“It’s true. There are no expressions that I can pick up, no little nuances of an arched eyebrow or parted lips. No more talking without words. I try to direct my face toward yours when we’re having a conversation, but it’s simply a matter of projection. That’s all any face is now. Just a place where the voice comes from.”
Alicia gazed at him, wondering if he could sense it. She wanted to say the right thing, but words seemed inadequate. She hesitated, then followed her impulse. She reached across the table, took his hand, and held it in hers. Slowly, she drew it toward her and pressed it against her cheek. Even after she let go of his hand, he left it there, cradling the side of her face, taking in her warmth and softness.
A lump came to his throat, followed by a sad but appreciative little smile on his lips. “Well,” he said softly, “I can’t always be right.”
chapter 16
J ack had no idea where he was headed. The trick was not to let Falcon know that he was completely ad- libbing.
Theo shot him a nervous glance from the passenger seat. Jack kept driving. A gun to his head didn’t make it any easier to bluff his way through this treasure hunt. They were headed north on Biscayne Boulevard, away from the downtown area. On the left was the Freedom Tower, a distinctive Mediterranean revival-style high-rise where thousands of Cubans, including Jack’s mother, had been processed through immigration in the 1960s. Across the street was the basketball arena, with a five-story likeness of Shaquille O’Neil that almost qualified as life- sized.
“Watch your speed,” said Falcon. He obviously didn’t want to be pulled over by a patrol car. Jack slowed the car to thirty-five miles per hour.
For years, city planners had made much of the “Manhattanization” of Miami’s skyline, but its downtown area was still a far cry from the city that never sleeps. Beyond a handful of clubs and restaurants around the design district and Little Haiti, the stretch of Biscayne Boulevard north of the old Omni Hotel basically shut down by midnight, even on the weekend. Many of the storefronts were secured with roll-down metal shutters, and the homeless slept in doorways on cardboard mattresses. Cross-traffic was minimal, but that didn’t stop the traffic- planning geniuses from scheduling red lights for no apparent reason. Jack was thankful for any reason to stop; he still hadn’t figured out where he was taking Falcon. They were at the Twenty-first Street intersection, virtually on the doorstep of the famous “blue-tile building,” Miami’s first example of Cuban-inspired architecture that didn’t sport the classic Mediterranean look. Jack knew it only because it was Theo’s favorite building in Miami, though his taste had nothing to do with the fact that the building was blue and Cuban, or red and Russian, or green and Martian. It mattered only that it was the U.S. headquarters for Bacardi spirits.
“Probably a few hundred grand sitting around in there somewhere,” said Theo.
“No talking!” said Falcon.
The traffic light changed, and the journey continued. “How much farther?” said Falcon.
“Not too much,” said Jack.
“Where are we going?”
“The marina. It’s where I keep my boat.”
“That’s a lie. There’s a boat behind your house.”
Jack was caught, but a trial lawyer was nothing if not quick on his feet. “That’s my little boat. We need my really big boat to get to the Bahamas.”
“Is my money still in Nassau?”
“If I tell you, you’ll just shoot me and go by yourself.”
“Maybe I’ll just shoot you now.”
“And then you’ll never see your money.”
Falcon’s voice tightened. “Don’t tell me what I’ll see or won’t see.”
Theo said, “Dude, get a grip.”
“Shut up, both of you! I’m in control here.”
“Do you even know what control is?” said Theo.
Jack shot him a sidelong glance, as if to say, “Who asked you?”
The gun pulled away suddenly, but it returned with a vengeance. The metal butt landed in front of Jack’s ear, just below the temple. The blow stunned him. The car swerved, but Jack fought it off and quickly recovered. Falcon jabbed his gun at the side of Jack’s skull.
“Don’t tell me I’m not in control,” he said.
Jack felt blood oozing down the side of his face. He could hear the paranoia in Falcon’s voice, feel the desperation in the air. The situation was only getting worse, and he had to do something fast. Just ahead, the traffic light changed from green to amber. Jack noticed a squad car at the cross street, waiting for a green light. On impulse, Jack hit the gas, knowing that he couldn’t possibly make the light. The squad car was already in the intersection as Jack sailed past at nearly double the speed limit. Jack’s light could not have been redder.
Blue flashing lights swirled behind them as the squad car screeched onto the boulevard and gave chase.
“You did that on purpose!” said Falcon.
Jack heard a click behind his ear-the hammer cocking?
“Outrun him,” said Falcon. Jack didn’t react fast enough. Falcon pushed the gun even harder against his head. “Floor it, or I’ll kill you!”
Jack hit the accelerator, and the car lurched forward. The squad car was a half-block behind them and in hot pursuit, siren blaring. The engine growled, and the speedometer dipped beyond seventy miles per hour.
“Jack, spin it!” said Theo.
“Faster!” said Falcon.
“Spin it!”
Jack hit the brake and jerked the steering wheel hard left, then hard right, trying to pull one of those smooth sliding maneuvers that professional drivers do on television commercials. It wasn’t so easy. The car was skidding out of control as Theo lunged across the console. Jack felt the tip of the barrel slide across his head as Theo and Falcon struggled for the weapon. There was a deafening noise-it was like shooting off a cannon inside a cave-and the sunroof exploded. Pellets of shattered glass rained down all over them. The pain reached deep into Jack’s ears. Theo was shouting, and the tires were screeching like banshees, but it suddenly felt as if he were two hundred feet underwater-tons of pressure in the ears and no sound whatever. Then the ringing started, and with Theo and Falcon still going at each other, it was impossible for Jack to stop the car from careening across the boulevard. He wasn’t even sure who had the gun anymore.
“Theo!” Jack shouted, though he could barely hear his own voice.
Rubber burned against the pavement as the car cut across three lanes of oncoming traffic. Horns blasted, vehicles swerved out of the way, and the bright white beams from several pairs of headlamps shot in every direction. Jack’s car slammed into the curb, but the vehicle was going plenty fast to jump right over it. It was like a big speed bump on a NASCAR track. The car was airborne for an instant and came down hard on an asphalt parking lot. Jack managed to catch a glimpse of a neon sign that read VACANCY, as the car barreled into the Biscayne Motor Lodge. It scored a direct hit on room 102. All of the rooms had outdoor entrances that faced the parking lot, and the external walls were the flimsy, prefabricated aluminum-and-fiberglass packages typical of motor lodges-a door, a picture window, and a climate-control unit all in one piece. It was like driving into a one-car garage without bothering to open the garage door. Both the driver’s and passenger’s airbag exploded. The car leveled everything in its path, like a high-speed bulldozer, shoving lamps and dressers and two double beds against the back wall of the hotel room. The mountain of debris had acted like a giant cushion, not exactly a soft landing but better than crashing into a concrete pillar. The airbags had saved their lives.
It took a moment for Jack to regain his bearings and realize that they had indeed come to a complete stop. The room looked as if a bomb had detonated. It was almost completely dark, brightened only by the streetlights that shined through a gaping hole that was once the front of the hotel room. The ceiling had partially collapsed into a cloud of dust. Electrical wiring, twisted water pipes, broken furniture, chunks of drywall, and other debris were strewn everywhere. Jack refocused just in time to hear the squad car squealing into the parking lot. The blaring
