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Kiki’s failed escape. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe disappointment that she hadn’t tried to contact me. I would have helped her.
     
    She had to have known that.
     
    “Call him,” I said.
     
    “Pudge has the phone,” he said.
     
    I pulled it from my pocket. “You mean this one?”
     
    Fama was on the call history, so I held down the call button.
     
    When I heard him answer I put the phone to the thug’s ear, and he said what I told him to say.
     
    After I disconnected the call, I introduced the barrel of the 9mm to my hostage’s temple. It was a fairly vicious blow, but I was pretty confident I hadn’t fractured his skull. I take pride in my violence, to the point where I’m arrogant enough to consider myself a craftsman of sorts.
     
    I took apart the cell phone and threw the pieces out into the brackish water.
     
    I didn’t know if alligators made it out this far and if they would be able to turn Sleeping Albanian Beauty into dinner, but one could always hope.
     

 
     
    11.
     
    The white Lincoln Town Car’s headlights caught Fama’s Range Rover as it pulled into the marina.
     
    Fama got out first, followed by yet another one of his thugs.
     
    “Pudge, you asshole, turn off your lights,” Fama said.
     
    I left them on but got out of the car with the 9mm in my hand.
     
    “Oh, hello there,” I said.
     
    They were both caught off guard. Fama’s bodyguard made the first move.
     
    I shot him in the knee.
     
    Fama didn’t move.
     
    Keeping him in my line of sight, I went to the bodyguard, dug the gun out of his shoulder holster, and kicked him in the ribs.
     
    “Help him up,” I said. Fama bent down to help the man, and I cracked him on the back of the head with the pistol.
     
    He went down like the sack of shit he was.
     
    “Roll him over,” I said to the guy who was now sitting up but holding his knee. When he leaned over to grab Fama, I cracked him on the back of the head, too.
     
    I was four for four in rendering my victims unconscious. Those were All-Star type numbers.
     
    I slipped the gun into my waistband then dragged Fama by the heels down the dock to his boat, described to me in great detail by my Albanian friend now sleeping in the Estero Preserve.
     
    The boat was a cabin cruiser, several years old, that looked like someone had tried to convert it into a crab-fishing boat but had given up.
     
    I dumped Fama without ceremony on the deck at the back of the boat, then did the same with his companion. I dug through the bodyguard’s pockets, found the key to the boat, fired up the engines, untied it from the dock, and eased out of the mooring into the Estero River.
     
    The little marina where Fama kept his boat was much closer to the Gulf than the dock of my house-sitting job. From which I’d launched my kayak trip that had started this whole mess.
     
    The bends of the river were familiar to me by now, and even in the early morning darkness, I soon found my way out into Estero Bay.
     
    I put the engine at a slow idle and went to the back of the boat, next to a large plastic tray bolted to the gunwale.
     
    Beneath it was a small storage compartment. I opened it, and found the large, razor-sharp meat cleaver Fama’s associate had assured me would be there.
     
    Next, I went to the pile of crab traps, grabbed three, and set them next to the cutting board.
     
    I dragged Fama and propped him against the side of the boat then lifted his right arm and laid his hand across the board.
     
    “This is for Kristen,” I said.
     
    The cleaver cut through his wrist with a whisper and a thud. His Rolex slid right off the stump and landed on the deck.
     
    The pain roused Fama from his sleep, and he let out a garbled scream. He half stood, which was perfect for me. I grabbed his hair, slammed him face-first into the cutting board, and lined the blade’s edge along Fama’s neck.
     
    “This one’s for me,” I said.
     
    I chopped down, and Fama’s head popped from his neck,