The Death Box(92)

“Kazankis is nailed tight, Big Ryde,” he smiled, clapping his hands. “We got him.”

“No,” I said, suddenly wishing I was back in the air and atop the world. “We probably don’t. Plus Leala is out there. So is Orzibel. You found nothing on the guy?”

Gershwin hadn’t expected my gloom, but he lacked experience with the Kazankises of the world: sociopaths who didn’t expect to get caught, but planned for it.

“The address on Orzibel’s driver’s license doesn’t exist. No tax records, he’s off the grid. You look worried, Kahuna.”

“I’m bad worried, Ziggy. Leala was a runner, Orzibel lives to punish people.”

Roy rolled up and told us he’d left us a vehicle for the ride back, and roared to Miami to coordinate the arrests. I told Gershwin I was heading home and did he need a ride?

He shrugged. I’d deflated his victory balloon. “It’s outta your way. I’ll see who here’s heading downtown.”

“Or,” I said, “you could come home with me. We’ll catch a few hours’ sleep and start tomorrow hot on the trail of Leala.”





46





The phone Leala had hidden in her panties felt the same as the phone of her aunt in Tegucigalpa. Her aunt had let her use the phone to call cousins in the city.

“Marica, guess who this is? And how I am calling you?”

Did the US phones work the same? She pressed where the On button had been on her aunt’s phone. A sparkly sound and …

Light! Coming from the box and behind the numeros! Praying, Leala dialed the three digits. Ringing. But not too loud.

“911 Emergency services. What is the nature of your call? Hello?”

Leala tried to speak at the phone but not enough sound came through the soft cloth taped over her mouth.

“What? Is anyone there? Hello?”

Ten seconds later the phone clicked dead. Leala felt like bursting into tears. Every call would end the same. Did the phone have the text? Her aunt’s phone did not because the text cost too much. Leala had no idea how the text worked or if this phone had it.

In anger and frustration Leala slammed the phone against her thighs.

thump

Gershwin and I were sitting on the deck in the light of a single citronella candle, watching a cloud-shrouded moon float above the water. We’d gotten to my place and found neither of us ready for sleep. The freshening breeze generated enough wave action to create a rhythmic hiss in the dark and keep mosquitos at bay. I’d explained the way Kazankis could slip through our fingers and we weren’t celebrating.

“The weather service says a thin band of rain’s gonna slip in from the west,” Gershwin said, sipping at his light rum and tonic.

“Maybe it’ll wash the stink from Redi-flow.”

“It’s just a couple showers, not a monsoon.”

My cell phone rang. I checked the screen: Unknown Caller. “Ryder,” I said.

Nothing.

“Hello?” I said again. I looked at Ziggy and shrugged, clicking the call off. The phone rang again. And again, nothing.

“What is it?” Gershwin asked.

“Empty air,” I said, pushing the phone to my ear. “The line’s active, but no one’s talking.”

“I sometimes get ghost calls on my cell,” Gershwin said. “Glitches in the system.”

I clicked the call off. Ten seconds passed and it rang again.

“An insistent ghost,” Gershwin said. I cranked the volume to max and held it up so we both could hear. Nothing but a buzz, a hissing sound. Then, a muffled thump. Followed by two more thumps. Then three more. Gershwin gave me a quizzical look as it started again: one thump, pause, two, pause, three. The thumps were erratic, not electronic. A human was on the other end.

“It’s her,” I said. “Leala.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. She has my number.”

It began again: Thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump. Like a heartbeat. My mind ran the possibilities. “I think she has a phone but can’t talk.”

“Gagged, maybe,” Gershwin said. “She’s hitting the phone on something. Can she hear us?”

“Leala,” I said, “Make one thump if it’s you.”

thump

“Is there something over your mouth?”

thump

I turned to Gershwin. “I can barely hear. Call tech services. Explain the situation. See what they can do.”

He ran inside while I tried to figure out the best way to communicate, given the limitations. “Here’s the code, Leala: one thump, yes, two is no, three is you don’t know. Do you understand?”

thump

Gershwin returned. “The techies are on it. What’s happening?”