BLACK to Reality (24 page)

The mansion was deathly quiet as he made his way down the stairs and outside to the pool deck. When he was far enough away from the house so he could talk without being overheard, he tapped a number in his speed dial. Stan’s voice sounded even raspier than it had the other night.

“This better be good or I’m hanging up.”

“I just got a text. I need your help,” Black said.

“What? You can’t read?”

“I’m serious. It’s from Roxie. She’s been kidnapped.”

“Sure she has. Go sleep it off.”

“I’m serious. The message says, ‘Help, kidnapped in Ensenada, on a boat in harbor next to big hotel. Boat name
Downtime
. Roxie.’ I don’t think this is a hoax.”

“What’s she doing in Ensenada?” Stan demanded, sounding completely awake now in spite of it being three in the morning.

“She had a dinner date with that Alex guy from the show.”

“In Mexico? Doesn’t she know how dangerous it is down there?”

“What are we going to do?”

“Let me think for a minute.”

“Do you have any contacts with the police south of the border?”

“Not really. They aren’t very cooperative with us. Something about our government arranging for guns to make their way to the cartels, to be used against the local cops, rubbed them the wrong way.”

“Then how are we going to save her?”

“I can try putting it through official channels. But they don’t move that quickly, if at all.” Stan paused. “You said she texted you?”

“Yes.”

“You’d think the kidnappers would take her phone.”

“Maybe they’re not tech savvy?”

“They’d have to be brain dead. Did you try sending her a reply?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you? Verify it’s really her. Ask her something only she would know.”

“Okay. Hang on a second.” Black typed in a fast question and pushed send. Twenty seconds later he got a response. “Dude, it’s her.”

“Ask her how many kidnappers.”

Black did so, then read the answer out loud. “Only two that she knows of. But there could be others.” Black heard Stan typing on his computer.

“She said it’s a marina by a hotel?”

“Yeah. They were going to some restaurant on the coast, north of town. Why?”

“I’m on Google Earth, looking for marinas with a big hotel nearby. So far I only see one. Just a little north of the city. The main marina at the port is huge. Text her and ask her how big the marina is. How many boats.”

Black did, and the response was immediate. “She guesses maybe a hundred. Mostly big.”

“Bingo. That matches this one. Ask her what she’s texting on.”

Black tapped in his message and waited. His phone pinged and vibrated.

“Wrist phone her dragon lady gave her so she could always reach her.” Black paused. “Really? I thought that was just in Dick Tracy or something. They have wrist phones?”

“You really don’t get out much, do you? They’re all the rage in some circles.”

“Damn. She says to send help. She’s in danger.”

“Christ almighty. Fine. You’re in Malibu, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a car?”

“I’m not allowed to leave the house. And no, I don’t have a car.”

“Sounds like you better decide whether you want to save Roxie or obey your curfew.”

“Screw it. I’ll leave a note that I had a life or death emergency.”

“I can be there in…give me an hour. I don’t suppose you have your passport with you?”

“We’ll have to stop by my place.”

“There goes another hour. We’re not going to be on the road till five or six at this rate. That won’t put us into Ensenada until nine or ten. Depends on rush hour in Mexico.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“You mean besides smuggling illegal firearms into Mexico and winging with an over-the-hill rocker to rescue his secretary?”

“Hey. Who’s over the hill? I still have game.”

“Sure you do, sport. I’ll pick you up in an hour. What’s the address?”

Chapter 32

Black was shivering from the chill at the bottom of the hill when Stan pulled up an hour and a half later in his 2011 Dodge Charger. Black was so used to seeing him in his undercover cruiser he had to do a double take at the apparition that seemed to float out of the fog.

“How the hell does anyone see out here?” Stan griped as Black got in.

“Beats me. Took you long enough, though.”

“You try driving through pea soup. You’re lucky I didn’t wind up in the canyon.”

Black pulled his door closed, and Stan eased the car forward. “It’s only like this for a few miles, but it’s rough going until we’re out of it.”

“I’d rather get there late than not at all.”

“You heard anything more?”

“I got two more texts asking when we were going to rescue her.”

“Have the kidnappers called?”

“Not yet. Assuming they call me at all.”

“Why else would they have snatched her? Does she have family in town?”

“Not that I know of.”

“There’s your answer.”

Black hesitated. “Maybe they want to get some cash out of Alex?”

“Possible. But frankly, right now, my money would be on him luring her across the border to facilitate a grab.”

“Stan, the man’s a star.”

“Right. And everyone knows stars are never involved in anything shady. Just ask OJ.”

“The last innocent man. You must be crabby.”

“I don’t do well on less than four hours of sleep.”

“I hear you.”

Black was in and out of his apartment in under five minutes with his passport in his back pocket and his Glock in his belt holster. Stan glanced at the gun as he got into the car.

“Possession of a firearm’s a felony down there.”

“Only if they catch you. Last time I was in TJ they didn’t even stop the car.”

“They aren’t looking for much going south. Better hope it’s our lucky day.”

“You packing?”

“Of course. But not my service piece. An old spare. Untraceable.”

“You old lawbreaker, you.”

“Damn right.”

The ride through Tijuana was uneventful, but the roads to Ensenada were clogged with traffic, the closure of the toll road causing massive congestion. By the time they made it to the marina, it was ten a.m., and it took a fifty-dollar bill and a story about meeting a friend at his boat to get them through the gate. They parked on the gravel lot adjacent to the docks, and Stan handed Black a pair of small binoculars.

“See if you can spot
Downtime
.”

“I don’t know… There are a lot of boats here.”

“Better get started.”

Stan opened his car door and got out, stretching his legs with a sigh.

Black glanced at him. “Where are you going?”

“I need to use the john. I’m guessing there’s one up at the marina office.”

“See if they have any coffee. I could use a gallon.”

Ten minutes later Stan reappeared, accompanied by a short bald man with a swarthy complexion, who walked with him down to the nearest dock and unlocked the gate. Stan was gone for five minutes, and then the pair returned and repeated the performance at the next dock. Black was having a hard time seeing many of the transoms due to the angle, and was ready to get out of the car when Stan materialized by the rear fender.

“The boat’s down on that dock,” he said, motioning with his head. “About halfway down. Big sucker.”

“You see any guards?”

“Nothing obvious.”

“You have any thoughts on how to get aboard a boat in broad daylight without being shot to pieces by the kidnappers?”

“One thing at a time. Let’s watch and wait. We might catch a break or see something we can use in our favor.”

“So charging in guns blazing is out?”

“For now. But if we do that, you’re going first.”

“My turn for the bathroom run,” Black said. “Didn’t see any coffee?”

“The dock master said there’s some in the hotel, but I didn’t want to sidetrack him.”

“How did you get him to show you around?”

“I told him I was thinking about moving my boat from Santa Monica and he got all flirty. Little peso signs blinking in his eyes.”

Black trudged up the drive to the hotel, where he used the bathroom while waiting for one of the waiters in the downstairs restaurant to brew a pot of coffee. He bought two polystyrene cups of the rich dark roast and carried them past the large pool, where several couples were soaking up the late morning sun.

Two hours later they were no closer to saving Roxie than they had been when they arrived. Black had sent her another text message, and she confirmed that it was still only the two captors onboard. There were only a few people around, mostly local boat cleaners going about their chores. Black was almost ready to go back to the hotel for another bathroom break when
Downtime
’s cabin door opened and a dark-haired man wearing a dress shirt and suit slacks emerged. He stretched his arms over his head and glanced around before moving to the transom and hoisting himself onto the stairs. Stan and Black watched him stroll to the end of the dock and up the gangplank to the security door, which he pushed open.

Stan tapped Black’s arm. “Get down. Duck.”

Black slumped so he wasn’t visible from the dock. They waited, holding their breath, and when they didn’t hear an engine start, Stan peered over the dash.

“He’s walking to the hotel. Probably to get lunch. This is our chance. You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. But what exactly are we going to do?”

“I’ve been thinking. I know how to get us onboard without the other kidnapper getting wise. Or at least, buy us enough time to take him out.”

“How?”

Stan watched a crew cleaning one of the nearby yachts, near the security gate, and turned to Black with a wan smile.

“How are your acting skills?”

“Are you kidding? For the last three months I’ve been playing a rock star.”

“Good. We’re going to need an Academy Award performance.”

Chapter 33

Bobby absently picked at a scaly area on his beefy forearm. Every few minutes he stared at the aft stateroom door with lupine eyes, the thought of the young woman back there, defenseless, almost irresistible to him. They’d be making the call when Tony got back with sandwiches, and then, if all went well, the real fun would begin.

He stood and rubbed a calloused hand over his beard. They’d switched off three-hour shifts, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. The woman’s scent had drifted to his position on the couch like a taunt. He didn’t understand why Tony was such a hardass, but he was senior to Bobby and as such, his word was law. They’d worked together on other jobs, mostly hits, and made a good team – Tony the brains, Bobby the brawn. Bobby had no problem with that arrangement and never gave it much thought. He was a good soldier, and his life with the family had treated him more than well, even when he’d been serving a hard nickel in San Quentin. Made guys had it easy in the joint, and he’d served three of his five like it was nothing, earning him the automatic respect of the elders when he got out. He’d never rolled on them, never said a word, and had taken the fall for the truck hijacking in silence. That had resulted in him being promoted to his current rank as a specialist, and he lived well – far better than anyone else he knew.

A commotion from the dock attracted his attention. He squinted through the blinds at two men, beer bottles in hand, eyeing the transom stairs. Bobby tried to make out what they were saying, but it was no good. He reflexively touched the Beretta in his shoulder holster and pulled on a hoodie to conceal its bulge before moving to the door and swinging it open.

The younger of the two, wearing a baseball cap, was halfway up the stairs.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bobby snarled.

“Oh, shit.” The man turned to his companion. “Dude, I think we’ve got the wrong boat.”

“Damn right you do,” Bobby said and then found himself staring down the barrel of Stan’s pistol, the weapon steady as a rock as he trained it on the mobster’s head.

“Nice and slow. Back up. Reach for your gun, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do,” Stan said conversationally. Black pulled his Glock from his belt and joined him in drawing a bead on Bobby’s forehead.

“You have no idea who you’re screwing with. Find somebody else to rob, and I’ll chock this up to a misunderstanding. Guy’s gotta make a living, and all. But you don’t want a piece of this,” Bobby said softly, his gray eyes unwavering as he stared Stan down.

“Back up and put your hands were I can see them. Last warning before I turn off your lights,” Stan said as he cocked the hammer on the revolver.

Bobby slowly raised his hands and took two steps back.

Stan nodded and leaned toward Black. “Get on board. If he so much as moves, I’ll blow his head off.”

Black ascended the final step and hopped over the railing onto the deck. Bobby studied him like a mongoose eyes a cobra, seemingly unimpressed by Black’s weapon.

“Back up against the far rail. Now,” Black said.

Bobby gave him an ugly smirk and obeyed. “You two are dead.”

Stan got on board and shrugged. “Everyone dies of something. Now, with two fingers, I want you to remove your gun and place it on the deck. I see you inching for the trigger, you get a one-way ticket to hell. Nice and easy. Black, get ready to shoot. He looks like he’s feeling tricky.”

Black nodded, his eyes never leaving Bobby’s. “Nothing I’d rather do.”

Bobby, seeming to move in slow motion, placed the weapon on the teak planks.

“Kick it over,” Stan said.

The Beretta skidded across the deck. Stan scooped it up and pocketed it, then walked over to Bobby and slammed the butt of his revolver against the side of his head. Bobby went down, crumpling in slow motion, dazed but not out.

“That’s for making me lose a night’s sleep. Now get up and go inside. Slowly,” Stan said. Bobby held a hand to his bleeding temple but didn’t say anything, instead struggling to his feet. “Try to rush us and you’re dead, so get that out of your pea brain. Now move.”

Inside the salon, Stan pointed at the couch. “Sit.”

Bobby collapsed on it, still dizzy from the blow.