Cash Landing

by James Grippando

  Jasmine dug her cell from her purse. She knew the number by heart and dialed. He answered on the third ring, and Jasmine turned on her “club” voice.

  “Hi, Jeffy,” she said sweetly. “It’s me. Bambi.”

  Chapter 41

  Ruban took the turnpike south to Eden Park Mobile Home Community. His meeting with Edith Baines was set for ten a.m. Kyla was in the balance.

  Savannah had slept in their bed Wednesday night, but the kiss good night had been cool, and the ride to the daycare center in the morning had been downright chilly. She’d accepted his explanation for lying about the car, but she refused to believe that he hadn’t planned on using “Jeffrey’s money” to buy a new one. She’d get over it in a day or so, and he could live with her anger. What he couldn’t risk—and what he couldn’t tell Savannah about—was the possibility that a witness had seen Octavio, moments before he was run down in the street, talking to a man in a white Chevy with a nonmatching gray quarter panel. Getting rid of the old piece of junk was the preferred solution, but a paint job would do the trick. Ruban dropped it off that morning. Metallic blue. It would be ready late Friday afternoon. Until then, he was stuck in an economy-class rental that should have come with pedals.

  He parked on the road outside Edith’s mobile home and went to the door. Edith was still wearing her pajamas, which wasn’t a pretty sight. It also told him that Kyla and her half brothers had probably walked without an adult to the bus stop on the other side of the busy highway outside Eden Park. He suddenly felt better about the deal he was cutting for Kyla.

  He followed Edith into the kitchen and took a seat at the table.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  “No, thanks.”

  She grabbed her pink bathrobe from a hook beside the refrigerator and slipped it on. Fabric pills stretched from the frayed collar to the ragged hem, and the elbows were threadbare. Ruban’s guess was that she’d been wearing that robe since Mindy was in kindergarten.

  Edith pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the table. “I see you brought your backpack.”

  It was on the floor at Ruban’s feet. “We’ll get to that.”

  “Yes, sir. You bet we will.”

  He leaned forward to make a point, but his hands stuck in maple syrup.

  Edith reached behind her and grabbed a wet dishrag from the sink. “Damn kids,” she groused as she wiped down the Formica. “I’m always tellin’ ’em to clean up after themselves.”

  Another wild guess, but Ruban figured the syrup had probably been there about two weeks. “Not a problem,” he said.

  “You sure you don’t want any coffee?”

  “No. This is going to be short and sweet.”

  “Fine by me. I ain’t budging: Two-fifty, that’s my number.”

  Ruban grabbed his backpack and laid it on the table. “That’s too bad. There’s only one-fifty on the table.”

  Edith reached for it, but he pulled it back. “Whoa, girl.”

  “I need to count it,” she said.

  “You can count it after we cut a deal.”

  “It’s not complicated. Pay me two hundred fifty thousand dollars, you adopt Kyla. You hire the lawyer and I’ll sign whatever is needed.”

  “I said one-fifty.”

  “That won’t get the deal done.”

  “Yes it will. Our new deal.”

  “Adopting Kyla is all we talked about.”

  “I came up from one hundred to one-fifty. You raise the price, I raise the demand.”

  She shifted uneasily, as if sensing what he was about to ask.

  “I need my name cleared,” he said.

  Edith shook her head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Mindy can,” he said.

  “Then talk to Mindy.”

  “You know that’s impossible. There’s an injunction. I can’t call, write, or get within a hundred yards of her.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Tell your daughter to recant her testimony.”

  “Say what?”

  “I want Mindy to state under oath that the charges she brought against me were lies.”

  “You’re asking too much.”

  “Everything she said was a lie.”

  “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.”

  “You know it was. You wouldn’t let me adopt Kyla if any of that was true.”

  “I don’t know anything, Ruban. I wasn’t there. That’s all between you and Mindy.”

  He opened the backpack and removed the money, one brick of bills at a time. Fifteen in all. “One hundred fifty thousand dollars,” he said.

  Edith’s eyes were like saucers.

  Ruban took five bricks and pushed them toward her. “Fifty thousand now.”

  Edith stared at the stack of bills, but she didn’t move.

  Ruban separated the rest of the money into two stacks of five bricks. “Fifty thousand when Mindy recants her charges against me under oath. Another fifty thousand when the adoption is final. And no one, not even Mindy—especially not Mindy—can ever know that I paid you. Those are the terms.”

  Edith looked at him suspiciously, her eyes narrowing. “Where on God’s green earth did you get all this money, Ruban?”

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “Seriously—where did this money come from?”

  “Deal? Or no deal?”

  Edith considered it, here gaze darting back and forth from the stack of money to Ruban’s steely expression, her elbows resting on the table. Not for a nanosecond did Ruban believe that she actually cared where the money had come from. She just needed another minute for all that cash to speak to her.

  “Deal,” she said as she wrapped her arms around the bricks of bills, raking them toward her.

  Ruban grabbed her wrist, stopping her cold. “If you take the money, there’s no going back. You understand what I’m saying?”

  Their eyes locked, and then Edith blinked. “Understood.”

  Ruban released his grip. Edith drew the cash into her bosom and smiled. Ruban tucked the rest of the money into his backpack and pushed away from the table. “When should I follow up about Mindy?” he asked, rising.

  “I’ll speak to her this weekend.”

  “Good enough,” he said as he slung the backpack over his shoulder.

  Edith followed him to the front door. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

  “You won’t regret it,” he said, and then his voice took on a more chilling tone. “Unless you screw me. Then you will regret the day we ever met.”

  “We’re cool. Nothing to worry about.”

  He let himself out and walked to his rental car, the backpack on his shoulder a wee bit lighter.

  Chapter 42

  Andie was alone in her car, three blocks from her friend’s yoga studio and hardly able to believe that she was going to make it to class.

  Rachel had switched from teaching beach yoga at sunrise to a sweaty Bikram class indoors. “A ninety-nine-degree hothouse is right up your alley,” Rachel had said in several invitations, but Andie was always full of excuses. Around four-thirty that afternoon, she’d noticed a lull in her workday. It had lasted just long enough to delude her into thinking she could squeeze in an early-evening class.

  Her cell rang as she turned onto Collins Avenue. It was Lieutenant Watts at MDPD headquarters. The offer of a reward from Braxton had reeled in another credible informant.

  “Shit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean good,” said Andie. “I’m on my way.”

  For the second time in as many weeks, Watts had snatched her away from yoga. It seemed as though every time she grabbed her sticky mat, someone made a grab for the reward. The first informant, Leonard Timmes, had been helpful but not a home run. Timmes worked at the body shop that had chopped the getaway truck, and his tip had linked Marco Aroyo to the acquisition and disposal of the black pickup. Aroyo was dead, however, and Andie’s bet was that no one would ever find the body that had
been separated from his finger, which meant that the FBI was a long way from an arrest and conviction in the heist. Hopes were higher for informant number two.

  Andie reached MDPD headquarters in Doral around six-thirty. Watts met her outside the interrogation room. Andie peered through the one-way glass and saw a middle-aged, overweight woman seated alone at the table.

  “Her name’s Edith Baird,” said Watts. “Walked into the station alone about fifteen minutes before I called you.”

  “Out of the blue?”

  “Yeah. Funny thing. We were all pissed off when Eyewitness News leaked that Octavio Alvarez was a suspected insider in the heist. That leak may turn out to be a blessing. Ms. Baird saw it on TV and has been mulling it over since Tuesday night. She says that if Alvarez was working on the inside, she has the name of his buddy on the outside.”

  “No doubt in my mind that Alvarez was involved,” said Andie.

  “Same here. One caveat,” Watts said as he handed her the dossier. “She has a criminal record.”

  Andie read it. It was like so many she’d seen in her short tenure in south Florida, which was the undisputed king of Medicare fraud. “Basically we have a scam artist angling for a hefty reward.”

  “It’s a criminal investigation, not a beauty contest,” said Watts. “We don’t get to pick our players.”

  “Okay. Let’s hear her story.”

  Watts opened the door, and Andie followed him inside. Edith kept her seat through the introductions. Andie thanked her for coming in and got her permission to call her “Edith.” Chitchat followed, just enough for the law enforcement officers to size her up and develop a rapport. Andie steered clear of the criminal conviction, at least at the start.

  “Tell me how you know Octavio Alvarez,” said Andie.

  “I know him.”

  “How well?”

  Her expression tightened. “Well enough.”

  “How long has it been since you last saw him?”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “How long?”

  “A while.”

  “Okay,” said Andie, “let’s back up a bit. What brought you into the station?”

  Edith breathed a heavy sigh, glancing at Watts. “I already told the detective. I heard on the news that you think Alvarez did an inside job at the airport. I know who helped him.”

  “We’d love to hear his name.”

  “I’m sure you would,” said Edith. “And for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars I’ll give it to you.”

  “Let me explain how the reward works,” said Andie. “You give us the information. If that tip leads to an arrest and conviction, Braxton pays you the reward. Fair enough?”

  “Bullshit. I don’t operate that way,” said Edith.

  “We’re not being cute. That’s the way rewards work.”

  “You’re not listening. I don’t operate that way.”

  “Okay. Tell me what you want.”

  “I’m sure you’ve checked me out. You know I got a record. So let’s cut the crap. You don’t trust me, and I don’t trust you.”

  “If you have helpful information, we can build trust.”

  “Yeah, sure we can. I know what’s going to happen. I’ll give you the name. You’ll check it out. You’ll get your arrest and conviction. Then you’ll come back to me and say, ‘Oh, we were already following that lead when you came down to the station. Too bad, Mrs. Baird. No reward for you.’”

  “I have never seen that happen,” said Andie. “The whole crime-tip system would crumble if police started playing that game.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about the system. I care about my reward. So here’s how we’re going to do it. You give me a list of all the names you have so far. I’ll add my guy’s name to the list. If it’s a new one, and he’s your man, I get the money.”

  “That’s nice in theory, Edith. But our investigative files are confidential. We aren’t going to give you a list of names.”

  “Then you don’t get a name from me. It’s as simple as that.”

  The terms were unacceptable, but Andie could play along well enough to keep the conversation from shutting down. “I’m not going to say no,” said Andie. “But I can’t say yes.”

  “Yes is the only word I want to hear.”

  “I can’t just go back to my unit chief and tell him we need to hand over our list of suspects to a convicted felon.”

  Edith smiled. “Then don’t tell him.”

  “You’ve been around the block,” said Andie. “You know how these negotiations work.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Good. Then let’s be honest. If we’re going to play by your rules, I need more than your promise to give me a name. I’ll be laughed out of the FBI if I tell my boss that I have an informant who is willing to identify a suspect only on the condition that we reveal every name in our file first. If you expect me to even consider making a pitch like that, you have to give me something to show that you’re a highly credible informant.”

  Edith said nothing, but her body language told Andie that her words were resonating.

  “You know I’m not being unreasonable,” said Andie.

  “Shhh! I’m thinking,” said Edith.

  Andie gave her a minute.

  “All right,” Edith said.

  “All right, what?”

  Edith laid her hands atop the table and laced her fingers together, as if ready to talk. “Get me a coffee,” she said, “and I’ll give you a little something.”

  Chapter 43

  Ruban heard his ringtone in the darkness. He sat up in the bed. Silence, except for the gentle sound of Savannah’s breathing.

  Was I dreaming?

  He looked around. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark, save for the greenish glow from his cell phone, which was charging on the nightstand. His gaze came to rest on Savannah’s face, half-buried beneath twists of long brown hair. She was sound asleep.

  Ruban had told her nothing about his latest talk with Edith. He was still trying to figure out how to avoid the meeting that Savannah wanted with her. Edith would surely demand more money to face Savannah’s questioning, and there was no way a face-to-face encounter with Edith would give Savannah any sort of reassurance. Expunging his criminal record was the answer. Ruban needed to prove to Savannah that the domestic violence conviction was built on lies. It wasn’t enough to point out that Edith would never consent to Kyla’s adoption if Ruban were truly an abuser. He needed unequivocal refutation of the charges by his accuser.

  He lay back and let his head sink into the pillow. It took a while for his eyes to close. As soon as they did, his cell rang again. He grabbed it before it could wake Savannah.

  “Hello?” he whispered.

  “It’s me, mon. Ramsey.”

  “Hold on.” Ruban slid out of bed, careful not to wake Savannah, and went into the bathroom. He took a seat on the cold tile floor, his back against the closed door, and kept the light off. “What are you calling me for?”

  “It’s your brother-in-law, mon. He been kidnapped again.”

  Ruban could have crushed the phone with his bare hand. “You son of a bitch. Are you playing me for another ransom?”

  “No, no, mon. I never played you the last time. We both got double-crossed.”

  “Go to hell, Ramsey.”

  “No, listen to me, mon. Jeffrey just rang me.”

  “Why would he call you?”

  “He’s afraid to ring you, mon. He thinks you be pissed at him for going back to the Gold Rush.”

  Ruban could barely comprehend it. “He went back?”

  “This is what I’m sayin’, mon. Jeffrey came by the club tonight. It was like old times. All coked up, he blowin’ through his money. Buyin’ the expensive bottles of champagne. His friend Sully selling him the Rolexes.”

  “Sully was there?”

  “Of course Sully was there. These dancers are smart business ladies. They see Jeffrey walk into the club, they get on the
ir cell phone and ring Mr. Sully the Jeweler. They make a thousand dollars every time he sells a nice watch.”

  “Was Jeffrey with that dancer who walked him to my car? Bambi?”

  “No, mon. Bambi is gone. Jeffrey was with Sylvia.”

  “Who’s Sylvia?”

  “Ah, she’s a sharp one. Romanian.”

  Ruban’s anger was rising. He could almost smell the con. “Are you working with her this time, Ramsey?”

  “No, you got it all wrong, mon. There was no ‘last time,’ and there’s no ‘this time.’ I been tryin’ my best to help you and your brother-in-law. Tonight I go to his table and I say, ‘Jeffrey, are you crazy, mon? What you comin’ back here for? Dis place not safe for you.’ I tell him I can be his Guardian Angel.”

  “His what?”

  “I says I can keep an eye out for him. I promise to tell him if anyone comes into the club that he should be worried about.”

  “Sounds like you did a pretty shitty job.”

  “I did my best, mon. I be workin’ the bar. I can’t help after Jeffrey left.”

  “Did he leave alone?”

  “No. With Sylvia. Then three hours later, five o’clock in the morning, Jeffrey rings me on my cell. He’s crying. He’s scared. His voice is shaking. He says he’s been kidnapped again and needs his Guardian Angel to help him.”

  “This sounds like such bullshit.”

  “It’s no bullshit! This is real, mon!”

  “What kind of idiot do you think I am? You stung me last time. We’re not going down this road again.”

  “Ruban, you be making a big mistake, mon. This is no trick!”

  “Jeffrey’s broke, isn’t he?”

  “What?”

  “I thought he was broke already, but obviously he had more bills stashed somewhere. Now he’s burned through his reserve, too. So you, Jeffrey, and this Romanian bitch cooked up a second kidnapping to con me out of another ransom. Well, fuck you, Ramsey! It’s not happening.”