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“And by the way, I don’t suppose you’d know anything about an explosion that sunk Flex?”
And here’s my thing, I thought. I’m with two guys who impressed the police enough to get me released into their custody but won’t show me any identification. They could tell me anything. How would I know fact from fiction? Call me a cynic but I have no reason to trust them. And no reason to like them.
“Wish I could help you,” I said. “But I don’t know anything.”
We were back in Little Havana, and I wanted to put physical distance between me and Slick and Gimpy. I was going to move the canister. I’d made up my mind. I wasn’t entirely sure how I’d do it, but I’d find a way. And I’d find it fast before Salzar beat me to it. I’d do what I could to check up on Slick and Gimpy. In the meantime, I’d work independently.
“I’m feeling stressed,” I said to Slick. “I have a headache. Maybe you could drop me at a hotel.”
“Do you have a preference?”
“I remember one on Brickell. The Fandango. It looked nice.”
“The Fandango’s expensive,” Slick said. “You sure you don’t have a gold bar hidden away?”
“I have Hooker’s credit card.”
I turned my back on Slick and Gimpy and entered the Fandango lobby. The floor was polished black marble. The vaulted ceiling was two stories above me, painted a soft blue and white to simulate sky and clouds. The support columns were cream-colored marble that had been carved into floor-to-ceiling palm trees. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers could have tap tap tapped their way through the lobby and looked perfectly at home. Registration counter at the far end. Concierge desk to one side. Couches and chairs and potted plants were scattered around, arranged in conversation areas.
I thought I’d performed well in the car. I held it together, and I didn’t show a lot of emotion, but deep inside I was ruined. I’d left the car with Slick’s cell phone number and a promise that I’d call him if Salzar contacted me. I kept my head down and walked to an unused conversation area on the perimeter of the room.
Hundreds of thousands of deaths from the disbursement of a vile liquid into the air over a city filled with kids and puppies. It was horrific and disgusting. I wasn’t on a career track to save the world, but I was going to move this one canister out of harm’s way.
I gave a startled yelp when my cell phone rang.
“Miss Barnaby?”
“Yes.”
“You’re missing the party. Everyone else is here…your brother and your boyfriend. Wouldn’t you like to join them?”
“Who is this?”
“You know who I am. And you know I’m looking for something, don’t you?”
“Mr. Salzar.”
“I will make life very unpleasant for you and the people you care about if I don’t get what I want. Never in your worst nightmare could you imagine how unpleasant life will become. Do you understand?”
I disconnected and searched through my purse for Chuck DeWolfe’s card. My hands were shaking and I couldn’t find the card. It was in there, somewhere. I dumped everything into my lap and fingered through it. I finally found the helicopter pilot’s card and punched his number into my cell.
DeWolfe answered on the third ring. “Hey!” he said. “Chuck here.”
“Hey,” I answered back. “It’s Barney. I need help.”
THIRTEEN
I chose to get dropped at the Fandango because I’d driven past a bunch of times since I’d been in Miami, and on a couple of those passes I’d noticed a helicopter coming and going off the roof. It was a huge, expensive, high-rise hotel, and it made sense that it would have a helipad. Chuck DeWolfe had confirmed my suspicions.
My plan was basic. Get the canister before anyone else. Figure out what to do next when the canister was safely hidden. It wasn’t hard to come up with the plan. It was obvious. Everyone’s welfare hung on the canister…Bill’s, Maria’s, Hooker’s, the world’s.
I got off the phone and crossed the lobby to the hotel gift shop. My heart was beating with a sickening thud, and I was doing my best to ignore it. I bought a pair of shorts and changed out of the pink skirt. I went back to the chair, and I called Rosa.
“I’ve been thinking about Salzar’s property,” I said to Rosa. “Some of his financial transactions go through holding companies and then filter back to his wife under her maiden name.”
“Gotcha,” Rosa said. “I’m on it. I’ll dig around for the maiden name and I’ll check for more properties.”
“I’m especially interested in property north of the Orange Bowl Stadium.” That was where I lost the Town Car.
