Lowe, Tom - Sean O'Brien 08

by A Murder of Crows

  “We played there as kids. Dad would take us there when he cut palmetto. I remember climbing the mound with him and you at sunset. He said it overlooked the spiritual land of our forefathers, the last place where Osceola walked free.”

  Billie nodded. “That’s the Valley of the Ancestors.”

  Nita said, “And I remember Daddy sitting on Mr. Hawkins porch, swapping stories, laughing, as we all drank from canning jars.” Her eyes moistened. She looked at O’Brien. “If the murder happened up in Citrus County, why are you on the rez?”

  “Because the only connection between Joe and the dead man first happened here on the rez. Somebody knew that, and somebody wants Joe out of the way. I’d like to find out why.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Nita Tiger’s cell phone rang. She lifted if off the counter, reading the caller ID. “It’s Charlie.” She answered, listened for a few seconds. “Okay. How much longer will they be here?”

  O’Brien could hear the voice on the line speak louder before disconnecting. Nita said, “Charlie wants me to bring him three beers.”

  O’Brien said, “Hey, you took the order. I can make the delivery.”

  “I’m not sure if you—”

  “I insist.” He smiled. “It’ll be fine. I won’t spill a drop. Promise.”

  “I guess it’s okay.” She opened the door to the refrigerator, removing three longneck bottles of Sam Adams.

  Billie said, “I want to say goodbye to Kimi. I’ll stop by her room.”

  He walked quietly down the hall, knocking on the closed bedroom door. Kimi opened it, the phone to her ear. She said, “My uncle’s here. I’ll call you back. Bye.” She disconnected and Billie stepped inside her room, a poster of Taylor Swift on one wall, pictures of Kimi and her high school friends on the dresser, the stuffed bear he’d given her on the bed.

  “Sean and I have to be heading out. I didn’t want to leave without saying bye to you.”

  “Do you have to go?”

  “I’ll return soon. Kimi, you and I have always been close. I will always protect you.”

  She sat on the edge of her bed staring out her window, a tear rolling down one cheek. Her voice was just above a whisper. “I know that, Uncle Joe. But it’s too late for protection. Things happen. I have always heard they happen for a reason. If that’s true, if bad things happen for a reason, if bad things happen to good people and it’s like for a reason, why try to be good? I’m always scared now. After what happened … I don’t know what happened to him … I hate how I’ve turned out.”

  Billie sat with Kimi on the side of the bed. He reached out and held her hand. “You haven’t turned out yet. That’s a long process of self-discovery. We are born with love. Fear, Kimi, is learned. Good and bad things are part of life’s journey. Some of the good is how you deal with the bad. Do you understand?”

  “All I understand is there’s a lot of bad shit, and the only journey I care about is getting out of here.”

  “That’s because you are fearful. You become fearless with grace. The journey I’m talking about is the uncoupling of fear and the acceptance of love back into your heart. Turning out, or becoming who you can be, you’ll need to embrace the universal power of unconditional love. It’s the lifeblood, the truth and purpose on earth. Turning out, becoming all you can be, Kimi, is to become willfully aware of this. You are not at fault. It begins by learning to love yourself again, with all your imperfections, with all of your fears.”

  She turned to Billie. “I know you mean well, Uncle Joe, but how do I love myself when I don’t like myself? Not after what happened.”

  “Self love is accepting who you are, knowing that despite your faults and shortcomings, you are a good person. The way to see good in others is to first find it in you, and it’s there, Kimi, locked in your heart. Unlock it. Share it. I know it’s hard, but it will help heal you.”

  She looked up at Billie, a solitary tear spilling down her left cheek. She wiped it away. “I don’t see a lot of good in others … or in me anymore. I need to be alone right now.”

  He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “You are loved.” Billie stood, Kimi nodding, her mouth tight. He smiled and left the room, joining O’Brien in the kitchen.

  Nita said, “Here’s a tray for the beers.” She set a square tray on the counter, arranging the three bottles of beer in the center. She looked at Billie. “How’s Kimi?”

  “Working through some things.”

  “I’m glad she talks with you.”

  Billie smiled. O’Brien picked up the tray and said, “Let’s make a delivery. Maybe we’ll get a tip.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  They sat under a thatched chickee in wooden chairs around a rock fire pit, the charred logs black, a wisp of white smoke rising from the embers. Each of the three men looked up as Billie and O’Brien approached. Billie said nothing until he got within ten feet of the men. O’Brien watched the two visitors, looking for signs of recognition, anything that would signal a history with Billie.

  The history he saw immediately was with him and one of the men. O’Brien recognized him, and he could tell, as the man shifted his eyes, that the man remembered him, too.

  Under the shade from the chickee and the wide brim leather hat, Charlie Tiger’s jowly face was in shadows, but it wasn’t dark enough to hide his distrust. He used a whetstone to sharpen the blade of a hunting knife. O’Brien knew it was a Gerber Mark II. Charlie blew the whetstone dust toward the fire pit and said, “Joe, haven’t seen you in a while.”

  Billie smiled. “I’m trying to get back more often, Charlie.”

  O’Brien said, “Here’s your beverages, gentlemen.” He lowered the tray, allowing each man to remove a beer.

  Charlie looked up. “Who are you?”

  “Name’s O’Brien. Joe and I are old friends.”

  “Welcome to the rez, friend.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, we got something in common. These fellas are my friends, too. That’s Carlos Bertoni to my left and Tony Rizzo next to him. Joe’s my only brother-in-law.” He sipped his beer.

  O’Brien eyed Carlos, the man directly to Charlie’s left. He was the larger of the two, barrel chest, shaved head, a diamond stud in one right ear, and a slim scar on the bridge of his wide nose. O’Brien knew that he was packing a pistol because he’d seen it from the window when he peered through the blinds. He assumed the other guy was too. The second man, Tony, was thin, a Ping-Pong ball-sized Adam’s apple, a predator’s face with traces of dark acne pits in pale skin, his blond hair gelled and combed back.

  O’Brien studied the big man, recognized him—Carlos Bertoni, a mule for the Genovese family. A go-to hit man with the perfect antisocial personality disorders to make murder his calling card. “Been a long time, Carlos. How long have you been out?”

  The man called Tony raised his eyebrows, watching O’Brien. Charlie Tiger lifted his head up, taking in O’Brien.

  Carlos used his thick fingers to move a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. “I remember you, Sean fucking O’Brien. Miami-Dade PD detective. Surprised you’re still in a vertical position.” He grinned. “I’m bettin’ you got your ass fired. There’re too many surveillance cameras on the streets now. Your Dirty Harry shit won’t cut it when you’re on camera. Opens up all kinds of lawsuits. Bad PR for the PD, too. How long you been an ex-cop?”

  “What makes you think I’m ex anything?”

  “You wouldn’t be out here. The rez ain’t Dade County, pal. Native Americans got their own PD in the glades. And somethin’ tells me you sure as hell aren’t part of it. So, fuck off.”

  No one spoke, the sound of a mockingbird chirping at the top of a cabbage palm. Spotted sunlight broke through a small gap in the chickee roof, the golden light falling across the brim of Charlie Tiger’s hat, animating one dark eye like a breeze flaring a spark on charcoal. Charlie grunted. “Well, looks like we have a reunion around the campfire. Go figure.” He cut his eyes up to B
illie. “What do we owe the honor of your visit, Joe?”

  “Sean and I were in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by and say hello. I visited with Nita and Kimi.”

  Charlie said nothing.

  The drone of jet engines came from the blue sky. A private Gulfstream III circled the reservation, the sun reflecting off the snow-white exterior, the pilot preparing to land at Big Cypress Airfield.

  Carlos tossed his wet toothpick into the coals. “If you fellas will excuse us, we have private business to discuss.”

  O’Brien decided to take a gamble. “When your business involves my friend Joe, he has a seat at the table.” O’Brien smiled.

  Carlos didn’t.

  Charlie Tiger shifted his weight in the Adirondack chair. “Come again?”

  O’Brien moved the tray from his left hand to his right hand. He looked at each man as he spoke. “Let me clarify. Somebody’s trying to have Joe take the fall for a murder. When someone tries to set up my friend it does two things. First, it pisses me off. Second it makes me real curious. I start to think why would someone or some people want to do that. What’s the connection? Who would stand to gain if Joe’s out of the way? So maybe you guys have heard something. Someone on the rez knew that Joe had a connection to the guy who was killed. His name is Lawrence Barton. His throat was slit, and he was scalped.” He eyed Charlie Tiger, looking at the knife in his brown hand and then staring into the dark, unblinking eyes beneath the leather hat. “Who might know that?”

  Charlie sipped his beer. “I got no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Carlos set his beer bottle on the wide armrest of his chair. He stood, glancing toward the front of the house and then looking at O’Brien. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Take a hike, or you might lose your scalp, too.”

  O’Brien said nothing.

  Carlos reached down, lifting his beer, a water ring on the armrest. He drained the bottle and tossed it into the fire pit. “I don’t like your tone.” He cut his eyes to his partner. “Is it just me, Tony, or do you find this guy really offensive?”

  “He’s a dick. No doubt about it.”

  Billie said, “Let’s go, Sean. There’s nothing more to be said here.”

  Charlie nodded. “You are a wise brother. See you at Christmas.”

  Billie turned, walking back toward the Jeep. O’Brien looked at the men. Charlie said, “It appears that you parked really close to my friend’s car. Please be careful opening your door.”

  The man called Tony used a nail clipper to cut his long fingernails, tossing the cutting into the smoldering fire. His voice was slow, a raspy edge to it. He looked directly at O’Brien. “I don’t like your suggestions. You serve us beer and bullshit. Talkin’ about some fuckin’ tie between somebody whacked and someone here on the rez, implying that my good friend Charlie Tiger might know something about it. That’s insulting. I think you owe Charlie an apology.”

  O’Brien could see Carlos rest his large hand on his belt buckle, inches away from the pistol strapped to his ribcage. O’Brien lowered his voice. “If somehow, someway, Joe is arrested for a murder he didn’t commit, I will leave no stone uncovered to find the person calling the shots. So if you happen to know of an individual who wants to send Joe Billie to death row for something he didn’t do, tell him I will find him and prove that he killed or ordered the hit on Lawrence Barton. And by proving it … I guarantee you it’ll interfere with any business deal you may be planning. Am I clear?”

  Tony trimmed a curved nail on his little finger. He looked up at O’Brien without moving his head. “Is that a threat?”

  “No. It’s a promise.” He pulled out three business cards and tossed one in the lap of each man. “Here’s where you can contact me if you hear of anything that might assist Joe.” He stared at Charlie Tiger. “I’m sure you’d be the first to do what you could to help your brother-in-law. Right now police are calling Joe a person of interest. I believe that somewhere on this reservation there’s a person of interest, too. If this case against Joe escalates, I’ll find that person. And I will bring him down hard.” O’Brien turned and walked toward the driveway.

  Joe Billie stood next to the Jeep. As O’Brien approached, Billie glanced back at the men under the chickee and said, “No reason to jab the beast.”

  “Yes there is. Carlos Bertoni recognized you. I could tell. And I want to know why.”

  “Let’s get in the Jeep.”

  O’Brien glanced over his shoulder, the three men staring at him and Billie. O’Brien walked behind the Jeep, crouched down out of the line of site. He removed the GPS tracker from his pocket, turned it on, squatted next to the Mercedes, touching the tracker to the car’s undercarriage, the strong magnets securing the tiny box in place. O’Brien ducked back behind the Jeep and stood. Then he got in the driver’s seat as Billie entered the passenger’s side.

  O’Brien backed out of the driveway, a chorus of cicadas in the palms and oaks. As he put the Jeep in drive, he looked toward the house. Kimi Tiger stood behind the screened door, her face pensive, as if she was watching a ship sail over the horizon.

  THIRTY

  They rode for more than a minute in silence. Then Joe Billie asked, “What did you attach to their car?”

  “GPS tracker. Waterproof. Magnetic mount. I want to see where they go.” O’Brien used his phone to send a text. “Dave Collins will record the data. Let’s see where it leads. I’m sending him the license plate number from their car, too.”

  “How do you know the one named Carlos?”

  “He was an associate with the mob in Miami. Became a soldier—a hit man. I believe one of the many people he killed was a Greek-American named George Mikos, he ran one of the more profitable gambling fleets from the Port of Miami. Mikos came out of his office one evening, turned the ignition on his Bentley, and was blown up. Forensics found one whole tooth and three remaining fingers to ID the body. At the time, I worked a joint task force with the FBI. Carlos Bertoni, who was just out of the Army, with a background in explosives, was the prime suspect. He dodged the murder charge, but later was indicted on racketeering and attempted murder. He beat a stripper almost to death. She was in a coma for a month. He’s just the tip of the iceberg in terms of whom you’re dealing with now on the rez. What’s going on here, Joe?”

  “For more than twenty years, Charlie was good to my sister. About six months ago he came home drunk one night. He’d been out with some of his new business associates. He and Nita argued, and he slapped her hard. Kimi saw it. She called me, and I drove down here the next day. Nita told me how Charlie had changed. Booze. Drugs. Since his rise in political stature, his ego was unchecked. I spoke with Charlie—at least I tried to talk with him. It was under the same chickee where we were a few minutes ago.”

  O’Brien slowed the Jeep some. “What happened?”

  “First, he denied it. But I had too much information, and that made him angrier. He said Nita violated the trust in their marriage for her to consult me ... her own brother. I told him that trust ended when he made the decision to hit her. I told him that I knew he was meeting with people involved in organized crime, and I wanted to know why. I asked him what kind of kickbacks or cuts they agreed to if the tribe expanded gambling into other places. I was taking a shot in the dark, but based on conversations Nita overheard when he was on the phone, it wasn’t hard to piece together the scenario. He became livid and warned me to stay out of their lives.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I left, but I didn’t leave the rez. I rented a chickee at the safari campground and staked out my sister’s house, following Charlie from a distance. Trying to keep tabs on where he was going and whom he was meeting. But soon they were following me.”

  “Who are they?”

  “The guys you just talked to, but more of them. Nita believes they’re from Miami. One, maybe two, out of New York. It was dark when I left a café and that Carlos guy approached me as I got to my truck in the parking lot. He’d a
lready pulled out his pistol and shoved it in my ribcage. He told me to stay away from Charlie. He said if I interfered with anything, Kimi would be kidnapped, sold and trafficked into the sex trade business.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him that would be the biggest mistake in his life. I let him know that I would speak with police, the National Indian Gaming Commission, and prosecutors to expose his illicit business if they continued an involvement with Charlie. On a personal note, I said I’d bring the wrath and fighting history of the Seminole nation down on him and his associates if I was pushed. He pulled back the hammer on his pistol and said he felt a sneeze coming on. Then he laughed and walked away.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  “Because I can’t see them killing Barton to get to me. If they really see me as a threat, why not kill me? Also, I didn’t know they’d be at my sister’s house today. When Carlos was staring at me, I could tell that you knew he’d met or seen me before. Are you thinking he killed Barton?”

  “Someone in the pack might have done it if they thought you were a large enough threat to their business. They’re not the lead dogs. Just part of the sled team where the view in front of them stays the same. I’d like to find the lead dog. He’s the head of the snake—the guy calling the shots. If these thugs killed Barton, he ordered it.”

  “For one of these guys to find Lawrence Barton and kill him the same day I happened to be on the ranch, is remote unless they’re a lot more sophisticated than I believe.”

  “If they’re involved, they’re not alone. Did Charlie Tiger know about you meeting Barton five years ago?”

  “I don’t recall ever speaking to him about it. But like Johnny Stillwater said, not a lot goes on at the rez that people don’t somehow hear about, sooner or later. And Barton’s arrest was public record at the time.”

  “Yes, but that time was years ago. Someone with a long memory made it relevant today and to you. The other unknown variable that’s entwined to this by geography and his job with the Seminole casino near Tampa is Bobby Hawkins. Does he know these men? Does he work for them? And could he be a gun for hire?”