David Robbins - Miami Run

“Hey!” Hickok declared. “Look!”

Blade stared through the windshield. A cluster of lights had appeared far in the distance.

“The estate, you figure?” Hickok inquired.

“Must be,” Blade said.

“It’s the estate,” Barbish verified.

“Kill our headlights,” Blade advised.

Hickok promptly complied, slowing down as he did so. “How the dickens am I going to drive? There’s no moon tonight.”

“Perhaps we should walk from here,” Rikki suggested.

“Drive another mile or so,” Blade directed. “We want to get as close as we can, but not so close that they’ll hear our engine.”

Hickpk leaned forward, reducing their speed to under 20 miles an hour. “I just hope we don’t bump into one of those mutant things.”

Barbish glanced at the lights and grinned, then quickly wiped the grin from his face.

The swampy land bordering the gravel road was enshrouded in an inky gloom. A breeze rustled the intermittent stands of trees. Insect sounds filled the night accompanied by a chorus of frogs and other creatures.

“What was all that big grass I was seein’ before we killed the headlights?” Hickok asked.

“That’s sawgrass,” Barbish disclosed. “It’s all over the Everglades.

Grows over twelve feet high in some places.”

“I’ll bet a lot of snakes could hide in it,” Hickok remarked.

“You don’t sound like you’re very fond of snakes,” Barbish noted.

“Let me put it this way,” Hickok said. “There are a heap of critters on this planet, and I think I understand the reason the Spirit put a few of ’em here.” He paused. “But snakes aren’t one of them.”

“He was attacked by a mutated snake when he was twelve,” Blade detailed. “The snake was over eight feet long and had two heads. Ever since then, he hasn’t liked snakes very much.”

“The only way to conquer a fear is to face it,” Rikki said to the gunman.

Hickok glanced at the martial artist. “Are you sayin’ I’m afraid of snakes?”

“No,” Rikki respnded. “But you may be afraid of being afraid of snakes.”

“One of these bumps must have rattled your noggin’,” Hickok mentioned. “I’m not afraid of anything, least of all a passel of creepy, crawly reptiles.”

“I’m not fond of snakes either,” Barbish said. “Which is why I’ve seldom visited Arlo unless it was unavoidable. Being situated in the Everglades like it is, there are snakes everywhere.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” Hickok muttered.

“Enough about snakes,” Blade said. “Look for a spot to pull over.”

Hickok slowed slightly and gazed from side to side. The narrow, cramped road, rimmed by the prolific vegetation, afforded few parking places. He proceeded several hundred yards. “What if I drive this buggy off the road into the brush?”

“That ‘brush’ could be swampland,” Barbish cautioned. “The car could sink.”

“Just dandy,” Hickok said.

Blade rested his right arm on the top of the front seat and peered into the night.

“Do you see those trees?” Rikki inquired, pointing ahead and to the right.

A stand of tall trees was silhouetted against the sky 50 yards in front of them.

“Trees require solid soil,” Rikki observed.

“He’s right,” Barbish agreed. “The Everglades are dotted with tree islands, clumps of higher ground where myrtles, bays, and willows grow.

There are also a lot of islands and scattered sections of firm ground, like Arlo’s forty-acre plot.”

Hickok braked when the car drew alongside the trees.

“I’ll check it out,” Rikki offered, looking at Blade.

The Warrior leader nodded. “Be careful.”

Rikki opened his door and vanished into the dark.

“We should have about a mile and a half to walk from here,” Blade calculated.

“Just so we don’t step on any snakes,” Hickok said.

Blade looked at the Dealer. “You’ll be coming with us. But not a peep out of you, or else.”

“What? You’re not going to tie me up and cram me in the trunk?”

Barbish retorted sarcastically.

“The idea occurred to me,” Blade said. “But we can use you once we reach the estate.”

“Does this estate have a name?” Hickok asked.

Barbish chuckled. “Yes. As a matter of fact, it does. Arlo calls it Happy Acres.”

“You’re jockin’,” Hickok said.

“I kid you not,” Barbish stated.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi materialized at the door. “Twenty yards up ahead is a flat, clear area between the trees. You can park the car there.” He climbed in and closed his door.

“Did you see any snakes?” Hickok inquired as he drove forward slowly.

“No,” Rikki said. “But I did hear a ferocious-sounding killer cricket.”

“You’re gettin’ worse than Geronimo,” Hickok cracked. “Where’s this clear spot?”

“Right there,” Rikki replied, pointing at a break in the foliage.

Hickok turned the wheel, moving the vehicle at a snail’s pace, angling the car between the trees and parking on a level stretch of firm turf. He switched off the ignition, and as the muted rumble of the motor died, the nocturnal sounds of the wildlife in the swamp hummed, buzzed, and thrummed to a crescendo. “Noisy bunch of critters,” he remarked.

A high-pitched cry, a y-eonk, y-eonk, y-eonk, punctuated the general din.

“What was that?” Hickok queried.

“A young gator,” Barbish answered.

“How do you know it’s a young one?” Hickok asked.

“The big ones roar ,” Barbish said.

“Oh.”

“Okay. So much for our class in Everglade zoology,” Blade interjected.

“Let’s get moving. Check your weapons.”

Each Warrior dutifully insured his firearms were loaded. Barbish watched them with a scornful stare.

“Out,” Blade directed, and they exited the car. He glanced in at the Dealer. “That means you too.”

Barbish sighed and opened his door. He stepped onto the ground and stretched. “The air here is always so fresh.”

“Should I bring the keys?” Hickok questioned.

“Leave them under the front seat,” Blade said. “If we get separated, one of us might make it back.”

The gunman nodded, then tossed the key ring under the driver’s side.

He closed the door quietly.

Blade and Rikki shut the other doors.

Hickok walked up to the Dealer. “You must be feelin’ a bit frustrated right about now.”

“Not in the least,” Barbish declared.

“Won’t you get in hot water for bringin’ us to the estate?” Hickok questioned.

“Time will tell,” Barbish said enigmatically.

“Hickok, keep him covered,” Blade instructed. “I’ll take the point. Rikki, the rear. Five-yard spread.” He moved toward the road, his boots swishing in the grass, enjoying the invigorating, cool breath of air on his skin. His nostrils detected a musty, earthy odor. The pale gravel outlined the road distinctly, and moments later the small stones and pebbles were crunching underfoot. He turned to the south, the Paratrooper cradled in his arms.

Barbish’s behavior was troubling him. Why was the Dealer being so congenial? Why wasn’t Barbish terrified at the prospect of betraying his Director and the masters? At the Oasis, Barbish had been petrified by the mere thought. So what was the reason for the Dealer’s changed attitude?

What did Barbish know that they didn’t?

They covered over five hundred yards in tense expectation.

Blade glanced over his left shoulder. Barbish was five yards to his rear, with Hickok’s Henry unslung and pointed at his back. Rikki was almost invisible five yards beyond the gunfighter; his black clothing blended with the night, accenting his facial features and hands.