"Sharktooth." George chuckled. "He still got the dreads down his back?"
"Yes, all the way to his waist, now, but he's gone bald as an egg on top, George. He looks really strange, but please don't tell him I said so."
The food came, and, as George had promised, their waitress knew what was good. They finished the meal, mostly in silence, and when they parted, they agreed to meet for lunch again the next day, if Phillip stayed anchored nearby. George went back downtown to the Criminal Investigation Department offices near the market square, and Phillip went back to Kayak Spirit. He figured he would sleep off the heavy lunch, and go to the 5 o'clock happy hour at the bar at the new marina. He had heard an announcement about it on the cruiser's radio net this morning, and figured it would be a chance to show his pictures around, at least.
****
Before he left to meet George for lunch, Phillip had rigged a canvas awning to shade the back half of the boat. In the tropics, shade was almost as good as air-conditioning, especially if you were on the water with a breeze. The temperature ashore might be in the 90s, but the shade and breeze combined with a seawater temperature in the low 80s made Kayak Spirit's cockpit a pleasant place. He rigged a hammock under the awning, climbed in, and dropped off to sleep.
The insistent ringing of his cell phone pulled him from his dreams. He had just been telling Sandrine why he liked Grenada so much, when the ringing interrupted him. He looked over, expecting to see her in the other hammock, but there wasn't another hammock. Maybe next trip, he thought, hopefully, shaking off the dream as he reached for the phone.
"Hello, Phillip," Sharktooth rumbled in his ear.
"Hello, Sharktooth. George was just asking about you at lunch."
"Okay. George must wait, Phillip. I got news, mon. My cousin in the customs, he tell this to me. You ready?"
"Talk to me, Sharktooth."
"Okay, this mon, he name William Clinton. Bill, we say, he in Rouseau, Phillip."
"Is this a joke? Bill Clinton's old news, Sharktooth."
"No. You let me tell it. This mon, he from Rouseau, an' he been sailin' on a freighter from Haiti, all over the islan' fo' the las' two year. The captain, he smuggle drugs, but he smuggle women, too. The drugs from south to north, the women, he buy in Haiti, an' he sell to a man on Baliceaux, dungda by Mustique. You hear me?"
"Yes, I'm with you so far. Keep talking."
"Okay. This mon, Bill Clinton, he don' like the captain. He worry 'bout the D.E.A. catch them wit' the drugs. A frien' he had get shot in D.E.A. raid, make he t'ink, see. An' he don' like the selling of the women. Nobody dungda the islan' like that. To be selling people is very bad t'ing, you understand?"
"Yes, Sharktooth. Go on."
"Okay, Phillip. Bill Clinton, he jump the ship in Rouseau yesterday. He hide 'til the ship leave las' night. Today, he go to p'lice. When he at p'lice he see the picture of Dani on the wall, from Saint Vincent. He know this lady, he tell p'lice. They find she in the sea some days ago, between Saint Vincent and Bequia. She got life vest on, but she out cold. They pick she up. They on the way to Baliceaux to unload some drugs, and this Bill, he say the captain leave Dani at Baliceaux. Prob'ly he sell she to the mon at Baliceaux, but she never wake up, this mon know."
"Okay, Sharktooth. Good work. Do we know how long ago they took her to Baliceaux?"
"He t'ink mebbe one week. They go Baliceaux to Haiti, then Haiti to Venezuela, then to Baliceaux, then to Rouseau, now back to Grenada wit' fruit. He say he hear the captain axe the Baliceaux mon 'bout the girl, an' the mon tell the captain she still out cold. That mean she alive an' she on Baliceaux day befo' yesterday."
"You're right. That's great news. You say they're coming to Grenada?"
"Yeah, mon. They leave las' night, mebbe stop in Kingstown, today, load more fruit. Prob'ly Grenada tomorrow, late. My cousin, he check the papers. Grenada, tomorrow, 1800, it say."
"What's the name of the ship, Sharktooth?"
"Name Erzulie Freda. The goddess of love in the Haiti Voodoo."
"Okay, Sharktooth. Can you catch the next flight down here? Tonight if it's not too late. We need to have a serious talk with that captain, and I have a feeling I'm going to need your help."
"I hope you say that, Phillip. The plane leave in 30 minutes. I am at the airport, already have the ticket. I get to Grenada at 1930."
"Good. Thanks, Sharktooth. Take a taxi to the new marina across the lagoon from the yacht club. I'll meet you in the bar. I need to call J.-P. and give him the good news. See you in a little while."
"Blessing, Phillip," Sharktooth said, and disconnected.
J.-P. was delighted by the news, listening with rapt attention as Phillip translated Sharktooth's tangled report
"Baliceaux?" he asked, once Phillip finished. Phillip could picture the uncertainty on his face. "That would make a good transfer point, all right, but I didn't know anybody was using it. I don't think anybody ever thought of it. I want to check with my partner in Buenos Aires, Phillip. You and Sharktooth go ahead and have your talk with the captain tomorrow, and then we'll talk again. Maybe I can at least find out who these people are that have Dani."
"Okay, J.-P. Talk with you tomorrow." Phillip pressed the red disconnect button, but before he could put the phone down, it rang again.
"Hello, my love." Phillip hoped as he said it that his blind faith in caller i.d. didn't embarrass him.
"'Allo, Phillip. I have talk to the man in Pointe-à-Pitre. The Sea Serpent, she is not showing in the computer with customs in Guadeloupe. My friend, he says Sea Serpent is possibly clear into Les Saintes, or to Marie Galante, or perhaps somewhere else, and they are not using the computers. They are send the paper by fax, to someone with the computer, so, they are maybe there, or maybe not. There is no way to know for some days. Sorry. You still love me, Phillip?"
"You know I do, Sandrine. Thanks for checking." He told her about Sharktooth's discovery, and she wanted to know what they would do next. He gave her a rough outline of their plans, and was saying his goodbyes, when she interrupted.
"Phillip, I forget to tell you. My friend in Pointe-à-Pitre, he sets the trap in the computer, to know when the Sea Serpent comes."
"What's that, Sandrine?"
"He tells the computer that it must tell him, when the Sea Serpent, she is clearing in. Then he calls me with the information."
"Ah, okay. That's great, Sandrine. I'll be thinking about you until we talk again."
"Yes, Phillip. You and Sharktooth are having care. Bye-bye." And she was gone, leaving Phillip with a foolish smile on his face.
Chapter 28
Phillip could smell meat frying as he woke up. He had made a grocery run late yesterday afternoon, knowing that Sharktooth started every day with a big breakfast. Bacon and sausages, eggs, grits, several slices of bread fried in butter, and plenty of coffee were necessary to keep the big man going until "deenah," which was another big meal, usually a curry or stew of some sort, with peas and rice, eaten in the early afternoon. With such fortification, Sharktooth usually didn't need any more food until the evening meal, eaten sometime shortly after sunset. Phillip was sure that he could hear the sound of his own arteries clogging, just from the grease in the air, and he reminded himself that he shouldn't try to keep up with Sharktooth's food consumption, no matter how wonderful it smelled and tasted. Sharktooth was big, but he didn't have much fat over the hard slabs of muscle. Phillip had never known him to exercise, either, so he figured it had to be genetics that accounted for his friend's physique. He rolled out of his berth and squeezed past Sharktooth, reaching for a cup and pouring himself some coffee.
"What we do today, Phillip, after we eat?" Sharktooth asked.
"We've got some extra time, I think. Erzulie Freda's not due in until six o'clock, according to what you said. I figure they'll anchor right out there off the entrance channel and go into the terminal early tomorrow. Most of those guys don’t want to pay the overtime to go in and unload after hours."
&
nbsp; "My cousin, he say that what they do in Rouseau, too. Prob'ly you right, Phillip."
"We'll just sit out in the cockpit this afternoon and watch for them, then. If it looks like they're going in, I'll call George and we'll stage some sort of customs search so you and I can get a shot at the captain by himself. What was his name, again?"
"Julio Garcia," Sharktooth said, around a mouthful of eggs. He was eating his breakfast from the skillet.
"Plates are in that locker over the stove," Phillip said.
"Have to wash the plate, Phillip. Already have to wash the skillet. Don' waste water; don' make extra work."
"Okay, suit yourself. Anyhow, if they anchor out there, we'll just take the dinghy over for a visit late tonight, don't you think?"
"Yeah, mon. That sound good. We go dungtung to the market this morning? Some good fish market in Saint George's. Vegetable, too." Sharktooth had quietly inventoried Phillip's provisions, and found them wanting.
"We can go down town to the market, if you like. We should try to get some rest this afternoon, in case we have a late night. We just need to be back by late in the afternoon to watch for Erzulie Freda."
"After deenah be plenty of time," Sharktooth said, as he began to scour the skillet. "Got to eat, Phillip. Keep up the strengt', Mon."
****
J.-P. had called his partner in Buenos Aires as soon as he thought the man would be awake. He was expecting a callback in a few hours. The man had known nothing about anyone using Baliceaux as a transshipment point, but he also expressed surprise that no one had thought of it before. J.-P. was feeling the need to act. He had built his empire by leading from the front, not by managing from on high, and he was frustrated by the distance and time difference that separated him from the action. He knew, though, that he had been out of the field too long to be on the front lines. His value was back here, working his many contacts for information. The man in Buenos Aires would be better able to track down information from Venezuela or Colombia, but J.-P. thought that Mario might have something to offer in terms of the islands themselves. He owed his old friend in Miami an update, in any case.
"J.-P., good morning." Mario listened quietly as J.-P. brought him up to date.
"So, this is good news, J.-P. Phillip and Sharktooth are going to Baliceaux?"
"Yes, but I want to know what to expect there. We have no idea who these people are, nor do we know what we may find on the island. Phillip is going to talk to the captain of that freighter, but he probably only knows enough to do what he does. You know what I mean?"
"Sure. I understand. You want me to ask around? I still got some friends down in the islands. You know, from some of my other product lines -- the stuff that you don't carry these days."
"That would be helpful, Mario. I'd be grateful if you could do that."
"I'll call you back soon." Mario disconnected from J.-P. and immediately placed a call to Saint Vincent. He had a cabinet level contact there, and he quickly agreed to wait on hold until the man could take his call.
Most of Mario's dealings were legitimate, these days, as were J.-P.'s. They had both cut corners when they were younger and hungrier, but the times had been different. While they had made their fortunes doing things that were illegal, they had both drawn the line at certain things. In those days, they had relied on their consciences to guide them. The laws they had broken had been politically contrived rules that had been bought and paid for by people whose business interests were at odds with their own. Now that Mario had a son who was practicing law in Miami, he knew that there was a legal concept that described most of their criminal activities. His son had explained that many, if not most, illegal acts were covered by the term, "malum prohibitum," literally meaning that they were only bad because they were prohibited by law, as opposed to those acts that were "malum in se," or bad in themselves.
His son had joked that Mario had spent a quarter of a million dollars on his legal education so that he could explain the difference well enough to keep his clients out of jail. "Papa, it's no different from me asking you when I was about six why I shouldn't do something that seemed perfectly harmless to me. You would say, 'You shouldn't do it because I said you shouldn't. I'm your Papa, and I make the rules.' Same thing. That's malum prohibitum. When you told me not to kill my little sister, that was an example of malum in se. It would have still been wrong for me to kill her, even if you hadn't told me not to do it."
Mario thought the distinction was plain, and so did his business associates. They had never worried much about what he now knew were malum prohibitum activities. They were only wrong because their competition had outbid them when it came to buying politicians. He was virtually certain that politicians were malum in se, now that he thought about it.
The cabinet minister picked up the phone. Mario was careful to ask his questions in a way that didn't put the man on the spot. He knew that he was talking to one of the good guys, and Mario didn't want to put him in a bind. The man made it clear that he understood Mario's hidden questions, and he was a skillful politician, so he was able to couch his answers in terms that sounded as vague and innocuous as Mario's questions. The real answer came toward the end of the conversation, in the form of the man's closing comment. "Well, Mr. Espinosa, I'm afraid I haven't been very helpful to you. It seems that I have told you only what you knew to begin with. Sorry I couldn't offer a different perspective."
If he hadn't already known that this guy was a lawyer, Mario would have guessed it. He had roomed with Mario's son when they were both learning those fancy words for things.
****
Phillip and Sharktooth had finished "deenah," and were sitting in the shade in the cockpit, letting the heavy meal settle. Sharktooth was sharpening a wicked-looking filet knife that he had purchased at a fisherman's supply across the street from the fish market. "They don' let you carry on the plane, Phillip."
Phillip had not asked Sharktooth any questions about the knife. He could guess what Sharktooth had in mind. Before they had gone to town, Sharktooth had asked if Phillip had weapons on board. Phillip had rattled off his inventory of firearms, "…from the old days, Sharktooth. Just a habit, you know." He had gone on to voice the opinion that he didn't think they should carry firearms tonight. There was too much risk of trouble, in his view.
"But Phillip, you know the captain, he mus' have a gun. Prob'ly the engineer, too."
"We'll slip aboard and do what we need to do, Sharktooth. If we get into a gunfight, who will go get Dani? Maybe you'll get a chance to shoot somebody in Baliceaux. If we let that happen here, we'll be tied up with the police for days before we get it straightened out."
Sharktooth had nodded, seeing Phillip's point. He had settled for the new filet knife and a machete about two feet long, reasoning that those were tools that everybody had, so they wouldn't attract attention.
Phillip was reading as Sharktooth shifted his attention from the filet knife to the machete. The ringing of Phillip's cell phone had startled both of them.
"That was J.-P.," Phillip said, after he hung up. "He sends you his best."
Sharktooth nodded, running a thumb over the edge of the machete, testing it.
"He says the people on Baliceaux are part of a mob from Venezuela. People call it El Grupo, but nobody is quite sure who's in charge. Some people think it's some crooks that are pretty high up in the government, but that's mostly rumor. Whoever it is, they've got the fix in with somebody in Saint Vincent, so he says not to bother trying to get the local authorities involved. It would just make trouble for the honest folks, and we probably wouldn't get much help. Also, nobody seems to know about the women. The word was that the fix was in for drugs and money. If they're running women, nobody will be too upset about us shutting them down. The word he got was that maybe the guy running Baliceaux is trafficking in women on the side, without the higher-ups knowing. The crew on the island is usually small -- probably no more than six people. They feel safe, because nobody knows they're there, so
their security is loose. It might be pretty easy for us to snatch Dani."
"So what we want wit' the captain, Phillip. Just see what he know?"
"Yeah. He can probably tell us how many people are there. Who's the boss? What's the layout? That kind of stuff."
"We gonna let he go when we through wit' he?"
"We'll see. We need to make sure that he and the engineer don't warn the people on the island. I haven't figured out how to do that. If we could keep them locked up for a couple of days, that might do it, but I don't see a way to do that. You got any ideas?"
"The captain an' the engineer, they drunks, Bill Clinton say. Mebbe they both get drunk an' kill the other one."
"Maybe. We'll watch what they do when they get anchored. We need to get the deck crew out of the way. That's for sure. No point in them getting hurt, from what you said. There were two men?"
"Yeah, mon. Unless they pick up somebody in Saint Vincent."
Phillip placed a quick call to his friend the Chief Superintendent. Explaining that it was urgent, he waited on hold for about 10 minutes. "Four men, total. Captain, Engineer, two deck crew. That's it," he told Sharktooth when he disconnected.
"Here's what I think we should do," Phillip said, after a few minutes of thought. "I'll put on a black dive skin and some face paint, so I won't glow in the dark like a white man. We should be able to drift the dinghy out to them, because they'll be downwind. That way, we won't have the noise of the outboard to worry about. I've got a big magnet. We'll stick that to the hull and tie the dinghy off to it, and we'll both go over the side together. We'll go about 3 a.m. Everybody should be asleep by then. I doubt they'll have anybody on anchor watch in a place like this. If we see anybody on deck, I'll take the first one and you back me up. Then you take the next one. If nobody's on deck, we'll work our way forward. If Erzulie Freda's like most of these old rust buckets, the deck crew's quarters will be in the forecastle, don't you think?"
Sharktooth nodded his agreement.
Bluewater Killer: A Serial Murder Mystery Set In Florida and the Caribbean (Bluewater Thrillers Book 1) Page 18