A Mighty Fortress (39 page)

Kiki checked his phone and made another right. Then he parked.
 

We were in the middle of nowhere. Any signs I saw were for places with native names that I didn’t recognize. The last sign of civilization I recalled seeing was a boat ramp that seemed to have been placed there accidentally.

After a few minutes, Jimmy had to speak up. “Where the hell is he?”
 

“He’ll be here,” Kiki said. “Just shut up and wait.”

“Let me guess,” I finally said. “We’re meeting Giuseppe.”

Kiki leaned forward and spoke in my left ear. “All right, Mr. Know It All, you’re right. We’re meeting Giuseppe. And guess what? He can’t wait to meet you.”

I was about to tell them I’d already met Giuseppe when I saw a light flicker about ten yards away. It looked like a match, and its glow gave enough light for me to see that Giuseppe, a.k.a. Gus, was standing near a canal. I swore he waved at us. More specifically, it looked like he waved at me.

“I think your guy’s over there,” I said.
 

Kiki glanced in that direction and told me to shut up.

A moment later, I caught a shadow of Giuseppe. He’d walked closer and seemed to be trying to stay hidden. He flicked another match. This time, there was no mistaking that he pointed at me and waved for me to join him.

I was tired of waiting, and I wanted to see how Kiki would handle the situation. I grabbed my door handle, said I had to take a leak, and opened the door. I stepped into darkness.
 

“You don’t have much time,” Giuseppe said. “You need to take these guys out
now
.”

He didn’t leave me with much time to assess the situation. I’d heard two car doors. “Get your ass back in the car.” It was Jimmy, and he was closest to me. I didn’t turn or move; I just stood still. I knew his signature move now, and I knew it was just a matter of time.

He dug the barrel of his gun into the nape of my neck.
 

I don’t think it took even a second to roll my head back, turn, and dislodge the gun. By the time he was screaming from having his arm broken, Jimmy’s forehead suddenly snapped open, and his head jerked back. He hit the ground, dead on arrival.

Angie screamed loud enough that I placed her and Kiki a few feet away from the car. I’d retreated about twenty yards behind it, well hidden by the darkness.

“I’ll kill her, Porter. You know I will.”

I knew he would, and I knew he’d get desperate soon. He was staying close to the car and the light it emitted. He was moving in small circles, trying to survey every direction. I had to act fast, and I did.
 

I snuck up behind him without making a sound. He was a hair taller than Angie. I wanted to make sure the bullet went up to ensure it wouldn’t exit him and hit her.

He’d started turning in my direction. I reached his backside, never touched him, and fired the gun from a few inches away. Into his nape.
 

If he said anything, it was a grunt. I was there to catch him and make sure his gun didn’t fire.
 

Angie screamed and ran away.

“Get in the car,” I told her as I lowered Kiki to the ground. “Get in the car
now
.”

“Who the hell are you?” she screamed.

“Get in the car,” was all I could say.

She finally obeyed.

Gus reappeared, and stood waiting for me in front of the car.
 

“You can thank me later,” he said.

“You set them up for that? Why?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He turned and looked at the car.

“I’ll be back.”

He opened the car’s back passenger door to the sound of Angie’s screams, a high-pitched shrieking like a wild bird caught in a trap. I opened the front passenger door to see what the hell was going on.

He’d already taken a seat next to her. He glanced at me, and then he raised his pistol and pointed it at her head.

Then, without warning, he pulled the trigger, and Angie stopped crying.

Giuseppe lowered the gun, and an eerie silence settled over the car like an invisible cloud. It was eerie because I was sure I’d just heard gunfire—but no carnage followed. Not even an echo. Angie finally seemed to have caught her breath, but I realized I was having a hard time with mine. “What the hell are you doing?” I asked Giuseppe in a harsh whisper.

He wiped the barrel of his gun and returned it to his back. “Can I have a word with you outside?” he whispered back.

I didn’t answer. My eyes were back on Angie. Hers had suddenly dried, and she seemed frozen in place, apparently staring ahead at something I couldn’t see. “I’ll be right back,” I told her.
 

She didn’t respond as I stepped out of the car.

Giuseppe waited a few feet away from the driver’s door. I wasted no time expressing my disapproval. “You’re a sick man, you know that? You think scaring her’s going to help a damn bit?”

In the light of dusk, his eyes looked like black pearls eclipsing the sun. “Who said I was trying to scare her? Besides, you’re the one who missed our appointment this morning.”

“Yeah, well, I had no way to tell you I was going out of town. Looks like you figured it out anyway.”

He nodded, glanced at our surroundings, and asked, “So now what?”

“You’re asking me that? You’re the one who wanted me to track her down.”

“Correction: I wanted you to bring her back to Tampa.”

I took a deep breath.
 

He looked up and down the canal, as though he were expecting the
African
Queen
to pull up at any moment. “You don’t have much time. You need to get out of here.”

“Why?” I asked.

He nodded at the two dead bodies not far from us. “Why do you think?”

“As far as I’m concerned, that’s your mess.”

“My mess is your mess. Get used to it.”

There wasn’t much I could say to that.

“Get going,” he repeated. “I’ll do my best here.”

“What are you going to do?”

Half a smirk escaped his stiff face. “Do you really want to know?” When I didn’t answer, he glanced at the car and asked, “Think she’ll talk?”
 

Whatever was making him antsy was doing the same to me, so I started walking toward the car. “Only one way to find out.”
 

As I opened the car door, Giuseppe told me, “I’ll be in touch, Porter.”
 

I glanced at him as I took the driver’s seat. His back was to me now, and he was still staring at the canal. “I’m sure you will,” I said as I settled in behind the wheel. As I was getting ready to crank the engine, I realized Angie still sat paralyzed in the backseat. “Why don’t you move up here?” I suggested.

She cleared her throat. “I’m fine here,” she said timidly.

“I have some questions for you.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

I turned around. “In case you haven’t figured it out, people are still dying on account of what happened in Chad Scalzo’s apartment Sunday night. And it should come as no surprise to you that people are going to have questions for you, and others might not want to ask you anything at all—if you get my drift.”

She sat still, avoiding eye contact with me.

I started the car. “If you don’t want to talk now, that’s fine. But I need you to get in the front seat.”

“Why? So I won’t run?”
 

I glared at the rearview mirror and nodded. “We need to go. Now.”

She sighed before opening her door and moving to the front seat. Once she was settled in beside me, she looked in my eyes for a second, as though she wanted to check again and see what was there. I tried meeting her gaze as honestly and seriously as I could. “Are you ready?”

“You promise you’re not going to kill me?” It was the most frightened she’d sounded since her screaming fit.
 

I nodded. “In fact, I promise I’m going to do everything I can to keep you alive.”

“Where are we going?” Her tone softened.

“Tampa.”

“And that’s supposed to keep me alive?”

I shook my head. “No. I am.”

We drove for more than an hour in silence. She kept her eyes closed most of the time, feigning sleep, but out of the corner of my eye I noticed her peeking in my direction from time to time.

Once we’d crossed Alligator Alley and begun seeing signs for the Naples exits, I asked if she was hungry.

“Not really,” she said, “but I could use the bathroom.”

“Like that?”

“Like what?”
 

“Barefoot, wearing a ripped cocktail dress.”

“If I don’t care, then you shouldn’t.”

She did have a point. Besides, my bigger concern was keeping her from running. So I found a Shell station with an outdoor bathroom. I parked right outside the door and told her to go at it.
 

“Are you serious?” she said as she hopped onto the sidewalk. “It’s disgusting in there!”

I shrugged. “Would you prefer a rest area or the woods?”

Without a word she closed the door behind her, and it didn’t take her long to return. Her feet were wrapped in tan paper towels when she did.

I pulled the car around to the gas pumps and filled the tank. I got a little anxious when a Collier County sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the parking lot. I alternated glances between the deputy driving it and Angie. The deputies didn’t pay us much attention, and Angie didn’t seem to notice them, either. That was partly due to the fact that I stood outside her door, doing a good job of obstructing her view while I pumped the petrol.
 

“You sure you’re not hungry?” I asked through her open window.

She shook her head. “How can you eat at a time like this?”

I shrugged. “How can you not?”

Ten minutes later, I left the Taco Bell drive thru and followed the highway back to I-75 North. I put my Mountain Dew in the cup holder and handed the bag of food to Angie. Most of the food in the bag belonged to me, but she’d caved and ordered nachos—just in case she got hungry.

She passed me my stuffed burrito, and I pulled its wrapper back as I joined the northbound traffic. “Are you sure we’re safe in this car?” she asked.

“I think so,” I said. “At least until we get back to Tampa. It should be a while before anyone finds those guys.”

“Who was the other guy?” she asked.

“All I know is, his name’s Giuseppe. You ever see him before?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, looking thoughtful.

“He works for Chad’s family, if you know what I mean.”

“And you’re working for them, too?”

“Not really.” I paused for another bite of the burrito. “Did Chad ever tell you about his father?”

She shook her head.

“As you can imagine, Mr. Scalzo’s not a happy man these days.”

“I promise, I didn’t have anything to do with Chad.”

“I know,” I said.

“How?”

I sighed and took a sip of the drink. “I’ll tell you later.” I was glad she was finally talking, and I didn’t want to shut her up with talk of her dad and what he’d told me about Sunday night. Not that I necessarily believed the bit about Angie’s mom visiting them in their dreams. Regardless, it seemed a decent alibi. Besides, I had more immediate questions to ask. “Sunday night, you were supposed to go to Brian Blare’s room with Kara. She said you never made it because Scalzo called you.”

She nodded apprehensively. “He said a VIP called. Someone we had to keep happy.”

“Who was it?” I asked.

“He never told me, and I never cared. I just knew they paid a few grand for my time.”

“But you were supposed to meet the VIP at Chad’s place?”

She nodded. “That wasn’t uncommon.”

Just like when she was expecting a VIP the morning I first met her at Scalzo’s. “How many of these VIP’s were there?”

She shrugged. “About a dozen, maybe.”

“But this was someone you’d already seen?”

“That was my impression.”

“What made you think that?” I asked.

“I don’t know, other than he was clearly someone Chad wanted to keep happy.”

“But Brian Blare was supposed to be his ticket. Can you think of anyone he’d want to keep happier than him?”

She shook her head. “I really can’t. I really don’t know. Please leave me out of this.”

“The name Tim McSwain mean anything to you?”

She moaned something that sounded like “no,” followed by a clearer question, “Should it?”

A semi tractor pulled into the fast lane and slowed me down. “I think he might’ve been the VIP you were supposed to see Sunday night. You sure you don’t know the name?”

She shook her head. “I never knew their real names.”

“What, you knew their
fake
names?”

“Kind of. We had codes that helped me get ready for whoever I was meeting. If I knew one of them liked lingerie, I’d wear lingerie. If he was into maid outfits…”

“I get the point. So what code name did Chad tell you Sunday night?”

“I really don’t remember. It all happened so fast.”

“Think.” I sounded more agitated than I intended, but my frustration was due more to the traffic than her poor memory.

“I’m trying,” she said. She mulled it over with a few deep breaths. “If I had to guess, he might’ve said I was meeting Mr. Silver.”

“Mr. Silver?”

“Yeah, he’s probably one of Chad’s best customers.”

“The name have anything to do with his hair?” I asked.

“I never really thought about it.” At least she seemed to be thinking now. “This McSwain guy, he has silver hair?”

I described him as best as I could: “More like dark gray hair, darker on top, but I guess it could pass for silver. Maybe a buck-eighty. Carries himself like he has money.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That describes most of my dates.”

“This guy was obsessed with you.” I glanced at her. “He wanted you back the last time you went to Miami.”

She still shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then here’s another name for you: Sal Barton. Know that one?”

She sat tight-lipped, and looked away.