NOTE: This story contains some harsh language and mature themes that might be upsetting to some readers.
Want to start at the beginning? Welcome to Shadows Under the Palms!
I didn’t stick around. No matter what happened, I knew that the minute the cops showed up on Andrade’s door, I was going to have a target on my back. I trusted Rey and the Feds to do the job, but I had had just about enough of this whole mess, and I needed a change of scenery. Immediately.
I cruised away from the station, letting myself breathe a little easier and planning my pending vacation. I even let myself pretend I was retiring, although no amount of delusion allowed me to believe I had the money to make that a reality any time soon.
But the idea of a few weeks? Maybe even months in and around Havana? Yeah, that was definitely doable. I could feel my blood pressure dropping already. Some cigars, rum, all kinds of pork dishes… Heaven awaited me. I just needed to pack a small suitcase, and I could get on that evening’s Pan Am flight out of Tampa and be in a hotel by sunset. I might even make it to the Tropicana tonight.
First stop was to the bank, taking out most of my account. I didn’t expect to need it all, but who knew when I would be coming back? I wanted enough to last as long as it took to fade from the memory of a vengeful mobster, or at least until I knew for sure he and his goons were locked away for a long time. The teller put the money in a nondescript envelope and smiled as she handed it to me.
“Have a nice trip, Mr Duffy,” she said sweetly.
“Trip? What makes you think I am going anywhere?”
“Oh, you get to notice these things, Mr. Duffy. Unless you are off to buy a new car or something. But you would have asked for a very specific amount, then.” She shrugged and smiled again.
I looked at her and smiled back, tipping my hat. “Well, adiós, then, señorita."
From the bank, I headed to Webb’s City, the department store and ‘one stop shop’ for a few items I needed. Toothpaste, Brylcreem, and a carton of Chesterfields. The Cuban brands were fine, but I liked my Chesterfields. I walked the aisles, listening to the jingle playing over the store radio. "There'll be no more hoppin' around the town a-shoppin', Webb's City is your one-stop shopping store." I thought about getting a quick haircut, but decided against it. Plenty of barbers in Havana, and probably better suited for the job. With my goods in hand, I headed out once more.
My last stop was the office. I knew Shirley was long gone by now, but I wanted to leave her a note in case she came back and wondered where I was. A quick scribble on her notepad would do.
GONE TO SEE MY MASSA GIRL
She would know what it meant, and no one else would. I grabbed the petty cash from my desk, as well as my extra packs of cigarettes, just to be safe.. I tidied up the best I could, double-checking the locks on the file cabinets and my desk drawers. I looked out through the blinds and then closed them tight. Before I left, I grabbed a few boxes of .38 ammo as well, just in case.
I pulled into my driveway and nearly ran inside. All thoughts of Andrade and the Medianoche had left my head, and I was halfway through my front door when a brick-like fist knocked them right back in.
I went sprawling across my living room floor, crashing through the coffee table that splintered under the impact. My head rang, and my vision was blurry. For a second, I thought I saw two Maksim Sidorovs standing over me, blurry and menacing. They spoke with a single, mocking voice as the images came together in one terrifying visage.
“Did you really think Mr. Andrade would be fooled by your little ruse?” He kicked me in the side, hard. The pain to my ribs - which were far from healed - was blinding. I grunted and tried to crawl in the opposite direction. He put his foot on my back and shoved me down again.
“I tried to warn him,” he continued, as though we were having a conversation. “I told him you were not going to keep your word. I am sad to say, he is far too trusting. But he sees now.” I heard him walk around the remains of the table and sit in my chair. Through the haze in my vision, I could see him draw a pistol from his jacket. I moved slowly through the pieces of the broken furniture, trying to regain my balance. “Now, little Detective, I get to kill you. This makes me sad. You see, I didn’t want to kill you yet. I wanted you to see me kill your policeman friend first. And then watch what I did to your pretty blonde lady reporter. And then make you watch me kill her. But now, you have ruined it for me. Boss says you have to go first.” My hand closed around one of the legs from the table. “After this, I’ll go see your friends.” He shrugged, pulling back the hammer on his revolver.
I swung the makeshift club as hard as I could, connecting with his hand and the pistol. I heard bones crack just before the gun went off, narrowly missing my head and shattering my front window. Sidorov roared in pain, dropping the weapon, turning on me in a fury.
“I don’t need a bullet to end you. Idi na hui!” The huge man lunged at me and I struck out again, this time connecting with the side of his knee. He buckled and fell, and I was able to roll to my left to avoid his massive bulk landing on me. I scrambled to stand and get into the dining room. I fumbled with my jacket, trying to pull my own gun, but he was quicker than I expected and tackled me into the wall, shaking the house. Pictures fell, and the windows rattled. He tried to punch me, but I moved at the last second, and his fist went through the plaster.
I got out from underneath him, throwing several sharp - and apparently ineffective - jabs at his midsection. He fought to free himself from the wall, and I picked up the table leg again, bringing it down hard across the back of the head. He slumped forward, stunned for a moment, then turned sharply to glare at me. I reached again for my gun, and again he was on me before I could draw it. He wrapped his bruised, meaty hands around my throat and lifted me up against the wall, squeezing hard. I tried kicking, but he had me pinned and was simply too strong.
“Now you will die, gandon,” he growled. I flailed against him, beating his face and arms with my fists, but it was like punching a piece of concrete. Then I remember his hand. With my vision starting to fade, I managed to get my hands wrapped around the broken fingers of his right hand. Even after the impact of the table leg, he was surprisingly strong. But when I bent two of the fingers backwards, the giant Russian howled in pain and his grip on my airway loosened, and he dropped me, shaking the damaged appendage and taking a few steps back. Finally, I was able to draw my weapon.
I pointed it at him and sagged against the wall, rubbing my throat. “Just stop, comrade,” I rasped. “Don’t make me kill you.”
Sidorov gave me a toothy grin and raised his hands above his head. He patted the back of his scalp, and his fingers came away bloody, and he wiped them on his white shirt.
“You got me good, little detective. I will give you credit. Better than I expected. But don’t pretend you don’t want to kill me.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to. I said don’t make me. It’s a lot of paperwork, and there’s already too much to clean up here. Thanks a lot for that, by the way.”
“This is not over between you and me.”
Sirens began to blare in the distance. Someone must have heard the gunshot and called the police.”
“I beg to differ. You’re going away for good, Max. Maybe they’ll put you and your boss in adjoining cells.”
“You are a dead man, Mr. Duffy. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day, BOOM! And you won’t ever see it coming.”
I heard the tires screech outside as the patrol cars arrived, the radios blaring and the voices of the officers shouting. They burst in the front door, guns drawn and pointed at both of us. “Get on the ground! Hands behind your head!” I dropped the pistol and complied, slowly lowering myself to my knees. One of them, a sergeant I knew named Chalmers, spoke up.
“Just the big one. The other is the homeowner.” He turned to me. “What’s going on, Eddie? What the hell happened? We got reports of shots fired at your house!”
I slowly dropped my hands and stood, feeling the pain in my body again. “This sunuvabitch took a shot at me. He’s one of Andrade’s guys.”
“You okay? Let’s get you checked out.”
I shrugged him off. “Nah, I’m good. Gonna need a decorator, though.”
It took four of the uniforms to lift Sidorov to his feet, his hands cuffed behind him. “You're a dead man, detective,” he spat. “There is nowhere I can’t find you.”
Chalmers smacked him on the back of his head. “Get him out of here!” He turned back to me. “You wanna tell me what this is all about?”
“Ask Detective Torres. But the short version is: I came home, he jumped me, took a shot, threatened to kill me, punched a hole in my wall, and then you showed up.”
Chalmers looked around the room, eyeing the debris, and then leveled his gaze back at me. “That’s it?”
“Look, sergeant, I’m tired, my ribs hurt like hell, and I have a plane to catch. You’ve got a certified killer in custody. You’re welcome. Can we please be done?”
He sighed and put his notepad away. “No wonder you didn’t last on the force, Duffy. You got no sense.” He turned and barked orders at his men. “C’mon, boys, let's leave this sad sack to his housekeeping.”
I closed the door behind him and went to the phone. I dialed the precinct and asked for Rey. A moment later, he was on the line.
“Eddie? Did I hear that right? Shots fired at your house?”
“Yeah, Sidorov was here waiting for me. They’re on to me, Rey. I gotta leave town. Like right now. I’m heading to Havana and staying there until this all blows over.”
“You okay? What happened to the Russian?”
“Chalmers showed up in the nick of time. They’ve got him and are bringing him downtown. But Rey, I don’t think they know you have the files. They just know what I gave them was phony. You and the Feds should still be able to take Andrade if you go soon.”
“I’ll have to run it by Ackerman. He’s lead on this whole thing anyway.”
“Yeah, of course. Well, keep an eye on Clara for me, would you? She’s likely to get herself in trouble if she’s not careful.”
“She can take care of herself, Eddie, you know that.”
“Yeah, I know, but please. Just don’t let anything happen to her. Until every last one of Andrade’s goons is locked up, none of us is safe. And even then I’m not so sure.”
“Hey, take it easy, Eddie,” he said. “We’ve got it under control. You did your bit, not let us do ours, okay? Go to Cuba. Have a cigar and some rum. Find a girl, for God’s sake!”
I laughed, wincing at the shooting pain in my chest and side. “Yeah, okay. Take care of yourself, Rey.”
“Hey, send me a postcard, okay?”
“Sure thing. And Rey, thanks.”
I hung up, took a few breaths, and went to pack my bag.
