by Owen Parr
“Mancuso, it’s Aaron Drucker. I told you to call me with a daily report. You do remember that, right?”
“Yes, I do, sir. I didn’t realize the time. We haven’t stopped since we got here today.”
“So, what have you got?”
Marcy and I looked at each other. I mouthed, “Shit!” to her.
“Mancuso, are you there?” Drucker asked, sternly.
“We’re following a lead from Friday. Someone saw Gavi having dinner at a local restaurant.”
“Was she with Carlos?”
“She was. Also, we met with her roommate and are trying to locate Carlos’s parents.”
“So, what have you got? It sounds like nothing to me.”
“Well, sir, we think we may have information on where Gavi went after dinner, but we’re waiting to meet someone about that.” I wasn’t about to tell him about the flight to a private island yet. I didn’t know if this guy was involved. I didn’t trust him.
“I think I’m paying you for a vacation in Miami. I thought you were a top detective at the NYPD. I’m beginning to wonder about your services.”
“I believe I’ll have a lot more tomorrow,” asshole, I wanted to add. You’ve tied our hands by not reporting this to the police when you should have.
“By the way,” he barked into the phone, “I told your brother not to involve my partner, Feinstein, but no, he went and lied to him, saying I asked him to speak to him. The man is going to have a heart attack, he’s so worried about our Gavi.”
I didn’t want to reply to that, or I would have told him to go fuck-off. But, Gavi was still missing, and I had a job to do. From what he said, his partner seemed to be more concerned about Gavi than he was. “Have you received a ransom call, Mr. Drucker?”
“Mancuso,” he started. I didn’t like it when people started a sentence with my last name—unless it was Marcy. She made it sound sexy. “If I’d received a call, I would have had the courtesy of making you aware. No, I’ve had no calls. Now, call me tomorrow as soon as you follow up on this lead you claim to have. Are we clear?”
“Let me ask you something. Do you have anyone else working on this case?”
“No, why? Should I get another team of PIs?”
“Just curious.”
“Are we clear on my instructions?” Drucker barked into the phone.
“Loud and clear, Mr. Drucker,” I replied as he clicked off the call.
“Wow, this guy is pissed,” Marcy quipped.
“You think?” Mr. Pat added.
“You didn’t want to tell him about the airport?” Marcy asked.
I put the phone back in my pocket. “Remember what Father Dom said? This guy knew Friday night or Saturday morning that his daughter was missing, yet he waited until Sunday night to call Goldstein. And then, he pretended he didn’t know anything when he met us Monday morning. There’s more to this than meets the eye. You know what I mean?”
14
Wednesday
It was six-thirty in the morning when I rolled the curtains open to look outside. It looked as if there was an evacuation order in place. US 1 was packed solid with cars. Where the hell were all these people going?
Marcy walked into the room. She’d already been to the gym for her half hour of exercise. She looked at me and said, “You know, you’ve gained a couple of pounds. You should join me in the gym in the mornings.”
“You’re the second person to tell I’ve gained a few pounds. Is it that obvious?”
“I’m just saying. You should have joined me in the gym.”
“You already gave me a workout last night. I need my rest,” I said, smiling.
“What’s the schedule for today?”
Still looking at the traffic outside, I said, “Numero uno, Miami Executive Airport. We need to locate the company that flew Gavi out of town. Then, dos, Agnes made an appointment for us to meet Professor Achilles Persopoulus at the University of Miami. I want to find out more about these antiquities. Then, tres, depending on what we find, I may want to pay a visit to Meso Trading.”
“I’ll go along with one and two, but Meso Trading is under surveillance by the local FBI. Agent Olmec told us to stay away from them. We don’t want to screw up a local FBI investigation. I think we should skip Meso.”
“I understand, but the local FBI is not looking for Gavi. I am.”
“You’re going to get me fired before I’m even reinstated,” she said as she began taking off her workout clothes.
I turned away from the sea of cars outside the window and looked at her. “You worked up quite a sweat.”
“A workout in the morning releases endorphins and feel-good hormones,” Marcy replied, as she removed all her clothes.
“Yeah? Well come here and share some of those hormones.”
An hour later, we were on our way to Miami Executive Airport. This time I drove, Mr. Pat was riding shotgun, and Marcy sat in the back seat. A menacing storm was brewing off to the west. I could see lightning within the folds of the nasty black clouds in front of us. It reminded me of a scene from the Steven Spielberg’s movie Poltergeist.
Patrick saw me looking at the clouds and lowered his head to take a peek. “Tornado maybe?”
Marcy lowered her head to look up and replied, “Nah, it’s a cold front moving in. Very typical this time of year. It may rain and the temperature may drop a few degrees. That’s all.”
“I hope you’re right, or we may be driving into the eye of the storm,” I said.
“I did a little research on the corporate airlines and private companies that fly out of this airport,” Mr. Pat said.
“You taking over for Agnes?” Marcy asked.
“Nah…I don’t have her skills when it comes to internet back doors, but I can get on the world-wide web.”
“So, what’d you find?” I said.
“The airport is small, and it doesn’t have any major airlines. It is a US Customs port and has customs personnel on hand. Interesting enough, MarAir also operates out of this airport.”
“That’s quiet the coincidence,” Marcy said.
“Excellent, that’s who we start with,” I added.
Patrick went on. “The fact it has a customs port would mean flying out requires security and checking in with customs.”
“Two things about that, Mr. Pat; in a small airport like that, things can be overlooked. Plus, a customs check is required upon entry, and probably only if your flight plan says you were outside the US”
“Yeah…I guess you’re right. I was hoping our young lady had to check in with customs.”
Ms. Waze told us to make a turn, and I did as instructed.
Marcy asked, “How do you want to play this, Joey?”
“Straight up. We’ll go in there and show Gavi’s picture. I want to see their reaction.”
Marcy shot back, “But Mr. Drucker didn’t want you questioning his clients.”
I turned to look at Marcy. “Drucker wants a lot of things. We’re not questioning his client. We’re just following up on a good lead. Plus, remember rule number one.”
“Yeah, I know; you work for the victim.”
“Correcto, I work for the victim.”
Marcy said, “By the way, the blue caddy is back on our tail.”
I looked through the rearview mirror. “I know, I spotted them a few minutes ago.”
“Why don’t we pull next to them and tell ‘em where we’re headed. That way they don’t have to worry about losing us,” Patrick said.
I laughed. “Agnes will tell us who the hell they are pretty soon. Let them follow.”
Forty-five minutes later, we were looking at some small planes making their final approach, and Ms. Waze and her monotone voice aid, “You have arrived at your destination.”
It seemed like a quaint little airport. Three, maybe four runways, I guessed. We parked and walked into a small terminal and walked toward the desk with a MarAir sign behind it.
Behind the desk was a young lad
y wearing khaki slacks and a black tee shirt with piercings in her nose, lip, and in her ears. She had long brown hair and was awfully cute. She looked to be in her late teens. Her fingers clicked away on the computer in front of her. Besides her was a man in his early thirties. He had long dirty blond hair and a little man bun tied in a knot with an orange rubber band. His sideburns came about an inch below his earlobes, and a tiny coral earring was in his left ear. Man-bun checked all three of us out. “Hi folks, how can we help you?”
“Do you guys fly private flights?”
“We do, around Florida and to the islands. Where is it that you want to go?” he asked.
“What kind of plane do you guys have?”
“We have a Gulfstream III that’s reconfigured for ten passengers. We have the range to go beyond Florida, but we rarely do. Maybe Atlanta.”
I went on, “Someone said all you did was cargo flights, but I guess they were wrong.”
“No, actually we do both. Our cargo operation is done out of Miami Airport. We do private and charter flights from here. Where is it you want to go?” he asked again. The young girl just sat there.
“Are you the manager?” I inquired.
Man-bun smiled. “I’m everything. I’m training Alexa here,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “But, I’m also a pilot and the baggage handler, if you know what I mean.”
“Great. In that case, you’re the man to ask. My baby sister and her boyfriend took a flight out of this airport last Friday. And while she told our parents she was going away for the weekend, she didn’t specify where and when she would be back. They, of course, are a little worried that they haven’t heard from her.”
“Did she fly out with us?” he asked.
“That’s the thing. We don’t know,” I replied, pulling out my phone and searching for Gavi’s picture. “This is her,” I said, showing the photo to both Man-bun and Alexa.
Alexa’s expression changed, as if she’d recognized Gavi from the photo. At the same time, Man-bun’s expression also changed, to one of concern.
Man-bun said, “Alexa, why don’t you take your break now.”
Alexa looked at Marcy, retrieved a small purse from a desk drawer on her left, got up, and walked away from us.
Man-bun waited for Alexa to be out or hearing range before saying, “I don’t recognize the young lady in the picture.” He rubbed his nose. “You said Friday, right?” he asked, buying time to think.
“Here, perhaps you recognize her boyfriend,” I said, flipping to Carlos’s photo on my phone.
“No, I can’t say that I remember either one.”
I put my phone away. “Did you pilot a flight out of here last Friday?”
He looked at Marcy and then at Mr. Pat. “Are you guys with the police?”
I saw Marcy going for her purse. My first thought was that she was about to pull out her FBI creds. I gently put my hand on her arm. “Like I said, I’m the young lady’s brother. This is my wife, and this gentleman is my uncle.”
Marcy asked, “Excuse me, we’ve been driving for a while, can you point me to the restroom?”
Man-bun looked worried, but replied, “Yes,” pointing to a sign to the left about fifteen yards away. “It’s right over there. You can’t miss it.”
Marcy thanked him and walked away.
“What is your name, sir,” he asked, his eyes following Marcy.
“My name is Joseph Drucker,” I replied. I spotted a cup of water on the desk and knocked it over, trying to get his attention away from Marcy. “Oh shit, I’m sorry.”
He quickly began patting down the water with a tissue he pulled form a small box on the desk.
“Here let me help you,” I said, pulling out my handkerchief.
“Mr. Drucker, our private flights are as the word implies—private. I don’t have the authority to divulge our passenger manifest to anyone, unless you’re with the police and have a warrant.”
Patrick spoke for the first time. He used his stern Irish brogue. “Lad, we don’t want to see a manifest. All we want to know is, if my niece flew out of here Friday on one of your flights. Is a simple yes or no answer.”
Throwing the wet tissues into a trash can below the desk and looking up at Patrick, Man-bun replied, “Like I said, I don’t recognize either one of those people.”
Let me send the photos and my number to your phone,” I said. “This way you can ask the others and then call me back if anyone remembers seeing my sister. What’s your cell number?”
“We don’t need to do that. Here, just write down your number,” he said, handing me a piece of paper. “I’ll ask the other two pilots. It’s just three of us here.”
I took the piece of paper. “What’s your name?”
“Troy. Just give me your number, and I’ll call back after I speak to the other pilots. That is, if they remember anything.”
My little ploy to get his cell number didn’t work. I planned on having Agnes do her thing and look for any calls this guy made that could be of help. Instead, I wrote my cell number on the paper and handed it back to him. “We’re really worried about my sister. Any help you can give us would be greatly appreciated, Troy.”
“Not a problem, Mr. Drucker,” he said as he folded the paper and put it in his shirt pocket.
Patrick gave Troy a dirty look as we walked away. “Okay, thank you,” I said.
The skies opened, and thick rain drops were pounding the pavement. Patrick and I ran out of the small airport. Marcy was in the back seat of our rental waiting for us.
Jumping into the car, I asked, “This rain is typical, you said?”
“Relax, Mancuso, it’s only water. It will stop in ten minutes. You’ll see.”
“I assume you spoke to Alexa?” I asked, wiping the big rain drops from my eyes.
“I did,” she replied. “And by the way, one of the guys following us was in the airport and kept an eye on us the whole time.”
“Is he still in there?” Patrick asked.
“No, he followed me out and is now back in their caddy,” she said. She moved her head left, directing us to where the caddy was parked.
Both Patrick and I glanced over and saw both men in the car. One was on a cell phone, and the other was looking straight at us.
I was at the driver’s seat. “Tell me about Alexa?”
“Alexa is a freshman at FIU, and before you ask, no, she doesn’t know Carlos. She just started working part-time at MarAir. She was very nervous talking to me. The poor girl, her hands were shaking. But, she did tell me that both Gavi and Carlos, along with this guy and with two other pilots, flew out of here on Friday.” She paused for effect.
“And Man-bun was the pilot?”
“Like I said, he was one of them. He flew the plane back by himself on Saturday.”
“Did she give you names for the other two?”
“She mentioned it was a Rob Silver and a John Edwards.”
“Did she noticed if Gavi was being forced?”
“No, but she did say Gavi looked a little out of it.”
“Meaning drugged?”
“She doesn’t know, just that she was being helped as she walked.”
“Where were they going?” I asked.
“Saint Thomas, in the US Virgin Islands.”
15
We were on our way to the University of Miami to meet with Professor Achilles Persopoulus. I wanted to find out more about these antiquities. As I drove north on US 1, I kept a vigilant eye on the blue caddy on our tail. In doing so, I noticed a motor bike weaving in and out of traffic lanes. I said, “I love the traffic signs that tell you to look out for motorcycles, yet the people on them don’t respect the traffic laws.”
“What are you talking about?” Marcy asked from behind me.
“There’s an idiot on a motorcycle weaving in and out of traffic, driving between lanes of cars, and we’re supposed to watch out of them?”
Patrick, sitting in the passenger seat, turned slightly to face me
. “Is he behind us?”
“He’s been back there since we left the airport.”
“You think we picked up another tail?” Marcy asked.
I glanced to my right. “He’s about to come up next to us, the idiot.”
A large bus pulled up on my left, blocking the motorcycle from coming next to us. “I don’t like this,” I said, trying to change lanes. Traffic was too bad to move anywhere else.
“What do you mean, you don’t like it?” Marcy said, voice wary.
“I don’t know. There’s something about this motorcycle.”
We could hear its engine roar. The bus turned left, opening a lane for the motorcycle.
I turned my face to the left to glance at the motorcycle. Everything went into slow motion at that moment. The rider pulled what looked like a Glock with a silencer from the fanny pack around his waist. I could see his helmeted head looking right at me as he aimed for my face. “Marcy, duck!” I yelled.
“Joey, look out!” Marcy screamed.
The rider lowered his aim slightly and delivered two shots to the front of the car. All I heard was one loud boom! I could have sworn I saw him pulled the trigger twice.
I lost some control of the Taurus. It swerved to the left, still in what seemed like slow motion. The rider sped off as the car turned forty-five degrees, blocking traffic, before I was able to bring it to a full stop. Cars around me veered right and left avoiding a collision with us. Everyone to my side and behind me came to a stop, including the blue caddy on our tail.
“What the fuck!” From my peripheral vision, I saw the motorcycle disappear into the distance.
Marcy asked in a desperate tone, “Is everyone all right?”
Patrick started to speak, then stopped as we heard a loud crash come from somewhere behind us.
I looked at Marcy in the rearview mirror, trying to make eye contact with her, “Are you okay?”
She was shaking, covering her face with her hands, and quivering. “I’m fine. Are you hurt, Joey?”
“I’m fine,” I said, looking at Patrick immediately. He looked rattled, his usual red face white as a sheet.