Second Chance (10 page)

Rick lowered his head. “Yes, Pablo’s gone, and there’s nothing I can do about that now.” He looked up again; his face was mired with bitterness. “Do we have a deal?” he repeated.

“Yes, you will jump for me, but that’s not enough to wipe the slate clean. Where is the woman? Where is Chalice?”

“She’s gone,” Rick said with finality in his voice. “She won’t be any more trouble to you.”

“You’ve got guts, Andrade. You think you can tell me what to do?” Donovan was defiant; he had gone from sedate to furious in a single heartbeat. It was then that I felt a gun at the back of my head. “Bring her in,” Donovan bellowed. One of his men had been lying in wait and had gotten the drop on me. He took my gun and pushed me into the hangar. “Gone is she? No one lies to Donovan,” he raged.

Scruff moved his Uzi back and forth, aiming it at Rick and then at me. Donovan turned to me. “Who the hell are you? You come into my club, you talk shit to one of my girls, and my next in command is dead because of you. Is that how the cops do things in New York?”

“I don’t like the way you treat women, and I don’t like you.” I looked down at Flynn for a moment, and a lump formed in my throat. It took a second until I steadied myself enough to speak. “Justice comes in many ways. Justice will come for you, just as it did for Lyndell. It’s only a question of time.”

“A question of time? How does it feel knowing that you are going to die any minute?” Donovan said in a furious voice. He stood and approached me. “But first I’ll show you how I treat women.” His appearance was truly vile. I recoiled when he tried to stroke my cheek. “That was rude,” he said. He motioned to Scruff and then pointed to Flynn. “Kill him.”

Scruff didn’t bat an eye. He walked over to where Flynn lay on the floor, shaking with fear. Scruff glanced back at Donovan momentarily before aiming the Uzi. Donovan nodded.

“Don’t!” I screamed. The sound of my voice echoed through the hangar. It had not yet attenuated when I heard a sound that I recognized, the sound of a silenced weapon firing. Scruff fell immediately. The gangster behind me fell next. Donovan was reaching for his gun when a third bullet hit him.

“What’s—” I spun and saw a man crouched in a combat stance with a smoking automatic in his hand. Smoke was still rising from the end of the silencer. He looked familiar, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. He was on our side; everything else was unimportant. I picked up Scruff’s Uzi. Rick retrieved the other weapons.

The guy who’d been behind me was motionless on the floor. So was Scruff. Rick was standing over Donovan, pointing a gun at him when the mystery shooter joined him. Donovan’s wound was not fatal. He looked up at the man next to Rick. His expression was a mixture of puzzlement and pain. “Pablo,” he said, “you’re alive.”

“That’s right,” Pablo said. “Andrades don’t die so easily.”

Ricardo locked eyes with Pablo. “God gave him a second chance.”

I had never seen Pablo before, but there was a very strong similarity in his facial features and Rick’s. I was looking at Rick’s brother.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“They’re what?”

“FBI undercover agents,” Ambler repeated, over the phone.

“And you couldn’t tell me?”

“No. I couldn’t tell you. You called me asking for help, so I helped. The Andrade brothers have been posing as drug smugglers and infiltrating the Jamaican gang scene in South Florida for years.”

“And that background story about the two of you being war buddies, that was all BS?”

“It was the best we could come up with on short notice. You were already on your way to Donovan’s club when you phoned me. We knew how dangerous he was and had to tell you something. We just couldn’t tell you the truth. It could have compromised their identities.”

Something Rick had said came back to me: “Donovan is under investigation by the local police and the Feds. Why don’t you let them do their job? You’re a cop. You understand the process.” A civilian wouldn’t have known what he knew—I should’ve known that he was on the job. “This is too much.”

“You’re lucky to be alive, Chalice. From what I hear, you almost became Donovan’s bride.”

“Yeah right, like I might have ever let that happen.” Honestly, that was just bravado. Rick, Flynn, and I had truly been in deep stuff back at the airport. I don’t know what would’ve happened if Pablo hadn’t shown up when he did. And then it dawned on me; I saw Rick on his cell phone just before we left to rescue Flynn—he must have been speaking with Pablo. His timely entrance was no coincidence. “What about the plane crash? You faked Pablo’s death?”

“That’s right. Ricardo and Pablo are both highly qualified night jumpers and pilots. They acquired their skills while serving in the army. Pablo jumped out of the Cessna just after Ricardo. The plane was empty when it crashed. They did that so the drug community would believe Pablo was dead and to give him the opportunity to operate behind the scenes like a ghost while Ricardo infiltrated the mobs. Lucky for you it worked out.”

“I can’t believe they staged an airplane crash and you didn’t tell me.”

“Look, the point is that you’re safe, and Donovan will spend many years in prison. He ordered an execution right in front of two FBI agents. That was the piece we were waiting for. There were several murders on our radar, but we couldn’t tie anything to Donovan until now. Somehow, you became the catalyst in an operation to take down one of the most ruthless and violent Jamaican gangsters in South Florida. You managed to put an end to the Chum Posse’s reign of murder. Not a bad effort for a week’s vacation. What else do you do in your spare time?”

Back on the clock—compared to the ordeal of the last few days, being back at work was going to seem like a walk in the park. I couldn’t imagine how Ma would react when I told her how I’d passed the time … or maybe I’d better keep it to myself. No need to get her worked up unnecessarily. “Oh shit.” It just dawned on me that Ambler and my boss Sonellio were fast friends.

“Now what?” Ambler asked.

“You can’t—”

“Tell Sonellio? Don’t worry. What happens in Miami, stays in Miami.”

“I thought that was what they say about Vegas.”

“Don’t push your luck, Chalice. Just try to stay out of harm’s way until you’re back on your own turf.”

“I’ve got the message loud and clear. Thanks for everything, G-Man. I’ll call you when I get back to New York.” I disconnected, stepped out onto the veranda, and gazed out at the ocean. The image was breathtaking: sun, sand, and water. Who would have thought that with so many treasures to distract me, I’d end up in the middle of an FBI undercover operation? It could only happen to me.

I was back in my hotel room, freshly showered and once again dressed in female attire when the phone rang. Rick was waiting for me in the lobby. He said that there was something he wanted me to see. There was no question that I wanted to see him. Knowing the truth about his undercover status changed the picture entirely. He wasn’t a drug smuggler; he was one of the good guys. Knowing that his real name was Ricardo made him even hotter. His name made me think of an exotic sports car—Ricardo Andrade, sleek and sexy.

Both brothers were waiting for me down in the lobby. I could see the Grand National parked in front of the hotel. A cab was parked just in front of it, and the guy getting into it … Shoot, it was the guy from the plane, the guy I so badly wanted to meet. Once again I could only see him from the back, but I knew it was him; I could feel it in my bones. Oh well, maybe in another place at another time. I looked into Ricardo’s brown eyes and realized that I didn’t do so badly after all.

“Feel like going for a ride?” Ricardo asked.

“Where are you two mysterious guys taking me?”

“It’s a secret,” Ricardo said.

“I don’t think I can take any more Miami Beach intrigue.”

Pablo wasn’t bad looking either. The concept of a ménage à trois suddenly struck me in an entirely different way. Just kidding, I’m not that sort of girl, but a good erotic fantasy never hurt anyone.

“There’s something we think you’ll really enjoy,” Pablo said.

I figured we’d be heading to the beach or some exclusive spot that only the locals knew about, someplace with breathtaking vistas and a tantalizing breeze. I was surprised when we got off the highway and began driving through streets in the inner city. We stopped in front of a free clinic and got out of the car.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Just a few minutes and you’ll see,” Pablo said hinting that a surprise was in store.

Ricardo pushed the front seat forward and lifted the backseat cushion. He retrieved the waist pack I had inadvertently stumbled upon; the narcotics I now assumed they used as bait for the Jamaican drug lords. “Oh that. Hey look, I—”

“I know you saw this,” Ricardo said. “Working undercover as drug runners and flying back and forth to the islands gives us a little flexibility.”

“I hope we can trust you with our secret,” Pablo said. “We really are drug smugglers.”

“Say what?”

“Come with us,” Ricardo said. “You’ll understand in a minute.”

He took my hand and led me into the clinic. It was a barebones facility. Dozens of children sat on the floor with their parents waiting to see the doctor. We walked past them to the examination room. The doctor was examining a young girl. He looked over his shoulder at us and smiled. The nurse threw her arms around Pablo. “
Ai
, look who is here,” she said. She kissed Ricardo on the cheek, led us to the storeroom, and left to give us privacy. Pablo shut the door.

Ricardo emptied the contents of his waist pack onto a table. I knew what was going on before he told me. “Penicillin, antibiotics, insulin … medications.”

A tear formed in the corner of my eye. There are good people in the world, and there are a handful of those who are truly great. I was in the company of two great people at the moment. They had grown up poor and were giving back to the community—necessary medications for those who couldn’t afford it—probably buying the meds in the Caribbean, bringing them into Miami, and creating the illusion that they were smuggling narcotics to maintain credibility with the Jamaican gangs.

“So our secret is safe?” Pablo asked.

I put my arms around the two of them. “Only if you’ll keep mine,” I replied.

“And what’s that?” Rick asked.

“I’m in love with two men I hardly even know.”

We hugged for a moment and then pulled apart. I locked eyes with Rick, and I knew that our story was far from over. There were only a few scant days for it to play out, but sometimes short stories are the best. I was determined to squeeze every last ounce of pleasure out of our remaining time together.

~~~

I hope that you enjoyed SECOND CHANCE. I always like hearing your comments and questions. I hope that you’ll write to me at
[email protected]
. Please page down for information on the Stephanie Chalice Mystery Series and upcoming releases. For more information please visit my website: lawrencekelter.com.

Stephanie Chalice will return in another Back Story very soon.

FIRST KILL - On Sale

SECOND CHANCE - On Sale

THIRD VICTOM - Coming Soon

Full Length Stephanie Chalice Mysteries

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Ransom Beach

The Brain Vault

Our Honored Dead

In Development

Baby Girl Doe (January 2014)

About the author

A resident New Yorker, Kelter often uses Manhattan and Long Island as backdrops for his stories. He is the author of the Stephanie Chalice Mystery Series and other works of fiction.

Early in his writing career, he received support from bestselling novelist, Nelson DeMille, who reviewed his work and actually put pencil to paper to assist in the editing of the first novel. DeMille said, “Lawrence Kelter is an exciting new novelist, who reminds me of an early Robert Ludlum.”