CHAPTER 19: BRETT
I asked Kerry to check my shoulder. It was starting to itch. I had a feeling this was a good thing. I recalled, dimly, that the doctor had made an appointment for me and now I wouldn’t be there.
“How is it?” I asked. I was sitting in the bathroom on a stool we’d brought in from the bedroom and she was looking at my shoulder with a little frown.
“Um…better,” she said, and gently reached out and pressed the edge with a slim fingertip. It hurt.
“Does that hurt?” she asked.
“Yes!” I said.
“Oh.”
“What does that mean?”
She frowned. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing. I think maybe we should try and get hold of a doctor while we’re away.”
I nodded. “We could go to my old doctor,” I suggested quickly. “In fact, that’s a good idea.”
For the moment, at least, we were returning to Miami.
“It was nice of your coach to agree to lend us a place,” Kerry said.
I nodded. I hadn’t expected it. In the last few days, I had contacted all sorts of people to ask for help, and it amazed me that they had all reached out with so much care. I hadn’t expected it. My old coach had been only too happy to hear I had come back to Miami. When I’d mentioned to him that I was looking for a place to stay, he’d offered us a small apartment in one of the quieter areas of town.
“It’s perfect,” I agreed.
The place was quiet, but it was also not too far away from some of the shadier parts of town, and that suited us just right. We would move in that evening.
“Well, maybe,” Kerry nodded. “But I do think that, before anything else, we should get someone to look at that shoulder.”
“I agree,” I said.
We had packed our things and after another coffee we headed down to see if we could catch the bus. I had texted Sherrill that morning to say we were leaving for a while and she had agreed to come and fetch the key.
We took the bus back to Miami airport.
Kerry slept on my shoulder during the drive and I couldn’t help that every time I looked at her, I wondered if I was mad, doing this. It was dangerous. It was wild. But if we didn’t try and sort these people out, what would happen? We could either try and leave the country, or live looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. And neither of us wanted either of those things.
We had to try.
We arrived at the small apartment in the early hours of the afternoon. As soon as we’d moved in, we decided to put our plan into operation.
Our plan involved being as public as possible. First, we needed to dress the part.
“Right,” I said, looking at Kerry. She had dressed in the most eye-catching way possible—a green top and tight jeans, hair loose and red. Anyone who saw her would remember her for her looks and that stunning color.
I glanced at myself in the mirror. I was still sufficiently-ripped to be me, the ex-athlete, if a little skinnier than I had been. I had combed my hair and dressed in a tight white shirt and jeans. No sunglasses—I wanted everyone who saw us to recognize me and know I was back in town.
We had taken the afternoon to settle in, see the doctor and do some shopping. Now, it was seven o’ clock, and we were ready to go.
“Right,” she said. She was standing there resplendently. If she was nervous, it was almost impossible to guess. I was nervous myself. I swallowed hard, closed my eyes a moment. Opened them.
“Let’s go.”
We headed down in the elevator and out onto the street.
Finding my way around my old hang-out spots was easy—even after five years, I could remember the way there as if it had been written onto the matter of my brain somehow. I was soon heading down the street toward the club I used to go to when I was in town. The club where I used to get my hits.
It was early, and a weekday, but there were still people in there. It was one of those clubs that pretended respectability, and managed quite well, but still had that dangerous, shadowy undertone that suggested the place was frequented by unscrupulous sorts. Which, in all fairness, it was.
The bouncer stopped us. I stared at him.
“Shane?” I stared.
He grinned. “No way!”
“Hell!” I laughed. “It is you! I can’t believe it!”
“Brett!” He clapped me on the shoulder. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has,” I agreed. It had been five years. I couldn’t quite believe he was still here. And that I remembered him. And he me.
“Hi,” Kerry said shyly. I saw him staring at her in astonishment.
Good, I thought grimly. I wanted to laugh, even though it was part of the plan. And I also felt defensive. Part of me felt challenged by that look, though I knew it was silly of me.
Kerry grinned at me, and her smile was reassuring. I felt like we were both working together in this. I smiled back.
In the club, it was dark, the lighting coming mainly from some multicolored lights on the wall. There was music in the background and people sat at low tables or at the bar, talking and drinking. The room smelled of brandy, cologne and dust.
I looked round. I couldn’t see anyone I recognized, but I knew that if we waited for a bit, the crowd who were looking for their first hit—or their next—of the evening would arrive. And that meant that we would get a chance to get a good look at the dealer.
And he at us.
I walked to the bar, feeling a strange fluttering in my chest. It was weird, being here in this place where I had been so many years ago. I half-expected the then-Brett to be sitting at my place, to look at me as I came in. If he had been there at my old place at the bar, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
I sat down at the bar and she sat down beside me.
The barman came over. I stared. “Does Luke still work here?” I asked.
The young man frowned. “Luke Reese? Yeah. Luke!”
I stared as he came out from round the back. He was a solidly-built guy, an ex-sportsman like myself. He had a hard, aggressive face and I had never known exactly how much older than me he was, except that he was older. And mean.
He grinned at me.
“You!” he yelled.
I laughed. I shook his hand, feeling delighted. I hadn’t expected to be remembered by two people—but, then, I had remembered them. Kerry grinned at him.
“Kerry?” I said, “this is Luke. I knew him a while back.”
Luke looked at Kerry as if she had just stepped out of a fairytale. I laughed.
“Pleased to meet you,” he stammered. “What can I get for you two? Come on, Taylor—go and do something! I’ll fix these people a drink.”
I laughed as the younger barman was sent off to do something else. I frowned at Kerry. I didn’t want either of us getting too drunk—not only didn’t we like it, but it would interfere with the plan.
“Um, spirit cooler?” I suggested.
His brows went up, but he went off to go and see what they had.
We sat and drank cheap spirit coolers and tried to look like we were enjoying it. I made a face at Kerry and she laughed.
“Well, people are noticing,” she whispered.
“Good,” I said.
“Should we stay till ten?” she asked.
“Good idea,” I agreed.
She took a sip and leaned against me, and I smiled into her warm eyes.
“Well,” she said, “Since we are here to make a scene, maybe we should make one.”
“Kerry!” I chuckled. As it was, all she meant was kissing, but all the same it took on a delicious urgency when it felt as if we were doing it for an audience.
We stayed until ten. As we left, I noticed someone at a low table, watching us. He was, unlike the other patrons, marginally more awake. He was also sober. He kept a low profile, but not in a way that made him stand out.
And he was watching us.
When we got out into the street, I turned to look at Kerry. She looked at me.
“Did it work?” she asked.
I nodded. “Probably.”
“Good.”
We walked out into the street. I was grateful that we had drunk sparingly, and that the night air was cool and fresh. All the same, it was difficult to find our way back to the apartment. By the time we got there, flushed and laughing, the door shut behind us, I was euphoric with relief.
“We made it!” I said.
She laughed. “Hurray!”
I nodded. “Now, we just have to see what happens,” I added, closing the curtains.
“Yes,” she said. “We just wait.”
That was what we did. For the next three days, I went out and saw old friends. Kerry came along: one of the things we’d agreed was we wouldn’t go out separately. Not for anything.
On the third day, I noticed someone in the street opposite the apartment. I caught a glimpse of a guy in the road opposite, looking up at the window. I wouldn’t have considered there was anything odd about it, except that he went to the cafe and stayed, looking up at the window every so often.
“So,” Kerry said, coming out of the bathroom. She had just dried her hair and I could smell the sweet scent of shampoo and cleanness clinging to the shining strands. “What’s for lunch?”
I frowned. “I’ll just see what we have, sweetie. Should I make it?”
“Yes!” she nodded, enthusiastically. “You do that.”
I smiled.
We made and ate lunch, and I didn’t mention anything about the guy I had seen. I wasn’t sure yet, and besides, there was no reason to worry. Not until we really were sure.
I washed up and Kerry caught up with a friend, texting away, while I went through to the bedroom. When I glanced out the window, the guy was still there. I saw him gesture to another guy.
This was it, I thought, my heart thumping. Something was about to happen.
I stood at the window, watching them. Then I went through to the kitchen so we could move into the next phase of our plan.
***
“Kerry?” Brett said softly.
I nodded. I had seen him too. I hadn’t wanted to mention it, just in case I was overreacting. Now, I knew we were right. It was now or never. I stood. My palms were sweating. We were going to move into the most dangerous part of the plan yet. And I would be alone for this part.
“Okay,” I replied, equally softly.
“You’re sure, right?” he asked. His brown eyes looked scared.
“Brett?” I said tiredly. I was tired—all my energy was suddenly drained away. “Just go. Okay? I’m fine.”
He looked sad. I instantly regretted it. What if I did die? I didn’t want to part on a bad note.
“Brett,” I said softly. “I love you. Now—please go?”
He smiled. It shone in the darkness of the room. “I love you too, Kerry. See you later.”
“Later,” I agreed. Why was my throat so tight? I looked away, hiding my tears. I heard him shut the door, walk downstairs. He was singing, walking loudly. Making as much noise as possible. I wondered if I would ever see him again.
Dammit, Kerry, I told myself. Get focused now. You have to follow the plan.
I waited at the window until I saw Brett cross the street. I watched the man in the leather coat. He saw Brett too. Brett passed by with exaggerated slowness, looking at his watch. Then he rounded the corner and left. I watched the watcher. He waited.
He looked up at the apartment. I was standing at the window. He saw me and looked down. A minute later, from a vantage-point behind the curtain, I saw him cross the street. He was coming.
Right.
Like lightning, I grabbed my phone and sent Brett a blank text message and waited.
This was hard. This part was, I reflected, the bit that scared me most. Waiting for a man with a knife. Relying on Brett.
What would I do, I thought, feeling my hands get wet with sweat and my heart race, if he didn’t make it on time? What would I do if he didn’t come? A thousand scenarios flashed through my mind, none of them pleasant. I wondered if this was my last moment on earth. Someone was after Brett, badly enough to shoot him. Why would they stop at shooting me?
I don’t want to die.
I stood and looked out of the window. It was late afternoon, and clouds drifted over the city. I saw a swallow, swooping in the foreground, joined, slowly, by another. I watched them and drank in the scene, appreciating each part of it—the wispy texture of white clouds, the stillness of concrete buildings, the grace of the swooping birds.
I might not see such things again.
Standing with my eyes glued on the window, my heart aching with the impossible beauty of a rainy afternoon in Miami, I waited.
I heard someone coming up the stairs.
They rang the bell.
I can’t make myself do this.
I knew very well who was at the door. There was no lens in the door to check it, but I knew it wasn’t Brett. And there was really nobody else. It had to be the man.
I took a deep breath. As I touched the door-knob, I felt my heart ache. If I opened the door and he shot me, I’d miss autumn. I’d miss my mom. My birthday. Brett.
Trust.
I opened the door, sheltering behind it.
Someone ran in.
I screamed.
It was him. The man from the street. He saw me, ran at me and threw me to the ground.
He had a knife with him in his right hand, and his left hand was held out over my mouth. I was crying, screaming, but I couldn’t get a sound out.
I could smell the scent of camphor from cheap hand-lotion and the smells of smoke and badly-cured leather. I could feel the bony fingers pressed against my lips. I could see the flash of a blade.
I felt my consciousness blur and waver.
Then I heard someone screaming.