Cash Landing by James Grippando

look up.
    â€œThis is not going to end well for you, Marco.”
    â€œPlease, I’m begging.”
    â€œTell me now, and it ends quickly. Keep up this game, and we do it my way.”
    Aroyo looked up, barely able to see. “Nothing to tell,” he said, breathless.
    He slammed Aroyo’s head to the floor. “Now you’ve done it,” he said. “Now I have to get my tools.”
    Aroyo closed his eyes, his face still pressed against the floor. He felt the vibration of firm footfalls as the man stepped away. He heard the sudden hiss of a propane tank, and the roar of focused flame suddenly pierced the darkness. It floated toward him like a blue comet, landing not quite near enough to burn the skin. Slowly, steadily, the heat intensified, singeing the hair on his bare chest. It was painless, so far, but he could smell it burning.
    â€œOkay, okay! I’ll tell you!”
    â€œToo late,” the man said, as he turned up the flame. “You chose my way .”
    Aroyo would have told him anything, wanted to tell him everything. But the scream he heard next was his own.
    Ruban and Savannah were still dancing at two a.m. The club was packed, and a dozen friends from the birthday celebration were partying with them.
    Media Noche was the nightclub in midtown, and every Saturday night it pulsated with live Latin music. Ruban was nearing his limit on the Cuba libres, and Savannah wasn’t far behind with her vodka and cranberry. They told the bartenders, cocktail waitresses, their friends on the dance floor, and everyone else they ran into that they were celebrating. All wished Savannah a happy birthday, but for Ruban it was a double celebration. Bragging about the restaurant again made him feel like the old Ruban, and he told a few of his closest friends that he was even thinking about buying it back. The Rolex on Savannah’s wrist was enough to convince them that it wasn’t just a pipe dream.
    At first, Savannah had seemed embarrassed by the compliments on her gift. She’d even told a few that it wasn’t real. Sometime after midnight, however, Ruban caught her smiling and letting a girlfriend try it on.
    â€œCome with me, beautiful,” he said as he took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. It was a slow ballad, and he wrapped Savannah in his arms.
    â€œI love my party,” she whispered into his ear.
    â€œDo you love your present?” he asked.
    â€œI love you .” She ran her nails along the back of his neck. “Hey, wanna get down and dirty?”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œGrab a shovel. Let’s dig up some money.”
    He stopped dancing, surprised, and took a step back.
    â€œJust kidding,” she said, smiling as she pulled him close again.
    He held her tight, and they swayed to the music. All was good. Savannah was beautiful. They were in love the way they used to be. It might take some time, but she would come around to loving the money.
    Ruban could feel it.

Chapter 9
    W e may have our first break,” Andie said into her phone.
    She gave Littleford the quick rundown. Tom Cat had stepped up patrol along the Miami River since the heist, figuring that the crooks might make the pickup truck disappear by putting it on a freighter along with the usual haul of stolen vehicles. They had a hit.
    â€œWe found the pickup?” asked Littleford.
    â€œA stolen delivery truck,” said Andie. “Watts searched the cab and thinks the pickup might be, or might have been, in the box. Just to be safe, I told him to get a warrant.”
    â€œGood. Where’s the truck?”
    â€œSeabird Terminal B, just down the street from the Miami River Rapids Mini Park.”
    â€œI’ll meet you there.”
    It had been a week of dead ends for the FBI. They had footprints and tire tracks from the warehouse, but not a single fingerprint, and no DNA to work with. The eyewitness descriptions of the thieves were sketchy and conflicting. FBI