The Inner Circle (12 page)

I took him straight to the bike and told the rider, “Take him.”
 

Ian said, “What the hell? Fuck you, Ben. Fuck you—”
 

But by then the rider had inched up on its seat, had grabbed Ian and forced him up onto the back of the Ducati. The end result was not ideal, with Ian lying down on his stomach, his arms on the left side of the bike, his legs on the right, but the rider didn’t hesitate in gunning the engine and sending that high-pitched whine out into the night. The rear tire spun out before catching and then they were speeding down the street, the soft red taillight becoming fainter and fainter, the whine growing softer and softer, like the buzz of an insect as it gets caught up in the wind and is never heard from again.

20

Almost immediately sirens rose up in the distance.
 

I stood in the rain, listening to them. Watching the spot down the street where the motorcycle had turned and vanished, taking Ian and its anonymous rider with it.
 

I thought:
What the fuck did I just do?
 

I quickly turned and hurried back to the Yukon. I went to where I had pulled Ian out from the front and said, “Little girl.”
 

Movement inside, her head peeking up over the seat to peer back at me.
 

I motioned at her. “Can you crawl out between the seats?”
 

She just stared back at me with her dark green-tinted eyes, and I was sure that she didn’t understand me at all. Then she began to move, first putting one leg through the space, then her body, until she was on the front seat and crawling over the deployed airbag and steering wheel. I realized she was barefoot—her flip-flops somehow lost during the crash—and picked her up and pulled her out and carried her over to a spot in the grass where there shouldn’t be any stray shards of glass. I checked her feet. There were a few minor cuts, but nothing too serious.
 

The sirens in the distance neared. It was possible they were headed someplace else, but I doubted it. Caesar was powerful, but he wasn’t that powerful. His people could only redirect so many calls before one of those calls slipped through and reached the proper authorities.
 

And besides, we had an audience. I looked around the area again, saw a few silhouettes still watching from windows. Any one of them could have called the police. Especially after witnessing what just happened.
 

The two cops lay dead yards away from the parked cruiser. Right now we needed wheels and it was the closet vehicle. But stealing a cop car isn’t always the best choice. Especially when two cops have just been killed. Even if they were bent, the other cops wouldn’t know it, and even if they did, they probably wouldn’t care. Because when one cops gets killed, it opens a wound in the rest of the cops that won’t stop until the person who did the killing is brought to justice. And oftentimes, that justice is done in the street.
 

And now there were two dead cops.
 

I looked at the little girl and considered just leaving her here. When the cops came, they would find her and take care of her. Assuming, of course, they weren’t corrupt like Gary and Officer Long-Face. That wasn’t a chance I was willing to take, not after already going so far.
 

I motioned for the girl to stay where she was and hurried over to the cops. I took both of their guns, their spare magazines. I ran back to the girl and swooped her up and sprinted toward the buildings. The sirens were even closer now. I saw the oncoming flashing lights a few blocks up as we turned a corner and then I was running as fast as I could.

•
   
•
   
•

T
HE
KID
ANSWERED
after only two rings. “Please give me some good news.”
 

“I have the girl.”
 

“That’s not good news, Ben. That’s old news. What happened with the cops?”
 

“They’re dead.”
 

“Christ. Now you guys are never going to get out of Miami.”
 

“They weren’t good cops. They were in Caesar’s pocket.”
 

“Do you think that fucking matters?” I could picture the Kid shaking his head. “Where are you and Ian headed now?”
 

I’d been walking for about five or ten minutes, down one random street after another. I was still carrying the girl and the further we’d gotten from the crash site, the more the sirens had faded, and the slower my pace had become.
 

“Actually,” I said, “that’s the reason I’m calling you.”
 

The Kid groaned. “What the fuck happened now?”
 

“Can you track Ian’s location?”
 

“You mean he’s not with you?”
 

“Can you track his location?”
 

“Hold on. I haven’t been watching it since I talked to you last.” I heard the super-fast typing. “Doesn’t he have his phone on him?”
 

I paused. “Why?”
 

“His location hasn’t moved in the last fifteen minutes.”
 

I closed my eyes, immediately fearing the worst. That the rider had taken Ian away only to kill him elsewhere. That Ian’s body now lay in some ditch, just waiting for the crocodiles or alligators or whatever the hell they were in this area to come and feast on his remains.
 

“What’s his location?”
 

“About two miles away from you, back at the end of the causeway.”
 

I let out a breath. “He must have lost his phone in the crash.”
 

“What crash?”
 

“It’s a long story. Look”—my left arm was getting tired from supporting the girl’s weight, so I clamped the phone between my ear and shoulder and moved her over to my right arm—“this person came out of nowhere, saved our asses from the two cops.”
 

“Saved your asses how?”
 

“Shot them both dead. Then he took Ian.”
 

“What do you mean, ‘Then he took Ian’?”
 

“Ian’s ankle was all fucked up after the crash. He could barely walk on it. The cops were coming soon. I made a split-second decision.”
 

“So let me get this straight. You just handed Ian over to this guy like he was a fucking puppy?”
 

We were out on a main strip now, cars driving up and down, their tiring hissing on the wet pavement. Nobody seemed to find it strange that a white guy was carrying a dark-skinned girl in his arms this late at night.
 

“What’s done is done,” I said. “At the time, it made the most sense.”
 

Silence.
 

“Kid?”
 

“I don’t even know what to fucking say to you right now.”
 

“It was the right decision. Trust me.”
 

“
Trust
you? Okay, well then if you know everything, where the fuck is Ian now?”
 

I was quiet for a beat. “Safe.”
 

The Kid asked, “Why the fuck did you call me in the first place besides to raise my blood pressure?”
 

“I’m not sure what to do next.”
 

“Oh, I get it. So
now
you want my opinion on what to do.”
 

“You know what, Kid? Go fuck yourself.”
 

I meant to disconnect the call and slip the phone back into my pocket. Before I got the chance, the Kid said, “All right, all right. We’re both upset right now. We just need to take a moment to breathe.”
 

We were both quiet for a moment.
 

The Kid said, “So now what do you need?”
 

“Transportation. Money. Something.”
 

“You don’t have any cash?”
 

“About forty bucks.”
 

“That will maybe get you a coffee and scone at Starbucks.”
 

“Luckily I’m not looking for coffee or pastries.”
 

The Kid said, “Ben?”
 

“What?”
 

“Right now, if you want even the slightest chance of getting out of this, you need to do one simple thing.”
 

“What’s that?”
 

“Ditch the girl.”

21

But I couldn’t ditch the girl.
 

The Kid knew it too, but he still said it because yes, it did make the most sense if I wanted a chance to get out of Miami. The Kid told me about what had just come over the county radio, that the cops already had my description. Two years ago in Chicago I had been set up as a cop killer. Now the same thing was happening in Miami.
 

I headed up another block and hailed a taxi. One stopped almost immediately. I opened the back door and bent my head inside.
 

The driver said, “Where to?” his voice heavy with a Cuban accent.
 

“The hospital,” I said, sliding across the seat and slamming the door shut. “My little girl, she’s sick.”
 

The driver stared at us for a long moment. Then he turned back to the wheel and got us moving forward in no time at all.
 

I set the girl down on the seat beside me. I was afraid she might start speaking again, and that somehow the driver would know what she was saying and do something rash. It was clear the driver didn’t quite buy my story—I’d caught the slight mistrust in his eyes—but I had asked to go to the hospital, and that, at least, was a safe place.
 

The iPhone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, glancing at the rearview mirror to catch the driver watching me.
 

“My wife,” I told him, then answered the phone, saying, “Yes, honey?”
 

“The fuck?” the Kid said.
 

“We’re in the taxi now. Headed straight for the hospital.”
 

“Right. So here’s the deal. I called in a favor from a guy I know down there, only he’s all the way over in Immokalee. It’s going to be at least two hours before he gets there, probably more.”
 

“And what should I tell the doctor when he asks about insurance?”
 

This tripped the Kid up for a second. “You’re headed to the hospital now, right?”
 

“That’s right.”
 

“You planning something stupid before you get there?”
 

“Not in so many words.”
 

“Even if you get her to the hospital—or, hell, the police—it doesn’t mean that she’ll be safe. Simon can easily get to her.”
 

I thought about it for a beat. “He won’t.”
 

“How can you be so sure?”
 

“She’s served her purpose. He’s done with her.” I noticed the driver eyeing me in the rearview mirror, and brightened my tone. “So what should I tell the doctor about our insurance?”
 

“I’ll try to find you a motel nearby, one that charges by the hour and will take cash.”
 

The phone beeped. I checked the screen, then held it back to my ear and said, “My battery’s about to die. If you could text me the information, that would be wonderful.”
 

“I’ll see what I can do.
 

“Sounds good, honey. I love you.”
 

The Kid said, “Yeah, you wish,” and was gone.
 

The little girl sat quietly beside me. A part of me did not want to let her go. A part of me saw a glimmer of my own daughter in her, and that part wanted to hold on to her forever.
 

I said to the driver, “Make a left up at the next light.”
 

His eyes shifted up to meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Huh?”
 

“This light coming up. Make a left.”
 

He frowned. “But the hospital—”
 

“Just turn left. It’s a shortcut.”
 

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “that no shortcut. The hospital only—”

It was the cold barrel of the gun pressed against the base of his skull that caused him to stop talking. His eyes shot up into the rearview mirror again, now filled with fear.
 

I said, “Turn left.”
 

Without a word he flicked the turn signal on and made the left.
 

“Now go straight for another two blocks.”
 

“Please, mister,” the driver said, “I don’t want to die.”
 

“Keep going straight.”
 

The driver kept the taxi moving, taking us away from the main strip.
 

“See this big tree coming up on the right? Park underneath it.”
 

“Please ... please, I have family.”
 

“Park underneath it.”
 

The taxi slowed and stopped underneath the tree.
 

“Now turn off the car.”
 

Trembling, the driver cut the engine.
 

“Give me your wallet.”
 

“Ma-Ma-Money?”
 

“No,” I said. “I don’t want your money. I want your wallet.”
 

“But I ... don’t have wallet.”
 

“Your ID then.”
 

“But why—”
 

I pressed the gun even harder against the back of his head. “Tell me this. Do you believe I will kill you if I have to?”
 

He hesitated a moment, and in that moment I hoped he wasn’t thinking about his own life, but about his family. About his wife, his children, whatever other relatives there were—I hoped fate had given me this taxi driver as someone I could trust, or at least depend upon for this particular task. Then, almost immediately, that moment was over and he was nodding his head almost imperceptibly, as if he feared one quick movement would cause me to squeeze the trigger.