued to point skyward, indicating that he needed more altitude. He finally allowed Pablo to level off at eight thousand feet.

Pablo looked down at the lights on the ground and held up three fingers. Ricardo pried off his headphones, unbuckled his safety harness, and affixed snug-fitting goggles over his eyes. Pablo flashed two fingers and then one. Ricardo pushed open the door when his brother gave him a comforting smile and a final thumbs-up signal. He crossed himself and rolled fluidly out of the plane into the night.

He was in a stable, arched body position when he first checked the illuminated altimeter on his wrist, watching the numerals on the altimeter drop as he fell through the darkness. All told, the drop would take less than a minute, and if all went to plan, he’d be on the ground without being spotted.

His brother had dropped him on the proverbial dime, and he had minimal need to adjust course with his steering toggles. He saw the moon’s reflection in the water below him, which surrounded the long fishing pier he intended to land upon. It was in a remote location and unobstructed by tall palm trees which might jeopardize the safety of his jump. He was at an altitude of three thousand feet when he reached behind his back and pulled the main handle. He felt the familiar jerk on the skydive container as the ram-air parachute opened, abruptly slowing his descent. He illuminated a flashlight and cast a beam at the underside of the open chute to make sure that it had deployed properly.
Nice,
he thought.
Piece of cake.

The air currents were slight, allowing Ricardo to drift effortlessly toward earth. A few gentle tugs on the steering toggles brought him in line with the pier. He checked the altimeter one last time as he approached the ground. The space below him became a black hole at one hundred feet. His heart raced from the exhilarating ground rush; the rapid fall through pitch black. He saw the wooden pier beneath him for a split second just before he touched down, absorbing the impact with his legs. He glanced around quickly to make sure he hadn’t been seen and then gathered the open parachute, balling it up into his arms.

A car waited for him nearby, parked on a gravel road far from the main turnoff. He approached the car and unlocked it. He yanked upward on the rear seat cushion revealing a hidden storage compartment. He stowed the chute and flight container along with his waist pack, which held almost fifty pounds of capsules, tablets, and vials. He replaced the seat cushion just as the hum of the small Cessna once again grew loud in the sky.

Pablo had circled back to make sure that his brother had landed safely. Ricardo pointed his searchlight toward the sky and flashed it three times. The running lights on the Cessna came on for two seconds, and then they were off. The plane was once again invisible in the evening sky. Ricardo listened for the hum of the propeller and then waved to a location in the sky where he imagined the plane might be. He was still staring at the sky when a white-hot flash ripped apart the darkness and knocked him to the ground. It took a moment for him to recover from the shock. He looked just in time to see burning wreckage crash into the sea.

~~~

We were in chill mode in our lounges alongside the rooftop pool. The view was stunning—lights came on all over the city as the sun set. Tay was way ahead of me in terms of alcohol consumption and definitely feeling no pain. She had provocatively arranged herself on an outdoor chaise lounge and was showing enough skin to attract the Seventh Fleet. I mean she was really giving a show. She had a copy of
Vogue
resting in her lap. It was one of many magazines featuring Beyonce on the cover. How much do you suppose that woman spends a year for hair extensions? I mean those things aren’t cheap—Jay-Z must work his talented little fingers to the bone just to keep his wife in curling irons and hairspray.

“So I could definitely go for some stone crab tonight. What were you thinking?” I asked.

Tay’s eyelids looked heavy. She turned to me but didn’t respond.

“I’m gonna cut you off, girlfriend. You’re smashed.”

She continued to stare at me without replying.

“Hey! Are you getting hungry?”

“I’m sorry, peaches,” she said apologetically. “Did you say something?”

“Where do you want to go for dinner?”

“Oh,” she sighed. Her eyes closed, and her lips parted. It looked as if she had dozed off, but she hadn’t. “Stephanie, the way I feel right now … all I want is a cool pillow and a hot man.”

She began to snore. This was
so
not what I expected from her when I asked her to accompany me on vacation. She was usually a blast to hang with.
Man, I hope she’s better company tomorrow.

I took inventory of the male population around the pool and began to contemplate après-dinner plans when Flynn, my friend from the hotel lobby, appeared. He looked as nervous as a hen as he shuffled toward me.

“Hey, Flynn, are you all right?” He shook his head nervously and motioned for me to join him by the railing. I put down my cocktail. “Tay, I’ll be right back.” Needless to say, my update went unrequited.

It was fortuitous that she was out cold because I was spared a verbal ass-whooping that might have sounded something like, “Good God, girl, is this about the police search in the harbor? How do you expect to find a hot-bodied man while you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?” Anyway, you get the point.

Flynn stood alongside the railing on the ocean side of the pool deck and out of earshot from hotel guests and staff. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“You’re a cop, right?” he asked nervously.

I hadn’t said a word about being on the job.
Am I that obvious?
I guess I’d be a terrible choice for undercover work. I pretended that I was shocked.
“What?”

“Look, I saw the case you carried into the safe room. It’s a lockbox for a gun. I’ve seen them before, many times. I mean … just tell me if I’m right because I’m in trouble and I need some advice.”

I wanted to get involved. I almost ached to get involved, but I knew better. “Look, Flynn, if you’re in trouble, you should go to the authorities. Whether or not I’m in law enforcement is unimportant. I’m not the local police, and I have no jurisdiction in the state of Florida.”

“I can’t go to Miami Metro. I know you’re from New York, but … Look, just tell me if you’re a cop, all right?”

Flynn appeared to be genuinely frightened. I took a moment to think it over. “Why?”

Flynn sighed a long and troubled sigh. “The police activity you saw this afternoon … Miami Metro is interviewing the staff. They found—”

Oh, you mean the police activity you said you knew nothing about?
I knew what was coming. I braced myself for tragic news, and it didn’t involve a porpoise getting tangled up in a fishing net. “They found a body, didn’t they?”

Flynn covered his mouth. “They found a woman’s head.” He turned away from me to look out at the ocean. He was clearly distressed. “My friend Keyla didn’t show up for work this morning, and she hasn’t called or answered any of my messages. She usually answers in a flash.”

“And you think …”

He nodded without speaking, but his nod indicated that he felt sure. “She’s been hanging out at this club. It’s owned by this guy named Donovan and …”

“Still, you’re presuming an awful lot. She may be perfectly fine, but I’d go to the police right now, just in case.” I put my hand on his shoulder in a reassuring manner. “Withholding information pertinent to a police investigation is a really dumb thing to do. Why are you so frightened of this Donovan fellow anyway?”

“He’s an animal. He’d kill me if he knew I talked about him with anyone. If he ever found out that I talked to Metro …”

I glanced over at Tay. She had miraculously awakened. It looked as if someone had sent over a drink—the waiter had just dropped off a fresh glass of a minty, mottled libation and was pointing to a handsome gent with soulful eyes at the bar. He looked a little like Barry White. Tay blew him a kiss.
God, I hope she knows what she’s doing. I’m taking my next vacation solo.

“Flynn, you’re only providing the police with a lead. There’s no way for Donovan to find out about it. You didn’t witness a crime, did you?”

“No but I was at the club with Keyla last night,” he confessed reluctantly. “I saw them together. He saw me. He knows we were together at the club.”

“You saw your friend, Keyla, with this guy, Donovan?” Flynn nodded. “And you think he’d kill you if you mentioned it to the police?”

He closed his eyes and nodded again. “That’s why I’m talking to you instead of the Miami police. I’m really scared. Tell me what to do.”

“I already told you what to do.”

“Tell me something else. I’m coming apart at the seams.”

“This Donovan, he’s—”

“Jamaican mob.”

I gritted my teeth. Manhattan was swarming with Jamaican gangsters and they were bad news—brutal and violent. Flynn’s fear was likely justified.

I heard Tay clear her throat. I glanced back and saw her standing a few feet away, tapping her toe impatiently, waiting for me to give her my attention.

“Give me a minute,” I whispered to Flynn. He walked a distance away, leaving me alone with Tay.

“Stephanie, about dinner … do you think you could fend for yourself tonight?”

“Oh,”
I said in a displeased tone. “So you
did
hear me ask you what you wanted for dinner.” Tay looked sheepish. I could tell that she was going to be the traveling companion from hell. The gent who had sent over the drink was sitting at the bar, looking our way with great interest and no doubt hoping for a thumbs-up. It really wasn’t too difficult to figure out what was going on. At first blush, I was a little pissed about being abandoned on our first night of vacation, but I glanced over at Flynn and knew he needed my help. “Are you sober? Because I don’t want you flying home with a bun in the oven or something persistent that will require multiple doses of penicillin.”

“Biatch,” she began in a boastful tone. “I can be way drunker than this and still handle any of these South Beach pretty boys.” She leaned closer and whispered in my ear. “I promise, I’ll sit at the bar and drink club soda until I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s more like it. You promise?”

Tay nodded.

“Okay. Have fun, you dirty little ho.”

Tay winked and then nodded excitedly to her new friend, communicating that she was free for the evening. I shook my head disparagingly and gave her a pat on the butt. I couldn’t believe how firm she was. Her tush felt like one of those motion-absorbing Tempur-Pedic mattresses.

That’s when I heard the blast. It was a good distance away, but the force of the explosion was powerful. It lit up the sky and thundered through the night.

Chapter Six

I had two images in my head as I followed Flynn’s car to Donovan’s club.
The first was the explosion I had witnessed from the rooftop pool deck. The second was the sight of Tay getting ready for her date: hotel robe, white facial mask, and her hair up in twin, high ponytails. I’m not sure which image was more disturbing.