Lost Key by Chris Niles

Author:Chris Niles [Niles, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Nile River Media
Published: 2019-06-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty

Vince tried to stay cool.

The blonde pointed from the street below. A tall black man followed her finger, his gaze landing at Vince’s table in the rooftop cantina. Another heavier man and a woman he’d seen around the Shark Key marina looked up, as well.

Vince grabbed his pack then ducked into the enclosed stairwell, catching his waitress as she hurried past.

“Is there a back door? Another way out?”

“No, señor. I’m sorry. This is the only way down onto the street.”

Vince shoved her aside, flew down the steps. He ran halfway up the block, his head swiveling to see if the blonde was following. There was a commotion near the corner that had to be them.

Ahead, he spotted a teenager climbing onto a small motorcycle. As the engine fired, he tackled the kid, shoving him off the seat. Then Vince swung his leg over and kicked the stand backward. He tore out onto the avenue, cutting off a speeding taxi.

A cloud of exhaust from an ancient blue four-door choked him as he passed it on the right. He barely squeezed between the car and a parked white taxi van, then he leaned back into the center of his lane. Vince passed the next car on the left, scraping the high curb of the median. From there, he wove in and out of traffic until he came upon a side street. Leaning hard to the right, he fishtailed as he made the bend. Tourists scattered in the crosswalk as he careened down the road.

He zig-zagged through the narrow streets, doubling back several times to be sure he’d lost them. When he was certain they weren’t following, he pulled the bike into an alley near the north end of town and left the keys in it. After carefully checking the avenue, he stepped onto the street then flagged down a cab.

“Airport.”

The airport was less than a mile away, and they arrived within minutes. Vince slung his pack over his shoulder as he stepped into the small, modern airport terminal. He started toward the ticket counter. Twenty yards to his left, at the entrance to the security screening area, he stopped short and patted his back pocket, even though he knew it was empty. A large sign was mounted on a stand ahead of him. Passports and boarding passes required past this point.

His passport was still in his sock drawer back on Stock Island.

Vince pulled the pack from his shoulder and sank to the floor, his back against a cool white pillar. A small chameleon paused near his knee. The little animal met the man’s gaze and tilted its head to the side.

“I can’t wait to hitch a ride with one of the boss’s rich buddies this time. I need to get off this god-forsaken island today.”

He scanned the bright terminal. Wide murals of clear turquoise water and bright tropical fish covered the walls. Pictures of happy vacationers in snorkel gear, sitting on the swim platform of a luxurious cabin cruiser—

That was it. If he couldn’t fly off the island, he’d just have to find a boat.

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