LIBERTY CITY
BELIZE
WELCOME TO BELIZE the sign said spelling out the country’s name in blue, red, yellow and green block letters.
After a four hour and twenty-minute flight, The Magnificent Seven got off the plane and tagged up outside the Custom’s gate at Philip S. W. Goldson International Airport where the official seemed less interested in their lack of visas (“They are not required here, sir.”) than their lack of the required 72 hour old PCR tests for COVID 19. Wolf had noticed another American on the flight from Phoenix, a tall, slender guy with a COVID mask pulled over a big, hooked nose. The man had a strange familiarity about him, as if Wolf had seen him before, but the ubiquitous fatigue prevented him from remembering where. But as tired and anxious as he was, Wolf figured that everybody was looking suspicious. The tall guy had vanished shortly after they all went through customs.
The PCR testing procedures at BZE cost them fifty dollars each, with Mac slipping the agent an extra fifty from the money belt to grease the wheels. They were, quickly, ushered to the car rental place where they found the selection somewhat limited. After a twenty-minute wait, during which time the rental agent’s eyes widened when he saw McNamara pull out a stack of American greenbacks, they settled on three vehicles: an ancient, silver Toyota Camry with over 150,000 kilometers, an equally old Jeep Wrangler with no doors and a patched canvas top, and a tan Subaru Forester with an odometer showing 69,000 kilometers. Big Joe Barnes looked rather cramped as he tried to sandwich himself into the Camry, trying it out, and then opted for the open Jeep.
“At least it ain’t an old Willie’s,” McNamara said.
Again, Wolf was glad to see the flash of humor in his friend and mentor.
Each vehicle had a GPS which the car rental agent said would guide them on the safest routes.
“You are going to Belize City?” he asked, his English tinctured with British sounding pronunciations. “I would advise you to stay away from the southern part of the city. It is a bit dangerous, especially at night.”
“I’ve been to George Street before,” Dirk said.
The rental agent’s eyebrows rose like twin caterpillars.
That sounds like the place we’ll have to go next, Wolf thought. After we get checked in to the hotel.
Another twenty-minute drive on a decent two-lane highway took them to a massive white and tan brick hotel located on the edge of the coast. As they turned into the drive that led to the check-in area under an overlapping canopy, Wolf turned and looked at the pristine green water that changed to a darker shade of blue a hundred yards farther out. The check-in procedures went smoothly and once they were situated in two sets of adjoining rooms in the hotel, Wolf said he was leaving the bandito with McNamara while he and Dirk went cruising for weapons.
“Like hell,” McNamara said. “I should be going with you.”
Wolf put his hand on Mac’s shoulder. “Look, I thought we agreed before that I was in charge of this one?”
McNamara stared at him, then nodded.
“Okay, Wolf said, “one of us has to stay with the bandito at all times. To guard it. And I’ve got to get us some weapons in the mercado negro.”
“Huh?” McNamara said.
“The black market,” Brenda said. “And me and Joe will go see what we can find out from the Guatemalans this pendejo grande uses as his servants.”
“Pendejo?” Barnes asked.
“Asshole,” Brenda said. “Pendejo grande, big asshole.”
Barnes grinned. “Hey, I’m liking this little girl better and better.”
“Don’t get too attached to her,” McNamara said.
“No tenga cuidado,” Brenda said to him. “Don’t worry. Mi corazon es tuyo siempre.”
McNamara’s forehead wrinkled slightly. “Was that good or bad?”
“She said her heart belongs to daddy,” Dirk said. “Always.”
Barnes grinned. “No worries, Mac. My Crystal’s my one and only. And I’m surprised. There’s a lot of black people down here. I ought to fit right in.”
“Only if you start talking with an English accent,” Buck said.
“What can I do?” Reno asked.
Wolf turned to Buck. “You ever use Google Earth?”
Buck nodded. “Yeah.”
“Get my laptop out of my backpack and see if you can get onto the hotel’s Wi-Fi,” Wolf said. “Reno, you think you can remember where that guy’s estate is.”
Reno tilted his head. “Maybe.”
Buck clapped McNamara on the shoulder and added, “You get our knives out of the luggage, brother while I run down to the bar and get us some cold ones. Then we’ll do some net surfing. Plus, we’ll have three bottles to use as weapons until Steve and Dirk get back with the goodies.”
“Speaking of which,” Wolf said. “We’re going to need some money.”
“Us too,” Brenda said.
McNamara nodded and pulled out a wad of bills from the money belt. He shoved them into Wolf’s hand and then gave some more to Brenda.
“Just don’t spend it all in one place,” he said with a half-grin. “Or buy any of them expensive zapatos.”
“The only thing I want to buy is information.” Brenda smiled. “I’m glad you remember some of those Spanish words I taught you.”
“I’ll be needing a review soon enough,” McNamara said.
More good signs from Mac, Wolf thought.
The weight of his daughter’s abduction was obviously bearing down on him like a two-ton millstone around his neck. Any bit of levity was welcome, especially with their limited options.
It was time to be proactive, but they had to play it smart.
He slapped Dirk on the shoulder and said, “You ready, partner?”
GEORGE STREET
BELIZE CITY, BELIZE
Wolf let Dirk drive since he had a familiarity with the place. Occasional three- or four-story buildings were interspersed among rows of ragtag houses with fences made of everything from peeling white pickets to sheets of ribbed aluminum. Many of the houses were in dilapidated condition, with patches of bare wood badly in need of a coat of paint sticking out like gray scabs on an expanse of leg. Many of the shops displayed signs, some hand-painted, advertising everything from Fashionable Clothes to Coca-Cola. The Coke signs were the traditional metal signs displaying the soft drink company’s antiquated emblem. Everything was in English, which seemed strange for Central America. The streets were narrow and there were a lot of people walking. Dirk used the horn frequently and drove aggressively, expecting people to get out of the way. It reminded Wolf of the driving habits of some of the GI’s overseas, but since the neighborhood seemed to be getting seedier, he figured that displaying bravado wasn’t a bad idea.
They passed a big fish market and drove over what appeared to be a canal. Dirk turned left and proceeded on the street that ran parallel to the water. The smell was noticeable. They seemed to be going south now and they turned left onto a street called Dean.
“This used to be the capital,” Dirk said. “The south end of the city, where we’re heading, is a real shithole. Lots of gangs.”
They cruised past a police station.
“Looks like the cops are close,” Wolf said.
Dirk snorted a laugh. “Yeah. All uniforms and bluster, but scared shitless. Most of them don’t even carry guns.”
Wolf figured that might be due to the British influence.
“But the gangs do?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Dirk laid on the horn again causing an elderly black man to jump from the street to the sidewalk.
“No matter where you are,” he said. “Those black fuckers love to walk in the fucking street.”
Wolf said nothing, thinking about his own upbringing on the Rez. A lot of Indians not only walked in the street, some even fell down drunk there as well. Poverty and alcohol abuse never went well with rule-followers and caution.
Dirk hung a quick right and Wolf saw that they were now on George Street.
&n
bsp; “Here we are,” Dirk said. “It’ll be getting dark soon and the scum likes to come out when the sun goes down. Let’s find a place we can park and see if we can make some connections.”
“Sounds good,” Wolf said.
Dirk pulled into a vacant space and they both got out. The sidewalks here were made of inlaid bricks, some of which had been chipped or broken and not replaced.
They were both dressed in black cargo pants, loose-fitting BDU blouses, and running shoes. Wolf noticed that Dirk had shoved a butterfly knife into his bottom left blouse pocket before they left the hotel.
“You a southpaw?” he asked.
Dirk shook his head. “No, why?”
“I saw you put that knife into your left pocket.”
Dirk’s face twitched slightly with something resembling a half-smile.
“I’m ambidextrous,” he said. “Good with either one.” He held up his extended right hand, which looked as big as a brick. “I keep them both conditioned, but I use my right one for breaking.”
Wolf had never gone in much for the karate hand-conditioning routines, like striking a makawari board a thousand times or plunging your finger into a basket of pebbles. The knuckles of his own hands were somewhat prominent and toughened, however, due to his work on the punching bags.
Down the block, a trio of young black guys, each wearing sunglasses and sporting unkempt Afros, leaned against a building. The sweet odor of marijuana drifted in the air from their hand-rolled cigarettes. A crude, hand-painted sign jutted out perpendicularly from the wall above them advertising Joshua’s Emporium.
“Looks like a good a place as any to start,” Dirk said.
“Judging from the clientele in front,” Wolf said.
He felt the jolt of the hyper-alertness of adrenaline course through him.
“Let me take the lead on this,” Dirk said. “I’ve dealt with punks down here before.”
Wolf wasn’t too keen about that idea but said, “Go ahead.” It would also give him a chance to do some observation of Dirk.
The three youths eyed them as they walked up.
“Hey, mon,” one of them said. “You looking to score?”
Dirk looked him up and down and smirked.
“Maybe,” he said. “Depends on what you’re offering.”
The guy’s lips pulled back into a grin that displayed a black lattice-work of decay curling over his remaining teeth.
“You Americans?” he asked, then turned and said something Wolf assumed was Kriol slang to his two partners.
American tourists, Wolf thought. Easy marks and lots of money. He was glad he’d brought his own Coast TX395 knife. He could flip it open using the thumb peg as he withdrew it and it looked as intimidating as all hell, but he wondered if these guys were armed.
It was never a good idea to bring a knife to a gunfight.
The young black guy turned back, his lips still framing his decrepit tusks.
“We got some dynamite Columbian for you mon. Really sweet.” The tip of his pink tongue rolled over his thick lips. “I can get you anything you want.”
“We’re looking for something special,” Dirk said. He paused and looked the three youths up and down. “Somehow I don’t think you guys fill the bill.”
The one who’d been talking pursed his lips then turned to his two partners.
“You hear dat?” he said in a loud voice. “We don’t fill da bill. And all dis from a fucker with one blue eye and the other one brown.”
The three of them started to laugh in high-pitched giggles.
Wolf and Dirk walked past them, with Wolf maintaining his usual readiness in case one of them made a move. Joshua’s Emporium turned out to be a three-sided room with the fourth wall pretty much missing so that the maze of tables and chairs looked out on the adjacent street. Dirk cocked his head toward the inside and Wolf followed him in. The skinny guy who’d been vocalizing trailed behind them. The place was sparsely occupied and there was a big black man behind the bar. He grinned, his curly mustache framing his mouth, and waved his arms at an empty table. Despite the absence of a bordering outside wall, the place was still redolent of all types of booze.
“Sit anywhere you like, gentlemen.” He turned and muttered something to a mahogany-colored woman in cut-off blue jeans and a white T-shirt tied under her heavy breasts, leaving her midriff bare. Wolf took notice that the abdomen had some stretch marks and loose skin, but her face was very pretty. So was her smile.
“What can I get you, guys?” she asked, stopping by the table and tilting her pelvis just enough to signal that she might also be on the menu.
They ordered two beers, “In the bottle,” Dirk added.
The skinny guy pulled out a chair and sat at their table.
“I don’t remember inviting you to sit down,” Dirk said.
The skinny guy smiled, showing his bad teeth again.
“Come on, mon,” he said. “You say you’re looking to do business, and I’m de mon ’round here.”
Dirk gave him a long stare, then snorted. “Yeah, right.”
The skinny guy looked unperturbed. “Maybe you buy me a drink, and we can talk about what you need.”
The accents and the atmosphere was almost enough to make Wolf think he was down in Jamaica or the Bahamas or, at least, what he imagined them to be like. He’d never been to either. The girl returned and set two capped bottles in front of Wolf and Dirk. She looked expectantly at the skinny guy, but before he could speak Dirk said, “Nothing for him. He’s leaving.”
The woman smiled and nodded. Her dark eyes widened slightly when Wolf slipped her a twenty and told her to keep the change. The sway of her full hips was exaggerated even more as she walked back to the bar.
“Hey,” the skinny guy said. “How come you’re being so inhospitable? Like I told you, whatever you want, Franko can get for you.”
Dirk studied the skinny guy again, then reached out and curled his big fingers around the neck of the bottle, resting his callused thumb just under the rim of the cap. The big hand tightened and flexed and the cap popped off, landing on the table top. Franco’s eyes widened, his glib smile vanishing.
“What’s your honcho’s name?” Dirk said, his voice low and gruff.
“Honcho?”
“Your boss,” Dirk said. “You know, the head nigger around here.”
Wolf found himself recoiling internally at the mention of the N-word, but it didn’t seem to faze Franco that much. His lips closed over his teeth, then parted again with a nervous grin.
“What’s his fucking name?” Dirk said.
“Bernard, sir,” Franco said.
“And what do you fuckers call yourselves?” Dirk asked.
“We’re the George Street Hustlers.”
Wolf left his bottle capped. The last thing he needed right now was some alcohol. Dirk took a sip from his.
“Okay, George Street Hustler,” Dirk said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table. “We’re looking to buy some guns. Good stuff, not shit. You go back and tell this Bernard fella that we’re interested, and we’ll be here for another five, maybe ten minutes or so.”
Franco kept the nervous smile on his face as he stood up, muttering a series of “Yes, sirs” and he slipped away.
“Pretty neat trick with the bottle,” Wolf said. “Is that why you ordered it that way?”
Dirk drank some more and shook his head. “You never want to get anything in a glass down this way.” He held up his thumb. “I’ve been practicing that since I was ten years old. Used to know a whore that could open them with her teeth. That was down in Venezuela.”
“Never been there,” Wolf said.
“You’re lucky. Of course, they do have some of the most beautiful girls in the world. If you like Latinas.” He brought the bottle to his lips once more and drank copiously. “They all look like Miss Universe contestants.”
“So you think this Bernard can deliver?” Wolf asked.
Dirk shrugged and sai
d, “Guess we’ll find out soon enough. If he shows. If not, we go down the street to the next set of punks.”
Wolf was beginning to feel like this was not only a dangerous side venture, but a fruitless one as well.
“If he shows,” Wolf repeated.
“Hey, mon,” another voice said. “I’m right here,” Just chill, okay?”
Wolf turned and saw a tall, somewhat older, dark-skinned black man enter from the street and walk over to their table. He wore a baggy red, yellow, and green T-shirt and knee-length shorts. His hair was cut shorter than the other three and he moved with a bit of grace and deliberation.
“Sit down,” Dirk said before Wolf could say anything.
He was a bit unsettled by Dirk’s burgeoning assertiveness but decided to let it ride. The big alpha dog was champing at the bit to take over. Wolf had dealt with this type many times in the military, which was full of alpha male personalities, always wanting to show they had the biggest dick in the room. He’d remind Dirk later exactly who was in charge of this mission, but for now, he’d sit back and watch.
Dirk raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The waitress came scampering over.
“What you drinking, Bernard?”
“My usual,” he said to the waitress. She gave a fractional nod and left.
“So my boys tell me you gents are looking for some hardware,” Bernard said.
“Yeah.” Dirk said. “Know where we can find some?”
“Exactly what kind of stuff are you looking for?”
“What can you deliver?” Dirk asked.
“Whatever you want, mon. Just tell me.”
Dirk stared at him. “Maybe a rifle, a couple of good handguns.”
“No problem,” Bernard said, displaying a wide array of very white teeth as the waitress returned and set a glass filled with amber liquid and ice in front of him.
Wolf slipped her some more bills and she quickly pocketed them and left.
The three of them watched her wiggle away.
“Maybe you looking for some nice ladies, too?” Bernard said. “I can give you some fine women. Treat you like two kings.”
“We’ll get our own women,” Wolf said, insinuating himself into the conversation. “Now let’s talk time and money.”
Devil's Advocate (Trackdown Book 4) Page 25
