I remained silent, my attention back on the on-line DRMO candy stores.
“If there’s something else you want to tell me, this is your chance,” Carlos warned, almost as if he knew I was withholding information.
“I found a piece of fabric that had been torn off Alberto’s shirt lying near the body, the night of the murder,” I revealed. “The material was wet with some substance other than blood. I removed it from the scene and sent it to a doctor I know over at Jackson Memorial, where he passed it on to a forensic scientist for DNA analysis. Apparently this guy maintains a collection of DNA samples from an assortment of wildlife. I got the report this morning.” I waited, expecting Carlos to blast me for having removed evidence from the scene of a crime.
“And what did it conclude?” was all he asked.
“The fabric was soaked with cougar saliva.” One look at Carlos’s face was all it took to make me feel uncomfortably foolish.
“You know, Porter, I’ve tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, precisely because you are a woman. But at times like this, I wonder why. Do you honestly expect me to believe that someone’s escaped pet killed Dominguez, nabbed the birds, and made a clean getaway?” His fingers drummed on my desk in a subtle form of torture. “My guess is that your ‘scientist’ is a rank amateur who shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near crime-scene evidence.”
I could have told Carlos that I’d felt pretty much the same way when Dr. Bob had first given me the news. But I didn’t think it would make much difference in his opinion of me.
Carlos took off his cap. I considered that a bad sign, knowing how sensitive he was about losing his hair. He rhythmically slapped the hat against the palm of his hand.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re intent on making this job more exciting than it really is? Maybe you should consider applying for work with the CIA.”
“And I think the problem is that you’re too limited in your scope. There’s more to this case than you seem to want to deal with,” I shot back.
Carlos lunged at the opening I’d unwittingly given him.
“I knew it! You’re holding something back. I can feel it!” Carlos crowed. “Here’s the deal, Porter. You want to follow up the bird-smuggling angle? Go ahead. But, if this case involves gun running, I advise you to tell me now or you’ll find yourself out of a job.”
“I found a bunch of arms stashed in the cargo bed of Weed’s pickup,” I admitted.
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re sitting here ogling the web page for DRMOs,” he sniped, turning the screws.
It was clear that I couldn’t hold out any longer. All I could hope was that Carlos would remain true to his word, and still let me follow the bird smuggling angle.
“All right. You win,” I conceded. “The arms included M-15 and M-16 rifles, along with M-79 grenade launchers.”
Carlos nodded, silently acknowledging that he knew those to be military weapons.
“I’ve also learned that Weed’s best friend works in the surplus division at Robins Air Force Base,” I added.
Carlos erupted as predictably as Old Faithful.
“What are you, loco? How could you even think of keeping this kind of information from me? Two homeboys are possibly running guns from out of a military base, and you imagine you can take this on?” he sputtered in disbelief.
“I just found out about it myself,” I offered as my sole, lame defense.
Carlos glared. “Where are the guns now?” he demanded.
“They were also gone by the time I managed to get out of the trailer,” I admitted.
Carlos’s face glowered, as incandescent as a setting sun. “That’s it, Porter. You’re officially off the case. There will be no more digging around. Do you understand me? Whatever you’re on to has nada to do with birds, and mucho to do with illegal arms,” he declared. “Unless, of course, you’re on another one of your wild-goose chases.”
Carlos was never going to let me forget the chicken eggs. I kept my mouth closed, knowing anything I said could only make matters worse.
“I don’t need to have you running around playing Chicken Little, screaming that the sky is falling. That won’t do any good, even if there really is something going on.” He leaned in toward me, his voice icy cold. “Stay the hell out of this, Porter. I intend to look into the situation myself, and decide if there’s any merit to what you’ve been telling me. As of now, all your work will be done sitting behind this desk. If you have a problem with that, you can write a letter of resignation right this minute, and hand it to me.”
He turned around and stormed off.
I headed home feeling more confused and dejected than ever. As much as it killed me to admit it, Carlos was right on one point. Even if Tregler and Willy had been running weapons from Robins, I hadn’t yet linked it to Weed’s parrot-smuggling gig. I felt as if I’d been banging my head against a brick wall with nothing but a battered ego to show for it, and a job that was threatening to slip away from me.
I headed for the most calorie-riddled Cuban dive that I knew of. The best thing about Latin food is that it’s quick, cheap, and good. The restaurant was the size of the tiny apartment I’d had back in New York. A few creaking fans spun slowly overhead, panting like exhausted old men as they circulated the same hot, stale air around the room. If I was going to punish myself, I was determined to do it right. I took a seat in a red booth, the hot vinyl plastering itself against my skin.
Ordering arroz con pollo, I added a side of heavy fried plantains just to top off the calorie count, and washed it all down with a couple of Hatuey beers. Then I went for broke by requesting the flan.
I was waiting for dessert when I finally dragged myself back from the depths of despair, and took the time to gaze around. Behind me hung a dartboard with an unusual feature: Castro’s face had been used as the backdrop. Looking at the cluster of patrons, I realized I was the only Caucasian in the room. I studied each person’s face, wondering how many secretly bore the tattoo of a parrot clutching a gun.
By the time my dessert arrived, I’d decided that I’d punished myself quite enough. I left my flan untouched and headed for home.
The late daylight turned the pastel condos lining the shore into a row of tempting gumdrops. I took a spin down Ocean Drive, losing myself among the traffic that swarmed as thick as mosquitoes after a rainstorm. I crept past Lummus Park, where a little girl dressed in virginal white, with a long mane of glossy black hair, touched the sky with the tips of her shoes as she rose higher and higher on the seat of a soaring swing, patiently pushed by a Cuban woman in a brightly colored housedress.
Off in the distance, the steamy beat of Latin music was just beginning to gear up for the night, its rhythm in direct competition with the resident crickets.
Sophie and Terri must have made a late afternoon run to the beach to bake, since Bonkers was ensconced in his cage in my kitchen. A loud shriek greeted me as I walked in the door, followed by one of the best wolf whistles I’d heard in a while.
I laughed in spite of myself. “Typical guy—you’ll do whatever it takes to get your way.”
I opened the cage door and the cockatoo scampered up my arm, settling himself on my shoulder, where his thick, rubbery tongue nibbled at my ear. I turned my head and lightly planted a kiss on his beak. Bonkers responded by crawling down the front of my shirt and nestling in my arms.
I headed over to the fridge and pulled out a head of lettuce, then deposited both bird and lettuce on the kitchen counter. Turning on the tap, I tore off the large leaves and ran them under cold water, spreading them out on the counter top. Bonkers raised his comb and bobbed his head in an imitation of kool-kat jive, as he spread his wings and sank down into the leaves to luxuriate in an avian beauty bath.
I walked back to the fridge and bent to drag out a smorgasbord of fruit and veggies for his evening snack, only to curse as my jeans cut into my skin. Damn! My body couldn’t have expanded that much in just an hour. Relief flooded over
me as I realized the extra couple of inches were due to the .38 I’d tucked inside the waistband of my pants. I pulled out the gun and laid it on the kitchen table, then turned back to the fridge.
“Fuck the commander! Fuck the commander! Candy store! Candy store!” Bonkers suddenly started to squawk, his head jerking frantically toward the gun.
Cold chills crept up my neck.
“Puffin! Puffin! Candy store! Candy store!”
He continued to screech until I put the gun in the drawer, out of his sight. Then he settled down to continue his bird bath, while my stomach clenched in a sickening mixture of fried plantains, grilled chicken, and fear.
For the first time, I understood what Bonkers had been saying since the first day I got him. He hadn’t been commending Sophie for not inhaling, or jabbering senseless words: he’d been my one key crime witness. Bonkers had held the pieces to the puzzle all along. I had no doubt that the “Puffin” he was talking about was Ramon Vallardes’s cigar store.
Did that mean Ramon was the person referred to as the “Commander”? I thought again of the tattoo that was Omega-12’s emblem, and a few more pieces fell into place.
I was caught up in trying to make my theory fit as perfectly as a completed jigsaw puzzle when Terri walked in. It was clear that Sophie’s influence had started to go too far. He was sporting an aquamarine turban, along with sunglasses decorated with chimpanzees dressed in bathing suits.
“Oy! I’m verklempt! Yarmulke Schlemmer just received its first big order, and we haven’t even finished designing our fall line yet.” Terri collapsed into a chair, his transparent beach cover falling open to expose a pair of bathing trunks that carried out the theme of his shades.
“It all happened so fast. One minute, I’m sitting on the beach talking to some shlub from New York. The next minute, the guy turns out to be a buyer for Pampered Pets Galore!” Terri exclaimed.
“What’s that?” I idly asked, my mind elsewhere.
“You’re kidding. Right, Rach?” Terri tried crossing his legs only to have them slide apart, his skin loaded down with sunscreen.
I had the sneaky suspicion that before this afternoon, Terri had never heard of Pampered Pets Galore, either. “Sorry, Ter. I’m afraid I haven’t kept up with fashion lately—either for humans or pets.”
Terri got up and grabbed a few paper towels. He sat back down, layered them on his left thigh, and crossed his legs once again. “Well, it so happens that Pampered Pets Galore is the largest chain of pet stores in the world. And this guy, Harold Klein, swears our yarmulkes are going to become the biggest thing since holiday bandana collars.” Terri removed his sunglasses and batted his baby blues. “Do you know what this means, Rach?”
I shook my head no, trying to fit that last puzzle piece into place.
“Liposuction and face lifts whenever we want them! But first, I’m setting up maid service for both of us. I’ve had it with cleaning. Sophie isn’t exactly June Cleaver, and God knows, you must have experienced a trauma with dust bunnies as a child.” Terri took a look around the place and sighed.
“For the birds! For the birds!” Bonkers interjected, tearing the lettuce into long, thin strips.
“If that’s a comment on my business, just keep it to yourself,” Terri responded over his shoulder.
I stopped cutting up fruit and stared in amazement at the cockatoo, as the last puzzle piece snapped into place.
“That’s it!” I whispered. “It’s so simple! My God! Why didn’t I figure this out before?” I gave Bonkers a grape, along with a spritz of water from the plant mister.
“That’s great, Rach—I’m happy for you. Almost as happy as I am for me.” Terri popped a few of Bonkers’s grapes into his own mouth. “Just what is it, exactly, that you’ve figured out?”
My head felt like a pinwheel spinning faster and faster, the information thrown together through the magical power of centrifugal force. “I can’t believe it, Terri! You know this case I’ve been working on? The one with the bird breeder that was murdered? It suddenly all makes sense!”
“Does this have anything to do with that redneck cowboy you were telling me about?” Terri inquired.
“Willy Weed? Yes! Absolutely!”
I cut up a kiwi and handed Bonkers a slice. The bird immediately tossed it into the air, like a child throwing a tantrum. It didn’t matter—at this moment, he could do no wrong.
“What a smart boy you are,” I praised the cockatoo, scratching his neck. “I swear, Bonkers just helped me put this whole thing together.”
Terri gave me a wary glance. “Maybe you want to explain this to me a little bit better?”
I took a deep breath, my mind racing as I tried to figure out how I’d ever prove my theory. “I’ve been convinced that a steady supply of endangered parrots is being smuggled into Miami. Well, listening to what Bonkers has been saying just made me realize they’re being brought in by a Cuban paramilitary group called Omega-12.”
Terri rose from his seat and wet a paper towel. Guiding me back to the table, he pulled out a chair and sat me down, placing the wet soak against the back of my neck.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Rach. You’ve been looking a little peaked and flushed lately. At what age did your mother first begin to get hot flashes?”
I glared at him. He knew age was a sore point with me, and that I was nowhere near menopause. “I’m not having hot flashes, and what I’m saying isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds.”
Terri sat down and paid attention. “Okay. So this right-wing group of Cubans is running around smuggling birds. For what? As some sort of political statement?”
“No, they’re selling these parrots for big bucks! They’ve been using the money to buy arms from Willy Weed and a friend of his, who have been running a scam out of a military base!”
“Whoa! Slow down, Rach. What are you talking about? What are the weapons for?” Terri asked. “And what does this group want to do, anyway? Take over Miami?”
I shook my head, anxious to get the words out. “Cuba, Terri. They want to take back the island. It’s been their dream for close to forty years,” I explained. “But a new twist has just been added: Willy Weed was murdered today. I found his body when I stopped by his place this morning.” I quickly glanced down at my feet, imagining the steely coils of a snake begin to wrap around me. “I figure whoever was responsible is also involved with Omega-12.”
Terri stood up and got another cold compress, this time for himself. “You know, Rach, this job of yours is going to make me old before my time.” He carefully patted the skin around his eyes. “But if any of what you’re saying is true, it’s lucky that you know Ramon and Elena. You’re going to need people who are well connected in the Cuban community.” He reached over to grab a plum out of a bowl. “Besides, if nothing else, it gives you a good reason to contact Ramon again. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even get another dance lesson.”
I hesitated for a second, knowing what I was about to say would sound like total lunacy. “That’s the other thing: I believe Elena and Ramon are involved in this. So was Alberto Dominguez. He was the conduit for bringing in the parrots.” Just saying it out loud made me feel as if I was actually making progress on the case. I went for broke and took the next leap. “I’m also beginning to think that Ramon might have been involved in Alberto’s murder.”
Terri’s expression was pure disbelief. “Let me get this straight. Now—you believe all this because—that crazy bird over there told you so?”
When he put it that way, my reasoning did sound a bit birdbrained.
“Stop, thief! Stop!” Bonkers screeched on cue.
“Need I say more?” Terri bit into the plum. “I think you’ve got a bird that’s been watching way too many adventure flicks on TV. I’m telling you, Lucinda and Sophie live on that stuff.”
His fingers idly played with a curl that had escaped from his turban. “I can’t believe you’d seriously think Elena and Ramon are part of
a right-wing group of maniacs plotting to overthrow Castro, and killing anyone who gets in their way. How many right-wingers do you know of who hang out at clubs and dance the lambada?”
His reasoning was beginning to jostle my carefully constructed jigsaw puzzle. “Elena and Ramon’s father was one of the founders of Omega-12. In fact, he’s sitting in a Cuban prison right now for hauling rockets over there to further the cause.”
Bonkers screeched, letting me know he was done with his bath. I placed him on top of his jungle gym, where he attacked a mobile filled with tiny bells.
“So in other words, Elena and Ramon are just carrying on a family tradition? There’s only one thing you’re forgetting.”
Terri didn’t immediately tell me what that was. Instead, he went to work with my blender, some fruit, and a bottle of seltzer. Kitchen drawers flew open and shut until he located my stash of paper parasols.
“What is it that I’m forgetting?” I asked, trying to remain patient as he placed two glasses filled with his mystery concoction on the table.
Terri removed the purple parasol from his drink and licked the end of the stick. “Wouldn’t it be pretty silly for Elena and Ramon to kill your Everglades cowboy? From what you say, they’d be cutting off their main source for weapons. That doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Terri was right. I’d overlooked a huge, gaping hole in my own logic.
“Besides, this whole business about Dominguez being attacked by some rampaging cougar sounds crazy to me,” Terri continued. “Do Elena and Ramon even own one of those cats?”
Elena’s taxidermied pets, Geraldo and Rivera, didn’t seem to pose much of a threat. “No,” I had to admit.
“There, you see? Also, why would they kill a close friend of theirs? They all grew up together, they even came over to Miami on the same boat as children.”
Terri had efficiently decimated my entire theory into a pile of shreds in less than five minutes. I looked at Bonkers, who was dangling by a single toe while chewing a wooden stick to pieces.
“You’re right. It doesn’t make much sense,” I conceded. “Damn!” What kind of an agent was I, anyway? I’d sunk to depending on a bird to solve the case for me.
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