David Robbins - Miami Run

“Fluff?”

She nodded at the cabinet. “Look! Enough stalling! Do we split this or not?”

Blade studied her for several seconds, then sighed. “Take as much as you want.”

“What?”

“I don’t need half of it,” Blade told her. He removed two half-inch stacks of bills and two rolls of coins. “The rest is yours.”

She looked like she was going to lay an egg. “Are you for real?”

Blade stuffed the bills into his left front pocket, then placed the coins in his left rear pocket.

“Are you for real?” she repeated.

The Warrior gestured at the cabinet. “Help yourself.”

She laughed and opened her purse. “I may never have to hustle again!”

“You could start a new life,” Blade suggested.

She grabbed stacks of bills and crammed them into her purse. “You don’t know the half of it!”

“You could give up the drugs.”

Her hand paused in midair. “Why would I want to do that?” She laughed and resumed filling her purse.

“You like using drugs?”

“Sure. Doesn’t everybody?” She giggled. “With this, I can get a buzz on like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Why not do something constructive with your life? Why not find a mate and settle down? Why not rear a family?”

She gazed at him in surprise. “Get real, man! You sound like my grandmother. Those old ways are for nerds! Number one is all that counts, and I intend to look out for number one.”

Blade waited as she finished stuffing her purse.

“That’s it!” she exclaimed happily, looking at him. “Thanks. I’ll never forget you!”

Blade said nothing.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a freebie? I feel like I owe you. How about a quickie right here?”

“No,” Blade responded softly.

“What’s the matter with you? A big hunk like you, and you don’t want to make it? Why not?”

“I doubt that you’d understand.”

“Try me,” she prompted.

“For one thing, I’m married—”

“So? Three-fourths of my Johns are married.”

“For another, sex should be an expression of love, not lust.”

The girl laughed. “You’re weird! Do you know that?”

“We should leave before someone looks inside,” Blade advised.

She glanced at the sidewalk, at the people hustling past. “I guess you’re right. If I had the time, I’d snatch some of the trunk stash. But we’re pushing our luck as it is.”

“May you know true happiness someday.”

The girl laughed and climbed out. “Ta-ta, lover!” she said in parting, and dashed to the south.

Blade emerged from the car and closed the door. He spotted a man in a brown suit standing a few yards away, watching him. “Do you want something?” he demanded.

The man shook his head and blended in with the throng.

Blade turned to the north.

“Havin’ fun, pard?”

“We could have helped you.”

Hickok and Rikki were near the front fender, their bodies positioned so that anyone walking past would need to swing wide of the vehicle.

“Let’s find the Oasis Resort Hotel,” Blade said.

Hickok nodded at the car. “What was that all about?”

Blade frowned. “I don’t know if I could explain it.”

“Yeah,” Hickok said thoughtfully, surveying their surroundings. “This city is gettin’ to me too.”

Blade headed north.

“Can I be of service?”

Blade stared at the middle-aged desk clerk in the blue suit. “I hope so.

The Narcs sent me to the Oasis.”

The desk clerk was suddenly all attention. “The Narcs? Whatever about?”

“I’m to deliver some papers to a man staying here,” Blade detailed.

“Who is the gentleman?”

The Warrior reached into his right front pocket and extracted the three folded sheets. He deposited them on the counter and read the name written on the yellow paper. “Tom Barbish.”

“Mr. Barbish!” the desk clerk exclaimed.

“Do you know him?”

“Of course! Everyone knows Mr. Barbish!”

“We need to see him.”

The desk clerk glancced at the giant’s two associates and his nose crinkled. “What about?”

“That’s between Mr. Barbish and us,” Blade stated.

“Mr. Barbish is one of our top tenants,” the desk clerk said. “He occupies the Presidential Suite, and has for years. I’m not about to risk interrupting him over a trifle.”

“This is important,” Blade persisted.

“So you say.”

“All right,” Blade said in feigned resignation. “But I’ll need your name.”

“My name?”

“To tell the Narcs,” Blade explained. “They’ll want to know the reason Mr. Barbish didn’t receive the forms.”

“I don’t see why I should be involved,” the clerk said defensively.

Blade shrugged. “You know the Narcs.”

“I don’t want the Narcs on my case.”

“I don’t blame you.” Blade folded the forms again and took a step from the front desk.

“Hold it,” the clerk stated.

Blade looked back.

“I can phone Mr. Barbish’s suite for you. If he consents, you can go up.”

“That’s fair,” Blade said. “We’ll wait.”

The desk clerk moved to a white telephone on the wall behind the desk.

Hickok leaned toward Blade. “I don’t see why we didn’t just mosey upstairs and tend to Barbish.”

“Take a look at the elevators,” Blade advised.

Hickok glanced to the right at the row of four elevators. Three were set off by themselves and were being used by the general public. The fourth, though, isolated by itself in the corner, was distinguished by a large sign above it with the word PRIVATE, and by the pair of guards blocking the elevator door.

“I want you to stay in the lobby,” Blade directed the gunman. “Keep your eyes on those guards. If an alarm sounds, take them out.”

“Piece of cake,” Hickok pledged.

The desk clerk returned to the counter. “You’re fortunate that Mr. Barbish is in and has consented to see you.” He pointed at the isolated elevator. “Take Mr. Barbish’s private elevator to the penthouse on the eighteenth floor.”

“Thank you,” Blade said. He led Rikki through the crowded lobby to the far wall.

The two guards straightened, their hands hovering near their belts.

“You want something?” the burliest of the duo demanded.

“Mr. Barbish wants to see us,” Blade replied. “The desk clerk said we can go up.”

The guard glanced at the desk clerk, who nodded. “Okay. But the hardware stays here.”

“We can’t take our weapons?”

“Not if you want to see Mr. Barbish. No ones goes up armed. That’s the rule. No exceptions,” the guard stated.

Blade unslung the Paratrooper and leaned the automatic rifle in the corner. He hesitated before drawing his Bowies. “These had better be here when I come back down.”

“No one is going to steal your hardware,” the guard assured him.

“What do you think we’re standing here for? Our health?”

Blade rested the Bowies on the carpeted floor.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi rested his katana and M-16 in the corner.

The second guard pressed a button to the left of the elevator and the door hissed wide.

Blade moved toward it.

“Not so fast,” the burly guard said. “Leave the backpacks.”

The two Warriors removed their backpacks and dropped them next to their weapons.

“Anything else?” Blade asked impatiently.

“I’ve got to frisk you.”

Blade frowned.

“Don’t blame me, buddy,” the guard said. “I’m just doing my job.” He stepped in close to the giant and expertly ran his hands over all potential spots where a weapon could be concealed. “You’re clean,” he declared.