Miami by A. C. Fuller

Author:A. C. Fuller [Fuller, A. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781078469470
Publisher: Vivid Books
Published: 2019-09-13T04:00:00+00:00

11

Loose from the mojitos but not yet wobbly, Cole strolled toward the bathroom as casually as possible. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at a large mirror hung on the brick wall. The specials of the day were scribbled in bright marker: chorizo tamales, ham croquettes, codfish empanadas. She saw a man’s head turn. He had shoulder-length white hair and a pale, saggy face. Their eyes met in the mirror. He looked away immediately. Across from him sat a handsome younger man, maybe twenty-five. Bald, with bronze skin and a square jaw.

Turning the corner, she paused at the bathroom door, then cut into the kitchen.

A man in an apron blocked her path. “The restrooms are behind you, ma’am.”

She glanced back. “No, I—”

Warren busted through the door.

The waiter said, “Sir, this is the kitchen. You can’t—”

But Warren was already pushing past. Cole followed him through the narrow space between the wall and the workstation that divided the kitchen. They were at the back before the waiter could object again. “There,” Cole said, pointing at a screen door.

The screen door opened suddenly. A teenage boy appeared, dragging a dolly stacked with boxes. The dolly caught on the lip of the door, throwing boxes of cilantro and lettuce to the floor. Cole tried to step over, but slipped, tumbling sideways into a giant bag of shredded cheese.

Warren stepped through the doorway and reached back, yanking her up.

Following Warren, she stepped through the screen door into a dark alley. The younger of the two men from the restaurant was there, standing next to the delivery truck, which had backed into the alley. Most of his face was shadowed, but he held a gun pointed at Warren’s chest.

In the kitchen, the delivery guy was cursing in Spanish while picking up cilantro. The waiter was cursing in English, both at Cole and Warren and at the delivery guy.

Cole sidled up next to Warren. The man held the gun low and cast furtive glances left and right. As he did, the gun moved with his body. Cole got the sense that he was waiting for his partner. They had seconds, likely, before he arrived. For now, they outnumbered him.

The kitchen got quiet. The argument ended. Then someone shrieked, “Pistola!”

The young man shot a look over Cole’s shoulder. Warren took the opening and bounded forward, a sudden leap that closed the gap instantly and ended with a kick to the man’s knee. The man collapsed, grunting in pain.

The white-haired man appeared at the screen door as Warren grabbed Cole’s hand and pulled her forward. The alley before them was long, painted with colorful murals of Miami sports and music stars. Cole spotted a ladder leading to the roof of a low building. She darted in front of Warren and hoisted herself up. Without a word, he followed.

When they reached the roof, she glanced down the alley. The white-haired man was in a full sprint toward the ladder. The younger man limped behind.

They ran across the roof, crossed onto another, then another.

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