M iami’s cold wave was coming to an end. Theo could feel it. The motel room was getting hotter, stuffier by the minute. It was growing brighter, too. Flickers of sunlight filtered through the top of the old drapes and broke over the heaping barricade of overturned furniture and mattresses like dawn over a hilltop. If Theo could somehow crawl across the room and yank those drapes off the window, the snipers might be able to scope the interior, see over the mound of furniture, and take a shot. He assumed there were snipers out there. Those guys lived for the chance to shoot something other than the ink out of a bull’s-eye at two hundred yards. All they needed was an opening, one kill shot straight to the head. Game over. The cop-killer would be dead. Unless they were under the impression that it was Theo who had shot those police officers. Surely, Jack had explained to them that the black dude wasn’t one of the bad guys. But would they believe it? Or would they see nothing more than a criminal defense lawyer covering for his old client? They must have pulled his record by now and seen that Jack had sprung him loose from death row. It wouldn’t matter that DNA evidence had proved him innocent. Like everyone else who professed to “know” about Theo’s past, they would assume that he’d gotten off on a technicality, that his clever lawyer had thrown some legal bullshit up against the wall and it stuck. They’d see a murderer in the crosshairs and a chance to serve the ends of justice-delayed but not denied. First shot, Falcon. Second shot, the black piece of shit who deserved to die. A tragic mistake. What a pity.
Calm down, Theo told himself. Maybe the sniper’s a brother.
“Hey, mister,” said Natalia. “Are you ever going to let us use the bathroom?”
Falcon looked in her direction. She’d apparently roused him from some very deep thoughts, as it took a moment for her request to register. “Use what?” he said.
“The bathroom,” said Theo. “We been sitting here for six hours.”
Falcon was standing at the front door. He pressed his eye to the peephole and stole one more quick peek of the parking lot, then turned and walked to Natalia. “She goes first.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “Let him go.”
“Shut up! If I say you’re first, then you go first. Do you hear me?”
She glanced nervously at Theo. Their voices were loud enough to carry into the bathroom, and they both knew that all hell would break loose when Falcon opened the door. It would have been a stretch to call it a coordinated effort, but Theo was obviously the better point man on this side of the bathroom door.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go first.”
Both Theo and Natalia had their hands tied behind their backs, and Falcon had bound their ankles tightly with electrical cords that he had yanked from the lamps. Falcon knelt down slowly, pointing his gun straight at her face. With the free hand, he loosened the cord around her ankles so that she could walk. Then he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up so hard it cocked her head sideways, her cheek practically lying on her shoulder. She was sandwiched between Falcon and the wall as he jammed the gun under her chin and aimed straight at her brain. “Do not try anything,” he said.
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
Her clothing was tight, and Falcon seemed to like the feel of his body against hers. “And the door stays open,” he said.
“You mean you’re going to watch me use the bathroom?”
A vacant smile creased his lips. “Aren’t you used to it, jinitera?”
“Hey,” said Theo. “There’s no need to be calling her that.”
“I thought you didn’t speak Spanish.”
“Do you seriously think there’s a bartender in Miami who doesn’t know how to say ‘prostitute’ en español?”
“Do you seriously think it’s worth taking a bullet to defend this one’s honor?”
Theo didn’t answer. Falcon kept the gun trained on the back of Natalia’s head as he nudged her forward and followed directly behind her. From the standpoint of a potential escape, it was unfortunate positioning. If Natalia’s friend in the bathroom did have a gun, it would have been difficult to get off a clean shot at Falcon without wounding or killing her in the process.
Theo remained on the floor. It was just a few steps from his seat against the wall to the bathroom, and his angle offered a clear view of the door. He had been trying to loosen the bindings around his wrists for hours, with little progress. The cord around his ankles was equally secure. If something good was to come of this, it was up to Natalia and her friend.
Natalia was taking small, deliberate steps toward the bathroom door, as if plotting her next move. Theo wondered if the man inside was ready to rise to the occasion. Was he standing at the ready, hammer cocked and prepared to fire? Was he any kind of a shot at all, or would bullets fly wildly in every direction? Would he lose his nerve and freeze up? Did he even have a gun?
Falcon reached past Natalia and grasped the doorknob. Theo prepared to scoot forward and roll, if need be, to help overpower Falcon. Falcon turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Out of the darkness, a white blur shot, like a linebacker racing through the open doorway. With it came a scream so loud and shrill that it chilled Theo and completely disoriented Falcon. The man emerged from hiding and slammed into Natalia, pushing her against Falcon. The momentum sent all three of them sailing across the dressing area and crashing against the wall. Falcon hit first, then Natalia, followed by her friend. The combined impact dislodged the gun and sent it flying through the air. Natalia was kicking furiously, and her friend was pummeling Falcon with both fists, as the gun hit the tile floor. Theo immediately rolled toward it, but it was sliding away from him. He was quickly entangled in the two-on-one dogfight against Falcon, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed another woman hiding in the bathtub.
“Get the gun!” shouted Theo.
She didn’t move. The bathroom had no windows, no source of light, making it difficult for Theo to see her. But he could see enough in the shadows.
“Damn it, get the-” he started to say, but Falcon’s boot caught him squarely in the mouth. Falcon sprang to his feet, and he was regaining control. He shoved Natalia aside, grabbed her friend by the shirt, and slammed the man’s head into the wall. The guy went down in a heap, dazed if not unconscious. Falcon rolled to his right and snatched up his gun.
“Nobody move!”
Theo froze. Natalia was on the floor, her shirt torn and blood coming from her nose. Her friend appeared to be breathing, but he was otherwise motionless, facedown.
Falcon was shaking, more angry than frightened. “You planned this!” he said. “I told you not to try anything!”
Theo glanced toward the bathtub again. He could see her hand draped over the side of the tub, and the top of her head. Come on, baby. It’s now or never.
“I should kill you for this!” said Falcon as he thrust the pistol in Natalia’s direction.
“Don’t shoot me, please!”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“I’m only eighteen. Please, don’t do this to me.”
Falcon was breathing heavy, staring at Natalia. Then he turned the gun toward Theo. “I guess that leaves you, big guy.”
“I don’t think you want to do that,” said Theo.
“Oh, then you don’t know me very well,” said Falcon.
“You fire that gun, and the cops will be in here in two seconds flat.”
“Who said anything about a gun?” Falcon reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a steak knife. Homeless people were like walking kitchens. Theo wondered what else he had in there. Another ammunition clip, maybe? In the tussle, Theo had definitely felt something under that bulky coat. Falcon must have known that the police were searching for him after that body was found in the trunk of his car. Had he prepared himself for a standoff?
“The cops are probably on their way in here already,” said Theo.
“Nice try,” said Falcon.
There was a groan, then a gurgling sound, from inside the bathroom. Falcon and Theo both shot a look through the open doorway. The woman still hadn’t moved from the bathtub, and she showed no reaction when Falcon pointed his gun at her.
“Don’t move!” shouted Falcon, but she seemed to have no such intention. Falcon stepped into the doorway and flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. Apparently, he’d forgotten that they were without electricity. He dug into his coat pocket again, found a disposable lighter, and kicked up a flame that brightened the bathroom.
Only then did Theo notice the blood.
Falcon let out a scream that was beyond shock, beyond fear, beyond the most harrowing screech of a mortally wounded animal. It lasted a good ten seconds, and when he stopped to take a breath, he slammed the door and stepped away, trembling with each tentative step backward.
He was staring at the door, taking aim with his pistol, as if he expected it to open at any moment. Nothing happened. There was not another sound. Finally, he raised a fist and shouted toward the bathroom, shouted at the top of his voice, “No, no, damn it! Not you again!”
V ince Paulo was at the mobile command center when he caught a blip of radio squelch in his earpiece. The excited voice of one of the officers outside the motel room followed.
“I think we heard a scream from inside the room, Sergeant.”
Vince keyed his microphone. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I heard it. Jonesy says he heard it too.”
“Man or woman?”
“Man, I think.”
Vince keyed his mike again and summoned up his audio specialist. “Bolton, what are you picking up in there?” She took a moment to respond, and Vince imagined that she was adjusting the controls, trying to get a clearer transmission. “It sounds like some kind of argument going on, sir.”
“Do you have a video feed yet?”
“Negative. When Swyteck’s car crashed into the building, it crushed the AC ducts leading to the room. There’s no place to snake the transmission line. Our tech team planted these listening devices as close as we could, but until we have a green light to enter the next room and plant something right on the adjoining wall, it’s not going to give us what we want.”
“Can you isolate on anything?”
“I tried separating out some background noises, but it’s just a screech to me. If the officers on site say it was a man’s scream, I’ve got no reason to doubt it.”
“Got it, thanks,” said Vince.
Chavez said, “If he’s savaging the hostages, we need to breach.”
Vince took a moment, thinking.
Chavez said, “What are you waiting for, gunshots?”
Vince picked up the phone and dialed. “If he doesn’t answer, we breach.”
FALCON WAS STARING at the cell phone on the floor as if it were some kind of chirping alien. It rang a second time, and then a third.
“You better answer it,” said Theo.
“Quiet!” It rang two more times. Nobody moved. Then, on the sixth ring, Falcon sprang like a cat, grabbed it, and hit the talk button. “Swyteck?” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“It’s me, Vince Paulo.”
“I told you I didn’t want to hear from no more cops,” he said, the anger coming through, even in a whisper.
“We heard a scream. Is everything okay in there?”
“Where’s Swyteck?”
“Why are you whispering?”
He gnawed his lower lip, wincing like a man in pain. “Tell me where Swyteck is.”
“He’s on his way back from the bank. He’ll be here in a little while. Now, like I said, we heard a scream in there, Falcon. It sounded like a man. I need to hear Theo Knight’s voice, make sure he’s okay.”
“He’s fine.”
“I got guys chomping at the bit to beat that door down, Falcon. Help me out here. I need to hear his voice.”
Falcon gritted his teeth, then walked over to Theo, who was still seated on the floor. Facing him, he put the gun to Theo’s left ear, the phone to his right. “Say something.”
“There’s two more-”
Falcon slugged him with the butt of the gun and snatched the phone away before Theo could finish. “Not so damn loud,” he said as he brought the phone back to his ear. He was furious but still whispering.
Paulo said, “Falcon, do you have two more hostages?”
“I want to talk to Swyteck.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because she’s here. In the bathroom.”
“Who’s in the bathroom?”
“It’s her. I know it’s her.”
“Who is she?”
“I can’t get rid of her!”
“Falcon, take a breath and tell me who else is there with you.”
Falcon was pacing furiously, but he was careful with each footfall so as not to make too much noise. “She’s always here. Everywhere I go, she just shows up.”
“Who?”
“She comes to the river. She comes to my house. She sits on my milk crate. She won’t go, she won’t never go! I beat the living crap out of her with a pipe and stuff her in the trunk, and she’s still here! Right here in the bathroom!”
“Falcon, tell me who you’re talking about.”
He cupped his hand around the receiver, containing his words so that no one would overhear. It made his whisper even raspier. “I have to tell Swyteck something.”
“No problem. I can pass it on to him. What is it?”
“Tell him-first tell him I still want my money.”
“Okay, he’s working very hard on that. Anything else?”
“Yeah,” he said as he shot a nervous glance toward the bathroom door. “Tell him I need, I really need, my fucking necklace.” He closed the flip phone and disconnected.
J ack was in search of the Bushman.
Falcon’s demand for his necklace had made absolutely no sense to Sergeant Paulo. Jack, however, knew exactly what his client was talking about. He wanted the necklace of metal beads that had held the key to Falcon’s safe deposit box at the Greater Bahamian Bank amp; Trust Company. Problem was, Jack had last seen it around the neck of a homeless and extremely paranoid Jamaican called the Bushman.
“Would you know this Bushman if you saw him again?” asked Paulo.
“Sure. My guess is that he lives along the river, probably not far from Falcon’s car. If someone can give me a ride, I’ll find him.”
“I’ll go,” said Alicia.
Jack had yet to tell anyone about his private talk with Alicia’s father, but the upshot of that conversation made it seem like a good idea to take the mayor’s daughter away from the command center and the lead negotiator. “Great. Let’s go.”
They took Alicia’s personal car, so she had to flash her badge to get through the traffic-control perimeter. Miami Avenue took them south, toward the river. They parked at a metered spot near Tobacco Road, Miami’s oldest bar, a place where Theo had on many occasions blown the saxophone until the wee hours of the morning. Jack wasn’t searching for memories, but it was amazing how the prospect of losing a friend made you see him everywhere and in everything.
“What does this Bushman look like?” said Alicia as they walked along the north side of the river.
“The thing I remember most is that he had about three miles of dreadlocks tucked up under a bulging knit cap, and the whole blob on top of his head was wrapped in aluminum foil. It reminded me of Jiffy Pop.”
“Of what?” said Alicia.
“Remember in the days before microwave popcorn how you would cook it on the stove in that little container that looked like a pie tin? As the corn popped, the foil on top would blow up like a big aluminum balloon? Well, that’s the Bushman’s head.”
“There was popcorn before microwaves?” she said.
Jack was about to answer, but he noted the little smile, a signal that she was yanking his chain. Nothing like being made to feel old by a young and beautiful cop.
Jack walked around a heap of rusted metal that appeared to be part of an old barge. “Your father corralled me for a talk before I came back to the command center this morning.”
She cast him a tentative look. “What about?”
“He’s very concerned that you might play too active a role in this hostage negotiation. He made me promise that if I talk to Falcon, I won’t even mention your name.”
“My father means well. But you should do whatever Sergeant Paulo tells you to do.”
They continued walking. The terrain was flat, but the piles of junk along the river were getting more formidable. With an active hostage-situation back at the hotel, Jack felt as though he should be running to find the Bushman, but he had to watch his step with all the twisted metal along the banks. “What can you tell me about Paulo?”
“He’s excellent.”
“How well do you know him?”
She hesitated just long enough for Jack to sense that it was a complicated question. “Very well,” she said.
“I hope you don’t mind my asking this, but is he totally blind?”
“Yes. Now, before you freak out, just remember that he’s an experienced negotiator. Listening, talking, persuading-that’s the essence of his job, and none of it is tied to his sight. It’s not like he’s a blind cosmetic surgeon about to feel his way through your nose job.”
Jack did a little face-check. “What’s wrong with my nose?”
“Nothing…”
“Good.”
“…that a little plastic surgery couldn’t fix.”
“Ah, cop humor. That’s one thing we criminal defense lawyers just can’t get enough of.”
Alicia stopped and pointed. “Is that him?”
Just ahead, near the bridge, a man was asleep on the ground. His winter jacket was so dirty that his form nearly blended into the earth, but the morning sun reflected off his shiny headgear like a chrome globe. “Gotta be the Bushman,” said Jack.
They approached with caution, the way anyone might approach a guy who slept alongside the river with his head wrapped in aluminum foil. He lay curled up on his right side. A charred, empty crack bowl was on the ground beside him. A stray cat was licking something off of his hand, but the Bushman wasn’t moving. It was hard to tell if he was even breathing.
“Bushman?” said Jack. He still didn’t move. Jack tried a little louder, “Hey, Bushman!”
The Bushman groaned and slowly propped himself up on one elbow. “What you want, mon?”
“Remember me? It’s Jack Swyteck-your friend Falcon’s lawyer.”
The Bushman sat up, but he paid little attention to his visitors. He started smacking his lips, as if trying to decide whether he could live with the foul taste in his mouth.
Alicia said, “Falcon needs your help.”
He stopped smacking. “Who are you?”
“She’s with me,” said Jack. He didn’t want to sic the cop on him just yet. “Falcon wants his necklace back.”
“You talked to him?” said the Bushman.
Jack didn’t answer directly. “He’s in a lot of trouble, and he just said he really, really needs his necklace.”
A look of concern came over the Bushman. “She must be back.”
“Who must be back?”
“That woman I was telling you about. I thought she was just another one of Miami’s homeless. But Falcon explained to me, mon. She’s not one of us. She’s one of them.”
“One of them?”
“Yeah, mon. They keep coming back, you know? You can’t be nice to them. You can’t take them at their word. They just never stop.”
“Never stop what?”
“Stop looking. For the house.”
“What house?”
He checked over his shoulder, as if to see if anyone was listening. Then he whispered, “La casa de la bruja.”
“The witch’s house?” said Alicia. Jack, too, had been able to translate it, but she was a tad quicker.
The Bushman winced. “Not so loud, lady. They’ll hear us.”
Jack said, “Who lives in the witch’s house?”
“Nobody lives there. It’s just where they go.”
“Where who goes?”
“You know, who we talked about before. The Disappeared.”
Time was precious, and Jack feared that the Bushman might be wasting too much of it. But with the mention of the Disappeared, Jack had to take a shot. “Bushman, if I told you that Falcon sent me on an errand, and that when I got there I found a note that asks in Spanish, ‘Where are the Disappeared?’-would you be able to answer that question?”
“Of course I would. La casa de la bruja. Don’t you understand nothing I’m saying to you, mon?”
“No,” Jack said, shaking his head slowly. “I wish I did, but I honestly don’t have time to sort this crap out. We need the necklace.”
“It’s mine now.”
“Falcon wants it back.”
“Too bad. He gave it to me.”
“What do you want for it?”
“It’s not for sale.”
“There must be something you want.”
The Bushman considered it. Then he looked at Alicia and smiled. “I want to see her tits.”
“No problem,” said Alicia.
“Really?” said the Bushman.
“Yeah, really.” She reached inside her jacket and pulled out her badge. “How’s that for a rack?”
The Bushman swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Now give us the damn necklace,” she said.