by Joe Curtis
“Hey, Brandy,” came a voice. “This is Bob. I know we talked just a few hours ago, but I had some questions, and I really need your help. Can we meet tomorrow morning?”
She caught herself smiling at the sound of his voice, not entirely sure why.
“Well, Bob the Bounty Hunter, I guess it wouldn’t hurt. Just promise you won’t take me on any wild chases.”
Bob’s eyes widened at the thought that she might be flirting with him.
“Why, no, Brandy—I wouldn’t dream of it. I know this great coffee counter on 8th Street. Sound good?”
“Sounds good.”
“Great. We can meet at my office. You got the address, right?”
“Oh, yeah—it’s on the business card you accidentally left on my desk,” she said through a smile as she played with a strand of her hair. As she hung up, Brandy wondered why she was flirting.
***
Juan waited several hours before he attempted to go back into Cap’s office to retrieve his precious mini-recorder. He did make several trips past his office to glance in, and thirty minutes earlier he’d seen Cap on his cellphone in what seemed like an intense conversation. He hoped his hunch on who he was talking to was correct—Shark—but he didn’t know what they were talking about. He’d find out when Cap left his office.
Juan again slipped through the door and hurriedly went to the plaque, lifted it and snatched the recorder. As he set the plaque down, he sensed someone’s presence. He spun around to see Cap with a quizzical look on his face.
“Juan, what are you doing?” he asked.
He thought fast.
“Oh, Cap,” he said, laughing nervously. “I was admiring your plaque. I want to be Policeman of the Year someday. Got any advice?” Juan was playing off the man’s huge ego.
Cap’s face lit up, and he said, “Sit down. Want some coffee?” And so it began—good advice from a bad cop.
***
Calle Ocho seems to run on caffeine, with many coffee counters up and down the street. Coffee counters are little restaurant windows that serve bracing shots of Cuban coffee—which is as strong as the cigars they roll. Many enjoy the café Cubano, a syrupy concoction that’s taken in one or two gulps like an espresso. The tan colored drink is served throughout the day as visitors come up to the windows and give their order. Bob had one particular coffee counter in mind to take Lauren to, but before he met her he ran down a checklist in front of the mirror.
“Hair combed—check. Face washed and teeth brushed—check. Clothes match—check.
“Oh, dear Lord—what am I doing?” Bob said with his head down as he braced himself on the lavatory. “I haven’t gone on a date since junior high, and then she wound up punching me out.” He started to break out in a nervous sweat and said, “Oh great—I’m sweating.”
The phone interrupted his case of nerves.
“Hello?”
“Bob, this is Juan. I only have a moment, so just listen,” the cop said. He was talking in a hushed tone and seemed to be out of breath. “I have something for you that’ll help you with your project. Meet me at Versailles tonight at eight.”
Before Bob could answer, Juan hung up.
Juan’s call was still heavy on Bob’s mind when he entered his office building and was greeted by a smiling Miss Garza holding an artificial bouquet close to her bosom.
“Bob,” she sang. “Somebody is here to see you.” She switched to a whisper. “And it’s not one of your clients. Here you go.” She handed him the flowers and whispered, “Women love flowers.”
“Wow,” Bob said, looking over the gift dubiously. “This will get me lots of brownie points.”
She patted Bob on the shoulder and growled, “Go get ’em, tigre.”
“Thanks,” Bob said, walking past her and thinking, So this is what prom must have felt like.
When he opened his door, the sight of Brandy nearly gave him a coronary, but he quickly calmed down and managed to squeak.
“Ready for some café Cubano?”
Brandy had been inspecting some pictures of the beauty queen on his desk, thinking it was odd but cute to have photos of a broken-down classic car on your desk.
“Hi, Bob—just looking at your pictures.”
She was wearing a light blue sun dress that left her shoulders and arms bare. They had a muscular trimness to them and were lightly tanned. She left her hair down and flowing to the middle of her back.
“I’m ready,” she said with a million dollar smile that melted Bob’s heart.
“Oh—here you go.” He handed Brandy the flowers. “They won’t need water anytime soon.”
She laughed and said, “Oh, Bob—you’re so silly.” She mentally scolded herself for sounding like a love-struck school girl.
Bob was glad that the counter was just a few blocks away, which meant he’d have less time to say something stupid. He mostly listened and asked an occasional question about her work or family. He learned that she was from Chicago and had moved to Miami because it was warmer and not usually as windy. She also had three Siamese cats, missed her family and had a childhood crush on Patrick Swayze that continued through high school.
As they came to the window, Bob said, “Don’t worry about Patrick—I still have a crush on Wonder Woman. I guess it’s just something about that rope.”
She slapped him on the arm and laughed.
“Oh Bob.” Again she reminded herself not to sound love-struck.
An elderly Cuban woman whose name tag said Cynthia walked up to the window and exclaimed, “Oh, look at the lovebirds. You make a perfect couple. This is truly a match designed in the heavens to smile down on our wonderful community of Little Havana.”
Bob looked at Brandy, whose eyes were wide as saucers.
Trying not to pass out, he asked the woman, “Did Miss Garza call you?”
“Yeah, she called and told me you guys were coming and to treat you right because you were a new couple.”
Everything became very bright, which Bob was sure meant he was about to pass out.
“No, no—we’re not a couple.” He looked at Brandy and stammered, “N-not that that would be a bad thing—it’s just that, uh—”
“Don’t worry, Bob.” Brandy laughed. She looked at the vendor and said, “Bob said we couldn’t be a couple because I have six toes on my left foot instead of five.”
Bob and the woman stared blankly at Brandy for a moment, then the vendor broke the silence and asked, “What would you like today?”
“I think we’ll both have a café Cubano,” Brandy said, winking at Bob, who managed a laugh.
Regaining his composure, Bob said, “A shame that the cigar store across the street burned down.” The woman cast a glance at Bob as she prepared the drinks. “I wonder what caused the fire. Do you have any idea?” he asked. He glanced at Brandy.
“Miss Garza also said you’d be asking questions about the store,” the woman said, still working on the drinks. “People get hurt when they stir the hornet’s nest up.”
“Sometimes the hornets won’t go away until they are stirred up,” Bob countered.
Cynthia brought Bob and Brandy their coffees, then took his money and said, “Miss Garza says I can trust you.” She looked deep into Bob’s eyes for a moment. “Every morning the workers would come over to my window before they went to work and grab some drinks. This morning Ricardo came over and got them before I finished their order.”
“Who is Ricardo?” Bob asked.
“Ricardo worked behind the counter,” she said. “He was the manager of the store. He was acting weird, real tense. He’s usually laid back, but this morning he was different, almost rude.” She paused, trying to remember details. “He told them they had to get ready because today was the day. They all seemed to understand and went with him, leaving their drinks here.”
“Interesting,” Bob said.
“Later on that day, I heard loud cracking and popping noises, and after it died down I saw him.” All of a sudden sh
e seemed nervous, and she started wiping off the counter.
“Saw whom?” Bob asked.
“Shark. He came out of the shop and was picked up by some high-dollar car. Just as soon as he left, the store started smoking, and I started hearing the fire department. Right before the fire trucks, police and ambulances came, the workers were picked up in a van.”
“So there was no one at the shop when the fire department arrived?” Bob asked.
“No. The police arrived first and seemed to give orders to the fire department and ambulances.”
“What did the ambulances pick up?” Brandy asked.
“They brought out three body bags.”
“Cliford didn’t mention anything about bodies in his story,” Brandy said.
“Cliford?”
“Cliford has the Little Havana beat,” she explained. “I read his story last night, and he didn’t mention any casualties. He’s a good reporter and would have made that his lead.”
“Would you mind calling him and asking if he saw anything in the police report about bodies?” Brandy dialed as she walked away.
“Thank you for the coffees—they were wonderful,” Bob said before stepping away from the window.
“You’re welcome,” Cynthia said, adding, “She’s very beautiful.”
Bob let a giggle escape from his mouth.
“I know.”
***
That afternoon, Bob pulled up to Tenish Headquarters to tell Mary Catherine the news about Shark. He felt like he was walking on clouds, and he’d had a smile on his face ever since his date with Brandy earlier. She was beautiful and smart and liked investigating as much as Bob. During the walk home she’d called the reporter who’d written the article about the fire. He told Brandy he’d seen the police report, and there was no mention of any deaths, but there were two Care ambulances at the scene. Bob figured the police deliberately omitted any mention of bodies in the report, and Care cleaned up the scene. He was about to climb out of the beauty queen when an ambulance drove past him to the back of the building. Thinking that was strange, he got out and jogged around the building to see where it went. Rounding the corner, he crouched behind a bush and, to his surprise, the ambulance was from Care.
“What are they doing here?” he muttered.
Two men get out of the ambulance, both dressed in their street clothes. Upon closer inspection, Bob saw pistols poking out of the pants in the back. Now when did EMTs start wearing street clothes and carrying guns? he wondered.
Constantly checking their surroundings, the two men walked around the ambulance and opened the back door. Each grabbed a wooden crate and quickly hauled it inside the building. Bob followed at a close distance, but by the time he entered the building the elevator door was closing behind the two. But the floor indicator showed that the elevator didn’t stop until it reached the top floor, and Bob knew there were only a few offices up there—including Mary Catherine’s.
“The plot thickens,” he muttered, pressing the call button.
***
Shark looked over the crates—twenty in all. The African artifacts had been separated from the diamonds and delivered to the waiting hands of blue-haired aristocrats of Miami. They praised Antonio for his “untiring efforts to ensure the people of Miami had world-class art within their grasps.” Shark greeted each of the blue-hairs with a hug and a polite kiss, making them coo like schoolgirls. After dining on vodka and caviar and laughing at their pathetic tales, Shark hurried home to be with his new prized possessions—a $40 million bundle of black market diamonds. He sat behind his desk in his inner quarters. The top of the large mahogany desk was covered with so many rocks that it was almost impossible to see the dark wood between them. He laughed when he realized that his desk top was almost solid diamonds. The greed generated by the diamonds sent his spirit into a euphoria that no drug on earth could match. He bent down until he touched them with the tip of his nose. He moved his head back and forth, breathing in deeply and exhaling softly so as not to disturb them. After he tired of that, he rose and started moving his hands through them like a baker kneading dough. The cool cleanliness excited him.
“Well, it looks like I’ve been replaced.”
Shark jumped and opened his eyes. It was Lauren.
“What do you want?” he shouted.
“Cool it, darling,” she said. “Greed is getting the better of you. You have to be more careful.”
“No one can touch me—I can buy anyone,” he snarled. “And most are cheap. Look at you.”
Lauren ignored the comment.
“A police officer has been talking to the bounty hunter lately.”
Shark grunted, smoothing his diamonds out into a level plain.
“You mean the accountant-turned-bounty hunter?”
“Yes, the accountant-turned-bounty hunter. He has an informant in the police department now. I told you he was dangerous.”
Shark stood suddenly, pushing back his leather chair and knocking over pictures as it careened into a table.
“One informant,” he shouted. “One! Do you think one informant can bring down this?” He swept his arms at the opulence.
“Yes, Shark,” she answered walking toward him. “Yes, I do. The right informant can bring down all this—and bring you down too.”
He grabbed a handful of diamonds and gave them a close inspection.
Looking up, he said, “I’ll take care of it.”
***
Bob was able to walk through the halls of Tenish Packaging at will because he’d become a familiar figure there in the last few weeks, so when he walked past Mary Catherine’s receptionist and into her office, he expected his usual greeting. But when he bounded through the door figuring he’d see two strangers harassing Mary Catherine, he got the surprise of his life.
Mary Catherine and her visitors were startled, and the shock was evident in their faces.
“What are you doing here?” Mary Catherine screamed.
“I, uh . . . I have some information,” Bob said, still clutching the door. He felt like a child catching his parents wrapping presents on Christmas Eve. In that instant, he surmised the EMTs weren’t bothering Mary Catherine but delivering the crates he’d seen them carrying.
The two men looked at Mary Catherine, who nodded, and excused themselves. As they passed Bob, bumping into his shoulder, he could see the two crates had foreign markings on them. They were sitting behind her desk.
She collected herself and asked, “What information do you have for me?”
Bob told her what he’d learned over the last few days.
She listened to him intently, and when he was finished, she said, “Bob, that’s great, but it seems to me you have a long way to go, and if you want to get paid the rest of the money you need to gather more.”
Surprised, Bob thought he must have interrupted something private and important. Was Mary Catherine somehow involved with the Shark?
“Okay, well—” Bob was at a loss for words, so he started backing toward the door, trying not to stare at the crates—“I guess I’ll do just that. If I have any more information I’ll let you know.”
As Bob turned to go, she said, “You need to hurry. My son’s case is getting colder by the day.”
He stopped, looked over his shoulder, and said, “Oh no—I believe I’m getting some evidence tonight that will prove Shark was responsible for much more than your son’s death. He has several rackets going on, including gem smuggling.”
Mary Catherine flushed suddenly as she bolted across the room and grabbed his arm, surprising him.
“Is this source reliable?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, very reliable. The source is Juan, your son’s partner.” Without knowing why, he instantly regretted telling her Juan’s name. He’d noticed something dark and suspicious about Mary Catherine’s demeanor.
“Fine.” She let go of his arm and gave him a fake smile.
He backed away.
“Fine,” he repeated.
“I have to go. Got a lot of work to do.”
He left, disturbed by his conflicting thoughts.
***
Shark answered his Blackberry and was greeted by, “You’re a moron,” from Mary Catherine.
“What?” he answered.
“You have a leak in your impenetrable security,” she said sarcastically.
“I’m too busy for your games, Mary Catherine. Tell me what you’re talking about,” Shark said, his voice starting to rise.
“Word is that there’s a cop that might have some information about our diamond smuggling, and he’s about to inform on you,” she answered.
“Let him tell whatever to his fellow cops,” he said. “His bosses are on my payroll.”
“I don’t think you get it. What if he goes further than the police? What if he goes to the media? You are losing control, Shark!”
“Who is it?”
“Juan Hernandez.”
“Don’t worry, my dear,” Shark assured her. “I’ll take care of this little bump in the road. Did you get your shipment today?”
“Yes. Are you sure it was wise bringing it in the middle of the day?” she asked.
Shark laughed, sat back in his leather couch and crossed his legs.
“You forget who you are dealing with. No one is over me. No one can bring me down. Everything is under control.”
“I hope so,” she said. “I hope so.” After he hung up, Mary Catherine looked to the heavens, fighting back the sadness that once again was trying to overwhelm her. “I’m sorry, Frederick.”
***
Juan hurried home after a long day and was met by his best friend, Tammy, who pushed him into his recliner and licked his face. Tammy was his ten-year-old, seventy-pound golden retriever.
“Yeah, I know, girl—I missed you too,” Juan said with a laugh, trying to escape the dog’s wet tongue. “I’m gonna feed you, but first you know what to do.”
The dog barked and shot through the door. Juan had trained Tammy to scratch at an elderly woman’s door, Miss Felicia’s, everyday. The woman looked forward to the daily visit and would often feed the dog and Juan.