Second Chance (6 page)

Flynn was in a state of full-blown panic and panting like a horse that had been ridden too hard. He stared at Donovan, knowing it was only a matter of seconds before the torture resumed and he spilled his guts.
What am I waiting for?
he wondered.
I’m no hero. All I’m buying is a few wretched seconds, an extra minute or two of life.

Too late. One of Donovan’s men covered Flynn’s mouth to muffle the scream. Donovan put a nail through his foot.

“Who is she?” Donovan repeated.

It took a moment until the shock wore off and Flynn was able to speak. “A cop,” Flynn said, his voice trembling. “A New York City cop.”

“A New York cop?” Donovan seemed amused. “That sexy dish is a cop?” He laughed. “What you doing with her?”

“Nothing,” Flynn whimpered. “She’s a friend.” The hand was over his mouth again as Donovan nailed his other foot into the floor.

Donovan aimed the nail gun at Flynn’s groin—his eyes widened in terror. “Then why you didn’t say that first? Why you tell me she’s a cop?”

“I was afraid. I was afraid to go to Metro.”

“What you got to be so afraid of?” Donovan looked pensive for a moment and then he smiled like a mischievous child. “Because you’re Keyla’s friend.” He glanced at Flynn knowingly. “You were afraid I killed her and that I was going to kill you. How’s this lady cop supposed to keep you safe from me? All you done is got her killed as well.” He pulled the trigger on the nail gun. Flynn cringed when he heard the mechanism fire, but the nail gun was apparently empty. “What’s her name?”

It took a full moment for Flynn to stop shaking. “Stephanie Chalice. She’s a guest at the hotel.”

Donovan dropped the nail gun onto the floor. He pulled a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. He stood and walked over to his men. Pointing to an assortment of power tools lying on the floor, he said, “Find me something else for me to play with.” He laughed heartily. “This is too much fun.”

Chapter Ten

Everyone hopes for a thrilling vacation.
Of course I was thinking more along the lines of windsurfing and parasailing but this one was delivering thrills and chills in its own special way. “They’ll be looking for this car,” I said. “Maybe we should stash it somewhere and look for an alternate means of transportation.”

“That’s a good thought, but the answer is
no
,” Rick said. “You’d have better luck trying to separate me from my firstborn.”

“Gee. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Rick snickered. “I don’t have any children, but the Buick and me, we’ve got lots of history together.” He was handsome in a Gay Langland kind of way, with chin stubble, a mustache, and tan, leathery skin. For you non-film buffs, Gay Langland was the character Clarke Gable played in
The Misfits
. The female lead was played by Marilyn Monroe. Can you feel the heat? Oh yeah! Something told me that Rick’s life had been a blast. So far, though, the only thing I really knew about him was that he had a brass pair.

“So what then?” I asked.

“I’ve got a place where we can stay, a place no one will find us.”

“Is that where we’re headed now?”

Rick nodded.

“But I told you, my friend Tay …”

“Call her. Don’t tell me she doesn’t have a phone. Explain what’s going on and tell her to take the next flight back to New York. There’s no way we can risk going back to South Beach, no matter what car we’re driving.”

“I’m not the kind of girl to run away from a fight.”

“No, Chalice, I don’t think you are, but you’re out of your element here. You’re not law enforcement. You’re a tourist. You don’t have NYPD behind you. You’ve got me, and that’s not much. These Jamaican gangs …” Rick looked away. “Some call Donovan’s gang the Chum Posse. You know the police search off Miami Beach you inquired about with Ambler? They found a woman’s head in a trawler’s fishing net. Is that clear enough for you?”

“Flynn was afraid that Donovan had murdered his friend Keyla.”

“Just thinking here … I can call this guy, Fat John. He knows his way around a slim jim and—”

I giggled. “Fat John with a slim jim? Well that’s a paradox, now isn’t it?”

Rick rolled his eyes. “The point is that he can make your rental car go bye-bye. It’ll be off the lot, and Donovan won’t find anything suspicious. He won’t have your names or addresses, and you’ll be back safe in New York.

“You think he can do that?”

“Fat John? Nothing to it. He’ll boost your Mustang, and you claim it was stolen.”

“I’d be a participant in grand larceny.”

“Better than being a participant in a homicide.”

Touché.
I didn’t love the idea, but it was certainly the lesser of two evils. “All right, make the call.”

Rick pulled off the expressway and headed toward a Shell gas station. “The beast is thirsty,” he said.

“The turbo six eats a lot of gas, doesn’t she?”

“Goes through premium gas faster than John Mayer runs through female celebrities.”

Rick pulled up to the pump and began fueling the beast. He had one hand on the pump while he spoke with Fat John on his cell phone. I hit the station minimart and stocked up on fluids and fast foods. I put them into the car and set off to find the ladies room, or so I led Rick to believe. I’d spotted a Bacardi truck—dollars to donuts it was on its way to South Beach. With a name like Fat John, I wasn’t sure how quickly the car thief would move. I still needed to get to Tay, and if Rick wasn’t willing to go there …

The driver was smoking a cig, killing time.

“Hey there, you heading to Miami?”

The driver looked me over with caution. He crushed the butt of his cigarette before replying. “Lady, I’ve got four kids, two mortgages, and I’m in the middle of a divorce. Not that the old lady’s the looker that you are, but it just … well, it just ain’t gonna happen.”

How flattering; he thinks I’m a pro. “I’m not a hooker. I’m a New York cop with a badge and a gun, and I need a quick lift to Miami. So if you’re feeling magnanimous, and you’re not looking for anything more than pleasant conversation … what do you say?”

He extended his hand. “Buzz Taylor.” He looked at me disbelievingly. “You really a cop?”

Okay, my automatic was locked away in the hotel safe, but he didn’t need to know that. I had my gold shield in my pocket. I flashed my credentials.

“Stephanie Chalice, and I am indeed a cop.” I sized him up. Hitching a ride was not something I took lightly, but I felt that I’d be reasonably safe riding shotgun with Buzz. He looked and sounded like a good ole boy who wasn’t looking for trouble. We were about an hour outside of Miami Beach. With Tay’s life on the line … well, I just had to take the chance.

“Hell then,” Buzz said. “Let’s shove off. Lots of thirsty people waiting for this truckload of rum.”

“Atta boy, Buzz. I’ll be right back.”

Rick was just returning from the men’s room. He checked his fly as he rounded the corner of the building. I had my paws in the bag of victuals I had just purchased at the station minimart. I grabbed the Moose Munch, Twizzlers, and a diet Coke. I left him the rest. He looked at me with alarm. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I told you; I’ve got to make sure my friend is all right. I called her twice, and she didn’t answer. With the stakes being this high, there’s no way I’m going to handle this as an absentee. If she’s in trouble, it’s because of me. I asked her to join me on vacation, and I’m the one who opened my big mouth in Donovan’s club.”

Rick looked at me kind of wild-eyed and then stared at the ground. I could see that he was caught between a rock and a hard place. Just then, Buzz stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Hey, lady cop, you coming or not? Thirsty folks waiting on these here spirits.”

“You’d stick your neck out like that?” Rick asked. He nodded in the truck driver’s direction. “You don’t know that guy from Adam.”

“He’s headed to Miami, and that’s all I need to know.”

“Oh, this is bullshit,” Rick spat. He continued to look down at the ground as if weighing a decision. “All right,” he said, “Get in the damn car. I’ll take you.”

I had not meant to force Rick’s hand. Okay, I was glad it worked out that way, but I had certainly been committed to going for a joy ride with Buzz. “Are you sure? I definitely understand if you don’t want to take the risk. I know that Donovan’s an angry, vicious animal.”

“What kind of pansy-ass do you think I am? You think Ambler called me because I had a yellow streak?”

“Well no, but—”

“Just sit your ass down in the car,” Rick said assertively. “And don’t try any more stupid-ass stunts again.” Rick gestured to Buzz. I had never seen that particular gesture used before, but I believe the translation was
piss off
. I turned to Buzz, shrugged an apology, and had a foot in the Grand National when Lyndell’s SUV slammed bottom on the service station apron and skidded to a stop just twenty feet behind us.

We leapt into the car just as the first shots rang out. Rick somehow managed to get the car started and shifted into gear with his head crouched down by the bottom of the steering wheel. He was about to peel rubber when a second black SUV skidded to a halt in front of us. “We’re truly screwed now,” he said as bullets pierced the windshield. We were pinned down with no avenue for escape until I heard the crunch of truck gears. I saw the Bacardi truck lurch forward. Old Buzz caught the SUV broadside and pushed it out of our way. He saluted me, winked, and backed up, giving us just enough space to squeeze through. Rick wasted no time—the Grand National jumped forward and vanished in a cloud of smoke.

Chapter Eleven

Tay was not in our room.
At first glance it appeared that a tornado had spun through it, but there were no signs of forced entry or a struggle. She had left traces of herself everywhere—lingerie was scattered over her bed. Makeup and hair products covered every inch of bathroom counter space. A side chair had been reupholstered with her dresses. She had gone through the madness every woman goes through before a first date, trying on every combination of apparel imaginable in order to capture that perfect first-date appearance.

My guess was that the rented Mustang was still in BOOM’s parking lot, nestled amongst hundreds of other cars and still anonymous. I had called Tay several times, but all the calls had gone to voicemail. She’d probably switched off her phone for privacy and had no idea that I was tearing out my hair worrying about her.

Rick had stashed the Grand National in a nearby parking lot and was lying low until he heard from me. I doubt he knew what he’d been buying into when he had picked up the phone and heard the voice of his old friend, Herb Ambler, on the line. I had no idea what I was buying into when I agreed to take a week off. I guess life is just chock-f of surprises.

The mini fridge was well stocked. I hadn’t eaten all night, so I wolfed down a Toblerone bar and still had enough room left over for … oh I don’t know, a full dinner? I was scavenging through the fridge trying to make my mind up about the main course. I was deliberating between Ritz Bits and M&Ms when I heard noises outside the door. I grabbed the M&Ms and my service automatic and walked quietly to the door. Anyone could have been on the other side. It could have been Donovan or one of his henchmen, but the giggling I heard said differently. I could picture Tay’s voluptuous buttocks pressed against the door and her date’s hands roaming over her body, like sponges across the hood of a Bentley at a brushless carwash. Tay’s date had a deep, muffled voice, so deep I couldn’t really understand what he was saying. I had a vague image of the guy in my head. He had a full face, a broad grin, and as I remembered, he had kind of that Barry White thing going on. I could just imagine Tay benignly fending off his advances and giggling while Barry wooed her with, “My darling, I can’t get enough of your love, babe. Girl, I don’t know, I don’t know why. Can’t get enough of your love, babe. Oh, some things I can’t get used to. No matter how I try. Just like the more you give, the more I want. And baby, that’s no lie.”

I freely admit that I lingered behind the door, crunching on M&Ms and laughing while I blatantly eavesdropped on the amorous couple. I had a riotous good time for a few minutes, but then like all good things, this had to come to an end. I was out of candy, Tay was not getting any, and Barry would be going home with blue balls. I yanked the door open just as Barry made his move on Tay. He lost his balance, reached out to steady himself, and accidentally grabbed my boob. See? … so it wasn’t a total loss.

Barry looked sheepish as he removed his hand from my breast. “Um, sorry,” he said, but I could tell that he wasn’t the least bit sorry and frankly neither was I. It was the most action I had seen in a long time.

Tay glared at me. “What the hell? Stephanie, were you standing behind the door?”

I crooned for her with soulful eyes and Barry White’s voice, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know why. I can’t get enough of you, Tay babe.”

Keyla was dead, and Flynn’s mortality was questionable. Donovan was gunning for my ass and Rick’s, and still I laughed. By the way, Barry’s real name was Dwayne like the Miami Heat superstar, and he was a sexy-looking son of a bitch. He stood at the door for a long time—hoping, I guess, that the gods were smiling down on him and that he had somehow stumbled upon a ménage à trois—but the only three-way Dwayne was going to experience tonight was with warm, sudsy bath water and a bar of Dove soap.

I pulled Tay aside and whispered in her ear. “Say goodnight. I wouldn’t insist if I didn’t have to.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” she asked with alarm.

“Tay, please.” She looked into my eyes and saw that I meant business.

“I’ll be right in,” she said. She pushed me into the room and closed the door. That didn’t mean that I was going to respect her privacy. I didn’t. I heard a soft man-moan that told me Tay had given Dwayne the kiss to end all kisses, a kiss so deep and passionate that it would eclipse all the pain caused by her wicked bitch of a roommate.