He'd left them conscious, encouraging each of them to spread the word that someone new had taken over from LaRosa. He'd told them that if he had trouble with their peers, he'd be back to punish them for their failure to support him. The remaining dealers in his network had greeted him with deference.
He'd imposed new, higher quotas on the dealers, and there'd been a little resistance. He smiled, rubbing his sore knuckles. They'd been running with no supervision for too long; he'd change that. The network of distributors was his first priority. The real money was in drugs.
Now it was time to get the Pink Pussycat up and running again. The club had been closed since Manny LaRosa's death. The nameless man with the scarred face told him the club had been staffed with a manager, a couple of bartenders and bouncers, and plenty of sexy waitresses. Reuben had found the manager and one of the bartenders drunk, enjoying life inside the closed club. He'd set them straight as soon as he walked in and found them having a private party with a couple of drugged-up women who might have been waitresses when they were sober.
Reuben had introduced himself by slapping the two spaced-out women around and throwing them bodily out the back door into the alley. He didn't think they'd be back. The manager and the bartender had made a futile attempt to protect the women, nipping at Reuben's heels like two little dogs until he tossed the broads out.
Then he'd locked the front and back doors to the club from inside and turned his attention to the two drunken men. When they had begged for mercy, he'd shoved them into the walk-in cooler and slammed the door.
According to Reuben's new boss, LaRosa had managed to make the club a gathering place for high-class escorts, college girls and bored young wives looking for a little excitement and some extra income. He wanted to ask the manager about that. Reuben suspected that the women had moved on when the club closed.
Reuben glanced at his watch. The manager and the bartender had probably cooled down by now. He'd let them out and put them to work. The bartender could clean the place up, and the manager could start calling the women and telling them the game was back on. Drinks would be on the house for the women and their male companions, and the club wouldn't take a cut of their earnings, at least for a while.
Once business was booming again, he'd decide on a fair percentage for the club, but until then, he wanted the women to draw traffic through the doors. Drug sales under the table could subsidize the club for now.
"What's Marcia up to?" Connie asked when Paul joined her in the cockpit.
She had been motor sailing to the southwest since they made sail in the mouth of Prince Rupert Bay. Paul had gone back below deck to clean up after their early breakfast, and Marcia had gone below with him.
"She said she was going to get a little work done while you were looking for the wind," he said. "She's excited about the prospect of a good, long sail — didn't want work hanging over her head when the wind fills in. She asked me to power up the satellite internet connection. I guess she's tending her blog, or whatever it is."
"Did you get a chance to talk with Maureen while you guys were cooking dinner last night?" Connie asked.
"Yes. Marcia was running true to form — nonstop questions. Sharktooth thinks she's up to something, but you knew that already."
"Did Maureen have an opinion on that?"
"Not really," Paul said. "She was amused by how scatterbrained Marcia seemed, though."
"Scatterbrained?"
"Probably not the right word — my fault. I can't remember exactly how Maureen put it," Paul said. "But she said Marcia's questions were all over the place, like 'Who did the painting of the boat with the — Oh! Look, a chicken.' You know — that joke about attention deficit disorder."
"Maureen didn't feel like she was getting the third degree, then?"
"No. More like dealing with a curious child, from what she said."
Connie frowned and shook her head. "We should get Luke to check her out. I'm getting less and less comfortable with her."
"It's too early to call him now, and it sounds like she's planning to spend the day in our company," Paul said. "We may not get to talk with him until tomorrow. Suits me okay, though. I don't know what to tell him about Leon."
"You mean his reaction to the confrontation with that lawyer? What's his name?"
"Gator Jaw Ryan," Paul said. "He's well known for helping the guilty go free. Scrawny little Casper-Milquetoast-looking guy, but he's tenacious as hell." Paul laughed.
"What's funny?"
"Just thinking about him. His real name's Dilbert. Given that and his appearance, it's no wonder he goes by a nickname."
"He doesn't sound like a 'Gator Jaw,'" Connie said.
"No. It's not his looks that earned him the name. It's his attitude. Once he gets hold of something, he won't let go. He's damn good at what he does. And yes, you're right. I don't quite know what to say to Luke."
"Can't you just tell him the truth? That Leon's questioning his judgment on that one?"
"That may be the best way to do it, but it's going to piss Luke off. I'm thinking the delay may work in our favor. I may just tell Luke that our source has gone quiet, like something spooked him. Let Luke start feeling a little desperate for information. Then I'll tell him that it was something about Gator Jaw, but I don't know what."
"Luke never told you he sent people to talk to Gator Jaw, did he?"
"He mentioned it, but I didn't pass it on. I figured Leon wouldn't like it. Leon must have been watching, though."
"Watching Luke? Or Gator Jaw?" Connie asked.
"Or somebody else. Anyhow, he knew they went to visit Gator Jaw." Paul shrugged. "What did you and Marcia talk about while we were cooking dinner?"
"She was fishing for information on Sharktooth and Maureen. I'm reading between the lines, but I think she wanted to know how they could afford their villa, given what she knows about how they make their living."
"It's pretty opulent for a water taxi driver and a woman who runs a hole-in-the-wall art gallery in Portsmouth, Dominica," Paul said. "Reasonable question, even though it's none of her business. What did you tell her?"
"I didn't take the bait on their finances, so she moved on to why someone so well off would live in a third-world country."
"She asked that?"
"No, not directly. She was more subtle."
"What did you say?"
"That maybe they liked it in Dominica. And I tossed out Ste. Anne, to distract her."
"Did it work?"
"Sort of. She started asking about Phillip and Sandrine, then. I mentioned that Sandrine was a world-class shopper, too."
Paul laughed. "And how did that go over?"
"It might have worked, but I don't know. Sharktooth saved me by calling us to dinner."
"The wind's filling in," Paul said. "Wonder if she's noticed the change in the ride?"
"I don't know. Maybe you should make us another carafe of coffee and see what she's up to down there. Our computer's not on the network is it?"
"No. You worried that she's a hacker, now?"
"It just popped into my head. I could use the coffee, anyway."
"I'm on it, skipper."
Guillermo Montalba had just read a report from the agent he had watching Barrera. He sat at his computer composing an email to Reuben Griffin. Griffin had introduced Montalba to a service that allowed them to exchange encrypted emails, and Montalba was making the most of it to manage his empire remotely.
He was pleased so far with his choice to bring Griffin into his organization. The man's contacts in the islands were already paying off. One of the first assignments Montalba had given him was to track down Beverly Lennox in Martinique. Griffin's man in the islands, Charlie Caruthers, had already discovered that Lennox was back in Miami. She'd left Martinique within a few days after arriving there. Montalba was impressed that Griffin already had people looking for her in Miami. She'd soon be history.
As an afterthought, Montalba suggested that rather than killing
Lennox immediately, Griffin should hold her for a while. Beverly Lennox had impressed Montalba with her quick intellect. She might have some useful information as they began to penetrate the Barrera/Berger operation. Who knew what she might have learned during her time with Dani Berger? She'd apparently ingratiated herself with Berger and her friends. She might even serve as a hostage of sorts, depending on how much Berger felt she owed Lennox.
Now that Caruthers had solved the puzzle of Lennox's whereabouts, Montalba would use him to follow up on some of the leads uncovered by the surveillance of Barrera and her husband. He had several things for Griffin's man to deal with now. This Sharktooth character looked promising — a water taxi operator in one of the poorest islands in the Caribbean who lived in a villa that had to be worth over a million dollars.
By Montalba's reckoning, Sharktooth had to be part of the Barrera/Berger cartel. He was curious to see how well Griffin and Caruthers could handle working in Dominica, too. Caruthers had relatives in Martinique; Montalba reasoned that Dominica might be a more challenging environment for him.
Montalba also wanted to see how Caruthers handled simultaneous projects in Dominica and Martinique. Barrera was headed for Martinique after her time in Dominica, and Montalba suspected that Martinique played a big role in her cartel's activities.
He wondered what Griffin and Caruthers could find out about Phillip Davis. And Davis's wife was a senior officer in the French customs service, which must be convenient for Barrera and the Bergers. The surveillance report also mentioned that Davis was retired from the U.S. Army and had been a military attaché, which fit well with J.-P. Berger's arms dealing.
Meanwhile, Griffin's report on his progress with the distributors in Miami was gratifying. The man didn't waste time.
Montalba had more for him to do in Miami; there was the matter of Sharktooth's cousins. Either of them could be the man who had vandalized Graciella's condo and threatened her. They matched her description of the tall, lean Rasta.
That wasn't urgent, though. Once Griffin resolved the Lennox issue, Montalba could send him after Tiberius and Lucilius. Montalba hadn't thought through what he might do once he found them, but he sensed that they might offer opportunity beyond simple revenge.
As he sat back and read through the email he had written, Montalba made sure he'd covered all the key points. He fixed a few disconnects, keeping things simple and direct. Griffin was busy; Montalba didn't want to risk overwhelming him. He reread the message a final time. Satisfied, he sent the email and stood up, stretching his back. It was time for an espresso.
16
"Hello, Charlie," Reuben Griffin said, rocking back in the soft leather swivel chair behind his desk. He'd finished his session with the club manager a few minutes earlier and called his brother-in-law to check on his progress. "What's up? You got some news for me?"
"Some, but not much. That guy in Dominica you asked me about?"
"Yeah. What about him?"
"My man up there, he didn't want to talk about him."
"He knew him, then?"
"Oh, yeah. Seems like everybody knows him. He's not somebody you want to mess around with."
"What's his game?" Reuben asked.
"If anybody knows, they're not saying. Like you said, he's got this water taxi with the shark jaws on the front, and he runs island tours. His wife's got an art gallery where she sells local shit. They live in a fucking big house up on the mountainside."
"Shit, Charlie, I already knew that. Your man can't do any better for you?"
"Everybody either loves him or they're scared shitless of him, Reuben. He travels a lot, and he's mixed up with some weird people on the island when he's home. Rumors about Voodoo and shit like that."
"Oh, bullshit, Charlie. The damn guy's got a PhD from an Ivy League school. Voodoo my ass. Somebody's messin' with you. How far do you trust your guy there?"
"He's good, Reuben, but he's a local, you know? Dominica's one of those places where everybody knows everybody else's business. This Sharktooth, bad stuff happens to people who screw around with him."
"Whaddaya mean, bad stuff? Gimme an example."
"This one guy was givin' some of Sharktooth's friends trouble. Sharktooth took him up into the bush to this houngan that he's tight with and — "
"Houngan?" Reuben interrupted.
"That's like a Voodoo priest, see," Charlie said.
"Okay, so he took him to this Voodoo guy. What did they do? Cast a spell on this asshole, or what?"
"Exactly. Turned him into a fuckin' goat, that's what."
"Charlie, I don't believe you're telling me shit like this. You don't believe that, and I know it."
"It doesn't matter what I believe. It's what the people in Dominica believe. Like I said, people are scared shitless of this guy. Sometimes people mess with him and they just disappear."
"Disappear? What? Like into thin air? More Voodoo bullshit?"
"Reuben, you know I don't believe that shit any more than you do. But it's pretty easy to make somebody disappear in this part of the world. All it takes is a boat and a few feet of chain. The water gets real damn deep not too far west of the islands."
"Now you're making this Sharktooth sound like our kinda people."
"Yeah, except there's a lot of difference in Dominica and St. Lucia. Those people stick together against outsiders. It's pretty clannish up there."
"Look, Charlie, our new boss ain't gonna buy this Voodoo shit. Turning people into goats? Get serious. Send Patrick up there with his damn straight razor and find out who the hell this Sharktooth is connected to. You hear me?"
"Whatever you say, Reuben. But you know Patrick's crazy. No tellin' what he might do if they start jerkin' him around."
"That's the idea. Get him up there tonight, or first thing tomorrow."
"You want me to go with him?"
"No. I got some people I need you to check out in Ste. Anne."
Montalba had a half-finished glass of wine on the desktop next to his computer as he considered Reuben Griffin's last email. He wasn't surprised that Caruthers had struck out trying to find out more about Sharktooth by calling his regular contact in Dominica.
The reluctance of the locals in Dominica to talk about the man served to confirm Montalba's agent's suggestion that he was more than a water taxi driver. Montalba wondered about this Patrick, the man they were sending to Dominica to follow up. Griffin's description of him was intriguing. Griffin had said he wasn't afraid to break a few bones if he needed to, and he cut people just for the fun of watching them bleed.
A man like that could be useful, but Montalba remembered what had happened to the Navy SEAL that SpecCorp had sent to plant drugs on Berger's boat a few weeks ago. He'd had a reputation for violence himself, and he was highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, according to SpecCorp.
Berger's people had delivered video clips of their interrogation of the SEAL to Delaney, the CEO of SpecCorp, as a warning. Actually, they had delivered them to Delaney's wife after immobilizing a sizable security force that was guarding Delaney's estate. Montalba chuckled at the memory of how upset Delaney had been by that.
Delaney had shared the video with Montalba, at Montalba's urging. From the bits and pieces of information he had gathered since then, Montalba suspected that Sharktooth may have been the one asking the questions. If so, Sharktooth was no stranger to breaking a few bones if he needed to, either. And there had been a lot of blood in that video.
Montalba considered warning Griffin; then he thought better of it. He would see how Griffin and his people handled the situation. It was early in Griffin's tenure, and this would be a good way to evaluate the depth of the team that Griffin and Caruthers brought with them.
Griffin had said that he was sending Caruthers to Martinique to pursue the questions Montalba had asked about Phillip Davis and his wife. Given Caruthers's strong contacts there, Griffin thought that was a better use of his talent than sending him to Dominica with Patrick. Once they had a
good handle on things in Martinique, he might still send Caruthers to Dominica if necessary.
Montalba was happy with the way Griffin had taken the distribution network in hand, and his plans for getting the club running smoothly again were solid enough. But Montalba was uneasy about the ability of Griffin and his team to take on the Barrera/Berger operation. Still, his options were limited. He'd let Griffin run things for a while and see what happened.
Griffin reported that his initial search for Lennox had been fruitless, but Montalba wasn't discouraged. She had to know that she was in some danger, so she was no doubt hiding. Griffin had uncovered a list of her clients in his search of LaRosa's files, and he figured that she might get in touch with some of them. The girl had to make a living, and that was the way she knew, as he put it in the email. Griffin was going to check out the clients to see if she was back in circulation.
Montalba wondered how he planned to do that, but he decided not to ask. He didn't want to micromanage Griffin if he didn't need to, and the damage that Lennox could do was limited. She'd already worked with the police on the composite sketch. What more could she do to endanger him?
The fact that she had seen Montalba, albeit in disguise, was the biggest danger that she posed. He would let Griffin deal with that problem, at least for a while. But at some point, he did want them to question Lennox about what she'd picked up in the way of information on the Bergers.
There was still the question of Sharktooth's cousins. Montalba had been thinking about them since he'd learned they were in Miami. Given Griffin's latest feedback on Sharktooth, maybe he should move on Tiberius and Lucilius Jones. Montalba chuckled at the names. Aside from the revenge angle, they could provide some leverage to use against Sharktooth.
Montalba took a sip of his wine and began to compose an email to Reuben Griffin.
An Easy Sail - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 8th Novel in the Series - Mystery and Adventure in Florida and the Caribbean (Connie Barrera Thrillers) Page 12