“Those may be your tasks from God,” he continued. “They sometimes don’t make a lot of sense to us, but they always require you to take a leap of faith. Take this new life I’ve given you. You have to take a leap of faith if you’re going to make it. I’ve done all I can. I’ve given you money; I’ve eliminated the past; and I’ve opened the door to a whole new future. God used me to help you, while at the same time, calling a couple of wayward children home for punishment. Give yourself a day or two before you decide what exactly you need to do, but it’ll come to you. Trust me. Have I ever let you down?” Bill grinned that wicked grin while eyeing me sideways. He was right. He’d never let me down, but the guy still gave me the creeps.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
We dropped off his airboat at a small warehouse in North Miami, which he explained was his storage unit. The place, a solid concrete building without windows, held the airboat, two motorcycles, a Porsche, a white panel van, a small box van, another pickup truck with Alabama plates, several large crates (that I didn’t ask what they held), three older Chevy Impalas, all needing paint and minor body work, and a Ford Crown Vic that had clearly once been a police car. I stood staring at the vehicles, wondering what he needed them for, when he nudged my shoulder and told me to follow him.
We went to the very back of the place and out a metal entry door. We stepped onto a dock, and tied to the dock were two power boats. One was a Cigarette boat, the kind used for racing, with a beautifully rich, royal blue and fire engine red paint job. The other was a smaller tri hull with a cabin and fishing riggers attached to the gunnels.
“I don’t drive the big one much. It guzzles the gas like we drink free beer, plus the fact that if you just sit idling, it’s bad for the engines. You got to take that bad boy out on the ocean and let it rip. The problem I have with it is the Coast Guard is always making me stop so they can check me over because the Cigarette boat is the hands down favorite boat of the drug runners. Lots of power and lots of speed. It’s a real turn on standing behind the wheel and feeling the power flow through you as you’re flying over the waves.”
“I’ve never been on a boat like that. It would probably kill me with my health issues and all that bouncing around on the waves. The other one is closer to my speed now, but even that may be too much bouncing.” I mentioned my health issues in case he had thought I would take a ride with him. “I need to have things nice and smooth.”
“Then we’ll stick to the four wheel type of transportation,” he quickly replied without a hint of animosity. “Come on. I’ve got one more thing to show you here, and then we’ll head down to the condo I got for you,” he stated as he headed back through the door of the warehouse. Wait. A condo?
Back inside, he turned left and walked over to a large bank vault, which stood alone off to the side.
“Cool!” I said as we walked over to it. “Keep your cash in there?”
“No, this is even better than cash,” he quipped as the door slowly opened, even though he hadn’t touched it.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “How’d you…?”
Bill cut my question off before I could finish it. “It’s got a bio-metric lock system that senses when I am approaching and automatically opens,” he said as he pulled on the large door revealing a weapons locker. “I’ve got all kinds of toys in here, and as I get to know you better, you’ll have access, too. There is no way of telling what God wants you to do, and you may need these toys to do it,” he stated, slamming the door before I got a really good look. All I saw was a lot of guns. All kinds of guns from handguns to what looked like assault rifles.
“So, all you have to do is walk up and the door opens?” I asked stupidly.
“Yeah, well, sort of. I have to be calm and collected. If I’m nervous, it won’t open, and I have to use the combination. It’s touchy that way. It’s designed to keep someone from walking me up close to it and opening it against my will. You know, like the cops, DEA, FBI, drug dealers, gang bangers, kidnappers or just anyone who might be using me to get inside. But the best defense against anyone finding this stash is keeping it a secret. There are booby traps here that will kill you, so don’t go getting any ideas that you could just take over ’cause you would be dead before sundown,” Bill answered in an eerie, detached sort of way. Just when I thought I might relax, he went and creeped me out again.
“I’ll keep that in mind. So is this what you call home?” I asked yet another stupid question.
“Jake, does this look like a home to you? Hell, no. This ain’t my home. I just gave you two million dollars, and you think I would live in this shithole? You ain’t got any sense, boy,” Bill teased with a wicked grin.
“I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe you slept on your boat or something. You did say you traveled a lot,” I stammered.
“After we visit the new condo, we’ll get something to eat, and then we’ll go by my place and check it out.”
The condo he had rented for me overlooked the Intercoastal and the Normandy Shores Golf and Country Club. The place just smelled of old money and old people.
“Now, this isn’t the most happening place in town anymore, but back in the fifties, this was the hottest area in Miami. Then, in the seventies, it started getting redeveloped, and that’s when the high-rises popped up. The one we’re going to is one my parents owned. Dad built it from scratch. It may sound strange, but he never went inside the building. He had people to do the actual viewings and inspections for him. Didn’t seem to matter what time of day it was, you’d find him either in his den at home or at the club using one of his offices there to meet with people. He was the financial backer for many of the high-rises you see when you look at Miami from the ocean.
“He had a knack for picking the perfect site on which to build. He’d look at a map to see the areas the developers were eyeing. He would then do his due diligence by having attorneys research the property records and the background of the guy making the pitch. Then he would either put his money in or not. If he did, he picked the architect, the building style, the construction company and the accounting firm. He would have his people oversee the construction, take pictures all the way along and then take pictures when they were done. Yeah, my dad was someone with real money and real power. He had people watching his people making sure no one stole from him. When I was twelve, I snuck through the gardens and listened at my father’s office window. He was having a meeting with some guy who he was working with. He told the guy he was to eliminate his business partner because he was stealing from my father.” Like father like son, I thought, and my face must have shown it because he added, “Honest to God.” Bill looked at me and grinned, which left me wondering if I should believe him or not.
“My dad actually said, ‘Take the asshole out and feed him to the gators. That son of a bitch stole from me.’” Bill rattled off the words.
“You remember the exact words after all these years?” I asked, thinking this guy was full of crap.
“Shit, yeah. It’s not every day that you hear your old man tell some guy to go kill another guy. I mean, the whole picture of who my father was changed that day. I had thought, I guess, that he was like any other businessman, although as a kid I had no idea what he actually did for a living—just that he was a businessman. Then you hear something like that, and it starts you wondering what he really did for a living and if he would have you killed if he thought you were a problem.” That ended the conversation temporarily until we drove into the parking lot, and he pulled right up to a space by the door of the high-rise and parked. He then looked at me and continued with his thoughts about his father.
“It wasn’t until he died that I found out that he was officially an international currency dealer and financier. He had buildings all over the world. When he and my mother passed away back in the eighties, since I was their only child, it all came to me. They had a car accident on I-95. They were headed to West Palm for some fancy dinner gala when a semi jackknifed and crushed their car. Even the chau
ffeur was killed.” Bill stopped talking for a moment and got that faraway look in his eyes. For a moment, I thought he was blinking back tears.
“Anyway, the attorney who handled the estate told me about my father and his business. My father wasn’t a mobster, but he was as close to one as one could get without joining the family. He did business with them but only from a distance, never face-to-face. He worked with third world dictators, actors, politicians, and other developers. He started out in New York as a stockbroker and got rich buying stocks for other people. That was when money was never talked about by the people who earned it. They had all the million dollar bonus deals like you hear about on television today back then, too; it just wasn’t shared with the public.
“My father took his million dollar bonuses and invested in currency and some very risky foreign investments that paid off. Trading currency in the fifties and sixties was like playing craps. One roll of the dice and you were either rich or busted. My father never lost. The attorney speculated that my father had found a way to get inside information on what the Fed was going to do here in the States and in Europe, so he could time his currency trades for the most profit. He also speculated that my father, after acquiring a portion of his fortune, built his own private army to protect his money and his family. That was probably right on because we always had a dozen or so men wandering around the estate with guns under their sport coats.
“I remember once, when I was maybe seven, some guy was caught on our property, and the guys with guns dragged the guy into our garage where I heard a lot of screaming. I don’t know what happened to the guy. I was made to leave the area and go play with the nanny.”
“You had a nanny?” I asked.
“Yeah. Mother didn’t get up until after noon most days, and she would then go get her hair done or lie around the pool. She wasn’t what you would call ‘motherly.’ She was, however, a very attractive woman. I’ll show you a picture when I take you to my place later. Why don’t we go inside and I’ll show you around the place?” Bill stated as he climbed out of the car.
“So, how expensive is this place?” I asked like a moron again as we boarded the elevator.
“Jake, forget about the money. You have plenty, and this place is free. I own the building. These stupid sons of bitches pay a monthly condo fee of twelve hundred and fifty bucks of which six hundred comes to me for management fees. There are two hundred condos here in addition to the one I own, which is the penthouse by the way. So that means this place alone makes me one hundred and twenty grand every month. That’s how the rich people get rich and stay rich!”
“So, how many buildings do you own?” I inquired because I wanted to try and gauge just how rich Bill the Psycho actually was.
“Here in Miami, in the States, or worldwide?” Bill asked. Apparently, I hadn’t been specific enough.
“Let’s say the world.”
“Worldwide, my holding company has ten luxury condo buildings and maybe two hundred apartment complexes, with anywhere from a few dozen apartments to a hundred per complex,” Bill stated as he pressed the button for the elevator. “This has a special code you’ll need to punch in if you want to access the penthouse,” Bill mentioned as he punched the code into the panel next to the elevator button.
“I’ll probably need to write it down,” I replied.
“I wrote it down upstairs. So, does that quench your curiosity about where my money came from?” Bill stated with a snarl as the elevator arrived and the doors opened.
“I…yeah. Sure,” I mumbled as we stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed.
“Look, I’m not used to anyone asking questions of me,” Bill managed to offer as an apology without the edge in his voice. “I like to keep my life private for the most part, but I’ll be nice and give you complete answers to a couple more of your questions. My parents left me almost forty million dollars in cash; plus the buildings; plus the family estate, which I sold for ten million; plus several homes around the world, none of which I had ever seen, so I sold them all for a few dozen million; my mother’s jewelry, which I sold for close to ten million; and a monthly income of over three million, which is about thirty-six million a year. The grand total is closing in on a billion dollars.”
“Damn, that’s a lot of money,” I stammered. “Can you help me set up something so I can keep the money you gave me, making more money?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Bill quietly replied as the door to the elevator opened onto a small landing with double doors on the other side. The door to the condo was another key coded lock, and Bill said the code was inside with the other one. I wasn’t sure what to expect as I waited for Bill to get the door open, but when he finally flung the double doors open, I was totally blown away.
“Holy shit! You can see downtown Miami from here!” I blurted out.
“Yeah, this view is spectacular. You should see it when the Monday night football game is going on. The buildings downtown are all lit up. I guess they do it for Christmas and New Year’s, too. I tell you, many a woman just melted at the view and would have done anything I asked,” Bill gleefully shared.
“I don’t know that I’ll get too many women up here. But if this is where you want me to stay, I’ll be glad to,” I blubbered like some idiot trying to make him offer me the chance to stay here.
“Jake, I told you this is where you’ll stay. It costs me nothing. All the utilities are tied into the building, and when I’m going to use it, I just call the corner market and have stuff delivered to the landing. You can do the same thing. The number is on counter over there. Come on, let me show you the master bedroom,” Bill stated off-handedly as he started down a long hallway toward the back of the condo.
“The master suite is facing the ocean, and man, the sunrises are incredible. On most nights, you can see freighters and ocean liners cruising by out on the ocean, and when the thunderstorms roll in, oh, my God! The lightning show is unbelievable. Making love with the lightning flashing and thunder rumbling is one of the best ways to enjoy it. But when you can turn the bed around and watch the lighting while making your own thunder, it’s even better.” Bill was practically drooling just thinking about the view.
“Does the place have curtains?” I asked. Bill gave me a look that was pure disdain, so I explained quickly. “You know, who wants to get up at five a.m. every day?”
“Oh, okay,” Bill mumbled as he walked over to the bed and pressed a button on what looked like a TV remote. The curtains began to lower from the ceiling.
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah, it was one of my mother’s touches. My father always had her give the interior design the woman’s touch for all of his units. This controller controls the curtains,” Bill pressed the button and the curtain began to rise again, “the lights and the bed rotation.” Bill pressed the buttons to show how it worked.
“Where’s the TV? Is there a TV?” I asked and immediately felt like an idiot again.
“TV? You want TV?” Bill replied in a strange squeaky voice as he pulled the nightstand drawer open and pulled out another remote. “Here’s your TV,” he squeaked again, and I heard a motor whine, but as I looked around I saw nothing.
Bill chuckled and then in that creepy, squeaky voice again said, “Look up. Look up!” So I did. The TV was coming out of the ceiling. It was recessed into the ceiling and it swung down at a press of a button.
“You’ve got all of the cable channels that you can get including all of the pay per view. HBO, Stars, Showtime, Cinemax, porn, sports, and all the local channels as well. The master bath is through there.” Bill pointed toward the door off to the left as he stared at something on the TV.
The master bath left me breathless. There was a sunken tub into which you stepped down using three steps inside the tub. Tub—yeah, it was more like a swimming pool. It had to be ten feet wide and twenty feet long. I noticed the controls for the tub on top of the little half wall to the right of it, which meant it was a spa tub. No
w, that would be nice on my back, I thought.
The shower was easily a four person sized enclosure. It had two small benches and two stations with water jets that blasted you from almost every angle. It was like the shower in the Jetson’s cartoon. All that was missing was the conveyor belt to move you along. There was a heat lamp and blow dryer in the ceiling, which scared the crap out of me when I first discovered the switch for it and flipped it on. I wasn’t expecting a sudden blast of warm air. The jets were mounted in the floor and the ceiling just outside the shower enclosure. I thought, Hell, if this was how the other half really lives, then I am the luckiest man to walk the planet.
I suddenly had a profound appreciation for Bill. I had been completely and totally unhappy, considering suicide; but now? Now I was living the dream of every middle class American, maybe everyone on the planet. Bill had given me a new lease on life by removing the old ball and chain. Then he took it a bit further. He replaced the old worn out me with a whole new person and whole new life. I was no longer Clint, I was Jake. I’d gone from being so far in debt that the word ‘up’ wasn’t even in my dictionary, to having no debt, great credit and two million dollars in cash. And now this. Damn, my luck had finally changed.
Then my pea brain reminded me how all of this had come about. Shit. Lucky, my ass! I’d been kidnapped by a mentally deranged serial killer. This guy was certifiably nuts, totally nuts. He’s on a mission from God, remember? How did I ever get myself into this mess? If I didn’t play it cool, this guy would kill me in a heartbeat. He had all the weapons. I was in a strange town with no car, and I was wanted for questioning in regards to my wife’s and her lover’s murders. Yeah, I’m so lucky.
While I was checking out the bathroom, Bill had stopped to watch the news. The story they were running just as he turned it on was about my wife and her asshole lover. The reporter explained how they had no leads as of yet, but that the husband was wanted for questioning. They showed my driver’s license photo, which had me wearing a moustache. They did the whole talk with the neighbors and heard how the people next door were nice enough, but they knew something wasn’t quite right. The husband was such a loner, and he had shifty eyes.
Apollo Road Page 8
