by Carl Schmidt
“Do you both know how to ride a bike?” I asked, as Angele and I sat down in a window booth, across the table from our mates.
Archie gave me a curious look while Holly replied, “Sure. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing, I guess. It was just a dream.”
“I’ll have some coffee and a Belgian Waffle,” I said, when the waitress finally arrived. A minute or so later, as she was walking away, I muttered, “I should have brought some real maple syrup.”
Angele ordered the fruit cup.
When we had finished breakfast, Archie and Holly held hands as they walked to the car. He opened the passenger door for her, and then got behind the wheel to drive the early morning shift.
• • •
We passed by Walterboro, South Carolina just before eleven. It was more or less a milestone. The outside temperature reached sixty degrees for the first time on our trip.
My phone rang at eleven-forty.
“Xavier!” I said.
“Jesse!” he replied. “Where are you?”
“We’re north of Savannah. We should be in Miami around seven o’clock. How about you?”
“I’m at LAX. My flight leaves in half an hour. We’re scheduled to land just before six.”
“Have you made a reservation at a hotel?” I asked.
“Yes, at the Marriott Marquis, downtown.”
“Did you get hold of Allan Roth?”
“Not yet,” Xavier replied. “He’s in Europe. I left two messages.”
“Call me again as soon as you arrive. We’ll arrange some dinner together. We want to be with you in your hotel room when Joe Dunham calls.”
“Absolutely,” he said, and we hung up.
At noon we stopped for lunch.
Our waitress was noticeably top-heavy, with frizzy blonde hair, dark red lipstick and enough sashay in her stride to make a truck driver double clutch.
“Get the net,” I thought, but I wanted to hear her speak first, so I kept quiet.
“Hi, I’m Kimberly. What’ll y’all have?” she asked, as she extracted a pen from her breast pocket and prepared to take our orders.
I did my best not to stare, and Archie didn’t look up from the menu.
“How about you, Holly?” Archie asked.
Holly’s gaze moved slowly upward, stopped briefly at Kimberly’s chest and then settled on her eyes before saying, “I’ll have a Cobb salad and sweet potato chips.”
“How are the oysters?” Archie asked.
“Jason, over there, is our cook,” she replied, glancing in the direction of the kitchen. “He uses genuine Spat King oysters, puts ‘em into a cornmeal batter and deep-fries ‘em. They come with slaw and garlic bread. He’s dumber than a box of rocks, but his oysters are the best in Savannah.”
“Sounds good,” Archie said, without batting an eyelash.
“I’ll have your three-veggie plate,” Angele said.
“An’ how ‘bout you, sugah’?” she asked, looking me over.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” I said, pointing across the table to Holly.
“Y’all want cokes with that?” she asked.
One after the other we each requested water.
“It’ll be ready in ten minutes,” she said.
While we waited, I put in another call to Father O’Reilly, but again there was no answer.
“I’d call the FBI in a heartbeat if we could get some cooperation from either the Monsignor or Allan Roth,” I said.
“We have time,” Holly replied. “We can dial 9-1-1 and provide them with details on Sunday if we have to.”
Our food arrived fifteen minutes later. As Kimberly was setting down the last dish, she asked, “Where y’all from?”
“Maine,” I replied.
“Passin’ through?” she added.
“Ah-yuh,” I replied.
She kept waiting for me to finish my sentence, so I added, “On our way to Miami.”
“Fixin’ to get warm, ah guess,” she surmised.
“Hope so,” I replied.
“You best not drive too fast on the freeway. Lotsa speed traps between here an’ Richmond Hill.”
“Thanks for the heads up, Kimberly,” I said.
She smiled and walked back to the kitchen.
“I wonder if she says that to all the Yankees,” I offered. “Do you suppose she’s angling for bigger tips?”
“Bigger what?” Angele asked.
“Tips, honey. Tips!”
“Oh,” she replied.
“Could be,” Holly said, “but we do have out-of-state plates. We might as well take her advice.”
It slowed us down a notch…but we did, and one of those Cadillacs passed us before we got to Richmond Hill. After that, Holly accelerated and put them in the rearview mirror for good. I had the urge to wave as we drove by, but it wouldn’t have mattered; the guy behind the wheel never once took his eyes off the road ahead. I guess he knew where he was going—which was more than I could say for the four of us.
At two o’clock, we crossed the St. Marys River into Florida. The sign that greeted us read, “Welcome to Florida: The Sunshine State.” Below it was the name of the governor. I half expected we’d need to flash our Medicare cards to get past the border patrol, but that was not the case.
If you’ve never been to Florida, be advised that it is flat. Our road atlas indicated that its highest point of elevation is 345 feet, but I discovered that that was not entirely accurate. The Marriott Marquis in Miami is precisely 367 feet high. The architect must have taken Florida’s contours into consideration before deciding where to top it off with a roof. Nonetheless, from the penthouse, it’s impossible to see Georgia, even on a clear day.
We arrived at the hotel at precisely seven o’clock. By that time, we had reserved two rooms, arranged for a rental car on Sunday morning, and agreed to meet Xavier in the hotel bistro at seven-thirty. The rooms were beautiful and pricey. Xavier insisted that we stay there, and he covered everything. One look told us that Portland lay far behind. It was seventy-six degrees when I handed our car keys to the valet.
47
Bag o’ Books
We’d had a pleasant dinner. Xavier clearly appreciated the fact that Archie and Holly, two former police officers, were on our team. On the surface, everyone appeared calm and resolute. The disquiet beneath had not yet been verbalized.
The five of us retired to Xavier’s suite on the 36th floor and stood gawking through a wall of glass. The view was extraordinary. To our right, stood a warm and dazzling city, pulsating with Latin rhythms and cultural diversity. To our left, beyond the islands in the bay, lay the Atlantic Ocean, restless and churning.
We had refrained from discussing plans and strategies at that point. Xavier’s cell was on speakerphone, and his voice recorder was set to go. Our watches were silent, but we all heard them ticking. The phone rang at nine o’clock sharp.
“Hello, Joe,” Xavier said calmly.
The caller paused briefly, perhaps to consider whether it was worth it or not to deny his identity one more time. He opted for the direct approach.
“Do you have the money?” he boomed in the same digitally altered voice.
“I certainly do,” Xavier replied.
“Are you in Miami?”
“Yes I am.”
“Good. I need to know two things,” Joe insisted.
Xavier sat quietly in front of the phone and waited to hear what they were.
“Where are you staying?” he asked.
“I’m in the Marriott Marquis, downtown Miami,” Xavier replied.
“OK. What is the color, make and license plate number of your rental car?” Joe asked.
“I have a dark gray Nissan Maxima. I don’t know the license number. I’m in my room, and my contract is in the glove compartment.”
“I’m sure you had to write it down when you checked in. Use your room phone. Call downstairs and get me the license number—right now.”
Xavier diale
d the front desk and explained that he needed to know the license number of his car because there was some mix up with his rental contract. He wrote down the number and then returned to his cell phone.
“The plate number is R-5-6 3-P-V,” Xavier said.
“I’ll call you tomorrow at exactly noon. At that time, you’ll get instructions where to go. No funny business. If you’re not alone, if anything happens that I don’t like, you will regret it. Is that clear?”
“Got it, Joe,” Xavier said.
The phone went dead.
After a few moments, I opened the discussion.
“There are two things we have to decide up front,” I said. “First, are we here to detain two murdering blackmailers or just to film them in the act? And secondly, do we call in the authorities? Now, before we decide on those things, I want to point something out. Florida does not have a reciprocity law with Maine for either concealed weapons or private investigators. Our licenses for both are invalid here. However, the FBI or the Miami authorities might waive those restrictions in a pinch. We certainly have to be armed for any encounter with Joe Dunham, but it’s important to know our legal situation.”
“I can tell you without question that the FBI will not want us to go to the meeting armed,” Archie said. “They like to control the show. There could also be tension between them and the Miami police force. It depends on a number of factors, but primarily on the overall attitude of the Feds during past encounters. They’ve been known to ruffle local feathers.”
“I have not yet heard back from Allan Roth,” Xavier said. “Until I have some cover on my connection with Nicole Shepard, I don’t want to inform the police. Filming them is the best solution for the time being.”
“All right,” I said. “I will be standing in for Xavier at the drop. I’ll be armed and wearing a bullet proof vest.”
“In that case, I have just the thing for you, Jesse,” Archie said. “It’s a yellow Hawaiian shirt. It’s loose fitting and should cover your vest nicely.”
“Great. All my summer clothes are still in Augusta. OK, when Joe calls tomorrow, he will want to know what you are wearing, Xavier,” I said. “You’re a well-known figure who can be recognized in public. Tell him that it’s important for you to be disguised. I’m sure he will not want any autograph hounds interfering with the payoff. Describe for him exactly what I’ll be wearing. Besides the yellow Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, I’ll have on a floppy rain hat to cover my Yankee camera cap. I’ll cut a tiny hole in it for the lens. Since you and I are about the same size, the shirt, hat and sunglasses should stand out just enough that he won’t know who’s under the outfit.
“We’ll drive three cars and stay in constant contact. I’ll take the lead in your rental car, Xavier. You will have your cell on speakerphone and be riding with Archie in his car. Holly and Angele will follow in another rental. We’ll have one firearm in each of the three vehicles. I have a four-piece walkie-talkie set, with lapel microphones and earbud receivers. We’ll hear your conversation with Joe Dunham and be able to talk directly to each other without having our voices go over your cell. Respond slowly to any of Joe’s demands, and we’ll give you advice on what to say in tight situations.
“OK,” I said. “Now, for the money. Do you have the backpack, Xavier?”
“Yeah. I’ll get it,” he replied.
He brought the bag in from his bedroom and put it on the table.
“Five hundred thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills weighs about eleven pounds,” I said. “The stack would be two feet high. I’ve brought along twelve paperbacks to approximate its weight and bulk.”
“I’d like to add one item to the package, Jesse,” Archie said. “I have a paint explosive. We used this device a few times on the force. It’s not lethal, but our friend will be covered in orange day-glo enamel for days.”
“Nice touch,” I replied. “How do we set it off?”
“If we fill the bag tightly enough, we can use a spring loaded trigger. When the item on top of it—in this case, a book—is removed, it will explode immediately. Otherwise, we have to do it by remote control. The problem with a remote is that we don’t know when Joe will open the bag. We want to cover him in paint, not just the inside of the backpack. Let’s decide tomorrow when we set it up.”
I looked around the room and found everyone smiling. I liked that.
“We’ll meet for breakfast tomorrow at 9:00,” I said. “Xavier, now that Joe knows where you are, you can’t be seen with us in public. When you enter the restaurant tomorrow morning, sit at a separate table. Afterwards, we’ll meet back here and make our final preparations.”
“We’ve been on the road for two days,” Holly said. “I think we all need a good night’s rest.”
With that, we left Xavier alone in his suite.
When Angele and I got to our room, I activated the tracking application for the GPS signal coming from Tina Woodbury’s car. At that moment, her car was parked a mile southeast of Coral Gables in the Coconut Grove district. From the tone of her conversation with Sophia Stockbridge, it seemed unlikely that they were working together. But clearly, they were both in the Miami area, so it was possible.
“Promise me one thing, Jesse,” Angele said after our heads hit the pillow. “Don’t do anything stupid. We’re dealing with cold-blooded criminals. They’ve murdered at least two people this month.”
“Right,” I said.
48
A Bike on the Dike
We met for breakfast at nine. Xavier sat three tables away and never so much as glanced in our direction. After we were done, we rendezvoused again in his suite.
“Love the shirt, Archie, and it hangs down long enough to cover my belt holster,” I said.
“Don’t get any bullet holes in it,” Archie replied. “It’s a Tommy Bahama.”
Angele and Holly grimaced, but I put on a happy face.
I passed around four envelopes. Each contained 8x10 pictures of Joe and Sophia, and a separate sheet with photos of the two automobile styles they owned, along with the license plate numbers.
Joe Dunham – 2010 metallic blue Honda Accord, Mass. plate 469 RT3
Sophia Stockbridge – 2012 white Lexus LX SUV, Mass. plate 379 TL5
“They may have new cars by now, but they haven’t had a lot of time to sell the old ones,” I said. “If they’re still driving them, it’s likely they’ll be using stolen plates.
“There’s one thing I forgot to mention last night, Xavier. When Joe calls at noon, give him a piece of advice. Tell him that you’ve left instructions with several people, including your lawyer, that if anything happens to you at the drop-off, they will go to the police with your entire story. That should provide us some insurance.”
“Right,” Xavier said.
“Any word from Allan Roth?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he replied.
“OK. For the time being, we are on our own,” I said.
I handed out the walkie-talkies. There were only four units, so Angele would not be directly connected. The other four of us spread out in Xavier’s suite to test them. Angele rang Xavier’s cell phone to simulate a call from Joe Dunham. While he talked through his speakerphone, we adjusted our volumes so that we could all hear their conversation, and Xavier could hear each of us clearly through his earbud. We had a perfect 4-way conversation, and Joe would be privy only to Xavier’s voice.
“We need to practice this carefully,” I said. “Normally a cell phone signal has a brief delay—about 1/3 of a second—from the time you speak to when the listener hears your voice. Our walkie-talkie set has the same delay. At some point, Joe might see me while I am—supposedly—talking to him on the phone, and he may be able to observe my mouth. I’ll be speaking into my own cell phone, but I’ll have it turned off. Xavier, of course, will be doing the actual talking. If I’m being observed, it will be important for my mouth to be moving when Xavier is talking, and not when he is silent. So here’s what we need to do…
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“When Joe gives a particular command that requires a response, I want Holly to dictate the reply. Xavier and I will repeat exactly what Holly says. That way, my mouth will be moving in sync with Xavier’s voice. Holly will keep it as brief as possible to simplify our replies.”
Angele asked some questions and gave commands, Holly replied, and Xavier and I repeated them in unison. We practiced this for about ten minutes. By that time, Xavier and I were thinking and talking as one mind, with one mouth.
“I think we have it,” I said. “The batteries are good for dozens of hours, so let’s leave our sets on. We’ll operate more smoothly with practice.
“I’ll carry a GPS unit in my pocket. Angele will be able to track the signal on her iPhone and give you my position if we get separated.”
The backpack was still on the table. I put a dozen paperbacks beside the bag and Archie removed his paint bomb from a briefcase. It weighed about four pounds, so I set aside five books that we no longer needed. Archie then demonstrated how the spring trigger worked.
“I think this will be fine,” Archie said. “We can set two books, side by side, on top of the bomb and pack newspaper all around to make it snug. No doubt our friend will be disappointed when he sees the books on top, but I’m pretty sure he’ll look underneath. From that point, he’ll be dressed for Halloween, orange as a pumpkin.”
Archie packed the bag and zippered the top.
“All set,” he said.
It was still a bit early to pick up our third car, so I activated the tracker on Tina Woodbury’s car once again. It was in the same spot it had been the night before.
“That should do it for now,” I said.
Angele and Holly left the room and walked to the rental car company across the street to pick up our third car. By eleven o’clock, Angele was behind the wheel.