by Ron Base
Tree surveyed the milling inmates, mostly black and Hispanic, everyone in red jump suits, everyone decked out in tattoos.
“But nonetheless,” Jorge continued, “here you are, a man of a certain age, a seemingly intelligent fellow.”
“You might get an argument about that,” Tree said.
“But somehow you end up among these thieves and addicts and murderers, pimps and drug dealers—the worst of the worst. How did you ever get yourself in such a mess?”
“My wife asks me that same question,” Tree replied. “I’m not sure how to answer her, either. What’s more, when I get out, I’ve got worse problems to deal with.”
“What is worse than being in jail?”
“A woman who threatens to kill me.”
“A woman, you say. Dios mío! You live dangerously, my friend.”
“Even her friends call her a witch,” Tree said.
“La bruja,” Jorge said. “La Bruja Mala?”
“A tiny woman. With a face like an axe,” Tree said.
“And the name of this witch?”
“I doubt you would know her.”
“Try me,” Jorge said.
“She goes by the name of Paola. A fearsome woman let me tell you.”
Jorge said quietly, “Paola—la Bruja Mala.”
“Come on, Tree said. “Don’t tell me you know her.”
Jorge said, “Stay right here. I will return in a moment.”
Jorge rose from the bench and disappeared into the crowd of inmates. Minutes passed, long enough for Tree to start thinking Jorge wasn’t returning. He finally reappeared accompanied by a hip hop fireplug with a scraggly beard and a chain of tattooed stars around his thick neck.
The fireplug with the star tattoos looked Tree over before he abruptly slammed him hard against the wall. “Who are you man? What you doing here?”
Jorge whispered something in Spanish into the guy’s ear. The fireplug relaxed a bit. “Jorge says you’re okay, and maybe you are.” He surveyed Tree up and down. “Paola, she never gonna have anything to do with a pendejo like you, anyway.”
Jorge said, “It’s like I tell you, Che, she wants him dead.”
“That’s impossible,” the guy named Che said. “Paola don’t try to kill no one. She want to kill you, she kill you, and that’s the end of it.”
“Who is she?” Tree demanded. “Who is this woman?”
Che eyed Tree suspiciously. “You don’t know who she is?”
Tree shook his head. Jorge spoke to Che: “Tell him, my friend. Tell him what you know.”
“I know what everyone knows,” Che said. “She is Paola Ramos. Her old man used to run the Estrella Cartel. When he got himself killed, Paola took over the business. She is such a bad ass, man, much worse than her father.”
“Paola runs a drug cartel?” Tree in disbelieving voice.
“Why do you think they call her la Bruja Mala, The Wicked Witch? You on her bad side man, you might as well start digging your grave, because you gonna be in that hole sooner than later.”
“There must be something he can do,” Jorge said.
“He can kill himself,” Che said. “That’s what I would do. It would be a much more peaceful death, that’s for certain.”
“What about a black iris?” Tree said.
“A black iris? What about it?” Che said.
“When Paola kills someone does she leave an iris as a kind of calling card?”
Che shook his head. “I know what you mean, man, but that’s not Paola. She kill you, she kill you. She don’t waste no money on flowers.”
The door at the other end of the holding cell opened and a guard stepped into view amid a chorus of howls and whistles. The guard’s voice rose above the din: “Callister. Walter Tremain Callister.”
“Here,” Tree called out.
“You’ve got a visitor, Walter. Come along with me.”
“You see? There may be hope for you yet,” Jorge said a smile.
“I appreciate your help,” Tree said.
“Go carefully, my friend.”
When Tree shook Che’s hand, the inmate said, “Every step you take, hombre. Look over your shoulder. You have made a terrible enemy.”
The guard called, “Walter, let’s go.”
As Tree started away, Jorge grabbed his arm. “There is one thing.”
Jorge motioned for Tree to bend closer and when he did, the old man whispered, “Patricio.”
“Patricio?”
“Talk to him.”
Jorge produced a small, wire bound notebook and tore a page out. He found a ballpoint pen in his pocket, and then positioned the paper on the cover of the notebook and wrote down a number. He handed it to Tree.
“Tell him you come from his old friend, Navidad.”
30
Tree followed the guard along a series of anonymous passageways twisting through the bowels of the jail. When they came to a door, the guard said, “Here we are.”
He opened the door and ushered Tree inside a grim gray room, empty except for metal benches with perforated metal backs facing a flat screen television bolted to the wall. The guard closed the door. Tree was alone.
But only for a moment.
The door opened again and a young Asian man in a dark suit came through. He carried a shopping bag, and he looked very familiar.
“Mr. Callister,” the young man said. “I’m not sure if you remember me.”
“FBI Special Agent Shawn Lazenby.”
“You do remember,” Lazenby said with a grin.
Of course he remembered. Lazenby played a small part in Tree’s first case on the island, a case involving Tree’s former Chicago girlfriend, FBI Special Agent Savannah Trask. It turned out Lazenby was in love with Savannah willing to put his career on the line for her. She had ended up dead, leaving Shawn Lazenby with a broken heart, his career possibly ruined. It had been too late for Tree. Savannah had broken his heart many years before.
Lazenby had aged a bit since his last encounter with Tree. There was a touch of gray at the temples of hair that wasn’t as spikey as Tree remembered. Overall, though, Lazenby remained the picture of the efficient, smartly-dressed federal agent.
“Are you still in Miami?” Tree asked.
“Yes sir,” Lazenby said.
“The last time I saw you, Special Agent Lazenby, you expressed some doubt as to whether you would continue with the Bureau.”
“Yes, well, that worked itself out, and I decided to stay. It was the right decision, I believe. The Bureau has been very good to me.”
“So then what brings you back to Fort Myers?”
“Why don’t we sit down, Mr. Callister?”
Tree took a seat on one of the wire benches. It wasn’t very comfortable, but then it probably wasn’t designed to be comfortable. Nothing inside the Lee County jail was. Lazenby unbuttoned his suit jacket and seated himself beside Tree, folding one leg over the other.
“I gotta tell you, Mr. Callister, I wasn’t expecting to meet up with you again, and if we did meet, the last thing I expected was to see you in a prison jump suit.”
“Are you here because you can do something about that, Special Agent Lazenby? Or are you here to make sure I keep the jump suit?”
“Please, call me Shawn.”
“All right, Shawn. Which is it?”
Lazenby lifted up the shopping bag he had brought in with him and placed it on the bench between them. “Your clothes are in here. You can change in this room and then we can walk out together.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the local police have agreed to drop the charges against you, although from what I can see they wouldn’t stand much of chance in court, anyway.”
“No,” Tree said. “I don’t think they would.”
“Still, they could make it pretty rough on you for the next little while. This way you immediately get released.”
“And what do I have to do in exchange for this unexpected generosit
y?”
“That’s the thing, Mr. Callister.”
“You can call me Tree, Shawn.”
“That’s the thing, Tree. You don’t have to do anything. In fact, by doing nothing, by dropping your involvement in this case, you would be helping me and the Bureau immensely.”
“And how would it help the FBI?”
Lazenby allowed another smile. “I can’t say a whole lot more at this point.”
“Does this have something to do with a woman named Paola Ramos, the head of the Estrella Cartel?”
Lazenby tried to hide the look of surprise, but couldn’t quite pull it off. He sat up straighter and said, “I have no idea, Tree. Besides, what difference does it make, as long as by standing down from all this, it gets you out of jail?”
“It matters because Paola Ramos has threatened to kill me and my wife. I’m told by my new pals here at the Lee County jail that she is the type who will not stop until she succeeds.”
“We will take steps to ensure your safety,” Lazenby said in a formal voice.
“That’s not very comforting, Shawn.”
“What choice do you have? If you stay in here, you’re a sitting duck. This place is full of people who would cheerfully kill you for a pack of cigarettes. At least outside, we can protect you. There’s something else you should consider as well.”
“What’s that, Shawn?”
“I’ve already talked to my superiors about this. In exchange for your co-operation, the Bureau is willing to drop the matter of nine million dollars the Tajikistan government claims has been defrauded from them, money you have been accused of having in your possession.”
“Shawn, do you really think I’m holding onto nine million dollars?”
“Put it this way, Tree. There are a surprisingly large number of people who do—including the local police. I’ve had an opportunity to study your activities since the last time we met and frankly there are things you’ve been up to that, to say the least, raise questions.”
“Apparently,” Tree said.
“Whatever the truth, I think it’s in your best interest if it goes away. You don’t need us breathing down your neck, and the FBI has better things to do than waste time trying to catch you with nine million dollars you probably don’t have, anyway.”
“What about Ryde Bodie?”
“What about him?”
“What’s his role in all this?”
“Again, Tree, you’re asking me to give you information I can’t provide.”
“Except I’ve got his kids staying with me.”
“I’ve arranged for them to be taken off your hands.”
“Oh? And what is it, exactly, that you plan to do with them?”
“They’ll be protected and well taken care of.”
“Ryde or Wayne Granger was working for Wally Garrison, wasn’t he? That’s how he’s involved in this. When Wally died, he and Bonnie tried to run WGE and that’s when they messed up with Paola Ramos and the Estrella Cartel.”
“Whatever you have figured out, or think you’ve figured out, makes no difference at this point. What will make a difference is you standing aside and letting us bring this investigation to a successful conclusion. That way, we can ensure your safety, the safety of your family, and of those children.”
“I hope you’re right,” Tree said.
Shawn Lazenby smiled and said, “You don’t have to worry about a thing, Tree.”
A sure sign to Tree that he had plenty to worry about.
Lazenby stood and handed the shopping bag to Tree. “Why don’t you change and then I’ll drive you home.”
Tree took the bag and Lazenby said, “I’ll wait outside.”
He got as far as the door before turning and asking the question Tree had been expecting—and dreading. “Do you ever think about her?”
“Who?” As though Tree didn’t know.
“You know. Savannah. Savannah Trask.”
“I think a lot about the things in my life that failed, about missed opportunities, about what I would do over again in hopes of getting it right this time—so yes, I think about Savannah. What about you, Shawn?”
“I’m married now,” Lazenby said. “My wife’s a lawyer, although at the moment she’s on maternity leave. We have a daughter, five months old.”
“Good for you, Shawn—but that doesn’t answer the question.”
He gave Tree the ghost of a smile. “Come on out when you’re finished dressing.”
31
When Freddie saw Tree come through the front door, her mouth made a small O of surprise, and she said, “How did you get out?”
“Courtesy of the FBI,” he said.
“You look awful,” she said, just before she flew into his arms and gently hugged him so as not to cause more pain to his ravaged body.
“You don’t think doing jail time gives me a kind of Johnny Cash-outlaw vibe?”
“It makes you look tired and beaten up,” Freddie said against his shoulder. “They wouldn’t even let me see you in the hospital.”
“Back then I was a dangerous, wanted felon,” he said.
“What are you now?”
“An innocent man, wrongly accused, a friend of the government.”
“I can’t keep up with all this,” Freddie said. “I really can’t.”
“That makes two of us,” Tree said.
Still, she was willing to forgive him—at least for a moment or two—just glad to have him back in a house that was curiously quiet. What was he missing? The kids, she said. The FBI had arrived with a court order allowing two female agents and a local social worker to take away Madison and Joshua. For their protection, they said.
Marcello’s foster mother had shown up about five o’clock to collect the protesting boy, reminding him that he was not, despite his insistence, a Sanibel Sunset detective, but a middle school student who had classes to attend. As for Tommy, he had driven off shortly after the kids departed, the unlikely Pied Piper without his followers, made miserable by the loss.
That left Freddie alone, fretting about her imprisoned husband. She kissed him some more and snuggled gingerly against him, restraining her anger at his endless ability to get himself deeper and deeper into trouble he had more and more difficulty getting out of.
“This time I really am through with it,” Tree insisted. “All I have to do is mind my own business and stay away from Ryde Bodie and whatever he is up to with this Mexican drug cartel.”
Freddie blinked a couple of times and said, “Mexican drug cartel? There’s a Mexican drug cartel here?”
“Paola runs it,” he said. “Everyone is scared of her. They call her la Bruja Mala, the Ugly Witch.”
“Tree,” she said grimly. “What have you gotten us involved in?”
“Wally Garrison and his wife Bonnie were selling and reselling car contracts they didn’t have through a company called WGE International,” Tree explained. “Ryde was involved, too. Somehow, Paola Ramos and her group came into it, and that’s when trouble started.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“I don’t know for certain, but I’m willing to bet the cartel was laundering money through WGE. It probably looked like a great deal to Wally—until it came time to pay off. When Wally died of a heart attack, the cartel went after Bonnie and Ryde Bodie.”
“And in the meantime, Ryde’s children, not knowing what their father was up to, came to you for help.”
“Well, first of all they went to Marcello who brought them to me.”
“And now the FBI is involved?”
“Led by my old friend Shawn Lazenby.”
“You’re kidding,” Freddie said. “I thought he left the Bureau.”
“He somehow managed to stay in. He’s the one who got me released from the Lee County Jail. My guess is the FBI is after Paola and her gang, and stumbled across what she was up to with Wally Garrison. They don’t want me poking my nose around, and they know the assault charges are bogus, so it was easy to o
ffer me a deal: a get-out-of-jail free card in exchange for me staying out of their hair. Also, there is another incentive.”
“What’s that?”
“Special Agent Lazenby promises the FBI will stop listening to all those whispers about the nine million dollars I’m supposed to have.”
“Which you don’t have,” Freddie said.
“Which Paola Ramos nevertheless thinks I do,” Tree said.
Freddie looked at him a long beat before she said, “What would make her think that?”
“Ryde might have had something to do with it.”
“Good grief,” she said.
“But the FBI says it can protect us,” Tree said.
“Against a Mexican drug cartel?” Freddie began pulling away from him. “That sounds like we may be in bigger trouble than ever.”
“I wouldn’t look at it quite that way,” Tree said.
“It’s those three words: Mexican. Drug. Cartel. They leave you with a sense there is no other way to look at it.”
“I’m going to take care of this,” Tree said.
“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Freddie said.
He wrapped his arm around her, as if that might give her more confidence that everything was going to be all right.
It didn’t work.
________
They were getting ready for bed when the house phone rang. He picked it up and a voice said, “Hey, buddy, it’s me. Just checking in.”
Ryde Bodie.
“Where are you?”
“Just wanted to make sure you are okay—and the kids, too.”
“The FBI has Madison and Joshua,” Tree said. “Agents came for them this afternoon.”
To his surprise, Ryde actually sounded relieved. “That’s good. The best thing. That way they’ll be protected.”
“You know I’ve been in jail.”
“Yeah, I heard. That Markfield really is a jerk, isn’t he? Sorry, pal. Really, I am. I didn’t mean to get you involved like this.”
“For a guy who didn’t mean to get me involved, you certainly got me involved,” Tree said.
“You should have said no to the kids, Tree,” Ryde said. “That’s all you had to do, and your life would have gone on as it always has. But you couldn’t say it, you couldn’t say no, and here we are. You and I both made choices, buddy. Now we’ve got to do our best to make sure those choices don’t kill us.”