A Dark and Lonely Place (36 page)

He and Dan, both white-faced and shaken, wanted to turn back. T. W. argued against it. “What we gonna say? A thunderstorm scared us off? We’d be a laughingstock. Baker’d never buy it. The deal he made is that we back up Merritt and his men. If we don’t show and Merritt lets him down, Baker’ll have our hides and our badges in a heartbeat. If Ashley gets away, we’ll get blamed and never live it down.”

“Being laughed at and outta work is better than pushing up daisies,” Padgett said. “I got me a wife and kids to think about. I ain’t going no further. You don’t turn back, I can get out right here.”

“Listen to me,” T. W. persisted. “Okay, it’s nasty out here. But if you’re hunting for the devil, you got to go to hell. And we have the biggest gun, the element of surprise. That’s the weapon that wins wars. Ashley and his boys never expect to see us up there. We’ve got the advantage.”

He tried to find a way around the downed tree, inching the car in reverse. The heavy, still-smoking branches dug deep scratches in the
dented hood as he backed out from beneath them. It was impossible, the road impassable. When the storm finally began to let up, they got out and tried to move the tree off the road, using a crowbar, tools from the trunk, broken branches, leverage, and muscle. Cursing, sweating, dirty, and wet, they argued the entire time. After two hours, they finally managed to roll most of the massive tree off the roadway.

Personal pride and professional duty demanded that they complete their assignment, T. W. explained as they hauled singed branches out of the car’s path. “We nail Ashley and we have our pick of jobs. Might even snag somea that reward money.”

“Dead men don’t need jobs or money. What if he kills us first?” Padgett said.

“He won’t,” T. W. said confidently. “Like I said, we got the upper hand. Sheriff J. R. Merritt’s a helluva man, knows his stuff, and he don’t play games. We partner up with him and his deputies, then surprise Ashley and his gang. The odds are with us. It’d be a different story if Baker was here running the show.”

“Yeah,” Nelson said. “First time he heard a twig snap, he’d drop his gun, scream like a girl, and pee his pants.”

“What the hell’s that smell?” Padgett wiped his face on his shirt and grimaced.

“Shit!” T. W. said. “Goddamn it to hell! There’s dead skunk under these burnt branches.”

J. R. Merritt shook his head and spit tobacco juice after Baker’s “best men” rolled into town late, dirty, and disheveled in a scratched and dented car with a busted windshield. “Figured the storm musta slowed you down some. So Bob Baker hisself isn’t joining us?”

“The sheriff wanted to be here,” T. W. lied, “but had important business back in Palm Beach. Said to follow your orders.”

Merritt nodded, then frowned. “Good God! What’s that smell? You boys pick up a family of polecats on the road?”

John Ashley, his nephew Hanford, Ray Lynn, and Clarence Middleton refueled the touring car that afternoon in Fort Pierce, then strolled down to the local barbershop for shaves and haircuts.

Afterward, they proceeded to the local pool hall. Money changed hands as John and Hanford took two out of three from Ray Lynn and Clarence Middleton.

Then they crossed Main Street for a restaurant supper. A young red-haired woman in a white dress smiled real friendly and waved to John as they passed the window of the real estate office where she sat behind a desk. He grinned and waved back.

“You know her?” Ray Lynn’s jaw dropped and he lagged behind for a better look. “I hear redheads have hot tempers. But I’d take my chances with that one. Introduce me, John.”

Ashley shook his head. “Never seen ’er before.”

“That’s life for famous outlaws,” Middleton said. “Ladies love bad boys.”

“Shut your mouth,” John said quietly. “And don’t use that word again.”

“What word?”

“Outlaw,”
John said softly. “We’re done with that. And this ain’t the time or place to meet a woman, Ray. We have to hit the road at dark. We want out of Florida, fast.” He inhaled a deep breath and studied the horizon. “And we’ll have to drive through bad weather.”

Ray Lynn and Clarence Middleton squinted at the bright blue sky and exchanged skeptical glances. “Nah,” Middleton said. “Perfect traveling weather.”

Ray agreed. “Not a cloud in the sky.”

“Let’s go eat,” John said.

They dined on thick rare steaks, apple pie, and coffee, then left Fort Pierce during a brilliant sunset. But an hour later, leaves and tree limbs began to stir, then churn above them. The wind built. Thunder rumbled like distant cannons and advanced like an army. Lightning pirouetted across the night sky, touching down closer and closer.

The wind howled like a thousand banshees as nickel-sized hail pounded the car like machine-gun fire. Torrential rain followed, punctuated by lightning and thunder crashes.

Forced to stop in zero visibility, they discussed turning back. “No point!” Ashley shouted to be heard above the storm. “It’s movin’ south. No way to outrun it. Let’s keep heading north and ride it out.”

Only Ray Lynn, deep in fantasy about the redhead back in Fort Pierce, disagreed. The storm fury swept south and the turbulent skies slowly calmed as they continued north. Starry shafts emerged from between inky black clouds, revealing a frail quarter moon, their solitary beacon in the semitropical darkness.

A wild creature hurtled across the road directly in front of them, big luminous eyes aglow for a heartbeat in the headlights. John stomped the brakes and the animal vanished into shadow.

“What the hell was that?” Hanford leaned forward.

“Panther, I think, “John said.

“Where?” Clarence Middleton asked from the back seat, his gravel voice groggy. “Maybe a gator?”

“Way too fast.” Ray’s cigarette tip reflected red in the rearview mirror. “Coulda been a bear.”

“Faster than a bear, unless he was desperate to catch something,” Hanford said.

“Or desperate to escape something,” Ray Lynn said, his voice low as he stared into the darkness.

“Nothing out here that’ll scare a bear,” John said. “Only men with guns. Whatever it was, it’s lucky, and so are we, that we didn’t hit it. Maybe it’s a good omen,” he added hopefully.

“Hope so,” Ray muttered. “I’m so tired of running and sick of staying. Be nice if things work out for us this time.”

“It’s a big country,” John said. “We’ll find us a place. Maybe California. We could try gold mining, maybe strike it rich.” He looked back. “Do me a favor, Ray. Crank down that window to clear out the cigarette smoke.”

Ray obliged. The rush of cool air that followed the storm was refreshing, but the shroud of darkness and dense wilderness made them feel small, lost, and alone on the vast Florida peninsula.

“Look at that,” Hanford said. “The storm musta brought down that big live oak. Somebody already hauled it halfway off the road. Look at them drag marks.”

“Nice to know there’s somebody else alive out here,” Clarence said. “I’m not sorry to say adios to Florida. This here’s a dark and lonely place. No lights, no cars, no people. Darker than a mine shaft. It’s like we’re traveling alone on the road to hell.”

“Close the window,” John said. “Somebody hit a skunk out here.”

“One thing I won’t miss is Florida’s critters,” Ray said. “Or that swamp fulla skeeters, snakes, and gators.”

“I liked crossing the Atlantic, being out at sea under the stars,” Hanford said, “but didn’t think much of the people over there. I missed Florida.”

“Me and Laura felt the same way when we were on the run,” John said. “Missed home, kinfolk, good friends. ’Member how tight we all were? But those I missed most are gone now, because of me.” His voice tightened. “No better man than my pop ever walked this earth. Baker’s men shot him dead in his bed before he could pull his boots on. Three brothers gone, Laura hurt, homesteads burned. And they damn near hung me. That’s over now. Once we find a place to settle, I’ll live a good life like the ones we had before all the trouble. I’m looking forward to that.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

S
heriff Merritt, four of his deputies, and Baker’s men moved fast, formed a plan, then drove to the bridge across the Sebastian Inlet, the deputies in two cars.

Merritt, in his own car, brought a heavy chain and stopped at a farmer’s house to borrow a lantern. They hid the cars, Merritt’s off the road on the north side, the deputies’ in the woods on the south side of the span.

“What if Ashley turned back because of the storm?” a deputy asked, as they stretched the chain across the narrow bridge.

“If Ashley’s half the man they say, no storm could keep him off a road he intended to take,” Merritt said. He hooked the lantern to the center of the chain, stepped back, and smiled. The lantern glowed like an ominous red eye in the dark.

“Check your weapons, boys, split up, move fast, and take cover on both sides of the road,” Merritt said. “Hold your fire till you can’t miss. Don’t be shooting acrost the road and hitting each other. No smoking, no talking, no drinking. Remember who we’re dealing with. Look sharp, stay alert, and stay alive.”

“Laura’s madder than a wet hen that you wouldn’t bring her with us,” Hanford said. “Think she’ll wait for you?”

“I know she will,” John said. “The girl’s more sad than mad. She knows bounty hunters are looking for us together.”

He wiped the inside of the windshield with his sleeve and squinted into the dark. “Look!” He grinned. “That’s the Sebastian Bridge up ahead. We’ll make good time now.”

PART SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

J
ohn ducked into a Flagler Street shop that sold electronic gadgets, souvenirs, sunglasses, and swimsuits to tourists. He bought an oversized T-shirt, shades, and a baseball cap, put them on, and was back on the street in minutes.

He left a message on Robby’s cell. “You’re one helluva weatherman. Ran into that storm you predicted. Shoulda listened. Rough seas today. Thinking about a little getaway and want to pick up my girl. Call me.”

He started to leave a message at the house but decided not to involve Robby’s wife. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t really know the girl. Something about her pale eyelashes and bold stare turned him off, along with her hooting laugh. It reminded him of something unpleasant he couldn’t quite remember. Was he becoming paranoid? He’d always liked his siblings’ spouses.

John doubled back to Macy’s, took the escalator back to the second floor, then the footbridge over the street to reach the parking garage. He rode the elevator down, left by the north exit, and ducked into the historic Seybold Building, constructed in the early 1920s and now known for floor after floor of fine jewelers. He drank a cortadito at a Cuban café in the lobby. Still wearing his shades and baseball cap, he cold-shouldered the surveillance cameras. There were dozens in the building, all monitored by security in the lobby.

Leon answered his phone immediately.

“Hey,” John said. “I’m downtown and need to leave under the radar without wheels. Somebody made my car in the parking lot where I left it.”

“Take the Metromover right by FedEx and get off at the Omni station. Meetcha there.”

John glanced at the monitors as he walked by security. Two police officers were approaching the entrance he’d used. He punched the button at the elevator bank. The ornate doors opened immediately. He hit six but got off on seven, took a stairwell down to four, opened a window, stepped onto the fire escape, and descended at top speed. As he jumped the last four feet to the pavement, a middle-aged security officer appeared.

“Whatcha doing, buddy? What’s the story?”

“Good news. The fire escapes meet code. A-plus for this inspection.” He scribbled in a notebook from his back pocket. “City Building Department.” He flashed his ID, with his photo and the city seal visible. His thumb covered the word “police.”

The security man glanced at it and nodded.

John hadn’t taken the Metromover in years. He watched the action below from a bird’s-eye view as the cars skimmed over the city, disembarked at the Omni, headed for the street, and spotted Leon, nearly invisible among throngs of commuters.

“You’re damn good, Johnny,” Leon said. “Most people wouldn’t have seen me. Your clothes ain’t bad, but you walk like you’re military. Makes you stand out. Use the homeless shuffle.”

“Shuffle?”

Leon nodded. “Hunch your shoulders, keep lookin’ at the ground, and insteada picking your feet up, shuffle. That’s it, you got it. Let’s go. How are ya for cash?” he asked, as they shuffled.

“Strapped, just ten, fifteen dollars on me till I see my brother. I’m headed there now.”

Leon nodded.

A Yellow Cab sat at the curb just off the busy thoroughfare. The husky, bearded, middle-aged driver did not lift his eyes until Leon tapped on the window.

“This here’s a friend,” Leon told him. “Take ’im where he needs to go. Nothing on the log or radio. You don’t know him. Never saw him.” The cabbie gave a quick nod. Leon handed him a bill. “See me if the tab is higher.”

What is that? John thought. A fifty? It was a fifty-dollar bill.

“Leon,” he muttered, as he slid into the back seat. “That was a fifty.”

Leon lifted his eyes, and for a moment, John saw a flash of something
he had never seen there before, a clear, formidable, and single-minded vision.

“Tell you about it sometime, on a need-to-know basis. I’ll go by the diner, see what I can pick up. Cops go there to shoot the breeze and cadge a free lunch. You know how cops gossip.” He winked, the look gone, a harmless, homeless, unnoticed man shuffling down a busy street full of hurried, harried commuters with places to go, people to see.

Did I imagine that look? John wondered. He asked the driver, a large man with a well-trimmed jet-black beard and mustache, to drop him at an address a mile or so from the Miami-Dade Police substation where Robby worked.

The hack license, driver ID photo, and cab number required by law to be on display at all times were nowhere to be seen. The driver sat as solid as a rock behind the wheel and was just as communicative. Unlike most Miami cabbies, he appeared to understand English but replied with only grunts or monosyllables. When John asked the driver how long he’d known Leon, he hunched his huge shoulders and made a noncommittal sound.