by Domino Finn
The man widened his eyes. "He must've told you that a while ago, son. Stingray used to do business here but that was years ago. I bought the shop when they went out of business."
"Out of business?" Crestfallen. "Any idea what happened?"
"The owner killed himself on a binger." The man said it like he was talking about a piece of food stuck in his teeth. "His wife was his partner and she died in the crash too. No more backers, no more business."
I shook my head mournfully. "That's too bad. My dad said he had a great time with him."
"Charles? I doubt it. He was a grumpy bastard." Pot, meet kettle. "Your old man must've been talking about Captain Wallace. He was the talkative one. Did most of the tours."
I snapped my fingers. "Wallace. That's it. He still around?"
"Sure is," said the man, losing some edge to his voice. "He's doing his own thing under his own name now. Flipped to the opposite side of the island, but that's not a long drive in these parts."
I pumped the owner for the details, thanked him, and left the shop. I wasn't looking for the boat anymore. Since it had been stolen and impounded by Miami police, it wasn't worth nosing around for physical evidence here. I hopped on the scooter and blazed a trail to Rum Point Beach.
It was a winding route that took me around much of the island, but the old man was right. I made it in less than an hour. I had to ask around to find Wallace Sightseeing. I was glad I did because I wouldn't have found it on my own.
Carla's dilapidated business place was a modern miracle of design compared to Wallace's, which I'd describe as more of a hut or shanty. It didn't have its own dock and no one answered the door. Some stragglers in the mostly residential neighborhood—locals, not tourists—were watching me. So much for breaking in. I smiled and knocked again.
"He's not there," came a voice from the street. It was an older woman pushing a baby stroller. I didn't see a baby.
"You a friend of Captain Wallace?" I asked.
"Not really."
I frowned, wondering where her baby was. "If you're not his friend, how do you know—"
She pointed at the door behind me. "Read the sign."
That's right, I missed the sign posted on the door window, flipped around to read, "On the water," followed by a phone number. World's greatest detective, I am. At least the sightseeing business was still humming. I turned around to thank the woman but she was already halfway down the block. Maybe it was better to avoid women with empty baby strollers. I saved the number on my phone even though I wasn't planning on using it. The kind of questions I had were best done in person and without announcement.
So much for starting with the exciting clues. Captain Wallace could be on the water for most of the day, and I had too much steam under my sails to wait around for him now. I compromised by picking up lunch at a beachside bar called The Wreck. A few conch fritters and a jerk burger later and I gave up on the captain and scooted back to George Town.
It wasn't check-in time yet and I couldn't look into Hoover's properties without a hotel computer, so that left the Blue Sky paper trail. I headed to the financial center downtown and was surprised by the slew of colorful buildings. Even mega-banks were susceptible to the eccentricities of islander life, I supposed.
It wasn't all glitz and glamour, though. After the financial crackdown of the nineties, the Caymans fell on hard times. Gone were the days of lugging around briefcases of cash to disappear. This wasn't the same Grand Cayman because of it. Gangs were on the rise. Crime and murder more commonplace. It was the type of environment that bred desperation.
That said, a financial center's a financial center. It would be naive to believe everything was on the straight and narrow. Especially the building I approached with large, inviting windows and friendly-looking professionals at their desks. Blue Sky Investments.
That's when I realized my conundrum.
Here I was, with no real paper in my possession, dressed in a plain white tank top, jeans, and red cowboy boots, needing access to sensitive financial data that wasn't mine. I supposed it was worth the old college effort, and maybe my style of dress could be attributed to the same islander eccentricities I was surrounded by.
I entered the silent office. It wasn't a traditional bank, really. Large enough for several desks and kiosks, with a back office for heavy hitters. If I had to guess, there were various managers that interacted personally with clients. To me, that meant big money and specially tailored business.
A pretty young woman caught my eye and waved me to sit down. "What can I do for you?" she asked in a British accent.
No time like the present.
"Hi," I started, trying (and failing) to sound as haughty as she did. "I represent a firm interested in moving assets to Blue Sky."
She nodded with a plastic smile. "Which firm is that?"
I cleared my throat. "Actually, I'd prefer to look into your services before I reveal that."
"I'm sure you would," she replied without missing a beat. "But I wouldn't know what kind of package to set you up with unless you divulge your firm's assets."
I nodded. A perfectly acceptable setback. "Let's start north of a million," I said casually.
The woman didn't even blink. "Are the funds currently with another bank?"
I licked my lips to buy time. "Several banks."
"Let's start with those account numbers and we can verify your approval."
I grimaced as politely as I could manage. "Again, I'd prefer not to divulge that yet."
The woman's smile wavered, but she did an admirable job maintaining it. "Mister...?"
"Livingston," I blurted out.
She nodded. "Yes, Mr. Livingston. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but we are unable to work with clients without a pre-approval phase. I suggest you check with your"—sarcastic tone now—"firm, and re-engage us if you decide the opportunity is right."
I smiled politely, but the woman came back with an even stronger one. She had me beat at everything. Pleasantries, subtext, even insincerity. I stuttered for a moment until I saw something that took my voice away completely.
Entering the Blue Sky office from the street was a prim Japanese woman, an all-business bureaucrat in a pants suit by the name of Kita Mariko: chief of staff to one Commissioner Rudi Alvarez.
Chapter 13
There was a big problem with Kita Mariko that I may have glossed over. Namely, she was a formidable paper mage. Worse, she'd recognize me.
Flustered, I swiped at a random tchotchke on the bank manager's desk. A sky-colored stress ball with the company logo on it bounced to the floor. I shot my head below the desk to grab it.
"Is Douglas in the back?" asked Kita as she strolled by the desk.
"Yes," answered the British voice in a decidedly less superior tone. I guess money does buy respect.
Kita's heels didn't slow their tempo as she disappeared into the back room. I lifted my head above the desk and let out a sigh of relief.
"Cute," I said, squishing the stress ball a few times. It didn't help. "What's the minimum deposit I need to get one of these? A hundred K?"
The manager crossed her arms and arched her eyebrow, clearly unamused. I set the stress ball on her desk so the words "Blue Sky" were upside down, excused myself, and hurried outside.
Kita Mariko: disappeared, lying low, doing some good old-fashioned Cayman Islands banking. So much for boring.
I waited on my scooter a block away for twenty minutes until Rudi Alvarez's chief of staff left the building. My eyes followed her to a modest rental car. She sat in the driver's seat of the compact and drove off, never noticing me in tow.
Ten minutes later we were cruising along West Bay Road, along a strip of swanky hotels. Not boutiques, mind you, but giant resorts each one. This was the main destination strip of the island. Loads of money and luxury lined a public beach that had no business looking so beautiful. For a moment, I understood how all the New York snowbirds in South Beach felt, stunned by a strong cocktail of weat
her and view. But the pleasantries didn't last long. My mark turned into the entrance of a grand hotel with a name I couldn't pronounce.
Kita exited the car with a black satchel strapped across her back. She tossed her keys to the valet and marched through the high glass doors without glancing back. She was confident, with the air of someone who'd been here awhile and done this before.
What had Rudi Alvarez's office said? Something about accepting campaign donations for Latin America. He wasn't just hiding. This was business as usual for him and his staff. And I'd thought he fled Miami because of little old me. Talk about a hit to my ego.
After my experience with the bank manager, I couldn't handle a judgmental look from the valet guy, so I hid my scooter behind the road sign for the hotel. Road sign probably doesn't do it justice. It was built out of towering stone, had no less than three fountains of water spewing into the air at a time, and was highlighted with striking red and blue lighting. It was safe to say my little scooter was hidden behind the fanfare.
I rushed through the hotel lobby and didn't see Kita at the elevators. I cursed myself for missing her until I spotted the smart pony tail and satchel. She headed down a grand hall that opened up into shops on either side, like an indoor mall. Most were high end but some were kitschy and touristy. I followed the paper mage without difficulty as a sparse crowd filled between us.
Instead of shopping or heading to a hotel room, she exited at the end of the hall. I peeked through the glass doors. The sun beamed down on a large pool and several hot tubs lined with beach chairs. A long bar snaked around the building wall. A patio restaurant and cabanas provided ample lounge and table seating.
Kita Mariko walked straight to the bar and ordered a frozen Piña Colada. Not exactly the essence of evil, I know, but trust me on this one. She's a ruthless bitch.
A ruthless bitch on vacation. Relaxing. And planning to be here a while by the way she was nursing her drink.
I frowned. There was plenty of activity outside, but it wasn't packed by any means. My jeans and cowboy boots would stand out like a sore thumb in this island paradise. I made my way back to the shops and found a clothing store that wasn't a complete rip-off. Five minutes later I stashed my clothes in a locker, slung a towel over my shoulder to hide my face, and made my way poolside wearing a pair of trunks and knock-off sunglasses.
A woman in a lounger wearing an oversized hat undressed me with her eyes. I guess that was easy wearing only shorts, but I realized the flaw in my plan. My entire life—my old life—I hadn't had these sculpted muscles. My physique was a product of years of slave labor, so the stares were pretty new to me. The last thing I wanted was Kita Mariko checking me out.
The second flaw stemmed from the fact that the patio tiles were searing my bare feet and I was doing an undignified two-step. That was likely to attract even more attention.
I solved both problems by easing into a hot tub. It was fitted against the pool, its wall reaching high above the water surface, a tiny waterfall pouring from its basin into the much larger pool below. The higher vantage helped hide my face as I melted into the tub. The soles of my feet thanked me.
Talk about relaxing. Alone in a ten-by-ten bubbling spring of water, a cool breeze taking the edge off the blaring sun—Kita could nurse that Piña Colada all day for all I cared.
The old Cisco Suarez would've walked right up to her and demanded satisfaction. Hell, I would've done as much last week. But Project: Cayman was an information-gathering operation. Blue Sky was linked to Rudi, who was linked to the Covey, who had ties to properties and businesses in the Caymans. There was an interconnected web that needed working through, and moving too fast might get me caught up in it. Better to watch the spider work from a distance.
I chilled in the hot tub longer than Kita had been in the bank. After a while, taking a nap seemed a good proposition.
A splash of water jarred my eyes open. I hadn't actually been sleeping, but I'd been close. Two women sat in the hot tub across from me, trading glances and giggling. My eyes darted to Kita. Good. She was still there. Her drink was melted now but half full. I turned to the new company with a chagrinned look and tried to ease back down naturally. Maybe I'd played it off.
"Long day?" asked one of the women. She was blonde with inviting features: buxom and short, with natural buoyancy in a bikini top, if you know what I mean. Her friend looked eerily similar despite being a natural brunette. They were both pretty, all long eyelashes and charming smiles.
"You could say that," I answered after they noticed I'd been staring. "Let me guess. Sorority sisters?"
They both smiled. "Oh my God. Barf!" exclaimed the brunette. "Just sisters. My name's Gemma and this is Jade." Jade waved and Gemma slid across the tub toward me. "She's shy," she fake confided in a fake whisper.
Jade studied the water for a moment before meeting my gaze. "I just wait until I have something useful to say instead of blabbering every thought in my head. It's not the same thing."
I nodded. Gemma giggled and slid back to her side of the pool. "What are you staring at that woman for?"
I stiffened. "What?"
"That Asian woman. Is she your wife or something?"
Kita was still blissfully oblivious so I tried to look nonplussed. "I'm not married. I don't even know her."
Gemma turned to her sister and raised her eyebrow inquisitively.
"What?" I asked.
Gemma shrugged. "Too bad. I like married men the best."
Jade dropped her jaw and splashed water at her. "Gemma! Stop it."
The brunette winked at me. "But Jade likes them single."
The poor girl couldn't meet my eyes again. I didn't blame her. Gemma, the pimp.
Jade rolled her eyes and slid away from her sister. "Don't think bad of her. She always gets this way at weddings."
I chuckled politely. "Who's getting married?"
Jade slid closer. "My best friend. Gemma and I are bridesmaids."
"And single," added Gemma.
I made a sour face. "Well, I hate weddings and I forgot to pack a tux, so don't get any ideas."
Gemma laughed it off and flung her hair over her shoulder, but she stowed the conversation. I ran my hand through my hair and tried to act like a guy who wasn't stalking political money. Eventually, the two women whispered to each other and Gemma announced she'd be back and disappeared inside the hotel.
"I hope not too soon," said her sister.
"That's no way to talk about family."
Jade shrugged. "It's not like we're besties or anything."
"Gotcha. I guess I won't hold her against you."
That had come out wrong, but it wasn't an entirely uncomfortable thought. She laughed and reverted to quiet again. I had to say, I could appreciate her serene beauty. She didn't try too hard, like her sister. But I reminded myself that it only looked like I was on vacation.
A few more minutes passed. I was getting all pruny in the hot tub and wondered how much longer I was gonna need to tough it out. Kita had set aside her unfinished drink by now but didn't appear ready to leave.
"You do know her, don't you?" asked Jade.
It had been obvious I was looking this time. There was some kind of connection, though. Something about Jade's face made it tough to lie outright. "It's complicated."
She bit her lip to stifle a frown. Maybe she thought I was blowing her off.
"Look, it's nothing like that. I'm just keeping an eye on things. Like a bodyguard."
Jade's eyes lit up. "That sounds more exciting than a wedding." She turned to the bar and I realized I'd said too much.
I gently spun the woman around by the shoulders. Her skin was supple and pink. "Don't look at her. You're too obvious."
"Sorry. I'd make an awful bodyguard."
I stared at her cleavage bound by a white bikini top. "You'd certainly draw a lot of attention."
She blushed and sat lower in the tub. I didn't know what to say. Jade giggled for a second and leaned closer t
o me. "You realize you never told me your name."
Cisco Suarez, masterful flirt. "I'm Cisco," I answered, chiding myself for having more important things to deal with. At the moment.
"That's cute," she said. Then her eyes fixed on someone in the distance and she gasped.
Without pretext, Jade plunged her head underwater in my lap. I stood awkwardly but her nails clawed into my thighs and forced me down. I searched for the source of her alarm.
Chapter 14
A group of four people dressed in business suits marched onto the patio. A South American man-and-woman team and two white guys. I knew by their dress that they were the people Kita was waiting for. A red-haired man nodded at the chief of staff as they passed before settling into a cabana with a low couch. Kita followed the group and sat with them. From my hot tub lookout, I could see half of the activity within the tent. One of the men waved at a passing waitress, who quickly attended them.
I went to slide over to the opposite side of the pool when I realized Jade was still underwater and latched onto me. I nudged her head with my hands and got a handful of blonde hair in my lap.
"I'm sorry!" chirped an old woman standing beside the hot tub. She blushed and turned away quickly as if she'd seen something going on that wasn't.
"No," I insisted. "It's not that. Come back."
She turned and scowled at me before stomping away. She was right. What I said made it weirder. Her husband remained watching and I thought there would be trouble. Instead he met me with an approving nod. "Take your time," he said. "You don't get those forever." Then he followed his wife back to their chairs.
I wiped my face and muttered, "You've gotta be kidding me." After a deep breath, I hooked my hands under Jade's arms and yanked her to the surface. I'd expected her to be panicking and out of breath, but she just blinked at me shyly.
"What were you doing down there?" I demanded.
She scanned the patio and landed on the cabana with the secretive meeting. I saw a flash of fear in her eyes, but she fought to hide it.