Tonton

by Billy Kring

  “You didn’t see his eyes?”

  “He wore sunglasses.”

  “Too bad.”

  You visited with the Miami Detectives?”

  “We traded notes, but they didn’t have any luck, either. And the ICE Investigator, Wallis, told us the U.S. Attorney has DOJ working on it, too. We’re all busy little bees, but not much honey showing for the effort.”

  “You’re not working a simple case. Even with everyone involved, it might take a while.”

  “I did meet a psychic though, so there’s that.” She winked as she lifted the green bottle of Dos Equis.

  “I was gonna offer my help, but since you have your very own fortuneteller, you’ve got it covered.”

  “A Haitian psychic, no less, or maybe Jamaican, or Barbados. The Caribbean accents all sound the same to me.”

  “Won’t be long before you can tell the difference. It is subtle, though.”

  “She was helpful. She told me where the guy went.”

  “That’s good.”

  Hunter tapped the bottle to her lower lip, “Funny thing, she told me what direction he was taking, but she was inside the building and couldn’t see him.”

  “Was she right?”

  “Yeah, I caught glimpses of him, but he lost me after a bit. How did she know?”

  “Want me to check her out? You have her name, right?”

  Hunter took out Ariel’s card and handed it to John. He said, “I’ll run it in the morning and call you.” He handed the card back, saying, “Nice card.”

  They started on the burgers and didn’t talk for a while. Hunter felt good, enjoying John’s company and smelling the sea. John was not the wreck he had been the first time they were together, and Hunter was glad for him. He still carried the same hint of physical intensity, like something inside him would explode if he didn’t maintain control, but she only picked up on it because she had seen it explode. If there had ever been a time for it, it had been then, when the terrifying human monster Prendell Taylor tried to kill them. Hunter shuddered, and John asked, “Are you cold?”

  “Nah, just had a thought. I’m fine.” She took her mind off the memories by saying, “You ever see someone that is sort of creepy, but appears normal?”

  “Well, you appear normal.”

  “I’m serious. We ran into these two men twice. They’re both Haitians, and businessmen, and the one, Ringo Bazin, he makes the hair stand up on my neck.”

  “What about the other one?”

  “He’s the boss, more sophisticated and a CEO type. Not like this Bazin guy as far as sending off bad vibes.”

  “What is it about Bazin?”

  Hunter thought, “He’s still. Very still.”

  “Like somebody quiet?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not following you. How do you mean?”

  “When you’re around him, he’s like a piece of wood, or maybe a mannequin. It’s like he’s not breathing, like his heart isn’t beating, that kind of stillness.”

  “Like death?”

  Hunter nodded as she thought about what John said. “I know he’s not, but yes.”

  “That would get my attention.”

  “It sure got mine. Funny thing, when he does move, Bazin is smooth, like a big cat. I guess I thought he would be stiff.”

  “Like Frankenstein, or a zombie.”

  “Like that.”

  John said, “Our coroner, Handley Armand, is from Haiti. He might be able to give us the name of someone who could help you with things like their customs, history, that stuff. I can check with him, maybe arrange a meeting if you want, just let me know.”

  “It can’t hurt. Andre was born here, but lived in Haiti while his parents worked at the U.S. Embassy. They came back stateside when Andre was nine or ten. Sounds like Handley’s source may have more insight. Thanks for the offer.”

  They left at midnight and John dropped Hunter at her hotel. When he got home and turned on the lights, John noticed faint discolorations about shoulder high, all along the hallway wall. He felt depression dropping on his shoulders like a heavy coat.

  They were his wife’s bloodstains, where the killer trailed his red hand along the hallway. Now it was bleeding through the paint and showing in faint, long streaks. John thought that when he painted over the walls with Killz, it would hide them. But like an old, bitter memory, they were back to remind him of the day a man murdered his wife and child in this home. He sighed, feeling like he weighed a thousand pounds, and went to the garage for more paint.

  Two hours later, he finished with the second coat. John washed the brushes in the sink, then got out the bottle of Jack Daniels and an old-fashioned crystal tumbler with two cubes of ice and poured it to the rim. He sat on the couch. Taking a breath was an effort. Loss and terrible guilt filled his mind. He knew that some nightmares would never stop coming to visit. John took a long swallow and sighed.

  ~*~

  Hunter couldn’t stop thinking about Bazin, and the psychic, Ariel Baimby. There was something about her. Hunter didn’t believe in such things, but she was puzzled about how Ariel knew which way the man went. Beyond that, how did she know Hunter was after him when he left his table? She was sure it was a con or scheme of some kind, but just what she didn’t have a clue. Hunter felt the woman knew more than she said at the time. I’ll call her tomorrow, she thought, and arrange a little more one on one time.

  Hunter showered and crawled into bed, tired, but in a good way. She fell asleep in minutes.

  Hunter woke before sunrise and had enough time for a run, so she put on her shorts, sleeveless shirt and running shoes then drank a glass of water and went out the door. It was cool but sticky from the humidity. The low clouds glowed orange from the city lights, and the distant roar of passenger jets leaving Lauderdale airport sounded like far off thunder. Hunter decided to run along the Intracoastal Waterway since it was by the Residence Inn where she stayed.

  Stretching out her steps and increasing her pace, Hunter felt good enough to maintain a pace of six minutes per mile and still have time to look at all the boats, ships, yachts, and nautical sights along the waterway and marinas. Sweat came easily in the humidity, and her muscles felt loose and warm. Her lungs filled and emptied like large bellows. Three miles later, she made a small circle and started back to the hotel at the same pace.

  When she made the last turn to the Residence Inn, Hunter slowed to a cool down walk. And there was Ariel Baimby.

  Ariel sat on the grass, with her back against the trunk of a young palm tree. She stood, brushing grass clippings from her bottom.

  Hunter said, “How did you know I was here?” She was uneasy.

  Ariel said, “Not so hard. I’m not stalking, but I need to tell you what happened last night. I’m worried, and I felt like I could talk to you.”

  Hunter studied her for a few seconds, then said, “Come on.” She led Ariel to her room and pointed to a chair as she took the sofa. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  Ariel said, “Last night I couldn’t sleep. I watched television, cleaned my kitchen, anything to try and become sleepy. At two in the morning, I went to my window to look outside.” She stopped talking and looked at Hunter.

  Hunter said, “What?”

  “Ringo Bazin was standing there, looking up at my apartment, and at me.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “For what, him standing out there? No. I opened my curtains and stepped to the glass so he’d know I saw him. He didn’t move, like he was a statue. We were like that for a minute, maybe two, then he pointed his finger at me and wagged it, then turned and walked away.”

  “He didn’t break the law, but you might be able to file a police report claiming he’s stalking you. That could help.”

  “Maybe.” Ariel didn’t sound convinced.

  “That guy is creepy. You need to be careful, Ariel.”

  “When I left the apartment this morning, I walked to where He stood. There were three old iron keys
on a metal ring lying there, and each key had red thread tied to it.”

  “Did you see him put it there?”

  “No.”

  “Does that mean something?”

  “That he can get to us, whenever he wants.”

  “Us?”

  “Three keys, Agent Kincaid. Me, You, and I think, your handsome Agent friend, Andre.”

  “I don’t believe in curses and spells. It’s all superstition.”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you believe in things you cannot see. You only need to look over the fence to see what is on Hell’s side.”

  “That’s where Bazin is, you think.”

  Ariel stood up, “You must get ready for your work. I’ll leave now, but I wanted to warn you. He is watching.”

  “Thanks.” Hunter hesitated a moment, then said, “We will talk some more. I have your number on the card.”

  “You have my address, too. Be careful today, Agent Kincaid.” She left and Hunter sat a moment longer, still cooling off, then undressed, showered and dressed for work. This morning she added an ordinary looking aluminum ballistic pen to her equipment. Hunter put it in her jacket pocket and thought wryly about how they could advertise the pen in Military and Police magazines: “You can stab your assailant in the shoulder and leave the pen in place while you handcuff them, then retrieve your pen on the spot to write up reports while waiting for the ambulance! A real time saver!” That thought made one corner of her mouth lift. Cop humor.

  Andre was at the station, holding coffee for both of them. He said, “I got a call last night that our freighter captain lives in Pompano Beach.”

  Hunter took her coffee, sipped and said, “Is he there?”

  “They don’t think so, but we can look it over. His address isn’t far.”

  “I’m ready,” Hunter said. Andre drove as Hunter told him about Ariel’s visit, and her warning.

  Andre said, “The three iron keys and red thread, I’m not sure what that means.”

  “Ariel said it meant they could get to us; open the door to get us or something like that.”

  “Maybe. I know of those things, but not about them. We need to find someone who knows a lot more than I do.”

  “Quick said he knows someone and could introduce us.”

  Andre stopped at a red light, “That works for me. We’re not making much progress on our own.”

  The light turned green and Andre made a right, then worked through the traffic until he was driving north on Dixie Highway. He turned onto Northeast Sixth and pointed ahead. “The address is in that neighborhood, across the road from Pompano Beach Middle School.”

  The house didn’t stand out from the others and appeared to be a residence like any other suburban home in the neighborhood. Andre parked a block away. “Let’s watch for a while.”

  Hunter was itching to do something after thirty minutes, but waited a full hour before saying, “If he’s not here, we aren’t doing anyone any good in this car.”

  Andre pulled into the driveway and Hunter said, “I’ll go to the back.”

  “Watch for dogs.”

  Hunter went to the gate on the privacy-fenced back yard and found it locked. She looked around, then used the corner where the brick house wall and the six-foot cedar fence met to climb up and over, landing on her feet on thick grass.

  No dogs, thank goodness. Working her way along the brick wall, Hunter made it to a covered patio that showed a sliding glass door into the home. Moving slow and careful, she reached it and peered through a gap where the two interior curtains didn’t meet.

  “God-o-mighty,” she breathed.

  A black, wooden table was against the far wall, and two boar’s skulls showing curved tusks as long as her index finger was underneath on the floor. Coiled on top of both skulls and draped over the sides was a thick snake skeleton that Hunter guessed at around six feet long. The snake skull rested on top of the coils and the open mouth showed two-inch long fangs. Hunter remembered reading about African Gaboon Vipers, with their thick bodies and the longest fangs in the snake world. Had to be.

  Crude white symbols and markings covered the table legs and wall behind it. Goat skulls, painted dark red, lined the front of the tabletop, and one other, with long, twisting twin horns was mounted on the wall three feet above the table.

  Below it were other items on shelves: multiple candles of different sizes in glass jars, rodent skulls, feathered chicken wings of both white and multicolored chickens, strings of beads, several simple bowls, two of them carved from dark wood and the other three formed from clay and all painted with white symbols. Bottles of cheap rum were at the edge of the table.

  Centered on the table under the wall-mounted goat skull was a human skull with the top cut off above the eye sockets. That portion was upside down beside the skull, like a cup. Hunter’s pulse quickened when she noticed rust-colored stains inside the lip.

  Hunter jumped when she heard the front doorbell, and then realized Andre was checking to see if anyone was home. She waited, but saw no movement. He rang it again, and nothing stirred. She didn’t know if it would take, but she put her iPhone against the glass door and snapped a dozen pictures, adjusting the zoom as she went.

  Checking the rest of the house showed nothing else, so Hunter again scaled the fence and walked to the front to join Andre.

  Andre said, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Let’s go and I’ll tell you, maybe show you.”

  They drove for several minutes before Hunter checked her phone images. Some of them didn’t show because of the flash reflection on the glass, but several were okay, and two were clear. She handed the phone to Andre and held the steering wheel as he looked.

  When he finished and handed the phone to Hunter, his eyes were huge. He said, “That’s creepy. I’ve got goosebumps.” He put out his arm to show her.

  “Is that like witchcraft or Santeria?”

  “Not Santeria; I don’t know about witchcraft. Santeria is not so dark feeling. This is some bad ju-ju.”

  “Bad ju-ju, huh?”

  “I don’t know what else to call it. I think you need to call your detective buddy and set up a meeting with the expert.”

  “I’ll see him tonight and set it up. Maybe tomorrow, if we’re lucky.”

  “Good.” Andre drove a few more miles and said, “Did seeing that back there spoil your appetite, or are you hungry?”

  “Not much makes me lose my appetite.”

  “I’ve got just the place.”

  “What is it?”

  “A small restaurant off the main drag a couple miles ahead; makes the best mahi-mahi sandwiches and fried plantains you’ve ever seen. Cheap, too.”

  “Drive on.”

  After the meal, they returned to the office, made calls to the other agencies and ran checks on the information they had. Hours passed and before Hunter realized, her shift was over.

  She arrived at the hotel just as the sun floated like a molten ball on the western horizon. She hurried to her room and changed so she could join John at his home for a light meal. Twenty minutes later, he opened the door for her and said, “Beer’s on the table.”

  She walked past him, and caught the smell of fresh paint coming from the hallway. The Dos Equis was ice cold, and she took two swallows before putting it down. She said, “Did you develop a taste for ice cold beer when you were in Texas?”

  “I did it for you. I know you like the beer so cold there’s almost no taste.” He grinned. “Of course, in Texas after sixty seconds outside, the beer’s warm anyhow.”

  “Hah.” She tipped the bottle at her friend in acknowledgement and took a sip. “I appreciate it.”

  John put a tray of vegetables and cold cuts on the table. Both sat on the couch so they could reach it. For a few minutes they nibbled and drank, then Hunter pulled out her phone to show John the images. She said, “Think we can talk to your M.E., maybe have him set up a meet
ing with the Haitian expert about our case?”

  John said, “Sure.” He took out his cell, texted a message and got an almost immediate reply. “Handley said tomorrow at noon would be best, he has a two-hour window then.”

  “Did he say where?”

  “At the food court in Galleria Mall. Handley says the man likes Chinese food. And his name is Young Anson.”

  “Young? As in the opposite of old?”

  “Yes. And Handley said he’ll wear a green Miami Dolphins ball cap so you can recognize him.”

  “I thought you’d be there.”

  John grinned, “I will be, but that cap is to help me, too. I’ve never met him.”

  Hunter pulled out her phone, “I’ll let Andre know.” She texted, got an almost instant reply and returned the phone to her pocket. Taking a sip of beer, she said, “Isn’t somebody playing football tonight?”

  John put the television on the game, and then for the next three hours they alternately groaned, cheered, and drank beer as the Cowboys played the Dolphins.

  ~*~

  Ringo Bazin sat in a dimly lit room, with the only illumination coming from his open laptop, where a video played. The video showed Jean Claude Villard’s home as viewed from several hidden security cameras.

  The image began as the two Agents, Kincaid and Benton, approached the house. Then it caught the woman, Kincaid, climbing the fence as agile as a gymnast and creeping into the back yard. She eased onto the patio to the sliding glass doors where she angled her head to the side to peer through the interior curtains. Her facial reactions told what Kincaid saw. He watched her take photos with her phone, then later rejoin her partner and leave.

  He rewound the tape and played it in slow motion. When Kincaid’s face was centered in the frame, Ringo froze the image. He looked at it for twenty minutes, then turned off the computer, extinguishing all light, and stayed in the dark, unmoving, as still and silent as stone. At dawn, he picked up the laptop and left the room.

  Ringo drove to Marc Dessaline’s large home in North Coconut Grove and carried the laptop to the door. One of the Haitian servants opened it and led him through the house to the pool area, where Dessaline sat at a large, glass-topped iron patio table a drinking coffee. He motioned for Ringo to sit, and had the servant pour him a cup. Two others brought a platter of ze ak bannan, spicy Haitian eggs, fried plantains, and pain, the dense, chewy bread of Haiti.