Chapter 5
Getting bumped around in the back of an ancient car wasn't Sam's idea of a good day. He held onto his belt that he used to keep the latch from sticking and paid attention to how many turns the driver made. Doing rough calculations of their perceived speed, he thought maybe he knew where he was, and if he was correct, they were getting farther away from Miami by the minute. Hopefully the driver stopped soon before his entire body became one big bruise.
Sam soon got his wish. The car swung into an arc and jumped up an uneven incline, and the brakes squeaked as the car came to a stop. The rumbling muffler stilled when the driver killed the engine. Sam heard voices outside, but they were too far away for him to pick up what they said. On the one hand he wished they would come around to the trunk to talk. On the other, he was glad that they didn't, because then they might discover that he stowed away in the trunk. The voices seemed to move farther from the vehicle. It was time for him to get out of the trunk.
With slow, cautious movements, Sam lifted the trunk lid. He didn't see any legs through the gap, so he figured the coast was clear. He lifted the lid just enough to escape and he crouched behind the bumper until he got his bearings. Ahead of the car he saw a cinderblock building. It was a garage with two bays and an office with a large plate glass window. A sign above the bays announced that it was Shorty's Garage. The sea green paint peeled in spots and revealed a bright white underneath. The roof was made of corrugated tin. A window unit air conditioner dangled from a window alongside where the car was parked, and other than the window next to the door, it didn't appear to have any other openings.
To the south and west a line of thick evergreens and a variety of trees and scrub blocked the view. To the north, beyond a couple classic cars and a line of more trees he spied a swamp. An airboat parked half up on the land obscured Sam's view of its size. So there were ways to get out of there in a pinch. He just didn't want to do it until he knew what was going on, and that involved getting closer to the structure.
He scuttled to the side and flattened himself against the wall. From his vantage point Sam recognized the road. They were tucked away in the northwest part of the Miami area, beyond the suburbs in an area that was more Cracker than Cuban influenced. White redneck boys hung out here. At least he didn't see any meth labs, but the day was still relatively young.
Pulling out his phone, he texted Fiona. 'At Shorty's Garage, SR 25 N I75.' At least now someone would know where he was.
Sam couldn't hear the conversation inside the building, so he braved sneaking to the corner where the entrance stood open.
"You're sure that's Westen's car."
"I'm positive, Mr. Johnson," the driver responded. "The id number doesn't match, but you know, that was part of the plan, to switch 'em out so that Belliveau didn't get his hands on it."
A third voice said, "The only way we'll find out is if we tear the car apart, piece by piece. We'll find that chip somewhere. Westen was too clever to put it in a place that anybody could find it in an hour or two. Come on, let's get started."
"Corey's not here yet. We gotta wait for him. He's the man with the blowtorch experience."
"Yeah."
The three voices fell silent.
"What's so important about this chip anyway? Why do we have to go through all this trouble trying to find it?"
"It's a list of people that the government would pay a handsome price to get access to. People the CIA wants for capture, interrogation, maybe even assassinate. If we get that list, we'll be rich. Then I can open a legit shop and restore and sell more of these beauties."
"Seems like an awful lot of work to go through for money."
Johnson sighed. "That's why you're just my stooge, Lenny. You never see the big picture. This is about more than money. I have it on good word that a few of my old associates are on the list, and let's just say they're due a little payback."
Sam heard crunching gravel and the sound of a truck in need of a tune-up pulled in front of the office. The door slammed, and Sam realized that he'd stayed in one place too long. He pushed off of the wall and ran for the trees at the back of the property.
"Hey, who are you," a voice cried just before a bullet went whizzing past Sam's ear and embedded into the windshield of a cherry red Cadillac he used for cover. "Fellas, we got an intruder!"
Rushing through the tall grass toward the forest, if it could be called that with its skimpy trees mixed with old gnarled oaks, Sam heard his pursuers' legs swishing through the grasses after him. He considered heading for the swamp, but there wasn't enough time to get that airboat going for a clean escape. He would have to find a haven in among the trees. Glancing back Sam saw four men chasing him, one wearing a suit, not caring what the brush did to his fancy threads. The other guys were dressed in jeans and wife beaters with shirts hanging open.
One guy stumbled into a hole and screamed, "My ankle! Damn, I twisted it!"
Sam couldn't help but smile. One down, three to go. He turned back to where he was going and noticed that the landscape ahead took a sudden dive. He was running too fast to skid to a stop, so his only recourse was to take the leap. He went down into a shallow sinkhole, landing on a rock butt first, the shock running up his spine.
"He disappeared! Where'd he go?"
Sam whipped his head around and found a depression in the earth directly below the shelf from which he dropped. He scrambled and gathered up some brush as he settled into the recess. It wasn't much, but maybe it would be enough to get them off his back.
Johnson barked at his men. "He can't just disappear. Go down there you morons and find him."
"Yes sir."
Feet crunched through old leaves and pine needles, and Sam held his breath waiting for the men to pass. A pair of legs appeared and he reached out to grab the hem of the guy's jeans, pulling hard and throwing him off balance. He landed face first on the squishy ground, turned to face his attacker, and Sam launched himself out of his hiding place and took him down with one solid punch to the face. A bullet just missed Sam's shoulder, and he turned toward the second man. The big man lunged at him with a fist. Sam's head snapped back upon impact and he hit the dirt hard, stars floating in the air between him and the encroaching attackers.
He still had the presence of mind to kick out and catch the big guy in a vulnerable spot just below the knee, causing him to collapse and roll, giving Sam the chance to slam another fist into him, this time knocking him out. The other attacker made noises and was on his knees, but Sam sent a roundhouse kick into his midsection and laid him out flat.
"Nice work," Johnson said with a smirk. "If you weren't one of Michael Westen's friends, I'd try to recruit you."
"How do you know I'm a friend of Westen?" Sam managed to sound casual as he brushed himself off and stepped up the ravine to stand before Johnson.
"You're Sam Axe. I'm very familiar with Michael, his Irish Republican girlfriend Fiona, and all his friends and family." Johnson smirked. "For an old guy you can really kick it." The gun remained steady on Sam's chest as he spoke. "Now, you're going to do me a little favor, Mr. Axe."
"I don't feel like doing anybody any favors," Sam replied, glaring at the man.
"Well, that's your choice, but if you don't get into that building right now, you die. Simple as that. And I would bet that little honey of yours, Elsa, would be awfully sad if you were to take a bullet to the heart." Johnson's blue eyes were icy and all business. He gestured with the gun. "Go on now. You play nice, you get to go home when we're out of here with that list."
Hoping that Fiona got his text, Sam complied. The two guys he took out were on their feet again and followed Johnson into the building. He noted the hatred in their eyes and the grimaces on their faces. He wasn't looking forward to whatever Johnson had in store for him.
"Okay, check him, Lenny. Corey, tie him up when Lenny's done."
"Can I have a little fun with him?" Corey asked, flashing a grin that was missing a couple teeth.
"Just don't damage him too much. I might need him for leverage later," Johnson answered. He turned and left the building without another word.
"Stand there and don't move," Lenny ordered Sam. "And put your hands up."
For now, Sam would do as he was told, and hopefully Fiona and Jesse would arrive soon. He raised his arms and suffered Lenny's rough hands patting him down for weapons. Lenny found the 9mm in his waistband at his back and dropped it onto a nearby table. His wallet, a few lock picking tools, handcuffs, keys, and a pack of gum followed. Lenny sneered when he grasped Sam's right arm and removed his watch. It was expensive, a gift from Elsa, but he didn't bat an eyelash. He wouldn't let them know that it was worth more than sentiment.
A gunshot outside got everyone's attention. Lenny and Corey looked away for just a moment, long enough for Sam to grab Corey's gun and back off to a position where he could aim it at the two.
"Drop 'it."
Another shot echoed outside, and someone screamed. With any luck, that was the sound of his cavalry coming to his rescue. Corey and Lenny looked nervous about the shooting, and Sam used it to his advantage.
"Put the gun on the table and stand in that far corner."
"He can only shoot one of us," Corey muttered.
"Wanna bet," Sam barked.
Lenny fired at Sam, and he felt the sting of a near miss along his upper arm as he dodged to the right and got off a return volley. Lenny grabbed his shoulder and went down, and before Corey could get off a shot, Sam hit him in the chest. Not enough to kill him right away, but both were out of commission. Sam scooped up the contents of his pockets, shoved them into one, and left the building. Johnson blocked his way.
"Uh uh…."
He never got to finish what he wanted to say, because Sam slammed the butt of his gun into Johnson's face. The man fell to the ground, stunned. Sam glanced around and saw the third guy lay in the grass with two bullet holes in his chest and didn't appear to be breathing. Sam expected to see Fiona, but her car was nowhere in the area. He shook his head. He had no time to ponder where she might be, and if the coveted list was really hidden in the Charger parked next to Corey's truck, he needed to get that car away fast. Johnson fired at him as he slipped into the driver's seat, and a bullet struck the windshield, forming a huge spider crack in the center. Sam ignored the shot and pulled out his keys. If this was really Mike's car his spare key would work.
Johnson fired again as he closed in. The key slipped into the ignition, but it didn't turn. "Dammit," Sam muttered, and he closed his eyes, waiting for Johnson to drill a bullet through his head. He took one breath, then two, and nothing happened. Sam opened his eyes and found Johnson's shadow falling over him, his mouth agape.
"Your key. That key. It belongs to Westen's Charger, doesn't it?"
Sam eyed him. The barrel was only a couple inches from his cheek bone. Better to be honest, considering how the man took care of his own people. No doubt he'd be even less charitable with him. "It does. But it doesn't fit this lock."
Johnson's free hand slammed on the door frame and the momentum shook the entire vehicle. "Dammit! This isn't Westen's car! I was guaranteed that this was his car!"
"If it makes you feel any better, I thought it was his car too," Sam said. Not that he wanted to soothe Johnson's troubled mind. His statement served as a subtle psychological link that might keep him alive for a little longer.
Frustrated, Johnson banged on the hood. Then he aimed the gun at Sam again and said, "Get out of the car. Now."
"Okay, I'm getting out slowly." He opened the door and Johnson stepped back to allow him to step out of the vehicle. He soon found himself back in the garage office, cuffed with his own handcuffs, his arms wrapped around a pole. Johnson cleaned out his pockets and saw a message flash on Sam's phone, and from where he stood, Sam could see that it came from Fi, a response to his text.
"What the hell… you told someone where you were," Johnson growled and approached him with the gun held high and the barrel pressed into Sam's temple. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now and be done with you."
"Maybe it is Mike's car, and he just changed the locks," Sam suggested with a calm tone that amazed even him. With a cocked grin, he added, "You know how these old cars are, temperamental. Maybe he had trouble with the old ignition and replaced it and didn't tell me."
"My boss isn't going to be happy about this if this isn't really Westen's car. I need proof." Johnson paced the room, stepping over the two men on the floor. Corey remained motionless, but Lenny moaned and sat up, dragging his form to prop himself against the wall. He was a bleeding mess.
Sam glanced at his own arm where the bullet passed, and he was pleased to see that it didn't bleed but the skin was scraped and burned by the hot metal. He got lucky, real lucky. If Fi and some help didn't arrive soon, however, his luck would run out.
"I gotta think," Johnson said. "You stay here. If I come back and you're gone, the second I see you, you're dead. You got that, Axe?"
"I do." Sam swallowed and watched the man stomp out of the office. He got into the Charger and attempted to turn the key, but it wouldn't move, so he pulled out Sam's key, threw the keychain onto the floor mat, and slipped in the one that he knew worked. Johnson started up the car, backed out of the drive, and floored it once his tires hit the road.
The moment he knew Johnson was gone and wasn't coming back for awhile, Sam eyed the table nearby. All of his things were still on it. Lifting his leg, he hooked the toe of his shoe around one of the table legs and pulled. The furniture moved a few inches. He did the same thing with the other table leg he could reach and repeated the process until the table was only a few inches away. With each drag, the table vibrated, and Sam was afraid something vital would fall, but all the items were still on the surface. It just required him to lean to the left as far as he could and use his mouth to retrieve the lock picking tools.
Lenny watched him with interest. "You're a fool, mister. Johnson's gonna come back soon and he'll kill ya. He shot Johnny just 'cause he got himself tripped up in that hole. Corey and me are lucky he didn't kill us."
Sam dropped the tools into his hand and asked, "How is Corey?"
"Like you care. You're the one who shot him!"
"No offense, but you guys wanted to kill me." He worked a tool into the handcuff lock and moved it back and forth. "What'd you expect me to do, just stand there and become a target? No way, pal." A rasping sound rewarded his efforts and the cuff loosened. "There, easy peasy." He pulled away from the pole and with little effort unlocked the other cuff.
"Where you goin'," Lenny asked.
"Back to civilization, that's for damn sure," Sam replied. He picked up his phone and hit the speed dial. When Fiona answered, he spoke. "Fi, it's me."
"Sam, what's happening? Where are you?"
"Where are you right now?"
"We're on state road twenty five, nearing the freeway," she replied.
Sam grinned. "Great, you're almost here. You can come pick me up, and if the cops are with you they can take a couple of Johnson's men to the hospital."
"Who's Johnson," she asked.
"I'll explain when you get me out of here." Sam glanced out the front window as he talked with her. "He took the Charger, but I don't know when he'll be back. He's pretty freaked out that it isn't Mike's. His boss wanted a list that Mike supposedly has hidden in his car."
"The NOC list?"
"No, I think this is a different one," Sam replied. "Just get here."
"Almost there, Sam. Keep your pants on."
Chuckling, he replied, "There's only one woman I take my pants off for, sister, and you aren't the one. Hey, woah! You just went past!"
Sam heard squealing tires and less than a minute later Fiona's red Hyundai pulled into the drive with two police units and Detective Howard's car fanning out around her. He picked up his things and stuffed them into his pockets. "Well, good luck, fellas. I'm outta here." He walked out into the sunshine to meet Fiona as she got out of the car. Russ exited from the passenger side.
"Sam, you look like hell," Fiona chided and stepped forward, taking him into a quick embrace. "If you ever do something like that again, I swear I'll kill you myself." She squeezed just a little too hard for emphasis.
"Point taken, Fi," he managed to wheeze before she released him. "Russ, what are you doing here?"
Russ looked at him with regret and worry on his face. "Sam, we've gotta talk about that Charger. This whole thing has gotten too out of hand."
"What are you talking about?"
"You'll see when we get back to Miami. Come on."
Sam glanced at Fiona, but she appeared to be just as clueless. He followed Russ and Fiona to the car and Russ got in back, letting him ride up front with Fiona. Whatever was going on, Charlie must have known, because he let Sam go without asking him a single question.
He even waved and said, "I'll see you later, Sam."
"Can we talk about this on the way back," Sam asked.
"I think you're gonna wanna have a couple mojitos before you hear the whole story," Russ replied and fell silent.
Fiona and Sam glanced at each other. This did not sound good. Not good at all.