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The address Rosa had given me was actually an entire block of condemned houses. They were little stucco bungalows in varying degrees of decay. Windows and doors were secured with hammered-on boards to keep squatters and users out. One of the houses had been gutted by fire. The roof was collapsed into the house and the stucco was stained with soot. A few pieces of charred furniture—a couch and two chairs—were left in the small front yard.
And one of the houses had a car in the driveway. The windows were boarded shut on the house, but the boards on the door had been removed and tossed on the ground.
I drove by the house twice, and I swear I could feel Hooker’s heart beating inside. There were no other cars on the street. No one rattling off to work. No one parked at the curb. The structures on the opposite side of the street had already been razed. Nothing left but concrete slab foundations and an occasional piece of pipe that had escaped the demo.
Because there were no houses obstructing my view I was able to park a block away and watch the occupied bungalow. I had my doors locked, and I was hunkered down in my seat, trying to be invisible. I was wearing a new plain black ball cap with my hair tucked up, a black T-shirt, jeans, and black-and-white Converse sneakers. Not especially cool in the Miami heat, but it was unisex and practical.
There were a few other cars parked at the curb and in driveways. Mostly junker pickups and rusted-out muscle cars. The rental didn’t totally fit, but it wasn’t glaringly conspicuous either.
At precisely seven o’clock, a silver Camry rolled down the street and parked in front of the occupied house. Two guys got out and walked to the front door. The door opened, and the guys went in. Five minutes later, two different guys came out. One of the guys was carrying a black plastic garbage bag. He put the bag into the trunk of the Nissan Maxima in the driveway, both guys got into the Nissan, and took off.
Shift change.
Okay, I was excited. I was pretty sure I’d found Hooker and Bill. And I was pretty sure they were being guarded by two guys. I followed the Maxima out of the neighborhood and dropped back when they pulled into a restaurant parking lot. They drove to the back of the lot, the one guy got out, took the bag from the trunk, and left it sitting by the Dumpster. I continued following them when they left the lot, and I lost them when they turned south on Seventeenth Street. They were heading for Little Havana, and I didn’t want to go there.
I returned to the abandoned house and cruised by very slowly, taking it all in. Then I went back to the restaurant parking lot and parked by the Dumpster. Call me crazy. I wanted to see what they were throwing away. Who knows, right?
I pawed through the bag and found a bunch of large plastic soda bottles and cardboard pizza boxes. I looked at the top of the box. Pizza Time. It was one of those chains that advertise on-time delivery or no charge. The orders were taped to all the box tops. These guys were living on pizza and soda. And it was being delivered. I went through all the boxes. The day shift ordered a large pizza with green pepper, sausage, onions, extra cheese. They got a big bottle of Dr Pepper with the pizza. Yesterday the order went in at noon and again at five. The night shift ordered pizza at ten. Large pie. Plain. Large bottle of Sprite.
I took one of the day shift boxes and headed out of the lot.
I went east, looking for a safe place to call Slick. I found a spot I liked on North River Drive. It was a church with an empty parking lot. The lot was large and only partially visible from the road. I pulled in, parked in a far corner and placed the call.
Slick’s cell rang five times before he answered. “Unh,” he said.
“Are you awake?”
“Barely.”
“I have something to show you.”
“I’m hoping it’s you with your clothes off.”
“Not nearly.”
He blew out a sigh. “Okay, let’s see it.”
I got out of the car, went around to the rear, and opened the trunk. I’d angled the car to get as much early-morning light as possible into the open trunk. I aimed the phone at the bomb.
“Fuck,” Slick said.
I closed the trunk and got back into the car. “I know where they’ve got Bill and Hooker,” I said to Slick. “I want you to go get them.”
“Okay, but you have to transfer the item over to me first.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t trust you.”
“You think I’d go back on my word?”
“Yeah.”
“Boy, that hurts.”
“Here’s the thing,” I said. “I’m not all that patriotic. What I really want is to get the two guys I care about someplace safe. So if you won’t help me, I’ll deal directly with Salzar.”
