by Janie DeVos
The front door of the office was slightly ajar, enabling me to get at least a partial view of the interior before going in. From what I could see, no one was inside but from this vantage point, I couldn’t see beyond the receptionist’s outer office. However, I could make out faint sounds coming from deeper within the interior office.
Slowly, I pulled open the front door and walked through the reception area, then into the main office beyond, where I saw a tall, thin black man sweeping up something. I couldn’t tell what it was because a desk was blocking my view. Taking a few steps into the room, I watched the man move his hand down lower on the broomstick and then bend over to sweep the debris into a dustpan he held at an angle to the dark wooden floor. From where I stood now, I could see that he was sweeping up tiny bits of torn paper.
“Mornin’,” I called out and instantly heard the dustpan clatter against the wood as the startled man shot straight up and turned toward me with eyes the size of saucers.
“Sweet Jesus at the Jordon! You scared the life outta me!” he said, holding his hand to his chest. “You need to give a fella a little bit of a warnin’ before creepin’ up on him like that,” he scolded, though his eyes were warm, as was his smile.
“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to keep from chuckling. “You’re right, and I apologize.” Still smiling, I looked around and instantly my smile disappeared. Things were in total upheaval, and it looked as though the place had been vacated quickly. File cabinets and desk drawers had been emptied, and whoever had removed those items hadn’t even taken the time to push the draws back in.
“Where is everyone?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even, though I could still hear the tension in it.
“Dunno,” the man said. “Got here ’bout seven this mo’ning, just as I always do, and found the place this way. Everyone’s done gone, and taken half the place with ’em, it seems.” He looked around at the upheaval.
“Did anyone leave a note or anything?” I asked, sticking my hands inside the pockets of my light blue linen jacket. Even though the temperature was already in the low eighties, I was suddenly chilled.
“Nary a word,” the man said, shaking his head. “Nary a one. If you ask me, I’d say it looks like there’s been some trouble brewin’.”
“Actually, it looks like it’s finished perking,” I replied, still looking around in case I might have missed something. Though what that “something” might be, I hadn’t a clue.
“Yes’m, you sure right about that,” he laughed as he stood there with his hands holding the top of the vertical broomstick. “You sure right about that!”
“Have you looked in all the offices, and the warehouse, too?”
“Ain’t got to the warehouse yet, miss. And ta tell ya the truth, I ain’t been in too big a rush to do so. Ain’t no tellin’ what might be back there.”
“What’s your name?” I asked, looking away from the mess and focusing on him.
“Jonah, miss,” he replied, looking rather surprised I had asked. “Jonah Winstead.” Suddenly, his eyes narrowed as though he realized why I wanted his name.
“You ain’t thinkin’ I got anything to do with whatever’s goin’ on around here, are ya?” He looked very frightened, as though he knew all too well how easily a crime could be pinned on a man of color without the slightest shred of evidence to connect him to it.
“No, no, Mr. Winstead,” I quickly assured him. “Not at all.” I saw him exhale, and his shoulders relaxed. “I just wondered if you were the owner of the janitorial truck I saw parked out front, that’s all. Do you know what time folks left here last night?”
“Can’t say,” Jonah said, rubbing his chin. “These folks work all kinds of odd hours, that’s why I finally started cleanin’ up early in the mornin’ before they got in. Just seemed easier to do that than to wait around until they decided to leave at night. Shoot, sometimes they’d work ’til after midnight! It was just too hard to stick around that late. I got a wife at home that don’t see too good. She can’t eat no supper ’til I get home ’n make some for us. Poor ol’ thing. Me stayin’ out that late about scared her half ta death—nearly starved her half ta death, too.”
“I’d imagine so, Mr. Winstead.” I smiled sympathetically. “You sure have your hands full. I’m sorry.”
“Why, you ain’t got nothin’ ta be sorry fer,” he said brightly. “Seems like you’s a fine lady.”
“Mr. Winstead, you wouldn’t happen to know why this place looks like folks left in a hurry, or where they might have gone, would ya?” I asked.
“Can’t say that I do,” he said, shaking his head. “Looks a little bit suspicious-like, to be honest, though.”
“I agree. Mr. Winstead, would you do me a favor before I head out?”
“Why, sure, miss, if I can,” he kindly replied.
“Would you go back to the warehouse with me? I want to take a look—just to make sure no one’s back there and in need of help,” I quickly added. The truth of the matter was that I really didn’t give a damn if both of the Doxleys were back there with bullet holes in the middle of their foreheads. However, I needed to be sure.
I drove out of the parking lot fifteen minutes later. The warehouse was in the same disarray as the office; anything of value had been cleared out. There was no one in there, alive or otherwise. Now, as I drove onto the County Causeway, en route to Miami Beach, I wished I knew whether the Doxleys were still alive, and what their next move might be. Were they planning on hiding out for a while? Were they planning to return to Miami? Or were they planning to start all over again somewhere else? I just had no way of knowing. Another thing I didn’t know was what I’d tell Olivia regarding their abrupt disappearance. Chances were, she’d try calling them sometime during the day, and after she received no answer from the receptionist, she’d undoubtedly become alarmed. There was nothing I could do about that, though. I thought perhaps I’d call her later to gently tell her what I’d found, but, for now, that had to wait. I had more important matters to attend.
As I sped over the bay, I hardly saw the sunlight’s reflection on the movement of the water, nor did I see a man in a boat down to my left reel in a good-sized amberjack. Instead, I was too busy thinking about what I’d say to Chick Belvedere, and I began to think that I might have made a bad decision bringing my pistol along. Setting my crosshairs right between the rat-like eyes of that man would be a very easy thing to do. And, at that moment, I had an intensely itchy trigger finger, with only one way to scratch it.
Chapter 21
Dealing with the Devil
“Is Chick in?” I asked his startled secretary, Judith Iverson, who was sitting at her desk salting the tomato on her bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich. Judith worked as an accountant for my grandparents a few years before, and rumor had it she would only be too happy to jump ship once again and return to her old desk at the Spinnaker.
“Uh, yes…I mean, no—” She was flustered.
“Judith, is he or isn’t he in?” I asked, standing in front of her desk with my hands on my hips, impatiently waiting for an answer. “Oh, never mind!” I said, turning and starting for his office door.
“Wait, Lily! You can’t just—!” Judith cried as she ran around her desk to stop me. But it was too late. I gave one sharp rap and immediately walked in.
Chick was sitting at his desk, looking at himself in a hand-held mirror and trimming his much-too-thin moustache with a small pair of manicure scissors.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Belvedere!” Judith cried from behind me. “I tried to stop her but—”
“It’s quite all right, Judith,” Chick replied as he carefully stowed away the mirror and scissors in his top drawer. “Miss Strickland has never been one to practice proper etiquette and I doubt she ever will. I, on the other hand, am cut from a very different cloth and—”
“I’ll say,” I mumbled under my breath.
He chose to ignore my interruption and continued. “And,” he emphasized, “I choose to extend the usual courtesies by offering our guest here some refreshment of coffee or perhaps some tea?” he said, looking at me with an insipid smile. “Or, perhaps Miss Strickland would prefer a shot of whiskey; say scotch or bourbon? I have both.”
“The only thing I need is a few minutes of your time,” I replied in a clipped voice. “Nothing else, thank you, Judith,” I said, glancing back at her and then turning my attention to Chick.
“Thank you, Judith,” he said, dismissing her. “I’ll call you if I need anything.”
I continued to glare at Chick as the tapping of Judith’s stiletto heels receded. Then I heard the door softly close.
“Please,” Chick said, indicating an empty chair in front of his desk.
I sat down. My legs were shaking so badly, I was glad to. As a matter of fact, my entire body was quivering, not from fear but from absolute raw anger. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been angrier, or actually hated anyone as I did Chick Belvedere at that moment.
“I’ve got a big problem, Chick. A real big problem,” I said as I crossed my legs, thankful that I’d worn a pair of navy trousers. I would have felt more exposed in a dress.
“And what might that big problem be?” Chick asked, playing dumb. Just from the look on his face, one of feigned innocence, I realized that he knew exactly what had taken place. He knew that Olivia had been beaten, that his liquor had been stolen, and I was also willing to bet that he knew the Doxley brothers were gone. Suddenly, our even playing field was starting to tip slightly in his favor.
“You know what happened, Chick, so let’s not play games here,” I said, uncrossing my legs and sitting forward in my chair. “Actually, let me rephrase what I just said; we both have a big problem here. I’d be willing to bet that you are well aware of the fact that the Doxleys are nowhere to be found, so that leaves just two remaining in this ugly equation: You, who are out $7,000, and my sister, who was beaten to a pulp and left for dead. So, here’s what I’m willing to do: I’ll pay you your $7,000, even though it was Buddy DeMario’s little thugs who stole it from you, and in return, you’re going to forget you ever laid eyes on my little sister, much less got her involved with your crooked dealings. That’ll make things fair and square, and will be the end of it.”
“Oh, Miss Strickland, how very, very wrong you are,” Chick said, leaning his elbows on the desk and then clasping his hands together and resting his chin on top of them. “I’m very surprised at how badly I misjudged you. Here I thought you were a smart cookie—smart-mouthed, too, but that’s beside the point.” Chick stood up and walked around the desk so that he was directly in front of me, then leaned back against it and crossed his arms in front of him. He was perfectly groomed as always, with his light blue suit, crisp white shirt and dark pink tie, but now that he was just a couple of feet from me, I was overwhelmed by his over use of heavy, floral-scented cologne, so I sat back in my chair.
Suddenly, he lunged at me, grasping the chair’s armrests, trapping me. “Now you listen to me, you naïve little smart ass,” he hissed. His breath smelled like he’d smoked a cigar. “You think I just lost seven grand because that’s what your stupid sister told you. Well, think again, Miss Strickland. In the end, I’m out more than ninety grand because that’s what I would have made selling it here in the Belvedere, and at my other little establishment.” I knew he was referring to the Lemon Tree. “And I’m not even including what it cost me to pay the runners and the Doxley boys to bring the stock in. That’s a big expense, too. So, here’s what we’re gonna do: You’re going to pay me back that full ninety grand, or you’re going to replace every bit of that liquor, and then we’ll be fair ’n square. If not, I’m gonna finish what DeMario’s stupid little shits didn’t. Your sister’s gonna end up staring at the ceiling from a hospital bed for the rest of her life, or worse! And there’s not going to be any evidence tied to me in any way, and do you know why, Miss Strickland?” I was too stunned to speak. “Answer me!” he shouted, leaning down to within inches of my face.
“Why?” I responded, in as bold a voice as I could summon.
“Because,” he replied, in an almost sing-song voice, “I have a lot of people in high places that owe me and owe me big. If she’s rendered permanently incapable of talking any better than a three-year-old or, more tragically, if there’s no body ever found, it’s very hard to bring charges against someone. Did you know that, Miss Strickland? Suffice it to say, that’s a mighty big ocean out there, and there are plenty of hungry fish in it. Take sharks, for example; you cut just the tiniest hole in someone and the smallest amount of blood will start a feeding frenzy. So imagine what a bunch of cuts would do? Gruesome to think about, isn’t it?” He grimaced and pretended to shiver. “So, that’s the deal,” he said, looking deadly serious.
He smiled the wickedest smile I’d ever seen and then walked back around his desk. “Now,” he said as he sat back down in his high-backed leather chair. “I have business to attend to.” He picked up some papers lying in front of him and began to peruse them. “You know the way out,” he said dismissively, without even glancing up.
I stood up on shaky legs, but was too stunned to say anything. I needed time to think. I needed to figure things out before I opened my mouth. I had nearly reached the door when Chick stopped me in my tracks.
“By the way, Miss Strickland, you have exactly five days to get that money back to me. And if you don’t….well, we needn’t discuss such unpleasantness again.”
Suddenly, I was just as furious as I was afraid. I turned around and in three strides had my hands planted firmly on his desk as I leaned over it. There wasn’t more than a foot between our faces. “Now, I’m gonna tell you something, Chick Belvedere,” I hissed. “I’m going to pay you back, and then you’re going to leave my sister and my whole family alone. You understand me? You do one more thing; you try to get Olivia involved in smuggling again, or you pay off another food company to sell my grandparents substandard food, or you even so much as look at any one of them the wrong way, I’m going to kill you. Do you understand? And I’m not going to worry about feeding you to the sharks. I’m going to tie you to the hood of my car and parade your pitiful broken body down Biscayne Boulevard, all the way to the police station, where I’ll gladly turn myself over to them along with your bullet-ridden body. Trust me when I say it will be well worth it to me. As I spend each moment in jail, going over and over what I did to you, the only thing I’ll regret is that I didn’t do it sooner. As God is my witness, Chick,” I said, slamming my hand down on his desk, “don’t you dare mess with my family again, or you’ll think the streets of South Side Chicago were a far safer place to be than Miami.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, I turned around and walked out. As soon as I closed the door behind me, I heard something smash against it and I smiled.
Chapter 22
In the Clouds
I tore out of the Belvedere parking lot, turned left onto Atlantic Avenue, crossed the County Causeway over the bay, and then headed south on Biscayne Boulevard. From there, I turned right onto N.W. 3rd Avenue, and drove about six blocks until I came to the entrance of Lummus Park, then I hit the brakes. Laying my head against my hands on the steering wheel, I sobbed hard and for a long time. Not because of what Chick threatened to do to my sister, though that had scared the devil out of me. I cried for all the hard work my parents and grandparents had put into building the kind of life that they could be proud of, and that their children could be proud of. I cried for the fact that we were still trying to keep our heads above water in any way that we could, while still keeping our dignity, our self-respect, and our solid standing in the community. And I cried for the fact that my eighteen-year-old naïve little sister had just jeopardized all of that because of a foolish crush and terrible judgment. Because of her, our family was teetering on the edge
of a cliff that might end in a devastating fall for all of us.
First of all, no one in our family had $90,000. I knew that both my parents and grandparents had loans they were paying down. An abundance of cash was a fond memory of years prior to 1926. Though we all saw things slowly getting better for us, we knew it would take time to gain back the momentum we had—and that Miami had—before the catastrophic hurricane, the embargo, and the relentless bad press. All of those things had thrown back our financial gains by ten years. Now we stood to lose even more ground, if not life itself, if I couldn’t figure out how to get us out of the terrible corner Olivia had painted us in. And I had to do it within a week’s time.
I wiped my face on the handkerchief I pulled out of my jacket pocket, and then got out of the car. I needed to walk a little to catch my breath, and to try to think things through rationally.
I walked into the park and felt a breeze pick up. At the same time, I saw it touch the moss-heavy branches of the ancient oak trees, causing them to sway as if swooning in relief from the late morning’s heat and humidity. Walking farther in, I saw the remains of what had been Ft. Dallas, though it had been moved from its original site in an effort to preserve the historic building. It had been put to a multitude of uses in its lifetime, including a stronghold in which to fight off the Union army. Later, when my parents were growing up, the building was used as a train depot. I walked beyond it, toward the Miami River, which acted as the park’s western boundary. When I reached the banks, I sat down, removed my brown and white saddle shoes, rolled up my trousers, then stuck my legs down into the cool, dark green water and audibly sighed. Off to my left was our house; though I couldn’t see it from this vantage point, I knew it was there just the same, and, somehow, that comforted me. Sitting on our beloved river, looking off toward our old home place, in the heart of a town that my family had helped to build through years of tears, sweat, blood and love, only made me that much more determined to protect what we had. I wasn’t quite sure where to start. We might as well owe Chick $90,000,000 as $90,000.