“No need to apologize. What’s going on?”
“I wanted to see if I could contract you to do some personal protection work.”
“That’s not something I do. I’m not sure why Scott gave you my name.”
“Part of the reason is that I specified that the person or persons needed to be highly discreet. I don’t wish my niece or her family to know that I’ve arranged this protection.”
“Still not ringing any bells on my end, Nancy. I have on occasion done some consulting for DHS, but I’ve never done any PI or personal protection work. I’m afraid you got some bad info.”
There was a pause, but I didn’t hear the tell-tale click of her hanging up. Even if she were on a cell, there would be an audible click as the landline connection broke.
“Mr. McDermitt, I have a sixteen-year-old niece that I absolutely adore. She’s one of the brightest, most ambitious, talented girls I’ve ever met or known and I’m terrified that she and her family might be targeted and killed by MS-13.”
There was a pause. Then, as if she were not just asking but admitting something to herself, she added. “I need some help. I’m fearful of what these animals might do to them.”
MS-13? I thought, sliding my empty beer bottle toward Rusty.
He picked up the bottle with a questioning look. I nodded that I’d have one more.
“Are you still there, Mr. McDermitt?”
“I am. I was thinking. I’m not a big fan of the gang. Tell me a little more about your situation.”
“Thank you, thank you!”
“Slow down, Nancy. I’m not saying I can help, but you’ve piqued my interest. What’s the story with the niece and why are they after her?”
“I gather from what she told me that she interrupted an attempted kidnapping one evening about ten days ago. In the process, she beat up two of the gang members, grabbed the girl from them, and escaped with her on the back of her motorcycle.”
“I thought you said she was sixteen?”
“She is.”
“How big is she?” I asked, a bit incredulous.
“Tiny, maybe five feet, if she’s lucky.”
“I’m missing something here, Nancy. This doesn’t jibe with what I know about the gang.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “I had the same questions, and I would have dismissed what she’d told me out of hand if I hadn’t seen what she’s capable of myself.”
“What did you see?”
“As I mentioned, we’re in Boston right now looking at colleges. Yesterday we stopped at a friend’s jewelry store to have something appraised. While we were in there, a masked man wielding a shotgun broke in, disabled the armed guard and held all of us at gunpoint.” She paused dramatically. “For about one minute.”
“Why just a minute?”
“That’s how long it took for my niece to disarm him, knock him out, and then get him in cuffs.”
“Miss Liddell, no offense, but that sounds like what we used to call a sea story in the Marines. Others might use the term bullshit.”
“Swear to God. She disarmed him, hit him in the jaw with the butt of his own gun, and when that wasn’t enough, she drew some sort of telescoping pipe out of her jacket and cracked him alongside the head and he went down.”
“Sounds like a police baton. Has she had martial arts training or something?”
“Yes. Something happened to her last year—an altercation. After she told me about it, I introduced her to an Israeli friend who teaches self-defense. She was excited about it, so I paid for her membership for a year. She went almost every night. I gather she’s gotten quite good at it over the last several months.”
Israeli? I knew of only one martial art form from that region of the world, and the term martial art could only be applied to it in a very loose way. It’s a combat fighting technique; not really for self-defense, but used to kill the enemy with whatever is available, including bare hands.
“Krav Maga.”
“Yes, exactly. How did you know?”
“You said the instructor was Israeli. I know a little about it.”
“Anyway, since she took down those two gang members, they’ve been actively looking for her and have already made three attempts to try and capture or kill her. I’m terrified that they’re going to succeed.”
“Where do you and she live?”
“I live on Boca Grande and Callie lives just outside Fort Myers on the Caloosahatchee.”
“That’s about 120 miles from me by boat.”
“You’ll help me!”
“No, sorry. I was thinking out loud. I need to give this some more thought. You said you’re in Boston right now?”
“Yes, we’re looking at colleges and we’ll be here till Sunday.”
“You said your niece was sixteen. Isn’t she kind of young to be looking at colleges?”
“Not really. Callie’s a high school senior right now. She started school young and she also skipped a grade.”
“So, she’s a brain, too. Why is it so important that she and her family be protected without their knowledge? It’s much simpler to protect someone if they’re compliant and following some basic rules.”
“Is why really important?”
“It is to me,” I replied, nodding to Dink as he headed for the back deck. “I never work with anyone unless all the cards are on the table.”
“The main reason is that I’m afraid my sister and her husband will blame me for getting Callie involved with martial arts in the first place and forbid me from seeing her or allowing her to go off to an out-of-state college. They’re prideful people and would resent the rich sister thinking she can buy their protection. From Callie’s point of view, I just don’t want to undermine her self-confidence.”
“I see. Listen, I need to think about this. Your niece sounds like a good kid and she’s likely in considerable danger. I want to do some research on MS-13 in Fort Myers. I want to know what I would be up against before I give you an answer.”
“What would you typically charge for an assignment like this?”
I grinned. She seemed honest and didn’t dodge around. “I don’t do assignments like this,” I replied. “I’m sort of retired. If I were to somehow help you out with your problem, I would simply ask that you pay it forward and help someone else who needs it at a later date.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. McDermitt.”
“As I said, I’m not sure I can help, due to some other obligations, but I’m not without resources and contacts with others who might be able to help if I can’t. Let me make a couple of calls. What’s the address of your niece’s home in Fort Myers? Also, you and I should exchange phone numbers. You were pretty lucky to have reached me here.”
I signaled Rusty for a pen and he produced one from his pocket, along with his ever-present order pad, which he ripped a sheet from.
I flipped the paper over and scrawled Nancy’s name and number on the back, along with her niece’s address.
“Thank you so much, Mr. McDermitt. Call me back as soon as you know whether you can help.”
“I will. And just call me Jesse.”
Once Nancy disconnected, I held out the phone to Rusty so he could put it back under the bar. He had a quizzical look on his face as he passed me another Red Stripe.
“Who was that?” he asked.
“I don’t know the woman. Scott Bond put her on to me.”
He leaned over the bar. “Scott’s a straight shooter. But you look worried. What’d she want?”
“She seemed nice,” I said. “She’s got a sixteen-year-old niece that she’s very worried about. According to her, the niece stumbled onto an attempted MS-13 snatch of another young girl and the niece took out two of the gang members and saved the girl they were trying to abduct. Now MS-13 wants to put her in the ground or worse.”
“There’s a story with no happy ending.”
“No kidding,” I agreed. “You know how I feel about gangs. Every last one o
f their members is a skin-bag, wasting precious oxygen.”
“You got that right. So, what did the woman want?”
“She wants me to provide protection for the girl and her family.”
Rusty put down the glass he’d been polishing and looked up. “That ain’t something you do.”
“I know, but it sounds like this young girl has a ton of heart. What teenager puts her own life at risk to save a stranger these days?”
“She must be a big girl.”
I shook my head, still a bit perplexed. “Nancy said she’s just five feet tall. Told me the girl’s had some Krav Maga training.”
“My kind of lady,” he said. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure. Her niece is three years younger than Flo and going off to college in the fall. She sounds like a really good kid and I know that if Flo were in the same kind of trouble and someone could help keep her safe, I’d be eternally grateful to that person.”
“There’s a lot of worthy causes out there, Jesse,” Rusty said, putting the glass away and wiping a bar that was already clean. “You can’t save them all.”
“I know. I’ve got to give it some thought and talk it over with Savannah tomorrow.” I rose from my stool. “I’m going to head down to the Dog.”
“You’ll figure something out,” he said. “Oh, Jesse, Rufus wanted me to give you a care package for Savannah.” He reached under the bar and handed me a small paper bag, the top folded over neatly.
“What’s in it?”
“I think it’s some of that secret rub he puts on the fish. He won’t give anyone the recipe, but he obviously thinks highly enough of Savannah to part with some of it.”
I opened the bag and breathed in the incredible combination of allspice, nutmeg, ginger, garlic, cloves, and several other Caribbean spices I couldn’t identify. Just the smell made my mouth water and I suddenly craved a fish sandwich.
“Man, does that smell good,” I said, closing the bag back up. “Be sure to thank him for me. Savannah will love this.”
“I will,” he said. “Have a good night.”
“You too, brother.”
Outside, I walked around to the far side of the canal, where Savannah’s boat was tied up. The warm night air was fragrant and rich with the scent of jasmine, frangipani, oiled deck planks, and exposed mudflats. The complex combination smelled familiar to me and was unique to the Florida Keys.
I stopped at Sea Biscuit, Savannah’s Grand Banks trawler. No one was aboard, but I wanted to check her lines to make sure she was secure.
MS-13 gang activity in Fort Myers?
I had no idea they’d spread to that small town. So many changes were taking place. But the last thing I needed was another project.
I caught myself as I walked back around the barge. Since when had helping to save the life of a sixteen-year-old girl become just another project to me?
“Come on, Jesse. Priorities!” I chided myself.
As I strolled back along the dock, I reviewed the conversation with Nancy in my mind. I had a lot going on. I was in the process of renovating the bunkhouse and I wanted to make the island more like a home for Savannah and less like a DHS training facility. Savannah and Flo had lived on Sea Biscuit for eighteen years. After returning from the cruise, we’d decided to create a land-based residence that felt like a home to both of us. That was my top priority. We’d even put up a tree on Christmas, a first for my little island.
I was also preparing to take the helm of Ambrosia with my new wife and possibly a little boy, who couldn’t remember his name. Ambrosia was scheduled for sea trials next week, and by the summer we’d be on station off the coast of Brazil.
I figured Chyrel could probably provide some insight about gang activity in Fort Myers, but I wanted information about them from someone with boots on the ground.
When I stepped up to Salty Dog’s deck, I unlocked the companionway hatch and switched on the lights, then went down to the navigation station, where my laptop was located.
I knew a guy by the name of Phil Tucker up in Miami. He was a corporal when I retired from the Corps, ending my active service, and I’d kept in touch with him off and on, since he was also from Florida. He’d EASed after four years, gone home, and taken a job with Miami-Dade PD. The last time I’d talked to him, he’d been promoted to detective.
I pulled up his name on my phone and he answered on the first ring.
“Phil, it’s Jesse McDermitt.”
“Semper Fi, Gunny. How’re they hanging? Or should I ask are they still hanging?”
I chuckled at the dig on my advancing years. “They’re hanging like the American Flag, brother—with dignity and pride.”
“Of course, they are! What can I do for you? Are you in town?”
“Not right now,” I replied. “I’m wondering if you can share any intel about MS-13 in Fort Myers?”
“Is this a DHS assignment?”
“You know I haven’t worked for the government in years.”
“Right…whatever you say, Gunny. Listen, I don’t personally know anything, but I’d be happy to make a few calls. Will you be around an hour from now?”
“Sure. I’ll listen for the phone.”
“Give me an hour.”
I set about doing some boat chores to kill time. Owning a boat meant constant upkeep and maintenance. Owning several compounded that. I rarely idled away minutes, much less hours.
Phil called back fifty minutes later.
“Found what you’re looking for, Jesse. The gang in Fort Myers is run by a banger named Diego Alturaz. His number two is someone who goes by the name of Esteban. They’ve got about twenty-five regular, full-time members and probably half that again they can call up if they’ve got something going on.
“Pretty standard banger shit; they sell meth and weed mostly—blow, when they can get it. But here’s where it gets a little different. Lately, here in Miami, and probably over in Fort Myers and the rest of the country, for that matter, they’re getting more and more into sex trafficking. They’ve got this horrific new business model where they kidnap young girls, do the gang initiation thing with them, then addict them to drugs and put them to work as prostitutes. The girls don’t last long, as you’d imagine, but the bangers don’t care—they just grab more. They used to snatch up primarily young, homeless women with drug habits who wouldn’t be missed. But lately, they’ve also been taking straight girls right off the street.”
This dovetailed perfectly with what Nancy had told me.
“What have your gang people been doing to push back?” I asked.
“Not much, I’m afraid. We try, but for all their incompetence as criminals, they’ve proven to be masters at witness intimidation and murder. Every time we put together a good case against one of them, our witnesses either die a gruesome death or develop memory problems right before trial. It’s incredibly frustrating.”
“Must drive you nuts.”
“It does.” Phil replied. “It’s like every one of them knows and accepts that their life expectancy is around twenty-one years and none of them seem to care about any life outside of the gang. They’d rather go down in a blaze of glory when backed into a corner. Fort Myers has had a series of incidents lately. The local PD thought they finally had a really good case against Diego Alturaz for the murders of two young gang members he shot and then chopped up. They also had him cold on the kidnapping and rape of two innocent thirteen-year-old middle schoolers.”
I felt the tension in my brow move to my jaw, clamping my teeth together like a vice. “What happened?”
“Once again, the gang got to the primary witness. He was in jail. And get this: they killed him with a jar of wasps.”
“What? How?”
“They must’ve known the mick had a serious allergy. Someone walked by his cell, threw in the jar of wasps, and bang; he gets stung like twelve times, blows up like a fucking piñata, and he’s dead ten minutes later.
“In another r
ecent incident in Fort Myers,” he continued, “the gang went after some teenage girl on a motorcycle. The police set a roadblock to catch the guys, and because one of them had an immigration beef, he gets out of the car, pulls a cannon, and tries to shoot it out with like ten cops! How can you fight against people who have so little regard for their own lives, let alone the lives of others?”
I knew the answer. But Phil, just like Detective Andersen, had strict rules he had to abide by. I paused a moment before responding. The teenage girl on the motorcycle sounded like Nancy’s niece.
“The rulebook you guys are forced to play by only works if both parties play by the rules. Obviously, these guys don’t.”
“What’re we going to do, Jesse? You know what it’s like out there right now. It’s all over the news. When a cop pulls his piece, he gets totally screwed by the press. Doesn’t matter whether his life is in danger or what the perp was doing. If he’s a minority, it’s hands off. It’s like a get-out-of-jail-free card for whatever these punks want to do.”
Rules of engagement were motivated by politics. Our troops were hampered, the cops were hindered, and even a private citizen in his own home risked jail time if he shot an intruder. And because of that, good people died, because they were slow to act.
“I don’t envy you, Phil, with your hands tied the way they are. At some point, the media’s got to wake up. But it’s tough to fix stupid. It can be done, but like they say, it’s going to hurt.”
“You got that right, brother.”
“Okay, thanks for the intel, Phil. It’s just what I was looking for.”
“Anytime, Gunny. Keep one on ice for me.”
“I will,” I replied and ended the call.
It was obvious that Nancy Liddell’s niece and her family were all in serious danger. Something like this would take more time than I had. But I wanted to do something, and I had an idea.
I pulled up Billy Rainwater’s number. He’d be perfect to discreetly keep an eye on the girl and her family. If Billy didn’t want to be seen, he wouldn’t be. It was just a matter of whether he was available.
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