David Robbins - Miami Run

“No!” the Genie replied hastily. “Don’t go flashing that much bread! Some of these hit-and-run types might see it!”

Blade removed his hand. “Where then?”

The Genie jerked his head to the rear. “My wheels, man. They’re parked down the block. I’ve got the stuff in the trunk.”

“After you,” Blade said.

“What about me?” the girl asked.

“You stay put, bitch!” the Genie snapped. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Blade looked at his companions. “You two stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“You sure, pard?” Hickok responded.

Blade nodded.

“Follow me,” the Genie directed, and hurried down the block.

Blade warily followed, deliberately holding his hands away from his Bowies. He spotted a row of flashy cars parked along the curb.

The Genie hastened toward an enormous automobile notable for its sparkling golden finish and more chrome per square inch than any other vehicle in sight. “I knew this was my lucky night!” he declared excitedly over his right shoulder.

“Mine too.”

“You never can tell,” the Genie went on. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this business, it’s never to judge a book by its cover. You never now how much bread a customer will have.”

The front passenger door on the gold car suddenly opened and a huge black in a black suit climbed out. His head was bald, his expression tainted with a cruel edge.

“This is Hugo,” the Genie said, introducing his henchman as he halted next to the front fender.

Blade stopped and nodded.

Huge said nothing, his eyes radiating distrust.

“This gentleman wants to buy three keys,” the Genie stated. “Open the trunk. Give him a peek at our goodies.”

Huge moved to the rear of the car, withdrew a key ring from his left front pocket, and unlocked the trunk.

“See for yourself,” the Genie said, walking to the rear and motioning for Blade to join him.

The Warrior moved to within a foot of the trunk.

“Open it,” the Genie said.

Hugo slowly raised the lid.

Blade’s eyes narrowed as he beheld the bewildering collection of drugs and drug paraphernalia. The trunk was filled to the brim.

“I’m as good as my word,” the Genie declared. He reached into the trunk and patted three large bundles. “Three keys. Just what you want. Now I need to see the color of your money.”

Blade reached for his right pocket.

“Wait a second,” the Genie said. “Why don’t we do this right? Step into my parlor. We can have a drink while we finalize the deal.” He stepped to the rear door and threw it wide. “After you.”

Blade leaned over and peered into the spacious, indulgently furnished interior. The back seat was covered with a lustrous brown leather, and the floor was a rich, thick, green carpet. A handsome wooden cabinet was positioned behind the front seat.

“Slide on in,” the Genie urged.

Blade hunched his broad shoulders and eased into the plush vehicle. He looked out the rear window to see Hugo standing next to the trunk.

“Close it,” the Genie ordered, then bent down to enter the car.

Blade was in the middle of the seat, his buttocks resting on the edge, his body slightly twisted to the left, his right hand touching the wooden cabinet, his left on his left Bowie.

The Genie was halfway inside, the cane in his right hand.

Blade tensed and watched as Hugo walked to the rear and was momentarily obscured by the trunk lid.

Now!

The Warrior’s body unwound, his right hand sweeping up and over the Genie’s head, his fingers locking on the man’s neck and yanking the Genie forward even as his left hand brought the Bowie around and up in a savage arc. The tip of the razor-honed blade penetrated the Genie’s neck just below his chin, and the knife slanted upwards and was buried to the hilt.

For an instant of incredulous shock, the Genie’s only reaction was a widening of his eyes. He gurgled as a crimson spray gushed from his throat, then abruptly lunged, hissing, spearing the cane at the giant’s face.

There was a muted click and a five-inch sharpened metal spike popped out the top of the cane.

Blade jerked his head aside, but the spike dug a red groove in his left cheek. He tightened his hold on the Genie’s neck and slammed the man to the seat.

The trunk lid closed with a thump.

Blade kept his eyes on Hugo as the black came around the driver’s side.

His arms bulged as he held the Genie flush with the seat, and he felt the spurting blood spatter his left forearm. Would Hugo look inside first or simply open the driver’s side door? Blade gritted his teeth as the Genie thrashed and heaved, the cane swinging wildly.

Hugo reached for the rear door.

The Genie uttered a strangled gasp and went limp.

Blade yanked his left Bowie free as the door on the driver’s side opened.

He spun, the Bowie going straight out, knowing he had to take Hugo down without attracting the attention of anyone outside.

Hugo was leaning down when the Bowie sliced through his trousers and into his groin. Totally stunned, racked by torment, he inadvertently doubled over and clutched at his genitals.

Blade clamped his right arm on the bodyguard’s throat and hauled Hugo inside, onto the floor. The small oval overhead bulb cast a garish yellow glow on the black’s stupefied expression.

Hugo brought his bloody hands up, clawing at the Warrior.

Blade wrenched the Bowie out, then sank the knife in Hugo’s chest.

Hugo stiffened, his lips moving formlessly, then sank back, his eyes open but unfocused. He expelled a lingering breath and was still.

Blade glanced at the avenue. Cars and other vehicles were passing, but not one appeared to have noticed the struggle. He pulled his Bowie from Hugo’s body, wiped the blade on Hugo’s jacket, and replaced the knife in its sheath. Working quickly, he closed the driver’s side door, then reached for the passenger door.

And froze.

The Genie’s black shoes were protruding from the passenger side.

Staring at those shoes, not two feet from the car, was the young girl in the lacy red dress.

Blade prepared to pounce, expecting her to scream.

Instead, she looked him in the eyes, her features composed and licked her lips. “I get half or I’ll roll over to the Narcs.”

“What?”

She moved closer. “Don’t try and scam me, turkey! I want half!”

“Half of what?”

She put her hands on her hips. “You know damn well what I’m talking about! What’s it going to be? Fifty-fifty, or the Narcs?”

“I don’t want the Narcs involved,” Blade admitted.

She slapped the Genie’s shoes. “Dump his ass on the floor.”

Confounded, Blade rolled the man in white on top of Hugo.

“Keep your hands away from your knives,” she warned as she slid in.

“Close your door,” Blade said, “Do I look stupid?” she countered. “The door stays open!” She reached for the wooden cabinet and jerked on a gold knob. “Fifty-fifty is fair,” she commented nervously.

Blade did a double take as his gray eyes alighted on the contents of the cabinet. Under a shelf containing liquor bottles and glasses was another shelf piled high with stacks of bills and rolls of gold and silver coins bound by plastic bands.

“Look at it!” the girl said in awe.

“You want to split this fifty-fifty?” Blade asked.

The girl stared at him defiantly. “Damn straight! Unless you want me to go to the Narcs!”

“You seem more concerned about the money than the Genie,” Blade commented.

She glanced at the corpse in white, scowling. “Who the hell cares about that bastard? I can always get me a new pimp. Young fluff is always in demand. Know what I mean?”