The Night Charter

by Sam Hawken

She expected an argument. He gave her none. “Okay,” he said.

  “Start.”

  “I’m not a business consultant,” Parker said.

  “No kidding.”

  “I had to tell you something.”

  “How about the truth?” Camaro said.

  Parker began to tear open sugar packets, one after the other, and dump them into his tea. “The truth is that I’m thirty-four years old, and I’m a convicted felon. Now I don’t know if you know what that means exactly, but if you’re a felon in this state, you have about zero things going for you. People don’t hire you, you can’t vote…all of that.”

  “What were you in for?” Camaro asked.

  “Motor vehicle theft. I did five years. That’s when Matt and I crossed paths. He was on his way out, and I was on my way in. We did some time together.”

  “Tell me about your daughter.”

  “My daughter’s name is Lauren,” Parker said, and the name sounded like a plea. “She’s fourteen. Just like I said. With her mother out of the picture, I worked my ass off to get custody of her after I got out of prison. She was living in foster care, but now she’s with me. She’s everything I have.”

  Camaro thought of the little girl in the photograph. The laughter and the gusting wind that caught her hair. She leaned forward, and she saw Parker withdraw the same distance. “I’m gonna tell you something,” Camaro said. “I have a history of getting caught up in things that end up going the wrong way, so I don’t need to get involved in some ex-con’s scam, whatever it is. You worked hard to get your daughter back? I worked hard to get what I have, and I’m working hard to keep it. So if you’re looking for someone to run drugs or something, you can stop talking right now and go.”

  Parker chewed the inside of his lip. “It’s not drugs,” he said.

  “But it’s a crime,” Camaro said.

  “Not really. Not when you think about it.”

  Camaro slapped a hand down on the table and made the glasses jump. People looked their way, and she glared at them until they turned back to their own business. She spoke quietly. “I said no bullshit. It’s a crime or it’s not. Which is it?”

  “Okay, it’s a crime. But it’s not what you think. We’re not smuggling drugs or guns or anything like that. We’re bringing in a person. It’s an escape from Cuba. This guy is desperate, and he has to get out of the country. Some people are willing to pay us good money to get him out of there and back to Miami in one piece.”

  “Cuba,” Camaro said.

  “That’s right.”

  “Why not just leave on a plane? People can do that now, right?”

  “It’s a whole thing. The government has a say in who’s allowed to come and go. They’ll never let him leave.”

  “So he has to go out in secret.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How much are they paying?”

  “A hundred thousand dollars. We got fifty up front, and we get the rest on delivery. So you’re getting ten percent just for driving the boat. It’s in and out. We don’t see anybody, and nobody sees us.”

  Camaro caught the waitress’ eye and nodded. She saw the woman take up two menus and head their way. Parker ignored his when the waitress put it down. He watched Camaro’s face with desperate eyes. She picked up her menu and looked at it carefully. “You ever been to Cuba?” she asked Parker without looking at him.

  “No.”

  “You ever run the waters between Miami and Cuba? At all?”

  “No.”

  Now she fixed him with her gaze. “So how the hell do you know it’ll be as simple as scooting in and scooting out? Is that your whole plan?”

  “Well, yeah,” Parker said.

  “Jesus, you guys are in trouble,” Camaro said.

  “That’s why we need an expert!” Parker said quickly. “Somebody who can captain a boat and keep it on the down low! I bet you’ve been halfway to Cuba more than once or twice. What’s a few more miles?”

  “It’s over two hundred miles to Cuba from Miami,” Camaro said. “How far out do you think I go?”

  “You see? We need expertise! You’re smart, and you know what’s up. With you on board, we can get this done no problem.”

  Camaro put her menu down and folded her hands on top of it. “Parker, I’m not interested.”

  “Please,” he said. “I have to go back to Matt with something.”

  “If you have to go back to Matt, you need to go back to him and tell him to get the hell out of your life,” Camaro said. “Anybody can tell he’s bad news.”

  “You don’t understand,” Parker said. “I need the money his deal is going to earn us. I can’t find work, and if I don’t get a job I’m not going to be able to keep a roof over my head. I’ll lose my house, and then I’ll lose Lauren all over again. That can’t happen. This is my big chance to land some serious money.”

  “How much is your end?” Camaro asked.

  “About twenty-three grand.”

  “That won’t last.”

  “It’s something, and that’s more than I have right now. I’m already a month behind on rent.”

  Camaro flagged the waitress down a second time. “On second thought, I’m just going to take the drinks,” she said. “Can I pay for them right now?”

  “Sure,” the waitress said, and she waited as Camaro peeled off a few bills. Out of the corner of her eye, Camaro could see Parker reddening behind his tan. She hoped he would not cry.

  “I’m going to go,” Camaro told him when the waitress was gone.

  “Camaro, I’m begging you.”

  She paused. “I’m not saying no,” she said.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’ll think about it.”

  “Camaro, I have to be able to tell Matt something. If I don’t have anything to tell Matt, he’s—”

  “You worry about me, not Matt,” Camaro said. “I’m the one who matters right now.”

  Parker nodded, attentive. “Right, right. I’ll hold off on telling him anything until you make up your mind. But if he asks, can I say you’re interested? Maybe I can get him to swing a few thousand more.”

  “I’m not looking for more money,” Camaro said.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A reason not to say no. I’ll call you, Parker.”

  She got up to leave, and Parker caught her by the wrist. She gave him a look that made him let go as if his hand were burned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to say…this is for Lauren. I don’t care if you think I’m some kind of ex-con bum, but I have a little girl, and she needs me. I’m all she has.”

  “I’m going,” Camaro said. And she left.

  Chapter Ten

  IN HIS HEAD, Parker turned over the time in the diner again and again on his way back to the house. He regretted putting his hand on her most of all. She was the kind of woman who let a man touch her only when she allowed it. He had violated an unspoken rule. They were not so close.

  He imagined saying things a different way, and he considered arguments that hadn’t occurred to him in the minutes he sat opposite her. Sometimes he could tell what she thought and other times she was closed. Today she had been a whirlwind of both, and he felt bewildered even trying to tell them apart. She demanded the whole truth from him. He could only give her what he knew.

  Matt’s Charger was on the curb in front of the house when he pulled onto his street. Parker’s hands closed around the steering wheel, and the plastic squeaked in his grip. He nosed in behind the car and parked. Matt was not sitting in the driver’s seat. There was no one in the car at all.

  His hand shook slightly as he used his keys on the front door. He came through into the short hallway that opened onto the front room, and Matt was there on the couch with Lauren beside him. “Hey, it’s the man,” Matt said.

  “What are you doing here?” Parker asked.

  “What kind of a question is that? I came by to talk. Lauren let me in. She’
s been telling me about school. Man, I don’t miss school at all. I couldn’t wait to drop out.”

  Parker closed the door. “Lauren, why don’t you go to your room?”

  Lauren got up from the couch, and Matt reached out as if to catch her hand, but he touched only air. “Bye, Uncle Matt,” she said.

  “See you later, sweetie,” Matt said. He looked to Parker. “Wow, she is really growing up, isn’t she? Getting curves and everything. I don’t envy you one bit, bro. Guys are gonna be all over her.”

  Parker swallowed. “Do you want a beer?” he asked.

  “A beer? Sure thing.”

  He retreated to the kitchen and fetched two bottles from the refrigerator. Back in the front room he handed one over to Matt, and then he sat down in a chair to pull from his own. The cold, clean liquid helped clear the sticky taste from his mouth. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked at last.

  Matt drank slowly, his eyes going lidded as he tipped his head back. “Last night for starters,” he said when he was done. “About that chick you said was going to work out for us.”

  “About that…,” Parker said. “I think there’s still a chance we can get her. I talked to her again today, and she knows the deal now.”

  “But?”

  “Well, I think she wants more money.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  “I’m saying that she’s taking a pretty big risk, what with it being her boat and all. It’s a long way to Cuba and back, and a lot can go wrong. She deserves a little extra.”

  Matt laughed a little and drank some more. “I should have known it was all about the cash. She put on that whole act last night, but it was just a chick thing. They tell you one thing, but they mean something else. Only problem is, if she gets more money then there’s less to go around to the rest of us.”

  “Yeah, I know, but—”

  “But nothing. Do you want her to get a bigger cut?”

  “I think it’s fair.”

  “Fine,” Matt said.

  Parker stopped with the bottle halfway to his mouth. He lowered it. “Fine?”

  “Sure. Fine. Only the extra comes out of your end, not everybody else’s.”

  “Hey, I’m not getting that much already.”

  “So? You said it was fair that she get more, so you ought to pay. I’m not gonna pay. The deal is for ten grand and that’s it. Whatever else is from your pocket. End of story.”

  Parker drank. His stomach was unsettled. He had eaten no lunch, and he was now pouring beer on top of nothing. It was hot in the house. “I’ll try to talk her down,” he said.

  “Ah, see? When it’s your money it’s different, right? And tell her this, too: if I don’t get a yes or no in two days, we’re moving on to somebody else. She’s out.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  Matt drained the bottle and put it on the floor by his feet. He rose from the couch. “And now I got to go. Get that bitch on board, all right? No more delays.”

  “Okay, Matt. It’ll be all good. She likes me.”

  “It’d be better if she liked ten thousand bucks. See you around, bro.”

  Parker stayed in his seat, and Matt let himself out. He finished his beer, though he had no taste for it, and then he collected Matt’s empty. He put both in the recycling bin in the kitchen.

  “Dad?”

  Lauren appeared at the door and leaned against the frame. She played with her hair the way she did when she was nervous. Parker went to her and hugged her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I shouldn’t have let him in.”

  “It’s all right. He didn’t…do anything, did he?”

  “No! Nothing. He’s just a creep.”

  Parker stroked her hair. “Yeah, he’s a creep. I know. But he’s gone now.”

  Chapter Eleven

  IGNACIO MONTELLANO APPRAISED the sandwich before him. It was pressed and still hot, layers of ham and roasted pork and cheese and pickles all laid in precisely as they should be. The thing was big, a two-handed affair if it hadn’t been sliced down the middle, and he was prepared to wash it down with a large Diet Coke.

  He sat in the detective’s bullpen, his desk among a broad gathering of other desks. Most were empty for the lunch hour, but there were a few holdouts that took their meals in front of their computers, catching up on work or simply fooling around on the Internet. Ignacio was not a workaholic, so he did not touch his caseload during the appointed sixty minutes, but he felt more comfortable in the A/C in his own chair than he did eating behind the wheel of his idling car.

  The first bite was perfection, flavors blending into flavors, the sour pickle kick-starting a new flow of saliva. He chewed thoughtfully, in no hurry to see the moment pass, before finally swallowing. A hit from the straw in his Coke cleansed his palate for the next mouthful.

  He saw Pool coming with a plastic bag from Subway. Pool caught his eye and angled his way. “Hey, Nacho,” Pool said. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine,” Ignacio said. “How about you?”

  “Good, good. You know, if you keep eating stuff like that, you’re gonna pop.”

  “I have a good healthy weight.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Listen, I didn’t catch you this morning before I had to head out on that robbery-homicide with Elmore. I had something I wanted to tell you.”

  “What?” Ignacio asked.

  “You’ll never guess who I saw yesterday when I was on my way home.”

  “Who?”

  “Matt Clifford.”

  Ignacio put the sandwich down. “Are you sure it was him?”

  “Oh, definitely. I saw him walking out of a 7-Eleven with a Slurpee. He could use the sugar, too, because he’s as thin as he always was. Hasn’t put on a pound as far as I could tell.”

  “Whereabouts did you see him?”

  “I can write down the address for you.”

  “Yeah, would you do that?”

  “No problem.”

  Pool left him, and Ignacio turned to his computer. He plugged in CLIFFORD, MATTHEW, and after a second he was looking at the booking photo of the man himself. Matt stared out of the screen as if he was challenging the camera, and maybe he was. He was that kind of guy.

  A string of charges and convictions stretched out beneath his vitals. Ignacio scanned these, less interested in the closed cases than in the one left open. He found it and clicked the folder open. Immediately details leaped to mind, though they were four years out of date. The pawnshop and the three dead men inside: Joel Berlanga, Gerard Castanada, and Julián Moscoso. Berlanga was the one found by the open and empty safe, a single bullet in the back of his skull. Moscoso had been bludgeoned to death with a heavy object, probably a baseball bat. And Castanada had been shot through the heart. Three gone and no witnesses. Even the security cameras’ tapes had been taken.

  Pool returned with an address scribbled on a Post-it. Ignacio looked at it. “This is way out in Hollywood,” he said.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Now I have to get them involved.”

  “Not if you’re only asking around. Besides, I have one better.”

  “What?”

  Pool produced a second Post-it. “This is Clifford’s address, fresh from the DMV. He registered a 1970 Dodge Charger and listed this as his place of residence. I don’t know where a guy like him gets the money to buy a classic like that, but I can guess. You want it?”

  “Of course I want it,” Ignacio said. “Give it to me.”

  Pool held the paper out of Ignacio’s reach. “I want you to pick up a shift for me on the weekend. It’s my nephew’s birthday, and I want to be there for a change. You’ll have to pull a double.”

  Ignacio scowled. “You want to skip out for a kiddie party?”

  “I told you: it’s my nephew. He’s nine.”

  “Okay, fine. Give it here.”

  The Post-it swapped hands, and Ignacio looked it over. “This isn’t anywhere near Hollywood. What’s he doing at a 7-Eleven over that wa
y?”

  “I heard Jackson Dewey has a place there. Clifford might be putting the old gang back together. Worth checking out.”

  “Yeah,” Ignacio said absently. He folded the Post-its in half and put them in his breast pocket. “Thanks, Brady.”

  “Anything for Nacho. Enjoy the sandwich, pal.”

  “Right.”

  When Pool left, Ignacio turned back to his meal, but his eyes drifted away to the computer monitor, where Matt Clifford kept on staring. Ignacio made a gun with his thumb and forefinger and mimed shooting the man in the face. Click-click. Boom.

  The sandwich tasted that much better when he took another bite.

  Chapter Twelve

  SHE DID NOT have any charters that day, so Camaro slept in before going for her workout. When she was done, she looked out over the lawn and made up her mind to see to it. After changing into work clothes, she hauled out the old gas-powered lawnmower the landlord included with the house and pulled the starter cord a dozen times before the engine caught. The mower was junk when she found it, and it was hardly better now, but time with a tool kit had coaxed it into some semblance of life. Camaro started in the back and then, in a fit of ambition, mowed the front yard, too.

  When she was finished, Camaro went inside and stood in front of the air-conditioning unit in the window until she stopped sweating. After that she went to the little room she’d made an office and sat at her computer. It was locked with a password and she punched it in before navigating to the Internet. A search turned up a long list of sites that did background checks. She chose the top hit and clicked through.

  It was as simple as inputting the name Parker Story in the search box and weeding out the ones that clearly weren’t right. There was only one Parker Story in Miami. The site promised her a photograph and a full report on the subject if she paid twenty-five dollars. Camaro arranged for a debit from her bank account, and then she was in.

  His full name was Parker David Story and he was thirty-four as he said. His former spouse was Melanie Artis Story and the grounds for their divorce had been abandonment. There was only the one child, Lauren Victoria Story, and she was fourteen.