Miami Run Page 9

  “How’s it work?”

  “Perhaps one day I can give you a demonstration.”

  “Mr. Barbish is waiting for us,” Blade noted.

  “Okay,” the guard said. “Put your stuff in the corner,” he instructed Rikki, handing over the shuriken. “I’ll keep a real good eye on it. I wouldn’t want anyone to walk off with your deadly arsenal.”

  Both guards laughed.

  Blade entered the elevator and waited for Rikki to join him. He spied Hickok in the lobby, nonchalantly leaning against an ornate white column.

  The gunman smiled and winked.

  “You’ll be searched again upstairs,” the guard informed them as he pressed the button on the wall.

  The elevator door closed and the cage ascended.

  “Orders?” Rikki inquired.

  “They’ll be waiting for us upstairs,” Blade said. “We’ll play it by ear.

  Watch me. If I nod, you know what to do.”

  Rikki nodded.

  The elevator climbed swiftly to the penthouse and coasted to a smooth stop, and a second later the door opened. Four men in suits were standing outside the elevator, two of whom were armed with machine guns, M.A.C. 10s. They stood slightly to the side of the doorway, one to the right, the other to the left. Two more men, neither holding a firearm, were directly in front of the elevator.

  “Hello,” said the tallest of the duo, a man in a blue suit. “Step out and raise your arms.”

  Blade and Rikki complied, with Blade deliberately taking a shuffling stride to the right. He scanned the plush, spacious living room beyond and spotted a sole figure seated on a large sofa. The man’s back was to the elevator, and all Blade could see was a thatch of gray hair and slim shoulders. Was it Barbish? The man was gazing out an enormous window at the Miami Beach skyline.

  The tall bodyguard stepped up to Blade as his unarmed companion did the same to Rikki.

  “This will just take a moment,” the tall one said to Blade.

  Blade smiled, looked at Rikki, and nodded, and even as he nodded he was whipping his body to the right, his massive fist clenched, delivering a pile-driver blow to the guard with the M.A.C. 10, his knuckles crunching on the guard’s nose and sending the man flying backwards.

  As Blade attacked, so did Rikki. Lacking the giant Warrior’s extended reach, Rikki was compelled to compensate with his skill and speed. There was no way he could reach the second bodyguard packing a M.A.C. 10 before the man could fire. So he grabbed the guard about to frisk him by the lapels, whirled, and shoved, flinging the startled man into his colleague. Both men stumbled backwards, and Rikki was on them in two bounds. He deflected the M.A.C. 10 with his left forearm, then delivered a slashing leopard-paw strike to the bodyguard’s throat, crushing the larynx. The frisker was clawing for a pistol on his left hip. Rikki kicked the guard on the right kneecap and heard a cracking sound, and as the man buckled, opening his mouth to scream, Rikki used a sword-hand blow and chopped the man across the throat. The Warrior pivoted.

  Blade had already dispatched the tall guard and was holding a Browning automatic pistol in his right hand, trained on the figure on the sofa.

  The man in the living room had not budged.

  Blade glanced at the pair Rikki had dispatched, then pointed at the machine gun the bodyguard had dropped.

  Rikki retrieved the M.A.C. 10.

  The figure on the sofa still hadn’t moved.

  Blade’s forehead creased as he advanced into the living room, the thick, green carpet muffling his footsteps. He aimed the Browning at the rear of the gray-haired man’s cranium. Slowly, cautiously, he skirted the end of the sofa, then stopped.

  The man was asleep! He was dozing on the sofa, his chin slumped forward, breathing regularly. His gray hair was streaked with white, and he wore a tan suit. Wrinkles lined his weathered features.

  Blade walked up to the man and nudged him with the Browning.

  The sleeper abruptly awakened, his head swiveling to the left, his green eyes widening at the sight of the giant. He turned, spying the man in black cradling a M.A.C. 10 six feet from the sofa, and then looked at the four forms on the floor near the elevator. Instead of registering fear or shock, the gray-haired man recovered his composure and stared up at the giant.

  “Congratulations. No one has ever taken Casper down before. You must be good.”

  “Are you Tom Barbish?” Blade asked.

  “One and the same,” Barbish replied. “And you?”

  “My name is unimportant,” Blade said.

  “Are you here to kill me?” Barbish inquired coolly.

  “That depends on you,” Blade stated.

  Barbish studied the giant for a moment. “You’re from the outside.”

  Blade surveyed the living room, bothered by the dealer’s calm demeanor.

  “You are, aren’t you?” Barbish asked.

  “I’ll ask the questions,” Blade told him.

  Barbish shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I know I’m right.”

  “You do, huh?”

  The dealer smiled. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, young man, you learn a thing or two. You’re not from Miami. You’re not from Dragon territory.”

  “Would you believe I’m from Jerome?”

  Barbish chuckled. “Is that what you’re telling everyone? No, you’re not from Jerome.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  The dealer looked fearlessly at Blade. “Elementary, young man. Jerome is a small town approximately twenty miles from the Gulf, as the crow flies. Not many people live there now. My travels have taken me through Jerome several times, and I never saw you there. And face it. You’d stand out like the proverbial sore thumb.” He paused. “Don’t try to convince me you live on the outskirts of Jerome either. You’re not the type to spend his days raising sugar cane or trapping alligators for a living. No, you have the air of a leader about you.”

  “Where are the Masters?” Blade demanded bluntly.

  Barbish was taken by surprise by the unexpected question. “The Masters?”

  “You heard me. I need to find the Masters.”

  “Is that what this is all about?” Barbish asked, then laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Barbish laughed louder and slapped his left thigh.

  Blade glanced at Rikki, who shrugged.

  “You went to all this trouble for nothing!” Barbish stated. “I can’t help you!”

  “You’ll help us,” Blade directed, leaning down, “or else.”

  “Please, young man!” Barbish said, smiling. “There is no need to be so melodramatic. I’m not a fool. I don’t want to die. If I could assist you, I would. But I can’t, because I have no idea where the Masters can be found.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  Barbish held his hands out, palms up. “I’m not lying! I have had very little contact with the Masters.”

  Blade wagged the Browning. “You’re a Dealer. You’re one of the top men in the Dragons. And the Masters head the Dragons.”

  “I’m a Dealer,” Barbish confessed. “But I’m two levels removed from the top of the Dragons.”

  “Explain,” Blade ordered.

  “The Masters run the show. At the bottom of the barrel are the pushers, who receive their wares from the middle-echelon distributors. Dealers like myself comprise the next level up. We insure our merchandise is alloted properly to our distributors, and through our network we keep tabs on our pushers to ensure they don’t cheat us. We’re responsible for all the people under us, and we’re held accountable for the quality of the dope we sell.

  But we’re also held to account by those above us,” Barbish detailed.

  “Above you?” Blade repeated.

  Barbish nodded. “The Directors. There are thirteen of them, and each one is personally selected by the Masters. The Directors get together with the Masters on a regular basis, not the Dealers. Once a year the Masters hold a meeting in Miami with us.” Barbish grinned.
“So if you came here hoping I would take you to the Masters, I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment.”

  Blade scrutinized the Dealer, striving to determine if Barbish was being truthful. Reluctantly, he decided the man was sincere. “Do you report to one of these Directors?”

  “Yes,” Barbish answered. “Each Director is responsible for the oversight of six Dealers.” He sighed wistfully. “Most of the street people look up to the Dealers. They think we have all this power, all this prestige. Most of them don’t even know about the Directors.”

  “The Directors are the only ones who know where to find the Masters?” Blade requested confirmation.

  “You’ve got it,” Barbish said. “I don’t know why you’re after the Masters, but I do know you’ll never find them.”

  “We’ll locate them,” Blade stated, “with your help.”

  “My help?”

  “You’re going to take us to your Director,” Blade directed.

  Barbish tensed. “I can’t do that.”

  “You have no choice.”

  “If I take you to my Director, the Masters will have me killed.”

  Blade grinned as he reached out and tapped the Browning on the Dealer’s nose. “And what do you think I’ll do if you don’t take us?”

  “I’ll take my chances with you,” Barbish said.

  “Your mistake,” Blade declared, and rammed the Browning barrel into the Dealer’s stomach.

  Barbish doubled over, wheezing, his face reddening.

  The Warrior gouged the barrel into the side of the Dealer’s neck. “Are you paying attention?” he asked gruffly.

  His face flushed, his eyes wide, gasping for air, Barbish nodded vigorously.

  “Good. Because if you don’t do exactly as I say, when I say it, you’re dead,” Blade stated. “Understand?”

  Barbish nodded again.

  “I’ve seen this city,” Blade went on. “I’ve seen what’s happened to the people here. The drugs have ruined their lives, turned their values upside down. They’ve become slaves to their addictions. And the Dragons are to blame. Since you’re one of the major Dealers, you’re largely responsible for the conditions here. You’re more guilty than most.” He paused, his tone lowering. “I think you’re scum, Barbish. You’re the human equivalent of garbage. And if you don’t cooperate, I’ll squash you like the bug you are!”

  The Dealer trembled.

  “Now on your feet!” Blade commanded, stepping back.

  Barbish slowly stood, his right hand holding his abdomen.

  “We’re leaving,” Blade said. “You’re taking us to your Director. If you try any tricks, you’ll be dead before we are.”

  Rikki moved toward the elevator.

  “Let’s go!” Blade snapped, hefting the Browning. He backed across the living room with the Dealer following meekly. “What’s the name of your Director?”

  “Arlo,” Barbish answered in a barely audible tone.

  “Arlo what?”

  “Arlo Paolucci.”

  “And where do we find Mr. Paolucci?”

  “He has an estate west of Miami,” Barbish disclosed.

  “How far west?”

  “About fifteen miles west of the city limits on Highway 41.”

  Blade reached Rikki’s side and halted. “Okay. We’re going down. You’d better pray that your men downstairs don’t start something, because you may be caught in the cross fire.”

  “They’ll know something’s up,” Barbish said. “They’ll try and stop you.”

  “Then you’ll buy us a few seconds,” Blade stated. “Talk to them. Tell them anything. Stall them.” He glanced at Rikki. “Take them out quietly.”

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi nodded.

  Blade waved the Browning at the elevator. “Inside,” he said.

  The Dealer walked past the Warriors and entered the cage.

  Blade and Rikki stepped inside. Blade scrutinized the side panels to the door. “Where’s the button?”

  Barbish nodded at the doorway. “On the outer wall, to the right. It’s a security precaution. The elevator can only be operated by someone standing outside, by one of my guards.”

  “That’s easily remedied,” Blade declared, leaning out the doorway and looking to the right. The black button was positioned just beyond the reach of a normal-sized man, but he wasn’t normal-sized. He reached out and easily stabbed the button, then withdrew before the door could shut.

  The elevator began its descent.

  Blade tucked the Browning in the small of his back. “Stall them or you’re dead.”

  Rikki placed the M.A.C. 10 in a corner and straightened.

  Barbish swallowed hard, his eyes flicking nervously from Warrior to Warrior.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Blade cautioned.

  The elevator passed floor after floor.

  Sweat broke out on the Dealer’s face.

  Blade pushed Barbish up to the door. “Remember what I’ve said.”

  The Dealer took a deep breath as the elevator glided to a rest at the bottom of the shaft.

  Rikki was waiting to the right of the doorway.

  With a protracted hiss, the door slid wide.

  Both guards were facing the elevator, their hands at their sides. Both displayed surprise when their gaze alighted on the Dealer.

  “Mr. Barbish!” the burly one exclaimed. “Where’s Casper?”

  “Upstairs,” Barbish answered. “I wanted to see these gentlemen out by myself.”

  The burly guard’s eyes narrowed. “Is everything okay?”

  Barbish stepped from the elevator. “Of course.”

  Rikki exited, smiling at the guards as he walked to his pile of weapons and crouched.

  The burly guard eyed the Warrior suspiciously. “I don’t know about this,” he said, his right hand drifting under his jacket.

  “Believe me,” Barbish assured him. “Everything is fine.”

  Both guards glanced at their boss.

  And Rikki uncoiled with the dazzling quickness of a striking cobra. He spun around, a shuriken in his left hand, the kyoketsu-shogei in his right.

  His left arm arced up and out, and the gleaming shuriken streaked straight into the second guard’s forehead, the razor teeth biting deep.

  Powered by Rikki’s steely sinews, the shuriken sank over half its width inward. The guard tottered backwards, his right hand gripping the shuriken and tugging, but all he succeeded in doing was slicing his hand and three fingers. Crimson flowed over his face.

  The burly guard was drawing a pistol.

  Rikki released the kyoketsu-shogei in an underhand motion, the last two fingers on his right hand retaining a hold on the metal ring as his thumb and first two fingers sent the five-inch knife into the burly guard’s throat. The man grabbed for the double-edged knife in sheer reflex. Before his foe could snatch the weapon, Rikki wrenched on the metal ring connected by the leather cord to the knife hilt. The knife was yanked free, its trajectory marked by a geyser of spurting blood.

  Pressing his slippery, crimson-coated hands over the hole in his neck, the burly guard fell to his knees.

  The guard struck by the shuriken collapsed onto his back.

  Rikki scooped up the yawara and stepped up close to the burly guard.

  He delivered a roundhouse blow to the side of the man’s head with the tip.

  With a loud groan, the guard sprawled onto his face.

  Rikki crouched and began reclaiming his gear.

  Blade hastily joined him. “Stay right where you’re at!” he said to Barbish.

  The Dealer appeared pale, his eyes on his dead men.

  Blade replaced his Bowies first, then aligned the backpack between his shoulder blades. He lifted the Paratrooper.

  “You’ll get yours, bastards!” Barbish snapped.

  Blade stepped up to the Dealer. “Keep your mouth closed.” He glanced at Rikki.

  The martial artist had put the kyoketsu-shogei, the yawara, and his three other s
huriken in his belt pouch. He was donning the backpack, his eyes on the lobby, when he suddenly dived for the M-16 while shouting, “Look out!”

  Blade whirled.

  Three men in suits were charging the two Warriors. All three held pistols. Two of the trio already had a bead on the giant; the third was sighting on the diminutive man in black.

  Blade tried to bring the Paratrooper into play, realizing he was way too late, expecting to hear the boom of their guns and feel their slugs tear through his body. Out of the corner of his left eye he caught a motion.

  Hickok. Crouching and drawing his right Python, his arm nearly invisible, the gunfighter fired three times from the hip, the shots thundering in the lobby, unerringly on target.

  The three charging bodyguards died on their feet; not one managed to squeeze the trigger. They tumbled to the carpet, head-shot, brain dead.

  Hickok sprinted to his friends, pulling his left Python on the fly. “We’d best skedaddle.”

  Blade nodded, then shoved Barbish toward the front entrance. “Move it!”

  Rikki slid his katana under his belt and brought up the rear.

  “You’ll never get out of here alive!” the Dealer taunted them.

  Hickok took the lead, his revolvers sweeping from side to side; covering the people in the lobby.

  Blade realized there were over two dozen men and women surrounding them. How many were in the Dealer’s employ? Would Barbish plant men in the—

  A man in a dark brown suit burst from behind a column to their left, an Uzi in his hands.

  Hickok’s Pythons cracked.

  His eyes rupturing as they were perforated by the slugs, the man in brown was catapulted onto his back by the impact.

  Hickok walked faster, his blue eyes darting every which way.

  Barbish was dragging his feet, moving as slowly as he could.

  Blade gave the Dealer a brutal push, and Barbish stumbled forward, cursing under his breath.

  Hickok was within eight feet of the entrance.

  A brunette in a green dress, standing to the left of the glass doors, suddenly whipped a revolver from her black leather purse.

  The gunfighter shot her in the forehead.

  Blade covered a group to their right. So much for abducting the Dealer without attracting attention! Every Dragon in the city would be on the lookout for them! Which meant they had to get out of the city as quickly as possible. But how?