David Robbins - Miami Run

“We’re open to anything except S and M,” the woman in the black dress added.

“S and M?” Hickok repeated quizzically.

“Yeah,” the brunette stated. “We don’t do the kinky stuff. A working girl has to draw the line somewhere.”

“It’s nice to know you ladies are holdin’ down jobs,” Hickok remarked, “and we really can use your help. Which way is it to Collins Avenue?”

The brunette’s brown eyes narrowed. “Is that all you want? Directions?”

“We’re lookin’ for the Oasis Resort Hotel,” Hickok elaborated. “Do you know it?”

“Yeah, we know it,” responded the one in the black dress.

“How do we get there?” Hickok inquired.

“Is that really all you want?” the brunette demanded.

“That’s it,” Hickok said. “We’d be in your debt.”

“You don’t want to turn a trick?” asked the brunette.

“This isn’t a blamed trick!” Hickok declared.

The women exchanged bemused glances. “Are there many like you at home?” the brunette asked.

“Nope,” Hickok said. “I’m one of a kind.”

“Figures,” the brunette stated. “So you need directions to the Oasis?”

“That’s the general idea.”

“Go north three blocks,” she instructed them. “Then take a left. The next drag you’ll come to is Collins. Take a right. Go about a half-mile. The Oasis is on the right. You can’t miss it.”

Hickok grinned. “Thanks. Hope you ladies have a fun night.”

“Business before pleasure,” the brunette said, and they walked off.

“What did she mean by that?” Hickok queried.

“They must work the night shift,” Rikki speculated.

“Let’s go,” Blade directed, leading them to the north. He folded the papers and slid them into his right front pants pocket.

“What if this Dealer doesn’t want to take us to the Masters?” Hickok asked.

“He’ll take us,” Blade stated.

They traveled the three blocks to the appropriate intersection, then turned to the left. Their progress was slow, hampered by the press of the lively crowds.

“Will you look at that!” Hickok marveled.

A tall black woman was drawing near. She wore black, high-heeled shoes, a lavender skirt scarcely covering her shapely thighs, and a pair of silver cups constructed from a pliable material over her large breasts.

Purple tassels dangled from the tips of the cups.

“The womenfolk hereabouts sure don’t believe in modesty,” Hickok observed.

The Warriors reached Collins Avenue and took a right. The volume of pedestrian and vehicle traffic was twice that of Ocean Drive.

“I’m glad I don’t live in a city on a regular basis,” Hickok remarked.

“Give me the wide-open spaces any day.”

“Millions, maybe billions, lived like this before the war,” Blade mentioned pensively. “Overpopulation was a serious problem for most of the countries in the world.”

“No wonder they went off the deep end and tried to blow themselves sky-high,” Hickok said.

Blade glanced at Rikki. “Why are you so quiet?”

“Something is amiss,” the martial artist answered.

“Like what?”

Rikki’s thin lips tightened. “I don’t know. But I feel that something is wrong.”

Blade scanned the avenue in all directions. “I don’t see anything.”

Rikki shrugged. “I could be mistaken. My intuition is not infallible.”

Blade looked at Hickok. “Do you feel anything?”

“Hungry.”

“You’re a big help,” Blade muttered. He threaded his way to the north, bothered by Rikki’s revelation. The martial artist was not prone to needless worry or flights of fancy. Rikki was always levelheaded, even if the Zen he practiced did imbue him with a mystical air. If Rikki’s senses were telling him that something was wrong, then something was wrong.

But what?

What had they overlooked?

“It’s all this sea air,” Hickok quipped. “Everything seems fishy.”

Blade couldn’t help but grin. He searched the avenue for someone who might be tailing them or watching them surreptitiously.

Nothing.

Maybe Hickok was right.

They proceeded a quarter of a mile.

Blade was almost to an intersection when there was a tug on his right arm. He turned to find a thin man with a sparse mustache attired in a natty white suit and carrying a cane. “Yes?”

The man in white beamed. “I couldn’t help but notice you boys. I bet you’re from out of town, right?”

“Is it that obvious?” Blade responded.

“Your threads have a lot to do with it,” the man said.

Hickok looked down at himself. “Threads?”

“What can we do for you?” Blade inquired.

“You’ve got it backwards, friend,” the man said. “It’s what I can do for you.”

“For us?”

“You name it, I can supply it,” the man boasted. “You want broads? I have a stable of the finest in Miami. You want to connect, I’m your source. Crack, smack, ludes, weed, whatever you want, the Genie can get.”

“Are you the Genie?” Blade questioned.

The man in white bowed. “At your service, sir! I don’t mean to brag, but my rep is as heavy as they come! I supply the tourists with the stuff dreams are made of. I—”

A young girl, not much over 15, abruptly materialized to the Genie’s left. She was wearing a lacy red dress and red shoes. Her hair was blonde, her face caked with makeup. Her arms were folded across her chest and she was shivering. “Genie?”

He stared at her in disapproval. “Not now. Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

“Please,” she said, fidgeting with the strap to her brown purse.

Before the Warriors could intervene, the Genie slapped the girl on the mouth.

“You know better than to interrupt when I’m making a sale!”

Tears welled in the girl’s eyes. “I can’t help it! I need a fix.”

“Work for it like everyone else.”

The girl glanced at Blade. “How about you, mister?”

“Me?” the Warrior responded.

“Yeah. I’ll get you off for twenty. Please. I need the bread.”

Blade studied her for several seconds. His features seemed to ripple in the glare of the streetlight, hardening for a fraction of a instant before inexplicably relaxing as he smiled at the girl. “I may be dense, but I’m not stupid.”

“What?” the girl asked.

“Nothing,” Blade said. He gazed at the man in white. “You’ve impressed me. I’d like to do business with you.”

The Genie snickered. “A man of class! What what will it be? Coke? Grass?”

“Grass will be fine.”

“How much do you want?”

“A handful should be enough.”

The Genie blinked twice, then cackled. “I like your style, my man. You can buy it by the joint, the lid, whatever. If you’ve got the green, you can buy a whole key.”

“We’ll take three keys.”

Hickok and Rikki looked at one another and Hickok shrugged.

The Genie’s mouth slackened. “Three keys? Are you putting me on?”

“No.”

“Three keys is a lot of bread, man,” the Genie said. “You have that much on you?”

Blade patted his right front pocket. “I have it on me.”

“You wouldn’t be trying to stick it to me, would you?” the Genie queried suspiciously.

“I want to do the honorable thing,” Blade said.

The Genie hesitated, his dark eyes roving over the Paratrooper on the giant’s right shoulder and the Bowies in their sheaths. “I don’t know—”

“Suit yourself,” Blade stated, and started to turn.

“Wait!”

Blade faced the Genie.

“All right. We’ve got a deal,” the man in white declared.

Blade began to reach into his right front pocket. “Do you want the money now?”