Cash Landing

by James Grippando

“I don’t get off till midnight.”

  “It’s Savannah’s twenty-ninth birthday, not her forty-ninth. We’ll still be going at midnight.”

  She laughed. “Then I’ll be there.”

  “Great.”

  Claudia started toward the kitchen, but Ruban stopped her. “Hey, let me pick your brain a little bit. I’m having some paralysis by analysis with the gift. What do you think Savannah would really want?”

  Claudia smiled a little, but it was half sad. “You know what she really wants.”

  He knew. Better than anyone. “Okay, short of that, what would work?”

  “Go with something that sparkles.”

  “Jewelry?”

  “I don’t mean fireworks.”

  They had hocked her nicest jewelry trying to save the restaurant—another reason not to have her party there. He hadn’t bought her a piece since the foreclosure. “I’m going to make that happen,” he said.

  “She’ll be happy.”

  Claudia went to the kitchen. Ruban crossed the dining area, toward the liquor stockroom. He needed to check the inventory and make sure his new bartender wasn’t robbing him blind, but a knock on the front window got his attention. It was Pinky, the other new millionaire in Ruban’s family by marriage. He was right outside the restaurant, standing on the sidewalk.

  Ruban went to the front door and unlocked it, but he didn’t let Pinky in.

  “Let’s walk,” he said, and he took Pinky around the side of the building. They talked as they walked down the alley.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “You said no cell phones. All I have is a cell.”

  Pinky was old school, the opposite of his drug-addicted nephew. With Pinky, if you receive an order, you follow it; you disobey it, you die.

  “This better be important,” said Ruban.

  “I can’t get in touch with Marco. Have you talked to him?”

  They stopped at the alley’s dead end in front of the Dumpster. Funny, a restaurant could serve the most unique cuisine in south Florida, but all garbage smelled alike.

  “No,” said Ruban. “You’re the one who’s supposed to give him his cut.”

  “I’ve been to his apartment twice. No sign of him.”

  “Does he have a wife, a girlfriend?”

  “Nah. Marco’s a loner. The only thing I could think of was to check where he works.”

  “Shit, Pinky! You went back to the tile depot?”

  “What was I supposed to do? I need to track him down. I don’t want him to think we’re stiffing him.”

  “What’d they tell you at the tile place?”

  “Nobody’s seen him all week.”

  Ruban started to pace. He did that whenever stress kicked in. “You think the cops got to him?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I came here. I was hoping you knew something.”

  “You and Marco should have worked out a time and place to meet before we did the job. That’s what I did with Alvarez. He knows exactly where and when—”

  “I know, I know. Third Tuesday after blah blah blah. Marco and me didn’t do that. So it doesn’t help for you to tell me what we should’ve done.”

  Ruban stopped pacing and drew a breath. “You’re right. No more ‘shouldas.’”

  “So what do we do?”

  “First off, don’t ever go back to the tile warehouse again. Don’t go to his apartment, either.”

  “Then how am I supposed to find him?”

  “You do what I told everyone to do Sunday night: keep your normal routine, go to work, and go home every day just like before. You let Marco find you.”

  “What if he doesn’t come?”

  “We owe him a million dollars. He’ll come.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  Ruban looked him right in the eye. “If we don’t hear from him, we got much bigger problems than finding Marco.”

  Chapter 7

  On Saturday morning Ruban picked up his brother-in-law in South Miami. It was time to spend some money.

  Week one was in the bank, so to speak. Still no word on Marco, but otherwise it had gone without a hitch. Ruban had followed the news coverage on television, and he’d overheard a couple of customers at the restaurant talking over Cuban mojitos made with Russian brandy—Hey, did you hear about that airport heist?—but that was it. The FBI had no leads, at least none reported in the media. Ruban still dressed the same, still acted the same, and still drove a ten-year-old Chevy Malibu with a driver’s-side quarter panel that didn’t quite match the rest of the car. He pulled up in front of a neighborhood ice cream parlor called Whip ’n Dip. Jeffrey climbed into the passenger seat with his breakfast in hand.

  “You’re eating a banana split at ten o’clock in the morning?”

  “It’s got milk, bananas, and nuts. It’s practically health food.”

  Ruban drove east along the tree-lined and “historic” Sunset Drive. Jeffrey navigated while eating. A long string of weekend cyclists crossed the road ahead of them. They were in High Pines, a quiet neighborhood of sixties-vintage ranch-style houses, most of which had been updated by upper-middle-class families with young children. It was where Jeffrey’s friend lived, “Sully the Jeweler,” a wholesaler who normally sold only to dealers, though he did some business on the side for customers who met his minimum purchase requirement and paid in cash. Today was Savannah’s birthday. Ruban had dug up a single pack of vacuum-sealed fifty-dollar bills to cover it.

  “What are you going to get her?” asked Jeffrey.

  “Something nice. We’ll see what your friend is selling.”

  “Is this a total surprise? Or did you tell her about the money?”

  “It’s a surprise. But, yeah, I told her.” He left out the biggest part of the lie, that he’d led her to believe that Jeffrey and his uncle had pulled off the heist alone.

  “She’s okay with it?”

  “She will be.”

  “Savannah hasn’t said a word to me about it.”

  “I told her not to. I don’t want anyone talking about it, so it’s best you not say anything to her, either.”

  Especially anything about me.

  They were driving past an old, abandoned cemetery, four acres of pine trees and greenery that made this quiet neighborhood even quieter. Jeffrey scooped a mouthful of gooey chocolate sauce from the plastic dish. “You should get her a wristwatch. Sully is the go-to guy for Rolex.”

  “That could work.”

  “He gives good prices. I bought one.”

  Ruban cut a sharp glance from the driver’s side. “You bought a Rolex? Shit, Jeffrey. I told you not to spend any money.”

  “Bro, you’re spending money.”

  “It’s Savannah’s birthday.”

  “I bought one Rolex. That makes us even.”

  Ruban breathed out his anger. “Fine. One watch. But that’s it. Don’t spread the money around yet. It’s too soon.”

  “No worries, bro. No worries.”

  They parked in the gravel driveway beneath the shade of an enormous royal poinciana tree and walked to the front door. Jeffrey tossed his empty dish into the bushes, wiped his hands on his shirt, and knocked firmly. No answer. He dialed Sully on his cell, got no answer, and dialed again. Still no luck. A minute later, a six-foot-six mulatto shuffled to door, half-asleep, wearing only boxer shorts. He had an athletic build, and the way he scratched himself made Ruban guess baseball.

  “Did I wake you up?” asked Jeffrey.

  “No,” he said, scratching yet again. “Some asshole kept ringing my cell.”

  “What a coincidence,” said Jeffrey, choosing not to fess up. Instead, he made quick introductions, and they entered the living room. “Ruban wants to buy a Rolex for his wife. My sister.”

  Sully looked at Ruban, who was enough of a Latin heartthrob to have one pretty wife, and then his gaze drifted to Jeffrey, who didn’t exactly convey the impression that good looks ran in the family. The expression on Sully
’s face was typical, and Jeffrey handled it as usual.

  “Savannah got all the looks,” said Jeffrey.

  “I would have never guessed,” he said dryly. Sully went to the closet in the hallway. He returned with a metal strong box, which he opened with a key. Inside was an assortment of high-end watches, mostly Cartier and Rolex. He removed a man’s Rolex.

  “This one here you might like for yourself,” said Sully.

  “That’s the one I bought,” said Jeffrey.

  “Diamond-encrusted Rolex Daytona,” said Sully. “Forty-five thousand.”

  Ruban’s jaw dropped. “Forty-five thousand?”

  “Too steep? Maybe this one,” he said as he pointed to a Cartier. “I practically gave that one to Jeffrey for thirty thousand. You can have the same deal.”

  Ruban shot another harsh look at his brother-in-law. “You said you only bought one watch.”

  “I said one Rolex,” said Jeffrey.

  “Look, I’m a wholesaler,” said Sully. “I don’t sell to people who buy one watch. I’m making an exception for you because Jeffrey tells me he’s thinking of getting into the business.”

  “Is that so?” asked Ruban.

  “We’ll talk about that later,” said Jeffrey.

  “Yeah, you bet we will,” said Ruban.

  “Okay, fine,” said Sully. “One woman’s watch is what you want?”

  “Twenty grand is my top price,” said Ruban.

  Sully shook his head, not pleased. “Twenty grand? I don’t know. I have a two-tone gold that goes for no less than twenty-five even in the discount shops. And at that price, it’s probably a knock-off or stolen. I sell the real deal. I guess I could go twenty, seeing how Jeffrey bought four of them.”

  “Four!” said Ruban, the numbers quickly adding up in his head. “A hundred grand on ladies’ watches? Seventy-five more on men’s? Are you out of your damn—”

  Ruban stopped himself, his gaze locked onto his brother-in-law’s face.

  Jeffrey froze. “What are you looking at?”

  Ruban hadn’t noticed his brother-in-law’s teeth earlier. “What is that in your mouth?”

  “Nothing.”

  He nearly lunged at him, prying his lips apart. The gold crowns on the bottom sparkled back him. “Are you getting your teeth capped?”

  “Guys, guys,” said Sully. “Do you want to buy a watch or don’t you?”

  “No, forget it,” said Ruban. “Jeffrey, let’s go.”

  Ruban grabbed his brother-in-law by his shirt and pulled all three hundred pounds from the couch. Jeffrey made an awkward apology to Sully, stumbling as Ruban dragged him out the front door. Ruban waited until they were back in the car before dressing him down fully.

  “Who are you buying four ladies’ Rolexes for?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Jeffrey, if you are giving twenty-five-thousand-dollar watches to strippers, I am going to kick your ass from here to Yemen.”

  “I’m not giving them to anyone. They’re an investment.”

  “Oh, bullshit. Jeffrey, if you start flashing money, we are dead meat. Either law enforcement is going to take notice, or you’ll be targeted by some of the scariest motherfuckers you’ve ever met in your life. There are entire gangs out there who do nothing but steal from other criminals. Do you understand what I’m saying? For the last time: Lay low.”

  Jeffrey didn’t answer.

  “And don’t forget that I’m still holding a half million dollars of your share. If you flash money, you lose it. Final warning.” Ruban backed the car out of the driveway and headed toward the highway.

  “Sorry, bro,” Jeffrey said softly.

  “I’m telling you this for your own good,” said Ruban.

  “What should I do with the watches?”

  Ruban grumbled, searching his mind for a solution. There was none. “Keep the damn things, I guess. But no more gold caps. Stop with the bottom teeth.”

  “Okay.”

  They rode in silence for a couple of blocks. Then Jeffrey spoke in his most contrite voice. “You want to give one of the ladies’ Rolexes to Savannah? No charge. You can have it.”

  Ruban glanced over. His brother-in-law looked like a scolded schoolboy, his multiple chins resting on his chest.

  “Shit, you’re pathetic, you know that?”

  Jeffrey dabbed at the chocolate and strawberry stain on his T-shirt. “Yeah. I do know. People tell me all the time.”

  Ruban sighed. Puppy-dog eyes. Jeffrey bore little resemblance to his younger sister, but both were masters of those sad puppy-dog eyes.

  “Oh, all right, Jeffrey. One for Savannah. But no freebies. I’ll buy it from you.”

  “Thanks, bro.”

  “You’re welcome.” Dumb fuck.

  Savannah wanted to go dancing at midnight. What Savannah wanted, Savannah got. That was Ruban’s rule. And for the first time in his life, he had the money to back it up.

  Dinner had been at their favorite restaurant—which didn’t bear Ruban’s name—their go-to place in Kendall, not far from the house they’d once owned. Her dress wasn’t new, but it was the red one that advertised to the world that Ruban Betancourt had the sexiest wife in Miami. They were sitting in the car, parked outside Club Media Noche, when he decided to give her the birthday present like none he had ever given her before.

  “Go ahead, open it,” he said, smiling so big that he was about to burst.

  She returned the smile from the passenger seat. “What did you do?”

  “Just open it.”

  She untied the ribbon and tore off the wrapping paper. The insignia on the box gave away the surprise.

  “Are you kidding me? A Rolex?”

  He reached over and opened the box for her. They were parked just outside the club entrance, and the diamonds sparkled in the multicolored glow of the neon sign.

  “Is this a real Rolex?”

  “The real deal.”

  She seemed concerned. “How much did you pay for this?”

  “It’s beautiful, right?”

  She breathed deep, obviously aware that he’d dodged her question. “Did you use some of that money?”

  He smiled. She didn’t.

  “Ruban, are you crazy? You said all the money stayed buried until you figured out what to do.”

  “And you said you were okay with it.”

  “Okay with it?” she said, her anger kicking in. “I said I was okay with not calling the police and turning Jeffrey and my uncle in. We still may have to do that eventually.”

  “No!”

  She withdrew, his tone too sharp.

  “I need a little more time to figure it out,” he said in a more reasoned voice.

  “Fine. You figure it out. But you can’t touch this money. That’s just stupid.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. And, oh, by the way, it’s stealing.”

  “Yeah, like the banks don’t steal?”

  She didn’t respond right away. They’d had this talk on many sleepless nights before. “You can’t make this about what happened to us.”

  “I’ve looked into it,” he said. “The five bags that Jeffrey and your uncle stole add up to less than a drop in the bucket. That plane was carrying eighty-eight million dollars. This bank in Germany ships that much every week. Sometimes even more.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is true. Losing nine or ten million is nothing to this bank. It’s all insured, anyway, so the bank doesn’t really lose anything.”

  “That doesn’t make it okay to take it.”

  “Was it okay to take our house? My restaurant?”

  “Honey, I know all that hurts. I still feel it. But Jeffrey and my sleazeball uncle really screwed up this time. If you start digging up the money and spending it, we’re as bad as they are. Really, what were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that I haven’t bought you a piece of jewelry in forever. I was thinking it’s your birthday and that you would like it.
”

  “I do like it. But, shit, Ruban. This is the stupidest thing you have ever done.”

  He sank into the driver’s seat, his head rolling back as he gazed at the ceiling. Savannah was going to be an even harder sell than he’d thought. “All right, I’m sorry. I’ll take the watch back.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Why don’t you wear it tonight?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Come on. Once in her life, every woman should know what it feels like to have a Rolex on her wrist. Try it on.”

  “No.”

  “Please,” he said, pushing it toward her. “Just for grins.”

  She resisted at first, then let him slide it up over her hand.

  “There you go,” he said with a smile.

  She hesitated, but it was impossible not to say something nice. “It is gorgeous,” she said.

  He kissed her neck. “Like you.”

  She held it up to the light, admiring the sparkle. “Wow. Honestly, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Wear it to the party.”

  “Ruban, no. How could our friends look at this watch and not think you robbed a bank?”

  “I’ll tell them the restaurant is doing really well, which it is. The place is packed every night.”

  “But that doesn’t make us rich.”

  “Nobody needs to know that. This is your night. How many twenty-ninth birthdays are you going to have in your lifetime? Wear it. It’s just a few hours.”

  She leaned closer to him, torn for another moment, but then she nodded. “Okay. I’ll wear it tonight. But then it goes back to wherever it came from.”

  “Deal,” he said. “Come on, my beautiful wife. Let’s go knock ’em dead.”

  Chapter 8

  Marco Aroyo was blinded by the light. His head throbbed with pain. A stream of blood and sweat stung his eyes, one of which was almost completely swollen shut. His wrists and ankles burned from the taut metal chains that shackled him to the wall.

  The man asking the questions was a silhouette, his enormous frame hidden in the shadows behind the white-hot spotlight.

  “One last time,” the man said, his voice hissing. “Where is the money?”