Stairway to the Bottom - a Mick Murphy Key West Mystery (32 page)

Outside a black SUV waited with the engine running. Agent Ryan opened the back door but no one offered to help me in. I hadn’t realized how painful my legs would be after a short walk. I grabbed the top of the seat for leverage and that hurt too.

I learned something about pain, it’s a great motivator. I knew what these guys wanted and I couldn’t give it to them. What were my options? They weren’t playing around and even if they didn’t intend to kill me, they didn’t care if their interrogation tactics did.

The agent from my room got in the front. Agent Ryan and the balding agent got in back, on either side of me. Did they think me capable of escaping?

“No hood this time?” I directed my question to the front. “Don’t care if I see where we’re going?”

“If you were as talkative when we wanted you to be, this wouldn’t be necessary,” the agent said from the front. “Now shut the fuck up. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The streets were dark and wet from a brief rain. Streetlights became fewer, the roadway darker as the car went deeper into Stock Island, through residential areas and finally to the waterfront. The car turned onto Shrimp Road and the night engulfed us. I’d walked the road after they dumped me in the mangroves last time. The car pulled into the dirt lot and stopped next to an old shack. I could smell the saltwater and knew the shrimp fleet was in from the pungent odor that swept over the area from the processing plant.

“Out,” the agent said.

Agent Ryan held the door open. I slid across the seat and spasms of pain shot through me.

“Are you really FBI agents?” I bit down fighting the pain in my side.

“We ask the questions, Murphy,” the agent from my room said.

“I know Agent Ryan,” I said. “Who are you?”

“Do you think it matters?”

“I don’t like to kill people and not know…”

He struck me in the stomach and I went down.

“Gallagher,” he said pulling me up. “Not that it matters where you’re going and you’re not killing anyone.”

I walked slowly and they seemed to accept my pace. “Four fucking Micks,” I said between breaths. “Your mothers must be proud.” I didn’t know the other two, but I had a feeling these were the Boston FBI agents who escaped arrest when Whitey’s handler, Special Agent John Connolly, took the fall.

He hit me again. I fell again. He yanked me to my feet. “Keep this shit up and you’re gonna beg me to kill you.”

I spit in his face. It wasn’t much because my mouth was dry, but it got his attention. He hit me in the face, a straight right, and let me fall. I tasted blood.

“Drag the prick in,” he said to the others and walked toward the shack wiping his face with a handkerchief.

I tried to stand but the two agents grabbed me by the armpits and dragged me toward the shack. I was facing away so I couldn’t see where Agent Gallagher was, but I saw the moon low in the west and knew a sunrise wasn’t far behind. Pain stabbed me in the side like a hot poker and I didn’t want to cry out but I heard myself moan.

When we arrived at the steps, they lifted me to my feet. No one spoke. A dull light spread out on a small deck atop the four steps. I held onto the railing and took each step slowly. In the hallway, they pushed me forward, tired I assumed, of my slow pace. Ryan forced me into a chair in the middle of the room.

I looked around. No other furnishing and the closed dirty windows kept the room stuffy. This must have been where they questioned me before.

“What time is it?” I said trying to hide the difficulty I had getting the words out.

“Time has run out for you,” Agent Gallagher said. “You’re going to tell us where Doyle is hiding and then we have to make sure you’re telling the truth.”

“I already have.”

“Why would Doyle call you so many times before he ran if it wasn’t to ask you for help?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

He bitch-slapped my face and I tasted blood. I wished I had a mouthful of it when I’d spit at him and, as if he was reading my thoughts, he moved back a step or two.

“There are a lot of people who think you know. Why is that?”

“The foreigners?”

“And the CIA.”

He had been keeping score. A lot of people had.

I made a half attempt to laugh. Pain to a man who thinks he’s going to die is a reminder that he’s still alive. In that sense, the pain felt good. I held onto the slim hope that Norm would find me but knew I had a better chance skating on thin ice.

“They aren’t looking for Doyle.”

He bitch-slapped me again. “I know they’re looking for him.”

“They’re looking for an old spy that got away with diamonds.” I tried another laugh but it sounded like a grunt.

“They couldn’t care less about Bulger.”

“They’re looking for Doyle.” He backhanded me hard across my nose and I swallowed more blood.

“They think Doyle is the spy. You know, I thought you guys didn’t find Bulger because you were covering up. Now I think you couldn’t find your ass in a dark room.”

His punch hit my left eye and I saw stars. It was then that I realized I wasn’t afraid of dying. Living scared me. The dreams I’d have every night of Tita dying, scared me. Dying would bring peace.

“That the best you got asshole?” I yelled.

He signaled Agent Ryan and the other agent and they lifted me from my chair.

“You tell us where Doyle is or I beat it out of you. Your choice,” Agent Gallagher said through clenched teeth.

The driver of the SUV handed him a pair of gloves. Agent Gallagher put them on and smiled.

“I’ve got all night,” he said

“What time is it?”

He hit me in the gut while the two men held me up. I felt blood drip down my cheek and thought it must have come from my eye. I closed the damaged eye and realized it hadn’t been opened. It had swollen shut.

“Sun comes up…you’re gonna wish…we never met.” The words fumbled out of my mouth.

He punched me in the mouth and I spit blood. The one victory I could have would be to die before he realized I knew nothing about Doyle. That would leave him wondering and he would have to live with the doubts. A small victory but I knew he planned to kill me eventually, so I was willing to take whatever came.

I shook my head and blood dripped from my open mouth. My nose had to be broken because I couldn’t breathe through it. I breathed through my mouth. My swollen left eye threw my vision off. I laughed to myself because I really felt like warmed over shit but Agent Gallagher thought I was laughing at him and he kidney punched me and I almost pissed my pants.

“You’re not laughing now,” he said and stepped back.

“When my arm’s tired I’m going to use the Taser.

Remember the Taser?”

“What are the odds…that your arm gives…out before I do?” I said a few words, took a breath and said some more. It was a slow process.

“He doesn’t know anything,” the driver said from the back of the room. “Look at him. If he knew he’d talk.”

I must have looked like a runner up in a rodeo stampede. “You should listen…to J. Edgar.”

I got another kidney punch, screamed more than I wanted to, and pissed my pants. It wasn’t the way I wanted to die, but it didn’t look like I had much choice.

“Get the Taser,” Agent Gallagher said. “We’ll give him a few jolts and he’ll talk.”

“It might kill him,” the driver said.

“Save us a bullet. Get the Taser.”

I couldn’t make out more than blurs but saw an image move across the room and heard the door open and close. The Taser must have been in the SUV. Agent Ryan dropped me into the chair. I couldn’t find a spot that didn’t burn with pain. My cargo shorts were damp with urine and stuck to my underwear. The thought that I’d be dead in a few minutes actually calmed me.

“Where the hell is he?” Agent Gallagher was impatient.

“Don’t hurry…because of me.” The words weakly blundered out of my mouth.

“Shut the fuck up asshole,” Agent Gallagher said.

The door opened.

“Hurry up,” Agent Gallagher said.

Even with blurred vision, I saw the images of the agents moving quickly and grabbing for their weapons. I heard something hard roll across the floor and then there was a loud explosion and bright light. Someone cussed. I fell from the chair and covered my ears even though my arms hurt like hell. I hurt like hell. Another flash-bang grenade went off and then another. Smoke chocked me. I coughed and heard gunshots.

Chapter 71

I
’m not sure what happened next or if things happened in the order I remember them. I lay on the floor coughing and I know it caused me to have spasms of pain as if each cough brought with it a blow from Agent Gallagher. I heard my name yelled, but when I opened my good eye smoke filled the room, my eyes burned and tears flowed. My damaged left eye was tender to the touch, so I wiped away tears from my right eye but the burning stayed in both.

I recognized Norm as he picked me up and put me in the chair.

More tears followed the smoke-caused tears from the pain that singed through me because Norm was quick and rough in moving me.

“You’re okay,” he said a few times and I couldn’t tell him I wasn’t. I nodded my understanding.

Sounding like muffled words yelled in a tunnel, I heard someone say to open the windows and then the cross breeze slowly cleared the small room of smoke. My eyes still stung and even with a broken nose, I could smell burnt gunpowder and something that reminded me of pepper spray. Add the ringing in my ears from the flash bang—it had done its job—and I was a miserable mess.

Padre Thomas, dressed in his clerical outfit, came up to me and gently touched my face.

“We got here as soon as we could,” he said. “I kept calling Norm.”

“Thank you,” was all I could force out.

My eyesight wasn’t any better as the smoke cleared. My one good eye continued to burn. I noticed blurry images lying prone on the floor, not moving. Pauly walked over and kicked handguns away from the bodies. Piersall and Williams seemed to be checking the bodies for a pulse. They didn’t find any. I had to force myself to focus the one eye.

I remember thinking I could be in the world the Professor studied—not dead, not alive, somewhere in the middle world, maybe purgatory. My mind found it difficult to put the CIA agents, Pauly, Norm and Padre Thomas together in the same room. I fought confusion trying to stay in the now.

I saw the black-clad image of Padre Thomas standing over each body, giving a blessing.

“What the hell’s he doing?” Pauly grunted next to me. “The fuckers are dead.”

“He’s in the forgiving business.” The words came out soft and slow.

“They weren’t,” he said. “Can you walk out of here?”

I tried to stand but fell back into the chair. “No.”

“What are you doing?” Norm said. Chris stood next to him.

“Hi sailor,” she said.

“Hi.”

“You got somewhere to go?” Norm said.

“No.” I let out a sigh and realized I hadn’t a clue to what was going on. Death would’ve been so much easier. “I need pain medicine.” I raised my left arm so they could see the IV connection still in place. “Gallagher has the IV pouch in one of his pockets.” The words came out one at a time, as if I was learning a foreign language.

“Who are they?” Norm turned to Pauly.

Pauly held three identification wallets and read from them. “John Gallagher, Jeffrey Ryan and Patrick Quinn, Boston, FBI.”

“Your people,” Norm said because they were Irish-Americans.

“The fourth one?” I said, forgetting what Norm said.

“Outside, dead but without any ID,” Pauly answered and put the wallets in his pocket.

Norm turned to Chris. “Agency?”

“No,” she said. “Smart enough to know the best plans can fall apart.”

Pauly walked over to what must have been Agent Gallagher’s body, found the IV bag and brought it over.

“We’ve got to get you back to the hospital.” Norm took the IV bag. “We’ve got work to do.”

“The nurse reported them.” I pointed in the general direction of the four bodies.

“I’ve taken care of that,” Chris said. “We’ll get you back like nothing ever happened.”

If wishes came true, I thought as Pauly helped me from the chair. We walked slowly toward the exit.

I remember Piersall and Williams bringing heavy pieces of rebar into the shack and must have passed out before we got to a vehicle. When I woke, I was in the same hospital room as before.

Chapter 72

I
woke each time a nurse asked me if I was feeling okay. I must have answered because they left and I went back to sleep. It seemed to go on forever but hindsight tells me they checked hourly for the first day. I’m not sure if I needed the rest to rejuvenate or there was something in my IV that made me sleep. It didn’t matter, I was out.

When I finely woke on my own, I didn’t know where I was and became anxious. Padre Thomas jumped from his chair and stood alongside the bed.

“Relax Mick,” he said placing his hand on my shoulder. “You’re safe.”

I looked up, he was smiling and still in his clerical clothing, clutching rosary beads.

“Someone’s been with you all the time,” he said. “You weren’t alone.”

He was wrong. Wherever I’d been, I was there alone. Now I was back. Maybe the Professor was on to something after all with his parallel existences. I couldn’t remember it clearly, but I had been somewhere and it wasn’t a bad place.

“Thank you, Padre.” I reached for the water on the bed tray and drank until it was gone.

Padre Thomas refilled the glass. “Norm is here. He’s walking Chris to her car.”

Confusion rattled in my head as I tried to put order to all the information spinning around in there. “She’s going somewhere?”

“Leaving.” He’s not usually a man of few words.

A nurse came and said she was happy to see me awake. “Are you hungry?” She checked the machine above me.

“I’d like some soup,” I said.

“Let me see what I can do.” She wrote in my chart and left.

“Scaring the women already?” Norm said as he walked into the room. He looked almost as tired as I felt.

“You have a room here?” I found the remote device and raised the bed to sitting position.