Fistful of Benjamins (18 page)

I
disconnect. Turning, I look back at Malena's twisted body. I don't want to leave her like this. It doesn't seem right. I walk over to her and gently rearrange her so that she looks like she's sleeping. Guilt twists in my gut, but the sirens draw closer.

I got to get out of here
.

The sirens grow louder. My survival instinct kicks in and I scramble to get the rest of my belongings into the duffel bag. Seconds later, I snatch Malena's car keys off a hook in the foyer and then take off out of the front door. The moment I rev up the engine, a line of house lights turns on across the street.
The neighbors.

I jet out of the driveway and peel off. Briefly, blue and white lights flash in my rearview mirror as a police car corners onto the street. Without missing a beat, I slam my foot onto the accelerator and speed out of the housing complex like a bat out of hell.

Unfortunately, I don't get too far before I blow past another cop car hiding in the median. I groan at the sound of the siren and the flashing lights.

I make a sharp right. My back tires drift, forcing me to course-correct. Seconds later, the police follow suit, swinging wide and swiping other vehicles. However, they stay in pursuit.

“Shit.” I floor the accelerator and weave between slower motorists. I fly through two lights. Horns and tires squeal as cars swerve to avoid T-boning me. I make it through.

The chasing cop cars aren't so lucky.

Crash! Boom! Crash!
!

I glance up into the rearview mirror and see a growing car pile.

My cell phone rings.

“Where are you?” Amalia demands.

I search for street signs but can't find one. “I don't know.”

“How far are you from the Aerosaab?”

I frown. “I have no idea. What is that?”

“It's a private landing strip three miles east of the hospital. Do you think that you can get there?”

“Uh, yeah. I think I can find it.”

“All right. I'll meet you there. We got to get you out of town.”

“And go where?” The problem with running from trouble with amnesia is that I have no idea where is a safe place to hide.

“I have a friend who can fly us across the way to Cozumel.”

“Cozumel? Why there?”

“You got a better idea?”

I wish I did. I don't like the idea of putting my fate in someone else's hands—but what choice do I have?

“Well? I'm waiting,” Amalia says. “I'm trying to help. I can hang up and wash my hands of this, if you want.”

“No. No. It's not that,” I huff over the line. “I'm thinking.”

“Well, think a little faster. I have a guy flying out in the next twenty minutes. He's not going to wait.”

“Fuck it. All right. I'll meet you at the airport.” I disconnect the call and toss the phone back into my bag. I scan the rearview for signs of police. They're nowhere in sight.

I remain jumpy throughout my race to the airport. True to her word, Amalia, dressed head to toe in black, is pacing near a blue Toyota Camry.

“There's our ride,” Amalia says, pointing to a small plane on the landing strip.

“
That
thing?”

“What? You don't have a fear of flying, do you?”

“No.” I think it over. “At least I don't think so.”

She pats me on the back. “Don't worry. You'll be all right.”

“Always cutting it close,” the pilot says, greeting Amalia with a friendly hug.

“But I always come through,” she boasts.

“That you do.” He turns his attention to me. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks.” I accept the man's hand, but I'm put off when he doesn't release my grip.

“I'm sorry,” the pilot says. “Do I know you?”

I tense. “I don't know. Do you?”

Amalia jumps in. “Marcus, we better get going. That is if you're going to stick to your precious schedule.”

The pilot nods, but is still slow to release my hand. “I'm usually pretty good with faces.”

“I wish I could say the same thing,” I counter with a touch of humor.

Amalia laughs. She then takes me me by the hand and leads me up the plane's boarding stairs.

I buckle myself in even though my long legs make me feel like a giant crammed into a matchbox. When the pilot climbed on board, our eyes met again. The way he's eyeballing me, I'm not sure if I want him to be able to place my face. Within minutes, we are in the air. God only knows what's waiting for me in Cozumel.

“W
elcome to Cozumel,” Marcus announces.

Given the late hour, we can barely make out much of anything, but I have a rental car arranged to pick us up when we land.

“Where to now?” Julian asks, climbing into the passenger seat.

“Right now we need to find somewhere to crash so that you can figure out what you're going to do.”

“How do I do that when I still don't know who I am? Did your contact at the department call you yet?”

“Uhm—no. Not yet.”

He frowns. “Then how did you know that I needed to get out of town?”

Fuck.
“Look. I have eyes and ears everywhere. You're paying me to be on top of things, right?”

He doesn't answer. He stares at me like he knows I'm lying through my teeth.

“Anyway. We can talk about everything tomorrow. Right now we need a good night's rest and then we can put our heads together in the morning. Deal?”

He doesn't answer. Instead, his black gaze burns into me. This twenty-five-million dollar man is dangerous and I'm playing with fire.

“Are you going to say anything?” I ask.

“There's not really too much to say now, is there?” He turns and looks out the window.

Relieved, I exhale. There is a small chance that this whole amnesia thing is a crock and I should be more scared of him than of Rosales.

“This place looks familiar,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

He twists around in his seat and then scans the street. “There's a shopping plaza up at the corner,” he announces.

Sure enough, Cinco Soles shopping plaza comes into view.

Then he starts naming Tequila bars and clothing stores before we reach them.

“I've been here before,” he says excitedly.

“Apparently.”

Then Casita de Maya comes into view and his color drains. “There. Pull into that hotel.”

I glance up. “Where? There? Casita de Maya?”

“Yeah, there. I think I've been here before, too.”

You got to be kidding me. Do you know how much a place like this costs?”

“Pull over,” he insists. “Now, goddamn it.”

“All right. All right. I'm pulling over.”

I pull into the lot, bypasses the valet and park in the parking deck.

“There's something I got to tell you,” Julian says. “It's about Malena.”

I sigh. “Can it wait? I really need a hot shower and some shut-eye before I deal with anything else tonight. How about we talk at breakfast?”

“She's dead.”

I stare at him, not sure that I heard him right. “What do you mean—
dead?
”

“We had a break-in tonight. That muthafucka from Club Fuego came to finish the job. Malena took a bullet to the chest.”

“And the guy?”

“A knife through the neck.”

I stare at him. I don't know what to say.

“You still want to help me?”

I don't know what to do now.
“Yeah.”

His eyes narrow. “Why?”

I blink. “W—why? What do you mean?”

“Do you normally make a habit out of helping murderers?”

“Murderer?”

“I've now killed my second person in three months.”

“So what are you saying? You don't want my help?”

His stare unnerves me. “Why don't we get some rest,” I say, feeling sweat beading on the back of my neck. “Sleep on it and we'll talk in the morning.”

Finally, he nods. “All right.” He climbs out of the car.

Swallowing the knot in my throat, I climb out of the car, too. Together we walked into the hotel in silence. Because of the late hour there is only a handful of people milling about the hotel lobby.

“I've definitely been here before,” he continues, whispering under his breath. He makes a three-hundred-sixty degree turn, taking in his surroundings.

“Really?” I walk back to him, studying him. “What else do you remember?”

He shakes his head as if willing his brain to give him something—anything. “
She
was here.”

I frown. “Who is
she
?”

He looks at me, hesitates. “Nobody. Forget it.” He takes a step and I stop him. “Is your memory coming back?”

“No. Not exactly.”

I cross my arms. “Look. I've put myself out on a limb for you. There's got to be some level of trust.”

“Humph. Trust.” He impales me with another black stare. “I suspect that trust and truth go hand in hand. I don't think you're being too truthful with me tonight.”

Oh shit.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”

He nods and heads toward the receptionist. “We need two rooms,” he tells her.

The young woman grins at him. “Yes, sir. Let me see what we have.”

As she searches her computer, I steal glances at him, weighing his mood. But he's a hard read.

The receptionist asks a series of questions before checking us in as Mr. and Mrs. Tony Montana.

“What are you, a Scarface fan?” I ask.

He looks genuinely confused.

“It's a famous gangster movie,” I tell him.

“Oh. No. The name . . . came to me.”

I nod, not sure whether I believe him.

He hands over cash for the rooms.

The receptionist smiles. “Okay. Here are your keys. Rooms eight-twelve and eight-thirteen.” She hands us the room keys. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you.” We ride up to our floor in silence.

“See you in the morning,” he says, sliding his card key into the lock.

“Night.” I enter my room and quickly close the door.

I wait a full minute and then head straight for the phone. So far, so good. I dig through my jeans pocket and retrieve the reward leaflet that I lifted from Angel. “Twenty-five million dollars,” I whisper. With this kind of money, I can settle all of Emilio's debts and live the rest of my life without worrying about money.

I glance at the number printed at the bottom and weigh my options. After another minute, I pick up the phone and dial.

I
shut off the shower and step out into a stream-filled bathroom. Though I'm more relaxed, my body still aches from the number of body blows that Salazar dude dealt me.

“Where is Cataleyna?”
Salazar's repeated question loops in my head.

The woman in red flashes in my head again.

I grab the hotel robe from the back of the bathroom door and march out into the room. From my duffel bag, I pull out the woman's picture I lifted off Salazar. The woman isn't dolled up like the image in my head. She's still gorgeous with minimal makeup and her hair billowing in the wind. She looks like the kind of girl that a man could take home to meet the parents. The kind of woman a man would love to make beautiful babies with. I smile, liking that idea. Before long I'm running my finger along the side of her face in the photograph. This woman meant something to me. She's important. A wife? A girlfriend? A lover?

Guilt crushes me. How can I not remember her? I lay down, staring at the photo. At least now it makes sense why I've never been able to feel anything for Malena. My heart belongs to someone else.

“Where are you?” I whisper, but as soon as I ask the question, I sense that something horrible has happened to her.

I need a drink. Badly
.

I abandon sleep and get dressed. With any luck the hotel bar is still open. In the hallway, I stop in front of Amalia's room. Maybe I should invite her down. After a few knocks and no answer, I assume that she's crashed for the night.

It's 3:00 a.m. and the bar is still open. I count six patrons spread out in the place as I walk up to the main bar. A grinning bartender with a brass nametag that reads Jimmy approaches as soon as my ass lands on the stool. “Ahh. Welcome back! I wondered what happened to you!” He frowns. “What happened to you? Did you get into a fight with a burning Mack truck?”

I blink. “I know you?”

The bartender laughs. “Who can forget Tony Montana?”

My smile withers. “Montana?”

“Hey. I don't ask too many questions. I just try to remember all the good tippers.”

“I need a drink.”

“Your usual?”

I have a usual?
“Sure. Why not?”

“One Manhattan coming up.”

“Thanks,” I say, once the drink is delivered. One sip and a warm familiarity washes over me.

“Good?” Jimmy asks, puffing out his chest.

“Perfect.” I sit the glass down. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Sure. Shoot.”

“How often would you say that I used to come in here?”

“Well . . . it's been a while . . .” He seems to start counting in his head. “I'd say it's been what—nine, ten months?”

I have no idea. “Something like that. And how often would you say I'd come here?”

The bartender slaps his drying towel over his shoulder. “It's hard to say—I only worked part-time back then, but if I had to put money on it, I'd say you came around here maybe twice a week. Why?”

I sigh. The last thing I want to do is rehash my memory problem. “It's a long story.”

“Aren't they all?” He laughs.

I drain my drink. “Hit me again.”

“You got it.”

When Jimmy disappears again, I wonder how I can get more information from the guy without seeming like some wacko.

My second drink is delivered.

“Bottoms up,” Jimmy grins.

“Thanks.”

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Jimmy asks.

Oh, great.
“All right.”

“How did it go with you and the girl?” he asks, grinning.

My heart stops. “The girl?”

“The last time you were here you were . . . juiced, if you don't mind me saying so, and were going on and on about some woman that you couldn't get out of your system. Said that you were ready to make your move. I figured that you were finally about to pop the question.”

I was going to ask her to marry me.
I smile.

“Ahh. It went
that
well, huh?” The bartender knocks on the counter. “Tell you what, the next drink is on the house.”

“Thanks.” At least I have another piece of the puzzle. I remove the picture from my front pocket and stare at it.

Fiancée
? For some reason that feels right.

“Is that the lucky woman?” Jimmy asks, peering down. “May I?”

Proud of the beauty's identity, I hand over the picture. The bartender shocks me again.

“Wait. I know her.” Jimmy looks up at me. “Cataleyna Rosales is
your
fiancée?”