dog island

by Mike Stewart

  Loutie nodded. “That’s what I saw. There’s probably at least one more waiting with their car, wherever that is, but two and two is all I could see.”

  I asked, “Who are they?”

  Randy said, “No way to be sure. But probably the Cubans. They’re not doing anything. Just watching the house, and my men are watching them.”

  Loutie glanced at me and said, “Let’s go talk in the kitchen. Tom needs to eat something.”

  I said, “I’m not hungry,” and everyone walked out of the room in the direction of the kitchen and left me sitting alone. My choices seemed to be either to sit in the living room by myself or to go in the kitchen and let Loutie shove food at me.

  Randy’s takeout feast was spread out across the kitchen table in little white boxes with red pagodas printed on the sides and wire handles looped across their tops. I sat at the table, and Loutie put a clean plate in front of me.

  I said, “I don’t want anything,” and she started piling steamed rice on the plate. I said, “Damn it, Loutie, I told you I don’t want this stuff,” and she began to spoon Mongolian beef over the rice. I gave up and turned to Randy. “What have you found out about Carli? Do you think she’s still on the Gulf somewhere?”

  Randy managed to look both embarrassed and a little impotent. He said, “Loutie says we can’t talk until you eat something.”

  I exploded. “This is childish bullshit. Susan may be dead. Carli’s missing and God knows in what kind of trouble.” I turned to look at Loutie. “We do not have time for this crap.”

  Loutie said, “Then I guess you better eat something.”

  I looked at Joey with the intention of reaming him out. But he just grinned and raised his shoulders as if to say, “Whatcha gonna do?” So I picked up a fork and ate a mouthful of lukewarm beef and onions and rice. Loutie smiled and walked to the refrigerator, where she poured a glass of iced tea and put it down next to my plate.

  I said, “You going to burp me when I’m done?”

  Loutie looked unfazed. She said, “If you need it,” and sat down.

  Now that I was actually eating, I was kind of hungry. I chewed while Randy talked. “Carli went from here to a bus stop three blocks east. Around five a.m., she caught a bus to the main terminal downtown and left there for Biloxi at seven-twenty. She got off the bus in Biloxi at their main terminal and was spotted later in the day, just after lunch, hitchhiking about forty miles northeast of there on the road to Meridian.” Randy looked down at the table and flexed his jaw. He said, “That’s it. That’s all we know.”

  Joey said, “Tom. I don’t wanna sound like an insensitive prick here, but now that Purcell and Rus Poultrez are dead, how much difference does it make that we can’t find her? I mean, I know it’s bad for any fifteen-year-old to be out running around the countryside by herself, hitchhiking and all, but… Hell, you know what I mean.”

  I said, “You’re right. At least, you probably are. Some of Purcell’s boys may still be out looking for her, but I’m guessing they’re more interested in finding who killed their boss. Not to mention jockeying around to see who’s going to be the next King of the Jethros.”

  Randy said, “Don’t you think they’re gonna blame you for killing Purcell?”

  “Probably.”

  Randy was not a complex personality. He said, “What’re you gonna do?”

  I stood and raked half the food Loutie had given me into the garbage disposal and put my plate in the sink. My bottle of Dewar’s was on the counter. I found a glass, put some ice in it, and poured some whiskey over the ice. Loutie wrinkled her nose a little, but didn’t say anything. I sat down and said, “Randy. I’m going to have to think about that. But right now I’m thinking that we’re going to need almost an army to get the Bodines off our backs.”

  Randy chuckled. “We don’t exactly have an army, Tom.”

  I said, “No. But Carlos Sanchez does.”

  At 11:47 that night, the hero of New Cuba knocked on Loutie’s door. This time, Odd Job had been replaced by the UZI man who had guarded Sanchez in Captain Billy’s trophy den in Eastpoint. Now, he seemed to have lost interest in me. Joey’s fame had preceded him, and the UZI man made a point of staying close to Sanchez and watching Joey the way a rattler watches a king snake.

  I said, “I guess those are your men outside.”

  Sanchez said, “They are.”

  “Planning to hurt somebody?”

  Sanchez walked over and sat in an upholstered chair. He said, “The matter on Dog Island has been taken care of. The men are buried, and the house has been cleaned and stripped of fabrics.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done this before.” Sanchez just looked at me and waited. I said, “Thank you.”

  “You still have problems,” he said. “The Bodines do, indeed, believe you killed Purcell.”

  “They think I slaughtered him like that?”

  “The Bodines know about your brother’s criminal activities before he died. And I am told that you personally and violently drowned the person responsible for his murder.”

  I was getting angry. “It was … not how it sounds.”

  Sanchez nodded. “I am sure.”

  He was working me, probing the ragged edges of my guilt to maneuver me into doing something—much the same way I was doing my best to maneuver him by feeding him small bites of information, mixed with out-and-out lies, designed to drive a wedge between his group and the Bodines. I just didn’t know yet what he wanted me to do, and it was becoming clear that, whatever it was, he wasn’t going to just come out and tell me. I asked, “What do they want?”

  Sanchez said, “They claim to want you dead.”

  “Claim?”

  “Well, there is a man—very young, very ambitious—who is not unhappy that Purcell is out of the way. The problem is that he sees killing you as the final step in becoming the new leader of their organization. You see, he feels that avenging the death of their football-hero leader will make him something of a hero to his unwashed brethren.”

  “Then I guess I better find out who really killed him.”

  Sanchez looked off into the distance. After a time, he said, “I’m not sure that would make much difference. Your death would be symbolic. This is not a court of law. It’s not justice he wants. It is the appearance—or, I should say, the reputation, if you will, for violence and revenge that is important here.”

  “So this new wanna-be leader doesn’t really care who killed Purcell?”

  “No.”

  “He just wants to be known as the man who took out somebody for doing it?”

  “Yes.”

  I looked over at Joey and asked, “You got anything to say?” Joey had locked eyes with Sanchez’s bodyguard, and he didn’t speak. He just slowly shook his head. I looked at Sanchez. “I don’t think they like each other.”

  Sanchez smiled. “They are a different sort of man than you and I.”

  I said, “You think you and I are alike?”

  “No. Or I should say, I do not know you well enough to have formed an opinion.” He motioned to Joey and his bodyguard. “Except that I suspect we are alike in that—while we are capable of violence if provoked—we are not drawn to the sort of primitive, visceral violence that comes so easily to men like these.”

  Joey said, “You might wanna watch your mouth, Carlos.”

  Sanchez smiled and continued to look at me. “My people have done enough. I do not wish to adopt you, Señor McInnes. So I would like to know how you are going to handle your problem with the Bodines without going to the authorities.”

  “I’m a lawyer. You’re going to tell me who this new leader is, and I’m going to find out something he wants and make a deal.”

  Sanchez shook his head.

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  Sanchez said, “No. At least, not now. There are many people watching or, I should say, looking for you. My group, we are watching. The rest look. And I have no plans to turn you ove
r to anyone. But, Señor McInnes, I quite frankly do not expect you to make it.”

  I said, “And you’re not interested in tying yourself to a dead man.”

  “No.” Sanchez stood and said, “By the way, what has become of your young client?”

  “I wish I knew.” I asked, “Have they found Rus Poultrez’s body?”

  “Señor?”

  “After the crash the other night off Dog Island. I thought you knew. Rus Poultrez flipped a speedboat over an oyster bed and slammed upside down into the water.”

  “I knew of the accident, but Poultrez is not dead.”

  I felt sick. “How do you know that?”

  As Sanchez walked toward the door, he said, “We know. You do not need to know how.” He turned and looked into my eyes. “Who do you think killed Leroy Purcell?”

  I said, “Are you saying that…?”

  He answered before I finished the question. “I am saying only that Purcell is dead and Russell Poultrez of Gloucester, Massachusetts, is alive. The rest is simply what I think, what I… surmise.” And he walked out the door followed by the UZI man.

  I looked at Joey. “Do you think Poultrez killed Purcell?”

  He said, “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  “Beats me. I guess I surmised it.”

  chapter thirty

  I stood in the living room and felt pure exhaustion soak into my muscles and begin a warm ache in my neck and shoulders and back, even in the tiny joints of my fingers. I didn’t sit for fear that I wouldn’t want to stand up again. So Joey and I stood there looking at each other, at the floor, at whatever until Loutie and Randy appeared and informed us that Sanchez had departed, taking his business-suited soldiers with him.

  I said, “I’m about to drop, and I know the rest of you probably are too, but we’ve got a lot to do. I’m sure as hell open to suggestions, but I can’t see us waiting until morning to get started. With Rus Poultrez out there, we all know he could find Carli any minute. And I don’t even want to think about what she might be going through while we’re catching up on sleep.”

  Loutie said,’ “And there’s Susan. It’s been about, what, twelve hours since she came up missing?”

  “Close to that.”

  “Well, we may not want to think about it, but if that blood on the floor was hers, she needs somebody to find her fast and get her to a hospital.”

  I said, “Even if it wasn’t her blood …,” and my voice trailed off as images of Purcell’s tortured and mutilated body flashed through my thoughts and I left the obvious unspoken. “Anyway, Randy, I’d like you to split up your people—hire somebody if you need to—and put at least one good man looking for Carli and another looking for Rus Poultrez. And I’d like you to concentrate your own time on the father. That’s the key with Carli. She’s a tough kid. We can deal with her living on the road. She’s done it before. The danger to Carli is her father.” I turned to Loutie and said, “I’d like you to find Susan.” And I knew any further instructions or suggestions would be pointless. With Loutie, the thing to do was just point her and pull the trigger. Everything else was self-guided.

  Loutie -said, “It might help if you told us what’s going on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Joey said, “Loutie thinks you’re smarter than the rest of us.” He looked from me to Loutie. “She’s probably right.”

  I said, “Loutie, I’m not even sure I know what I know. I’m mostly still guessing.” Loutie put her hands on her hips and locked eyes with me. I gave up. “Okay, I haven’t wanted to waste time on theories, but… here’s what I think I know.” Against my better judgment, I walked over and sat on the sofa. “The murder that started all this took place in a house called See Shore Cottage, and that house is owned by a group called ProAm Holdings Corp. I found that out pretty early. Then the name came up again when Joey and I were trying to get information out of a snitch in Apalachicola called Squirley McCall.”

  Joey interrupted. “Said it was the name used by a bunch of what he called ‘cigar spics,’ who are buying property on the coast. He claimed Purcell brought them into the area.”

  I said, “So we know that ProAm is buying land, that it’s a Cuban-American enterprise, and that they owned See Shore Cottage. Also, I checked, and the same company owns the house on Dog Island where Haycock was staying.”

  Loutie said, “Products Americas. ProAm for short, I guess.”

  I said, “Holding company.”

  “Oh. Okay. That’s the company Kelly found out about that owns the yacht they used to smuggle in the fat guy and his family.”

  “Yep. L. Carpintero.” I said, “What’s the name sound like?” Joey shrugged. “Think about it. Change the ‘L’ to ‘EL’ and it literally means ‘the carpenter.’ I didn’t get it either until Squirley said one of the Cubans’ leaders was called Martillo and the other one was nicknamed ‘Carpet Hero.’”

  Loutie said, “Carpintero.”

  “Uh-huh. When Squirley mentioned the name along with Martillo, it finally rang a bell. A couple of Mexican-American carpenters remodeled my new office when I left Higgins & Thompson last year, and I was in there trying to work while they were still nailing up molding. They learned ‘hold it down’ from me and I learned, among other things, that martillo is Spanish for hammer.”

  Loutie said, “The fat guy killed Purcell.”

  “Looks like it.”

  Randy said, “I’m not following.”

  I said, “El carpintero is ‘the carpenter.’ Martillo is hammer, and Purcell was…”

  “Nailed to his own desk,” Randy said. “But that doesn’t make sense. You’re saying that Purcell brought the Cubans, including this Hammer guy, into Apalachicola. Why would he turn around and kill Purcell?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know that Purcell threatened me early on with a ‘mean-ass spic,’ who he said would do something like slice me open and play with my guts while I was alive and watching. I thought he was just making up a scary story—and not a very realistic one—to get me to turn over Susan and Carli.”

  Loutie said, “Purcell probably just pissed this crazy guy off. Somebody psychotic enough to do something like that I’m guessing isn’t really weighted down by normal human emotions like loyalty or gratitude.”

  I said, “Yeah, and Purcell could piss off the pope.”

  Joey looked confused. “I thought we thought Rus Poultrez murdered Purcell.”

  I took a deep breath and stood up. “As far as we know now, he did. This hammer stuff may be reaching. We’re just guessing it’s some kind of street name for a sadist with a nail fetish. For all we know, the guy’s last name is Carpintero or Martillo or Hammer, and they’re just playing word games with aliases. Poultrez may still be the killer.” I looked around. “But, I don’t think so. Poultrez hated Purcell. But—unless somebody else made Poultrez a better offer—Purcell getting dead means Poultrez has lost any chance of making money on Carli, which is all he cares about. And earlier tonight Carlos Sanchez made a not-very-subtle point of trying to point us at Poultrez for Purcell’s murder.”

  Joey said, “He surmised it.”

  I ignored him. “It just doesn’t make sense for Poultrez to kill the golden goose. No, I think all this is happening because Carlos Sanchez, Charlie Estevez, and Products Americas are throwing way too much money around, and we’ve blundered into a gang war over control of the smuggling trade in and around Franklin County, Florida. And I think that Carpintero, or whatever his name is, killed Leroy Purcell mostly because he needed to and—considering what he did to him—at least partly because he enjoyed it.”

  Everyone was quiet for a few beats.

  I said, “I guess the only other thing is about Susan. There’s no reason I can think of why somebody would want to kill her, except maybe to get to the rest of us. Or I guess she could have surprised someone.”

  Joey cut in. “She ain’t dead. We don’t need to stop pressing now.”

 
; “I know. You’re right, and it’s what makes sense. If the Bodines killed her by mistake or on purpose they would’ve left her there. Think about it. There was too much blood for them to think they were covering something up. No. No, I think somebody took Susan, and they took her for one of two reasons. Either we’re going to get a ‘leave-us-alone-or-we’ll-kill-her’ call or somebody out there needs her help with something—and, as far as I can see, the only thing she could help with is finding Carli or finding us.”

  Joey said, “And nobody’s called any threats in or dropped by to shoot at us.”

  “Yeah. So, I’m thinking that somebody—Sonny or Poultrez or some other asshole—grabbed her to help find Carli.”

  Joey reached up and scrubbed at his scalp with both hands and then looked off into the distance. No one spoke for a few seconds until Joey said, “Okay. Tell me if I got it. Purcell was connected with both the Cubans and this sick Carpintero bastard. The Bodines are smuggling for the Cubans, and one of the things they smuggle is the fat guy and his family, who are holed up in the middle of a swamp. So, both the Cubans and Purcell know about the fat guy, and it looks likely that the fat guy is this nail-hammering asshole.”

  I said, “Yeah, it looks like it. I guess we can’t be sure, but when there’s a guy around named El Carpintero and somebody gets nailed to a desk…”

  Loutie said, “And it looks like Carli’s father—this Rus Poultrez—was busy grabbing Susan…”

  I said, “If he’s the one who did it.”

  Loutie nodded. “Yeah, well, bear with me a second. Let’s say Poultrez took Susan ‘cause he needs her to help find Carli. He was grabbing Susan at pretty much the same time this Hammer guy was wailing on Purcell. So, unless it was one hell of a coincidence, it looks like there was some coordination there between Carpintero and Rus Poultrez.”

  I said, “And even if it wasn’t Poultrez, the fact that Susan’s kidnapping and Purcell’s murder happened the same afternoon leads us right back to Carpintero.”