Broken Stern_An Ellie O'Conner Novel

by Jack Hardin

  “Fu was watching this documentary about the narcotics industry, and they were talking about what they called the ‘balloon effect.’ That when you squeeze hard in one area it bulges out somewhere else. Do you think since the feds at the south end of the state are working so hard against drugs down there that the balloon is expanding up here?”

  Ellie paused and set her palms into the counter. “Could be. Honestly, Gloria, it’s all convoluted. It’s not so much that consumption is so rampant around here as much as we just have a lot of coastline to bring the merchandise into. Most of what comes in here is probably headed into well-populated states; Georgia, Virginia, probably even as far as New York and Chicago.”

  Gloria leaned in, eyes wide, voice low. “You don’t think the drug lords come here, do you? Do you think someone like El Toto comes here?”

  “No, Gloria. Men like him don’t do the runs. They just enjoy the benefits.”

  Gloria nodded, the answer successful in dissolving any encroaching fear. She took another sip of her Long Island Iced Tea, the first of many she would have that day. Fu leaned in and spent the next minute whispering something in Chinese to his wife. Her eyes widened again, revelation entering into them, like a small child who just found out that Santa isn’t real. “Oh,” she nodded. “Oh Fu, you’re so smart.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

  Ellie, looking curiously at the both of them, asked, “What did he say?”

  “He said that the cartels are like the big box stores. They don’t make anything. They just buy it all up and distribute it. He said that if you’re a really big buyer, like say a Walmart might be in the world of household goods, then you have enough leverage to buy a lot and so you can control the price. The Mexican cartels are so big now they can control what they’ll pay the growers in South America.”

  “Impressive, Fu,” Ellie said. He was right. Over the last few weeks, Ellie had been further enlightened to the changes that had taken place in the global drug trade - cocaine especially - over the last few decades. The farmers who grew the coca leaves were lucky if they made any more than two dollars a day. The difference in the farm gate price and what it could sell on the street in a destination country could be an increase of more than 30,000 percent. One gram of cocaine in Florida would typically sell for around two hundred dollars, with everyone along the transport chain making greater a yield than the one who came before. The money involved was staggering and only emboldened those selling it to make greater profits.

  Fu said something else.

  “Follow the money,” Gloria said.

  “That’s right, Fu.” Most everyone they had busted over the last couple years had yielded no money to follow. They had worked mostly in cash. The few thin money trails they had left behind ended up dissolving into a dead-end of fake accounts and front businesses that provided no additional direction. Ellie smiled at Fu. “Maybe you should join my team.”

  He shook his head and ran a hand slowly up Gloria’s thick arm, looking at her lustfully. “He doesn’t want to be without me,” Gloria said. He winked at Ellie.

  “You two are like a couple teenagers on prom night,” she said. “Fu, you want another beer?”

  “Yes.”

  She grabbed a Landshark from the fridge, popped the top, and set it on the bar.

  “You know,” Gloria said. “I think we’re going to buy a drone.”

  “A drone? What for?”

  “I was thinking about creating a YouTube channel with videos from different areas of the island. The side roads around here can’t always get you to what you want to see, and I wouldn’t have to take a boat out to get a good shot of the perimeter.”

  “What made you think of doing that?”

  “Jim Upton put a video up of his drone flying around Bokeelia. It has over five thousand views already, and he only put it up four or five months ago. Given, that’s not Chris Singleton numbers, but it’s a lot for a place like this. I think people would want to see more.” She looked to her left. “Right, honey?”

  “Yes. Yes.” Fu was beaming with excitement the way a man might if someone had just told him he and his wife had won the Powerball.

  “There are so many options to choose from,” Gloria continued. “I get confused. We want to make sure and get one with a long range and good battery life. Did you know a lot of those drones only have twenty minutes of battery before they have to get charged again? That’s no better than a remote control car!”

  “Technology has come a long way the last few years,” Ellie said. She thought of the military grade UVAs she had seen enter the skies from a tarmac at Camp Phoenix and the ten-foot ScanEagles used by the Coast Guard. The DEA had a fleet of small drones as well. “Drones are a lot like houses. You can get decent manufactured home or spend fifty million. Keep digging. You might have to spend a little more, but a short- to mid-range drone might be what you’re looking for. There are a lot of good recreational ones these days. You might even ask Jon Upton what kind he has.”

  “Good idea.” Gloria stopped fanning herself with the paper and set it down. We’ll keep looking. I’m going to lie down for a bit and see if I can get a nap in.” She looked at her husband. “You coming, Fu?”

  “Yes.” They got off their seats, and he winked at Ellie. She laughed and shook her head.

  “See you guys later,” she said, and watched Gloria walk off with her husband, Fu’s head and shoulders rocking back forth beside her.

  The business of the lunch hour had passed, and the early afternoon saw no one else at the bar. Ellie busied herself with inventory, taking Major’s yellow legal pad and jotting down what items were on their way to becoming scarce.

  “Excuse me, miss. Can I get a tall Kubuli, please? Draft if you have it.”

  Ellie smiled and turned around. “What are you doing down here?”

  “I come here sometimes, remember?” Tyler nodded to the marina behind him. “I see I just missed him, but Fu and I wanted to finish a robust conversation we started last week.”

  Ellie laughed. “Coming right up.” She filled a glass from the tap and set it in front of him. “All the classes finished up last week, didn’t they? How'd they turn out?”

  “Not bad, I guess. Lee County now has half a dozen eighteen and nineteen years olds who can shoot an apple off your head at two hundred yards. And every time I teach the women’s class, I get a little better at deflecting the world’s worst pick up lines.” Tyler lifted his voice, trying to mock that of one of his lady students. “Tyler, my target is available if you want to shoot at it.”

  “Someone said that?”

  “I kid you not. Seriously though. You need to teach that one for me next time. I can’t do it again. Ted and Harry won’t go near it.”

  Ellie leaned back and silently counted the empty kegs underneath the bar then scratched some numbers on the pad. “You want me to teach at Reticle?”

  “Sure. Why not? I mean, you know, when you’re not busy trying to track down those crawling around on Florida’s most sinister underbelly or tapping a mean keg...yeah.”

  “I’ll think about it. Seems like my plan for a laid back life is slowly slipping away from me.”

  “You do that.” He took another draw from his glass and wiped a line of foam from his lip. “So how’s all your investigating stuff going?”

  Ellie set down the legal pad and the pen. “You wanna go for a walk?”

  “Sure,” he shrugged. “Should I leave this here?”

  “No. Bring it.”

  “But I thought there was a no glass policy on the pier.”

  “Just bring it. I’ll pay your legal fees if Major sues you.”

  “Fair enough.” Tyler grabbed his beer and exited the barstool.

  Ellie stuck her head into the small kitchen. “Ralphie, I’m going to step out for a few. Keep an eye on the bar for me, will you?” She looked back at Tyler. “Let’s go.”

  They put the tiki hut to their backs and slowly made their way down the
long pier. Light gray clouds blanketed the sky, but the water below them was calm, and a light breeze gently stirred the air. A few people had their lines in the water, hoping to bring something up.

  “I like it,” she said, answering his previous question. “I think I’m starting to realize how much I might need it.”

  “Need what? Something to keep your butt busy?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “So I was right?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Oh, come on. It wouldn’t hurt to say it. ‘Tyler, you were right.’ Come on, try it. Just a few syllables.”

  “Tyler, you were…really good at teaching that ladies class.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Don’t say it. But we both know it’s true.”

  Since Ellie had spent the last few weeks holed up at the Fort Myers DEA office, she hadn’t seen much of Tyler. She hadn’t even stepped onto Reticle’s property since Adam Stark was killed, even though picturing his killer at the end of her scope might be good for her. Now that she was in the field, her part time hours had kicked in, and they would be able to get back to their standing meeting to shoot together each week. Being here with him now, walking casually down the pier, she realized how much she liked being near him. “I’m glad you came today,” she said. “Everything has just been so…” her voice trailed off. Images of Assam Murad’s family, of young Adam Stark, her father, even her sister and little niece drifted across her vision. “So hard,” she finished.

  Tyler stopped, looked down on her. “Come here.” He set his glass on the top of the railing and pulled her in close. “You’ve been through a lot. Just take things in stride. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

  His strong arms felt good around her. “Yeah.”

  They were quiet for a while, both of them standing in the middle of the Norma Jean pier, holding each other, both feeling the satisfaction of each other’s presence and a mild awkwardness at the intimacy of the moment. Up until now their physical contact had gone no further than exchanging the occasional quick, goodbye hug. Tyler squeezed a little tighter and locked Ellie in. “I could throw you over.”

  She smiled at his naïveté, or maybe it was his ignorance. “Tyler. I was in the CIA,” she reminded him.

  He relaxed his hold, brought his arms down, and took a small step back. “That doesn’t mean you could take me.”

  “Oh no? Then why did you move away?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you. My mama said to never hurt a girl.”

  “Right…” she laughed.

  “Besides, you still haven’t told me what you did for the CIA. For all I know you took out the trash. Someone has to take out the trash, right?”

  “Yes, Tyler. I’m sure someone has to take out the trash, but I think they’re probably contracted from the outside.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Tyler grabbed up his beer, glad that Warren Hall wasn’t around to see him with the glass out on the pier. “Well, come on,” he said. “I’m hungry. Let’s see if I can get Ralphie to whip me up a burger. Maybe you can help him with the trash.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ellie pulled the El Camino into the cracked driveway belonging to Loribelle Claude and got out. An old beat up and beat down single cab F-150 sat between her truck and the dead Buick nestled up to the garage door. She walked across the dirt walkway that was covered in weeds, tabs belonging to aluminum cans, and bite-size candy bar wrappers. Old lead paint flecked off the wooden door when she knocked on it. She heard nothing inside, and nobody came to the door, so she tried again, louder this time. More paint jumped off the door. Finally, the door creaked on its rusted hinges, and Loribelle appeared looking less lovely than the first time Ellie had seen her.

  “Yeah?” the older lady said. She didn’t recognize Ellie.

  “Hi, ma’am. I was here last week with an associate. I’m with the DEA. Ellie O’Conner.”

  The woman’s shoulders slumped. “Oh hell. What now? Can’t y'all just leave us alone?”

  “I’d like to, ma’am.” Ellie meant every syllable. “But I have a couple more questions I’d like to ask Jimmy. Is he here?”

  Loribelle tossed her hands out. “I don’t know,” she said. “You think I keep track of him?”

  “I -”

  Before Ellie could answer, Loribelle turned and yelled: “Jiiiimmy! You here? Jiiiimmy, get out here!” As they stood there awkwardly, the scent of moldy food and rancid garbage drifted into Ellie’s face. She stopped breathing and waited.

  A door clicked open in the back of the house, and she saw Jimmy come out of the hallway. He walked up behind his mother then realized who was at his front door. He rolled his eyes. “What do you want?” He was wearing cut off jean shorts, a sleeveless plaid shirt and looked like he hadn’t showered since the last time Ellie had seen him.

  “Can we step into the yard and talk?” A billion red blood cells were pleading with her for fresh air.

  He lifted his chin and looked over Ellie’s shoulder, scanning the yard and the driveway. “You alone?”

  “I am.”

  “I ain’t talkin’ with you out there. Meet me out back.”

  “Okay.” Jimmy and his mother disappeared back into the house, and the door closed behind Ellie as she walked down the steps. She turned toward the end of the house opposite the garage and quickly realized that it provided no access to the rear. Aged red tipped photinias grew away from the house, and a rusty chain link fence was hiding deep within their branches. Ellie walked back to the driveway and slid her legs through the narrow space between the Buick and Jimmy’s truck. She came out onto a pile of old wood littered with cigarette butts and empty beer cans. A depressed chain link gate hung on one hinge, and an old tire was propped against it. Ellie leaned down and moved the tire. She pushed the gate open. Walking down the side of the house, she navigated around crushed beer cans and passed the air conditioning unit. It clanked like the fan was off center or possibly a protest from the quality of the air it was forced to draw out of the house. Ellie walked into the back yard and waited. Everyone had different means; there was no shame in that. Pine Island had its share of millionaires and plenty of those with lesser means. But this place was in a class all by itself. More tires littered the yard, and old lawn chairs were stacked with a rusted out coffee can sitting on top. Bags of garbage never taken to the curb sat piled in a corner, creating an ecosystem of their own.

  She stood waiting in the yard for three minutes before the back door clacked open and Jimmy stepped out. A freshly lit cigarette dangled between his thin lips. He walked up to her shaking his head.

  “Listen, lady━”

  “It’s Ellie,” she corrected.

  “Look, lady,” he said. “You can’t keep coming around like this.” He slowed his speech for emphasis. “You are going to get me messed up.”

  “Victor Calderón helped us out.”

  He looked satisfied and terrified at the same time. “He did, huh?”

  “Yes, he did. We are thankful for your help with that.”

  “Now what you think is gonna happen if someone finds out I told you Victor might squirm. Man, I’m gonna end up fish food, that’s what.”

  Ellie was pretty sure that, by nature, fish did not tend to consume food that they detected was poisonous. She set her eyes to his. “Jorge Changa,” she said, and watched his expression.

  His eyes shifted, barely noticeable. He took another drag, closed his eyes, and blew out. “What about him?”

  “You seen him?”

  “So what if I have?”

  “If you have, I would like to know.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t matter if I have or not. I’m out of the game. I already told you and Agent Dumbass that.”

  “Jimmy, here’s the deal. I like to play nice unless I’m given a reason not to. You helped me have a chat with Victor, and I would consider that playing nice. Now, I need to know about Jorge. So you can give me something on him right here in the privacy of your bac
kyard, or I can leave, do a little digging, then come back with a crew of my own and bring you in for formal questioning. How might certain people feel about that?” She smiled. “Your choice, your pick, better make it quick.” She’d heard the last line in a movie - couldn’t remember which one - and had always wanted to use it.

  Jimmy flicked his half-smoked cigarette across the yard. It landed in an open ice chest filled with old rain water and algae. “He was here last night,” he said. His jaw was set hard. He was obviously angry with himself for saying anything. “For about an hour.”

  “What did he want?”

  “What do you think, man? He wants me back shuffling the deck...rolling the dice as it were.”

  Out of pure curiosity, Ellie asked, “What made you quit, Jimmy? Assuming that you are telling the truth. Why get out now and go pick mangoes for Sharla Potter?”

  Jimmy got a look in his eyes that made Ellie unable to distinguish between relief and regret. “My old man passed.” There was a darkened coal mine of details behind that statement, and Ellie felt somehow that pressing forward would be insensitive, as if she would be trying to press the sole of her foot onto sacred, or possibly even unholy, ground.

  “Do you know who Jorge’s working with?”

  “Jorge works alone. He don’t work for no one but himself.”

  “Let me ask this another way. He’s up here for a reason. Obviously, he sees a chance to make more money here than he was in Miami or to make the same money with less risk. Either way, he’s not doing it alone. So who is he connecting with. Zamaco? Nunez?”

  Jimmy cleared his throat, scratched a shoulder with the back of a thumbnail, then muttered something.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Nunez,” he mumbled louder. “As far as I know. That’s who he was working with last time we did some work together. I would suspect he’s tied in with him again. But he didn’t say. And don’t ask me where to find Nunez. I don’t know where he is. Nobody knows that.”

  “Where might I find Jorge?”