Stuff to Die For (9 page)

“Vic? Oh, my God.”

“You remember him?”

“I went out with him. We dated. His dad wasn’t—I don’t remember. Maybe he’d left his first wife by then. I don’t remember anything about his father, but Vic Maitlin was the first—oh, my God.”

She let it hang. I knew they’d gone out before Em and I had started our off-and-on dating.

“It gets worse.”

“How? How could it possibly get worse? How?”

“Trust me. Since there are a limited number of people who know that this finger was sent to Fuentes—”

She held up her right hand. “One, Vic Maitlin. Two, the person who cut it off.” She held up her third finger. “Three, you. Four James. And five, Rick Fuentes.”

“Seven.” I was the business major, math was my strong suit.

“Seven?”

“Seven that we know of. You. And Fuentes’s girlfriend, this little nineteen-year-old blond.”

“Un-fucking believable.” I’d never heard her use that word in my life. “And it gets worse?”

“Fuentes asked us to find Vic.”

“You said no.”

“Actually,” I gave James a nod.

“Actually, I said yes.”

“Are you crazy? Have you completely lost your minds?”

“He’s paying us $5,000. And he claims to know where Vic is. He just wants confirmation.

“You are crazy. You’re both idiots. I simply gave you a lead for a little job and you’ve got yourself involved in a what? An international incident? Dismemberment? You’re nuts. I don’t even know you.” She glared at me, bending down, and picking up shards of green bottle.

I leaned over and helped.

“Here.” She held up her finger, a thin line of blood running down her hand. “Now I’ve cut my—” She stared at the blood then walked into the condo leaving James and me in the warm Miami night.

We finished picking up the pieces.

“Are you happy with all the advice she’s given you so far?”

“Fuck you. How would you expect her to react? I’d rather have her know than not. I don’t think Emily is someone I want on my bad side.” A ship horn sounded and echoed over the bay.

“I’ve always been on her bad side.”

She walked back onto the balcony, a Band-Aid on her finger. Stepping to the railing, she looked out at the water. Lights glimmered as far as you could see.

“You know where Vic is?”

“We know where his father thinks he is. All we’re supposed to do is sit outside and see if there is any sign of him. In twenty-four hours we report back to Fuentes.”

“It doesn’t sound difficult, not even particularly dangerous.”

James smiled at me. “And I didn’t think that sounded like bad work for five grand.”

“But we are talking about people who cut off fingers and threaten lives. I am still amazed that you guys could get in so much trouble in such a short amount of time.”

We both stared at the tile floor, watching the beer settle into the discolored grout.

“Tomorrow is Sunday.” She never looked at us but kept staring out at the water. “I don’t work, Skip doesn’t work, what about you, James?”

“No Cap’n Crab tomorrow.”

“All right. What if the three of us keep an eye on this place tonight and tomorrow. We can use my car and your truck and alternate. We’ve got our cell phones if one of us sees anything, and we’ll call Fuentes either way.”

James let out a deep breath. “I’m surprised. I actually think that’s a good idea. We can go over there now, and a couple of us sleep while one watches the property. I knew this was going to work.”

Em turned around and gave James a hard look. “I didn’t take a cut on your hauling job. You guys worked hard for that.”

“Thanks. We appreciate that.” James smiled at her.

She didn’t return the smile. “I’m taking a third of this.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
HE AREA KNOWN AS LITTLE HAVANA isn’t too far from Em’s condo. The address Fuentes had given us was just a couple of blocks from American Airlines Arena, the sprawling building where the Miami Heat play. It’s almost forty concrete steps up to the entrance of the arena, and once you get inside you can climb twice that many steps and stand at the top for ten bucks. With a pair of binoculars you can almost make out the game.

Next door, in the shadow of the old stone Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, is Bicentennial Park, an overgrown brick terrace that leads down to what once had been a fountain. A handful of anemic palm trees surround the pitted, broken bricks that line the once proud structure, and flattened cardboard boxes litter the ground where a homeless community spends its nights. It’s not a safe area.

Passing the park, Em took a right and two lefts. I was surprised when she pulled up to the structure. It looked like an office building. All Fuentes had given us was an address, and we’d figured it was a house. You’d keep a hostage in a house. This was no house. Two stories, stucco and brick with a gray steel door and two lower story windows that appeared to be painted black. The upper windows had curtains or drapes drawn across them and there was no sign of any light. A small, paved parking lot ran alongside the building connecting it to a closed restaurant. Castero and Sons. I suddenly realized how hungry I was. James used to make a pork sandwich, with tomato and his own anchovy mayonnaise between two pieces of thick, buttered, and grilled Cuban bread. I could have eaten one of those right now.

Two late-model Chevys were parked in the back. As we coasted by I saw the small sign above the front door.

CUBAN SOCIAL CLUB

I was in the T-Bird with Em.

“We can park half a block away and see just about anything from the front.” Em parked the ’Bird. James had pulled ahead a block and called me on his cell phone.

“Hey, pard. Where do you want me?”

“There appears to be an alley that runs behind the place. If there’s a rear entrance someone should probably watch that.”

I saw him drive the truck down one street then pull into the alley.

“There’s a door at the rear.”

I told Em.

“Well, have him watch that and we’ll rotate. One person sleeps, while the other two watch the front and back.”

I told him it was my idea. He’d never go for it if he knew it was hers.

James took first watch of the alley, Em from the front. I was supposed to sleep for the first three hours. It’s eleven o’clock at night and we’ve all had one of the craziest days in our lives. We’re on an honest to God stakeout, and I’m supposed to sleep? Oh, I’m sure that around three in the morning, when it’s my shift, I’ll be ready to crash, but not now.

“There’s something I was going to talk to you about—” Em shifted in her seat and didn’t say anything else.

“What?”

“Tomorrow, when this thing is over, we need to discuss a couple of things.”

“Don’t do this, Em. You know my imagination will make up all kinds of stories and it’s better if you tell me now.” She pressed the same buttons with me that I pressed with her.

“No. I shouldn’t have said anything. Tomorrow, I promise. Get some sleep.”

Parked on the street, we watched the occasional car drive by, but traffic was almost nonexistent on this side of town. No restaurants, bars, or any sign of social life. James called about twelve-thirty just to make sure we were still there.

“Are you going to tell Jackie?” I asked her.

“Do you think I should?”

“Somebody should. She’s involved even though she doesn’t know.”

“Yeah. I wish I had some coffee.”

“You’d just have to pee in half an hour.”

“How do cops do it? Stakeouts and thermoses of coffee?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they piss in the thermos when it’s empty.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Pretty small target for a female cop, don’t you think?”

I hadn’t thought about it. How would I know?

The sharp knock on the window scared the hell out of both of us.

“Jesus!”

A bright white light shot into the car, blinding me. “Who the hell are you?”

“Roll down your window, please.” A heavy Spanish accent.

“Em, start the car.”

She turned the key and the engine roared to life.

“Ma’am, I’m a police officer. Please turn off the vehicle and roll down the window.”

“Let me see some ID.”

He shone the light on an official looking silver badge. Em looked at me for approval, and I shrugged my shoulders. She cautiously rolled the window down about a third of the way.

“Is there a reason the two of you are parked here on the street at this time in the morning?”

We turned and looked at each other. Em glanced back at the shadow outside her car window.

“We were making out.”

“Ma’am?”

“Making out. He was trying to talk me into something beyond just kissing.”

“Move on. I don’t want to see the two of you here again. Understand?”

She shifted into drive and slowly pulled away.

“Was that a cop?”

She inched ahead, not making a lot of progress.

“Well, was it?”

“Shut up. I’m watching the rearview mirror. I want to see what he does.”

I shut up as she inched ahead, turning at the next street and coasting down the avenue until she came to the alley. She pulled in, driving behind the parking lot with the two Chevys, and she stopped just before she reached the two-story building.

We could see beyond the front of the building, where the cop had been. There was no sign of any police car and no sign of the man.

“Shit. I was hoping we’d see where he went.”

My cell phone played “Born in the USA” and I grabbed it. Let it ring for twelve seconds and I swear I pay for another two or three minutes. I’ve got to get another cell plan.

“Hello.”

“Somebody just went into the rear entrance.” James was parked up about fifty feet.

“Into?”

“Into.”

“James, where did they come out of?”

“I have no idea. They went into the rear entrance. My guess is they pulled up in front.”

Emily gave me a look, questioning my half of the conversation.

“James says someone walked into the rear of the building, but he didn’t see them come out of that entrance.”

“What did he look like?”

“What did he look like?”

James hesitated. “Well, he was pulling off a cap, but he was too far away to really get a good look.”

Em watched, eager for information.

“James says he was pulling off a cap. Could be the cop.”

“Or not.”

“Not?”

“I don’t think he was a cop. It could be someone who is guarding the building. A security guard.”

“He said he was a cop. I’m pretty sure he was. He showed us his badge.”

“Badges are a dime a dozen. I don’t think it was a real cop.”

I digested the idea. Security guards wore uniforms and displayed bright shiny badges. If Vic Maitlin was being kept hostage here, someone had to be watching him.

“We had a cop come up to the car and tell us to keep moving.”

“No shit? A cop?” After all that had happened this day, James still sounded surprised. Hell, we shouldn’t have been surprised at anything.

“Em doesn’t think it’s a cop. She thinks it’s some guy in a uniform with a fake badge.”

He was quiet.

“James?”

“So someone is already onto us?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Skip, I’ve got ten digits and I’d like to hang on to every one of them.”

“James, it was your idea to get involved.”

Em frowned. “I think it’s a little late for the blame game, Eugene. Tell your friend we’re going to drive around the block and find another place to park. Maybe he should watch the alley from a little farther up.”

I passed on the information and we pulled out of the alley, went up two streets, cut back, and ended up on a side street where we could still see the front of the building. I could make out a row of concrete tables lining the sidewalk where old men played dominoes from early morning till the sun went down.

“Em, what do we have to talk about tomorrow?”

“There are times I wish I smoked.” She gazed out the window.

“What?”

“It gives you something to do. Purpose. Taking a drag on a cigarette, playing with the smoke, letting it stream out of your mouth. Blowing rings and tapping the ashes, it’s more the ritual than the actual smoking, isn’t it?”

“You wish you smoked so you could do all that and not talk about whatever it is you want to discuss.”

“Yeah.”

“Serious?”

“Could be.”

“Are you thinking about us not seeing each other any more?” I thought about it a lot. She was too good for me, and I’m sure it crossed her mind from time to time.