Smith looked through the window. A teenager on a scooter with the store’s name on the side held a package as he waited for someone to answer the door. “Relax, it’s a delivery boy. I’ll get it.”
Collins opened the door, invited the delivery boy into the house, and the young man put the package on the table.
“Who placed this order, son” asked Smith.
“It was one of the tall men. They are regular customers. I took the call.”
“Did they say anything else” asked Thorpe.
“Just that they’ll be in town late tomorrow and they wanted to make sure the things got here while the cleaners were at the house to let me in.”
“Well, the cleaners are already gone, but we’ll make sure they get their order. Thanks, young man.”
The boy relaxed and left the house. Smith glanced into the cardboard box. “Well, we now know that we have a long night ahead of us if we want to go through this house before they arrive.”
“Do we have lookouts so we don’t have surprises?”
“Both doors are watched by policemen in the houses next door. There are also lookouts on the beach and across the street.”
* * *
Ken checked his watch and decided he had left Eric waiting long enough so he walked to the beach and picked up his brother. At the cabin the brothers ate in silence, the tension gnawing at both of them. They had anticipated a relaxed life in St. Kitts not more battles with police.
“Let’s get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Whatever.”
Eric was asleep within minutes. Ken tossed and turned, still concerned about how the police tracked them to St. Kitts and Nevis Island. While the brothers slept, the computer recorded the wireless feed of the conversations in the kitchen of the Clelland house.
The detectives went through every square inch of the house. The furnishings were all quality and comfortable. The gourmet kitchen seemed designed for a professional chef. The mail collected on a desk in the den included one-year contracts for gardening and cooking staff.
Thorpe dropped the mail in a box. “Well, the unopened mail tells us the boys haven’t returned home yet. The length of the contracts indicates they’re planning on staying for a long time.”
Collins flipped through the clothes, holding up a bathing suit that still had a price tag. “I want these two in prison clothes not beachwear.”
The final rooms investigated by the detectives were the washrooms. They were fully stocked, including soap, towels, and cleaning needs.
Thorpe sorted through the bathroom closet. “Can either of you explain why there was a delivery of bathroom supplies when these closets are overflowing?”
“Perhaps they have regular shipments of consumables?” added Collins.
“Maybe,” said Thorpe.
The detectives went into the kitchen and dug through the box of supplies.
Smith pulled out three towels and held them up. “These aren’t consumables. I saw piles and piles of new, expensive towels.”
Collins held his finger up to his lips to quiet the other policemen. They methodically went through each item in the bag. Thorpe picked up the scrub-brush and studied it from top to bottom. The handle looked untouched, but once he probed into the folds of the plastic head a metal object fell into his hand. He showed the tiny microphone to the other detectives, carefully set it down on the counter, and waved them towards another room.
* * *
Despite a poor nights’ sleep Ken woke up long before his brother. He sipped orange juice as he slipped on headphones and listened to the police conversations from the house. The conversations in the kitchen were clear, but as the police moved further from the microphone the reception weakened. Most of the conversations were what Ken expected, the policed keeping each other informed about items they discovered, eventually coming to the obvious conclusion that the brothers were planning to live there permanently. Ken’s heart sank as he heard the detectives mention sentimental items like his father’s watch and his college diplomas, now certain, whatever his future, he probably would never see them again.
He could faintly hear the detectives as the rummaged through Eric’s room, including Thorpe saying he would sort through the closet. After a minute or two of only rustling noises Ken heard Thorpe say something. It was slightly garbled by the echo from the closet. Ken’s heart raced. He backed the recording to the point where the conversation started and ran it through a filter that removed background noise and echoes.
The sound was now clear and Ken could even hear the amusement in the voice as Thorpe said, “Here are more of the Rasgala Cigar Company wrappers like they threw off the balcony in Edmonton.”
Ken turned to look at Eric sleeping on the cot at the other side of the cabin then returned to the computer and listened to the rest of the recordings. The only other important information the police didn’t know where they were because they would already have the place surrounded or stake out the house rather than go through it. He also knew resources of the local police were limited and if he and Eric had any chance to escape it was through quick action, before additional forces converged on the small island.
Ken threw the orange juice container into the corner, got up, and walked across the dirt floor to where Eric peacefully slept. As he stared down at his brother he contemplated whether to take him along. Having Eric fall into the hands of the police before he could escape the area would be too dangerous. Ken resisted waking his brother and sat back down on the other side of the cabin formulating an escape plan. After sorting out the details he felt his plan was reasonably risk-free and, for a change, having Eric along would be an asset.
Eric stirred and opened his eyes. He saw Ken staring into space on the other side of the cabin. “You look deep in thought. I’ll go get us some coffee.”
“You better sit tight. The town is swarming with police looking for us.”
“Oh, shit, what’ll we do?”
“I’ve got an idea, but we have to work fast.”
“Where does your drug dealer moor his boat?”
“I told you I stopped that.”
“This is no time for bullshit, Eric. Where is he?”
“He keeps his boat disguised as a charter fishing boat. It’s usually at the pier in Newcastle, hidden among the other fishing boats.”
“Does it run?”
“Hell yeah, that’s how he gets his stuff at good prices, he picks it up from South American boats at sea.”
“Now, this is important, do you trust him.”
“Sure, he’s never let me down. Besides, Vincent would do anything to make a good buck. We just have to make sure we pay a hell of a lot more than the amount of the reward for our capture.”
“Right, then get your shoes on. After I sneak into town and get the money out of our postal box we’re heading for Newcastle.” Ken tossed Eric a cellphone. “Call him and make sure he’s there.”
Ken pocketed his binoculars, left the cabin, and worked his way into town through the trees. There were police patrolling the town but he was confident he could make his way across the two streets and into the courier office. Moving closer to the street he pulled out his binoculars and checked up and down the roads for police. All was clear so he dashed across the street. The second street was lined with palm trees, making it difficult to see all the way up and down. After he walked right up to a palm tree he peeked around the corner. Just as his head came around the corner a police car approached, the two men watching the people walking along the street and into and out of stores. Ken pulled his head back so quickly a twinge of pain shot through his neck. Ducking behind the thick tree Ken kept a careful eye on the police while trying not to be too obvious to passing pedestrians. The police car moved slowly down the street. Halfway down the street Ken’s heart raced as he saw the brake lights of the police car light up. He moved behind the tree again, completely out of sight of the policemen as they got out of their car. The officers still looked up and
down the street as they took seats at a sidewalk café and started reading the menu.
Ken took a deep breath to relax and cautiously moved down the street until the angle of the line of trees blocked the whole street from the policemen, allowing him to cross without them spotting him. On the opposite side, he walked one street down, over another block, and back up until he came to the street that that he had seen the police. On this corner Ken ducked behind trees until he was able to run into the Courier Company store, went directly to the postal area, and picked up the package of money in the large mailbox. Leaving the same way he entered he took a circuitous route back to the cabin. Once inside the cabin Ken put the package full of money in their backpacks.
While Ken retrieved their money Eric dialled his dealer’s number. While pissed off at Eric for waking him so early in the morning, Vincent said his boat was at pier “B” at Newcastle. Eric asked him to make sure he was fueled up because they were going to hire him for something, adding that the money would be excellent and to keep it quiet. Vincent agreed and promised to meet them.
The brothers straightened up the cabin, leaving no evidence they spent the night there. As they left they heard the sound of approaching voices. Ken and Eric ran behind some fallen trees and fell silent, as the voices grew near. The crunching of dry leaves relaxed Ken a bit, as he didn’t think the police would make such a noisy approach. Four teenagers pushed through the thick brush and walked towards the cabin, laughing and talking. They all carried schoolbooks that they dumped against the side of the cabin. As they shoved open the door of the cabin and disappeared inside.
“Good,” said Ken. “The coast is clear. Let’s go, but watch your step, don’t step on the dry leaves.”
The brothers hiked across the lush area surrounding Nevis Peak in the centre of the island. The area was a labyrinth of hiking trails. While the official paths were clearly marked on the maps, Ken and Eric primarily kept to the lesser-traveled paths, walking in absolute silence. As they listened for anybody approaching, they quickly ducked into the bushes if anybody came near.
After four hours of steady walking Ken and Eric rested at a viewpoint overlooking Newcastle. They ate the last of their food and shared the last small container of juice.
“Do you see his boat Eric,” asked Ken.
“Yeah, he’s in his usual place.” Eric pointed to the marina. “It’s the old green boat next to the big white one.”
Ken carefully checked the area. They had an excellent view of the whole north end of the island and he saw no police, or anybody who looked like one.
“Right.” Ken checked his watch and handed Eric a cellphone. “Have him anchor just off Hick’s Cove in two hours.”
Eric called Vincent and passed on the information. “He’ll be there.”
“Good.” Ken rummaged through the garbage cans at the viewpoint, pulling out two plastic bags. “These should keep our things dry.”
The brothers hiked down to Hick’s Cove and hid in the trees away from the people on the beach. Twice police cars passed along the road north of the beach. An hour later the distinctive boat pulled up and dropped anchor fifty yards off shore.
Ken and Eric stripped down to their underwear and stuffed their clothes in the plastic bags with their other belongings. They waded out in the warm water and swam the final thirty-five yards where Vincent helped them onto the boat.
“Well, well, it’s been a while, Eric. This must be the annoying brother you told me about,” said Vincent.
“Yes Vincent, this is Ken.”
“Welcome aboard, Ken. Now, what can I do for you, and more importantly, how much will I earn?”
“Right to the point.” Ken smiled. “I like that. The task is to get us the hell out of here. Some people want to get their hands on us and we want to avoid that.”
Vincent laughed and started the engine. “That my friend, is the worst kept secret on Nevis. You must have done some nasty shit to have this slack-ass police force working overtime.”
Vincent raised the anchor and started away from the island. “Never mind, they’ll leave Vincent alone. Hell, I supply half of them with their drugs. Now, where are we headed?” Vincent pulled out a map of the Caribbean.
The three men studied the map. Ken tapped a small island. “There, right there.”
“My pleasure. You understand that this is cash up front.”
“How much?”
“Ten grand, U.S.”
“Eric, get my backpack.”
Eric opened one of the plastic bags and grabbed the blue backpack. A small amount of water was on the bottom, but not enough to cause damage. Ken sat on a chair in the back of the boat and reached into the bag, pulling out twelve packages of new bills. He zipped up the bag and gave it back to Eric. He handed the money to Vincent. “Here’s twelve. The other two is to make sure you keep your mouth shut.”
Vincent counted one package and quickly flipped through the rest. “You know that it will cost for fuel and maintenance to get you there.”
Ken looked around the beat up boat. “Fine we’ll give you triple what it costs to refuel at the destination.”
“You have a deal.” Vincent smiled.
Collins and Thorpe rode with separate policemen, constantly patrolling the streets of Nevis Island. Collins rode with Smith. The airports and ferry terminals were under constant watch. Airplanes flew overhead. The town was abuzz with anxiety when word sped that two killers were loose in the area.
Smith and Collins checked out the stores where Ken had shopped. While nobody at the grocery store had any information, the clerk at the electronic store recognized the pictures of the two men.
“Yes, they have been in before, at least one of them, I should say. They do look very much alike. They bought a great deal of equipment and a computer. Let me get you the order.”
The clerk printed off the purchases from the previous day and handed it to Collins. Detective Smith pulled out a small plastic bag containing the tiny listening device and showed it to the clerk.
The clerk took a close look at the device and pointed at two parts. “Yes, this is constructed with the things he purchased. This is the wireless transmitter and this is the power source. It was good for about one kilometre and one week with that particular battery. Very clever.”
The detectives retrieved the bag and prepared to leave the store. “Thanks for your help.”
“Oh, would you like a better picture of him?” asked the clerk.
“Can you do that?” asked Collins.
“Easy, we have a top quality camera system in here, theft is a real problem for us. As Detective Smith is aware, we need the police down here frequently for shoplifters. Watch this.” The clerk printed off two copies of Ken’s picture. It was nearly as clear as a portrait studio picture.
“How is this quality possible?” asked Collins
The clerk smiled, walked over to a speaker at head height near the entrance to the store, and pointed to a small metal tip on the front of the speaker. “This is a camera lens. It takes digital pictures of everyone who enters or exits the store. They’re saved for ten weeks before the computer automatically deletes them.”
Chapter Fourteen
The sun was just coming up in the east as the boat pulled into the public pier at the town of Porlamar on the Venezuelan island of Margarita. Ken and Eric barely exchanged a word during the six-hour voyage. Ken paid Vincent triple the amount for the fuel and a handsome tip to try and ensure his silence. Eric and Ken walked past the tourists on the busy dock, stopped at a vender, and purchased a sandwich and coffee. Eric could hardly concentrate on the food as his head moved from one attractive woman to another.
“What about settling here, Ken. This place has plenty of women.”
Ken ate in silence, finally looking at his brother. “Eric, we best get our minds off the women and concentrate on finding a way off this island. How much money do you have?”
Eric reached into his backpack and glanced at the stack of
British pounds. “About six-hundred pounds.”
“Good, that will easily keep you going for a bit. I have enough for the trip to our backup spot. You go ahead and we’ll meet in front of the city hall in Caracas,” Ken glanced at his watch. “At eight tonight, and remember, no flights. From there we’ll sort out the rest of the trip. Meanwhile, I’ll ship this money from here.” Ken pointed to an international courier office down the street.
“No problem. See you there.” Eric got up from his chair and walked off the pier. He stopped at a small store, purchased sunscreen and a hat, and disappearing into a crowd of people wandering around the long pier.
Ken finished his meal and stared at the paper plate. He smiled his first smile in two days as he looked up and saw a charter boat company.
At the counter he found that the employees at the Charter Company spoke English.
“Welcome, sir. Are you interested in taking a tour?” asked a middle-aged man at the counter.
Ken looked at the worn map on the wall behind the clerk. “Well, I need to get to Cumana on the mainland right away.”
“Of course, sir. Round trip to Cumana is five hundred Bolivares.”
“Fine.” Ken used his southern U.S. accent. “How much is that in U.S. dollars?”
The clerk flipped open a book and ran his finger down a page. “That converts to two-hundred and fifty American dollar.”
“Very well, if we can leave right away you have a deal,” said Ken.
The clerk turned around and yelled at a young man who looked like he was barely in his teens who was washing a boat on the dock. The young boy ran forward and stood beside the older man, who turned out to be his father. The clerk gave the young man instructions in Spanish and Ken relaxed when he heard the man say Cumana. After Ken paid the man he put the cash in his pocket and never bothered to write out a receipt.
The father turned to his son. “Usas ingles, Miguel.” Urging the boy to speak English.
Rough Business Page 16