“How’d you get this number?”
“Pedro. He’s a real talker. Just yap, yap, yap.”
“Got your greeting card.”
“Like it? Always try to be thoughtful, but you can’t be sure what to get some people.”
“You’re a dead man.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“What do you want?”
“Remember De Niro and Pacino in Heat?”
“I saw it.”
“Didn’t you love that movie? I sure did! One of my favorites, especially the codes they lived by-”
“Is this going anywhere?”
“That scene when they took a time-out and met in that coffee shop.”
“You want to meet?”
“This is getting out of hand. We should negotiate a truce.”
“Sure, we can negotiate a truce. When would you like to chat?”
“I knew you were a reasonable person. How about this evening?”
“That works.”
“Great,” said Serge. “Here’s the hotel and room number…”
A ’68 Dodge Monaco raced south on A1A and screeched into the parking lot of a convenience store.
The address matched Agent Mahoney’s credit card trace.
He ran to the front door.
Bolted.
“Don’t tell me…”
Without hesitation, he grabbed a metal trash can, smashed out the door’s bottom glass and crawled through.
First check: behind the counter. Nothing.
Then the back room.
Mahoney’s feet went out from under him as he crashed in a pool of blood.
He made a quick 911 call and dashed over to the surveillance recorder. A finger pressed eject.
Empty.
A camera crew in matching red shirts and low spirits sulked back to their custom motor coach.
Rood leaned against the side of the bus and kicked sand off a shoe. “This sucks.”
“All afternoon and no decent women who’d let us film,” said his assistant. “Unless you want to count those four old ladies.”
“The G-Unit, for God’s sake.” Rood kicked his other shoe against a tire. “Have I been reduced to this?”
“We should go back to Panama City. Those bitches can’t still be there.”
“I think you’re right.” He turned to the rest of the crew, unstrapping gear and collapsing tripods. “Everyone, back on the bus.”
“Hold it,” said the assistant. “What’s this?”
“What?”
“Three o’clock. Can’t miss ’em.”
Rood turned. “Holy mother.”
Coming toward them: a pair of women hotter than anything they’d netted the whole trip.
“Excuse me,” said the blonde. “Aren’t you Rood Lear?”
Rood glanced at his assistant. “Patience.” He sucked in his gut. “Why, yes I am. What can I do for such exquisite creatures?”
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” said the other. “You’re famous!”
“Like a star!” said the blonde.
Rood licked his lips. “Would you like to be in one of my films?”
“Would we!…”
“You really mean it?…”
“That would be a dream come true…”
“Better not be playing with us…”
Rood smiled at his assistant. “This can’t get any better.” He held out a hand to shake. “What are your names?”
“City and Country.”
Another sideways grin from Rood. “It just got better.”
The assistant: “Why don’t we all head up to our suite?”
“Can’t right now,” said City. “Have to be somewhere.”
“But this evening?” said Country. “Will that mess it up?”
“We’re booked pretty solid,” lied Rood. “But I think we can fit you in.”
The women huddled and whispered. They smiled and giggled in Rood’s direction, then whispered some more.
“What are you ladies talking about?” asked Rood.
“Uh… could we…”-Country lowered her head and feigned bashfulness-“… talk to you in private?”
Rood smirked at his assistant. “Be right back.”
“Go get ’em, tiger.”
He walked a few steps. “What is it?”
“We’d kind of like to ask a favor,” said City.
Uh-oh, thought Rood. Here it comes. Money. “What kind of favor?”
“You’re cute,” said Country. “I’d like to get to know you better.”
“Me?”
She blushed and looked down again. “I’ve never… been with a celebrity before.”
Rood almost choked. “That’s the favor? You want to spend some time?”
The women smiled at each other.
This time Rood did choke.
“Need a glass of water?”
Rood shook his head. “You mean both of you?”
They nodded eagerly.
He gulped and blinked hard. “Think I can clear the suite for a bit.”
“No.” Country pointed toward one of the resort’s upper floors. “Our room.”
“Why?”
“That’s where we have all our… toys.”
Rood became woozy. “What time are you free?”
“Say nine?”
“Nine’s my favorite number.”
The women waved as they sauntered away. “Don’t be late.”
Rood walked back to the bus and braced himself with an arm against the door.
“Jesus,” said the assistant. “You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”
“They want a threesome.”
“Them? Holy shit.”
“And just when I started to think life wasn’t fair.”
THAT EVENING
Two men sat in an idling Delta 88 with the lights off. Into their second hour with little conversation. Watching the high-rise hotel a block away.
“Don’t like the looks of this,” said Miguel. “I think it’s a trap.”
“I know it’s a trap,” said Guillermo.
“Then what are we doing here?”
“Every trap is an opportunity to set your own trap.”
“So that’s why you’re wearing a room service uniform?”
“Nothing gets by you.”
“Who is this Serge guy anyway?”
“A nuisance we can no longer afford.” He looked at the car’s analog clock and grabbed his door handle. “It’s time.”
“He said an hour from now.”
“That’s why it’s time.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll be fine. Just make sure not to fuck up your end.” He patted his jacket pocket. “Call me on the cell if it looks like I’m made on the way-or if anything else is out of place once I’m inside.” He hopped out.
Miguel watched as Guillermo waited for traffic to clear before jogging across A1A, still moist and shining in the moonlight from an earlier rain. Miguel picked up binoculars, tracking his colleague. Guillermo avoided the main lobby entrance and circled to the pool deck. Binoculars slowly panned the main entrance. Tourists unsteadily getting out of a cab and laughing. Idiots. The magnified field of vision drifted southward over the parking lot. A family at an open trunk struggled with a stubborn baby stroller that wouldn’t close. Miguel smiled. Farther, a bum on a park bench. Worth watching. Common stakeout disguise. A romantic couple strolled past the bench and suddenly high-stepped as the bum vomited explosively toward their feet. Well, there’s undercover and then there’s what can’t be faked. The binoculars moved on, reaching the street straight out the windshield in front of him. Coast clear. Time to pan back the other way.
Suddenly, his entire view was filled with a crazy, smiling face. “Ahhhhh!” Miguel jumped back in his seat and dropped the binoculars.
Serge waved manically, wearing his most tattered comfy T-shirt and sweat pants. He walked around and tapped the side glass.
Miguel hit an electric level, lowered the window a slit. “Get lost!”
“I’m not asking for money or to clean your windshield with spit.”
“I said, get lost!”
“Just need a light. Mine got all wet when I was caught in the rain.”
“Are you deaf?”
“It’s only a stupid light.”
The window rolled up.
Serge knocked on the glass. Miguel stared straight ahead. Serge knocked and knocked. His voice was muted through the closed window: “Be a neighbor.”
“Goddamn it!” Miguel lowered it a slit again. “I’m warning you!”
“We’re wasting time arguing, when I could already be long gone. Just a light. Come on.”