Two Jakes (39 page)

CHAPTER
50 – ‘I CAN LEND YOU SOME HANDCUFFS’

They
were sitting in her library, drinks and cigarettes in hand. Scarne needed both,
badly. Alana was once again remarkably composed.

“It’s
over, Alana. Josh Shields made a copy of all his notes. I found them. He didn’t
have everything, but he had more than enough.”

“We
went through his apartment.”

Scarne
told her about the flash drive.

“Priceless.
What did you do with it?”

“The
newspapers have enough to bring Ballantrae down. And the Feds have it, too. They
were closing in anyway. The F.B.I. was at your pool party, taking pictures, and
followed us to Antigua. For a time, we were giving Brad and Angelina a run for
their money.”

“Do
you think they’d give me some for my album? For my grandchildren.”

“Then
there’s the Seattle police. They’re going to want Garza. The New York cops will
want Keitel. And they’ll all want you. They’ll look closely at all those
suspicious deaths of Josh’s sources.”

Alana
looked at him calmly.

“What
do you want me to do?”

“You
have to cut a deal. Your best bet is in Seattle. There’s a homicide cop there
with a one-track mind. He wants to settle accounts for Maria Brutti. He may be
able to get you immunity while we work out something with the Feds, if you can
convince him you didn’t know about what happened out there. You can probably
put a lot of bigwigs in jail. Some Federal prosecutor can make his bones on
your testimony. Might even offer witness protection. It will be a rough few
years, but you’ll be free, and alive. But you have to act fast.”

“And
where will you be?”

“Back
in New York, trying to forget I ever met you.”

She
smiled. No one ever forgot her.

“Somehow,
I can’t see myself running a hair salon in Iowa.”

She
tilted her head, looking up at him with doe eyes. She never looked more
beautiful.

“It
might not be quite that bad. You don’t have a choice.”

“And
if I say no? Do you ‘take me in’? I can lend you some handcuffs.”

“This
isn’t the movies, Alana. I can’t arrest you. But after Friday, everyone
connected to Victor Ballantrae will be radioactive. It may be weeks before
you’re arrested. But by then, you will have few options. Victor, Garza and
Keitel will cut their deals. You’ll be on your own.”

“You
may think you know them, Jake, but you don’t. They will cut no deals. And I won’t
betray them.”

“Honor
among thieves, Alana? They took a video to use against you. You don’t owe them
anything.”

“Office
politics. It was the right move for them. After all, I was acting irrationally.
I guess I still am. Love makes you do funny things, right Jake? It’s why I
avoided it so long. After all, they didn’t try to hurt you, physically. They
kept their part of the bargain, after a fashion. Of course, after your
performance at the Forge all bets are off. Garza and Keitel want you dead, in
the worst way. And they are experts in worst ways, as you know.”

“I’m
pretty good at taking care of myself. Besides, after Friday, they will have
other things on their minds.”

“Just
the same, don’t go back to your hotel. Stay here. They would never do anything
in my house. Maybe you can talk me into that Iowa hair salon.”

He
knew he couldn’t. She was going to run.

“Whatever
it is you’re planning, Alana, don’t do it. Turn yourself in. I’ll do everything
I can.”

She
put her drink on a table and leaned forward, searching his face.

“Darling,
come away with me. We can have a wonderful life. I have plenty of money. I’ll
do just about anything you want. But I’m not going into any fucking witness
protection program. This isn’t an episode of
The Sopranos
. If I
disappear, it will be to a beach somewhere, where it is warm, with a change of
hair color, a new name and half a dozen passports. We’ll leave many well-paid
lawyers behind to muddy the waters. In five years, everybody will forget about
us. Who knows, maybe we’ll slip back into the country as illegal immigrants.
Nobody ever finds them.”

“You
are whistling past the graveyard. What about the Shields family?”

“You
overestimate the power of the press, darling. Media properties go on the block
all the time, at bargain prices nowadays. Who knows who will own that company
in a few years? Maybe us.”

“And
the various mafias you’ve bilked? Not to mention the people they’ve lost. Do
you think they will forgive and forget?”

She
waved her hand dismissively.

“They
will be made whole financially. That’s all that matters to those people. We
shouldn’t have panicked. A wire transfer here, a wire transfer there, and it’s
done. It is being accomplished as we speak. Some other depositors, who are,
let’s say, less prone to violence will find their accounts bare, but that’s
what they get for evading banking laws. We will blame the recent disconnect in
the credit markets. There is nothing that anyone can do about it. In this
country if you steal a little money, especially if you are poor, they throw the
book at you. And if you steal in the billions, well, then even your moribund
regulators may be moved to action. But if you steal somewhere in between, like
us, then you stand a fair chance of getting away with it. As for Garza and
Keitel, they killed for years before we even knew them, and it didn’t seem to
bother anyone. They leave few tracks. The only one to catch on was Brutti, a
killer himself. I’m not particularly worried. You yourself said that it will be
weeks before the police will rouse themselves to action.”

There
was nothing more for Scarne to say. He realized that some of what she said was
an act, perhaps to make it easier for him to despise her. He stood up. She
didn’t meet his gaze. When she spoke it was as if he weren’t there.

“Just
go. Stay away from your hotel until tomorrow. Then, it won’t matter.”

***

Scarne
drove back to La Gorce and parked the car. He went back down to the lobby.
Mario came out of the concierge cubicle.

“Mr.
Scarne. I thought you were back when I saw the car gone. But I was getting
concerned, so I called Mr. Shields. They told me he died! I couldn’t believe
it. I spoke to a Miss Emma Shields and she said not to worry about the car
until I heard from her. She said if I saw you that you should call her.”

So
Emma was watching his back. He would make sure she got Josh’s files.

“Has
anyone been looking for me?”

“No.
Are you expecting someone?’

It
was unlikely Garza and Keitel would check the apartment after his breach with
the Shields family, but he gave Mario a description of the two killers anyway.

“If
you see either of them, let me know. And there is something else I want you to
do. I had to search the apartment pretty thoroughly.” He smiled at the
understatement. “Arrange a cleaning service, the industrial kind, to straighten
things up. You might also want your handyman to check it out. Here’s $500. Keep
$100 for yourself and if you need more bill my office.”

Scarne
gave Mario his business card.

“You
have been one of our more interesting guests, Mr. Scarne. I’ll miss you.”

When
Scarne got to the apartment, he took a shower and then remembered to call Noah
Sealth. He told the detective to expect the files.

“Alana
doesn’t want a deal. I think she’s going to run. Ballantrae and the boys, too.
Not much any of us can do about it in the short term.”

“They’re
not going to get far, Jake, and they have no long term.”

“What
are you talking about?”

“That’s
why I’ve been trying to reach you. Ballantrae overreached out here. The Brutti
thing struck a nerve with our mob bosses. They don’t mind occasionally whacking
each other but draw the line at outsiders bumping off locals, especially when
trying to set them against each other. Ballantrae accomplished the impossible.
He got these skels to work together. Their first joint project is him. One of
my informants told us Boyko promised old man Brutti he’d settle accounts for
all of them, personally. He’s heading to Miami.”

“He’s
already here, Noah. I saw him last night.”

Scarne
explained what happened at the Forge. As he did, he watched an Air France 747
turning in over the ocean on its descent into Miami International.

“Jesus.
I wish I could have seen that. What did Boyko do?”

“Nothing.
Just took it all in.”

“That’s
not a good sign. The calmer Andriy is, the worse things are sure to get. I
don’t know what he’s planning to do, or when, but based on past experience,
it’s going to be like Nagasaki. Ballantrae’s two homos aren’t the only ones
with imagination.”

“Alana
told me that they are going to pay off the Bruttis and Boyko.”

“Won’t
matter. That may just speed up things. This is personal. Ballantrae fucked with
the wrong people. She did, too. Don’t go anywhere near her.”

They
were silent for a moment. Finally, Sealth said, “Hey, don’t beat yourself up.
What happened last night doesn’t matter. It’s a done deal. Go home. Let the
Miami cops pick up the pieces.”

“You
want to countenance murder, Noah? Isn’t it your duty to warn them?”

“Don’t
fucking lecture me.” He sounded angry. “These scumbags have crapped all over my
town. If I could get them myself I would, but I have to go by the book, and
they’ll be long gone, one way or the other. You’re not exactly a hero in all
this, my friend.” Sealth relented. “Listen, I made a call. All I got was
Ballantrae lawyers and PR pukes. They clammed up, even though I told them they
had nothing to gain since they, and a couple thousand other Ballantrae
employees, were about to join the ranks of the unemployed. Loyal or afraid,
take your pick. I called the Miami cops, too. Said they would look into it.
Don’t hold your breath. Go ahead, give it a shot. Maybe you can convince the
woman, get her out of it, cause that’s what you want. You don’t give a shit
about the others. But Boyko probably wouldn’t mind a piece of your ass, now
that he knows you. If I was you, I’d go back to New York. She made her bed, and
you’re well out of it.”

CHAPTER
51 – TURKEY SHOOT

Scarne
tried to reach Alana at home. Answering machine. Left a message warning her.
Same with her cell phone. He got his jacket, checked his gun and pocketed extra
rounds and headed to the garage.

Her
front door was locked. He rang the bell and pounded on the door. He went around
back and tried the sliders to the kitchen. The house was dark. He picked up a
wrought iron chair from the patio and hurled it through the glass. An alarm
sounded. The house was deserted. He checked her bedroom. It bore signs of a
quick exit. As he drove away, he heard sirens approaching. He called her
office. Everyone was “away on business.”

Miami
was a big city. He’d never find her. Then he remembered her warning. He drove
to the Delano, and spotted Keitel lounging against a red Lamborghini parked out
front. Garza was behind the wheel. Every now and then Keitel walked into the
hotel. Often he came back with a cell phone glued to his ear, smiling at the
beautiful people pulling up in their exotic cars. Scarne wondered how long they
would wait before joining their bosses. He assumed they would all be leaving
together, wherever they were going. He had to assume that; it was his only
chance of finding Alana. He briefly thought about walking over to them and
telling them about Sealth’s tip. But once they had the information they’d
probably just shoot him many times, this stretch of town being one of the few
places on earth where you could be unobtrusive making a getaway in a
Lamborghini. And if he killed them, he’d never find her.

At 6
p.m. sharp Keitel came out of the hotel for the last time and climbed in the
car, which pulled away from the curb. Scarne followed them down Collins Avenue.
They left Miami Beach via the Venetian Causeway, which travels through six
small islands in Biscayne Bay on its way to Miami proper. Scarne had to be
careful not to get too close. Halfway across, he was startled by a sign that
read “Dildo Island,” until he realized that some wit had whited out the second
“I” in “Dilido.”

Once
off the causeway, Garza went south on US1. Scarne wondered if they were headed
to the Ballantrae office, but they soon cut over to I-395 and then to I-95
South and sped up. Scarne had to weave in and out of traffic going 80 to keep
them in sight but wasn’t worried about being spotted. On this stretch of I-95
maniacal driving was the norm. At one point, some lunatic passed both Garza and
Scarne at probably 110 miles an hour. Soon, however, all the southbound traffic
had to slow as I-95 merged into US1. Because of the traffic and lights, he
almost missed their turn toward Coral Gables. There were few cars in this
neighborhood, one of the richest in America. Scarne turned off his headlights,
hoping he wouldn’t plow into one of the massive ficus trees that defined the
area.

Garza
entered the grounds of the Biltmore Hotel and drove up through the famous
arched driveway and stopped at the entrance. Keitel got out, said something to
the valet, and walked inside. Garza pulled off to the side. Scarne drove past
the driveway and into a small lot that said, “Guest Self Parking.” He had a
clear view of the driveway exit. He got out and put the top down on the car.
There was nothing he could do about the vehicle’s color, but with convertibles
a dime a dozen in this part of Florida, he hoped the change in appearance would
help. After 10 minutes he decided to chance a closer look. Well screened by
trees and shrubs, he walked to the bottom of the driveway and was debating what
to do next when Garza came out of the hotel, followed by Alana and Ballantrae.
Just behind them were Boyko and his two thugs. Ballantrae was smiling, but
Alana looked tense. A large limousine pulled up to the group and Ballantrae
held the door for Alana, as the other men crowded around. She got in, and so
did the men. Scarne ran to his car and watched as the limo, followed by Garza
and Keitel, left the driveway and headed away. Soon the little convoy, with
Scarne bringing up the rear, was back on US1, once again heading south.

They
passed the huge University of Miami campus. The drive rapidly became boring,
with long stretches of car washes, auto shops, restaurants, check cashing
stores, strip malls, motels and gas stations. Scarne checked his fuel gauge.
Just over three-quarters full; plenty, unless they were headed for Cuba. The
traffic wasn’t bad. They had missed rush hour. They passed Kendall and
Homestead, with its huge Air Force Reserve base. Their destination was obvious:
The Florida Keys. It made sense to Scarne. There were small airstrips in the
Keys. And calm inlets for a float plane. They could fly out with less notice.
And there were plenty of places for a boat to meet them.

Whatever
their plans, Scarne was almost certain that not everyone would make – or finish
– the journey. He thought about calling the police. State troopers might stop
the cars on a tip of drugs or gun running, but that would only delay the
inevitable. He had no proof. He had to wait for the end game.

***

They
rolled past Florida City and headed into the Keys. They passed Key Largo. Bogie
wouldn’t have gotten in this jam, Scarne thought. The caravan kept on, past the
towns of Tavernier and Islamorada, then on to the academic-sounding Lignumvitae
Key. Traffic had thinned, as weekenders and vacationers peeled off to various
resorts and marinas. He smelled the salt water, the Gulf of Mexico on one side,
the Atlantic on the other. He lit a cigarette to help stay awake. The
distraction almost caused him to overtake the cars ahead, which were stopped at
an accident scene. He could see the flashing emergency lights. He jammed on his
brakes and heard a screech behind him. He waved an apology. Scarne knew he
would have to be more alert. It’s considered bad form to crack up your car
while tailing someone.

An
ambulance and several Florida Highway Patrol cars passed him going in the
opposite direction. Soon, he was on the move again, passing dozens of small
islands: Fiesta Key, Conch Key, Duck Key and Key Vaca. The town of Marathon was
next, a dusty strip of shopping plazas, gas stations and tourist traps. Before
he knew it, Scarne was on the Seven-Mile Bridge, with only three cars
separating him from his quarry.

A
few minutes later he saw their brake lights. They turned off into Big Pine Key.
Now they were the only three cars on a road, which got narrower and more
isolated. Scarne wondered if he should chance turning off his lights, but a
vision of his car shooting off the winding road into swamp deterred him.

***

In
the front seat of the lead car, Andriy Boyko spoke into his cell phone. A
closed glass partition separated him from Ballantrae and Alana in the back.

“Is
he still behind you?”

In
the second car, Christian Keitel looked in his rear mirror.

“Yes,
maybe a quarter mile back.”

“Amazing.”
There was respect in the Ukrainian’s voice. “But now it is time for the hare to
turn on the fox. There is a sharp bend just before the cutoff. You will have to
slow. If you go straight there is a road, but it has been blocked by a barrier
of logs. Just past the turn is the road to the dock, on the left. There is no
sign, but you can’t miss it. Pull in and you can go back and catch him when he
slows for the bend. Take him out there. Then meet us at the dock. I have
something else for you.”

“What
about his car?”

“Pull
it into the cutoff. Won’t be found for days. We’ll be long gone.”

Garza
and Keitel saw the log barrier and slowed for the sharp bend. Almost
immediately they saw the entrance to the small road on the left. As they pulled
in and stopped, they could see the taillights of Boyko’s car diminishing in the
distance. They got out and popped the trunk of their car. With practiced
precision, they pulled out two 12-gauge pump shotguns and fed large shells into
the magazines. Garza loaded with hollow point deer slugs; Keitel, heavy lead
buckshot. They were taking no chances. Running back to the road, they could see
the headlights of Scarne’s car, coming fast. He would have lost sight of their
taillights and probably was speeding up. With any luck, he’d plow right through
the bend into the logs. Then they could finish him off at their leisure.

They
positioned themselves on either side of the road just past the turn. Keitel,
with the buckshot, was closer to the bend on the right side of the road. He
could fire the first blast without endangering his partner with the pattern
spread. It would be a turkey shoot.

Now
they could hear Scarne’s car. Its headlights began to illuminate nearby trees
and brush. Garza thought he saw small pairs of eyes reflecting the beam. He
wondered what animals were about. Not that he cared. His slugs could stop a
car, let alone a raccoon. Scarne’s car was almost at the bend. Would he see the
turn and the log pile in time?

The
two killers heard a low whine from Scarne’s car as he downshifted coming into
the turn. He had seen the obstacle. But it wouldn’t matter. Keitel edged nearer
the turn, raising his shotgun and bracing it solidly against his shoulder. He
hadn’t used a 12-gauge in quite some time. It would have quite a kick. One
never got used to it. It might leave a bruise, he thought resignedly.

There
was a rustle in the undergrowth directly in front of him, and a small animal
broke cover and ran directly onto the road into Scarne’s path.

Both
gunmen heard the screech of brakes.

***

The
Key Deer is a miniature breed indigenous to South Florida. An endangered
species, the last wild herd of perhaps 300 individual animals lives only on Big
Pine Key and surrounding islands. Mature adults rarely top two feet at the shoulders
and weigh only 50 pounds.

The
frightened deer spooked by Keitel darted down the road right at Scarne, who
swerved and jammed on the brakes. The car slalomed through the turn, missing
the animal but finding the log pile, smashing into it broadside. Some of the
smaller logs at the top of the pile were dislodged by the impact and rolled
into the convertible.

The
car’s headlights were now pointing down the main road, into the ditch at its
side. Caught in the beams was a startled Garza, who began moving towards the
car, raising a shotgun to his shoulder. In the dusty haze on the other side of
the road, there was also movement. Keitel! Scarne had stopped 50 feet short of
their killing zone.

With
one motion, Scarne unbuckled his seat belt and flung open the driver’s side
door. But he didn’t go left. Instead he jumped onto the passenger’s seat and
vaulted over the log pile.

The
diversion worked. Garza, expecting Scarne to come out the driver’s side, pumped
out three quick booming shots. Two of the heavy slugs clanged into the door
with such force it almost closed. Keitel had a better angle as Scarne went over
the woodpile. He got off two shots, but at a greater distance than he had
wanted. The windshield exploded and some of the big double-0 pellets caught Scarne
in the lower legs as he dove over the pile.

But
his landing behind the pile did the real damage. He felt, and heard, the
sickening pop as he dislocated his left shoulder. He couldn’t suppress a moan.
Keitel also kept firing and Scarne heard glass shattering and metal-twanging.
This time Scarne moaned loudly, for effect, hoping they would assume his wounds
were serious, maybe fatal. But all that the fusillade accomplished was to knock
out three of the car’s tires and its headlights, plunging the area into blessed
darkness.

Scarne
drew his gun. He knew the odds weren’t good if he went up against the two
killers. The Bersa held seven rounds. He had put his extra magazines in the
center console for easy access, but it would be suicide to go back to the vehicle.
Keitel and Garza had pump shotguns. He had a pistol. The effective killing
distance of the respective weapons was about the same, but as Scarne knew from
the throbbing of his legs, his assailants didn’t need to be all that accurate.
If it wasn’t for the woodpile, Scarne would be dead with a hundred holes in
him. Safety for Scarne meant heading up the trail he was on, away from the
killers. They would be crazy to follow him. And they weren’t crazy. They were
pros. They would carefully check around the car and woodpile to see if they had
gotten him. They would listen for a while. But then they would go back to the
car they presumably parked a short distance up the main road.

Scarne
didn’t hesitate. He switched his gun into his almost-useless left hand. He
reached down with his right, picked up a small piece of wood and threw it to
his left. He was moving in the opposite direction before it even landed. When
it did he heard shots. He plunged into the swampy woodland, and was relieved to
find he could move almost silently. He was only a few yards from the road. He
holstered the Bersa and put his good arm out to ward off collision with trees.
It didn’t prevent branches from slashing his face, and he stumbled on roots. In
some places the water was up to his knees.

He
heard a shotgun boom. It was close, but no leaves rattled and no bark flew.
They were shooting at other sounds. There were animals about. But Garza and
Keitel would give that up soon, as pointless. It was so dark that Scarne
decided to take a chance. He cut to the road and looked back. He couldn’t see
the two men. Or even his car. Which meant they couldn’t see him. He broke into
a run, eyes down at the barely-visible road. He almost missed the small cutoff
where Keitel and Garza had left their car. It was parked about 20 feet in. He
tried the door. It was locked. He looked down the road. He thought he saw
light, and maybe a glint of water, perhaps 200 feet ahead.