by Matt Lincoln
Holm’s right hand twitched. Mine itched too, but I used it to lift the bourbon shot instead.
“I’m a whiskey man, but we’re researching the Caribbean vibe,” I told the man. “That means rum and pirates and tropical fruit.” His brows relaxed, and the look in his eyes eased. “We’ve begun checking the club scene and heard that you entertain an… exclusive bunch.”
The tension released from Holm’s arm and from my body. We were both trained not to betray our emotions or intentions, but that gun-hand twitch had gotten my buddy in trouble more than once toward the end of our time with the SEALs. Fortunately, the club owner hadn’t seemed to notice.
“I see my bartender’s break is over. Let us leave this display and talk in quieter quarters. I may have some pointers for your endeavor.”
A young woman, similar in looks to the one who greeted us at the top of the stairs, took over at the bar. She winked at Holm and then went about her business of taking an order from a dancer who wandered over.
Our host walked over to a drape that was near the serving area. He pulled the drape aside to reveal a six-panel, dark-stained door with crystal handle.
“This way, gentlemen,” he invited.
I hesitated. Given all the events leading to this strange setting, it was a risk to go somewhere in private with a behemoth we’d barely met. The hallway he revealed was well lit and, more impressively, well appointed. My impression of the neighborhood had been of world-weariness.
“I assure you, I only wish to share my expertise.” He nodded toward the bar, where the keep gave him a cheerful wave. “Furthermore, this gives me an excuse to disappear from this headache.”
Down the corridor we went. We stopped toward the end, outside a set of double doors.
“Levi Price,” he intoned. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Ben Winters,” I responded. “My business partner is Carl Stevens.”
Price extended a hand, and I shook. For the life of me, it felt like my hand was inside a car crusher. Holm must have felt the same after shaking Price’s hand because when Price turned, Holm flexed his hand a few times.
“Ben, Carl, please, come into my office.” He hesitated. “Ah, but before you do, please leave those garish props on the table.”
He opened the left door and went in as Holm and I ditched the jackets and ties.
“Wow,” Holm whispered. “Emily and Mr. Meyer would love this.”
The table in question had to be well over a century old. I wasn’t good at telling the difference between antique eras, but this had to be the real deal. You just didn’t find the level of artistry that went into the hand-carved edge and leg details.
Price’s office put the Meyers’ antique shop to shame. Assuming he carried through on his theme, the room was filled with pieces that the average American could not begin to afford. Across the room from each other were matching bookcases, each laden with leather-bound books, including a set of encyclopedias that had to be decades old. Thick damask curtains had been drawn over the windows for the night, and gold-accented pottery featured lush, bushy plants. Next to those and on either side of each bookcase were black-marble statues of various animal gods.
Price sat behind an enormous desk that looked as though it had been carved for a king. He gestured to the wingback chairs on the near side of the desk. As I turned to sit, I scanned the back of the room. It was more of the same, except for a large tiger shark mounted over the double door. Holm saw it at the same time and glanced at me. Well, there was the club name. We took our seats in the vintage chairs, which gave me the feeling of being the king’s subjects.
“Tell me, Benjamin Winters, what are your goals for this Caribbean club?”
“It’s ‘Ben,’ Mr. Price,” I told him. He tipped his head forward a moment as if acceding the point. “The club is Carl’s dream. I’m his backer.”
“Then I ask of you again, Mr. Winters, what are your goals?” Price pulled a hacky sack out of his desk drawer and rolled it back and forth between his palms. “A wise investor will always have goals for his project.”
“As you likely know, we have many Caribbean-themed venues in Miami,” I began. “Most seem to cater either toward the kitschy college set or to retirees ready to set out on cruises. You know, like dinner clubs.”
Price nodded. “You wish to cater to the intermediate age range.”
“Yes. Professionals in their thirties to early fifties.” I nodded to Holm. “My friend here is a personal trainer, and his clients always complain about being unable to meet new people after their divorces. Other people want fun venues they can run to when they can get a sitter for the kids.”
“We want to provide an authentic Caribbean experience for those whose upward mobility is, well, upped,” Holm announced with one of his trademark cheesy grins. “Great cocktails, good company, and authentic music.”
“Good company, you say?” Price rubbed his chin. “Ben. Carl. There is something to be said for the creation of an inviting space for people to meet. One must take great care, however, to avoid sullying one’s reputation.”
I leaned forward. “How so?”
Holm copied my posture as if trying to stay in the conversation. This was a routine we’d used before. Instead of good cop, bad cop, we liked to play smart guy, dumb guy. Well, we liked good cop, bad cop, also.
“Take this island, for example.” Price stood and spread his arms wide, as if encompassing all of Barbados. “It is only thirty-four kilometers by twenty-three.” He chuckled. “I forgot, Americans prefer miles. We are twenty-one miles by fourteen.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Should I commit some great sin, say, water down my drinks, the entire island would hear of it within an hour.”
“People go on Yelp all the time to complain about that,” Holm added in his helpfully unhelpful way. “The internet has turned the world into a small island. Kind of like here.”
I nodded with a long blink. “Thank you, Carl.”
“Yes, Carl,” Price said with a slight shake of the head. He continued to address me. “So you see, the importance of maintaining one’s reputation is critical to your success.”
“Of course.” I lent a significant look toward Holm. “That should go without saying.”
“A mistake often made by investors in clubs is coming to this island to, shall we say, spice up their services.” He gave me a long look.
I sat up straight. “Just with spicy rum,” I insisted, but I allowed it to ring hollow.
“Mr. Winters, I am a rare breed on this island.” Price retook his seat and crossed his arms. “I do not allow the exploitation of any individual on my property. Most clubs allow a certain amount of prostitution to occur on their premises. I do not. Tiger Shark’s reputation is for class and dignity.” He looked in the direction of the thumping music, which was barely audible from where we sat. “Most of the time,” he added with a sigh.
“Gentlemen, I am telling you to hold to the highest standards. Some rivals will be jealous and try to harm you, such as those who shot at the front of my building, and some will merely tolerate you.”
“I get that,” I told him. “To be honest, we didn’t know a thing about your club before tonight. We came out of curiosity.”
“Oh?”
I tapped Holm’s foot with my toes. He launched into his role, which was a thing of beauty. If anything, the poor guy got a bum rap because of his ability to not appear as smart as he was.
“Yeah, we heard about it on Facebook, like everyone else.” He adopted a serious face. “You didn’t get hurt yesterday, did you?”
“Oh for—” Price took a deep breath and let it out with a calm smile. “You heard about the shooting, I presume.”
“Thanks, Carl,” I grumbled.
“What?” Holm acted genuinely confused.
“We were going to go somewhere else tonight.” I made it sound like a confession. “When we heard about what happened, he got curious and had to check it out.” I offered a sheepish grin.
“It’s the best random decision we’ve made since we got here.”
“Where had you planned to go?” Price’s even tone gave me a chill.
“Zest. We went the other night, but there was, er, trouble.”
“Naturally. There is always trouble at that place.” Price shook his head. “I told Amanda many times, do not allow the sex workers in. They only cause problems and ruin reputations.”
“Wait, those girls who danced with me, they weren’t college girls?” Holm played up the indignation pretty damned well. “Whoa.”
“Well, I think the one was,” I said to the room in general. “The one who was about to be taken away by a couple of dude-bros.”
“Yeah, she was way drunker than me. But the other girls who wanted me to spend the night… Oh.”
“It is a filthy business,” Price informed us. “Only a fool would pay for random women to supply their clubs with sexual services.” He stood. “Sadly, our time is up. I have to provide a meal break for our coat girl.” He pegged me with a look. “Mr. Winters, make good choices. The success of your establishment will depend on more than a good reputation.”
“Yes, we are working on a great business plan, and—”
“Hard work, insight, motivation. These are more important than any business plan.”
He led us out of the office, where we picked up our jackets and ties, and back down the corridor. Then, he took us through a different door, which led to the back of the coat room. The young woman who’d given us our jackets and ties earlier now jumped when we entered the tiny room.
“Mr. Price, thank you so much,” she said with a smile far more genuine than the one she bestowed upon us earlier. “I’ll be to the kitchen and back before you know it.”
“Take your time, young lady.” He settled onto the seat at the half door. The way it creaked made me worry for him. “Well, not too much time.” She blew him a kiss and left. He had one last bit of advice for us. “Treat your employees well. That is the number one way to create loyalty. We all should strive to live so well.”
We thanked Price and made ourselves scarce.
41
The night was on this side of young when we left Club Tiger Shark. It was just our luck that we’d hit it on a private event night.
“What do you think was the real reason someone shot at Luci in that particular location?” Holm asked. “This guy doesn’t look like he has anything to do with it.”
“They could’ve picked up someone following them,” I suggested, “or someone happened to recognize her when she got out of the car. There were plenty of witnesses, so one of the Trader’s people could’ve seen her and panicked.”
We got a taxi and headed back to the hotel.
“I need a drink,” Holm said. “That place gave me a headache.”
“What?” I laughed. “You said you loved it.”
He shook his head with a slight smile. “Carl Stevens loved it. Me? It was fun for about two minutes. I didn’t get a drink, and you got two.”
We went to the hotel bar, Holm got a ridiculous tropical cocktail, and we found a quiet booth toward the back. It was the middle of the week, so the space wasn’t exceptionally busy.
“What do you make of Price?” Holm asked over his Bajan Sunset.
“I don’t know,” I mused. “I gotta wonder if he works with Wright. I’m going to ask Forde about it in the morning. Price is different, but he’s clear about where he stands on things.”
Holm finished his drink, and we went up to our room. We went over a few more points to the plan, made a few calls, and then turned in for the night.
Not enough hours later, Forde knocked at our door. I was in the middle of doing up my tie, and Holm was slicking his hair.
“Very dapper, my friends,” Forde said. “Is that suit the real thing?”
“It’s a rental.” I tugged my navy, plaid Tom Ford blazer on over a light-blue dress shirt. “Our personal trainer got out of wearing a tie.”
Holm emerged with a pink Versace blazer over an off-white t-shirt and Gucci jeans. He wore his favorite pair of black Chucks.
“Miami, baby!” He grinned, spun, and pretended to tip a hat.
I seemed to be rolling my eyes a lot lately, and that was the umpteenth time. Holm had a point the night before about needing to be the smart, or smarter-dressed one on our next assignment.
“Okay, Don Johnson.” I turned to Forde. “You have Birn’s and Muñoz’s cell numbers in case anything goes down?”
“I do.”
“They’ve left already, so the ladies’ safety is on you,” I told him with a mildly threatening tone. At least I thought it was mild. “They won’t answer the door for anyone, so make sure you only get to them if there’s an emergency.”
He frowned. “I thought I’d check in with them two or three times during the day.”
Holm shook his head. “I know you like visiting them, but not until we’re back tonight. We have them in lockdown for their own safety.” He flashed a toothy grin that I knew he didn’t feel.
“Let me know when you are on the way back.” Forde told us as he nodded. “I will order delivery to the lobby.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I nodded to him and to Holm. “It’s time, partner.”
Although Holm wished we could take the Lancer, we took the Toyota Rush. It wasn’t the luxury brand I would’ve liked, but we were pushing our budget way closer than our department’s superiors liked. Diane had stressed that the night before when we were finalizing our plans.
The meet was almost dead center to the island. We met behind one of the many Trudis gas stations. A box truck with blank sides was parked at the back of the convenience store. We pulled in three slots to the truck’s left for some breathing space. A man stepped out of the passenger side of the cab and walked over to us. Through the cab’s open door, I saw a woman behind the truck’s wheel.
“Misters Winters and Stevens?” he asked as he approached. He wore black pants and a tight, black shirt which outlined his muscles. The man was built like Smith, but not as tall.
“We are,” I confirmed.
“You are free of weapons, phones, and other electronics?”
Holm leaned toward me so the man at the door could see me. “All we have are our clothes and a duffle of cold, green cash.”
The man looked around and nodded. “Bring your money to the truck and step inside. My associate will blindfold and restrain you. It is for your good and ours. She will make you as comfortable as possible.”
He waved to the driver. She waved back, got out, and went around to open the back. The driver was dressed in camo pants with a black t-shirt. Her long, black hair was tied back in a long braid. She appeared to be Latina, and I wondered if she was one of the Trader’s victims turned accomplice.
Holm and I followed the instructions and took the money into the truck. We had a hundred thousand dollars in American greenbacks. The C-notes were real, procured before we left Miami. Only Holm and I knew they were in a locked box aboard the King Air. The box contained another hundred thou, but the buy-in had been lower than I expected.
When I stepped into the box truck, I let out a low whistle. There were four leather seats on each side with their backs facing the walls. A steel rail ran down the middle and had eight rings with shackles hanging from them.
The driver took a metal detector wand from a hook at the back of the truck and ran it up and down our bodies and along our shoes. Satisfied, she held out a hand to the seats.
“Choose your seats,” the driver told us. “I will take care of you from there.”
Her English was precise, and I detected no more than a hint of an accent, but it was enough of a hint for me to peg her as Venezuelan. As she placed the shackles on our wrists, I wondered what led to her role as a driver, and whether it was a mercy or punishment. Her left arm appeared weak, and she relied mostly on her right to blindfold Holm. When it was my turn to be blindfolded, her arm’s weakness made no difference in the tightness
of the knot she tied at the back of my head.
“Enjoy the ride,” she told us with the formality of a flight attendant. “We took a poll and chose chicken with molé for a light meal following the activity. Following that, we will return you to this location.”
“Thank you,” we said in unison. You couldn’t accuse us of not being polite.
From that point on, we had to assume the Trader’s people were listening to everything we said. This was an opportunity to test them.
“Think they have a few who know how to tie knots as good as our driver?” Holm wondered aloud. “That could be a great asset.”
“You want a rigger?” I waited for a few beats, as if considering it. “It couldn’t be on-site. If we ever got raided, that would be a strike against us.”
He laughed. “‘Strike’ is the right idea. Not just a rigger, man. Have a full suite with a dominatrix. Rich dudes go for that shit. They’re so used to being in control that they crave some time where another person controls things.”
He spoke the truth. It wasn’t my thing, but I didn’t have anything against anyone into that. For our mission, however, it was an interesting prospect to bring up. I wondered if the Trader went that route also. It would be a more sadistic job to break a person’s spirit and then teach them to dominate others. The irony of my thought didn’t escape me.
“We can consider it,” I told Holm as I imagined how an investor might react to that much scope added to the project. “That whole thing would take more capital than I’ve cleared for it, not to mention other logistics. We might have to wait, unless he makes us a hell of a deal.”
Without a reference to time, I guessed the ride took half an hour or more. I couldn’t tell what direction we were going, and I lost track of the turns after Holm and I started talking. The driver more than likely was taking an extra complex path to throw us off.