Farnsworth had called Tucker to say he wasn’t the bad guy. He explained that Niall with the F.B.I. was behind everything and trying to kill him, then warned him to leave the hotel. Truth or not, Tucker wasn’t hanging around to take any chances.

 

Tucker grabbed his pistol as he mumbled instructions to Tammy. “Get a move on, we’re leaving.”

Three stiff knocks rapped on the door. To answer or not to answer was the question? Tucker figured there hadn’t been time for the hit squad to arrive—so, he opened the door—Sig Sauer 45 in hand.  

Two beach babes burst in before Tucker could react. They handed him weapons, an Ear Hero covert-tactical earpiece, and a bulletproof vest.

The short and bubbly girl with a red pixie-cut hairstyle shoved a bikini, coverup, pink-checkered Vans, droopy hat, and dark Fendi sunglasses into Tammy’s chest with instructions to change quickly.

Skeptical of Farnsworth’s trustworthiness, Tucker belatedly swung the bedroom door open to where Tammy was changing, wanting to give her tips and a weapon.

Startled, Tammy screamed and ducked behind the bed trying to hide her nakedness. Tucker sprayed spit as he chuckled, and said, “Your boobies have gotten bigger since you used to swim shirtless in your Minnie Mouse pool.”

“You’re not funny, Tucker,” Tammy whined, as she gave up and stood fully exposed. Tucker handed her a pistol and waist-strap holster to hide under her pool wrap. He knew she could, and would, use it if the need arose. With a cocky grin and a wink, he blew her a kiss and walked out.

When Tammy entered the living room, the two girls pulled a wig and makeup from a box and went to work. In an astonishing transition Tammy became unrecognizable, a beach-bunny-blonde vacationer within minutes.

“Mr. Farnsworth warned that Tammy can’t be with you, Mr. Tucker,” The tallest girl said. “And advised you keep your earpiece on for instructions. He’ll be in touch . . . best of luck.” The three cuties stepped out and turned down the hallway.

Farnsworth had men, women, and children stationed as tourists on every floor and reporting all movements.

The pretty pies received an earbud message to take the elevator down to the third floor and exit. Afterwards, they were directed to use the rear flight of stairs to the lobby.

Six stiff necks decked out in blue and grey suits vigilantly scanned the elevators, exits, and entrances.

The girls giggled, pretending to be engrossed in phony chitchat and crossed the lobby. In ball-bearing fluidity their hips swung in a strut past the bar and out to poolside without trouble.

Nonchalantly, they wandered past the lazy river and ordered strawberry daiquiris at the cabana bar. Within minutes, they eased down the stairway to the beach and two matching Kawasaki Ultra 310 jet skis.

They pitched their drinks through the sugar-frenzied bees and into the trash barrel, climbed on the skis, revved the engines, and sped away toward an awaiting speedboat little more than a mile out to sea.

______________________

Back at the room, Tucker called T.D., who answered on the second ring. “Hey, Tuck, what’s up?”

“Damned if I know for sure, but Tammy left here about half-an-hour ago with two hotties sent by Farnsworth to take her to safety.”

“Sent by Farnsworth? Kind of sounds like a dangerous choice of who to trust.”

“Yes, it sounds crazy, but for once, I believe he’s telling the truth . . . but we need to make sure.” Tucker strapped a knife inside, just below his left calf, and Velcroed his trusty Smith and Wesson 38 to the outside of his right ankle as he spoke.

“Well, Tuck, don’t worry about Tammy, she’s already slipped Farnsworth’s penthouse pets . . . I just talked to her. She copped a ride on Island Drive in Miami Beach at Rahul Kuddus’s truck stop. She climbed in with a trucker and is headed back to you.”

“Dangerous measures, riding with strangers . . . T.D., you’ve got to stop her. There’s about to be a war of cartel and F.B.I., and I think, either me or all of us are the targets.”

“Don’t worry, Tuck. I’m on Ocean Drive leaving Hollywood Beach, about to drive through Hallandale. I’ll jump on I-95 and reach Miami in 20 minutes. I’ll cut her off before she gets there.”

“Thanks, bud. Take her somewhere safe and lie low until you hear from me.”

“Gotcha . . . be careful.”

Tucker had no sooner gotten off the phone with T.D. and put his earbuds back in than, Farnsworth messaged, “I’m at your door, open it.”

Tucker swung the door open, and Farnsworth stormed in wild eyed. “Got everything? Let’s get the hell out of here. I have two ram air parachutes waiting for us on the roof. Stable flying machines that slow you down, steer like a dream, and land you softer than Charmin tissue on a tender bottom.”

“Not me.” Tucker said, “I’m not a bird with wings or born to fly.”

“What are you talkin' about Tucker? You aren’t supposed to be afraid of anything?”

“I’m not . . . besides invisible demons of the supernatural and heights.”

“So, as an ex-ranger you've had to have parachuted?”

“Oh, yes, I have, but with big round canopies deployed at 3,000 feet or better. But not from atop a building with 292-feet to sudden death.”

Farnsworth stuck his head out of the room, looked both ways, and signaled all clear as he said, “Let’s go. We’ll discuss it from the roof.”

Unbeknownst to Farnsworth, Tucker had a chopper on its way to pick them up. He only hoped the helicopter made it there before the assassins did.  

On the roof, Tucker and Farnsworth ran between two huge Daikin rooftop PTAC (heat and air-conditioner) systems.

Farnsworth pulled two flash drives out of his pocket, handed them to Tucker, and said. “Tucker, if I don’t make it, here is all the evidence you’ll need to prove your innocence and put Niall and his corrupt network away for the rest of their lives. Phone conversations, videos, and a list of witnesses long as your arm. Immediately, he pointed to the ram air chutes and gave detailed instructions on the dos and don’ts to make the jump.

“Save it Farnsworth.” Tucker said. “I read a lot. And most recently, I read about the world-record holder who jumped from a hundred feet and lived. But I also know, skilled skydivers, of which, I’m not, often die whenever chutes aren’t deployed before falling under 3,000 feet.”

Farnsworth laughed, choking on every word. “This is your best shot to get out of this alive Tucker, but I can’t make you do it.”

“You’re right . . . and I can’t make me do it either.” Even at such a serious time, they both laughed, as Tucker continued, “So, I’ll take my chances here dodging bullets.”

“Okay, suit yourself. And by the way Tucker, Tammy and I have been seeing each other for a while, or did you know?”

“I didn’t until I saw you all together at the Trocadero and, T.D. confessed it wasn’t a first date.” Disgust smeared all over Tucker’s face.

“Well, it isn’t serious, yet. But my intentions are to change that soon. Now you know why I’m so concerned for her safety.”

“Oh, so you want to live happily-ever-after with Tammy." Tucker suddenly became nauseated. "And you want my amateur, idiot butt to skydive to my death off a 300-foot building?”

“Well, Tucker, come to think of it, that sounds like a happy ending for us.”

Farnsworth stepped into the parachute’s harness, pulled it up over his shoulders and snapped it into place as he said, “Last chance to live Tucker.”

“Farnsworth, I wouldn’t have to hit the ground to die. If I jumped, my heart would stop long before impact.”

Tucker watched as Farnsworth ran and jumped off the hotel, promptly pulling his pilot chute. He momentarily floated in complete authority toward underlying Collin’s Avenue—until machine gun fire erupted—riddling his chute to threads. The shredded nylon spun, twisted, and flapped in the breeze. Out-of-control he bounced off buildings and crashed in a heap on the street below.

There was no sign of Farnsworth as Tucker peeked over the tower’s edge at the tattered yellow canopy that held up traffic in both directions.

The awaited copter swung into sight and gradually descended toward the hotel’s rooftop helipad.

The galvanized pipe Tucker had used to barricade the roof’s entrance door bent and fell as Niall’s pursuers exploded through the doorway with a battering ram, weapons drawn.

The whirlybird revved, quickly ascending. But not before torpedoes could rip it to pieces. A giant fireball blast of glass and metal. The whizzing tail rotor zinged off the air-unit beside Tucker’s head. It shot out into the wild blue yonder, over unsuspecting shoppers sauntering on the sidewalks below.

 

The black clad F.B.I renegades celebrated with high-fives, fist bumps, and hugs—confident Farnsworth had flopped to his death—while Tucker and his crew were scattered in shattered debris.  

Tucker’s rattled nerves waited patiently between the heating and cooling apparatuses, hoping the jubilant intruders would leave without checking the rooftop to find him. Finally, all presumed dead, they were gone, faster than they had come.  

It was time for Tucker to clear their names and turn the tide in favor of the good guys, and gal.

The end.