by Don Bruns
“If my information is correct, we could have up to forty. That’s a ten-four.”
Officer Jakes turned and stared at me. “How do you know about this?”
“We stumbled onto it, officer. We just never put it together until now.”
“Step out of the car.”
We worked our way out and he walked behind us, cutting the nylon cuffs with a knife.
“I want you three to remain in the car at all times. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.” James grabbed my arm and squeezed. “Damn, Skip. You’ve got to be dead on.”
“The property is totally fenced in, so unless you want to jump the fence, the best place to observe and catch them is the beach down at the Ocean Air.”
Jakes started up the car, getting back on the mike. “All cars, park on the street in front of the vacant property next to—”
He reached over and punched in something on his mounted computer. I could see the screen as Google Earth came into view.
“—next to eighty-two-eight hundred Old Highway.”
He pulled up and parked. “Oh, and Joan, get a search warrant for that property and the adjoining properties.”
“It may take a while.”
“Wake somebody up. We need it now.”
We were looking at each other, wondering if we should have gotten involved. We’d already had our excitement for the night and now—
“You three have jumped this fence?”
“Oh, no, officer. We just were walking the beach one night and—”
“Jumping the fence, that would be trespassing.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stepped out of the car and popped the trunk. We heard it close and he walked around the side of the car and up to the heavy metal fence. In the faint streetlight we saw him with what appeared to be a big pair of metal cutters.
Working the thick, rubber-coated handles, he brought the blades together and sliced that steel like butter.
“Are they allowed to do that?” James asked.
“James,” Em gave him a puzzled look, “when did you ever worry about what you were allowed to do?”
“But he’s a cop and all.”
Within minutes he’d opened a hole wide enough to squeeze through. After putting the cutters back in the trunk, he leaned his head in the window.
“I checked that fence. There’s an opening that somebody must have cut. I’m going to walk in and have a look around. For security purposes. You three—”
“We know,” I said. “Stay in the car.”
He worked his way through the narrow hole, fighting the trees and brush, and was lost from sight.
“I’m not staying in the car.”
“No door handles.” I had just realized.
James climbed over the driver’s seat and opened Jakes’s door. We followed.
“Now what?”
“Our usual spot?”
We walked over to the south side, kneeling down and looking through the opening in the foliage. There was Jakes, walking down by the boat dock and, almost immediately, I spotted a light just off to the east. It appeared that the boat would make an appearance this morning.
“He’s going to be right in their headlight.” Em pointed.
“Don’t worry. He seems to be pretty sharp.”
“How sharp can he be, amigo? He listened to you.”
We heard the other cars pull up, the soft purr of the engines and the silence when they turned them off.
The boat was closer and now there was no sign of Officer Jakes. He’d disappeared. The west gate opened and we could hear the two dogs, their high-pitched whining now etched in my mind.
“Watch the gate by Ocean Air.”
The north gate opened and I could make out the Indian doctor as he strode through. Nodding at the man who held the dogs on a leash, he moved down to the dock. The throbbing engine sound became louder and louder as the watercraft approached.
There was a gentle thump as the fiberglass boat bumped the wooden dock and then they were tossing ropes and tying up the vessel.
As before, the passengers paraded off the deck, onto the dock and dry land. The dogs sat on their haunches, whimpering, waiting to attack someone. Anyone.
Malhotra was pointing the way to the north gate, and that’s when the lights came on.
A sudden burst of spotlights, some were from the squad cars on Old Highway, some were beams from heavy-duty Maglites carried by the officers. The field lit up like a firecracker and for a brief instant everyone seemed to freeze.
“¡Vámonos!” Somebody was shouting, and the Cubans started running. Some for the gate as two officers ran in, guns drawn.
There was mad scramble as the immigrants looked for an escape, and within seconds saw their only hope was to find another gate or vault the fence. Suitcases were dropped and bags were thrown at deputies as the boat passengers darted this way and that.
The dogs were yipping, growling, and roaring as if someone had let them off the leash and they had free will to maul whomever they wanted. Just as suddenly as they unleashed their fury, they were silent.
“Tranquilizer gun. Jakes called in that there were dogs. I’d bet on it,” James said.
Two bodies dropped from the fence five feet from us and took off running. We backed off, crossing the street in front of the block houses.
Three more immigrants hit the sidewalk, picked themselves up, and jogged toward the highway, having no idea where they were going.
“Damn. This is a circus.” James watched the action passing us by.
“We started it.”
We could hear commands from inside the fence. “Alto. Policia.”
It seemed to have little effect. The scramble continued, and we could see shadows of people running up the street just yards away from us.
We eased along the sidewalk, back toward the police cars.
“Want to get back in?” Em asked. “It seems like the safest place to be.”
“You know, our truck is just a couple of blocks away.” James looked at me. “You got the extra key?”
I did.
“Let’s go. I think these guys have their hands full.”
“Thanks to you.” The voice was cold, chilling.
He stepped out from the shadows, a pistol held firmly in his hand.
“Should have gotten rid of all three of you when we had the chance.”
Dr. James O’Neill stood there, staring at us.
“I think maybe we should just walk back to my office and think things through.” He wrapped his free arm around Em’s throat and shoved the gun in her ribs. “I would hate to see this young woman get hurt.”
We didn’t argue and followed him to the office. The craziness behind us didn’t seem to subside at all.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
We sat in an examination room, Em on a table, James and I on chairs. The doctor stood in the doorway, the gun hanging by his side.
“The last time we met, I think you got the better of me.” He smiled. “Didn’t happen this time, did it?”
“The last time we met, we didn’t know what a sleaze you were.” James had obviously had enough of being pushed around tonight.
“I’m a businessman. An entrepreneur. And, might I add, a very successful one.” His cell phone chirped and he answered.
“Praveen, I’ve got the three kids who are responsible. Where are you?”
He listened, nodded, then hung up.
“My friend is dodging some of the problems you caused, but he’ll be here shortly.”
That didn’t sound promising. We’d blown their smuggling scheme and now they were going to decide our fate.
“You’re bringing in Cubans using the same route that the pineapple shippers did back in the thirties.” Em was still working through it.
“It’s worked up till now.”
“Why? Humanitarianism? What’s in it for you?”
O’Neill looked at him and smiled. “Are you kidding? You dumb, stup
id child. These aren’t indigent people from Cuba who are ready to beg on the streets of Miami. They’re sponsored by wealthy families that live here. Families that are willing to pay for each of them.”
“So you’re making some pretty good money off this venture?” Even when we were in trouble, James was looking for the next business venture.
With a smug look on his face, he turned to James. “Oh, you could say that. Ten thousand a head.”
“What?”
“We’re averaging about three hundred thousand per boatload. We pick them up from a Cuban boat about halfway, time it so that we’re part of a nighttime fishing tournament, and put them up at the Ocean Air. Then we bus, truck, or car them up to Miami. But you already figured that out, didn’t you?”
“Ten thousand dollars a head?” James hadn’t heard anything else.
“Until you showed up. Now, the whole business is busted.”
Swinging the pistol back and forth he leaned against the door frame. “Who are you anyway? Why did you decide to mess with us?”
“Honestly, this had nothing to do with you. We’re here looking for gold that was buried back in nineteen thirty-five.”
He looked confused. “Then why did you—”
“Some of the information we needed happened to be buried on the vacant lot. And while we were retrieving it, your boat showed up.”
“Bad luck, that.”
“Maybe for all of us.”
He nodded. “For you, for sure.”
The outside door opened, closed and everything was silent.
“Hello, my friend.” Malhotra walked up behind O’Neill.
“I assume the Cubans have scattered?”
“Some. I would estimate the cops rounded up fifteen or so.”
“These three, they’ve pretty much destroyed any chance of our starting over.”
“Thank you, kids. Because of you, we’ve got to get out of Dodge.”
Malhotra walked over to me and swung hard, the back of his hand hitting my chin as my chair tipped over and I landed with a thud on the floor. Walking to James, he smiled.
“You’re probably the brains behind everything, am I right? You look like a bright fellow.” He stroked his short gray beard and studied James for a moment. “Ah, no matter.” He backhanded him even harder than he’d hit me, rocking James back against the wall.
“You, missy, we’ll have a special place for you when we get to Miami.”
“We’re going to Miami?” I asked from the floor.
“In your truck, my friend.” The truck we’d left at the post office with the keys still in it. “And guess who gets to ride in the back?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
The truck rumbled and the ride was rough. All three of us were quiet, not sure if the two doctors could hear us in the cab. They’d left their fancy sports cars back at their office. They’d left everything, including our cell phones. Bits and pieces of conversation led us to believe that they had offshore accounts they could access, but it appeared to me that their days of living large in Islamorada were over. Their livelihood of smuggling for a living was over. Their lives as they knew them were over. I assumed they’d have to leave the country.
“Skip,” Em whispered loudly, over the roar of the road beneath us. “I’ve still got my purse.”
“Nail file isn’t going to get us out of this jam, Emily,” James said.
“No file, James. I’ve got the gun.”
I’d forgotten all about that.
“I could shoot through the wall. We’d either hit one of them or give them a huge scare.”
“I don’t think we want to kill anyone.”
“Pard, don’t you think they plan on killing us?”
He was probably right.
“Let’s think it through. We haven’t been gone that long. Maybe ten minutes. Don’t you think the cops are looking for us by now? Or the truck? Or Malhotra and O’Neill?” I was trying to be positive.
“I think the authorities have got their hands full trying to track down all the runaway Cubans.” We knew it was utter chaos back there.
“We get much farther up the road, our lives aren’t worth squat, Skip. They can pull over at any of those scenic views at this time of the morning, shoot us point blank, then toss our bodies into the ocean. Before anyone finds our remains we’ll have been shark bait.”
“Pray for a miracle, boys.”
With that, the truck jolted to a stop. There was a loud grinding sound, a screeching noise, and we could smell smoke.
“What the hell. Did he burn the brakes?” Even in the pitch-black I knew James was on his feet pacing.
“Em’s prayer was just answered, James.”
There was a long moment of silence. Grumbling from the cab, both doors slamming and then we could hear them opening the back of our truck. Early morning light crept into our black cavern and there stood the two smugglers below us, frowns on their faces.
“What the hell caused this truck to stop?”
They were looking up at James and me. Em was farther back.
“Well?”
“Oh, shit.” James looked at me. “We can say goodbye to the engine. No oil. It bound up.”
I motioned to James. Looking down we saw no gun in O’Neill’s hand.
I leaped headfirst into James O’Neill, driving him to the ground and heard my partner hit Praveen Malhotra as he jumped on him.
I’m not a fighter, but during the last several days I’d punched a couple of people and come out on top. Straddling O’Neill, I hit him with a left, then a right, and he was out cold. At this point, I was with Em. I could have killed him and it wouldn’t have bothered me.
James was struggling with the wiry Malhotra, and the Indian doctor was about to get the upper hand. He rolled James, coming out on top with his hands around my best friend’s throat. I struggled to my feet, grabbed the guy by the neck of his Henley shirt, and hit him once on his chin. His eyes rolled back and he slumped back to the ground. Paybacks were hell.
“So you didn’t need me at all.”
Em stood on the edge of the truck bed, her gun by her side.
“I was hoping I could save you both. Then you’d owe me.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
We met in Mary Trueblood’s suite at one o’clock in the afternoon. I’d never seen her this angry.
“You didn’t have the courtesy to call me, not once, and let me know what was going on? I can’t believe that—”
“Mrs. Trueblood,” I tried to calm her down. “It’s not like ten things weren’t happening at the same time.”
“Damn, boy, you don’t know how worried I’ve been. I hear a gunshot on the phone, you tell me not to worry, and I don’t hear from you until an hour ago.” She was pacing the floor, back and forth. “Damn.”
“Mary,” James said it almost seductively, “we’re sorry. We haven’t had any sleep.”
“I didn’t get any either. Worried about you two and—”
“We’re fine.”
“And Em.”
Worried about her forty-four mill.
“So there is no gold?”
“We don’t know that.” I took the lead. “We opened two cases and there are three more to go. We’ll open those, but it’s pretty clear that they will contain rocks and rusty iron. Plus, if you want to dig up the others, be our guest. It is our assumption that they are all filled with ballast. This friend of Bernie Blattner’s, Jackie Logan—the one who bought a plantation in South America—we’re pretty sure he went back to where he buried the boxes and stole that gold seventy-five years ago. We believe it is all gone, and we don’t want to risk lifting the remaining crates at Cheeca Lodge.”
“So you will go no further with this investigation?”
“There is nowhere else to go.”
She let out a long sigh, eased herself down on the edge of her bed, and buried her head in her hands.
Finally she looked up.
“The sheriff’s office is done
interrogating you?”
I laughed. “We’re ‘on call.’”
“For the moment,” Em said, “they are done with their interrogation.”
“We were so close.”
No one said anything. A minute went by. Another minute. I heard kids down at the pool, laughing, screaming, splashing. Bobbie was probably at the bar, chatting up some couple from North Dakota, talking about how cold it was back home.
“We were,” James said, “so damned close.”
“I think you boys, and you, Em, I think you did a fine job.”
“Thank you.”
“And no one except Maria Sanko knows anything about the gold?”
“What the sheriff’s department knows is that Stiffle was killed by his twin brother because of a feud. No one is quite sure why it happened in our room.”
She let out a long sigh. “It’s not funny, but it is.”
“They do know that Markim tried to kill me in my room with a handgun. He apparently thought that I knew about Weezle killing Stiffle.”
“It just gets stranger, doesn’t it?” Mrs. T. kept shaking her head.
“What sheriff’s department knows,” I continued, “is that O’Neill and Malhotra were smuggling in Cubans with wealthy relatives and being paid a boatload of money in the process. And that wasn’t even on our schedule of events.”
“What they know is that James and I duct taped the PI dudes when they tried to kill us.”
“Weezle and Markim,” she said. “Those two know all about the gold.”
“And those two are going to keep their mouths shut.” I’d thought it through.
“Because no one is certain that there isn’t gold in the other eight boxes.” When they finally talk their way out of the trouble they’re in, if they ever do, they want to be able to come back here and dig up the remaining five crates.”
“There’s no gold left, is there?”
“No.” James and Em said it together.
“And we finally made it clear to the authorities that it was purely by accident that we stumbled on Malhotra and O’Neill’s smuggling operation.”
It was all out in the open. Some of it distorted, massaged, and spun like fine silk, but there was a grain of truth in everything we told the cops. It’s just that we never mentioned the gold. If Mrs. T. wanted to keep looking for her treasure, more power to her. We’d pretty much made up our minds that there was no future in our search for Kriegel’s gold.
