Джеймс Паттерсон - Lost

I nodded and said, “We’ll do something. I can’t let Roman Rostoff sit up in that luxury office like he’s an earl.”

Marie took a moment to wipe her tears and blow her nose on a paper towel. Then she looked at me with bloodshot eyes and said, “Let’s get back to work.”

I don’t even know what time I got home that night. When I woke up in the morning, after only a few hours’ sleep, I was still exhausted. The smell of pancakes and bacon drew me out of bed. I felt like I was a character in a fairy tale wandering into a trap.

My sister, looking very professional in a dark, fitted dress, was in the hall, getting ready to head to the school where she worked as a speech pathologist. She tilted her head toward the kitchen and shrugged. That’s when I realized it was my mother cooking. This was phenomenal; she almost never cooked in the morning.

My sister and I sat down at the small dining-room table and before we could say anything, my mom plopped down two plates piled with eggs, pancakes, and bacon. She looked like a waitress at a Denny’s.

Why couldn’t it be like this every morning?

I asked a few of my normal questions, trying to figure out if she was in our current reality or a former one. She seemed fine. She called me Tommy and asked Lila some specific questions about her job.

Finally, I had to say, “Mom, what’s going on? What’s with all the food?”

She eased down into the chair next to me and took a sip of her coffee. “You think I’m not aware of what’s been happening, that I just live in my own little world and expect you guys to cater to my every need? It’s terrifying. Not because I’m losing my grip on reality, but because of everything I’m putting you through.”

Lila reached across the table and grasped my mother’s hand. They both had tears in their eyes. I almost did the same, but I wanted to hear what else my mom had to say.

She flicked a tear off her cheek and said, “You both do so much for me, I just wanted to do a little something for you.”

Lila stood up and hugged her. “We do it because we love you, Mom.”

“And I’m doing this because I love you. No one realizes how much a mother loves her children. She really will do anything for them. I’m just sorry you have to do so much for me now.”

I stood up and kissed her gently on the forehead. There was nothing else I could add to this conversation.

Chapter 80

BEFORE I PICKED Marie up at her hotel, I stopped by the Miami Police headquarters to put the word out about what had happened at the port. The oddly shaped five-story building on Second Avenue had seen its share of history. Over the years, Miami had witnessed all kinds of riots, shifting demographics, mass immigration from Cuba, and even a visit from the pope. Through it all, the police department—at least the building—never changed. And even the department’s critics always knew they could run to us when things in the neighborhood got out of control.

Most people had no idea how things really worked on the streets. I remember a crack dealer named Walter Slates from back when I worked patrol just west of the downtown. He’d shoot a bird at me every time I drove past in my cruiser. He made fun of my record with the University of Miami’s football team.

That’s why, when he approached my patrol car one day, I was suspicious. He said, “I need help.”

I took the bait and asked him what the problem was.

“The goddamn Colombians say they gonna kill me. Ain’t nothing like the Cubans. The Cubans’ll listen to you. The Cubans are reasonable. But these Colombians is crazy. I need protection.”

“So all of a sudden you don’t hate the police?”

“Never really hated the police. It’s just fun to screw with you. Even if I did hate the police, I don’t hate no more. Can you help me?”

We helped him. Walter Slates turned his life around. He now works for Florida Power and Light somewhere up near West Palm Beach. He made it a point to come by and thank me a few years ago.

I knew that by putting the word out at the station, I could count on tips from contacts on the street. The beat cops heard we hadn’t found all the people who’d been in the container, and it took them only about an hour to round up the rest. Now we had almost all of them. Except one. A blond Polish girl named Magda who spoke some English.

Finding that girl was our only goal this morning.

Instead of hello, the first thing Marie had said to me when I met her in the lobby of the downtown Marriott was “I just got off the phone with my best informant. Hanna and Albert Greete are in Miami, looking for a girl who fled from the boat. She has a backpack with a fortune in diamonds hidden in it.”

“Let me guess—it’s the one girl we haven’t found yet. Magda from Poland.”

“Exactly.”

“Does she know she has the diamonds?”

“I don’t think so. I heard they’re supposed to be sewn into the strap.”

We got busy checking shelters and streets near the port and downtown.

Around midmorning, I grabbed a doorknob that turned out to be covered with grease. Someone had smeared the knob with goo as a joke or as a way to put people off, but in any case, I now had bicycle grease all over my right palm.

Marie was speaking with a woman who ran a homeless shelter and I was looking for a paper towel to wipe my hand when I noticed someone coming in my direction.

There are a lot of men wearing suits in Miami, but not many with goatees dyed blue. It was Billy the Blade, Rostoff’s muscle. I immediately realized he was doing the same thing Marie and I were. He didn’t know how many people we’d rescued from the ship and he was probably hoping to recover some of his investment right now.

I turned to face him, and after a few seconds, he looked up and noticed me. That’s one of the benefits of my size—I can be very obvious when I want to be.

I’d obviously caught the Russian by surprise. It took him a moment to put on his usual smile. Then he strutted toward me in his expensive cream-colored Brooks Brothers suit.

Billy kept his broad smile as he said, “Detective, did you already get kicked off your task force? You have to work the streets of Miami again?”

I gave a little chuckle and said, “I think you overestimate your boss’s influence.”

“I’m not sure it’s possible to overestimate Mr. Rostoff’s influence.”

“The better question is why you’re working the streets of Miami.”

“We’re not far from my office. I just thought I’d go for a walk and get some fresh air. By the way, how’s your lovely sister?”

He’d pushed the right buttons. I decided to keep my mouth shut.

Billy said, “We’re not that different, you know.”

I held up my left hand—the clean one—and said, “Hold it right there. We could not be more different. You’re a predator, plain and simple. You’re a dirtbag here just like you were in Russia. Leopards don’t change their spots.”

“Believe what you want, but the truth is that you’ll die poor while I live near the beach in Fort Lauderdale.”

“Maybe, but you’ll die a lot younger than me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A fact. Go ahead and try to point out the old gangsters in Miami. There aren’t any. Even the Colombians don’t last much past fifty, and that’s if they’re lucky.”

Billy shook his head and said, “Drugs are a dangerous and dirty business.”

I leaned in a little closer. “Can I give you some friendly advice?”

“Sure, why not?”

I gently placed my right hand on his shoulder and said, “Your boss is going to go down. You don’t have to be on the ship when it sinks.”

Billy let out a laugh. “This isn’t Russia. There are many rules the police must follow here. I don’t think you can harass us for no reason.”