The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  . . .

  As we were walking back to the plane, Carter said, "That's the most complicated thing I've done in my life. And I once had to take a test on the chemical compounds of alcohols and esters."

  I laughed as we made our way through the door and into the main cabin.

  Carter put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Come on, son. We need to talk about something."

  I nodded and followed him to our bedroom. Once we were inside and he'd closed the door, Carter looked down at me and asked, "Aren't you forgetting something really important?"

  "What?" I asked, knowing what was coming.

  "We're about to fly into a place where, just over a month ago, we barely escaped by the skin of our teeth, having royally pissed off that asshole Maldonado who runs the place. Have you considered whether he gets a copy of all incoming cables?" Maldonado was the Governor of the State of Baja California and we'd made him plenty angry when we'd been there in January and helped the gal he'd been shacking up with escape the country. It had been real touch and go. But we'd made it out.

  I nodded. "I've thought about all of that. Look," I put my hand on his chest where his shirt was open. As I rubbed the hair on it, I continued, "This is the best we can do. I hashed this out with Henry already. We can't land in the U.S. because then we'll have to deal with that hassle. If Bobby gets caught, he'll be deported. And we know someone in Ensenada. It's already iffy since we have to fly that far and land at night. At least we know someone will be waiting for us."

  "Why can't we fly up to Honolulu? Or somewhere else in Hawaii?"

  "Henry is afraid this particular bird would draw too much attention."

  Carter nodded. He then pulled me in close and hugged me tight. "I just don't want that asshole Maldonado to do anything to you or Marge."

  I nodded into his chest. "Or you." After a moment, I said, "I can't wait until we can get some new clothes."

  Carter kissed me on my forehead and said, "You and me, both."

  . . .

  The next morning, I awoke to the sound of the engines firing up. I watched as we pulled away from the dock and made our way out to the small harbor in front of the island. As I looked up at the sky, I could still see a few stars but dawn wasn't far off.

  I went back to sleep once we were in the air and woke up when Carter nudged me. He was carrying a tray of coffee and more of Alexander's Madeleine cookies. As we drank coffee, I said, "I'm ready to get home now."

  Carter nodded. "Me, too."

  I sighed. "I'm scared as to what Ricky might do once we're back in town. But I'd rather be there and have this out."

  Carter nodded and watched me closely.

  I knew what he was thinking. "There's only one way this can end."

  Carter didn't say anything.

  "Ricky won't let himself be arrested," I continued. "He'll come out shooting. That's the way he was when we were kids. If we wanted to climb up to the top of a building, he'd always find the spot that was highest point and go up there. Back then, I thought he was brave. Now I realize he was nuts."

  Carter shook his head. "Not nuts."

  I turned sharply and frowned. "What?"

  "He's definitely got a screw loose now. I just mean that feeling of wanting to see the world from the highest spot you can, that's not nuts." He looked out the window. "You feel boxed in. There's nowhere to go." He took a sip of coffee. "You know, when I was a kid, I would never have thought that a place like San Francisco would be anywhere that anyone could feel boxed in." He shook his head.

  "Do you feel that way?"

  "Not now. But I did. Once upon a time."

  "I've never asked you and you've never told me. Why did you and Henry move to the City and not, say, New York?"

  Carter shrugged. "You probably won't believe it but it's because we saw a newsreel about the World's Fair. One night we were talking about it. Remember? There were two. There was the one in New York and the one in San Francisco."

  I grinned. "Oh, I remember. Ours wasn't a World's Fair, although everyone I knew called it that. It was 'The Golden Gate International Exposition'."

  "Yeah. Henry and me, we talked about it, and we decided that San Francisco sounded more..." He looked at me for a long moment. Leaning over, he kissed me. "It was more romantic."

  I put my cup down on the tray and leaned in, pulling Carter in for a long kiss. When I was done, I asked, "Like that?"

  "Henry could never do that."

  "What? Kiss you like you deserve to be kissed?"

  Carter gave me half a smile. "Yeah. Like I deserve to be kissed."

  "You two were just kids."

  Carter shrugged. "Maybe. Anyway, that's how we made the decision. San Francisco was more romantic and, boy, was that ever true."

  I thought for a moment. "I don't think I'll ever see it like that."

  "Of course, not. It's home to you."

  "And to you?"

  Carter reached over and ran his hand along my cheek. "My home is wherever you are, Nick. That's for keeps."

  I put my hand over his and kissed his fingers. "Yeah. It's for keeps."

  We sat there, looking at each other for a long while. Finally, I asked, "When did you feel boxed in?"

  Carter took a deep breath and pulled his hand away. "Oh, the six or so months before I met you. Henry was seeing that horrible guy over in Oakland who was such a snot. But that was towards the end. There wasn't any particular thing. I just felt like my life was going nowhere."

  "You were putting out fires."

  "Yeah. But it wasn't enough. That's when I started thinking about arson investigating." He smiled. "And then Henry decided he wanted to go see the performers at La Vie Parisian."

  I nodded. "Just like Jeffery. One of his clients was performing. We'd had a bad fight—" I waved my hand. "You've heard all this before."

  Carter was still smiling. "And then you walked in the door."

  I grinned. "Across a crowded room. There you were, all nice and tall at the bar."

  "And there you were, looking like Henry's twin. It was so weird."

  "And you couldn't talk."

  Carter laughed. "I couldn't, could I?"

  "No. But Henry could. And he could see what was going on." I sighed. "I miss him."

  "Me, too. We have to have a big party when we get home."

  I nodded. "But not this weekend."

  "Next weekend."

  "Yeah."

  Carter leaned in and kissed me again.

  . . .

  The day crawled along slowly as we flew over the broad expanse of blue ocean. To pass the time, we played as many parlor games as any of us could remember. As the sun set, Alexander served us a plain dinner of sliced meats and cheeses along with crusty bread and red wine. It seemed like there wasn't as much food as usual. I wondered if his cupboard, wherever he kept it hidden, was getting a little bare.

  Around 9, Pacific time, I decided to go up into the cockpit and find out when we would be landing. As I walked up, I was surprised at how big it was. Henry was in the left seat, Georges was in the right, and Jacques was seated at a long table, writing out calculations while checking a map and some sort of book.

  "How goes it?" I asked.

  Henry said, "Looks like right at 10. Jacques has been using our radar and his sextant to make sure we're on track and it looks like we are. How's everyone down below?"

  "Ready to get there."

  Henry laughed. "I can't blame them."

  I leaned forward and put my hand on his shoulder, "Thanks for taking such good care of us, Henry."

  He put his hand on mine and said, "My total and complete pleasure, my dear boy. I'm looking forward to the next time that you and your fireman come to visit me in paradise."

  I laughed. "We'd both love that."

  "As you should. And you'll be back. At least once."

  "Really?"

  "Oh, yes. Really. Now, go down below and give everyone the good news." He turned slightly in his seat, offering his che
ek. "But give us a kiss first." I did as he asked. He patted my face. "That's quite delicious. Thank you, dear boy. Now, run off with you."

  Chapter 18

  Ensenada Harbor

  Ensenada, Mex.

  Friday, March 4, 1955

  Right at 10 in the evening

  Henry killed the interior lights of the plane as we began to descend. Carter and I sat on one of the sofas and watched the lights of Ensenada in the distance get closer and closer.

  As we hit the water, the plane bounced up a little and then came down. Of all the landings Henry had made, that one was the bumpiest. I was holding our one valise in my lap. It had most of our cash, all of our clothes, my one book, and my mother's letters. Carter and I had squirreled away five grand in hundreds in our trouser pockets, just in case.

  Once Henry had killed the engines, Alexander opened the main cabin door. The lights were still off. I tried to figure out whether we were close to a dock or a pier. Alexander stood out on the stabilizer and seemed to be waiting for someone. I hoped it was someone that Marge had sent instead of one of Maldonado's thugs. We sat in the water for almost ten minutes before I heard the sound of a boat engine getting closer. Finally, Alexander caught a line that someone threw him. A voice with a Spanish accent that I didn't recognize called out, "Is Nick Williams with you?"

  Alexander replied, "Yes."

  I took a deep breath, hoping for the best, as whoever it was said, "We're coming aside." I stood and walked over to the door. Finally, a man hopped onto the little platform and said, "I am Alfonso Rocha."

  I breathed out with relief and said, "Are we ever glad to see you!"

  He said, "Come. You must hurry. The other plane is waiting for you."

  Everyone else stood and made their way out of the plane and onto the boat. I waited for Henry but he never came down, so I walked out on the platform, handed Carter our valise, and hopped up into the boat.

  I called out, "Thank you, Alexander," as he tossed the line back onto the boat. Everyone echoed that as he waved and blew us all kisses. And, then, with that, we were off.

  . . .

  Once we were ashore, we all piled into the hotel's big Mercedes limousine. Alfonso drove. I sat up front with him. As he made his way through the quiet streets of the sleepy town, I handed him a bundle of hundreds. He stuffed them in his coat. "That's for the rooms and meals for the airplane crew."

  He nodded. "Where have you been?"

  "Since I last saw you, we went to France."

  "So you did deliver Rosa to her freedom from that Maldonado?"

  I briefly explained how she'd been smuggled from Spain into France. "Have you heard from her since she left?" I asked.

  "No. You?"

  I shook my head. "No." I thought about that for a moment, hoping she was OK. "Then we were home for a week or two."

  "And you went to Hong Kong and things exploded." He was laughing as he said it.

  "Yes. You've been reading the papers."

  "Who hasn't? Notorious Nick, they call you now."

  "Yeah."

  "Marge sends her regards. She is entertaining Maldonado and his men to a private dinner."

  I shook my head. "Please tell her how much I appreciate that. That's..." I couldn't think of the words.

  "It is nothing, truly. Poor Maldonado. I cannot imagine how he will feel in a few hours when all the fish he is eating tonight begins to make its way up and out." He laughed.

  "What?"

  "Oh, yes. Marge took all the fish that the cook was preparing and left it out on the counter. Some of it spoiled. Perhaps. We shall see."

  We both laughed as he turned onto the highway that led to the airport that was just outside of town.

  . . .

  The plane was a refurbished C-47. The pilot, one Jeremy Grove, former Air Force, was affable enough. He was a little grizzled but got us loaded up and in the air in less than fifteen minutes. His co-pilot was never introduced.

  I finally sighed with relief once we were up at cruising altitude. Carter was sitting behind Grove. And I was across the aisle from Carter. The aisle was wide as there was only one seat on either side.

  Once we were on our way, Grove handed the controls over to his co-pilot, got out of his seat, squatted next to me, and asked, "Why San Diego?"

  "Once we're in San Diego, we can get a flight up to San Francisco."

  "Why?" he asked.

  I wasn't sure what to say, so I told him the truth. "One of us doesn't have a passport."

  "I figured it was something like that. And I know who you are, Mr. Williams. If you ever need a pilot who can handle sensitive packages, if you get my drift, you let me know. But, why San Diego? Why not all the way to San Francisco?"

  I asked, "Can you do that?"

  He laughed. "Sure. I can take you right in. No problem."

  "What about the passport issue?"

  "All my paperwork says we left Lindbergh Field in San Diego at 9:45 p.m. If anyone asks, I'll just tell them we made a stop in Pismo Beach for dinner. There's a place in Pismo that knows how to cook steak right. I'll just say we stopped there. You can count on me, Mr. Williams."

  I nodded and said, "Thanks. You have no idea how grateful I am."

  "Look, it's me who's grateful. I have a granddaughter who had the polio. She's been to one of those clinics your foundation set up. They say she'll be fine and be able to walk like normal by the end of this year. Amazing stuff. All thanks to you." He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

  I patted his shoulder. He nodded and got back into his seat.

  Carter leaned over and asked, "Did he just say we're going home tonight?"

  I nodded. "We get to sleep in our own bed tonight, Chief."

  He put his arm on mine. "That's not all I have in mind."

  As I turned around to tell O'Reilly the good news, I smiled at him. In the dim light of the plane's instrument panel, I saw him wink at me.

  . . .

  We had no trouble when Captain Grove landed the plane and pulled into the private terminal area of the airport. While I paid him and had him write down his phone number in San Diego, Carter and the rest of the guys had walked into the small terminal building to call cabs and grab some coffee. Once I was done with Captain Grove, I ran into the building as fast as I could. It was cold.

  Tom was standing in the window, looking out at the runway. Bobby was next to him. I walked up and said, "Welcome to America, Bobby."

  He turned, his eyes wide, and said, "I can't believe we're finally here."

  "Me, neither, kid. Look, I have an important question for the two of you."

  Tom turned and looked down at me. "What?"

  "Which do you like better? Green, blue, or pink?"

  They both looked at each other and then back at me. Tom shrugged and said, "Blue, I guess."

  I looked at Bobby and asked, "Blue?"

  He shrugged. "Sure."

  "We have three identical bedrooms on the third floor. One is pink, one is green, and one is blue. I wanted to find out so I can tell Mrs. Kopek, our housekeeper, which room to get ready."

  Tom nodded and exhaled. "Thanks, Nick. That's a big load off my mind."

  I nodded. "You're welcome. We'll talk more about what's next for you two in the morning. But, first, I need to let everyone at home know we're here. Excuse me."

  With that, I walked over to a phone booth and called the house from one of the phone booths, but only after borrowing a dime from Murphy.

  After about eight rings, I heard, "Prospect 9-7001." It was Gustav, our butler and valet.

  "Hello, Gustav."

  "Mr. Nick! Where are you?"

  "At the airport."

  "Do you need ride? Shall Ferdinand come to get you?"

  "No, that's fine. We're waiting for a cab. Is Mrs. Kopek there?"

  "Yes, she and Mrs. Strakova sit here in kitchen." I could hear the two of them in the background saying something excited to Gustav in Czech.

  "We'll be there in about th
irty minutes. And tell Mrs. Kopek we're bringing guests. They can sleep up in the Sapphire Room."

  "Very good, Mr. Nick. We see you soon."

  "Thanks, Gustav."

  I put the phone back on the hook and stepped out of the booth.

  . . .

  O'Reilly and Murphy had gotten their own cab to take them over to the place he rented that was near where our ship, The Flirtatious Captain, was docked on the bay.

  The rest of us piled into a second one. No one said anything as the cabbie took us up the small part of the Bayshore Freeway that was complete, made his way up Potrero to Tenth Street, zigged across Market to Van Ness, and then made a right on California. At Taylor, he turned left and made the one block past the park and dropped us off right in front of our big pile of rocks at just past midnight.

  Bobby looked up at the house. He was shivering in the foggy cold. He put his hand in Tom's and asked, "Is this yours, Nick?"

  Carter answered. "Yeah. Nick's grandfather built it. We moved in last summer." He laughed. "In June, that is. It's a great house. Lots of room. You two can stay as long as you want."

  Bobby looked up at Tom who smiled down at him. "You're going to love San Francisco, my love."

  I added, "It's the best City in the world. It's my home and I hope you'll love it here as much as we do."

  The kid nodded and said, "Crikey."

  . . .

  It was half past 1 by the time we finished up our shower. We'd been bathing in the ocean or taking sponge baths everywhere else for almost a week and the water pressure from the shower head was like heaven.

  Once we were done, Carter proceeded to throw open all the windows and build a roaring fire in the fireplace. I sat on the bed and watched my fireman expertly set pieces of wood and paper alight. It was one of my favorite things to watch him do. And I enjoyed the fact that only a fireman could really do such a good job starting a fire.

  When he was done, we both slid into bed together. In as tender a way as he'd ever done, Carter began to kiss me all over my face and neck. His lips were so soft, it was almost like being kissed by butterflies. Butterflies that smelled faintly of bay rum and wood smoke and had a day's growth of beard stubble.

  Epilogue