Free Wood's Wall by Steven Becker Page A

ten on the bar.
    Back outside, he sat in his car and dialed. He took a chance and dialed Trufante’s number first which went straight to voicemail, and he hung up without leaving a message. Whatever had happened to the guy, he didn’t need some stranger listening to a voicemail that might implicate him in the wrongdoing. He pulled out of the lot and drove aimlessly towards US1. With no plan, he sat an extra minute at the stop sign deciding which way to go when he saw the black truck with the neon floorboards and ballyhoo stenciled on its sides. Steeled by the bourbon and not knowing what else to do, he backed out of the lot and followed. 
    The truck was heading south, toward Key West. He tried to stay several cars back, but got nervous about losing them and crept closer. He was right behind them at the red light, his one working headlight revealing what looked like three heads in the back seat. It looked like one tall guy — possibly Trufante — and two women. 
    The truck turned left on 15 th Street. Halfway down the street, the driver cut the lights. Pete felt vulnerable now, and found a house with no cars in the driveway, where he could hide the car. He got out and followed on foot.

 
     
     
     
     
     

    14
    Mac jumped out of bed. He’d just dozed off when the sound of the front door being kicked in woke him. His first instinct was to grab Mel and get out. The extra 110 pounds didn’t slow him as he went out the sliding door onto the deck and headed down the stairs. They were at the dock when she came to, eyes wide and started to open her mouth. Mac put a finger to his lips. Just as he set her down the lights went on in the house. Mel went over the gunwale first and Mac followed wondering what kind of trouble Trufante had gotten him into now. This had to have something to do with the plutonium. 
    They went into the cabin, and Mel sat on a bunk, naked. “What the hells going on?”
    Mac ignored her as he peered through the window. Seeing nothing but lights, he went for the revolver hidden behind an access panel in the main stateroom. Back on deck, he screened himself behind the winch and watched. Mel creeped up behind him wrapped in a towel.
     
    ***
     
    Trufante was the last in the house, nudged through the door by the barrel of Cesar’s hit man’s gun. The initial shock of the mauling had worn off, but his finger still throbbed incessantly. He was trying not to think about the fact that he’d have to live the rest of his life with only half a finger - if he lived at all.
    The two women in front of him were still sobbing hysterically. There was nothing he could do to comfort them with a gun in his back.
     “Jose’, stay down here with the gringos. I’m going to have a look upstairs.” He disappeared up the staircase, returning seconds later. “He’s gone. Cajun, I swear to Mary that I will take all your fingers off and feed them to the fish if you warned him.”
    “What are you talking about? I’ve been with you the whole time. You’ve got my phone.”
    Cesar moved towards Trufante, took his hand and pinched the stub. Trufante’s eyes bugged out from the pain. “I’m watching you. Where is the last package?”
    Trufante stumbled as he went towards the workbench. He’d already noticed the box missing, but had no alternative than to go through the process. Cesar followed him to the spot where Mac had examined the box. “It was here the last I saw of it.” Cesar reached for his finger again, but Trufante saw him coming and jerked it back. “Let’s check the office, that’s where he would have put it.” He was running out of options.
    Trufante used his good hand to sort through the desk and shelves. Cesar stood in the door, watching. “Hurry up, Cajun.”
    “Give me a minute, there’s a ton of crap in here.” He moved toward the closet with the gun safe, and hid his surprise at finding the door open. Placing his body to block Cesar’s view, he grasped a gun. He could take down Cesar,