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He paused, and looked distracted. Then he made a wry grin.
“Ol’ Kenny, he never took anything off anyone, and he really started cussing a blue streak. Then he got really pissed and hauled ass at the van, intending on ramming the hell out of it. But then another blast, and I guess since we were closer, that one really found the mark. I heard all kinds of rounds hitting the truck. And then Kenny said, ‘Shit!’ right before we hit the van.”
“And you were where?” Payne said.
“All balled up, fetal-like, on the floorboard, t
rying to make this enormous damn body as small a target as possible. I mean, I had just looked up and seen Kenny’s neck basically explode. He was screaming and trying to control the truck. There’s blood going everywhere. And then he groaned this god-awful sound, and I saw his head droop. And when he slumped over, his foot floored the gas pedal.
“And I’m wedged down, knowing there’s no way to get up and maybe get control of the truck. So while the truck’s swerving, I’m trying to reach up to the keys to kill the damn engine. But they’re just out of reach, so I’m trying to pull myself off the floor. Then, next thing I know, the truck’s sliding. We clip something, and the damn truck rolls over. That throws me off the floor. And then there’s all these noises—oh, man, the noises—they were deafening. And now I’m flying across the ceiling—or whatever you call the top of the truck—and bouncing from window to window. I can see sparks flying outside. Then, all of a sudden—Wham!—we smack something hard. And I go flying one more time.”
He reached again for the foam cup of water, his left hand shaking.
After he had sipped from it, he looked back and forth between Payne and Harris.
“Scariest damn thing that’s ever happened to me in my entire life,” Austin said.
“I’m sure,” Payne said. “So after that, after you went flying one more time . . . ?”
“Nothing. I mean, I don’t remember a damn thing until I’m on the sidewalk and looking up at a couple of cops and the truck is all in flames and there’s sirens screaming up to us.
“Then the EMTs started going to work on me. And Camilla Rose ran up. She kinda lost it when she saw all the blood. Those two cops tried to keep her back. When the EMTs found the envelope under my sweater, I asked them to give it to her. They told her I seemed okay, I was going to make it, but they had to take me to the ER. She told me later—here—that she wanted to ride along, but they said she couldn’t and the cops got her a cab.”
Everyone was quiet as Harris took more notes.
Finally, Austin broke the silence. “You never said . . . Did the bastards who did it get caught?”
“No,” Payne said, “there was a chase, but they got away. We did recover the van, and some evidence inside.”
“Do you have any idea who did it?” Harris said.
Austin remained silent a long moment.
“Let me tell you, Detective, that damn question’s been going through my mind. I’m in wealth management. Sometimes people don’t get the return on investments they’d hoped for and then they make some noise.” He paused, then added, “But do this? I can’t imagine. So then I was thinking maybe it’s something simple—like the wrong Escalade? I mean, legally, it was Camilla Rose’s. But they could’ve been after someone driving another one? Lots of them around . . . And driven by people with money.” He paused, then added, “Popular with the drug dealers in Miami Beach, I can tell you. Escalades . . . And those Range Rovers.”
“It’s a possibility,” Harris said, writing again. He then looked up, and said, “Can you tell us more about Mr. Benson?”
“What’s to tell?”
“You said he never took anything off anyone,” Payne put in. “Any reason someone would target him? Maybe retaliation?”
Austin, in thought for a long moment, shook his head.
“What about his company?” Payne said.
“NextGen? What about it? Great start-up. And Kenny’s got an amazing product that’s going to revolutionize the medical markets. He is—was—going to be amazingly wealthy.”
Harris said, “Then you’ve actually seen this device that—?”
“Yes,” Austin interrupted. “And it will be huge, once it gets past the damn FDA approval.”
“Are you aware,” Harris went on, “that some owners of company stock are angry that Mr. Benson has withheld—”
“Yes, yes,” Austin interrupted again. “And they’re just being impatient and greedy. And stupid. The government’s the holdup.”
“Some have claimed to have lost a lot of money. Are you aware of any threats to Mr. Benson that—”
“You’re thinking that that would’ve led to this shooting?” Austin said. “Look, every company has shareholders complaining about something they think the company should or shouldn’t be doing. The fact is, NextGenRx is about to make incredible money.”
