Lost Luggage

by Wendall Thomas

  “Perhaps you’d like to call the embassy before we talk?” Gant asked. The photo of me with the diplomatic bag was on top. I shook my head. “Good. Let’s get started. Tell me when your Uncle, Raymond James Redondo, first became involved with Robert Barsky?”

  God, Roger was right. They were after Uncle Ray.

  “They went to high school together, forty-five years ago. That’s hardly involved.”

  “Well, then why has Mr. Redondo been paying the mortgage on the Pet World property for the last six years?”

  “What?” How did I not know about this? I tried to come up with an explanation. Any explanation. “No. Uncle Ray was just helping Mrs. Barsky out after her husband died. He said she was going to lose the store.”

  “Yes, and he was going to lose his laundering operation.”

  “I swear on my life that my uncle has nothing to do with this smuggling operation. It’s not possible. If he were laundering money, I would know.”

  Gant and Agent Fisher looked at each other. I jabbed my middle fingernail into my palm to keep from screaming.

  Gant pointed to the photos. “Let me remind you that in addition to the contraband items in your bag, we have you on film committing various other criminal acts. You’ve had four clients arrested for contraband in one week and apparently you are currently wanted by the NYPD for questioning in a homicide investigation. You have two choices. You give us all the details of the smuggling operation and agree to testify against Mr. Redondo, or we nullify the confidential informant agreement and prosecute you for those offenses and any more we can come up with.”

  I couldn’t testify against my uncle. What did it matter if I wound up in a Tanzanian jail? My career and love life were over anyway. And even if I agreed, I didn’t know anything. I just kept my eyes on the photos and thought about how fat I looked. Finally, I took my best shot.

  “Mr. Gant. Ms. Fisher. I’m more than willing to cooperate. Honestly, if I knew of any evidence in this matter, I would absolutely give it to you. But I don’t have any. Truly, I am willing to do whatever you ask to convince you of my uncle’s innocence. Anything. But if that’s not enough, you’re just going to have to arrest me.”

  Gant and Fisher frowned, then left the room. I waited at the window, looking down on the traffic and wondering how I could save Jimmy, and whether I should. They came back with a proposition. It was bad.

  Chapter Forty

  Agent Fisher explained that there was a way to prove Uncle Ray’s innocence—but only if I were willing to work undercover on “Operation Slither.” The name really inspired my faith in our government. If I participated successfully, all charges against me would be dropped.

  “By doing what?” I asked.

  “You’ll be smuggling animals yourself,” Gant said.

  “You mean the ones they’ve probably put in my ‘lost’ luggage? And this is going to help my uncle how?”

  “If you’re able to turn the contraband over to us at JFK, you’ll go a long way toward proving your family has no involvement. If, of course, the animals disappear at any point, that will certainly verify our suspicions. It goes without saying, per your contract, that you will not contact your uncle prior to or during your trip.”

  “And if I get caught with the animals?”

  “Then we’ve never heard of you and you’ll get what you deserve,” Agent Fisher said, holding up the rhino horn. There was something about this setup that bothered me, but I was too tired and too unmoisturized to think it through.

  “And if I deliver the animals safely, my uncle’s in the clear and you won’t come after me or any of my clients?”

  “All the assurances we’re offering are in the paperwork.”

  I bit my lip and signed. Roger came into the room, just as they took me to the door.

  “What about Barry? What’s going to happen to Barry?” I asked Roger.

  “He’s recuperating. The agents were a little rough on your purse before they knew he was in there.” Roger glared at Gant.

  “Barry who?” Gant asked.

  “The Madagascan chameleon, sir.”

  “He’s named after my ex-husband,” I said. “They have similar tongues.”

  Later that night, Roger came by my room again. This time, I was too disheartened for violence. I left the door open and sat on the bed.

  “You named our chameleon after another man?”

  “Our chameleon? Yes, I did. My ex—ex being the operative word, as in someone I am no longer with.”

  “You never told me you were married.”

  “You never asked. At least I was single when we met. Unlike you. Or was Alicia made up too?”

  “No, she’s real. I did live with her for a long time. Too long. Mostly, I told you the truth.” Roger sat down beside me. “Cyd? Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to change your mind. You haven’t actually smuggled anything yet.”

  “Yeah, but then Gant’s still after my uncle and my clients. I have to do it.”

  “What if you get caught?”

  “I’m not going to get caught,” I said, remembering the percentages I’d read online and hoping I could be in the majority for once.

  He asked for my pill bottle. “I managed to get a few, thought you might need them.” He threw a handful in.

  “What about Barry?”

  “You’ll see him tomorrow.”

  “And he’s okay?”

  “He’s okay.”

  After Roger was gone, the first order of business was to order dinner, i.e., Akida. Forty-five minutes later, there was a knock on the door and there he was.

  “Where’s Nigel?” I asked.

  “I gave him an offer he could not refuse, like in The Godmother,” Akida said, putting down the food. There was a throwaway cell phone on top of my burger bun.

  “It is untraceable, as you wanted. But, Cyd Redondo, I have made a reservation for you under another name, if you desire to return home tonight. I have a passport for you, as well.” He shrugged. “As in your country, certain rules may be bent.”

  “I want to, Akida, but somebody’s got to face the music. But thanks. Thanks for everything.”

  “Cyd Redondo, before I followed instructions without thinking. I am not following instructions anymore.”

  “I know. And this phone makes up for everything. Thank you. Please give my love to Bopo and Shawana.”

  Akida grasped my arm in the Tanzania way—by the elbow. I shook it for a long time, then kissed him, which embarrassed him completely.

  “Come to Brooklyn someday, Akida.”

  “It is my dream. Godspeed, Cyd Redondo.” He hurried out the door.

  I turned on the shower so no one could hear me talking through the door and checked my watch. It was lunch time in Brooklyn. Where would Uncle Ray be? I took a chance on Peppino’s. Mario and I were partners in Cotillion a million years ago. I worked on my story as I dialed.

  “Cyd. You’re the talk of the town.” Mario said. Great, I thought.

  “Any chance my uncle’s there for lunch?”

  “No, haven’t seen him. Seen any lions?”

  “No, just a leopard,” I said. “Look Mario, I need to get a message to Uncle Ray.” I made Mario write everything down, hoping my uncle would understand my “code” and, if Jimmy did have anything to do with this, he’d take precautions.

  “Come in for some sausage when you get home,” Mario said.

  ***

  The next morning Nigel knocked right on time. I grabbed my pills and extra toiletries, put on my sunglasses, and walked out with as much dignity as was possible without makeup.

  “Claymore’s not such a bad guy,” Nigel said, as I stepped out of the elevator.

  “Perhaps you haven’t slept with him.” I took a deep breath and walked into the ballroom. Gant, Roger, and
Agent Fisher stood by the conference table. I saw my Balenciaga bag. It was all I could do not to run over and hug it.

  It looked like there was a new stain on the side. I hoped Bay Ridge Leather had a multi-stain discount. The bag felt suspiciously light. I checked the side: no compass. I distracted myself with what looked like a coffee cake and a few pastry containers at the end of the table. I was starving. As I got nearer, my starvation turned to dread. I had seen those containers before.

  Chapter Forty-one

  “Why are those here?” I asked.

  “Well, we think the smuggling ring has placed animals in your waiting luggage, but we can’t count on it. You’ll have to carry some on board just in case.” Gant picked up my open carry-on and pointed out the ground rhino horn powder in my compact and two ivory necklaces in a tampon holder. Not my brand, by the way, if anyone were asking.

  “Great,” I said. “I think I can handle that.”

  “Well, I certainly hope so,” Gant said. “We don’t want the live animals to be hurt or suffocated.”

  Live animals?

  Agent Fisher held up one of my La Perla bras, which now had four slits cut into it.

  “Stop. That’s a La Perla. Do you have any idea how much that costs?”

  “Yes,” she said. She lifted two tiny bright green snakes and stuffed them into the slits. “We’ve drugged them, so chances are they’ll sleep the whole trip.” She took out a tiny needle and thread and sewed up the holes.

  “Chances are? I can’t spend twenty-three hours in a confined space with snakes in my bra. You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “You can distract yourself with these.” She held up a money belt full of eggs. “You’ll have a few turtles taped to your legs and some other items. I’ll dress you when you’re ready.” Now I understood why Roger had brought my palazzo pants and tie-front shirt. “Come on, you really can’t expect me to get through Customs with all of these.”

  “That’s exactly what we expect you to do. That’s the agreement you signed.”

  There were still four or five containers to go. I didn’t want to show weakness. Would vomit be weak?

  “Of course, as your ‘plus one,’ Agent Claymore, will be carrying as well.”

  “Well, that’s romantic,” I said, trying not to look at my wriggling bra. “Look guys, honestly, I don’t think I can do this. I’m going to freak out before I even get on the plane.”

  “You know the alternative,” Gant said.

  “Gant? Could we have a minute?” Roger said.

  Gant pointed to the security cameras, and left with Agent Fisher.

  “Why don’t you let me hypnotize you?” Roger said. “I can make you unaware of the animals. I can keep you from acting guilty and keep your heart rate down, which will keep them calmer too. What do you think?

  “I don’t want to be hypnotized, especially by a federal agent. I told you that already.”

  “I know, but it might be the only way you can get through this.”

  “How do you know it will work? It doesn’t work on everybody, right?”

  “You’re suggestible,” he said.

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “I meant clinically. Will you let me try?”

  “Am I going to be a zombie or something? I mean how will I feel?”

  “Like yourself, but calm.”

  “What do you mean? I’m always calm.”

  He patted me. “Of course you are. You’ll just be more calm. You’ll be completely awake and aware. You’ll know about the animals, so that you don’t injure them, but you won’t feel them moving or be bothered by them.”

  I caught the squirming plastic tubs out of the corner of my eye.

  “Can’t you just make me unconscious instead?”

  “You’re going to have to take off those sunglasses.”

  “Turn around, then,” I said. My emergency mascara was in the side of my bag along with a rust-colored lipstick. I went for my compact and almost spilled the rhino dust. I guessed I’d have to do without powder.

  “Okay,” Roger said. “Just listen to my voice and look at this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out my father’s compass. I gasped. “I grabbed it at Hazelnut’s. I didn’t trust them, either. Don’t worry. I’ll be there the whole time, and so will your dad. Now just sit back and keep your eyes on this,” he said as he began to swing the braided chain back and forth.

  Once I was officially “under,” Roger gave me back the compass and, to my delight, a pink Tupperware with holes. Barry twitched. I swear he recognized me. Roger said not to mention the chameleon and to keep him in my purse, not my carry-on.

  Then Agent Fisher returned and escorted me into the ladies’ room. She was drenched in Estée Lauder Pleasures. Between that and the reptiles, it was hard not to gag. Once she finished rigging me, I had four baby snakes in my bra, ten endangered reptiles in my fanny pack, and six tiny turtles in bubblewrap taped to my calves, like space-age leg warmers. Amazingly, I was still conscious and breathing. I guess hypnosis worked. I wondered if it were covered on my health plan? Fisher told me I had to be careful when I sat down.

  “No kidding.”

  “I’m serious. You’re wearing about seventy-five thousand dollars’ worth of endangered reptiles purchased by the U.S. Government. This isn’t a joke.”

  “If you don’t trust me, then why don’t you do it?”

  “It’s below my rank.” So much for the sisterhood. She pointed to the door.

  By the time the agents got us to the airport, our flight had been delayed. Was there an expiration date for hypnosis? I reminded myself to ask Roger about this once we were through security. When we finally checked in, I explained that our luggage had been lost on arrival and asked to file a claim, per Gant’s instructions. The clerk disappeared, then came out beaming.

  “Miss Redondo, Mr. Claymore. I’m delighted to say that we have located your luggage and it has been placed on the plane already for your return. Since it has not officially entered the country, there is no need to recheck.” This was so wrong, but then I thought about how Uncle Ray taught me how to ride a bike, took the luggage receipts, and kept my mouth shut.

  “I can’t believe they expect people to fall for that,” I said. Roger patted me on the shoulder. “No patting. I’m fine.”

  Roger reached down to adjust his “package,” which was larger than I remembered. What was down there—a monkey? If so, I hoped it had claws. He had saved my dad’s compass, but had he done it out of kindness or manipulation? And what the hell had he told my subconscious when he was futzing around in there? I might be walking through the airport naked, for all I knew. At the very least I looked bloated and bowlegged.

  We reached the first security point. The guard asked me to take off my shoes. Detached, I wondered whether any turtles had wriggled downward, but my feet were reptile-free. The agent, dripping blobs of sweat onto his checklist, said something too fast in Swahili to a man on the other side. The man answered and they pulled our carry-on bags out of the line. I was cool as a cucumber. Roger, not so much.

  “You are with the Redondo Travel tour, correct?” the agent asked, then put a special tag on both of our carry-on bags and we were off for the second security screening. This was the trickiest part; I took deep breaths like Roger told me to. I zipped my purse so nothing (i.e., Barry) would fall out, laid my quart bag of hotel toiletries on the conveyer belt and walked through the metal detector, hoping my reptilian underwire wouldn’t set it off. They seemed to be pulling about every third person for a pat-down. The guard gestured me over. Roger paled.

  I raised my arms, preparing for arrest. A woman the shape of a hunk of fresh mozzarella moved up my arms, her thick fingers squeezing every few inches. She was just getting to my shoulders when one of the guards called to her and she stopped. The second guard gestured me through. I wait
ed to see if they would frisk Roger. After all, he seemed to be wearing three shirts and a safari vest with multiple pockets. Even I would have frisked him. But he, the bastard, walked right through. We went into the jammed waiting area, and I heard a familiar voice that sent my heart right past the turtles and to the floor.

  “Cyd! Cyd Redondo! It’s us!”

  I turned to see my favorite clients, the Minettis, in matching magenta shirts, sunburned and beaming and heading, arms wide, right toward us.

  Chapter Forty-two

  I knew Marie would come in for one of her intense, bony hugs: the kind that could result in species extinction. I had to head her off. I gripped her outstretched hands, keeping my arms stiff, and kissed her on both cheeks,

  “Very European,” Marie said. “This is so swell. We’re on the same flight. Don’t you look great? And you’ve finally put on a little weight. That’s what happens when you’re happy.”

  How much reptile water weight I was carrying? Herb stepped up and offered his hand.

  “You must be Roger. Herb Minetti and my better half, Maria.”

  “Delighted to meet you.” Roger shook their hands.

  “You know Cyd is too good for just anyone, mister,” Herb said.

  “Don’t I know it.” Roger put his arm around me, lightly. “Here, let me help you with those bags.” He picked up the two Rick Steves rolling duffels I’d selected for their trip.

  “We love these carry-ons, Cyd. You know they lost our regular luggage, so these were a godsend.”

  “Lost your luggage?” I was suddenly nauseous. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “We knew you’d worry. We carried on all the important stuff, just like you said, so we were fine.”

  I looked at Roger. There were animals in the Minettis’ luggage. I knew it. I kept reminding myself that Google said over ninety-five percent of smugglers got through, but should we really trust Google when it’s important?

  They called our flight. Roger winced and pointed discreetly at my chest.