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“If you want to get lucky you’ll let me drive.”
Hooker looked a little like Brian when presented with a spice cookie. “Really? All I have to do is let you drive?”
“Yep.”
He wrapped his arms around me. “I’d get lucky anyway, even if I didn’t let you drive, wouldn’t I?”
I smiled at him. “Yep.”
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “You can drive, but you have to be careful. No cowboying around. This is a race car. It drives different from a regular car.”
“Really?”
“Have you ever seen the inside of one of these?”
I levered myself in through the window and flipped the switch. Driver, start your engine. “Just get in,” I said. “I think I can manage.”
Hooker’s transporter pulled out first, followed by Hooker and me in the PR car. Bill and Maria were behind us, driving the van with the gold. Judey and Hooker’s crew chief were behind the van in a pickup. Everyone else was already on the road. The sun was visible on the horizon. The garage was deserted. Tendrils of smoke curled from far off in the swamp. So far, there was no indication that the swamp police were investigating. Hell, maybe helicopters crash there all the time and they only clean them up once a week.
We were all headed for Homestead Air Force Base, where we’d make the swap. The plane that brought Maria’s father to American soil would carry Torres and Pukey back to Cuba. The military would take possession of the gas canister, and hopefully the SovarK2 would go to gas heaven. Juan Raffles would go home with Maria…and so would the gold.
We were almost at the juncture of Route 997 when a blue Crown Vic blew past us. Slick and Gimpy. Late for the party.
I whipped Hooker’s PR car around, hung a U-turn, and dropped the hammer.
“Oh man,” Hooker said. “Here we go again.”
I caught Slick and Gimpy and pulled out to pass. I looked to the side and saw the horror on their faces as they stared into the PR car at Hooker and me.
“It’s all in the timing and placement,” I said. Then I jerked the dummy car and clipped the Crown Vic, sending it careening off the road. It caught some air, hit the water with a splash, and settled into the swamp.
“Darlin’,” Hooker said. “We need to talk. I get the feeling you’ve done this before.”
EPILOGUE
Hooker was grilling barbecued ribs on board his boat. He was dressed in his usual rummage sale shorts and ripped motor oil T-shirt. His nose was pink and peeling. His eyes were hidden behind his Oakleys. He looked happy. I don’t usually brag, but I thought I had something to do with the happy part.
Judey was in the fighting chair, watching Hooker grill. Brian was dancing in place, focused on the ribs. Bill, Maria, and Juan Raffles were in deck chairs. Actually, Bill and Maria were in the same chair. It was almost embarrassing, but hey, this was my brother Wild Bill. Todd was lounging on the rail with Rosa and Felicia.
We were having a party. We were celebrating the fact that we weren’t dead. We were celebrating Bill and Maria’s new two-million-dollar boat, which was tied up in the neighboring slip. And we were celebrating Juan’s freedom.
“Cigars for everyone,” Rosa said. “I rolled them myself.”
I took a cigar and lit up.
Hooker smiled at me. “Darlin’, that’s damn NASCAR.”
“Special occasion,” I told him.
“You are such a charm,” Judey said to me. “Just look at you in your brand-new little pink skirt and adorable blond hair. Who would think you smoked cigars and overhauled carburetors? It’s like you take metro-sexual to a whole new level. It’s like you’re Metro Girl.”
Hooker rocked back on his heels, his cigar clamped between his teeth. “Yeah, and Metro Girl’s gonna kick ass on my racing team.”
Overhead, the sky was a brilliant blue. The hot Miami sun warmed hearts and minds and points south. A late-afternoon breeze rattled in the palms and caused the water of Biscayne Bay to gently lap against the boat hull. Life was good in Florida. And okay, so I was going back to working on cars. Truth is, I was pretty happy with it. I was looking forward to working on Hooker’s equipment. I’d seen his undercarriage and it was damn sweet.
