When Darkness Falls (8 page)

Y ou seem distracted,” said Vince.

“No. I’m okay,” said Alicia. She flagged the cocktail waitress and signaled for another round of drinks.

It was almost eleven o’clock by the time Alicia had finished up at the medical examiner’s office, driven home to get ready, and picked up Vince at his place. Vince’s blindness had thrown a curveball into her routine. Selecting what to wear, putting on her makeup, blow-drying her hair-did any of those things that she would normally do really matter to him anymore? She wasn’t sure why, but even raising those questions in her mind made her feel guilty. She debated whether to talk it out with Vince but decided it was better to keep the conversation light. The band was quite good, and they listened to music at the bar for a half-hour. When a table became available, they went out to the sidewalk café, where they could hear each other talk. The cold front was still a factor, but the bar had outdoor space heaters to warm things up. It was a crisp, clear night, and the moon over the ocean was so large that you could actually see the shadows on the lunar surface. She wondered if she should tell Vince about it.

“You keep looking around when we’re talking,” he said.

She did a double take, wondering how he knew.

“I can hear it,” he said. “When you’re not speaking directly toward me, the voice projects differently.”

“Really? That’s amazing.”

“It’s a skill I’ve been working on. I get a little better at it every day. But we weren’t talking about me. Why are you looking around?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be doing that.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

“Are people looking at us?”

“Looking at us? No. Of course not.”

He paused, then smiled smugly. “This is awesome.”

“What is?”

“I’ve done most of my practicing on people I know only on a casual basis, but it works even better with people I know well.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My hearing. And my ability to tell when people aren’t telling the truth.”

She returned the smile, even though he couldn’t see it. “Okay, okay. We are being watched.”

“Happens every time I go out. People staring and saying, ‘Hey, who’s the lucky girl with that incredibly hot blind guy?’”

That drew a little laughter. The waitress brought them fresh drinks-white wine for Alicia, another Heineken for Vince. When the waitress was gone, Alicia said, “Actually, it’s my father who’s watching over us.”

“Is that so? Maybe my hearing isn’t as good as I thought it was. I completely missed the band’s spontaneous rendition of ‘Hail to the Chief.’”

“He’s not here, turkey. What I mean is that about half the City of Miami police force is within a three-block radius of me at all times. I can count three off-duty cops right now.”

“Your father’s concerned for you,” he said, taking on a more serious tone.

“That’s an understatement.”

“It’s only natural. Things have changed, now that we know your stalker is a killer.”

She thought back to the autopsy room. “It was absolutely brutal, what he did to that poor woman.”

“You could have called me to cancel tonight. I would have understood.”

“It’s good for me to get out. Even if we are being watched.”

“Pretty cushy job for those guys. I would imagine you’re still easy on the eyes.”

She didn’t know how to respond.

Vince said, “Have you changed much? Your appearance, I mean.”

“Well…no. Not really. It’s only been six months. I was upset when we split, but I didn’t get crazy and cut off all my hair or tattoo a ticking biological clock on my forehead.”

He drank from his beer glass and carefully placed it back on the coaster. “I’m starting to forget what people looked like.”

She looked at him-not with sympathy but intrigued. Vince had never been one to speak freely about his feelings, and it was a little disorienting to hear so much from his heart. He was different now, in so many ways. Not all of the changes were bad. Not bad at all. “I suppose that’s another skill you’ll develop with time. You’ll learn to reconstruct those images in your mind.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“It’s strange, really. My grandmother, who has been dead for over two decades, I can picture perfectly in my mind. But with my brother, who I see every week, it’s now almost impossible for me to attach a face to his voice.”

“What about your uncle Ricky?”

“Of course I remember the red hair and those blue eyes. But with the distinguishing lines of the face, it’s like everyone else. The best way to describe it is to imagine that there is a big photo album in my mind. If people are part of my past, they stay there forever, just as they were. But if I make them a part of my new life, their image fades. The more contact I have with them, the more they are defined by things that don’t depend on sight. For those folks, there will eventually be nothing left in the photo album but the shaded outline of where the picture used to be and a little label that tells me who it was.”

Again, she found herself struggling for a response. “There’s more to a person than just a face.”

“Thank God for that. Because the way things are now, a face is nothing.”

“I don’t think I agree with that.”

“It’s true. There are no expressions that I can pick up, no little nuances of an arched eyebrow or parted lips. No more talking without words. I try to direct my face toward yours when we’re having a conversation, but it’s simply a matter of projection. That’s all any face is now. Just a place where the voice comes from.”

Alicia gazed at him, wondering if he could sense it. She wanted to say the right thing, but words seemed inadequate. She hesitated, then followed her impulse. She reached across the table, took his hand, and held it in hers. Slowly, she drew it toward her and pressed it against her cheek. Even after she let go of his hand, he left it there, cradling the side of her face, taking in her warmth and softness.

A lump came to his throat, followed by a sad but appreciative little smile on his lips. “Well,” he said softly, “I can’t always be right.”

J ack had no idea where he was headed. The trick was not to let Falcon know that he was completely ad-libbing.

Theo shot him a nervous glance from the passenger seat. Jack kept driving. A gun to his head didn’t make it any easier to bluff his way through this treasure hunt. They were headed north on Biscayne Boulevard, away from the downtown area. On the left was the Freedom Tower, a distinctive Mediterranean revival-style high-rise where thousands of Cubans, including Jack’s mother, had been processed through immigration in the 1960s. Across the street was the basketball arena, with a five-story likeness of Shaquille O’Neil that almost qualified as life-sized.

“Watch your speed,” said Falcon. He obviously didn’t want to be pulled over by a patrol car. Jack slowed the car to thirty-five miles per hour.

For years, city planners had made much of the “Manhattanization” of Miami’s skyline, but its downtown area was still a far cry from the city that never sleeps. Beyond a handful of clubs and restaurants around the design district and Little Haiti, the stretch of Biscayne Boulevard north of the old Omni Hotel basically shut down by midnight, even on the weekend. Many of the storefronts were secured with roll-down metal shutters, and the homeless slept in doorways on cardboard mattresses. Cross-traffic was minimal, but that didn’t stop the traffic-planning geniuses from scheduling red lights for no apparent reason. Jack was thankful for any reason to stop; he still hadn’t figured out where he was taking Falcon. They were at the Twenty-first Street intersection, virtually on the doorstep of the famous “blue-tile building,” Miami’s first example of Cuban-inspired architecture that didn’t sport the classic Mediterranean look. Jack knew it only because it was Theo’s favorite building in Miami, though his taste had nothing to do with the fact that the building was blue and Cuban, or red and Russian, or green and Martian. It mattered only that it was the U.S. headquarters for Bacardi spirits.

“Probably a few hundred grand sitting around in there somewhere,” said Theo.

“No talking!” said Falcon.

The traffic light changed, and the journey continued. “How much farther?” said Falcon.

“Not too much,” said Jack.

“Where are we going?”

“The marina. It’s where I keep my boat.”

“That’s a lie. There’s a boat behind your house.”

Jack was caught, but a trial lawyer was nothing if not quick on his feet. “That’s my little boat. We need my really big boat to get to the Bahamas.”

“Is my money still in Nassau?”

“If I tell you, you’ll just shoot me and go by yourself.”

“Maybe I’ll just shoot you now.”

“And then you’ll never see your money.”

Falcon’s voice tightened. “Don’t tell me what I’ll see or won’t see.”

Theo said, “Dude, get a grip.”

“Shut up, both of you! I’m in control here.”

“Do you even know what control is?” said Theo.

Jack shot him a sidelong glance, as if to say, “Who asked you?”

The gun pulled away suddenly, but it returned with a vengeance. The metal butt landed in front of Jack’s ear, just below the temple. The blow stunned him. The car swerved, but Jack fought it off and quickly recovered. Falcon jabbed his gun at the side of Jack’s skull.

“Don’t tell me I’m not in control,” he said.

Jack felt blood oozing down the side of his face. He could hear the paranoia in Falcon’s voice, feel the desperation in the air. The situation was only getting worse, and he had to do something fast. Just ahead, the traffic light changed from green to amber. Jack noticed a squad car at the cross street, waiting for a green light. On impulse, Jack hit the gas, knowing that he couldn’t possibly make the light. The squad car was already in the intersection as Jack sailed past at nearly double the speed limit. Jack’s light could not have been redder.

Blue flashing lights swirled behind them as the squad car screeched onto the boulevard and gave chase.

“You did that on purpose!” said Falcon.

Jack heard a click behind his ear-the hammer cocking?

“Outrun him,” said Falcon. Jack didn’t react fast enough. Falcon pushed the gun even harder against his head. “Floor it, or I’ll kill you!”

Jack hit the accelerator, and the car lurched forward. The squad car was a half-block behind them and in hot pursuit, siren blaring. The engine growled, and the speedometer dipped beyond seventy miles per hour.

“Jack, spin it!” said Theo.

“Faster!” said Falcon.

“Spin it!”

Jack hit the brake and jerked the steering wheel hard left, then hard right, trying to pull one of those smooth sliding maneuvers that professional drivers do on television commercials. It wasn’t so easy. The car was skidding out of control as Theo lunged across the console. Jack felt the tip of the barrel slide across his head as Theo and Falcon struggled for the weapon. There was a deafening noise-it was like shooting off a cannon inside a cave-and the sunroof exploded. Pellets of shattered glass rained down all over them. The pain reached deep into Jack’s ears. Theo was shouting, and the tires were screeching like banshees, but it suddenly felt as if he were two hundred feet underwater-tons of pressure in the ears and no sound whatever. Then the ringing started, and with Theo and Falcon still going at each other, it was impossible for Jack to stop the car from careening across the boulevard. He wasn’t even sure who had the gun anymore.

“Theo!” Jack shouted, though he could barely hear his own voice.

Rubber burned against the pavement as the car cut across three lanes of oncoming traffic. Horns blasted, vehicles swerved out of the way, and the bright white beams from several pairs of headlamps shot in every direction. Jack’s car slammed into the curb, but the vehicle was going plenty fast to jump right over it. It was like a big speed bump on a NASCAR track. The car was airborne for an instant and came down hard on an asphalt parking lot. Jack managed to catch a glimpse of a neon sign that read VACANCY, as the car barreled into the Biscayne Motor Lodge. It scored a direct hit on room 102. All of the rooms had outdoor entrances that faced the parking lot, and the external walls were the flimsy, prefabricated aluminum-and-fiberglass packages typical of motor lodges-a door, a picture window, and a climate-control unit all in one piece. It was like driving into a one-car garage without bothering to open the garage door. Both the driver’s and passenger’s airbag exploded. The car leveled everything in its path, like a high-speed bulldozer, shoving lamps and dressers and two double beds against the back wall of the hotel room. The mountain of debris had acted like a giant cushion, not exactly a soft landing but better than crashing into a concrete pillar. The airbags had saved their lives.

It took a moment for Jack to regain his bearings and realize that they had indeed come to a complete stop. The room looked as if a bomb had detonated. It was almost completely dark, brightened only by the streetlights that shined through a gaping hole that was once the front of the hotel room. The ceiling had partially collapsed into a cloud of dust. Electrical wiring, twisted water pipes, broken furniture, chunks of drywall, and other debris were strewn everywhere. Jack refocused just in time to hear the squad car squealing into the parking lot. The blaring siren drowned out all sounds-except for the gunshots. Falcon was shooting at the cops as he crawled out of the car through the shattered rear window. Jack wasn’t sure if it was a different gun or the same one that Theo had tried to wrest away from him. The officers scrambled for cover and returned the fire. Jack ducked down in the front seat and told Theo to do the same.

There was another exchange of gunfire, and the nine-millimeter slugs fired by the police made a popping sound as they hit the interior walls of the demolished hotel room. The wrecked automobile was suddenly bathed in white light. The police had switched on the spotlight that was fastened to the squad car. Another shot rang out, and the light was history. Falcon had nailed it with one shot from a distance of at least a hundred feet. The police returned fire.

Theo quickly glanced at Jack, making just enough eye contact to convey the understandable fears of a man who had spent four years on death row for a crime he didn’t commit. They were sitting ducks in the car, and Theo’s expression said it all: No way was he going to hang around and hope that a pair of white cops would peg the big black guy for an innocent victim. Before Jack could even try to stop him, Theo was sliding through the shattered windshield, determined to find a better hiding spot while the spotlight was dead.

Another crack of gunshot drew Jack’s attention back to the parking lot. He saw an officer fall to the pavement. The other went to his aid. Another shot echoed from somewhere within the mountain of debris, and the second cop went down equally hard. Jack couldn’t see Falcon, but wherever he was-whoever he was-he was one crackerjack marksman.

The downed officers didn’t flinch, didn’t make a sound. Sirens blared in the distance, signaling that law-enforcement backup was on the way. Jack spotted a fast-moving shadow on the wall, on the opposite side of his car. It was Falcon. He was trying to escape, but he was on the wrong side of the car. There was too much clutter to get out that way, no way to reach the parking lot, unless he climbed over to the driver’s side.

“Run for it!” shouted Theo.

Jack sprang from his hiding spot behind the front seat and moved quickly over the mound of clutter. On the other side of the car was Falcon, but he had no apparent interest in Jack. His focus was on the only way out-a side door that, presumably, led to an adjoining room. With a single shot, he destroyed the lock. Jack heard him force the door open, and a woman screamed. Someone was in the adjacent room-the one Falcon had just entered.

“Theo!” Jack shouted, but he was too late.

Theo had heard it, too, and he was already up and over the car, chasing after Falcon, answering the woman’s scream.

Before tearing after him, Jack spotted a weapon on the ground, beside one of the fallen officers. He went for it.

“Freeze!” the other officer shouted. His left shoulder and neck were covered with blood. He was wobbling, unable to stand but trying to stay centered with his weight on one knee.

“I need your help,” said Jack. “My friend is-”

“I said freeze!”

“But listen to me, please.”

“Facedown, on the ground, now!”

The gun was aimed straight at Jack’s heart, giving him no choice but to comply. As he did, another scream emerged from somewhere behind the closed door of the motel room. A single gunshot followed-then silence. Jack lowered his forehead to the pavement and closed his eyes. The shattered searchlight and two wounded cops quickly flashed in his mind. Falcon had yet to miss a target all night.

And Theo Knight was one big target.