The Professionals (24 page)

Tiffany helped Mouse to his feet. He leaned on her, half grinning at the other guys. “You keep Tiffany around and I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he said.

“We’ll keep that in mind,” said Pender. “Now get your ass in gear. We’re moving out in ten.”

They drove out of Hollywood and headed north on Interstate 95,
and Pender watched Mouse in the rearview mirror as he drove. His friend was lying with his head in Tiffany’s lap as she played with his hair, the two of them curled up like a couple of middle-school kids after the dance. Sawyer, Pender noticed, was ignoring the lovebirds. Fine. The absolute last thing they needed right now was a fight over a woman.

He watched Mouse cuddle with Tiffany. The kid could play tough all he wanted, but sooner or later he was going to need fixing and all the drugstore doctoring in the world wasn’t going to make him better. As they’d packed up the Durango, Pender had noticed his friend couldn’t even lift his right arm. He’s probably got nerve damage, he thought. If we don’t get him to a hospital, he might never use that arm again. “Mouse,” he said, catching his friend’s eye in the mirror. “How are you feeling?”

Mouse looked up from Tiffany’s lap. He winked at Pender. “A lot better now.”

“For real, though. We gotta get you to a hospital.”

Mouse struggled to sit up. “What? Pender, no way. I’m cool.”

“I saw you back there. You couldn’t lift your arm at all.”

“It’s just superficial,” said Mouse. “I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Pender stared at him. “Come on, Mouse.”

Mouse sighed. He sank back into Tiffany’s lap. “All right,” he said finally. “I just gotta get us some money if we’re going to bribe a doctor.”

“No problem,” said Pender. “You can do it tomorrow after we pick up Marie.”

Mouse stretched out and closed his eyes and Pender turned his attention back to the highway. Sawyer glanced over at him. “Jacksonville?”

Pender nodded. “Delta 1720. She gets in at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. We’ll crash at the airport tonight and meet her tomorrow.”

“You need me to drive?”

“I’m fine.”

Sawyer nodded. He leaned against the window and closed his eyes, and within a few minutes Pender could hear him snoring softly. By the time they hit Boca Raton, Mouse and Tiffany were out, too. Pender drove in silence, watching the sun set over the lowlands and the brake lights flashing on the highway.

D
’Antonio touched down in Miami at dawn and immediately knew that something was wrong. The terminal building was filled with cops of all kinds, security guards and plainclothesmen, everyone pretending they weren’t looking his way when he walked through the terminal past them.

So the Feds had made him. Moreover, they’d figured out he was headed for Miami. D’Antonio wasn’t worried. Cops—even Feds—weren’t much of a threat. They stuck out in crowds and got bogged down with rules. And the Bartholdis kept excellent lawyers. If the FBI wanted to book him on some bullshit charge, they could slap on the cuffs and then get slapped with a lawsuit.

To his surprise, though, the cops let him walk right out of the terminal and into Zeke’s waiting Coupe de Ville without so much as a word. D’Antonio glanced back at the exit once and saw the security guard looking straight at him. They locked eyes for a second, and then D’Antonio climbed into the car. “Drive fast,” he told Zeke. “We’re going to have tails.”

Zeke swore and stepped on the gas. “You bring a fucking tail on me?”

“Relax,” said D’Antonio. “What are you, a rookie?”

Zeke swore again and glanced in the rearview mirror as they swung out into traffic. Behind them an unmarked Crown Victoria pulled out a few cars back. “Got him,” he said.

“Good. Give him some time and then lose him.”

They cruised for a couple miles, putting space between them and the airport. Traffic was light, and Zeke kept the Caddy rolling at a clip. D’Antonio lowered the window and enjoyed the sunshine on his face. Today’s going to be a good day, he thought. Just as soon as we lose these cops.

He dug out his BlackBerry and called his contact at Miami PD. The guy answered late, his voice far off and alien. “Time is it?”

“Time to get up,” said D’Antonio. “What do you have for me?”

“Aw, fuck. Where are you?”

“I’m here.”

“All right, I got bad news and worse news. You wanna hear it?”

D’Antonio frowned. “What’s up?”

“First thing is that damn computer nearly blew up when we tried to hack it. It’s toast. Totally erased itself right in front of us.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry, D,” said the cop. He paused. “The other thing is they found the kids holed up in a motel in Hollywood.”

“And that’s bad why?”

“Motel owner called the police. First car on the scene was a patrolman from Hollywood PD. Cope, his name was. Real straight man. Always by the rules, this guy. He gets stood up at the door by some chick demands to see a warrant.”

“Motherfuck. The guy never heard of probable cause?”

“She was some rich girl, said Daddy would sue the force if he played it wrong. He took her serious and bailed out, spent the rest of the day trying to wrangle a warrant from a judge on a golf course.”

“And the kids?”

“Got away clean. Motel owner called back in the evening, said the room was empty. Nothing but a pile of bloody towels and some empty bottles of aspirin. He didn’t see them leave.”

“Great,” said D’Antonio. “You just let a bunch of kids make a fool out of your whole department. Do you clowns have any leads whatsoever?”

“Not so much.” The guy paused. “Maybe your Feds will come up with something.”

D’Antonio ended the call. He felt like chucking his phone out the window, but took a deep breath, drawing it in slow and then letting the air out.

Zeke looked over at him. “You all right, boss?”

“Those kids were in Hollywood,” said D’Antonio. “Cops found them, let them go. Couldn’t get a warrant in time, and they vanished.”

“No shit,” said Zeke. “They still got Carlos’s Trans Am?”

Good point, thought D’Antonio. He picked up his cell phone and called back his contact. The guy picked up quick this time. “Johnston.”

“It’s D. Make damn sure Hollywood PD is looking for an orange Trans Am. Those kids probably dumped the car somewhere before they blew. Tell the state patrol, too.”

D’Antonio pocketed the phone again. He swiveled in his seat and made the unmarked Crown Vic a couple cars behind, hanging back. Those Feds wanted to use him as a tour guide, fuck them. He turned to Zeke. “All right, enough,” he said. “Lose the goddamn tail.”

Zeke nodded, signaled left, and pulled into the left-hand turn lane. Then at the last possible moment, he swerved right, cutting across three lanes of traffic and standing on the accelerator as horns blared and tires squealed behind him. The Caddy rocketed down the side street, and Zeke made another quick right and then a left before he finally let off the gas. He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Tail’s gone,” he said.

“Good,” said D’Antonio. “Now take me to the beach.”

M
arie sat up, gasping, as the plane banked and turned into its final approach above Jacksonville. She’d spent the night dozing, drifting between her seat in the plane and a nightmare of Pender and the boys and the bad things they’d stirred up. Now she blinked, rubbing her eyes, and stared out the window and down toward the Jacksonville airport. Arthur was right, she thought. We should have stayed together after Detroit. At least if something happens now, it will happen to both of us.

The plane touched down on the runway, bounced and shuddered and finally found solid ground. Within five minutes they had taxied to the gate, and Marie shouldered her bag and made her way up into the terminal, following the flow of passengers toward the baggage claim area, her senses deadened by the sleepless night.

She walked through the baggage claim, searching the room for Arthur’s sandy hair and not finding it. She kept walking, found an exit, and walked out into the sunlight and the diesel-exhaust air of the loading area.

Marie looked up and down the sidewalk. Parked cars, buses, a line of taxis, and a crowd of passengers. And twenty feet away, leaning up against a big blue SUV, Arthur Pender stood waiting for her, watching
the steady stream of arrivals. He seemed to see her at the same time she saw him, and they smiled at each other as she tried to push her way through the riptide crowd.

But as she came closer, she could see his smile disappear. He was staring at her now, shaking his head almost imperceptibly, and she stopped, confused, in midstream. Arthur was pale now. Marie shrugged at him, feeling panic start to well.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, sudden and firm. Someone spoke her name in her ear. “Marie McAllister? Could you come with me, please?”

P
ender watched as the plainclothes cop double-checked the photocopy in his hand and then started toward Marie. The man caught up with her, and Pender saw the look of panic on his girlfriend’s face as he touched her shoulder and turned her toward him. The cop was flanked by two uniformed security guards, and they stood by, warily, as the crowds started to thin out around them.

Pender watched Marie answer the cop, feeling his stomach churn as she stared across the sidewalk at him, plaintive. He shook his head at her, tried to blend in to the background while his brain screamed at him to act.
Save her.
Do something.

The cop kept his arm on Marie’s shoulder and turned her back toward the terminal building. One security guard was scanning the sidewalk, and Pender turned away, watching the scene from the corner of his eye. The other security guard produced a pair of handcuffs. If there was a time to move, it was now.

Pender pushed off from the Durango and started toward Marie, trying to figure out a plan. Easiest way might be to get physical, try to jar Marie away from the cops and then run with her. Marie was struggling now, fighting off the police, and a crowd was gathering around her. Pender shoved bystanders aside, trying to get to his girlfriend before the cops put the handcuffs on her, dimly aware that more security guards were appearing from the exits now. A siren whooped, and an
airport police car pulled up to the curb. The whole goddamn place was a trap.

Pender kept pushing, getting closer now, people starting to complain as he jostled past them. He felt a hand on his own shoulder, and he swung around, fists balled, ready to fight, but when he turned it was Sawyer holding him back. “We gotta go,” Sawyer told him. “We stay here they catch us all.”

“They got Marie,” said Pender. “We have to get her back.”

“Impossible. There’s cops everywhere.” Sawyer leaned close, hissed in Pender’s ear. “We got about a minute and a half before we’re in cuffs, too, bro. We gotta move.”

He grabbed Pender’s other shoulder and spun him around. Pender struggled but Sawyer held tight, pushing him back to the Durango while he twisted to watch the cop turn Marie back to the terminal. Sawyer threw him into the passenger seat and dashed around to the driver’s side as Pender stared back at Marie. She was fighting, but she was losing, and just before the police pushed her into the airport, she swung her head around and caught Pender’s eye, her face a mask of desperation.

Then she was gone, disappeared inside the building, and Sawyer was speeding out into traffic. Pender doubled over in the passenger seat, gasping for breath and replaying the last moments in his head, seeing over and over the look of resignation in Marie’s eyes when she realized he wasn’t coming to save her.