Saving Tuna Street

by Nancy Nau Sullivan

  “Of course you do.”

  “I want to call him in, but I wanted to talk to you first. A courtesy, if you will. That trucking business he got himself tied into. They’re into transportation for sure. Transporting heroin and cocaine, and we’re not talking only Latin American gangs here and their willing customers in the US. The bigger picture is world-wide. From Afghanistan to Paris. We can’t stop it, but we can slow it down, chuck a hole in it.”

  “Bring him in. We’ll sit down.”

  “We also need to talk with the women, Blanche and Haasi. They had first-hand contact with some of these goons. Haasi’s been helpful, but it’s Blanche I want to talk to.”

  “For now, check out Blanche’s notes. They’ve gotten us closer to Placer. Haasi is something of a bird. I never know where she’s going to land, and when she does, look out. She has some uncanny insights and ways of finding out information.”

  “That’s what I hear. Her info about this Sergi character is valuable. Let’s also talk to Blanche. And Jack. He’s the one with the trucks.”

  Thirty-Eight —

  A Bad Business

  Jack and Amos walked down to the water’s edge. They had been inspecting the work on the cabin porch, which government had called to an abrupt halt. Amos had shown the building inspector the plans to replace the porch floor with a different material than had previously existed, and Tallahassee surprised them with a demand for a $500 special permit to rebuild it. Amos had driven all the way to the capitol with the plans and the money. He wanted to firm it up quickly and get the place back in shape before “government” thought of something else. Jack was all for it.

  “We always want ‘government’ to work in our favor, don’t ya know,” Amos said. They both had taken off their shoes and were ambling along the shore. A couple of dolphins gave them a playful show, not a care in the world.

  “Well, I bet they roll out the permits like toilet paper to those land developers. They got the cash.” Jack squinted out over the Gulf. He field-stripped the cigarette and put the butt in his pocket.

  “When you gonna quit?”

  “When I can tie up this bundle of nerves and bury them in a hole somewhere.”

  “I hear you.”

  The two had gone to Manatee County High School together, but then, as is often the case, they didn’t see each other for years. They hadn’t hit forty yet, and they had both managed to turn out successful careers. Now it looked like Jack had hit a bump.

  A walk on the beach was private with no ears to hear but their own. Jack didn’t want to talk on the porch. It was a mess of timbers, rolls of screening, and a scatter of dusty chairs. The workmen lingered and they were none too tidy. They’d left a large bag of garbage and an ever-growing pyramid of soda cans and beer bottles. Amos was having a talk with them when Jack walked up. Alcohol had a way of screwing up building projects. Amos had already been down that road, and he didn’t want to go back.

  “What’s going on?” Amos asked the question, and then laughed. So much had been going on, it was hard to know where to start.

  “Most important, Blanche is better. They were worried about the trauma of the kidnapping, but apparently the physical side is under control. She’s tough. She’ll pull through.”

  “We’re here for her. She seemed confused, but I would be, too.” Amos had dropped by the hospital with flowers.

  They both looked back at the cabin, its porch under construction, the second floor still propped up, but the project was coming along.

  “It would be nice if she had a home to come home to.”

  Amos sighed. “Yeah, I hear you. This new permitting to rebuild is the hard part, but we got them this time around. The inspector wanted to condemn it, but I reasoned with them and proved it wasn’t more than fifty percent gone. They bought it. I didn’t tell Blanche.”

  “Well, don’t. She’s already out for blood.”

  “I know. I met him. He came after me looking for support for the land development. Talked of money. I hate to use the ‘p’ word. But I will. They were talking payoff to bamboozle the folks into thinking their buyout offers were good. No talk of the increased property taxes and the teardowns of the businesses and all the other stuff.”

  “They also tried to get Bob on board. Promised payoffs. They paid him off all right.” Jack ran his fingers through his hair. “Jeez, I never should have gotten tied up with them. Looked so easy.”

  “You know what they say. It looks easy, look again. They wanted me to use my connections in Tallahassee and I told them no. I played dumb.”

  “That wasn’t easy. Don’t they know you’ve been building out here since you could hold a hammer?”

  “Yeah. I deflected. Something wasn’t right about them from the beginning,” said Amos. “When I asked questions about the financial end of it, Langstrom was vague. At first, he didn’t even want to give me Brecksall’s address and phone number. Real cagey. He should have been more open about it. I think Blanche’s instinct about the whole bunch was right on.”

  “I felt the same, but I went ahead and hooked up with them anyway. I was desperate to get stuff moving out of Texas to the Midwest, and they seemed only too willing to oblige. I didn’t even finish all the paperwork—They said they’d take care of it. Now I see why. They have connections with what’s left of that Chicago mob. Most of them got sent up, but the underground is alive and well and growing.”

  Amos looked at Jack. “Good God, how fast did you run from that?”

  “Not fast enough. Langstrom held me off, said that was all a thing of the past. It’s not. And right now we don’t know how deep it goes.”

  They are about to move on Brecksall. Jack trusted Amos, but he changed the subject. “Have you seen Langstrom around? He disappeared just about the time Blanche was kidnapped. Do you know anything about the guy? Where’d he hang out, travel, stuff like that?”

  “Not really. Haven’t seen much of him lately,” said Amos. “It’s funny. He seemed so likable at first. We got to talking about sports, and apparently, he likes to ski. He got some kind of trophy out of college, was on a ski team and even tried out for the Olympics. I was impressed.”

  Jack remembered what Haasi said about Langstrom and a Swiss bank account. On the phone, he’d insisted on having money sent to such an account. That’s probably where he was headed, Switzerland or the Austrian Alps, unless he stopped off in Vail. Ski resorts were one place to look.

  “I think they could get them on RICO,” said Jack. “Langstrom was complicit in the kidnapping, and attempted murder—and that’s what they’re calling it. He was partly the mastermind, and he must have called a lot of the shots. We have witnesses.”

  “Who?”

  “Haasi. The girl is everywhere. And Blanche, of course, is deeply involved.”

  “He sure isn’t much of a mastermind. That whole thing didn’t go well for anyone. Blanche is traumatized and coming out of a coma, and let’s face it, Langstrom was found out. You should be keeping a low profile, Jack.”

  “I’ve got protection now. I don’t want it, but Duncan and the Feds insist. I hardly notice they’re there, but they are. Blanche is being watched in the hospital, and she’ll need it for a while. I can just hear her now, but maybe she’ll be willing with all that’s been going on, at least until this mess is straightened out.”

  “I wonder. Those guys parked in the sedan down the street aren’t wearing bathing suits.”

  Jack glanced in that direction. “Very un-island-like behavior and dress, but so is a lot of other business going on around here.” He turned to the Gulf horizon and watched a couple of pelicans hovering over a frilly wave. “Those guys got the right idea.”

  Thirty-Nine —

  Undercover Cousin

  Blanche remained in the hospital, and the doctor planned to keep her there for a few more days of observation. She continued to make a fast recovery, but she had little appetite. She could still taste the dust of an all-night stay out on the ranch, and sh
e had a thirst that could not be quenched. Tests confirmed that she’d been given a street opiate of some kind—they couldn’t name it—which caused weakness, blurred vision, disorientation, slower heart rate. If she hadn’t been found by morning, she would have been dead of exposure and dehydration.

  It was a miracle. The drug had worn off, but not the trauma and the nightmares. Lack of water and the cold had put her in a stupor. Rose had stayed until they came. She remembered this, and Haasi’s frantic expression on the bridge.

  She sat up on the pillows. Jack pulled a chair away from the wall and sat down next to the bed. “You are a sight.”

  “Well, thanks a lot. I’d like to see how you’d look after being dumped on the cold ground and left for dead.”

  “Awwww. Under the stars, amid the palms and wild flowers, with the aroma of dead cattle carcass in the air…” Then he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

  Blanche made a weak attempt to punch him in the arm, but he dodged. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  Jack had tears in his eyes. “You silly woman. Stick to the beach; stay off the ranch.”

  “I plan to.” She stroked his hand. A machine beeped gently, a crisp white coat flashed past the doorway. “Haasi! Have you seen Haasi!”

  “I’ll say. You can’t forget her once you’ve met her. But she sure makes herself scarce.”

  “She’s always where she should be. She’s remarkable.” Blanche thought better of talking about the drug drop. For some reason, she thought Jack would not care to have her on board for those plans. She did not want to hear one more time, Stay out of it.

  He had other news. “Haasi overheard Langstrom talking on the phone about where they left you out on that ranch, and then she went to Duncan. If it weren’t for Haasi…” He put his head down.

  “She’s right here all the time, and one of these days we are going to celebrate. At the cabin. Do we still have a cabin?”

  Jack stepped lightly. “Amos’s working on it.”

  “How far away are we?”

  “Not far.” He hoped.

  Blanche gestured toward the hallway where an officer sat on a chair with a newspaper. “What’s up with that?”

  “B, they tried to kill you. You’re under protective watch. So am I. I’d say the whole damn island is under some kind of watch. If not a hurricane, a murder. I’m beginning to think it’s safer in Chicago.”

  She gave him a wry smile and fell back on the pillow. “I wish we could be normal again.”

  “Not gonna happen. It’s bumpy. We just have to get through it.” His expression belied worry, and the effort to hold back information about the drug drop. Miles would be in the mix soon enough.

  “I’d settle for getting out of here and going back to Cappy’s. I need his cooking. Have you been staying at his place?”

  “His place has been right here.” He pointed to the spot next to her hospital bed. “He’s been nominated for grandfather of the year. Everyone wants to adopt him.”

  “They can’t have him. He’s mine. But I’ll share.”

  “Thanks. Guess you have to. I’ll be at Cap’s for a while. My business is on hold while we get some things settled down here. First on the list is you. Get well.” He stood up and kissed her again on top of her head.

  I

  For Jack, being with Cappy relieved some of the anxiety. He couldn’t sleep, so he was up at five with Caps at first light to fish with the nets and poles and lines, filling the coolers for fresh catch with bags of ice from Jess’s. The arrangement returned Jack to happy days when the worst he could do was hook a pelican by accident and Cap showed him how to extricate the poor bird. Cap was all about basic business, everything in its proper place. Keep to the schedule, cook, eat, sleep. For Jack it was a little like being born again.

  He wanted to make things right, and that was going to take time. His whole life was on hold and in need of repair, and, in particular, his trucking business. Fortunately, he wasn’t a profligate spender, except for his penchant for exotic wheels and the occasional tailored suit which he thought nothing of wearing into the Gulf.

  Jack spent most of the year on the road, but he was still attached to Blanche. He was determined to do what he could to get them out of this mess. He’d worried about her before, and now with the horrors of the kidnapping and all the other drama, he worried even more. He needed extra time to figure it out, and he wanted to be better family to Blanche. He’d shuffled off, leaving her with vague promises and warnings. When was that? Just a week or so ago? He should have stuck by her. Now he was more than willing to pay, and that meant time, not money. The business would be there when he got back—he hoped. He didn’t want to lose it, but more so, he didn’t want to lose Blanche. And then again, she might lose him. If the law found enough evidence to connect him to drug runners, it would take forever to dig himself out.

  He didn’t want to worry about that now. He had an appointment with the DEA, who wanted him to push further and give them more information on the Chicago business. It made him sweat just to think about it.

  He was early for the appointment, and more jittery than ever, so what he needed was caffeine. He ducked into Peaches’ cafe. He also wanted to thank her for all the muffins and love she’d showered on Blanche, who, of course, didn’t eat any of it, but the nurses did and that was Peaches’ plan. “Take good care of that baby,” she wrote on one note that went with two dozen of her world-famous cranberry-lemon-walnut muffins.

  Peaches wasn’t there when Jack dropped by, but Sarah, her daughter, was behind the counter grinding coffee beans. Sarah was a younger, slimmer version of Peaches, with the same effusive and generous nature.

  “Hi there,” she said. Sarah’s face lit up when she saw him. She’d always had a crush on Jack despite marrying the local football star.

  “Hi there yourself,” said Jack. “How’s the fam?” They’d had a mild flirtation one prom season, but she’d really had her eye on the quarterback.

  “Mine is just fine. I’m more concerned about yours. How’s Blanche?”

  “She’s doing all right, thank you. Out of the coma and sitting up and already giving me hell. She wants to go home but the cabin needs a lot of work since Wilma. Have to rebuild. The second level was hanging by a beam.”

  “Life on the island. Although sometimes I wonder about this life. You know, Jack?”

  “Yes, I do.” They both glanced out of the restaurant window at the two Feds parked in a black sedan. They stuck out like two turkeys in an ice cream parlor. “Not exactly like old times.”

  Jack returned to the excellent aroma of the beans. He made a mental note to remind Duncan that he could get the good stuff across the street, that he didn’t have to rely on the old urn that spit out used motor oil for “joe.”

  She handed him the paper cup with steaming French Roast. “On the house.”

  “You’re the best. Take care, Sarah. And thank your mom, will you? You make the world go ‘round with these muffins. The magic energy behind the Blanche cure.”

  “Oh go on.” She laughed.

  “See ya.”

  He sipped the coffee. The delay tactic had calmed him down some. He had a jaunty step on his way to the police station. For about one minute. The chief and Hank Miles were waiting. He slowed down, took each step with trepidation, wishing for it all to be over. If they could just clear up the business of illegal machinations at Brecksall, maybe they could solve the murder and go back to some semblance of peace. They had layers to work through. He could only hope.

  Jack pushed open the door to the station, and it looked like fresh hell all over again.

  “Now what?” he said.

  “They found Langstrom,” the chief said. He didn’t even glance up at Jack. He had a radio in one hand, and a phone in the other. Hank Miles was pacing the office, talking on his cell. An officer was shouting to a clerk: “Well, get it. I don’t care how. Just get it.” Another phone was ringing, but Jack couldn’t tell where
it was coming from. He wanted to go out and keep going.

  But instead he took a seat and sipped his coffee. Miles was still talking, and no one was paying any attention to Jack, who looked at Duncan: “Well, good, that’s good news. Now they can bring him in and question him, put it on the record.”

  Miles ended his phone conversation and looked over at Jack. “That is not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they found him stuffed into a barrel floating in Tampa Bay.”

  “Dead? Langstrom’s dead?”

  “Very.”

  Jack started to sweat. He thought of Blanche. “I hope someone’s over at that hospital watching Blanche.”

  “We’re working on that. With Langstrom gone, we have to shift strategy. We need to chat, you and I.”

  “Well then.”

  “Come with me.” Jack got up and followed Miles through the station to the small room set off to the side of a kitchenette. The door closed behind them with a resounding click.

  The room was stark, the cinder block walls whitewashed. Two metal chairs and a long table on sturdy legs were positioned in the exact center of the room. Legal pads and pens lay on the table. A whiteboard stood in a corner with markers.

  “We’ve got a deal for you, Jack. You cooperate, and we don’t let the Feds take action against you.”

  “Whoa. What do you mean action? What the hell for? I’m already cooperating. You know that.”

  “Yeah, well, we need more. Your trucks have been running cocaine and heroin and God knows what all to the Midwest. The goods are loaded into that fake furniture you’ve been shipping, which is sent out from your warehouse to retail and then it goes to the street. We’re talking millions, and not just from Latin America. The shit is coming from Afghanistan by way of Europe to little old San Antone where your wheels sit and wait.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That last load of hassocks with the gold embossing cost a fortune.”

  “You bet. Do you know what was in those nice leather hassocks? Bricks and bricks, bags and bags. Of stuff.”