AT 29 (95 page)

“The bikers?”

“Yes. Looking for trouble.” Jimmy answered.

“I'll be right down.”

They passed two more empty bedrooms before the odor of something burning entered their senses. Jimmy didn't recognize the sickly sweet aroma, but Tammy drew back and uttered a single word, “heroin”.

Jimmy reluctantly moved on, afraid of what he would find. He opened the next door and peered inside. To his horror, he saw Nigel in a chair by the window with his arm stretched out straight. Alice was on her knees at his feet, preparing to tie a length of rubber strapping to his bicep. A small Sterno stove was on a table nearby. It was lit with a tiny blue flame. On top of the stove was a small pan. Two hypodermic syringes lay next to the stove. They both looked up in surprise. Jimmy entered the room, his mouth open in disbelief. Alice tried to shield the table with her body. She dropped the length of rubber to the floor as her hand came instinctively to her mouth. Everyone remained still as if caught in a bad dream.

Nigel broke the silence. “What do want, mate?”

Jimmy turned his attention to the Australian. “What are you doing, Nigel?”

Alice cut in. “Jimmy, it's not what you think.”

Jimmy ignored her and crossed the room, pulling Tammy by the hand. “Look for the bag,” he ordered, as he came close to Whitehurst. “Are you high?” Two joints smoldered half finished in an ashtray on the floor.

“Just getting started,” Nigel replied. “What do you want?”

Tammy came to Jimmy's side, shaking her head. “It's not here.”

“What are you looking for?” Alice asked, calming down.

“The bag with the drugs. We've got trouble downstairs.”

Alice and Nigel looked at each other. Whitehurst moved to stand. He reached down and picked up one of the joints, then rose up and spoke before taking a drag.

“Mike's holding the drugs. What kind of trouble?”

Jimmy quickly ran through what happened. Alice grew increasingly agitated as he described the scenario. She shrank toward a corner.

“They'll hurt me.” she said, looking from Nigel to Jimmy.

“You stay here,” Jimmy continued, “Lock the door. Nigel needs to go downstairs with the others. Ellis thinks a show of force might keep them at bay.”

“NO!” Alice shouted in terror. “I can't stay here alone!”

Everyone turned to look at the writer who was trembling. Jimmy didn't know what to make of her reaction. “Alice, calm down. Ellis called McCabe for help. We'll hold on until he gets here. Nothing's going to happen to you.”

“They raped me!”

Whitehurst dropped his joint on the floor. His mouth opened and his eyes narrowed in anger as he bore in on his groupie.

“Who raped you?” The question dripped with vengeful intensity.

“Three of them, in Atlanta. They hurt me. You can't leave me alone.”

Whitehurst stepped closer and took her shoulders in his big hands. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Chase let them do it. I was wasted.”

Nigel looked at Jimmy, a fierce expression on his face. “Which ones?” he demanded, turning back to Alice.

“One of them was big. That's all I remember. He hurt me the most. The other two held me down.”

“Hank,” Tammy said, coming to Alice's side. “I'll stay with her. Jim take Nigel and find Winfield and the bag.”

The two men turned away. “Lock the door,” Jimmy ordered. “Then gather the drugs and flush everything down the toilet.”

In the corridor, Nigel led the way to the next room, but Jimmy stopped and spun the big man around. “What have you been doing?” Whitehurst stared without answering, a wild look in his eyes. “If the cops come we could be headed for jail.”

“They hurt her, mate. I'm going to find out who.”

***

Felix took the wheel, saying nothing as Miles closed his door. He pressed the accelerator and made a sharp turn onto the street as the wheels squealed in protest. Two blocks later, while they waited for a light to turn green, McCabe gathered the courage to speak.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Eight men will meet us at the dock. We'll figure out what to do when we get there.” The answer had a tone of finality. Miles elected to remain silent the rest of the way.

***

Nicky's body was gently lifted from the desktop and placed inside a large black bag three times his size. Sister Marie stood to the side, leaning on her cane next to Sister Monica, watching the men in white go about their work. The nurse was across the office, speaking softly to one of the policemen who had a small pad and pencil in his hand. The two nuns watched as the bag was placed on a white stretcher and rolled to the door.

***

The phone rang just as Les finished packing.

“I have only one option,” the night manager said. “There's an Aeromexico flight that leaves in an hour for Mexico City. From there you can transfer to Qantas and get to Sydney. There's an hour's wait from there to Melbourne.”

Les didn't hesitate. When she hung up she turned to Cindy with tears flowing down her cheeks. “We have to hurry. My flight leaves in an hour.”

***

Ellis went back into the main room and searched the faces of those assembled. The Riland brothers had joined Sonny and Ted in the center of the room, still tucking their shirts into their pants. Travis was at the top of the stairs, making his way down. Eugene stood by one of the windows, while the rest of the backups from all of the bands milled about in groups of two and three. There were fourteen men of varying sizes. Melinda, Kate and Marsha were safely shut away in a side room off the rear patio. He relaxed slightly, feeling better about the odds.

Alice took a seat on the chair Nigel had previously occupied, watching while Tammy went about the business of collecting the implements on the table. She cast a sidelong glance at the writer who trembled with tears streaming down her cheeks. High, the resourceful groupie decided. Not a good high, either. She's strung out.

She took the small pan from the Sterno stove, its contents bubbling, but almost burned away. The odor was familiar. Tammy had smelled it many times. After canceling the flame, she carried the pan into the bathroom. She poured the small amount of liquid into the toilet and flushed. Then she put the pan into the sink and turned the faucet on full, letting hot water wash away the residue. She kept the water running as she returned to the room and picked up the syringes and leftover joints. She went back into the bathroom and closed the door. She tossed the joints into the toilet and flushed again. Finally, she dropped the syringes on the ornate tile floor and stamped down hard on each one. It took several heavy blows to shatter the needles and plastic into small pieces. When she was satisfied, she picked up the pieces and threw them into the toilet, flushing twice to make sure everything disappeared completely.

Nigel seemed to know exactly which room Winfield occupied. He turned the knob and went inside without knocking. Jimmy followed, unfazed when he saw the DJ propped up with pillows on top of the queen-sized bed. He was alone, looking peaceful with no sound except the low voices of a television show coming from the screen in an opened cabinet several feet from the foot of the bed. Winfield looked up and smiled, high as a kite. On the bed next to him was a square piece of brown cardboard. On its surface was a small amount of white powder together with two small chunks of a yellow substance that looked like jagged edged pebbles. A curled hundred-dollar bill, partly unraveled, was next to the pillow.

“C'mon in,” Winfield said, in a dreamy voice. “Got my own party, right here.” He gestured to the cardboard.

Jimmy crossed to the bed and picked up the cardboard, careful not to spill any of the powder. He took the rock cocaine in his fingers and carried everything into the bathroom. The toilet flushed behind him as he came back into the room. Winfield seemed not to care as he collected the hundred-dollar bill and put it into his shirt pocket.

“Where's the rest of it?” Jimmy demanded.

“There, mate.” Nigel nodded to a corner. A black bag was lying open on the floor. Jimmy went over and picked it up. He put the bag on the bed beside Winfield, who leaned forward from his prone position with a question on his face.

“What's up?”

Jimmy didn't answer as he took the bag's contents and placed them one by one on the bed. There were two plastic jars each containing white powder. One was marked with a C the other an H. Beneath the jars he found two glass vials, each containing a dozen pieces of rock cocaine. Next to them was a leather pouch, weighing a pound,
packed with still moist marijuana. He felt around inside then lifted the black bag and turned it over. Nothing more emerged. There was no gun. Winfield tried to sound serious.

“That's mine,” he said, turning his eyes to Nigel.

“We're taking it, mate. The bikers are making trouble. They hurt Alice.”

“Did you see a gun?” Jimmy interrupted.

“No gun, no. Nobody's wrecking the place, are they?”

“Not yet. Are you sure there's no gun?”

“Never saw one.”

“Tammy says you owe them money.”

“Tomorrow, when I cash a check.”

***

Cindy did her best to get the story from Les. Les wept as she detailed everything she knew, which was just enough to make her frantic. By the time they reached the airport, Cindy settled her down with an assortment of logical explanations, but Les remained shaky as she opened the door and jumped out. A lone Aeromexico station was open. The ticket agent seemed to be expecting her. With the suitcase checked through to Melbourne, Les clutched her ticket and turned back to Cindy. Tears appeared once more.

“I'll just make it to the gate.”

Cindy embraced her. “I'll tell Jimmy.”

“Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I'll be waiting for him in Melbourne.”

***

Jimmy tried to coax Winfield from the bed, but the DJ showed no inclination to move. “You handle it,” he said, casually. “I'll stay here and have my own party.”

Jimmy looked at Nigel. “He's too high. Leave him here, but take the bag.”

Jimmy put the drugs back into the bag and carried it to the door. Winfield called after him, seeming to forget all urgency. “Bring it back when you're finished.”

***

Miles noticed one car with four men inside as Felix came to a stop in the lot.

“I thought you had more men.”

“They'll be here.”

The men opened their doors as Felix flashed his headlights and got out to meet them. Miles tagged along, feeling inconsequential. As the other five engaged in conversation, he studied the four men dressed in black shirts and slacks. They were the same age as Felix, but looked to be in better shape, standing over six feet tall with close-cropped hair and broad shoulders. Another car entered the lot just as Felix broke away to brief Miles.

“Retired FBI. This must be the rest of them.”

They watched the car come to a stop. Four more men got out and came toward them. They also wore black shirts and pants. The cuffs of the pants of all eight men were tucked neatly into heavy black boots that made no sound as they walked.

“That's everyone,” Felix announced.

The odds are getting better, Miles decided. He began to feel that his decision to hire Felix was the best thing he'd ever done. The ten men huddled in a circle. Felix took control.

“Twelve bikers on the island. That's their Harleys over there.” He pointed. The men turned to look, then returned their attention to Felix. “There might be a gun, maybe
more than one. There are drugs and maybe we'll find a few of them hopped up. That's dangerous, so look sharp. There's a launch at the dock.” He addressed the leader of the men wearing black. “You got some gear?”

The leader pointed to his car. “In the trunk. Vests and Remington 870s.”

Miles listened, fascinated by this side of life that he'd never seen before. On closer inspection, all of the former federal officers carried themselves with authority, deadly serious. The leader spoke again.

“We should disable the bikes.”

Felix looked at Miles for a long moment before answering. It made the executive feel uncomfortable. He replied without taking his eyes off McCabe.

“No. This goes down quietly. No police and no publicity.” He pointed at the four corners of the lot where floodlights rested on poles. One light bathed the motorcycles. “One of you take out three of the lights. Leave the one over the bikes. I want to steer them straight to their rides and make them clear out fast.”

One of the men headed toward the first light pole, while everyone else returned to the cars to collect their gear. Felix went to his rental and opened the trunk. Miles followed, curious to see what his colleague was doing. He watched Felix slip into a vest that fit tight around his chest. He zipped the vest snugly to his chin then reached back into the trunk and pulled out a handgun. Miles knew nothing about guns. He realized that he should have expected Felix to have one, but it shocked him just the same.

“Is there an extra vest for me?”

Felix fitted a holster onto his belt. “You're staying here.”

The sound of breaking glass shattered the quiet. Both men looked across the lot to see the first light go dark.

“Those are my people over there. I have to go.”

“No arguments, Miles. I have enough misgivings about this already. It's my way and that means you stay here.” It was final.

Ellis paced the floor. He tried to foresee what was to come. In his youth he'd been a part of a few brawls. Of course, in those days he was just a kid like the youths he'd befriended in his gang. The men outside weren't the same. They were into drugs, a business they meant to protect no matter who got hurt. Jimmy and Nigel came down the stairs. Ellis met them, eyeing the black bag.