Metro Girl

  “Yes. At the mouth of the estuary, dead center.”

  “You’re not going to have great visibility. The blades are going to move the water and churn up sediment. Don’t waste time. Get down there and try to find the canister. Ryan’s going to take your headset and put you into some foolproof scuba gear. You’re going to have a flashlight on your wrist. Shine the light at us if you want to get pulled up, or just follow the cable to the surface. Once you get the canister secured we’ll bring you in. We’ll bring the canister up after we get you on board. There’s not a breath of wind today. This should be pretty easy.”

  Here’s the truth. I was beyond scared. I couldn’t believe I’d actually come up with this stupid idea. And I couldn’t believe I’d talked two other men into being accomplices. The phrase not thoroughly thought through came to mind.

  Chuck looked over at me. “Are you breathing?”

  “No.”

  “You’re going to have to remember to breathe. It’s hard to pull someone in when they’re dead weight.”

  We were directly over the stream, slightly above treetops. I looked down and caught a glimpse of the canister in the swirling water.

  Chuck was smiling. “I see it,” he said. “Piece of cake. Go back with Ryan, and he’ll suit you up.”

  I crawled back and Ryan sat me on the floor and started walking me through the equipment.

  “This is a no-brainer,” he said. “Try to enjoy yourself. It’s not every day you get a chance to swing from a helicopter.”

  I did an inadvertent whimper.

  Ryan was grinning. “You’re going to be great,” he said. “I’m going to take your headset off now, and replace it with a full face mask. All you have to do is remember to breathe. When I get the mask on, you’re going to scoot over to the door. You’ll feel me holding you. Don’t worry about anything. I’m going to take good care of you. Stay as still as possible while you’re dropping. Look down so you know when you get to the water. Keep concentrating on the water and stay focused on your goal.” And then he took the headset and fixed the mask over my face. I felt his hand at my back, and I knew I was supposed to scoot to the door, but I was paralyzed. My heart was pounding so hard it was shaking my whole body. I turned and grabbed hold of Ryan’s shirt with both hands. We’re talking genuine death grip, my fingers curled into the fabric, possibly drawing blood. I was shaking my head no, no, no, and I was babbling gibberish into the mask.

  Ryan tapped a finger on the visor to get my attention. He pried my fingers loose from his shirt, and he eased me over in a crab-walk to the open doorway. And then somehow, I was dangling from the cable, slowly dropping to the water.

  I have a dim memory of screaming. My screams getting lost in the whoosh of air in my mask and the beat of the chopper blades. I was swinging under the chopper, and I was choking on a fresh wave of panic. I tried to conjure up Hooker naked, but I was way beyond that as a mental health aid. Water was whipping up from the chopper’s downdraft and spraying onto my mask. My mind was scrambling. I didn’t realize at first that my feet were splashing in water. Ryan was holding me at stream level, waiting for me to get calm and give him the signal to drop me farther.

  I started an internal dialogue. Okay, Barney, it’s up to you now. Get it together so you don’t screw up when you’re underwater. Remember to breathe. Focus. Do the job.

  I waved at Ryan, and he started letting out more cable. I was in water up to my knees, my waist, my chest, and then the water was over my head. More panic. Push it away, I thought. Trust Ryan. Get the job done. I realized I was breathing underwater and the panic became manageable.

  The water was murky. I flashed my wrist light around, but I didn’t see the canister. I was disoriented, and I was reluctant to move from my drop point. And then I saw a slim, fluorescent green laser beam cut through the water in front of me. Ryan could see the canister from the air and was trying to guide me. I followed the beam, and I found the canister. It had only been about ten feet away. I attached the collar and made sure it was secure. Then I flashed my light at Ryan, and he pulled me up.

  This time the trip was exhilarating. The fear was gone. Or maybe I’d learned to enjoy the fear. At any rate, I was smiling when Ryan pulled me through the door and removed my mask.

  “I did it,” I said. “I did it!”

  Ryan was grinning, too, “You were amazing!” he yelled.

  I took my seat and watched as Ryan raised the canister from the water. Six million lethal doses of SovarK2 swinging below me. I closed my eyes for a moment, and my hand reflexively went to my heart. I didn’t know all the mechanical details, but I suspected it wouldn’t be good if the canister dropped from this height. Ryan got the canister to the door and hauled it in. His expression turned sober when he saw the markings. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to figure this was some sort of bomb. He secured the canister in the back of the cargo area without comment. Before Ryan was even back in his seat, Chuck lifted the chopper, our eyes held for a moment, and then he angled off, and we were over open ocean, on our way to Key West.

  I rented a car and drove it across the runway to the helicopter where Chuck and Ryan were waiting. They were sitting in the open door, feet dangling, guarding the canister. I could see the bulk of a gun on Chuck’s hip, under his orange-and-purple flowered shirt.

  “Do you always carry a gun?” I asked, getting out of the car.

  “Need it for gators,” Chuck said.

  They transferred the canister to the trunk of the rental and took a step back.

  “Be careful,” Chuck said.

  I gave them both a hug, got into the car, and left the airport behind. I took South Roosevelt Boulevard to Route 1 and began my trek through the Keys. I checked my rearview mirror from time to time to make sure I wasn’t being followed. I kept the radio silent so I could listen for a helicopter. I was pretty sure I was a couple steps ahead of Salzar and Slick and Gimpy, but I was being careful.

  I hadn’t heard from Hooker. No messages on my cell. No missed calls. That wasn’t good. It meant Bill and Hooker were still being held captive… or worse. The sadness took over my heart and radiated out into every part of me. Not an emotion I wanted to embrace. Better to channel my emotional energy in more positive directions, I thought. Stay alert. Get the job done. That was my mantra. Get the job done.

  The job was simple to articulate. Not so simple to complete. Rescue Bill and Hooker and Maria without letting the canister fall into the hands of the bad guys. And that meant I had to make sure the good guys weren’t bad guys.

  The sun was low in the sky when I reached Key Largo. I’d felt especially vulnerable in the Keys. One road in and one road out didn’t leave a lot of escape routes. Scary when traveling with a much-sought-after warhead in the trunk. I drove onto the last bridge and was relieved to be back on the mainland.

  I was still wearing the same clothes I’d worn diving, and I was anxious to get out of them. When I approached Homestead I made a fast stop at a Wal-Mart and got a complete new outfit, including sneakers. I got a bag of food at the snack bar. And I got a charger for my cell phone.

  I didn’t have much direction, other than north to Miami. I needed a place to spend the night (or at least to take a shower), and I thought I would be safer in Homestead than I was in Miami. I took the first motel that popped up. It was an affordable chain. I paid cash, and I gave a fake name. If you’re going to be paranoid, go all the way. The canister was in the trunk of the rental car, in the parking lot. I couldn’t do much about that.

  I took a shower and dressed in the clean clothes. I flipped the television on and dug into the food.

  My cell phone rang. It was Rosa.

  “I just got off the phone,” Rosa said. “I got another list of Salzar’s properties, but there’s only one property on it that’s north of the Orange Bowl. It’s not a good neighborhood.”

  I got the address from Rosa and told her I’d get back to her. I scrounged in my purse and came up with Slick’s cell phone
number.

  “Yeah?” he answered.

  “It’s Devil Woman.”

  There was a moment’s pause. I’d caught him by surprise.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “The Fandango.”

  “No you’re not. You never checked in.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Coral Gables.”

  They were probably back to following Salzar. Salzar lived in Coral Gables.

  “Do you know anything about Bill and Hooker?” I asked.

  “Haven’t seen them.”

  “I know where they are.”

  Okay, so this was sort of an exaggeration. I knew where they might be located. The thing is, I needed to get Slick’s attention.

  “And?” Slick asked.

  “And I want you to go get them.”

  “Have you planned out any of the details of this rescue?”

  “I figured that was your arena.”

  “I’m not much of a break-down-doors, shoot’em-up agent. I’m more of a sneaky, listen-at-doors agent.”

  Easy to believe from what I’d seen. “Look, I don’t care how you do it,” I said. “Bring in the Marines, for crying out loud. Just do it.”

  “All right, here’s the truth. It would screw up everything. I’m after Salzar, and I’m not going to tip my hand by staging a Waco to rescue your brother.”

  “Here’s my truth. I’ve got the bomb, and I’m going to FedEx it to Cuba if you don’t help me.”

  Silence. “I don’t believe you’ve got the bomb,” Slick finally said.

  “I’ll phone you a picture tomorrow morning. You have a picture phone, right? In the meantime you should be thinking about a rescue operation.” And I disconnected.

  Then just for the hell of it, I dialed Hooker’s cell phone and let it ring until his message service came on. I finished the food and watched more television. I slept in my clothes, waking every couple hours with a start. At five o’clock I gave up on the sleep thing and checked out. It was still dark, and the lot was eerie, lit by overhead halogens spooked up by fog. I checked the trunk for the bomb and took off. I thought I was probably less than an hour from Miami. My timing was good. I’d be able to check out the address Rosa gave me just as it was getting light.

  The closer I got to the address, the more depressed I became. Houses were squalid cinder block cells. Windows were barred. Exterior walls were covered with gang graffiti. Trash collected against buildings and on roadsides. There were no lush gardens. No rows of palms. The yards surrounding the stucco bungalows were barren, the dirt hard packed and cracked from sun exposure.

  The address Rosa had given me was actually an entire block of condemned houses. They were little stucco bungalows in varying degrees of decay. Windows and doors were secured with hammered-on boards to keep squatters and users out. One of the houses had been gutted by fire. The roof was collapsed into the house and the stucco was stained with soot. A few pieces of charred furniture—a couch and two chairs—were left in the small front yard.

  And one of the houses had a car in the driveway. The windows were boarded shut on the house, but the boards on the door had been removed and tossed on the ground.

  I drove by the house twice, and I swear I could feel Hooker’s heart beating inside. There were no other cars on the street. No one rattling off to work. No one parked at the curb. The structures on the opposite side of the street had already been razed. Nothing left but concrete slab foundations and an occasional piece of pipe that had escaped the demo.

  Because there were no houses obstructing my view I was able to park a block away and watch the occupied bungalow. I had my doors locked, and I was hunkered down in my seat, trying to be invisible. I was wearing a new plain black ball cap with my hair tucked up, a black T-shirt, jeans, and black-and-white Converse sneakers. Not especially cool in the Miami heat, but it was unisex and practical.

  There were a few other cars parked at the curb and in driveways. Mostly junker pickups and rusted-out muscle cars. The rental didn’t totally fit, but it wasn’t glaringly conspicuous either.

  At precisely seven o’clock, a silver Camry rolled down the street and parked in front of the occupied house. Two guys got out and walked to the front door. The door opened, and the guys went in. Five minutes later, two different guys came out. One of the guys was carrying a black plastic garbage bag. He put the bag into the trunk of the Nissan Maxima in the driveway, both guys got into the Nissan, and took off.

  Shift change.

  Okay, I was excited. I was pretty sure I’d found Hooker and Bill. And I was pretty sure they were being guarded by two guys. I followed the Maxima out of the neighborhood and dropped back when they pulled into a restaurant parking lot. They drove to the back of the lot, the one guy got out, took the bag from the trunk, and left it sitting by the Dumpster. I continued following them when they left the lot, and I lost them when they turned south on Seventeenth Street. They were heading for Little Havana, and I didn’t want to go there.

  I returned to the abandoned house and cruised by very slowly, taking it all in. Then I went back to the restaurant parking lot and parked by the Dumpster. Call me crazy. I wanted to see what they were throwing away. Who knows, right?

  I pawed through the bag and found a bunch of large plastic soda bottles and cardboard pizza boxes. I looked at the top of the box. Pizza Time. It was one of those chains that advertise on-time delivery or no charge. The orders were taped to all the box tops. These guys were living on pizza and soda. And it was being delivered. I went through all the boxes. The day shift ordered a large pizza with green pepper, sausage, onions, extra cheese. They got a big bottle of Dr Pepper with the pizza. Yesterday the order went in at noon and again at five. The night shift ordered pizza at ten. Large pie. Plain. Large bottle of Sprite.

  I took one of the day shift boxes and headed out of the lot.

  I went east, looking for a safe place to call Slick. I found a spot I liked on North River Drive. It was a church with an empty parking lot. The lot was large and only partially visible from the road. I pulled in, parked in a far corner and placed the call.

  Slick’s cell rang five times before he answered. “Unh,” he said.

  “Are you awake?”

  “Barely.”

  “I have something to show you.”

  “I’m hoping it’s you with your clothes off.”

  “Not nearly.”

  He blew out a sigh. “Okay, let’s see it.”

  I got out of the car, went around to the rear, and opened the trunk. I’d angled the car to get as much early-morning light as possible into the open trunk. I aimed the phone at the bomb.

  “Fuck,” Slick said.

  I closed the trunk and got back into the car. “I know where they’ve got Bill and Hooker,” I said to Slick. “I want you to go get them.”

  “Okay, but you have to transfer the item over to me first.”

  “Can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “You think I’d go back on my word?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Boy, that hurts.”

  “Here’s the thing,” I said. “I’m not all that patriotic. What I really want is to get the two guys I care about someplace safe. So if you won’t help me, I’ll deal directly with Salzar.”

  This was a flat-out lie. I trusted Salzar less than I trusted Slick. And I had no intention of handing a deadly chemical bomb over to possible terrorists.

  “Gonna call your bluff on that, Barney,” Slick said.

  “You’re not going to help me?”

  “I am helping you. I just can’t do it your way. You need a little patience here. And you really need to turn that item over to me. And I’m also assuming you have the gold?”

  I disconnected, immediately left the lot, crossed over the Miami River, and drove west. I didn’t think there was much showing in the photo other than the trunk and the bomb, but I wasn’t risking getting caught becau
se Slick identified a corner of the church.

  I found a small bakery parking lot off Seventh and hid between two other cars. I ran into the bakery and got a bag of doughnuts and a large coffee. I ate a doughnut, drank some coffee, and called Judey.

  “I think I found Bill and Hooker,” I told Judey. “I’m pretty sure they’re being held in one of those condemned houses in Northwest. I checked it out this morning, and it looks like they’re being guarded by two guys. I can’t see in the house at all because it’s all boarded up, but two guys went in at seven and two guys came out and drove away.”

  “Let me guess…you want to rescue Bill and Hooker?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m in. Do you have a plan? Are we gonna do a SWAT thing and kick some ass? What do you need?”

  Good thing I watch a lot of television. If it wasn’t for television I wouldn’t have any ideas at all. Sometimes I worried that I didn’t have a single thought in my head that wasn’t already a cliché.

  It was almost noon, and I was sitting in a Pizza Time parking lot. Judey and Brian were with me. Judey was holding a small vial. Brian was in attack-dog mode, alert at the back window.

  “It would have been much easier if you’d wanted an erection extender,” Judey said. “Everyone’s got that. Fortunately, I happen to know a pharmacist who works out of the trunk of his car. Of course he works at night, so I had to wake him up, but I got just what we need. And he gave me instructions on use. Five drops per piece of pizza will render the diner unconscious in less than five minutes and have him sleeping for over an hour. It’s the date rape drug of choice when you’re in a hurry.”

  I dialed the Pizza Time number off the box top I’d gotten out of the Dumpster. “I want to check on a pizza order,” I said. “It’s going to 9118 NW Seaboard.”