by Alexie Aaron
"I can see her point, but if these are real and if they’re diamonds that are used to finance terrorist operations, then it would be better to know it now. I can pull some strings and have it done quietly, but I will have to let my superiors know if they’re dirty."
"Would it get Father Michael in trouble?" Harry asked.
"He would have to explain why he has them. That's if...” he stopped, acknowledged my sharp intake of breath and corrected, “when you find him." Dave scooped up the marbles and diamonds, put them back in the pouch and held the pouch out to me.
I looked over at Harry and he nodded. "Dave, take them. We need to know what we’re dealing with. Is it just me or has it gotten colder in here?" I shivered.
"Don't be so dramatic. Women." Harry looked at Dave for confirmation.
"Don't get me into the grave you just dug. I better get going. I have to call the wife and tell her I’m going to be late. Pack up those brownies. I will need some sustenance as I don't think she's going to hold supper for me."
"I could write you a note." I smiled weakly.
"Cin, what would it say? Please excuse Dave for missing dinner because I’ve some illegal diamonds I want him to look at?" He got up and softened. "Don't worry, part of the job."
Harry came in with a grocery-sized bag and handed it to Dave. He lifted it and judged the weight. "I guess I will have some to share with the guys." He headed for the door, and before opening he stopped and turned around. "Are you heading for the school tomorrow?"
"Early."
"Be careful, and if you find anything..."
"I know, call you and don't touch it," I said automatically.
"I hope you mean that." He said sternly and walked out the door.
Harry and I looked at each other for a moment before he said, "You didn't tell him about the gun."
"I thought we had stretched our friendship as far as we could already without adding the gun," I said, walking over and putting my arm around his shoulder. "Anyway, it all may turn out to be a misunderstanding, and Father Michael is on retreat somewhere."
"Do you believe that?" Harry asked.
"No, but I’m going to pretend so I can get some sleep tonight. Let's go and find something healthy to eat. I have the sugar shakes." I held out my trembling hand for effect.
"Me too." Harry wiggled his hips and started to shimmy his way into the kitchen.
I started laughing and pushed thoughts of Father Michael deeper in my brain until I could deal with them. At the moment, the only thing I wanted to deal with was Harry's cuisine.
Chapter Twelve
South Florida has many ecosystems, and as we drove west to Pahokee we saw a dramatic change from the sand and palm trees to the muck soil and crops. The change also involved a drop of several feet of elevation. Muck soil comes from ancient saw grass. When it’s dry, it doesn't blow away and deposit elsewhere, which happens with most other soil. It evaporates. Buildings that were built flush with the soil thirty years ago were now teetering atop five to ten feet of concrete blocks. The whole underside of the buildings’ plumbing and foundations were now exposed to the hot humid air.
This was the most fertile soil you could have, and the farmers rotated their crops to take advantage of this. To hold the soil from evaporation, the farmers tried to keep the water in the fields as close to the surface as possible. Unfortunately, they were in constant conflict with south Florida Water Management as to how high the canal water levels needed to be. One rainstorm could, not only flood their fields but also wipe out housing developments closer to the coast as the water flowed out to the ocean.
Sugarcane aside, the region produced eighty percent of the winter vegetable crops that the United States used. Even with this fertile soil, the small operator still had to fight many battles to keep afloat, some with the big cane farmers, others with the migration west of condos and other developments. But their biggest fight recently was with the environmentalists that wanted to reopen the river of grass from Lake Okeechobee to the Everglades.
I pointed out the thirty foot earthen wall damn that surrounded the lake to Harry as I negotiated our turn north. I explained to Harry that in the late 1920’s hurricane winds were so strong that they forced the water out of the lake and drowned hundreds of people. But it wasn’t until the 1940’s that the Army Corps of Engineers built this damn. Harry asked if I was around to see the construction, and I responded with a glare that told him I wasn’t that old.
Each cane field had small canals that ran through them and connected with the bigger canals that moved the water eastward. The road I was navigating had deep canals on each side of the pavement. The roads were narrow, and motorists shared them with the large cane trucks. If you went off the road into a canal, you would only have seconds to abandon your car before it sunk into the murky depths. Many south Floridians kept a tiny hammer in their vehicles to bust the window glass. I didn't have a hammer in the roadster, so I just put the top down before a trip out there. I hoped to never find myself in the water. Not only were the canals deceptively deep but they could also have alligators and poisonous snakes in them.
The recent droughts in the last few years had pushed the water level of the lake down, hurting the sport fishing industry. It was a hard way of life living in the interior of Florida. I was sorry to see the old Florida way disappear but also could see the environmentalists' point of view.
Harry and I saw a mix of thriving cane fields and empty businesses along the route north before we came to Pahokee. The school was northeast of the town, so we took another dubious road, dodging potholes until we connected with the right road.
The Pahokee preschool stood out like an oasis amongst the waving fields of sugarcane. There were several one-story buildings connected by covered walkways with several play areas shaded from the hot sun that were nestled here and there. The parking lot held only a few cars. The several small busses that the school used for transportation lined the entrance road.
Lined up along one building were those amazing strollers that would hold four or five toddlers at once. I had a brief vision of myself trying to manage a handful of toddlers and shuddered. I didn’t have the temperament for little children although I admired those that did.
Harry got out of the car, and before I could speak he shushed me, cupped his ear and motioned for me to listen. I listened and heard children singing. He smiled at me, and we followed the sound to a classroom and stood outside listening. I didn't recognize the song they were singing. It was the first I time I heard it, but as it was sung with so much gusto, I was sure Harry and I would be singing it on the way home. We waited until they were finished before sticking our heads in and asking for the office. A volunteer aide directed us to another building. I had to take Harry's hand to get him to leave the classroom, much to the amusement of several children.
We walked into the office and were greeted by a very happy, round, short black woman who was balancing on a chair trying to reach a box on the top shelf. Harry came to the rescue with his best foot and charm forward. He helped her down and with his young legs and long arms retrieved the wanted box.
"Why thank you, young man. I imagine you must be the Lathens."
"I'm Cin and this is Harry." I didn't add that he wasn't a Lathen. Our connection just took too long to explain.
"I'm Chanel Mullens, but you can call me Mother Mullens just like everyone else around here. Dwayne tells me you're interested in our school.” She motioned for us to take a seat and sat herself down with the dignity of an Ivy League dean. “We take care of infants through five-year olds at this facility. This frees both parents so they can work, and the children get an education while they’re here. We also teach the young mothers how to take care of their kids. We have a large volunteer staff, including some of the parents who are expected to take turns in helping out in the center."
"Are all of these children from migrant families?" I asked.
"Most, but not all. We have Miccosukee Indian children alo
ng with Spanish speaking children. Every now and then we do see blond hair and blue eyes. Poverty doesn't have cultural lines. Are you interested in helping out on a daily basis or just for the toy drive?" Mother Mullens got right to the point.
"Harry’s and my schedules are currently tight, but we’re interested in the toy drive. That reminds me, a friend of ours, Michael Williams, was supposed to visit one of these centers and report back to the Williams Foundation about the schools in this area. Did he happen to come here?"
"The Williams Foundation, I’ve heard of them. Their money would be well spent here. But you said he was supposed to visit? Wait, let me think." She walked back around her desk and flipped a day calendar backwards. "Ah, here it is. He came or was supposed to come last Monday. I was at a regional meeting, but Abbie was here. Let me get... No, better yet, let's go to classroom five and talk to her."
We followed her out of the building and around a labyrinth of walkways until we came to the room. The five year-old children were in the middle of a lesson so we waited at the back of the classroom and watched. The young teacher was placing several pictures of buildings on the bulletin board. Next to them she had their names in English and also in Spanish. She held up a picture and asked first in English where this person belonged and then repeated the question in Spanish. Hands went up, and she handed a picture of herself to one of the hand wavers when the child approached the board.
"This is a teacher, and she belongs in a school." The child carefully stuck a pin through the picture of Abbie and put her in the school building.
"Very good, Markus! Everyone clap for Markus!"
We all clapped. I think Harry clapped the hardest. What a ham. Next she held up a picture of a sugar mill worker. The next child chosen was a girl, and she walked over and put him in the mill. This game continued until all the pictures of people had been used. They then went over the names in English and Spanish of the people and the buildings.
Abbie settled the class down for some coloring and came over to us. Mother Mullens explained why we were there.
"Yes, there was a man here briefly."
I pulled out a recent picture that Diane had given me of Michael. "Was this the man?"
"Yes, Father Williams. I gave him some materials and showed him the classrooms. He asked about one of the drivers and whether he could talk to him. I thought this was rather odd at the time. I couldn't really help him as it was Manuel Perez, and he hadn't come into work for a week or so, and we had to find someone else. Why?" She lifted an eyebrow.
"This is a friend of mine who’s missing. He’s legit, his aunt runs the Williams's Foundation. She asked me, since she knew I was going to be visiting, to ask around if anyone knew of his whereabouts."
"I'm sorry. He was only here briefly. I hope you find him." She turned around and clapped her hands. "Everyone, time to pick up."
The children responded immediately and rushed around the room picking up crayons and toys and putting them away in the brightly lettered corresponding boxes. I was so engrossed in watching the activity and wondering why I never got that response at home with only two children, that I dropped my picture of Michael. I was alerted to it by a tug on my jeans. I looked down, and Markus smiled at me, held up the picture and pointed to it.
"I know where he belongs." He started walking towards the board. I expected him to put Michael in the church building, but he passed by the board and pointed out the window.
I rushed over. "Where does this man belong?"
"The man belongs in the old mill," he said, pointing across the street at the overgrown buildings. "Yesterday he was doing this." Markus put his hands together like he was praying. "But today he is doing this." Markus put his hands under his head like he was sleeping.
"So he is sleeping in the old mill?" I asked gently.
"He’s sleeping and using some big wood boxes for his blankets."
"Oh. Thank you, Markus." I shook his hand and went back to the others. "Mother Mullens, thank you for the tour. Harry and I will definitely like to help Dwayne out, and I will follow through with the Williams Foundation myself."
She nodded and we left building five together. I tried to be as calm as possible while we were in Mother Mullens's sight, but as soon as she went into the office, I took off running to the car, leaving a very confused Harry to follow me.
"What's going on?" he asked, out of breath and fighting the seatbelt as I drove out of the parking lot. “Whoah!” Harry closed his eyes as I flew across the street and nearly tipped us over trying to navigate the hazards of the old mill yard.
"Markus told me he saw Michael over here in the old mill.” I twisted around violently in my seat. “There are so many buildings which one is the mill?"
Harry directed me to the largest of the buildings where I parked the car. We got out and looked at each other.
"It's a big building," Harry commented.
"Markus said he could see him, and I don't think Markus would have been able to get into here. It seems pretty secure," I said as I tried to open one of the doors. "So, let's look for windows that a five-year-old boy could look into. Maybe, we should look for a worn path because evidently Markus is here a lot, at least yesterday and today."
Harry and I walked around the building. I went clockwise and Harry counterclockwise. I peered in every crack in the wood and metal siding. I got down on my knees and looked into low broken windows. I started to wonder about Markus’s parents and the level of supervision he had. Why he was allowed to wonder around this hazardous area alone? I heard Harry call me.
"Here! Cin, I see someone."
I ran over to Harry who was on the ground, looking into a broken vent. He moved aside and let me look.
"There on the ground under that debris," he instructed.
I followed the lumber and whatnot downward, and there was Michael lying still on the ground. His legs were caught under the fallen materials. "Michael!" I yelled into the vent. He didn't respond. I got up. "We have to find a way in."
"First, we call Buslowski," Harry said, taking his turn at being the responsible adult.
I handed Harry my phone and let him call while I kicked and pushed until I felt a panel give enough for me to squeeze through. Aware that my entrance was ten feet above the ground, I cautiously stuck my head in and looked through the gloom. There three feet below me was a concrete ledge. I turned around and lowered myself onto the ledge, carefully turning around before I jumped the last seven feet down and landed with my knees bent. I still fell over backward and knocked my head on the wall, but I probably would have done it jumping two feet, let alone seven. I got up and rushed over to Michael.
"Don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead." I got down on my knees and touched his face. My fingers made an indentation on his jaw. I felt for a pulse and found one. "Harry!" I screamed. "Get my water bottle from the car."
I heard Harry's footfalls pound the ground, and before I had finished my examination of Michael’s precarious situation, I heard him come back. He jumped down gracefully and soon was at my side.
"It's warm from the sun," he explained as he dropped the water bottle into my hands.
"Doesn't matter, it’s water." I lifted Michael's head and poured a small amount of water over his lips. "Come on, drink it. Wake up, Michael." I didn't dare move him as the heap of metal and wood wasn't too stable. His legs were pinned. "Harry, how long?"
"They have a chopper and cars on the way. How is he?"
"He's still alive but barely. He’s covered with ant bites, and I don't think he has had water in some time. There is a big bump on the side of his head. Oh, Harry, I don't like this at all." I started to cry.
"Hang in there. I think I heard something out front. I better direct them in." Harry's footfalls pounded off.
"What're you crying for, big baby," a soft voice hissed at me.
I looked down and one of Michael's eyes was trying to open.
"Here, try to drink some of this.” I drizzled a little more wa
ter over his lips. He tried to drink, but most of it just trailed out of his mouth.
"Bad aim," he said.
"How did you get here?" I asked, trying again with the water. He drank some and coughed.
"Not an accident," was the last thing he said before fading.
I opened his shirt, trying to cool him as I bathed his head and face with the water while willing help to get there faster. I heard a loud, metallic ripping sound, and a breeze blew in as the emergency team tore away part of the west wall. They dropped down. I got out of their way while they hooked Michael up to an IV before assessing how to get him out from under the pile of debris.
"Cin," Dave Buslowski's voice called from above. I saw him ease himself down while giving directions to another deputy to check on the progress of the emergency chopper. He came over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Let them do their work. Let's see if we can find an easier way out of here.”
We walked around the back of the pile of debris and found a locked door. Dave trotted over and picked up a crowbar, and with our combined weight we were able to break the frame and open the door. This was no exit, at least no exit to the outside world. This room was enclosed and thick with the fetid, sweet smell of death. There lying just the other side of the door was what remained of a man. Dave did a quick survey of the room, and not seeing another exit to this room, he backed out. As we walked away, still looking for another exit, Dave murmured, "I wonder who that was?"
"I’ve a feeling it was Manuel Perez, a bus driver for the center across the street."
Dave started to ask another question but was stopped by our finding another door. This one was easier to open, and when we did, we found and followed a hallway which moved upwards to a large open area where we found large sliding doors that were chained shut. After Dave had weakened the chain with the crowbar, he fired a couple of carefully placed shots from his pistol. The broken chain fell free from the door.
The doors screamed as we opened them to the sunlight and to Harry who guided the Medevac team down to Michael. I walked outside and let the men do their work. I prayed for Michael to be alright. I also prayed for the faceless man who lay rotting in the small dark room. Harry came back up and hugged me.