by Joe Curtis
“Come to Domino Park tomorrow morning at ten,” he answered. “Don’t be late.”
She hung up the phone without saying anything but let sobs escape from her mouth. Hours later, in the middle of the afternoon, she descended the stairs, intending to go to the kitchen, where Maria, her maid, was cleaning. The radio was tuned to Gloria Estefan’s Latin Beat, and Maria was cleaning and dancing, singing along to the upbeat music. Mary Catherine stood for a moment, wishing she could find just a portion of Maria’s joy.
Maria was startled when Mary Catherine cleared her throat.
“Excuse me, Miss Mary,” she said, embarrassed. She turned down the volume on the Bose. “Can I get you anything?”
“Yes, yes please,” Mary Catherine answered as she gingerly stepped down from the stairs. “Maybe some tea, no sugar or cream.”
“Of course,” Maria said, relieved that her employer was out of that dreadful room. Maria truly cared for Mary Catherine. She was only thirty-nine and had already been the housekeeper for twenty years. She had grown to love Mary Catherine and was also heartbroken over her son’s death.
Mary Catherine climbed onto a tall chair by the kitchen island. She hunched over the cool black marble top and waited for her tea. A Miami Herald was open on the island. Not paying much attention to it, she idly grabbed it and glanced through it. A picture of an elderly woman on a damaged moped caught her eye. Out of curiosity, she started reading the story. While reading she actually chuckled. Who would’ve thought an old lady could stop such a big crook? she thought. She read down, and when she got to “Assisting Smith was Bob McKaren, who is the owner and head bounty hunter of A-1 Personal Recovery, Inc.,” she set the paper down and raised her head.
“Bounty hunter, bounty hunter, bounty hunter,” she mumbled as she stared off into the distance—or perhaps she was looking at the near future.
“Miss Mary . . . excuse me, Miss Mary?” interrupted her trance. “Your tea is ready. Is everything all right?”
Mary Catherine turned her head.
Her blue, almost gray eyes met Maria’s with renewed fierceness as she said, “Everything is going to be all right, Maria.”
***
Bob got out of the beauty queen with a smile on his face and a whistle on his lips. Before going into his office, he turned and patted the queen on her top and thanked her for not breaking down. He was excited. He had a new office, his first successful bounty under his belt—and, of course, money in his pocket.
Walking down the short hall, Bob stopped in at Miss Garza’s.
“How’s everything?” he asked while poking his head in the door.
His voice made Miss Garza jump. She turned around quickly to see who it was, and her large bosom knocked over a few of the fake flowers that surrounded her. This made Bob laugh. She shook her head and laughed with Bob.
“Oh, Bob—it’s only you,” she said, still clutching scissors and flowers. “You know a girl like me can’t be too careful. There a lot of crazy people on dope out there.”
“Yes, Miss Garza, I know,” he said. “Did you see my story in the Herald?”
“Well, no, honey—I didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I did hear that you caught somebody. Was he on dope?”
“He might have been.”
“I knew it,” she said with her hands on her hips. “So many on dope, so many on dope.” With that, she turned around to her flowers. Bob smiled and wished Miss Garza a good day. When he turned around, he nearly ran over a petite older woman wearing a large dark hat and shades. She put her hands up, as if to protect against a collision.
“Excuse me,” Bob said, stopping himself before he bowled her over. “May I help you?”
“I certainly hope you can,” said Mary Catherine Tenish in a quavering voice as she studied the thin man.
***
Hector spotted Shark from across Domino Park. He’d known where he’d be, lounging in a shaded section by himself, enjoying a Cuban. He almost looked like a friend to Hector, but he banished the thought from his mind as he approached the crime lord.
“Good morning,” he said, bending his head forward slightly in a sign of respect.
“Any word on our contacts in Port Nolloth?” Shark asked, removing the cigar from his mouth and toying with it.
“Yes. Ayize Braiil said the collection is adding up nicely and is about to be ready to be shipped,” Hector said, sitting down and awaiting the next barrage of questions.
“Good. I will talk to our shipping lady today. She will give us no problem. She’s like putty in my hands now,” Shark said coldly, still inspecting his Cuban. “The death of her son has drained the life out of her.”
He looked at Hector and laughed softly.
“Poor thing.” Hector returned the laugh, nodding his approval. Shark continued: “Call Ayize. Make sure I have my shipment in Miami no later than next week. I have waited long enough.”
“Yes, Shark.” Hector rose from his seat, knowing the conversation was over, and started to walk away.
“Hector.”
He turned.
“Yes, Shark?”
“I will kill you if there is a single carat harmed or missing.” Hector felt the blood rising to his head. He said nothing, just walked away. He knew Shark was deathly serious.
Port Nolloth, South Africa
Ayize Braiil sat behind an ancient wooden desk in the one-room, flat-roofed concrete shed and watched as the dark stranger crept in. The ceiling fan’s worn motor was the only sound. He made sure they were alone.
“Let me see what you have,” Ayize said, motioning for the man to come closer. Ayize was a Portuguese diamond buyer, and one of the best in his line of work. A person shopping for diamonds would see his gems all over the world in major and upscale jewelry stores, but Ayize never worked directly with them. No, they would never admit to having any of his diamonds because his diamonds were stolen, killed or raped for, acquired by whatever means necessary.
The man stood over the desk and pulled a small leather sack out of his worn left boot. With shaking hands, he opened it and carefully poured the beautiful gems on the desk. The diamonds had already had a wild journey before they arrived at this checkpoint. They were smuggled out by miners who’d pressed them under their fingernails or picked them up in the sorting house with the help of boots with soles impregnated with adhesive. Some even strapped them to homing pigeons. In fact, Ayize had heard of people getting caught with the pigeons by loading them too heavily. The birds were found flopping on the ground, unable to take off due to the weight. Beach mines were a thief’s delight. In that sorting house they scooped out ore and fed it to nearby plants. But on the beach, like the ones in Namaqualand, the diamonds were found on the old seabed.
Diamonds made their way to Namaqualand and other beachfront mines millions of years ago by tumbling down the rivers and into the sea. When the ocean receded, some of the diamonds remained on the beach. Others were embedded in gravel along the ocean floor. Millions upon millions of dollars a year poured into the efforts to retrieve them. The area, land and sea, was a grid of mining concessions. South Africa’s government owned many of them, as well as the gem giant De Beers. It didn’t matter to the ones Ayize worked with. They were poor, and this was a way for them to feed their families and give them what they never could afford before.
Port Nolloth, where Ayize was stationed, was literally built or at least improved by diamond thieves. The hamlet had few visible means of support, but it had a flourishing population of BMWs. At the north end of town stood a cluster of neat concrete villas, painted ocher or white. With shiny German cars parked out front, it was common knowledge that illicit diamonds paid for some of these villas—and of course the sporty cars. There had been raids on the hamlet to end the thievery, but all were unsuccessful because some police officials had been paid off.
Ayize carefully weighed the diamonds, made some notes and offered the man $1,000 in American currency. The man nodded in agreement. Ayize then turn
ed, rose from his chair and made eye contact with a shadowy figure in the corner who had entered a few minutes before. He walked to the safe in the wall and dialed a few numbers, retrieved the money and put the diamonds away. When he turned, he saw the man was pointing a revolver at Ayize. He was shaking and sweating, and mumbling under his breath about more money. Ayize looked at him in disgust.
Shaking his head and wagging his finger at the man like a parent would do a disobedient child, he said, “You poor, pathetic fool. Don’t you know you are about to die because of your stupidity?”
“G-g-give me the money—you have the diamonds,” the man said in broken English.
“Oh, wow—someone who knows English,” Ayize said sarcastically with arms upraised, eliciting hushed laughter in the room. The man looked around, gun still pointing at Ayize, and he realized he’d made a deadly mistake.
Ayize snarled, utterly disgusted with the sight before him.
“Kill him.”
The shadowy figure pulled a Wist-94 9mm semi-automatic. The man’s moan was drowned out by gunshots. He fell to the floor in a crumbled heap.
“Get him out before he makes a mess,” Ayize snarled. He sat back down, picked up the phone and called his American friend.
Little Havana
Hector was enjoying dinner at one of his favorite restaurants in Miami—Mendoza, on Brickell Bay Drive. He was sitting outside under the palms, the ocean breeze cooling his body, when his Blackberry interrupted. When he looked at the caller ID, he became excited.
“Hello,” he answered in a level tone to hide any emotion.
“We are finished,” Ayize said on the other end. “We have all that you ordered. Can I expect Shark to come?”
“You will never see Shark—unless you screw up.”
Ayize took a deep breath. Hector’s words sent a chill through him.
“I assure you—the diamonds are perfect.” He paused then added, “We have purchased the other items for the shipment also.”
“Do you remember my instructions?”
“Yes—we will do it precisely as you say.”
“Good. Good.” Hector could feel his heart beating faster with excitement at Ayize’s words. “I will send someone to Port Nolloth in two days. I will call you later for time and place. Be ready anytime for the exchange.”
“Fine.”
Hector calculated the value of the diamonds coming to Shark. He smiled at his price—$100.5 million, all transported in a small Tenish Packaging plane. Hector’s palms started to sweat as he entertained an enticing thought. If he played his cards right, it could all be his.
“Yes—this is my time,” he whispered to himself. “Years of servitude will soon come to an end. The great Shark’s greed will finally do him in.” He closed his eyes and let his thoughts go to grandiose places.
***
“Are you the bounty hunter mentioned in the newspaper article?”
“Yes I am,” Bob said with a large smile and an extended hand. Mary Catherine gingerly took his offered hand as she looked around. Bob added, “It might not look like much, but most of the action takes place outside the office.”
Mary Catherine nodded and looked over his shoulder into the office.
Bob immediately said, “Oh excuse me—how rude of me. Please come in.” Saying nothing, she walked past him and took a chair in front of the desk.
He stood beside her and introduced himself.
She responded, “I’m Mary Catherine Tenish.”
“What can I do for you today, Miss Tenish?”
“My son was the officer who was recently killed in the high-speed chase.”
“I’m so sorry,” Bob said. “I read about it in the paper. According to the account, it was an accident. It was a tragedy, but an accident.”
Mary Catherine shook her head.
“The actual crash might have been an accident, but I know who caused the chase.” Her voice started to crack.
Bob handed her a box of tissue.
“I read that some druggie was taking a joyride in an ambulance. Your son ran a red light and a large truck sideswiped him.”
“You’re only half right,” she said through a tissue, her hands shaking now. “They were transporting a shipment of drugs in the ambulance.”
“What?” Bob said, leaning toward Mary Catherine.
“You see, no one will believe what I’m about to tell you,” she said, increasing the intensity of her glare. “The entire ambulance company is a drug trafficking cover-up.”
“Wait, do you mean Care Ambulance Service is hauling drugs?” Bob asked, falling back into his chair and exhaling.
“They’re hauling drugs all over Florida and the southeastern United States.” She took out a pack of cigarettes from her purse. She’d stopped the nasty habit years ago but had recently taken it up again to calm her frazzled nerves. “Do you mind?”
“Under the circumstances, I guess not,” Bob said with raised hands, hoping it wouldn’t trigger an allergic reaction. But he noticed how her hands shook as she lit the cigarette, and how frail she looked. He felt sorry for her and wanted to help. “Isn’t Care a non-profit organization?”
Mary Catherine snarled, her hatred showing in her expression.
“Only on paper. It’s as much a non-profit as I am an impoverished senior. The non-profit status is only a cover-up. What’s funny is they just won a humanitarian award.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bob said. “The story was on the page facing my story.”
They stared at each other for a moment, Bob not knowing what next to do or to say. Mary Catherine scrutinized the so-called bounty hunter, wondering if he could really do the job. Bob finally broke the silence.
“You still haven’t told me what I need to do for you.”
“Anthony LaCruz is president of Care Ambulance Service. Of course he’s also responsible for the drug trafficking and the death of my son. He’s known as Shark in the underworld and is one of the most powerful men in southern Florida—especially in the Cuban community.”
“Okay,” he said, starting to worry about where this conversation was going.
“No, Bob—it’s not okay. My son is dead, and Shark is still out there hurting people,” she said, taking a final drag of her first cigarette and lighting another. The smoke was starting to choke him. “I need you, Bob.”
There was another long moment of silence. Bob was starting to sweat, even though the room was cool.
He fidgeted in his chair, cleared his throat and said, “Okay”—all that he could manage.
“I need you to prove to the world that Care Ambulance Service is trafficking drugs. I need you to ruin the Shark.”
“Why me? I’m just starting out as a private investigator and bounty hunter. I’m new at this. I don’t have the experience. I can’t.” His hands were on his head now, with fear, frustration and confusion all coming together in one mangled emotion.
“No one else will.” Mary Catherine started sobbing, throwing her cigarette on the floor and covering her face. She sobbed uncontrollable sobs for a few minutes, and Bob looked on, not knowing where to go or what to say. Finally she removed her hands, her makeup now ruined. “You’re it. He doesn’t know you. You’re new in town. Everyone else told me they can’t get too close to the Shark because he’s surrounded by henchmen. You must help me. Money is no object. Matter of fact, I brought you something.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a check and put it on the table. “This is an advance. It’s half of what I’m willing to pay you. I’ll give you the other half when you complete the task I want you to do.”
Bob looked at the check for a moment. It was lying face down. He’d have to touch it to see how much it was. He reached for it, but before his hand got to the check he looked at Mary Catherine. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Yes, you can. Get your check.” It was almost a command.
Bob grabbed the check and flipped it over. Fireworks went off in his brain as he read the amount out loud
: “Fifty thousand dollars.”
“That is your advance.”
Suddenly, Bob was overcome by a wave of self-assurance.
He looked up with a smile and said, “Again, Miss Tenish, what can I do for you?”
“I need pictures; I need documentation. I need hard evidence about what they’re doing,” she answered with renewed energy. “When you have this evidence, you must go to the papers. Shark owns the police department. Give the politicians a black eye. That’s what they understand. Bob, they must go down—and it’s up to you.”
Bob looked at the check again and took another deep breath.
“I guess I’m your man.”
With that, they both stood and shook hands.
“I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Bob.” Mary Catherine turned and left as Bob followed her to the door and watched her walk down the hall.
Miss Garza poked her head out the door.
“Bob, do you think she’s on drugs?”
“No, Miss Garza,” he said.
“What does she want you to do, Bob?” she asked.
“Nothing, really—just take down Miami’s most powerful drug lord.”
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, slamming the door. Bob could hear her picking up the phone and calling her Little Havana “network.”
Bob banged his head on the door jamb and said, “My sentiments exactly, Miss Garza.”
***
Shark was particularly relaxed today in Domino Park. A tropical storm was brewing over Cuba, hitting the small community hard, and it had sent a charge to the atmosphere around Little Havana and Miami. Shark loved the weather here, particularly the violence of a tropical storm. He smiled in satisfaction when he saw Mary Catherine enter the park. She seemed to be walking with more of a swagger. That was good—he was getting tired of the tears and snot. She needed to be on the top of her game for this trip.
“Mary Catherine, how are you doing today?” he asked, looking up. She seemed to have recaptured some of her elegance.
“I’m fine,” she said, looking down at Shark. In her mind, she felt relief knowing that her plan to bring this man to his knees was in the works. She had faith in Bob. He was her only hope.