Spin Move

by David Lender

  He talked to the cop who looked like the lead investigator to register his shock that Isaacs was apparently there to burn his house down. He made sure the cop knew he’d be staying at the Blue Moon and wanted to see a copy of the police report as soon as it was available.

  By midday Rudiger decided there was nothing more he could learn or accomplish there, so he went back to the Blue Moon, ate lunch, went upstairs to make plane reservations, then decided against it. Next he got ready to call Charisse, then decided he’d wait until Sunday evening, not ruin her weekend.

  He asked a couple of the staff to put a chaise lounge and a side table on the beach for him. He bought a weekend Wall Street Journal and the New York Times and sat down on the chaise lounge to read his papers. He had Tammy bring him gin and tonics.

  After two hours he put the papers down and stared out at the Caribbean, turning things over in his mind. If the police or fire department started an investigation about tampering with the generator, who knew where that might lead or how long it might take, and when, if ever, he might get paid by the insurance company? Or be brought in by the police as a suspect? And what about the whole thing with Charlie Holden going to Minister James? With Isaacs gone, would it blow over? Not likely, but at least probably nothing would happen for a few days, so he had time to wait and see, think it over. At a minimum, the guys he was paying off would need to find a new bagman and reorganize. But one way or another, eventually he needed to get the hell out of Antigua.

  He fell asleep on the chaise lounge.

  On Sunday morning he did the same, reading his Sunday Times on the beach with his tea. Just before lunchtime he decided he couldn’t wait any longer to phone Charisse.

  “Oh, Mr. John, I’m so sorry,” she said when he told her about the house. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. And I don’t want you to worry. I’ll continue your salary until you find another job, and of course I’ll write you a recommendation letter. I’m sure you’ll find something else soon, and if the pay isn’t the same I’ll supplement it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. John . . .” she said. Her voice trailed off and she went silent.

  “Charisse, it’s going to be okay.”

  After a moment she said, “I’m not worried about me, Mr. John. You need someone to take care of you. What will you do?”

  “I think it’s time for me to move on, maybe try someplace new.”

  “Yes, maybe that’s a good thing, Mr. John.”

  On Monday morning, while he was reading his newspapers on the beach, he heard footsteps in the sand behind him, saw two shadows cross his range of vision and then looked up to see two officers from the Royal Police Force of Antigua and Barbuda standing over him in their pastel-green uniforms, hats in place.

  It didn’t seem like a casual visit. Rudiger felt a spasm of dread.

  “Mr. John Rudiger?” the tall one said.

  “Yes. Is this about the police report on my house?”

  The tall one shook his head. The short one said, “Minister of National Security Dr. Winston James want to see you.”

  “About what?”

  The short one said, “He discuss that with you.”

  “When?”

  “Now. He in his car up at the hotel.”

  Uh-oh. Rudiger remembered what Isaacs had said about Minister James: a crusader, and not for sale. He put down his newspaper, slid into his sandals and started walking back to the hotel, the two men flanking him. A black Mercedes was parked in the circular drive. The men walked him around to one of the rear doors and opened it.

  The man inside said, “Mr. Rudiger, please sit down.”

  Rudiger got in and the door was closed behind him. The car was running with the air conditioning on, but he felt uncomfortably warm.

  “I am Minister of National Security Dr. Winston James. I thought we could have a little chat. I won’t take much of your time.”

  Minister James was a dark-skinned black from the islands, well dressed in a suit and tie with a white shirt. He smelled of a subtle cologne. His speech said he’d been schooled in one of the wealthier parishes of the island in the private schools the British set up for their children hundreds of years ago when they colonized Antigua.

  Rudiger said, “Okay.” He had an ominous feeling that this was it. And yet somehow he felt relieved.

  “First, I’m sorry for the recent loss of your home. Unfortunate.”

  Rudiger hesitated, wondering if Minister James was just warming up with some small talk.

  “As you may know, the 600 members of the Royal Police Force of Antigua and Barbuda and the 220-strong Antigua and Barbuda Defence Force, including the Coast Guard—both the active and retired professionals—all fall under my jurisdiction. We have had certain unsavory elements in these departments in the past, but I can assure you I’m doing everything in my power to weed out the criminal element to remedy that situation.”

  Rudiger now froze. Here we go.

  “I regret your recent difficulties with Senior Sgt. Isaacs, who appears to have met his end burning down your house. I recently became aware he was a blackmailer, a thug and one of the criminal elements I’m committed to eradicating from our departments. I’m also aware that he was extorting money from you based upon the threat to have you extradited as a man who is a fugitive from the United States, living under an alias in Antigua.” Minister James paused and looked Rudiger in the eye.

  Rudiger thought about it, then nodded.

  “Mr. Rudiger, we are a quiet island country and we don’t like scandals. And I’m particularly committed to avoiding any such unpleasantness on my watch as minister. Senior Sgt. Isaacs’ behavior will be publicly exposed as an example of my campaign to excise the cancer from our departments. The police and fire department reports on the fire in your home will note the presence of an empty gasoline can next to Senior Sgt. Isaacs’ body on the second floor, and another full can in the back of his Jeep. The reports will conclude that in addition to using gasoline as an accelerant that Senior Sgt. Isaacs tampered with the gas feed to your generator, and was probably the victim of his own sabotage. You will be absolved from any responsibility for the fire.”

  Rudiger had to fight to keep from grinning.

  “The reports of our police and fire departments reflecting those facts will be filed later this morning. I will make a statement to the press outlining our findings shortly afterward. I’m certain under those circumstances your insurance company will pay your claim promptly and that you will be free to do whatever, and go wherever you choose.”

  Rudiger cleared his throat and said, “Thank you.”

  “I expect that you will leave Antigua promptly, never to return, and that I will be able to inform U.S. Attorney Charles Holden in New York City that John Rudiger is, by all my investigations, a citizen of Antigua in good standing, with no outstanding warrants, no police record, has all his residency documents in order, and that I have no reason to believe otherwise. But in addition, he has apparently left the country for parts unknown.” He reached into his jacket pocket and held out an airline ticket folder to Rudiger. “Havana is a short flight away, and has a vibrant community of expatriate Antiguans embraced by the Cuban government.” He looked Rudiger in the eye, held it. “However, if you choose not to leave voluntarily and without any scandal or embarrassment to my ministry, I will use my powers to assure that you do leave, nonetheless.”

  Rudiger said, “Actually, Minister, I’m booked on a flight tomorrow morning to São Paulo.”

  The minister smiled and put the ticket folder back in his breast pocket. “Excellent. As a public servant, I am always happy to save the Antiguan taxpayers money. Good day, sir.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Once Rudiger reached the Cape Verde Islands two days later, Katie’s house wasn’t that hard to find. Dawn was just streaking on the horizon when a taxi dropped him under
the carport next to a spanking new Range Rover. The two-story house went on forever, must have been 6,000 square feet. It was tan granite, steel and glass, very modern. The first floor had a 20-foot ceiling, looked like a great room taking up most of it, and the second floor rose to one side, a balcony all around it.

  He left his bags under the carport next to a high-end off-road bike and walked around to the side of the house facing the beach, stepped up onto the teak deck. The sliding doors were open and he could see flickering light from a TV inside. He approached the doorway. A dog walked out, looked like a pitbull.

  Rudiger froze. Uh-oh.

  A moment later, the dog walked back inside. Rudiger took a few steps back, trying to decide what to do. “Can I help you?” a voice said from inside the house. Rudiger stepped toward the doorway, saw a man in a wheelchair with an oxygen tube under his nostrils, craggy face, white hair, big mitts for hands, looked to be about 60.

  “You must be Katie’s father. Frank, right?”

  “Yeah. And you?”

  “John Rudiger.” He walked inside and shook Frank’s hand.

  “Well I’ll be damned. The man himself.”

  “Sounds like I’ve got a reputation.”

  “At least every couple of days, when Katie and I are sipping our first drink, she raises her glass and toasts, ‘To John Rudiger. The man who made it all possible.’ ”

  The dog walked up to Rudiger again, a ball in its mouth, wagging its tail and its ears pinned back. It circled him, now wagging the entire rear half of its body. Rudiger stepped back onto the deck, reached down to pet it, and the dog rolled on its back. “You’re a tough guy, aren’t you, boy?” The dog grunted and stuck his paws in the air. Rudiger knelt and rubbed its belly. “What a great watchdog.”

  “Come on in,” Frank said. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

  “Thanks. Is Katie up yet?”

  “She’s in Europe. Geneva. Working on some investment deal.”

  Rudiger looked around. “Nice place.” He glanced back through the doors to the ocean. “And some location.”

  “Yeah, Katie bought it about a year ago from the bank that foreclosed on the mortgage. Some Italian industrialist got it mostly built, then went bust. Katie put a little more money in to finish it. She said it reminded her of your place in Antigua.”

  “A little.”

  Frank said, “You hungry?”

  “Starving. Feels like all I’ve had to eat is airline peanuts for two days.”

  “Come on.”

  Frank led Rudiger across the floor, unplugged himself from his oxygen concentrator and opened a door into an elevator. Frank rolled himself in and the dog followed, his ball in his mouth. Rudiger stepped in. When they got upstairs, Frank hooked himself up to another oxygen concentrator. He wheeled himself down a hallway and into the kitchen. The dog settled on a mat next to the stove with a grunt.

  While he cooked eggs for Rudiger, Frank said, “So what brings you to Cape Verde?”

  “It was time to leave Antigua, and I figured I’d look up Katie, see what she’s up to.”

  “She’ll be surprised, and pleased.”

  “When’s she coming home?”

  “Three or four days.”

  They ate, after which Frank put both their plates on the floor for the dog to lick them. Frank had cooked an extra egg for him, too.

  Rudiger looked closer at the pitbull. He was solid muscle, with a barrel chest, a trim rear end and a brindle coat with white front paws. Rudiger said, “He’s a beautiful dog.”

  “And a good boy. The best, in fact,” Frank said. “He’s about 18 months old. We got him about a year ago. A young couple from Connecticut abandoned him in their room at the hotel up the beach, the place we stayed until Katie bought the house. The staff let Styles hang around the hotel for a month or so, until he kind of adopted us, so Katie adopted him.”

  “Unusual name.”

  Frank shrugged. “It was on the tag on his collar. Katie wouldn’t hear of changing it.”

  Afterward they went downstairs again. Frank slipped his oxygen hose under his nostrils and wheeled himself out onto the deck.

  He picked up an orange plastic Chuckit! ball launcher. He pressed the cupped end of the launcher onto one of Styles’ balls, then reached back and hurled it about 50 feet onto the beach. Styles tore after it, grabbed it in his mouth and trotted back. He dropped the ball on the deck next to Frank, then sat in a crouch with his head lowered, his nose close to the deck.

  Frank handed Rudiger the launcher and said, “You try. Standing up you can throw it much farther.”

  Rudiger took the launcher, wound up and threw the ball as far as he could toward the ocean. It landed on the damp sand from the high tide about 150 feet away, then bounced up into the air. Styles was under it in a flash, leaped and caught it on the first hop, his body extended like a wide receiver catching a pass in the end zone.

  “Wow!” Rudiger said.

  Rudiger threw another ball. While Styles ran after it, he turned to Frank and said, “You guys like it here, huh?”

  “What’s not to like? The temperature almost never goes above 80 or below 70. It rains enough to keep all the scruffy vegetation alive, but never those driving rainstorms I remember slogging through on the streets of Brooklyn. The weather’s perfect for my emphysema, dry heat.”

  Rudiger remembered Katie telling him that her cut from helping him retrieve the bonds would make whatever time her dad had left less painful, more enjoyable. Looks like she’d accomplished at least one of her goals.

  “A year ago my doctors in the States gave me about a year to live. I’m still here, and I feel better than I have in a couple years. And Katie’s been able to fly some really good doctors in here for me from Europe. But my best guy, Dr. Dewanji, he’s here full-time.” He looked over at Rudiger and smiled. “So I’ll raise a toast to you tonight. Thanks. You made this all possible.”

  They were all taking a late-morning nap, Frank in his Barcalounger, Rudiger and Styles on the sofa. Rudiger awakened to the sound of a car pulling up outside. Styles got up, found a ball and trotted outside through the open sliding doors. Rudiger followed him out onto the deck to see a woman, skinny and short, climb out of an old Ford Bronco and walk toward him. She wore a yellow uniform and soft-soled shoes, like a nurse’s.

  “Oh,” she said. “Company?”

  “Hi, I’m John Rudiger, a friend of Katie’s.”

  “I’m Flora. I take care of Mr. Dolan, do housekeeping. I work at the ClubHotel Riu Karamboa, come here when my shift ends. Mr. Dolan okay?”

  “Yes. But he’s sleeping.” The woman nodded and walked past Rudiger into the house.

  She bent over to look at Frank, checked the oxygen concentrator, then walked upstairs.

  Rudiger stood around for a few minutes, then climbed the stairs. He found Flora in the kitchen preparing a vegetable that looked like kale, a skillet heating on the stovetop. Flora turned as Rudiger entered, said, “Mr. Dolan need his fresh vegetables according to the doctors. Nothing artificial, no pesticides or chemical fertilizers. Ms. Katie have them fly in from Africa every week.” She turned back to her prep work. “Special grass-fed beef, too,” and she pointed with the knife to two hand-formed frozen hamburger patties sitting on the counter next to a pile of more vegetables. “No hormones or antibiotics. Ms. Katie very strict.”

  “I see.”

  Flora turned around and smiled. “I can cook hamburgers on the stove, but Mr. Dolan like them better on the grill outside. I no good at it. You know how?”

  Rudiger smiled back. “Sure. I’ll take care of it.” He grabbed the burgers, put them on a plate, walked downstairs out to the deck and turned on the grill.

  When he came back in, Frank asked, “Is that Flora?”

  “Yeah.” Rudiger paused. “You have any gin?”

  “A l
ittle early in the day, isn’t it?”

  “Not for me.” Rudiger checked his watch. “In fact, it’s about 45 minutes past my time.”

  Frank pointed to a bar across the room. “No gin. I’m a Jameson’s man and Katie drinks dark rum.”

  “With club soda and lime. I remember. That’ll do for me. You?”

  Frank said, “You twisted my arm. On the rocks.”

  Rudiger walked over and fixed their drinks. After lunch at the table out on the deck, Flora cleared their plates, then came back down and said, “Mr. Dolan, time for your walk. Here’s your iGo.” She put a machine about the size of a small airline carry-on bag on the deck.

  “It’s a portable, battery-powered oxygen concentrator,” Frank said. “The doctors want me to walk for between a half mile and a mile a day. Makes me stronger. Katie has marks on the roadside from here to the highway every quarter mile.”

  Rudiger picked up the iGo and said, “How about we walk along the beach?”

  “Much better,” Frank said, once Rudiger helped him through the soft sand until they reached the shore where the wet sand was firmer under their feet. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of walking along the beach a long time ago.” Rudiger had brought the launcher, and began throwing the ball ahead for Styles.

  They were walking south. Rudiger looked ahead at the curve of the beach. Nothing visible as far as he could see, perfect white sand, rocky hills rising inland off in the distance. He turned to look back in the other direction. As far north as he could see there was nothing, either, even though he knew that’s where the big hotels were. It made him feel calm, peaceful. He turned around again, said, “I could get used to this.”