by Robert Lane
“What do you mean he’s into human trafficking? Is he helping people enter illegally?”
“It’s not that,” I said looking into her hazel-greens. I didn’t say anything for a moment and let the silence serve as a meaningful preamble to words.
“This is the part where my heart grows heavy, isn’t it?” she asked.
“He’s not importing wetbacks to do yard work. We saw six young girls, barely teenagers, get off the boat. But while six got off the boat, only four went in a van that peeled out of his drive. One girl was a small child, and I think she and her sister were held back. I doubt the younger one is a day over ten. I don’t know. I know more about Brazilian fire ants than I do about kids. I have the grounds being watched and Garrett and I are going in tonight. If the young girls are still there, we’re getting them out.”
She didn’t say anything and then looked away, down the street and away from what I just said. Away from me. When we first met, I wondered if she could be in my life, and if so, would my shadow world darken her heart? Across the street in the park, a dog tugged on its leash, pulling a lady on the other end. The lady held a small bag. The dog seemed happy. Like all dogs. Fanning the world with its tail. I’d be happy too if someone followed me around and cleaned up my shit.
“How do you know they are sisters?” Not looking at me.
“We overheard them when they first got off the boat.”
“Get those girls out, Jake,” she said as she suddenly turned back to me. “Shut him down. Hell is empty and they dressed up the devils before they left.”
“Nicely put. Beats the original. And Sophia?”
Kathleen took another sip of her wine as if we were at a business dinner and had just learned that we blew the quarterly numbers. A minor setback. “She’ll be fine. She’ll have me. I’m going to take over her Christmas fund-raiser.” She said it quickly, the thoughts turning to words while they were still formulating. “I’ll have it in the condo. It will give her, and me, a project with a deadline. I’ll let her run it, just use my place.” She leaned in across the table. “Are you sure? That doesn’t seem to be something he would do.”
“Some people you never know.”
“Be careful.”
“My motto.”
“No, that would be smart-aleck, reckless, and arrogant. What are you going to do with the girls?”
Arrogant? I don’t really see that. I’d grant her two out of three. “Morgan has a lady on an island that will take them, assuming they don’t want to return to their homes, which is a reasonable deduction, considering their parents likely traded them for a few dollars. I might show up at your door.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“I know.”
Morgan and Garrett took the corner and spotted us. Morgan gave Kathleen a peck on her left cheek before sitting down. I poured wine into his glass.
“You’re drinking?” Garrett asked and landed a hard stare at the glass. I’m surprised it didn’t shatter.
“Apparently,” I said. We never mixed firewater with business, but it was too nice a night to pass up, and I planned on only one glass of wine.
“Is Brian waiting on us?” Morgan asked.
“He is,” Kathleen said.
“He and Steven can party like it’s the last day of the world,” Morgan said.
“He has similar deep convictions about you. It’s a good motto,” I said. “If it does turn out to be the last day of the world, or your last day in the world, you’ve closed it with style.”
We ordered different meals and passed portions around the table. Morgan took on another bottle that he and Kathleen couldn’t finish. Every day should end with an unfinished bottle of wine. I stopped after one glass. Garrett didn’t say much. He looked at his watch repeatedly and crossed and uncrossed his legs enough times to burn the calories he took in.
“Your guys are good?” Garrett asked.
“Don’t worry. They got the place covered.”
PC and Boyd took skateboards over and were cruising the neighborhood. Sophia wasn’t there, so I didn’t worry about them being recognized as the young Mormon missionary and substitute FTD boy that had popped in a few days earlier.
“What time do we sail?” Morgan asked.
“Midnight. Unless my guys note activity.” I could sense we were all anxious. “We’ll leave soon.”
Garrett stood up.
“Or right now,” I added.
I settled the bill.
The drawbridge to her island was raised, stalling our forward motion. We sat with the windows down and the moon roof open as a solitary sailboat passed under the bridge. When you live on an island, it doesn’t take much to block your path. The bridges used to irritate me as they interfered with my schedule, but I’d grown to appreciate the random interruption of my forward motion. They forced me to enjoy, without vote, the water below, the sky above, and the glow from the pink hotel that softened the underbelly of the night.
And gave more time with the person in my vessel.
“You really haven’t read the letter?” she asked. We had been silent, and the sound of her voice made everything else bow down.
“I have not.”
“Do you plan to?”
“I do.”
“Do you also plan to answer each successive question with fewer words?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t say anything for a minute. A man on the bridge brought up a fish. He dropped it in a bucket. “It doesn’t matter, does it?” she asked.
“Probably not. The letter led me to Escobar. He’s blackmailing a congressman and he’s selling girls. There’s nothing in the contents of the letter that will trump that. But for now it can wait. It’s not going anywhere.” I was blackmailing a congressman as well, but we’ll let that item slide.
She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“What’s that for?”
“Having your priorities straight.”
“It’s a common trait with arrogant people.”
I expected a retort, but nothing came. I pulled into her drive and escorted her to the front door. “I’ll be seeing you later this evening,” I said.
“Be careful,” she said for the second time that evening.
I drove away with the same song, Ilo’s “Lifeline,” playing as when we pulled in. It sounded different without her next to me. It was different. The vacant sound and empty air were as real as everything they displaced. The truck was back to being just a truck.
My garage door went up and Garrett stood in front of the gray steel cabinet with its open doors on either side of him. He held a sniper rifle in his left hand. In his right hand he held the envelope that Escobar had given me. It was open.
“We’ve got a problem,” Garrett said.
CHAPTER 24
Escobar
The guard at the front gate had called Escobar and told him that Natalie Binelli was there and wanted to see him or she would stand outside all night and “scream like a fucking virgin.”
“Let her in,” Escobar instructed him through the intercom. “Tell her we’re out back.” Fucking virgin, he thought. There’s a cherry you only pop once.
Escobar had thought about taking Travis up on his offer. After all, isn’t that what he wanted all along? But sing on Mendis? Escobar didn’t even know that much about Mendis’s operations. I could spill the conversation about importing young girls, he thought, but that would only serve to implicate myself. With his back against the wall, Mendis would be free to go after me.
But at least it was on the table. Serious negotiations have begun. Now let’s see how much I can write off of that seven million bill.
“We got a shipment tonight,” Elvis said. “We can’t keep Natalie here.” They were standing at the bar at the outdoor kitchen.
“I’ve got a score to settle with her. You may need to calm her down before she leaves.”
Escobar had ignored her constant texting and was fine blowing her off now, but it
was time to tame this filly. He was eager to straighten out his finances, keep Sophia happy, and rid himself of the increasingly whiny and clinging Ms. Binelli.
She rounded the corner like the heat-seeking tip of a whip screeching toward its target.
“Raydel, you can’t treat me like that. I’ve been calling you and texting and—”
Escobar’s right hand was waiting, and with the palm open he brought it in a sweeping arch that caught her flat on her left cheek. Natalie ran straight into it. She started to react but then planted her feet. The force of the blow snapped her head back and she let out a scream and collapsed to her knees. Elvis never moved.
Escobar shouted, “You want to play games? Want to fuck with me? Rearrange my wife’s lipstick? Fine. Maybe I’ll rearrange your face.”
Natalie was bent over like a dog with her hands and knees on the paver bricks. One tan sandal with small red stones was a few feet off to the side, and he wondered how the hell that happened with a face slap. She didn’t attempt to get up, and her light blue summer dress heaved in motion with her heavy gasps for air. Did I hit her that hard? Then it hit him; I can no longer say that I never struck a woman in my life. For the first time in his life he was thankful that his father was dead.
It was the cruelest thought to just drop in from the middle of nowhere.
Too much pressure. I got to get those girls out of here and get my life back in order. He didn’t know whether to reach over and help her or plant a foot in her nose. He wanted to do both. “Get her the hell out of here,” he spit out to Elvis.
“Come on, baby,” Elvis said, and he gently bent down and put his arm around her. Escobar turned his back.
“Why did you hit me?” Natalie cried from behind him. He heard strength in her voice and thought back to a few days ago when he told her to vacate the house by noon, and she countered that she had things to do and would be leaving earlier. Showing him. “Why did you hit me?” But this time a little farther away and he knew Elvis was doing his job. “I’m sorry I did it, but why did you hit me?” It came through tears, but sounded like she was forcing it, toying with him.
Escobar brought his hands up to the sides of his forehead and massaged his temples. She’s like the one in the safe room with her prayers; they just don’t shut up.
He fixed himself a Cuban Manhattan and told himself to relax. The banker would be calling in the morning to arrange the loan. Escobar planned to contact the IRS after his call with the starched shirt and start brokering a deal with them. He knew that Travis would be outraged when he opened the envelope, but perhaps now they would bargain with him without the demand that he roll on Mendis.
Why hadn’t he heard from Travis? Did he not even open it?
It had been Elvis’s idea to create a fake envelope. Elvis remembered the box of envelopes and the blue Smith Corona typewriter in the office of the Welcome In. He went downtown, brought them back, and his third attempt was a dead ringer. Only the font was different, and Escobar realized that if Travis knew what the real deal looked like, he would have balked right away. But he didn’t. Nor did he open it. Escobar thought that, at best, the decoy would buy him another twenty-four hours and serve notice to Travis that if they wanted the letter they needed to reduce his bill, and that snitching on Walter Mendis was off the table.
And, Escobar thought, serve notice to Mendis that if Mendis wanted to keep Kittredge happy, he would need to even further soften his terms.
He took a sip from his tumbler and fired up yet another cigar. His body relaxed as the tobacco and amber liquor worked their magic and created a sense of tranquility and control. Tonight, he thought. It all gets back to normal tonight. He took a long drag on his cigar. Hell, I might even do Natalie again. That slap was a stroke of genius. Bet she never screws around with lipstick again. Good God, how the hell did her sandal end up three feet away?
Elvis returned and took a seat next to Escobar. “She calmed down. I told her to fix herself a sandwich in the kitchen. Good thing Olivia’s off today.”
“You’re right. She shouldn’t be here,” Escobar said.
“I told her to stay in the kitchen. She’ll be fine. We won’t take any longer than a fly’s ass getting them from the boat to the van. Anthony just texted me and knows he’s taking two back. He’s got four coming in. I texted Ramon and confirmed it’s tonight. Cruz and Victor are on the way.”
“Anthony knows that you’re returning two?”
“Yeah, I just said…”
“I don’t care if you told me a dozen times.”
“Don’t worry. I got it. Those two leave the house tonight.”
Escobar took another sip from his rum and noticed that Alejo had the chess pieces shining. Ever since the fund-raiser, Alejo, always neat himself with his shirttail tucked in, had polished the pieces daily, as if he were embarrassed and in some manner had previously come up short in performing his task. Escobar considered the thirty-two motionless and indifferent pieces. They had witnessed him strike Natalie. Like the other night in the garage, he thought, with my car. So much of what makes up our lives are just clueless props. Maybe it’s better that way.
Tonight will be the last time that boat ever goes out. I’ll rid myself of the prayer sisters. Tomorrow I’ll call Travis, if he doesn’t contact me first, and get my bill reduced. Then Mendis. I’ll teach him to dance to my step.
And I’ll be damned if I make another blunder.
CHAPTER 25
“What do you mean, ‘We’ve got a problem’?”
But I knew. I knew like a man who takes a suitcase stuffed with cash and thinks it’s cool not to verify its contents.
Arrogance.
I grabbed the envelope from Garrett, who had no intention of answering my question. I pulled out a single sheet of paper.
Mr. Travis,
Despite your prancing, nothing has changed. I possess the letter. In the spirit of cooperation, I suggest that we settle this immediately. I will give you the envelope. The IRS will reduce my bill by 50%. I will pay the balance over four years. This seems, to me, to be a common middle ground. A place where both parties can claim an amicable solution.
I have nothing to say about Walter Mendis other than that he is an outstanding businessman and a pillar of his community.
If you do not comply within 48 hours and grant me assurance that my needs will be met, I am very afraid that the envelope, which again I did not bring upon myself, would be better off in the hands of the New York Times, or perhaps numerous internet sites.
It was unsigned.
Prancing?
“Let’s go,” I said to Garrett, although I realized he was waiting for me.
“What do you think he gains by slipping you a fake envelope?”
I studied the envelope and allowed myself a twinge of forgiveness. It was faded and I could see the imprint from a manual typewriter. He’d done a good job. Were the names the same on the original? Escobar had no idea whether or not I knew what was on the outside, so I assumed he copied it word for word.
“I offered him the deal we discussed,” I said. “He belts a note or two on Mendis, and in return the IRS negotiates. This is his way of negotiating.”
“He’s letting us know that Mendis is off the table and is buying time for us to work out a deal on his due bill.”
“That’s correct. But Escobar doesn’t know that we know he’s harboring immigrants, and possibly kidnapped ones at that.”
“Let’s close him down.”
“Morgan?” I asked.
“Waiting in the boat.”
I lowered Impulse from her lift and felt the familiar rush of anticipation when the water came up to displace her hull and we settled onto the oldest road in the world. A highway that has remained unchanged since man’s first contraption floated upon its surface. Only the vessels and occupants have changed; the road is the same.
PC had texted me that a woman in a blue dress had been let in the front of the house and hadn’t emerged. He reported no
signs of anyone leaving the home. I asked if he’d secured the supplies for his final scene, and he told me to stop worrying.
“What’s the plan?” Garrett asked.
“I’m going straight to the safe room to grab the girls. That leaves Escobar, Elvis, the security guard, or guards, and the woman who they say is in the house. The diversion should draw them out of the house.”
“The letter?”
“With any luck the letter will be in the safe room. If not, I’ll bring the girls out to Morgan and then I’ll confront Escobar. I’ll trade my silence for the letter. If he stalls I’ll choke the son of a bitch until he sees my point of view. He certainly has no legal recourse no matter what we do.”
“What about the riffraff?” Garrett asked.
“With luck I’ll be in and out and they’ll never know it. If not, preferably tied up and we call the locals.”
“I have no preferences outside of walking out alive with the girls.”
“I’m just saying.”
We reviewed the timetable and fall back options.
“Usual place?” Morgan interjected as we headed into the thirty-foot-deep channel off my dock.
“Behind the mangrove island to the south. What’s the tide like?” I asked.
“Rising tide, but not a strong one.”
“We’ll be fine.” I turned to Garrett. “I’ll be down soon as I get the girls.”
“And if they’re not in the safe room?”
“I’ll be kicking in doors.”
I played a nightmare scenario through my head of having to check every room in the house and how long that would take. As we approached Escobar’s, Morgan asked, “How do you plan to empty the house?”
“PC and Boyd requisitioned supplies earlier today for a little fourth of July celebration,” I said. “Enough to cause a diversion, but hopefully not too much of one.”
“Dark night. It should be a good show,” he said. “I hope it doesn’t scare Nevis.”
“How would it do that?” I asked.