Metro Girl by Janet Evanovich
“It’s almost four,” Rosa said. “We should be heading back. I don’t want to be driving too late at night.”
We did an about-face and walked back on Whitehead Street. Felicia turned around twice and looked behind us.
“I got one of those feelings,” Felicia said. “Anybody else got a feeling?”
Rosa and I looked at each other. We didn’t have any feelings.
“What kind of a feeling are you talking about?” Rosa asked.
“Creepy. Like we’re being followed by a big black bird.”
“That’s friggin’ weird,” Rosa said.
Felicia turned around for the third time. “There’s something back there. I know there’s something…what do you call it? Stalking! There’s something stalking.”
Rosa and I looked all around, but we didn’t see anything stalking.
“Okay, now you’ve really got me freaked out,” Rosa said. “I’m not crazy about being stalked by a big black bird. I don’t even like birds all that much. What kind of bird is it? Is it, like, a crow?”
We were on a cross street, heading for the Sentra. The street was for the most part residential. Single-family homes and small bed-and-break-fasts. Cars lined both sides of the street. We walked past a yellow Hummer and the Rent-A-Thug stepped from between two parked cars and stood in front of us. He was followed by the shooter with the slicked-back hair.
“Excuse me, ladies,” the shooter said. “I’d like to speak to Miss Barnaby, alone.”
“No way,” Rosa said, moving between me and the shooter. “She don’t want to talk to you.”
“I think she does want to talk to me,” the shooter said to Rosa. “Please step aside.”
“Take a hike,” Rosa said. “I’m not stepping anywhere.”
The shooter flicked a glance at the Rent-A-Thug. The Rent-A-Thug reached for Rosa, and Rosa bitch slapped him away.
“Watch it,” Rosa said. “No touching.”
The Rent-A-Thug pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket. Rosa screamed. I ducked behind a car. And Felicia whipped a gun out of her handbag and shot the Rent-A-Thug in the foot, and winged the shooter. The Rent-A-Thug went down to the ground like a sack of wet sand.
“Fuck,” the Rent-A-Thug said. “The old lady shot me!”
The shooter stood in speechless astonishment, watching blood seep into the sleeve of his black shirt.
“Run!” Rosa yelled to us. “Run!”
We took off down the street, partially dragging Felicia. Felicia could shoot, it turned out, but she wasn’t much good at running. We reached the Sentra, jumped in, and Rosa pulled away from the curb and floored it.
“I told you we were being stalked!” Felicia said.
“You said it was a bird,” Rosa said. “I was looking for a bird.”
I was in the backseat, and my heart was racing, and my lips felt numb. I’d never seen anyone shot before. In the movies and on television, but never in person. And I’d never had anyone pull a gun on me. Hard to believe, since I was born and raised in Baltimore. One time Andy Kulharchek chased me around the garage with a tire iron, but he was drunk off his ass and he kept falling down.
“I can’t believe you shot them,” I said to Felicia.
“It was one of those reactions.”
“You don’t look like someone who’d carry a gun.”
“I always carry a gun. Do you know how many times the fruit stand has been robbed? I can’t count that high. Now when someone tries to rob me I shoot them.”
“You go, girl,” Rosa said.
My heart was still skipping around. I could still hear the gunshots echoing in my ears. In my mind’s eye I could see the two men getting shot.
Felicia pulled the visor down and looked at herself in the mirror. “He called me an old lady. Did you hear that? I don’t think I look so old.”
“He deserved to get shot,” Rosa said. “He had no tact.”
“I’ve been using this new cream from Olay,” Felicia said. “It’s supposed to make your skin luminous.”
“I should get some of that,” Rosa said. “You can never be too luminous.”
I couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. Felicia just shot two men! And they were talking about skin cream.
“We have to go home,” Rosa said. “Do you have someplace safe where you can wait for Hooker?”
“You can take me back to Vana’s house. I’ll be okay there,” I said.
“Just in case, you should take the gun,” Felicia said, handing the gun to me. “It’s a revolver. Easy to use. Still got four shots left.”
“No! I couldn’t take your gun.” Don’t want to. Won’t use it! Terrified to touch it!
“It’s okay. I always get rid of them after I shoot somebody,” Felicia said. “It’s simpler that way. When you’re done with it, just throw it in the ocean. Make sure it’s someplace deep. When I’m in Miami I throw them in the Miami River. Probably if the police dive down they find the Miami River filled with guns. Probably so many guns in the Miami River it raises the high-water line.”
“I don’t know anything about guns,” I said.
“I thought you were from Baltimore,” Rosa said. “Doesn’t everyone in Baltimore have a gun?”
“Not me.”
“Well, now you have a gun,” Felicia said. “Now you just like everyone else from Baltimore and Miami.”
“It won’t go off all by itself, will it?”
“No,” Felicia said. “You got to pull the hammer back and then squeeze the trigger. If you don’t pull the hammer back the gun won’t go bang.”
Five minutes later we were idling in front of Vana’s house.
“You be careful,” Rosa said. “You call us if you need help.”
“And don’t go out of the house until Hooker gets back,” Felicia said. “Maybe I should have killed those two guys, but I would have to say a lot of Hail Mary for that.”
They waited until I got in the house and waved at them through the window that I was okay, and then they cruised off.
I had Felicia’s gun in my handbag, and there was no way the shooter could know my location. None of this stopped me from mentally cracking my knuckles every ten seconds. I made sure the curtains were all drawn, and then I sat myself down in front of the television. I put the sound on low, so I could hear suspicious noises on the porch or in the bushes under the windows. And I waited for Hooker.
A little after eight a car pulled into the driveway and idled behind the Mini. I peeked from behind a curtain and saw that it was Hooker getting dropped off by his pilot friend.
I opened the front door, Hooker swaggered in, grabbed me by the front of my shirt, and kissed me.
“I’m home,” he said. “And I’m hungry.”
“For dinner?”
“Yeah, that too. I don’t suppose food has magically appeared in the kitchen?”
“Must be the food fairy’s day off.”
“That’s okay. I know a place where we can get sauce up to our elbows eating ribs.”
“Probably that’s not a good idea. We might want to order in.” And I told him about the shooter and his partner.
Hooker had a full-on smile. Lots of perfect white teeth showing. Crinkles around his eyes. “Let me make sure I got this right. Felicia shot the guy in black? And she also shot his Rent-A-Thug.”
I had to smile with him. Now that I had some distance it was sort of funny, in a surreal kind of way. “Yep. She shot them. One in the foot. One in the arm.”
“And then you all ran away, they dropped you off here, and they left.”
“Yeah. And Felicia gave me her gun.”
“I’m jealous. You had a better day than I did.”
“Did you find your boat?”
“Maybe. We found the islands. They’re about ten miles offshore and a good distance from Nuevo Cabo. We couldn’t see any sign of habitation. The vegetation is thick. And there are places where a boat could go up an arm of the sea and not easily be seen. Apparentl
“Now what?”
“Now we get some pizza delivered, and tomorrow we take Rich’s boat and go look for Bill.”
I’d left my cell phone on the coffee table, and it started to buzz and dance around.
“Hey girlfriend,” Judey said when I answered. “I’ve got news. I just got a phoner from Todd. He was called back to Flex. They’re leaving first thing in the morning. And Salzar is on board with a diver.”
I dragged myself out of bed at 4 AM, took a shower to try to wake up, brushed my teeth, and gave my hair a blast with the dryer. I stumbled into the kitchen and found Hooker drinking coffee and eating cold leftover pizza.
“Good morning,” Hooker said.
“This isn’t morning. Morning has sun. Do you see sun?”
“We don’t want sun. We want to board the boat and get under way without being seen. I know where there’s an all-night convenience store. We’ll clean them out of water and granola bars, and then I’ll stash you and the food on the boat. I’ll park the Mini somewhere and walk back. I don’t want to leave Bill’s car in the marina lot.”
“You know all about boats, right?”
“I know enough to get us to the island and back…if there are no problems. We’re supposed to have good weather. Calm water. No storms predicted. Rich has a sixty-foot Sunseeker Predator Powerboat. It can cruise at thirty-two knots. And it can carry enough fuel to take us where we want to go. You’ll have to help me get away from the dock. Once we’re under way the computer takes over.”
“How long do you think we’ll be gone?”
“I don’t know. A couple days, I’m hoping. I haven’t got a lot of time. I’m supposed to start doing promotions at the end of the month.”
I grew up in Baltimore, on the harbor, but I know nothing about boats. I can tell the difference between a powerboat and a sailboat, and that’s where my expertise ends. So it looked to me that Rich Vana had a boat with a big nose. The boat was sparkling white with a wide navy stripe running along the side. The place where you drive was at the back of the boat and was enclosed and cozy. When you went down a set of stairs, the inside of the boat was all high-gloss wood and luxuriously upholstered couches and chairs. It had a state-of-the-art kitchen, two bedrooms, two bathrooms with showers, and a small living room with a dining area.
Hooker dropped me off with the groceries and immediately left to park the Mini. I stashed the bread and peanut butter, cereal, milk, beer, bags of cookies, sealed packets of bologna, sliced ham, cheese, pretzels, granola bars, and cans of SpaghettiOs. And then before Hooker returned, I took a quick peek at the engines. I don’t know boats, but I do know engines. And these were big boys. Two twin Manning diesels.
Okay, so I was more excited about the engines than the kitchen. Not that the kitchen wasn’t great. A side-by-side Sub-Zero refrigerator and freezer, a microwave plus convection oven, a built-in coffeemaker, dishwasher, and a Sub-Zero wine cooler. Nice appliances but hardly in the same league as the diesels. Plus there was a 20kw generator, ten 24 V batteries, two 12 V batteries and chargers.
I scrambled back to the kitchen when I heard Hooker on deck. In an instant, he was down the ladder, moving around me, checking the mechanicals. He looked around and I guess everything was okay. He went up to the pilothouse and started the generator. He unplugged and stored the shore power electrical cord. He flipped breaker switches for the main engine start. He turned on the VHF radio, autopilot, radar, GPS receiver, depth sounder, and boat computer. He entered the GPS course from Key West to Cuba into the boat’s computer. He did a test of the bow thruster.
All the while he was telling me what he was doing, and I was trying to remember in case I had to do this myself. You never know, right? He could get washed overboard. He could have a heart attack. He could get drunk and pass out!
“Vocabulary,” Hooker said. “The ropes are called lines. The bumper things are called fenders. Right is starboard. Left is port. Front is the bow. Back is the stern. The steering wheel area is the helm. The kitchen is the galley. The crapper is the head. I don’t know why any of these things have their own names. It makes no sense to me. Except maybe for the head.”
Hooker handed me a walkie-talkie. “As soon as the engines are warmed up we’re pulling out, and you’re going to have to help me. I’m going to give you directions on the walkie-talkie. Ordinarily I’d have someone on the dock to help untie the lines, but we’re trying to sneak off this morning, so we’re going to have to manage without help. I’m going to hold the boat against the dock and you’re going to untie the lines and throw them onto the boat. You’re going to start at the bow and work your way back.”
I was ready. First Mate Barney, at your command. I climbed over the rail that ran around the bow, and I scrambled onto the dock. I was wearing shorts and sneakers and my pink ball cap. I didn’t need sunglasses because the sun was still struggling to rise out of the water. I had the walkie-talkie in my hand. And I was pretty darned excited.
Hooker was standing at the wheel, and I saw him put the walkie-talkie to his mouth. “I’ve got her steady,” he said. “Start throwing the lines. Do the bow line first.”
“Okay,” I said. “Doing the bow line.”
I reached for the bow line, the walkie-talkie slid from my hand, bounced off the dock, splashed into the water, and disappeared from sight. I looked up at Hooker, and his expression was a lot like the expression on the shooter’s face when he watched his blood seep into his shirt.
“Sorry,” I said to Hooker, knowing full well he couldn’t hear me.
Hooker gave his head a small shake. He was saddled with a moron for a first mate.
“Give me a break here,” I yelled at him. “I’m new at this.”
Hooker smiled at me. Either he was a very forgiving kind of guy, or else I looked really sexy in my pink hat.
I threw the rest of the lines onto the boat and climbed on board. Hooker crept the boat back, inching away from the dock. He got clear of the dock and he reversed his direction and swung the boat around to leave the marina.
“We need to stay at idle speed, five knots, until we leave the marina,” he said. “Once we get into open water I can increase the throttle to bring us to cruising speed.”
I had no relationship to knots. I was strictly a miles-per-hour kind of person. And on my salary, which was going to be zero as of tomorrow, I didn’t think I had to worry about cruising at thirty-two knots much beyond this trip. Still…
“I don’t know what the hell a knot is,” I said to Hooker.
“One knot equals 1.15 miles per hour.”
The sun was finally above the horizon and the water in front of us looked like glass. We plowed through some small swells at the mouth of the harbor and then we were in the open water. I stored the lines and the fenders away as best I could. When I had everything tidy Hooker took the boat up to speed, and engaged the autopilot.
“The autopilot interfaces with the GPS chart plotter,” Hooker said. “And it’s a lot smarter than I am.”
“Can you just walk away from it now?”
“In theory, but I wouldn’t walk far. Especially not on this cruise. I need to keep my eyes open.”
“Worried about pirates?”
“I don’t know who I’m worried about.”
SEVEN
After two hours of ocean cruising, the whole boat thing started to get old. There’s not a lot to look at when you’re in the middle of the ocean. The boat was noisy, making conversation a pain, and I got nauseated when I went below while we were under way.
After three and a half hours, I was looking for land.
“Cuba is off the port bow,” Hooker said. “We’re about fifteen miles offshore, and I don’t want to get closer. The islands
“You’re pretty good at this boat stuff,” I said.
“If the computer punks out, I’m a dead man.”
I couldn’t eyeball the island, but I could see the island approaching on the GPS screen. It was possible that Bill was just miles away. An unnerving thought. Chances were good that he wouldn’t be happy to see Hooker and me. And chances were very good that I wouldn’t be happy after hearing his story.
“You look tense,” Hooker said.
“How confident are you that the boat you saw in the river was yours?”
“Not confident at all. In fact, I’m not even sure it was a boat.”
Suddenly there were three dots on the horizon.
“The island we’re after is in the middle,” Hooker said.
My heart skipped a beat.
“Are you carrying Felicia’s gun?” Hooker asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
“Sure.” In theory.
I had my eyes fixed on the island. It looked relatively flat and heavily vegetated with the exception of a narrow strip of sugar sand beach. “Pretty beach,” I said.
“This island alternates between beach and mangrove. The back of the island is all mangrove.”
Hooker disconnected the autopilot and eased back on the throttle. “We’re going to have to watch the depth finder and make sure we’ve got enough water under us. My boat displaces a lot more than Rich’s, so we should be okay…if it’s my boat in there.”
Hooker brought us into the cove at idle speed and we looked around. No sign of activity. No traces of civilization. No cute little beach shacks, no docks, no Burger King signs. There were seagulls and long-legged shorebirds among the mangroves, and the occasional fish jumped in front of the boat. The water was calm. Very little breeze. Nothing moved on the palms.