Carats and Coconuts

by Scott, D. D.

  “Something along the line of how much they get paid to look the other way?” I ventured.

  “And who’s paying who,” Roman finished my thought with total accuracy.

  I normally love how we share brain waves. But that time, I could only hope he wasn’t sharing all of mine. If he was, he was in just as much danger as I was of never making it out of this forest alive.

  Unless…

  We could beat our little rogue elf Stanley and his associates at their own deadly game.

  So, game on.

  “Zoey, how good to see you again,” Police Chief Fosito said, with the sincerity of one of Roman and Vitto’s mob soldiers when they get an unexpected visit from their bosses.

  “You as well, Chief Fosito,” I said, a firm believer in attempting to kill ‘em with kindness.

  I only resorted to kickin’ someone’s ass if my first tactic failed.

  “I’ve brought some friends with me this trip.”

  “So I see,” Fosito said neither his voice nor his expression conveying he was particularly happy about it.

  “Well now, I don’t know about y’all, but I’m not necessarily feelin’ the love from The Foz here. Are you?”

  Leave it to Grams to go right for the balls every time. There was never any honey drippin’ from her words, just one gigantic fly swatter goin’ for pay dirt.

  So much for killin’ The Foz with kindness, I thought.

  “Why don’t you calm down a bit, Ms…”

  “Weiss. The name is Lucy Weiss. My friends call me Grams. But you ain’t that lucky, Foz. You just stick with Ms. Weiss,” Grams said then harrumphed till her tiny body shook. “And say, did ya ever notice that the people who tell you to calm down are the ones who pissed ya off to begin with?”

  “Another Maxine-ism?” Granny V asked, laughing out loud.

  “Something like that,” I said, while giving Roman the evil eye for insisting Grams be part of our welcome wagon.

  The Foz remained silent as he and Grams remained stuck in one fierce stare-down.

  I cleared my throat, knowing I had to get this show on the road as quickly as possible and get us to the high-security Witherspoon Lodge inside the reservation.

  “Grams is a little cranky today. Sorry about that, Chief. If you’ll just order your men to let us through, we’ll be on our way to Witherspoon & Witherspoon.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said, without the slightest hesitation.

  “Why not?” I asked, knowing very well how these games were often played, although, I’d never had to play them with The Foz. This turn of events did surprise me.

  The situation down here must be worse than I’d thought. And that realization alone made my bladder much weaker.

  “Business has picked up lately, and we’ve had…what would you call it…a change in protocol,” The Foz said, sounding way too cocky.

  “I’ve got this,” Vitto said, stepping between Roman and I, a large brief case in his hands.

  The Foz motioned for Vitto to follow him into the guard shack, while three of his men stepped forward, effectively blocking the rest of us from following them.

  “Oooo…this is just like you see in the movies,” Grams’ new friend Bunny said.

  Too bad Beefcakes didn’t share the same enthusiasm as his geriatric sidekicks. I got the distinct feeling that Antonio Beefcakes’ bladder was smaller than mine.

  “You aint’ seen nothin’ yet, Bunny. This bitch don’t mess around,” Grams said adopting her I’m-a-bad-ass stance, her plastic lei now just inches from the super buff chests of the three amigos holding us at gunpoint via machine guns. “Wait till R gives us some super-cool gadgets to try out on you silly fuckers. Now that shit’s gonna totally rock your worlds!”

  Holy Bejeezus. If she wasn’t on her Maxine kick, she was in Rambo-mania Mode.

  I hoped The Foz could be bought off quickly with the contents of Vitto’s briefcase. If not, we’d be doomed before we even got to the lodge.

  Making me more nervous than Gram’s outbreak was the fact that Roman had yet to say a word. In a tense situation, when he was this silent, it meant one thing. There was a lot more danger present than any of us knew or understood…except him.

  Chapter Four

  I knew from what my parents had told us before we left their Michigan vaults that the Brazilian black market had recently seen a huge surge in volume. The question was, how did Stanley, our former employee, fit into the now booming smuggled gem market.

  Here’s the normal course of business down here…on the dark side…

  A gem mined here on this reservation can be sold in town by locals acting as middlemen for around $8,000. Another middleman may then sell that same gem for $25,000 to a third person, who then passes it on to a buyer in Sao Paulo who can get $250,000 for the same stone.

  People will fly in from around the world for the promise of cheap, very pure stones in carat sizes from five carats on up.

  I’ll never forget Chief Valente once telling me that gems are easier to sell here than cocaine.

  But this kind of business brings the same kinds of violence as one sees in the drug smuggling world. With the violence comes the corruption involved in ensuring people look the other way.

  As Vitto came out of the shack without his briefcase, I got the distinct impression that The Foz was also now looking the other way.

  Little did he know that it was our mission to see just who all and what all he was looking away from.

  Before we could begin that journey, we had to get through these gates and travel deeper still into the rainforest to my family’s Witherspoon & Witherspoon on-site headquarters.

  Thanks to Vitto, it appeared we’d just purchased our very expensive ticket to our next destination.

  “How much do you suppose your grandpa paid for our gate pass?” I asked Roman, who still hadn’t said a single word.

  “I’m guessing a cool hundred grand,” Roman said in an unassuming tone as if that were simply pocket change. “That’s what he usually starts with, which is damn good money in these parts unless gems are part of the deal.”

  I suppose, for a prince and his royal family, that is merely pocket change. But to the rest of us, it isn’t.

  “You know, at first, Fosito said he was here to protect the Indians, but I’m convinced the line he’s now walking favors the other side. The government’s interests are far from the Indians’ best interest and far from the environmental regulation of the mining on these lands,” I said, barely loud enough to override the sound of the Jeep’s engine.

  I was too weary to speak any louder, totally unsure as to who else might be watching or listening.

  “Without the ability to mine from their lands, the Sol Larga can’t sustain themselves, right?”

  “Absolutely right. No one cares about bringing food, medicine, and basic living supplies to the Sol Larga. All they care about are the gems they can take away from their land,” I said, filling in Roman on the issues facing my indigenous friends.

  “So where are they at in their current negotiations?”

  “That’s the problem, and one I think our buddy Stanley is profiting from. There’s an agreement in place to shut down the mines while the government decides who controls the gems.”

  “While the government decides?” Roman asked.

  “Don’t even go there,” I said, feeling the familiar disgust I had for this entire situation almost nauseate me.

  “How can you decide to take what was never yours to begin with?” Roman asked.

  Another very legitimate and dead-on question.

  That’s why we’re fighting yet another Cozy Cash scheme, I thought to myself then sighed, trying to let out a little of my frustration. Although, this one is hitting a wee bit too close to home for me to seek much relief until we could stop the cycle for good.

  I was beginning to understand how Bernie McCall’s Ponzi-scheme had affected Roman’s family. It’s one thing to be disgusted by a cash s
cam, it’s another entirely to have your family neck deep in one.

  After buying off Fosito, we followed the tight, hand-cut paths through the rainforest and deep into the heart of Sol Larga Country.

  I didn’t fear the Sol Larga. I feared the people who were allowed on the reservation by invitation only. Invitations that could be bought with briefcases full of cash and granted any access desired.

  We rode in silence for the next few miles.

  The Sol Larga Reservation consists of over six and a half million acres. We had twenty miles to cover to reach Witherspoon & Witherspoon. Make that twenty miles over which we could barely travel 20 mph.

  The drive was beautiful, flanked by the lush forest, but we didn’t have time to stop and enjoy the scenery.

  We were due at the Sol Larga village at sundown. And you didn’t stand-up the Sol Larga Chief and his family.

  Chapter Five

  Every jewel in every jewelry box has a story behind it.

  To me, those stories are worth much more than any precious stone’s dollar amount.

  Whether it’s the Hope Diamond, The Hooker Emerald, The Spanish Inquisition Necklace, The Marie-Antoinette Earrings, The Marie-Louise Diadem, The Portuguese Diamond, The Napoleon Necklace, Cleopatra’s Emeralds or your own family’s prized heirloom pieces, all precious gems have stories. Many of those stories originate on the land belonging to indigenous populations like the one my family has come to love like family.

  We were about to hear some of those stories.

  Already settled into the Witherspoon Lodge and ready for what should be an interesting night, I smiled as the Sol Larga’s panpipes began echoing through the forests. It was time I rounded-up our entourage of guests and got this show on the road.

  The dissonant sounds of the instruments carried great distances through the forests, calling us to the festival about to kick-off.

  “It’s time,” I said to my companions, more than nervous for sure to introduce Grams to my Sol Larga friends.

  I wasn’t too worried about Vitto and Granny V nor Roman and R. They knew when to keep their mouths shut. But Grams? Yeah…not so much.

  Bunny and Beefcakes also seemed more than up to the festivities. In fact, I’d kinda taken a liking to them.

  It wasn’t as if I could leave Grams behind. If she were left to her own entertainment, well, let’s just say that that could be worse yet.

  To the Sol Larga, reciprocity was key. They’d invited all of us, Grams included, onto their land, and it wasn’t acceptable by their cultural standards for us to refuse to socialize with them at a welcoming festival they were holding in our honor.

  “Whatever you do, just keep dancing, drinking and eat the pig,” I said to our group.

  “Ah, so that’s why we left Vinnie in Rio with Bunny’s friends.”

  “Yes it is, Grams,” I said.

  Even though I’d answered her in the affirmative, all I could do was shake my head. Every time she opened her mouth, I was even more baffled by how her brain worked.

  “So drink, dance and eat. Got it,” she said, while practicing a hula dance.

  “I see you’re still hung-up on Hawaii.”

  “What?!” She shouted, wiggling her boney hips till I swore she’d be in need of a hip-replacement any moment.

  “Turn up your hearing aids and pay attention. We’ve got to follow their traditions here. We can’t afford to offend our friends,” I warned her, thinking her gyrations came off as a hula dancer in need of a strip-tease pole.

  “Are you our protocol officer too, Little Missy? I’ve been offending people for years, and I’m still goin’ strong.”

  “She’s got ya there,” Roman said, covering his mouth once more with his hands, trying to prevent me from hearing his snicker.

  “Just c’mon and follow me. We can’t be late,” I said, moving towards the Sol Larga village and wanting to get this night over with as fast as I could.

  Reaching Chief Valente’s longhouse, a home that was not just called a longhouse but actually looked the same as its name, we approached the entrance.

  I laid my Glock by the side of the door, as was customary and motioned for Roman and the others in our party to do the same.

  “I don’t think…” Roman began, but I cut him off.

  “It’s not your job to think tonight, it’s mine. So just do it. Trust me.”

  “I do trust you,” Roman said, laying down his weapon and motioning for the rest of our party to do the same. “Letting you think for us, though, I’m still working on that idea.”

  I didn’t have time to squabble over his cute but snide remark because Grams seemed to be struggling with getting the butcher knife out of the harness under her skirt.

  “What the?!”

  “What do you mean ‘what the’? I’ve worked in my diner’s kitchen for over sixty years. If there’s one thing I’m comfortable with it’s a Goddamn meat cleaver.”

  Granny V helped her remove the knife, and Vitto placed it on our pile of weapons.

  “Now that’s what I call some kinda costume,” Grams said, kid-punching the gigantic Sol Larga warrior guarding the Chief’s door.

  The warrior never budged. Not one eagle or macaw feather from his crown, not one piece of tree bark from his multi-layered collar and belt, not one muscle twitch gave in to Gram’s revelry.

  “Do you suppose I could borrow that for Halloween this year?”

  Grams was on her tiptoes trying to look the giant warrior in the eyes.

  He grunted and looked down at her, the expression in his eyes making it clear he thought she was a total nut job.

  See? There are some notions that do carry across cultural and language barriers. He had her number, and it didn’t matter whether or not he understood a damn word she was sayin’.

  ‘Course, Grams was probably lucky he didn’t slit her throat.

  The Sol Larga Indians are primarily hunters who have elaborate festivals and complex rituals celebrating the game they hunt. But because rubber-gatherers, wildcat miners and gold-panners have upset their society’s equilibrium, they’ve become known as mighty warriors too.

  Their warriors fiercely protected their families and homes from the men robbing the riches that lined their riverbanks.

  I doubt these warriors usually let outsiders sock it to ‘em on their biceps like Grams had done to this one. I’d been the recipient of one of her sucker punches. The woman’s brittle bones packed a nasty bite.

  Since our arrival, the music from inside had increased in its liveliness. A set of reed flutes provided accompaniment to two lines of men, dancing face-to-face, in the middle of the house.

  Before we knew what was happening, Chief Valente had Roman positioned beside him, and there I was behind Roman in a line of women. My hands had been placed on Roman’s belt like the women’s were on each of their husbands, boyfriends or brothers.

  In between our rowdy dance numbers, Sol Larga singers sang their berewa songs. I focused carefully on the words and was able to catch the meaning of the festival. The songs didn’t mention the fights and gem wars, they were simply affirming that all was well between Witherspoon & Witherspoon and the Sol Larga.

  I was relieved to hear that.

  At least Stanley and his Corruption Crew hadn’t damaged my family’s standing with our Sol Larga friends and associates.

  What I was concerned about, however, was the other basis for the songs, and that was their intent to make it a good night, or two nights back-to-back to drink a lot of chicha.

  Chicha was a fermented beverage the Sol Larga had made to honor our get-together. It was a mixture of corn, manioc and yams that gave ya one helluva hangover.

  I didn’t even want to think about what Grams would do if she consumed too much chicha.

  Thank God, after a little while longer, I wasn’t able to think very clearly about it anyway.

  Chapter Six

  Cleopatra’s famous stones came from mountains in the deserts of Egypt. But here in th
e Brazilian rainforest, the gems come from the sludge along the banks and at the bottom of the forest’s plentiful rivers.

  If our rogue elf Stanley wasn’t careful, he’d end up buried alive in that sludge.

  The question is who would get to him first?

  He wasn’t far away. I could feel it.

  Not only was he nearby, but only he and I and my parents knew the secret he was keeping.

  Unless…he’d decided he could get a higher price by sharing that secret.

  And if he had, I hoped he enjoyed sludge, ‘cause that would be his final resting place, if it wasn’t already.

  Back inside our comfy lodge in the middle of the rainforest, Roman and I were nursing our chicha hangovers with a carafe full of Colombian coffee and Stanley-sized stories.

  Well…to be factually accurate, stories waaay bigger than Stanley’s four feet of hard-core smuggling corruption.

  “Tell me about Stanley and his wife,” Roman said, massaging his temples.

  Evidently he was hurting from the chicha even more than me. I hadn’t had to resort to temple massages…yet. But damn if I wouldn’t love it if he’d use his magical hands on my forehead too.

  Between thoughts of Stanley and all that chicha, I was hurting bad.

  “Stanley and Myra once had a great life,” I began, picturing the two of them in the basement apartment they’d lovingly restored in a building my parent’s owned in New Bison, the Lake Michigan shore-side town my family also called home.

  “Little did we know that Stanley wasn’t just working for my parents. Along with some Brazilian partners, he was deep into smuggling, bribery, and corruption, all with the financial backing of a mega-investment bank to the tune of $20 billion. No wonder there have been a few Stone Age Indian-style massacres here in the Amazon jungle. Stanley’s ring had been stealing from them.”

  “So Stanley once made his family’s living from your parents and their dealings between the Diamond District stalls and the Sol Larga. But when did he and his Brazilian partners begin to corner the black market on rough emeralds, aquamarines and the pink Morganite that they’d mined illegally and stolen from the Sol Larga’s land?”