Sonny Farrell had been the best smuggler in Miami. His boat was a rocket with a deep hull and enough speed to outrun the Coast Guard. Sonny seldom if ever was forced to because he knew every inch of waterways in and around Florida, including the Glades. He also had a plane he kept hidden somewhere in the Glades. He used it only when the pick-up or drop-off was too far away to chance by sea or water route.
I say had been in Sonny's case because he got careless one night and a deal went sour. Sonny didn't like guns and wasn't packing when interlopers opened up with machine guns to steal the cargo he was exchanging.
Sonny got hit in the arm and would have been as dead as the two guys making the exchange except we'd had a bug on the interlopers who were trying to set-up shop in Miami. We were lying in wait for them. In the madhouse of gunfire Sonny made it to his boat but I'd outflanked him. I had him dead to rights. When he saw me pointing the gun he sighed and put his hands up, bad arm and all. Then he hollered, "Behind you, man!"
I dove to the ground and rolled, came up firing and put three slugs into the chest of some wide-shouldered drug dealer making a stab at the good life in the land of plenty.
When I turned back around, expecting Sonny to be gone because the engines were running, he was still standing there with his hands raised. He said, "I hate guns, man."
None of the local cops, the ATF, or DEA guys had seen Sonny, and the chatter hadn't mentioned the delivery guy. Everyone was going to be dead in a few minutes, and if anyone survived, they wouldn't talk. I nodded my head and gave Sonny Farrell a Get Out of Jail Free card.
He had gotten away and I hadn't gotten a good look at him in the dark. That's the way it is in Miami. There are good guys and bad guys and sometimes the twain do meet. Sonny got out, started using his boat and plane for charter -- legitimate charter -- and we became friends. Such good friends that it was Sonny who had taken me out to the Keys, to Escobar's place. It hadn't been completely about friendship; Sonny had been seeing Maria and it was he who had encouraged her to testify against Escobar. It was Sonny's way of making peace with his own guilt.
Sonny's phone began to ring on the other end as Caroline came jogging across the street trying not to spill our sodas. I felt a rush watching her, a warmth to kiss her and love her and make her all doe-eyed. I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her into the booth with me, her laughter like a cleansing rain washing the blood away; Escobar's blood. Sonny picked up as I was taking a sip of the soft drink. The fountain soda was heavy with ice, and cold. Thank heaven for US influence, I thought.
One of the downsides to traveling outside the US, especially across Europe, is their attitude toward cooling their drinks. Europeans are more than willing and able to fill cocktails with lavish amounts of ice cubes, but try asking for some ice for your water or soda on a warm day at some corner cafe in France. You'll get a dirty, condescending reaction, and if you're lucky, three small cubes which will evaporate before the waiter or waitress has returned to their station. Stingy bastards hated Americans for liking their water and sodas to be anything but lukewarm. They were plenty liberal with the ice if you were getting sloshed at the bar, however.
"Hello?"
"Sonny, Seth.
"Hey, man. What's up? Heard you and Harry were over there in Meh-he-ko enjoyin' the brown-skinned beach bunnies and those little drinks with umbrellas in them."
I could hear Jimmy Buffet in the background.
"You're in the ballpark, but we've run into a snag."
"How big a snag? I mean, are we talkin' a couple of nights in the local hoosegow or sniper-fire from the grassy knoll?"
"I need you to get me in to see Marquez."
I could visualize that look, the one I'd seen for the first time that night long ago, in the Glades. Sonny sort of reminded me of the Eagles' Glenn Frey, the clean-cut, post-Eagles, solo-career Frey.
"Damn, that's the grassy knoll. Man, how heavy is this? I don't even go around that stuff anymore. And Marquez, that's about as up there as it gets. He's some heavy-duty, industrial-strength weight, man."
"I need to meet him as soon as you can set it up for us."
"Us? What's this 'Us' shit, man? I got zero desire to have a pow-wow with Marquez."
I handed the phone to Caroline and whispered, "Say hello to Sonny." She said, "Hi, Sonny. I'm Caroline. Nice to talk to you." I took back the receiver.
"Caroline's coming with me. It's safer."
"Talking to Marquez is safer than leaving her behind?"
"Right now, yes."
It took about five minutes but I gave Sonny a fairly detailed rundown of everything that had happened. A silence of about thirty seconds followed.
"Does the phone you're at take incoming?"
"I'm not sure."
"Okay, I'll hang up. If I haven't called back in fifteen minutes it means I can't, so you call me."
"Alright." I hung up.
We were sort of trapped because we had to hang around close enough to hear the phone ring and shoo away anyone who might not have a cell phone. We ended up sitting on the curb and drinking our sodas while we waited. Mine was empty when the phone started ringing.
"Yeah?"
"Alright man, it's all set up. Midnight tonight. The witching hour. He only agreed because I did some, uh, transport for him that was pretty delicate way back when, before he is who he is now."
"Who was he then?"
"A small-time hungry dealer looking for a bigger piece of the pie in Miami."
"And now?"
"You know what he is now, man, a big-time hungry dealer looking for a bigger piece of the pie. And I might have had to imply you could make that happen to get the meeting."
"Gee, thanks. No pressure."
"Hey, you called me, I didn't call you."
"I'll be on a flight this afternoon at the latest."
"Alright. Same old marina, same slot. Be there or be square, man." Sonny hung up.
I dialed Cozumel International and booked us on a flight to Miami leaving later in the day. We exited the phone booth and closed it behind us. It was so old it had those fold-up doors.
"I guess we should go by and get you a few clothes."
"And tell momma. She'd be worried if I didn't come back."
Ten minutes later as we approached Rosita's what I saw formed a knot in my stomach. I squeezed Caroline's hand to brace her. Momma wouldn't be worrying about her surrogate daughter any longer. She wouldn't be worrying about anything. I didn't see her anywhere but the scene outside told me the story.
Pink hair and Miss Big Tits were sitting on the steps. Pink hair was rocking back and forth, sobbing, and the redhead had her arm around her shoulder, comforting her. Standing over them trying to ask questions was Sanchez. My BFF Carillo was in the doorway behind the girls questioning a tall, skinny boy and a shorter girl with dark hair who true to their vocation, were wearing backpacks. A couple of cop cars were parked out front, and a crowd had gathered. An ambulance pulled up.
It was all I could do to keep Caroline from jumping out of the car to run inside. I knew what she'd find there and it wouldn't do any good for her to see momma dead. She could tell from my expression how bad it was and I could see her heart breaking in tiny increments until it completely shattered. The one person who'd held her together, given her a place in the world, was gone.
Caroline was a loose end for Nancy's killer. He/she/they had come back to tie up that loose end. Caroline hadn't been there, but Rosita had. I didn't want Sanchez and Carillo to know about Caroline. I didn't trust them. Still, I had to be certain. I was trying to estimate the odds of getting in close without being seen when I caught a break. An orange Vespa was approaching from down the street.
Delana had hooked shopping bags full of new clothes over the handle bars and was slowing down because of the hubbub. This was the street near the shops and the easiest route back towards the boat. I stepped out of the car long enough to get her attention from across the street. I placed my finger to my lips to in
dicate some stealth was required, and she understood right away. She didn't even look at the Jag as she parked on the grass beside us, parallel to the driver window, which I rolled down.
"What's going on, Seth?" Her head crooked and she gave me a quizzical look that had nothing to do with the disturbance around the hostel.
"Delana, this is Caroline." Delana smiled and Caroline nodded.
"I don't want the cops to know I'm here. Can you work your way into the crowd without Sanchez or Carillo spotting you?"
"I'll try." She was game, trotting off quickly and without question.
I watched as she worked her way into the crowd, chatting in a natural way with the people around her; a newcomer to the circus.
No one sees more of the darker side of human nature than a cop, and it doesn't all come from criminal quarters. Every-day, so-called "decent" people will step to the other side of the street when confronted by a violent, abusive argument between a man and woman. They will draw back their curtains for a peek when a woman being accosted and raped screams for help, then pull them shut and assuage their conscience by pretending their lack of legal authority absolves them of their moral responsibility. But give those same people a crime scene, some blood and gore and mystery, and they are suddenly Johnny-and-Jane-On-the-Spot, crowding as close as they can once it's too late to help prevent tragedy. Popcorn, peanuts, cold beer! Come get your popcorn, peanuts! Everyone loves a circus.
It took about five minutes but seemed like thirty. Delana waited until Sanchez drifted inside with Carillo and broke free, jogging quickly over to the Jag. She was wearing a pair of faded denim jeans she'd bought -- it wasn't chic if it didn't look worn -- and a very soft light-green blouse that looked lovely against her blonde hair and blue eyes. I knew the almost pastel, Easter-green blouse was soft because her arm rested across mine as she leaned in to tell me what she'd discovered. There was a familiarity in her arm resting so comfortably across mine as she spoke, a message that whoever Caroline was, it didn't bother Delana. It bothered me, because I didn't want Caroline to misunderstand, but there wasn't anything to do for it at the moment. Under other circumstances, and if Caroline hadn't been someone so special to me, the message that Delana understood and would wait it out would have been very flattering.
"Someone named Rosita was murdered. Shot in the head. Those two girls came back from somewhere and found her body. The kids upstairs didn't hear anything like a shot. The cops are saying it may have been professional, but no one can figure why. She was just a nice lady who never hurt anyone. Someone overheard the kids in the doorway saying they thought they heard someone come upstairs earlier, but figured it was just one of the others staying there."
It is sometimes shocking how much information the crowd around a crime scene can gather in a short time. It wasn't nearly as shocking that they'd all be talking amongst themselves about it, or sharing it with the newcomer to show off what they knew, especially if that new arrival was a pretty girl like Delana. I'd noticed a few of the Mexican men chatting her up.
I squeezed Caroline's hand. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Knowing momma was dead was different from being almost certain that she was. Delana said, "I'm sorry. I didn't know that you knew her."
Caroline tried to smile and didn't quite make it, but the effort was noted by Delana.
"I'm finished shopping. I'm heading back to the boat, if that's okay?"
She was asking for a signal, some sign of the lay of the land now that Caroline was in the picture.
"Okay. We'll be along in a bit. We're heading out later, so you and Harry'll have to hold the fort until I get back, if you don't mind?"
I had given her the path. We were good friends. She smiled. "Nice to meet you, Caroline. I'm really sorry about your friend."
"Thank you."
Delana walked away and got back on the Vespa. It purred as she drove by and waved. A soft blonde kitten on her kittenmobile. I started the car and drove slowly away, pulling up at a small park where local kids were playing soccer.
"What are we doing?" asked Caroline.
I turned in the seat to face her, brushing hair back from her wet cheek. "I thought we might just sit here a while and hide from the world." She leaned her head over onto my chest. I wrapped my arms around her and held on tight.
Eleven
I pressed the button and the Jaguar's windows retracted, allowing fresh air and the sounds of children playing soccer in the park to drift through the car. Palm trees swayed in a breeze lightly scented with the fragrance of tropical flowers and slightly moist from traveling across the Caribbean Sea. Locals were going about their daily routines while vacationers ate and laughed, took photos and darted in and out of gift shops with bags full of souvenirs.
For the second time in as many days the Cozumel sun shone bright and cheery, refusing to acknowledge death. Man was only an interloper, the island was saying, an itinerant wandering through. Cozumel had been here before the Maya, before the Spaniards, and before this new mix of uninvited guests, and would remain here long after they had come and gone.
Caroline and I sat quietly, letting the sounds of life around us gradually overtake death and loss. I watched as she wrote some very private things on a small cube of yellow paper and then carefully placed it with the others in her pocket. In case she forgot. She said, "Poor momma."
"If it's any comfort, I'm sure it was so quick she never saw it coming."
It was a white lie, to protect this wonderful girl. If it was indeed a pro he would have had to find out which room Caroline was in first. Rosita wouldn't have told them before seeing some ID, and since Caroline was out with me, there was no need to give out the room number.
Cops had ID. Sanchez and Carillo. But I couldn't make it add up. Sanchez was sharp, too sharp for such a public murder on a small island. I could see him taking graft, maybe a cut of the pie for looking the other way on something, especially something big, but nothing that would get his expensive suit too dirty. Carillo, maybe, but he wasn't smart enough to pull murder off so smoothly. That only left someone Rosita had known and whom she trusted, or someone from whom she'd felt no danger whatsoever. Either party she would have informed freely, right before they put a bullet in her head.
"So," Caroline finally said, "she seems nice."
"Who?"
I'd extracted a smile. It was the first one since we'd driven up to the grisly scene.
"You know who."
"Oh, her! Sorry, when you're around I forget about everyone else. I think it's that big zit on your cheek that does it." She reached up instinctively before she could stop herself, then punched me in the arm, laughing. "You're awful!"
"That's no way to talk to someone who's about to let you drive a Jaguar." Then I quickly added, "You remember?"
"Yeah, I remember. Like I said, it's only people and events that drop out sometimes. Mostly anyway." She was becoming comfortable talking about it with me.
"Do you ever forget that you've just kissed someone and kiss them like it's the first time again?"
"Not usually, but I could make an exception in your case." And we kissed. It was magic, making everything disappear but her; her smile; her sweetness; her intelligence; her memory which could come and go; her lovely soul, like a sponge waiting to soak up all the wonderful things in life; and her fresh femininity, for above all, she was a girl. She'd probably be on a dig somewhere in Egypt by now, married to some fellow who shared a passion she remembered but found it impossible to pursue now. Someone had left a stain on the sponge that could never be removed.
"I love you, Seth. But I don't want you to feel obligated just because I don't have anyone else now. I can manage…" Her voice trailed off, getting quieter with each word that passed her lips. I interrupted.
"I'm sure you could, Caroline. But I couldn't manage without you." And then, I found myself telling her about Escobar, explaining why I wasn't a cop any longer. I told her about Maria and Sonny, about Mr. Fernandez who I hadn't known was Maria's father
. She had shown me the stain on her soul and it was only fair that I show her the stain on mine. I spoke slowly, quietly, reflectively, as if reliving it all so that she would understand and forgive me. And still love me. I was surprised at the freshness of it welling up inside me. Harry was the only other person who knew.
When I finished, all talked out, she put her arms around my neck and hugged me and wouldn't let go. A full minute passed. She finally whispered in my ear, "It's okay. I believe in you, Seth. I won't write it down, it's too dangerous, but I'll try not to forget because you told me. Thank you for trusting me."
"I love you, Caroline. And I'm in-love with you. I wanted to have you in my arms, in my soul, since the moment I first saw you." It sounded silly, like a bad Harlequin novel with a shirtless Fabio gracing the cover, but it was the truth.
Her eyes were becoming dreamy, and maybe a little wet. She said softly, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Seth Halliday, and I don't care if you killed some bad guy. He probably deserved it. Just like Nancy's killer."
She choked up, gathered herself, and began again.
"I found out one night, a very long time ago, that there are horrible people in this world, Seth. Evil people. You make up for all of them. I love you."
I kissed her. "Let's trade places."
We got out and switched. She was a bit nervous, but once we were on the road she relaxed and began to have fun. We passed close to the docked cruise ships, Temptation and Fascination. Cruise ships are never named Discontent or Exasperation.
"Slow down, baby. Pull up over here."
Caroline did as I asked, parking between a row of palms, affording us a view while shielding us from notice. She was smiling because I'd called her, "Baby".
"You want to watch the ships leave?"
"Something like that."
On the dock I'd spotted the butch girl from the Golden Parrot. She was dressed in uniform, obviously one of the crew. Standing next to her was the goth girl she'd turned her attentions upon once I'd averted her plans for Nancy. It wasn't unusual to see them again on an island this size, but something was amiss. The goth girl looked nervous, even from a distance. Fidgety.
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