The man put out his hand for Kurt but then gave him a hug and pat on the back. He was about fifty and had a mane of gray hair, a clean shaven face. “Good to see you again.”
“You too. How have you been,” Kurt asked.
“Still under the radar thanks to you. How’s it shakin’?”
“Could be better I guess,” Kurt said. “Racing down here fleeing bullets isn’t my favorite way to spend a night but well, you know, it is what it is.”
“Don’t I know it.” The man shook his head and grinned. “Don’t I know it.”
“I really appreciate you putting us up.”
“My pleasure.” He turned to Gloria. “Just call me Joe,” he said.
“Just call me Gloria.” She smiled, trying to conceal her chocolate-covered teeth. The man was instantly likeable. Too relaxed to make anyone tense, even in the strange situation in which she found herself.
“Go ahead and have another brownie. I can see you like them. Have a seat and relax. You’re safe here.”
It was rare she allowed herself indulgences like two brownies back to back but why not? They were luscious. She took a smaller one this time and sat on the cushy couch.
After she ate, she put her head back on the couch and tried to unwind. Joe and Kurt went in another room to talk.
“I saw you looking at Drowning.”
“I, what do you mean?” Gloria hadn’t remembered falling asleep but felt as if he had awakened her. She was confused.
He pointed to the blue canvas. “It’s called Drowning. My painting. My sculpture.”
She leaned closer to it from her spot on the comfy cushions. “It’s really lovely but—”
“Go ahead. Get closer. It’s pieces of bottle caps. I started saving them from beers to recycle them. Such a waste of metal otherwise. I had boxes of them, saving them until I found just the right use. Then one night I was a little high when I got the idea to cut them up and glue them to canvas. The first one didn’t come out so hot. Looked like a bunch of metal bits on a canvas. No theme. No message. But I kept looking at it. For like days, I just sat and looked at it and got stoned.”
Joe laughed. Gloria was transfixed by this man’s explanation of his methods. Kurt was in the kitchen rifling through the fridge and if it hadn’t been for the occasional drawer opening and shutting or the hiss of a can of soda being popped, she would have forgotten he was there at all.
“Then it hit me. Shrapnel. I named it Schrapnel and it all fell into place. I painted the canvas pink and the metal caps red and wow. It was a like a Vietnam flashback. Not that I was there but you know—everyone has seen movies right?”
Just the thought of the chaos of reds and pinks and skin and blood and violence unsettled Gloria. Grabbed her.
“I got five grand for that. Someone from New York bought it. Next thing I was making all kinds of them. Each one with its own story. You’d be amazed how much people pay for this stuff. It’s just canvas plus the bottle caps I find on the street. And a little paint. It’s really crazy but who am I to deny art lovers something to spend their money on?”
Gloria admired this man with his Bohemian surroundings and easy-going style. Maybe he made the artwork from inexpensive materials but somehow he made them . . . real.
She leaned closer to Drowning. At first glace it looked like a huge range of blues. But no … It was tragedy on a twenty-by-thirty inch piece of cloth. It almost seemed alive. Gloria stared at it. Amazing.
“Contact high?” Kurt asked.
She looked up to Kurt and got a bit of a head rush. God was he handsome. She smiled more than she meant to.
“No doubt,” Joe said. “It’s in the air. Can’t help but breathe it in.” Joe took an exaggerated breath in and puffed his chest out like a rooster. “Little something extra in the brownies too.”
“Joe,” Kurt scolded. “What’s a little something?”
“Just a little magic herb, my friend. Nothing pharmaceutical.”
The brownies were laced with pot? Before she could protest, a warm weird feeling prevented her from saying anything aloud. At least she didn’t think she said anything aloud.
“You shouldn’t have given it to her.”
“Hey, it’s my elixir. Cures all woes. No harm no foul.” Joe cocked his head and gently punched Kurt in the arm.
“That’s all right. She could use it, I guess. She’s going through a lot right now. It’ll help her sleep.”
“Speaking of that, you two can go in the room down the hall. I made up the bed for you.”
Gloria’s eyes bugged out at that. They were sleeping together? Yes! She reached over and touched Kurt’s arm. Thick with tendons and curly blond hair. Maybe she was high. Had to be. She looked around and noticed how deep and vibrant everything was. She took a big sniff too. Now, I’m a rooster, she thought. Then laughed.
“Time to get you to bed, missy,” Kurt said.
He took her hand and led her down the hall. “Nice meeting you, Joe. Your artwork is wonderful. Very Rod Serling-esque. Is that a word? TwilightZone-esque? Night Gallery. That’s what I mean.”
Gloria closed her eyes and when she opened them she was sitting on a bed wearing only a bra and underwear. Black lace matching set. “Victoria Secret, Seventy-five dollars,” she mumbled.
But how did she get in the bed? What happened? She had just been walking down the hall.
Her breasts looked good though.. It was a miracle bra. Money well spent.
Kurt stood over her. “You okay?”
“Are you going to seduce me?” She flopped down on the bed. Being high was fun. Like being drunk without the nausea. “You know what? I’m a staunch drug-free something or else other. I don’t believe in drugs. But this wasn’t my fault. Alls I did was sniff the air and eat a brownie. Two brownies. God, Kurt you’re—so handsome.”
She reached around her front and unhooked the bra. These front clasps are great. She envisioned her breasts tumbling out like fresh fruit.
Kurt pushed a big t-shirt in front of her. “Here. Put this on.”
She put her arms over her head and felt like Superman. Cool. This must be why people became drug addicts. How could she have gone her whole life and never gotten high?
Kurt slipped the shirt over her head then lifted back the covers. “Get underneath.”
She slid her legs under but then cupped the back of his neck with her hand to draw him close. This time he wasn’t getting away. She felt his rough face scratch hers as their lips and tongues met. He moaned. She reached down and felt between his legs. Through the denim he was hard as a rock.
Kurt started pulling away but she moved her leg quickly from under the sheet and wrapped it around his back.
“No. Not this time, Kurt Malone.” She pulled his body closer and kissed him again. He eased away.
He was kneeling above her now, her left leg still trapping him on the bed. Her right hand holding the back of his neck for dear life.
“What’s it gonna be boy, yes or no? Yes or no?” The Meatloaf lyrics had never taken on such a profound meaning. She tried to focus on the matter at hand but played the song on full volume in her head. It was a little distracting.
“I can’t take advantage like this, Gloria. You’re stoned and clearly not used to it.”
“I wasn’t stoned the other day. You know I want you. Please.”
“It’s not right.”
Screw manners. She wanted him. Now. Gloria reached her hand into his pants, under the boxers and found him swollen. The tip of his penis was already a little damp.
“It’s right and you know it.” She wrapped her hand around it with just enough pressure. Maybe not enough. She squeezed a little harder.
Kurt’s breathing changed. Got quicker. He chewed his bottom lip and began to undo his pants.
“You really want me?” He smiled and Gloria knew she had won the battle.
“Just hurry up and get those pants off.”
It only took seconds, unless it was another time lapse, and they were bot
h naked. She didn’t care who knocked or walked in. No one was going to stop her this time. Kurt was on top of her, his rough hands caressing her smooth skin. He put his hand up under the small of her back and arched it up.
His penis pushed at the edge of her vagina. “You sure you want me?”
She smiled and pushed herself down on him, using her heels for leverage.
And then she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Only a squeal of delight released her tension. Gloria had never been a screamer. A prude even in private but this was—
Kurt rubbed his scruffy face against her neck, rubbed raw. Just like her insides. He was so big and powerful. He bit her neck. Not too hard, just enough to focus her there. She felt like she was being ripped open, ravaged, and bitten. This wasn’t all the pot brownies.
Kurt was incredible. She looked over and saw their reflection in the window. That meant anyone passing by outside could see them.
She smirked at the window and dug her nails into Kurt’s back to draw him deep. Let them look.
Kurt paused just as she was about to climax.
“What?” she asked, devastated it might be over.
“Not so quick. It’s been a long time for me too. I want to enjoy this for a long time. You’re not tired are you?”
Gloria shook her head. “Not by a long shot.”
He reached over and shut off the lamp without pulling out. “I think the neighbors have seen enough. The rest of the night, you’re just mine.”
“All yours.” Gloria believed this was going to be a night she’d never forget.
2.
Joe’s Apartment, Key West, morning
Kurt drank a cup of Joe’s free trade coffee and munched on multigrain toast as he searched the Internet for any more information he could add to what they already had.
He felt a little guilty for what had happened with Gloria but not so much he let it ruin the memory, which he’d replayed in his head about a hundred times. He knew he couldn’t tell her everything about himself, nor could he provide the permanence she deserved in a relationship. But she wanted him, he wanted her, neither of them were married and there were no worries about her getting pregnant. And damn it, he liked her. As a person.
Kurt knew, better than Gloria, that in one day everything in your life could fall apart, or you could die. He didn’t want to die without ever falling in love.
He bit his lip. Love. He smiled. Was it love? No, too soon. But it was a hell of a rush, and if he’d quit spending so much time and effort pushing her away, maybe they could have something. They could find some way to work it out.
This identity had served him well for a long time, who could say it wouldn’t withstand any scrutiny she might give it.
Well, he couldn’t think of that right now. He needed more dirt on Hope House and Maison D’Espoir. Needed some more connections between those and New Age Adoption Agency.
A twenty-foot ethernet cord wound around the floor and over his lap. Not surprising Joe didn’t have wireless. He’d rightfully argue it was more secure.
Kurt typed in a number of words and combinations but nothing enlightening appeared.
He started to wonder then if New Age had operations in other countries. If they did, they weren’t owned by Sibli; but that didn’t mean they weren’t all Puglisi related.
He typed in “New Age Adoption International.”
Apart from a lot of sites that had those words in their description or in an article, still nothing.
“N.A. Adoption,” he tried next. In the past, Kurt had gleaned that most criminals really weren’t all that smart. Some of the masterminds were, of course, but these family crime types didn’t think through enough layers of detection to protect themselves. N.A. stood for New Age and Mick would just be cocky enough to think using initials would pull the wool over everyone’s eyes.
Bingo. N.A. Adoption Company sprouted up. Based in El Salvador. When he clicked on the link it opened a page of photos of beautiful babies and small children. Letters of thanks from adopting families appeared on a tab called “Happy families.” Unlike the New Age Adoption Agency, which listed all their kids in the files he found as blond, the firm in El Salvador showed pictures of dark-haired babies. Every one of them a brunette. They all kind of looked alike, as if they could be related. But they weren’t identical to each other. And thankfully, none looked like Gloria.
A link to a site in the Ukraine was pretty much the same web design but in Russian. A mix of redheads and light brown hair there. Couple of dirty blonds. Most of them had freckles. There was a button with the U.S. flag on it, but Kurt didn’t need to see this translated into English. Mick had adoption agencies all over the world, all specializing in a certain look. Not an easy feat when the children he was purportedly adopting out were supposed to be from random biological mothers who didn’t want their children. What were the chances all those mothers looked alike?
Snowball’s chance in hell that’s what.
What about Hope House where at least the kids from the Miami operation were born? A quick check revealed it was owned by Sibli Corp. No surprise there. Besides the business license though, there were no other mentions of it. No sites touting it as a home for pregnant girls, or a birthing center. No phone number listed on any of the online yellow page sites. Even if it was privately owned there should be some mention of it somewhere. It didn’t seem to exist yet children were being born there. Those births were real. Gloria had seen Alison Gander in the flesh.
In a couple of hours they’d go to Hope House and check it out. Then they’d have their answers.
He tried to research Tad Boucher again and came up empty handed as usual. Maison D’Espoir was also owned by Sibli, which fit with everything else so far. That was why Tad Boucher went there. His old buddy Mick gave him a job in Haiti. He typed in “Maison D’Espoir Haiti.”
Besides Tad Boucher and ownership by Sibli, what else did it have linking it to New Age and Hope House?
An article from five years ago came up. A human interest piece about a nursing school for girls. Made sense. Boucher would have gone down there to do some kind of business for Mick under the guise of charity work. Or maybe it was a legitimate charity to make the corporation and family look benevolent.
Perhaps Boucher was down there instructing young girls to be nurses as the article claimed. Kurt scratched his head. No. There had to be more. Had to intersect with the English equivalent of Hope House in Windy Key. Had to somehow explain where all the babies came from.
“Holy shit,” Kurt said under his breath. The tail end of the article named a Miami law firm who had kindly donated its time to set up the legal infrastructure of the charity.
Alierdi, Moss, and Carpenter. Tommy Carpenter. Shit. The ex was in on it too.
The man who hired him.
Kurt recalled the phone conversation where Tommy had called him out of the blue, said he liked the work he’d done for the firm and could he help him out on a personal matter? His ex-wife, Gloria, was delusional, he’d said. Tommy had offered Kurt money to patronize her. Had said he could keep whatever Gloria gave him, so long as he kept Tommy in the loop.
Kurt hit the heel of his hand against his forehead. Should have known it was a trap. Once again I’m the patsy. And once again the Puglisis are at the root of it.
He logged out of his computer, disconnected the cord and got up to wake Gloria. He had to tell her what he’d discovered before she called Tommy back to give him the update. They’d been feeding Tommy information all along and he’d no doubt been giving it straight to Mick Puglisi. Well no more of that. Anything Gloria told him from now on would be well-rehearsed and inaccurate. Designed to lead him and his buddy Puglisi in the opposite direction.
3.
Joe’s Apartment, Key West, same time
“Gloria, wake up.”
Gloria awoke to a rough shoulder shake from Kurt’s big hand. Not exactly the manner in which she had envisioned being roused this morning after their passionate nigh
t. She smiled at him, ran her hand up his arm. “Good morning.”
“Morning. Listen, we need to talk.” He wasn’t smiling.
Shit. Please, don’t start a conversation that way. Not after last night. “Okay.” She swallowed. “Go ahead, get it over with. You’re not ready for this right?”
“What?” His confused look seemed genuine.
“Last night? Big mistake? Not what you want right now?”
Kurt caressed her cheek with his fingers, looked deep in her eyes. Her heart pounded. “It’s just what I want but that has nothing to do with what I need to tell you.”
“Oh. Good.” Hmm, maybe more great sex is in my future. Better freshen up. She got up and ran to the bathroom, went pee, washed her hands, rinsed with mouthwash, and generally approved of her appearance. She rejoined Kurt in their room.
“Okay, shoot. More information about the Puglisis?”
“More or less. Listen there’s no easy way to say this but, well, I was working for Tommy when I met you.”
“Well, duh. He’s the one who recommended you.”
“I mean, he retained me before you called me. Hired me for you. So when you called me I’d convince you that there was nothing to your story.”
“What? I don’t—”
“He said you were crazy, had spent time in a mental hospital years ago and now were having a delusional break.”
“He did? And you believed him?”
“I didn’t know you then. But now that I do and we know there’s something to your story—”
“So this whole time, Tommy’s been guiding you. He’s been paying you, I’ve been paying you? How the hell am I supposed to trust you now?” Gloria pulled herself against the wall, getting as much distance between them as possible.
Kurt cast his eyes down. “Because I found out Tommy’s involved. His firm donated their services to start up Maison D’Espoir.”
Gloria hadn’t thought Tommy had any backbone or character for a long time now and this disappointment in her ex-husband added to the teetering pile of his asinine behavior.
Kurt continued, “Hey, I believed him just like you did. He’s been feeding both of us lies. ”
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