by Owen Parr
“Good morning,” I said to the man sitting in the van, “we’re going to need some service.”
“Yeah mon, good-day. How can I help you?” I looked at his ID tag. Emile.
“We’re booked at the Casa Verde B & B, Emile. Do you know where that is?”
“On Frenchman Bay, yeah. Nice quaint place. I can call for a car to take you there,” Emile replied.
“Oh, you don’t take us?”
“No mon. This here is our airport office. I can have a car here in two minutes,” he said, as he called on a walkie-talkie for a car.
“Can we rent a car from your company?” I asked.
“How long you going to be in town, gentlemen?”
“Oh, just a couple of days. Why?”
“Joseph, your driver, can stay with you and have a car ready at all times. No need to rent a car when we provide a driver and a tour guide. Plus,” he said, looking around and lowering his voice, “Joseph, can provide concierge service. You know what I mean, mon? Anything you need.”
We haggled on the daily rate, which kinda gave me an indication that this specialized service was off the books. Dreadlocked Joseph, wearing a bright-colored flowered shirt, arrived in a white minivan and loaded up our luggage. We were off in less than a minute. In the speed they loaded up the van, and their constant vigilance in looking around, I realized that this ‘hire’ was not on the books.
I looked at Joseph’s long dreadlocks. “Are you a Rastafarian, Joseph?”
“Yeah, mon. You know about our religion?”
“No meat or alcohol, right?”
“Vegetarian…maybe a little rum, here and there,” Joseph replied, smiling at us through the rearview mirror.
“And you smoke marijuana as a ritual?”
Joseph looked up and shook his head from side to side. “A lot mon, a lot. It’s good for the soul and for medical reasons. I can provide, if you wish.”
“Let’s talk about that later,” Dom said from the back seat.
“To the Casa Verde, gentlemen?” Joseph asked.
“Can we make a stop first, Joseph?” I asked, sitting in the passenger seat.
“Yeah, boss. Anything, anytime, anywhere. That’s my motto,” he said, flashing his huge ultra-bright teeth at us. Where I’m going?”
“I want to stop at the Charlotte Amalie airport.”
“Yeah, yeah. You gentlemen here on business or plea-sure?”
I thought for a second. “I’m an author, Joseph. My brother is sitting behind you,” I said, as Joseph checked out Dom from his rearview mirror. “Ian is my publicist. And my cousin, we call him Big Red, is my editor,” I replied as I concocted a cover story to fit my newly developing plans. “We’re here to scout locations for my next book.”
“Cool. What’s your name. Maybe I read some of your books?”
“Welson SeMille. Do you read mystery thrillers?” I asked, laughing my ass off internally.
Joseph turned to face me and smiled. “Yeah mon, I love your books. Good stuff.”
“Wow, I’m honored,” I said, high-fiving him with my left hand.
“So, what’s the book about?” Joseph asked, turning to face the road.
“I’ll tell you as we go. This way, it’ll build up the suspense.”
“Oh, that’s cool. I like that, yeah,” Joseph said.
“See, at this airport we’re going to, I’m writing about a girl who was kidnapped and flown to it. From there, I have to come up with a location where she may have been taken to.”
“I see. Good looking girl?”
“Oh yeah, beautiful girl. Looks like Beyoncé, you know what I’m talking about?”
“Hot mama, mon. I like this book, I like it a lot, mon. Can you write me in somewhere?” he asked.
I turned to look at Ian and Big Red. Brother Dom was shaking his head and Patrick was all smiles. “What’d you think, Big Red? Can we find a character for Joseph?”
“He’s in. Absolutely.”
Joseph looked at Patrick through the mirror. “Thank you, sir, but don’t kill me off too soon.”
“We got big plans for you, kid” Patrick said.
We arrived at the small private airport, and Joseph parked the minivan just off the curb. He quickly stepped out and opened my door.
“I’ll come in with you, boss.”
Joseph had a lot to offer, but we needed to ask some questions in the airport that Joseph did not need to know. “Listen, I appreciate it, but we’re dealing with copyright laws, and we need to talk in private about the story. I hope you understand.”
“Yeah mon, no problem. I’ll stay here.”
Dom, Patrick, and I entered the small airport, hoping we could find someone who could shine some light on our missing pilots. For a good half an hour, we asked anyone who looked like they work there. No one had any idea about MarAir or any of their flights. Just as we were about to give up, we sat at a bar for a beer. I sat next to a man wearing what looked like a private pilot’s uniform—white shirt with that cute little thing over the shoulders and a black tie. I gave it a try. “Hi there, you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Go right ahead, chap,” he replied. British accent, I noted.
“A couple of days ago, a pilot friend of mine flew in from Miami on a G4 owned by MarAir. He wanted to get away from it all for a few days, and it seems he turned off his cell phone. Anyway, he’s engaged to my sister, and we wanted to give him a surprise bachelor party—”
He put out his hand to stop me. He looked at the three of us from top to bottom and said, “Maybe he’s having a party of his own and doesn’t want company.”
I smiled. “That would be very rude of him not to include us. We’re best buds, you know. The bigger the party the better, right?”
“What’s his name?” he asked.
“Rob Silver and his buddy, John Edwards,” I replied.
“Oh, I’ve been on that plane.”
“That’s great,” I said, noticing he took the last sip of his drink. “Can I get you another drink?”
“I’ll have a Kalik, thank you.”
I waved the bartender over, “Give us four Kalik beers, would you?” Turning back to our pilot, I asked, “What’s your name?”
“Winston. Winston Childs,” he replied, extending out his hand to shake with me.
“You fly commercial?”
“No, pretty much like your buddy. I flew in on a Citation with a private group.”
“So, you’re going to stay here with your group?”
“They’ll be here two or three days fishing for sailfish and marlin. I get to hang out.”
“Cool. Does Rob have a place here?”
“No, not in the island. His company has a beauty of a sailboat. They rent it out to guests for a week at a time. Private parties, you know?” he replied, laughing.
Our Kaliks arrived. I took a long drink. “Where is it docked?”
“It’s moored in the harbor. More pre-va-see,” he said, pronouncing it as a good Englishman would.
“Beautiful! Perfect for our surprise party. What’s the name of the boat, Winston?”
“Look gents, don’t tell him I pointed you guys to him. He might get pissed at me, you know?”
“Don’t worry, brother. My plan is to show up with some ladies—at least ten, two for each,” I said, pointing to Dom, and Patrick, “some rum and beers, and party on for a couple of days. Rob’s going to love it.”
“It’s called El Mar,” he replied. “Fuck, wish I could join you.”
I gave him a napkin. “Here, write your number down. Maybe we can call you for day two when we need a break.”
“Yeah? That would be splendid,” Winston replied, as he quickly jotted down his number.
“Winston, thank you. How about another Kalik?”
He nodded. I signaled the bartender to bring one more beer and pointed to Winston. I paid the tab, and we all returned to Joseph.
“All good?” Joseph asked.
“Very good
, yes,” I replied.
“Listen mon, I’ve been thinking about this book. Maybe I can show up as a dealer, selling ganja, you know?”
“Where are you from, Joseph?”
“Me and Emile, that’s my brother back at the airport, we’re from Jamaica, mon.”
“Big Red, is there a spot for Joseph to show up as ganja dealer in the novel?”
“I think we can work that in.”
“Oh, thank you sir,” replied Joseph with a wide smile. “Where to now boss?”
“Let’s go to our B & B and check in. I need to find a place to rent a boat. We want to scout the harbor.”
“Say no more. Me and Emile own a boat. I can do that for you.”
I shook my head and smiled, “Of course, you can. What kind of boat do you own?”
Before Joseph could respond, Father Dom, not the nautical type asked. “Is it in good shape?”
“Primo shape, mon. It’s a Mako, open fisherman. Twenty-four-footer. Twin 200’s Mercs. Fast boat, mon. her name is Lucky Strike.”
“As long as it’s included in the daily rate I agreed on with Emile,” I said.
“Oh, Mr. SeMille, daily rate plus gas, mon. Gas is expensive in the island.”
“We can do that. How about later today?”
“Yeah, yeah. I can pick you up at three in the afternoon. Short hop to the boat from your bed and breakfast.”
We arrived at the quaint bed and breakfast, which was code for small. All wood, painted in a colorful bright green color, with lots of shrubbery. I looked at my watch. It was a little after noon. “See you at three, Joseph.”
25
Dom and I shared a one-bedroom suite while Big Red got his own room. We met in the sitting area of the suite at two in the afternoon to plan our approach to the El Mar sailboat, assuming we could find it.
“So, how do you want to do this, Joey?” Patrick started.
“Let’s have Joseph take us around the harbor and see if we can spot the sailboat. Then, we need to determine if Rob Silver and the other guy, what was his name?” I asked, pausing for a second, trying to remember. “Oh yeah. John Edwards, are on board.”
“Then what?” asked Dom. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Call the local authorities, right?”
Patrick added, “I’m sure the Miami detectives issued an arrest warrant for both.”
Brother Dom verbalized the correct procedure we should follow, assuming they were there, but I had other plans. I sat back and thought for a second.
Dom anxiously asked again, “We call the police, right, Joey?”
“We could do that, yes. However, that’s not what I had in mind.”
Patrick smiled. “Uh oh.”
“Joey, don’t tell me you want to apprehend these guys by ourselves. I’m sure they’re armed.” Dom sounded concerned.
“Look,” I began, “if we have the locals arrest these guys, we’re never going to question them ourselves.”
“So, what?” Dom said. “They’re wanted for murder and the attempted murder of you guys and Marcy. They’ll get extradited back to Miami, and that’s that.”
“Yes, and that solves Alexa Gould’s murder, which is a priority for us, but these guys, I’m sure, know a lot about everything else we want to know.”
“Like what?” Dom asked, a little exasperated.
“Like why Gavi Drucker was kidnapped. Like the smuggling of Sumerian antiquities. Maybe about the money laundering scheme to cleanse the funds. And, maybe even who the US collectors are.”
“Forgive my language, but shit, brother, you’re crazy.”
Dom was starting to annoy me again. Why couldn’t he understand that this was terrorism we were talking about. “These collectors are undermining our war on terror, Dom. They’re funding ISIS. They’re indirectly responsible for terror attacks around the world. Don’t you see that?”
Dom sighed. “Joey, we’re three unarmed guys from Brooklyn. You’re going to fight the war on terror now?”
“I’m not,” Patrick said.
I turned to face him, and spat, “You’re not what, Mr. Pat?”
He replied in a serious tone, “I’m not from Brooklyn. I’m from Jersey.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, and neither could Dom. He’d read the room and diffused our argument.
I said, “Look guys, if we can find a safe way to apprehend these guys, we should do it. However, if we think it is too risky, then we’ll call the locals in. Fair enough?”
“Works for me,” Patrick replied.
Dom looked at Patrick. He probably hoped Mr. Pat would agree with him, but seeing he was outnumbered, he gave in. “Okay. But, knowing my brother here, his definition of safe is not necessarily the same as yours or mine, Mr. Pat.”
“Let’s just go out with Joseph,” I said. “We’ll scout the harbor and hopefully the sailboat. Then, we can always come up with a plan.”
“The plan is what I’m concerned about.”
“You worry too much Dom. Everything we do works out just fine.”
“Every case we take somehow becomes a job for a major crime unit. Now, we’re fighting ISIS. Why can’t we tackle a simple detective case? You know, a whodunit. We’re not even getting paid anymore.”
“You’re right. We’re not getting paid at all. Our fee-based job ended with Gavi Drucker showing up back at home.”
“Terrific,” Dom said, shaking his head.
“Maybe there’s some kind of a recompense if we break up this smuggling ring or find the collectors. These Federal agencies pay for that kind of stuff, don’t they?” Patrick asked
“Actually Mr. Pat, we might be in line for some IRS recompense, as you say. There has be to be some tax evasion involved in the laundering, right?”
“Thanks for encouraging him, Mr. Pat. You guys are going to get me killed.”
There was a knock on our door. “It’s probably Joseph. Let’s go,” I said.
Joseph was at our door. The first thing he did was look down at our feet. “Gentlemen, do you have shoes with rubber soles?”
All three of us wore regular shoes. I looked down at my shoes. “What’s the problem with these shoes?”
“We’re going on a boat; those loafers are going to scuff the surface. Emile is anal about that, mon.”
“We’ll take them off before jumping on the boat,” Dom said.
Joseph shrugged. “That works. Let’s go. I brought you a cooler with some waters, beers, and a little rum from the islands. It’s going to be like a sunset cruise around the harbor. No extra charge, just a little tip is fine.”
We boarded the impeccably clean and white as snow Lucky Strike at a nearby dock on the harbor. Joseph put Big Red and me to deal with the tie lines, and we were off. The afternoon sun rays pierced the surface of the magnificently clear blue and green waters of the harbor, all the way to the bottom. “Make a note, Big Red. We can’t bury any bodies in these waters. You can see all the way to the bottom.”
Patrick replied, “We’ll save the bodies for the East River in New York.”
We cruised the harbor at idle speed. Joseph brought an assortment of beers—Red Stripe, Kalik, Carib, all iced cold. Both Patrick and I helped ourselves to them while brother Dom opted for plain water. It was a beautiful setting. The harbor had Saint Peter Mountain as a backdrop, and Joseph offered to take us zip-lining through a rain forest. Thirty minutes into our tour, there was no sight of the El Mar.
“Joseph, you have taken us around the harbor. Can you idle the boat through where the sailboats are moored?”
“Yeah, sure. We can do that.”
So, he started a zig-zag tour of the moored boats. Sometimes too close, and we became privy to some private activities onboard some of them. And then, there she was, the El Mar.
“Joseph, can you stop here for a second. I want to look at that sailboat.”
“Yeah mon. You want me to get close?”
“No, no. Just hang here for a few moments,” I replied.
Josep
h added, “That’s a forty-one-foot Hunter. Two cabins. Nice boat.”
“You know the owners?” I asked.
“No, but, I’ve brought tourists on it. It’s for rent for days or weeks.”
Dom asked, “How do people get back to the harbor if they stay here?”
“You call, and there’s a dinghy raft that picks you up. Like a water taxi.”
“I wonder if there’re people onboard now?” I asked.
Joseph was keeping our boat as still as possible, putting it in gear occasionally. “We can go right up to it if you want.”
“No, no. We’re close enough,” I said. “Can you anchor here so we can take some notes?” I didn’t want to get too close. These guys knew Patrick and me.
“No anchoring allowed. But, I can tie up to that empty boat,” Joseph said, pointing to another boat next to us.
“Yes. That’s perfect,” I responded.
We were about twenty yards from the El Mar, and the boat we were tied to was perfect cover for us.
“Welson,” Patrick called out. Hearing no response from me, he said, “Mister SeMille.”
I turned to Patrick.
“There’s that water taxi Joseph was referring to,” he said, pointing.
To our left was a motorized raft with four passengers. Rob Silver, a second man I presumed was John Edwards, and two local gals who seemed to be having a good time.
Both Patrick and I turned away from the water taxi for fear we would be recognized.
Dom came close to me and whispered, “I think you should call your detective friend in Miami now.”
“Not so fast, brother. We have work to do.”
26
It was almost sunset, and the harbor looked like a mirrored reflection. There were no waves to disturb the serenity. Other than the party on El Mar with our two pilots and their lady guests, their banter, and their loud music, there was barely a sound in the beautiful and quiet harbor.
The sailboat we tied to kept us and our boat from being seen by the occupants of El Mar. Although, from the drinking, carrying on, and marijuana they were smoking, I doubted they could have even seen us even if we had been tied next to them. My cell phone vibrated. It was Detective A. Rod. What an inopportune time to call. “A. Rod, what’s up?” I tried not to talk too loud.