Metro Girl

by Janet Evanovich

  We’d seen other boats when we got within fifteen miles of Havana, but they were always far away. Planes occasionally passed overhead. Not a threat since no one knew to look for Vana’s boat. Hooker and I were out of sight, at the helm, under a hardtop.

  A helicopter came out of nowhere and buzzed the boat. Hooker and I held our breath. The helicopter disappeared over the treetops, and we both expelled a whoosh of air.

  “It wasn’t military,” Hooker said. “Probably just some rich tourist seeing the sights.”

  “Are we going up the waterway?”

  “I’m going to try. I’d feel more comfortable if we had a smaller boat. I’m probably going to have to back out. I’d like to back in, in case we have to leave fast, but I’m afraid to go in propellers first.”

  So here’s the thing about a NASCAR guy. He might be an asshole, but at least he knows how to drive. And he’s got cojones. Not even ordinary cojones. We’re talking big brass ones.

  Hooker approached the estuary and began creeping forward.

  “Go to the bow,” he said, “and watch for problems. Floating debris, narrowing of the water, signs that the water is getting too shallow. I’ve got a depth finder, but by the time it tells me I’m in trouble it could already be too late.”

  I carefully walked across the white fiberglass bow to the pointed prow. I dropped to hands and knees for better stability and leaned forward, studying the water ahead.

  Hooker leaned around the windscreen and looked out at me. “I know you’re trying to be helpful,” he said, “but I can’t drag my eyes off you when you’re in that position. Maybe you could try lying flat to the boat, or at least swinging your ass more to the side.”

  I turned slightly to look at him. “Deal with it,” I said. And then I went back to watching the water. I was from Baltimore. I grew up in a garage. I had my own set of cojones. And there wasn’t much a man could say that would surprise me.

  The width narrowed, but the depth stayed constant. Trees from both banks formed a canopy over our heads, and the sun dappled the water through holes in the canopy. Hooker eased the boat around a bend, and a boat lay at anchor directly in front of us. The bow of the boat faced us, so no name was visible. I turned to look at Hooker, and he nodded yes. He brought the boat to a standstill, and I scrambled back to the pilothouse.

  “Are you sure it’s your boat?” I asked him.

  “Yep.”

  It was slightly bigger than Vana’s boat, and the proportions were different. I didn’t know a lot about boats, but I knew Vana’s boat was more speed boat. And Hooker’s boat was for deep-sea fishing.

  “Do you think they see us?”

  “They could be below decks. Or they could be off exploring the island. I’d think they could hear the engine, no matter, even at idle. We aren’t visible behind this tinted sunscreen, so most likely they’re watching us from someplace, messing their pants, wondering who the hell we are.”

  “There’s some satisfaction to that,” I said.

  Hooker smiled at me. “Sugar pie, you’ve got an evil streak in you. I think I’m getting turned on.”

  “Everything turns you on.”

  “Not everything.”

  “What doesn’t turn you on?”

  “Dennis Rodman in a wedding gown.”

  Hooker shifted to the side and leaned out the open window. “Hey Bill, you jerk-off,” he yelled. “Get your ass out on deck where I can see you.”

  Bill popped into view. “Hooker?”

  Hooker turned to me and kissed me. He was smiling when he broke away.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I just felt happy, and I wanted to kiss you.”

  Seemed to me that there was a lot of tongue in it for just a happy kiss, but hell, he was NASCAR Guy. What do I know? He probably kissed his mother like that. Not that I was complaining. Hooker was a terrific kisser.

  Bill was on deck, squinting at us, hand shielding his eyes from the splotches of sun. “Hooker?” he asked again.

  Hooker shoved his head back out the side window. “Yeah. I need to talk to you.”

  “Hey, I can explain about the boat.”

  “Just get your sorry ass over here. I have to talk to you.”

  “How’s he going to get over here?” I asked.

  “I carry a small rigid inflatable boat with an outboard motor. RIB for short. He’s probably got it in the water, tied up behind the Happy Hooker.”

  Bill disappeared, and minutes later I heard an engine kick in and Bill reappeared in the RIB. He maneuvered the inflatable to the dive platform at the back of the Sunseeker and tied up to us.

  Bill has red hair that’s cut short and is sort of Hollywood messy. He’s got a little nose and blue eyes that smile 24/7. He’s tanned and freckled. And he’s five feet ten inches of solid Scottish-Irish muscle and bullshit. He was wearing Teva sandals and baggy flowery shorts that hit just above his knees. He climbed onto the dive platform and his cheeks went red under his tan when he saw me. “What the hell?” he said.

  And I lost it. “You jerk!” I yelled at him. “You self-absorbed, inconsiderate miserable excuse for a brother. You irresponsible bag of monkey shit! How dare you make a phone call like that and then drop off the face of the earth. You scared the crap out of me. I’m going to lose my job because of you. My nose is peeling. My hair is a wreck. I’ve got seven messages from Mom on my cell phone that I’m afraid to access.”

  Bill smiled at me. “I’d almost forgotten how much fun you could be.”

  “Fun?”

  I was right up there, in his face. I was so angry the roots of my hair felt like they were on fire. I gave Bill a shot to the shoulder that knocked him off balance and pitched him into the water.

  Hooker gave a bark of laughter behind me. I whirled around and caught him with a kick to the back of the knee that doubled him over and rolled him off the edge of the dive platform, into the water with Bill.

  Both men surfaced still smiling.

  “Feel better?” Hooker asked.

  “Yes. Sorry about the kick. I got carried away.”

  He pulled himself onto the platform and peeled his shirt off. “You’re lying again. You’re not sorry about the kick.”

  “I might be a little sorry.”

  Bill followed Hooker onto the platform. “You don’t want to mess with her. She’s always been a dirty fighter. And she used to be engaged to a kickboxer.” Bill grabbed me and gave me a bear hug, leaving me almost as wet as he was. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “God, it’s good to see you.”

  Hooker raised his eyebrows at me. “Engaged?”

  “She’s been engaged three times,” Bill said. “First there was the kickboxer. Then there was the photographer. And then the bartender. Barney’s hell on men. I hope you haven’t got any ideas.”

  I gave Bill the squinty eye. “You keep talking and I’m going to knock you into the water again.”

  “What should I do about anchoring this boat?” Hooker asked Bill.

  “Who owns it?”

  “Rich Vana.”

  “Anyone know you and Barney are on it?”

  “No,” Hooker said.

  “We can probably chance dropping anchor in the cove. There’s not enough room for both of us back here.” Bill went to the helm. “Make sure the RIB is secure, and I’ll start pushing her back.”

  A half hour later we were anchored in the cove.

  “I can’t believe you found me,” Bill said. “I didn’t think I left a trail.”

  “We’re not the only ones looking for you,” I said to Bill.

  “Yeah, it was scary in the beginning, but I thought we were safe tucked away upstream. So what’s going on with you two?”

  “We’re looking for you,” I said.

  “Well, here I am. And as you can see, I’m fine. And I’ve got a girl back there. So, probably I should be getting back.”

  “Excuse me,” Hooker said. “That’s my boat you’re getting back to.”

  “I know,” B
ill said. “And I wouldn’t have borrowed it if I wasn’t really in a bind. If you could just give me a couple more days I’ll have it back, tied up in South Beach, good as new. Swear to God.”

  “I want it back now,” Hooker said.

  “I can’t give it back now. I’m involved in something here. It’s important.”

  “I’m listening,” Hooker said.

  “I can’t tell you about it.”

  “I know he’s your brother,” Hooker said to me, “but I think you should shoot him.”

  “My mother would hate that,” I told Hooker. “And the gun’s downstairs in my purse.”

  “Okay,” Hooker said. “I’ll get the gun. And I’ll shoot him. My mother won’t mind at all.”

  “Hey dog,” Bill said. “It’s just a boat.”

  “It’s a three-million-dollar boat. I had to crash into a lot of walls to pay for that boat. And I was supposed to be out fishing this week. It’s perfect weather.”

  “Maria’s going to be pissed off if I tell you.”

  “We already know some of it,” I said. “It’s about her father and her grandfather, right?”

  Bill grinned. “Actually it’s about seventeen million, three hundred thousand dollars in gold bars.”

  “That’s a lot of gold,” Hooker said.

  “A hundred bars, each weighing twenty-seven pounds.”

  “Is it on my boat?” Hooker asked.

  “We’re taking up the last load tonight.”

  “And then?”

  “I’m taking it to Naples. I rented a house in Port Royal when we stopped in the Keys. It’s on a canal. I just tie the boat up to the dock and offload the gold.”

  Hooker grinned. “You’re going in through Gordon Pass?” He turned to me. “Naples is a pretty little town on the Gulf. It’s built around canals and filled with multi-million-dollar houses. It’s the most respectable place in Florida. Not as much flash as Miami Beach or Palm Beach. Just tons of money. Very safe. And the Port Royal neighborhood is the richest. A three-million-dollar house in Port Royal is considered a teardown.”

  “What are you going to do with these gold bars?” I asked Bill.

  “I’m not doing anything with them. They belong to Maria.”

  Hooker and I exchanged glances.

  “We need to have a conversation with Maria,” Hooker said.

  The rigid inflatable was about twelve feet long with an outboard. We all piled in. Bill took the wheel and motored us upstream to Hooker’s boat. At this lower level, the tropical forest was beautiful but claustrophobic. Ground vegetation was dense and dark. The second tier was wrapped in flowering vines and occasionally dotted with roosting waterbirds. The air was liquid, soaking into my hair and shirt, sitting like dew on my forearms, trickling down the sides of my face. It was South Beach air magnified, and the cloying scent of flowers and damp earth and plant rot mixed with the brine from the sea.

  We tied up to the small dive platform at the back of Happy Hooker and climbed on board. Everything was shiny white fiberglass, which I assumed was for easy cleanup when fishing. A fighting chair was bolted to the cockpit deck. A door and large windows looked into the salon from the cockpit, but the glass was darkly tinted and it was impossible to see inside.

  Bill opened the salon door and we all trooped in. Maria stood in the middle of the salon with a gun in her hand. She was maybe five three with a lot of wavy dark brown hair that swirled around her tanned face and brushed the tops of her shoulders. Her features were delicate, her mouth naturally pouty, her eyes were the color of melted chocolate. She was slim with large breasts that swayed under her white cotton T-shirt when she moved.

  “I’m understanding everything now,” Hooker said to me.

  I gave him raised eyebrows.

  “Probably you don’t want to shoot this guy,” Bill said to Maria, “since he owns this boat.”

  “All the more reason,” Maria said.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Bill said. “But don’t shoot Barney. She’s my sister.”

  Maria went off in Spanish, waving her hands, yelling at Bill.

  I looked to Hooker.

  “She’s unhappy,” Hooker said.

  I didn’t need a translator to figure that out.

  “And she’s calling him some names I’ve only heard in Texas stockyards. She’s going so fast I can’t get it all, but there’s something about the size of his privates with the size of his brain and neither of them are looking good.” He cut his eyes to me. “Just so you know, I’ve never had any problems with size in the privates department. The size of my brain has sometimes been questionable.”

  “Gee, I’m glad you shared that with me,” I said.

  “I thought you might want to know.”

  Now Bill was shouting back at Maria. He was shouting in English, but it was hard to tell what he was saying, since the two of them were nose to nose, both yelling at the same time.

  “Hey!” Hooker said. “Chill.”

  Maria and Bill turned and looked at Hooker.

  “You’ve got bigger problems than us,” Hooker said. “You should be worrying about the guys who trashed your apartments, twice. And the guy who threatened to kill us. And probably you should be worrying about whoever it is that actually owns the gold. Not to mention the Cuban government.”

  “I own the gold,” Maria said. “It was on my grandfather’s boat.”

  “I’m guessing not everyone shares that point of view,” Hooker said.

  Bill locked eyes with Maria. “The truth is,” he said to her, “we could use some help.”

  Maria looked at Hooker and me, and then she looked back at Bill. “And you trust them?”

  “Hooker, yes. Barney, I’m not so sure of.”

  “You’d better watch your step,” I said to Bill. “You’ll be in big trouble if I tell Mom you stole a boat.”

  Bill gave me another bear hug.

  Maria put the gun on the black granite galley counter. “I guess it’s okay. You start to tell them the story.”

  “I met Maria at a club a couple weeks ago. We talked but we never got together. Then I saw her Monday night. Again, it was just hello. She left real early.”

  “I met a guy the night before,” Maria said. “I didn’t like him, and when I saw he was at the club again I decided to leave. I wasn’t in a club mood anyway. I walked home, and I was about to go into my apartment building when a man stepped out of the shadows and put a gun to my head. There were two more men waiting in a car at the curb, and they drove me to the marina. When we got to the boat I asked them what this was about and they said I was going back to Cuba. They said I was going to take a helicopter trip to Cuba. That was when I started to struggle.”

  “I decided to leave the club early too,” Bill said. “We were supposed to go back out first thing Tuesday morning, and I didn’t want to get wasted. I was in the marina lot, heading for Flex, when the car pulled in with Maria. I saw them help her out of the car and walk her down the pier. I recognized the car and the men as Salzar’s. He’s brought women on board before, so I didn’t think much about it. It wasn’t until she started struggling at the end of the pier that I realized she was being forced onto the boat. Probably I should have called the police, but all I could think of was to get her off Flex.

  “I waited for about ten minutes and then I boarded. Everything was quiet. The rest of the crew was asleep. There was a light on in the pilothouse, but that was it. I crept around, trying doors, and found her bound and gagged in one of the VIP staterooms on the second deck.”

  “Wasn’t the door locked?”

  “Yeah, but I accidentally came into possession of a master key the first week I worked on Flex. You never know when you might need a master key, right?”

  Yessir, this was my brother.

  “Anyway,” Bill said, “I cut Maria loose, and we hauled ass out of there. Maria didn’t want to call the police. She just wanted to get some stuff out of her apartment.”

  “I knew when they di
scovered I was gone they would go to my apartment and search for my charts,” Maria said. “Before this night, I didn’t realize anyone knew about me. I didn’t bother to hide my charts. I thought the shipwreck had been forgotten. Gone with my father.”

  “So you think Salzar wants either you or the charts so he can salvage the wreck?”

  “My father discovered gold when he went diving for my grandfather. He came back with my grandfather’s remains, and he told my mother. My mother told me on her deathbed. She always said to everyone that she didn’t know where my father went to dive, but she always knew. And she knew about the gold.”

  A small prop plane buzzed the treetops, and we all went still until it passed.

  “I can tell you what I think,” Maria said. “I think the gold was for Castro. My grandfather was lost at sea two days after President Kennedy put the blockade up. I think one of the big Russian ships had gold for Castro. The ship couldn’t get to port, so perhaps they sent my grandfather out to get the gold. It was always a rumor in my village. I never believed it until my mother told me.”

  “And?”

  “And something happened. My grandfather’s boat hit a reef and never arrived at Mariel. There were two men on the boat. The one man was rescued at sea in a lifeboat. He said my grandfather’s boat was damaged and taking on water, but my grandfather wouldn’t leave the boat. For years the man who survived looked for the boat, but he always looked in the shoals around Mariel. Everyone thought he was looking for my grandfather, but now I think he was looking for the gold.”

  “Oh boy,” Hooker said. “I have Castro’s gold on my boat.”

  Maria cut her eyes to him. “It’s my gold on your boat.”

  “How did your father know where to look for the shipwreck?”

  “He heard that a fisherman from Playa el Morrillo was catching fish off a wreck in this harbor. When my father heard of a wreck he would go to investigate. It didn’t matter how far.”

  Hooker went to the refrigerator and got a beer. “Anyone?” he asked.

  Bill took a beer. Maria and I declined.

  “If I brought the gold up while I lived in Cuba it would do me no good,” Maria said. “The government would come and take it. And they might throw me in prison like my father. So I came to Miami and I looked for someone to help me.”