Havana Hustle (Coastal Fury Book 6)

by Matt Lincoln

  CHAPTER 17

  I parked a few hundred feet from the café. González sat in a patio area and waved as we walked up. He gestured to the four-seat table and stood to pull a chair out for Yoani. Her smile didn’t look entirely forced, but she twitched a jaw muscle. González didn’t appear to notice.

  “My friends, it’s good to see you,” González said as Holm and I sat in the other two chairs. He handed menus around the table. “The pan tostado and café con leche are the best around.”

  I ordered as suggested and added a plate of ham and scrambled eggs to go with it. We’d barely eaten since the lunch Philippe had brought the day before, and my stomach made a point of announcing its annoyance when I smelled the delicious aroma of the café’s small bakery.

  “Ah, you Americans and your appetites,” González laughed.

  I grinned. “A guy gets used to having what he wants when he wants,” I said with my best playboy air.

  “You act like you’ve been here many times,” Yoani said. “Do you know the café owner?”

  I’d been wondering the same thing but wasn’t going to ask until we had a little more trust built. Fortunately, González didn’t seem bothered by the question.

  “I eat here almost every morning.” He flashed that too-bright smile. “I would like to know the owner better, señorita. She is a wonderful cook.”

  He winked at Yoani, and I felt the impulse to knock that smile of his a mile away.

  “Ask her out,” Holm suggested.

  “Oh, no.” González laughed. “She is my mother’s age and married.”

  That answer only made his last statement creepier. The sooner we were done with the man, the better.

  “You invited us to breakfast to talk about our mutual interests,” I said. “I have to say, I’m curious about what you have to offer.”

  Our server interrupted us by delivering breakfast on colorful plates that looked as though they’d been hand-painted. The café’s only other server that morning brought a tray of café con leche. Yoani sipped at hers with a grateful sigh once she had hers in hand.

  González dunked pan tostado into his steaming mug and then took a healthy bite. We followed suit. I was not disappointed by the flaky flatbread. It was like dunking a doughnut into coffee, only tastier. We made small talk, mostly about American pop culture. Once through the meal, González shifted to business.

  “Before we talk cars, we must discuss the rules.” He pushed his empty plate away and set an attaché case on the table. “I have a catalog you may look at, but it leaves with me. My bosses are happy with your information. They said you may choose two to three vehicles to go see.”

  “I can afford anything within reason.” I leaned forward. “I’m a cheap bastard. Just ask Liam. I like my toys, but I search for the best deals.”

  González removed a hefty folder from the case and handed it to me.

  “As you will see, there are cars to fit every budget.” He clasped his hands as if in prayer and rested his elbows on the table. “There is, of course, a ten-thousand-dollar fee for our services. This includes transport and the documentation you will need to take ownership in the United States. Those fees, however, are nothing compared to the value you receive. These vehicles cost far less than if you were to buy them in the U.S.”

  Holm watched as I opened the folder to find a glossy, full-color catalog. I didn’t have to fake the excitement I felt over each page as the car listings got better and better. González’s definition of “every budget” started at seventy-five grand, but that would be nothing to a rich playboy. Hell, if I hadn’t recently bought my plane, I could’ve paid for some of those cars.

  I pointed to a copper-colored 1957 Chevy Corvette with under five thousand miles. The catalog priced it at eighty grand. Next to it was a Stateside value of one hundred, forty thousand. That was a hell of a deal.

  “How can you afford to sell these cars so cheap?” I asked. “You know I can look up these numbers to make sure they’re accurate.”

  I reached for my phone, but González lifted his chin from his hands and pointed a finger at me without unfolding his fists.

  “No phones. You may look up the values after we’re done here.”

  “How are we supposed to remember all the specs?” I complained. “I don’t know about Ted, but I need comps.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find comparables online.” González met my eyes with a guarded expression. “It isn’t difficult to remember two to three models and years.”

  “We’ll remember,” Holm said. He tapped his temple with a finger. “My mind is a steel trap. I got this.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Right. Such a steel trap that we had to go back for our plane tickets and almost missed our flight.”

  That part was true. Partly. Holm had printed out his ticket because he didn’t like e-tickets. Halfway to the airport, he’d realized the damn thing was still at his desk.

  “We still made it.” Holm took the catalog and paged through more of the cars. “I wish I could see them all.” He added a dramatic sigh.

  González shook his head. “You two are like a married couple.” He turned to Yoani. “Why do you hang out with these Americans?”

  A shadow crossed her face, but it cleared as fast as it had appeared.

  “We have mutual friends in Miami,” she told him, just as we’d rehearsed. “They asked me to show these two around.”

  “Mutual friends?” González leaned back in his chair. “How do you know people in Miami?”

  I held my breath. This was one of our lures to see if there was more than a car scam involved.

  “My best friend…” She swallowed and fiddled with her fork. “When we were little, my best friend got on a boat with her parents. We thought they died, but she called me a few years later.” She looked up and smiled. “Some of her American friends have been able to visit. We talk on the phone. I can’t see her, but we stay in touch.”

  González touched her hand. “I’m happy that your friend is safe.” He glanced at us and then back to her. “My cousins left as well. Some weren’t so lucky. That was a bad time when we were younger.” He pulled his hand away and forced a smile. “What have you shown to our friends here?”

  I paged through the catalog and gaped at a 1954 Fiat 8V Ghia Supersonic coupe. Not that there were many left, but there were enough to show an average price of just over one million dollars. González’s catalog offered it at six hundred thousand. I could see why someone might buy that and turn a hell of a profit Stateside. A question hit me, and I frowned.

  “You have good taste in clubs,” González was saying to Yoani. “I hope you’ll come back soon. You are an excellent dancer.”

  She looked down. “It’s been a long time. My feet are killing me.”

  “Señor González—”

  “Please, Ted, call me ‘Javi.’ I like you two.”

  I nodded. “Javi, I know this market. There are superfans who keep tabs on every registered vehicle. How do other buyers explain the appearance of a new, fully restored car?”

  González sat up straight, and a boyish grin overrode the pitchy salesman look.

  “Do you ever watch those ‘picker’ shows on cable television?” he asked.

  I shook my head, but Holm nodded.

  “I’ve seen a few with certain relatives,” he admitted. I didn’t know this about him, but I suspected his dad had something to do with it. “I think I get your drift.” He turned to me. “These pickers find vintage cars in barns and old garages all over the country. It’s not an everyday thing, but it seems to happen on a regular basis.”

  “Exactamente,” González said. “We say that our pickers found these cars, and their registrations… Well, things happen.” He made an exaggerated shrug. “Since we have buyers in different regions, it has been easy to accomplish. Now, what cars do you want to see?”

  I rubbed my chin and paged back to that sweet, sweet Corvette. The near-bronze color would’ve appealed to me on a bad
day. This was not a bad day, and I loved it. I almost wished I could get my hands on it for real.

  “This one,” I told González. I flipped through a few more pages. “This Impala looks great as well. It’s a little pedestrian, but I love the lines.”

  The car in question was a 1958 Chevrolet Impala with low miles. It was an electric or royal blue, depending on the lighting in the photos.

  “What about my picks?” Holm pulled the catalog away. “Hey Javi, is it three total or three looks each? I want to see more than one car.”

  González closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them with a long breath.

  “I tell you what. Choose two cars each. I don’t think we can get four, but my bosses might consider it.” He tapped his pinky finger on the table. “If they don’t allow it, we will pick three of the four and bring them out.”

  “Where do we go for this?” I asked.

  “I will call you.” He handed me an old-style cell phone. “Be at the location we tell you on time, and you will see some beautiful machines.”

  “I want to see these two.” Holm pointed at a 1955 Bel-Air in a dark grey and coral color scheme I hadn’t seen before and then tapped on the picture of a 1952 Mercedes-Benz 220A cabriolet. “I won’t believe this one until I see it.”

  The Benz was listed at eighty-five thousand cash. In the States, it sold for well over a hundred-fifty. González nodded and took back the catalog. He scratched a few numbers on the folder and slipped it back into the attaché case.

  “Until later, señores,” he told us. “It will be a great pleasure to work with you.”

  “I can’t wait.” I stood and offered my hand. González shook it in a tight grip. “This may be the most productive trip I’ve taken in a long time.”

  As Holm and Yoani said their goodbyes, I watched our glorified used car guy. González’s eyes twinkled as he took and kissed Yoani’s hand. She didn’t quite flinch, but that jaw twitched again. I couldn’t help wondering if something bad had happened to her once upon a time. If it had, she was a far braver woman than I initially gave her credit for.

  I led my little team back to the Emgrand. Yoani took shotgun again, and I watched as she sagged into her seat. Whatever was bothering her, I resolved not to let anything happen to her.

  So help me, I’d keep her safe.

  CHAPTER 18

  Yoani watched as they passed cars and brightly painted buildings. Marston… No, it was Ethan… Ethan handled the Emgrand as well as any driver she’d met, although he drove a little faster than she liked.

  The café con leche at breakfast did little to help Yoani shake the fatigue from her late night, not to mention the nerves from being so close to Javier González. She couldn’t put a finger on why he bothered her so much.

  At first, she thought it was the fact that he was a criminal, but it was more than that. Something in her stomach reacted in fear, but she’d never met him before. If she weren’t tied up with the MBLIS team, she might have stayed longer at the club.

  She shook her head. There would not have been a club night. She was fooling herself. Now that she was thirty-one, she had responsibilities, not the least being her mother’s care.

  “Something on your mind?” Ethan asked.

  Yoani looked over and grimaced at the flutter in her stomach. Ethan Marston wasn’t the hotshot she’d expected from American agents. His cover persona was dead on with the rich men she’d encountered before, but his real personality was complicated… in mostly good ways. He was curious, kind, and yet tough as steel.

  “Yoani?” Ethan eased off the accelerator. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Last night is making me tired.” The mere thought of sleep drove a yawn from her.

  Another yawn came from behind her, where Robbie Holm sat.

  “Those things are contagious,” he said in a fake whine.

  Yoani smiled a little. Ethan’s partner tried too hard to be funny, but it was charming. The only trouble she’d had with the Americans was their friend Mike Birch. Rather, John Cartwright. She had no idea why her superiors wanted him out of their country, but she couldn’t say she would miss him even after knowing him for less than a day. That reminded her to make a call.

  She dialed a number on her department-issued mobile phone.

  “Sanchez,” her boss answered.

  “It’s Yoani, sir.” She stifled a yawn and switched to Spanish. “Has Mr. Birch left yet?”

  “The flight left half an hour ago.” Papers rustled in the background. “Be careful of these agents, Nuñez. Their association with Cartwright calls their motives into question. I don’t trust them or their forensics technician.”

  She glanced at Ethan and frowned. “I understand the concern, and I’ll act accordingly.”

  She didn’t dare say more than that. The agents hadn’t indicated any fluency in her language, but she knew better than to assume either way. She’d update Arturo later, in private. In the meantime, she struggled to see anything nefarious in Ethan and Robbie. Joe Clime, she couldn’t say as she’d barely spoken to the man.

  “Tell me about this breakfast meeting,” Sanchez ordered. “Did you learn anything?”

  “Yes.” She recapped the important points of their meeting with González. “We have to wait until someone calls with a location and time. They will bring three of the cars to the viewing.”

  “Very good. We can set a sting to capture them there.”

  Yoani frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir. There is a player in the States. If we stop the deal, they may not be able to arrest that person.”

  “All I care is that we put this thing to rest,” Sanchez barked. “You have no idea how much pressure I’m under to get these agents out of our country. The disaster with Cartwright got to the wrong ears, and one more mistake with mean you and I and everyone else involved will lose our jobs.”

  Yoani straightened in her seat and widened her eyes. She knew there were risks to this assignment, but she hadn’t thought of the repercussions of an international incident. Then again, she’d chosen not to believe that it could go that far.

  “I’ll speak with the agents and make sure they understand the importance of discretion.” She took a deep breath as she hated contradicting her boss. “I still think it’d be a mistake to take down the suspects at the meet. We won’t know who is at the top on our side. There’s no guarantee that they’d talk.”

  She was bullshitting, and she knew it, but maybe Sanchez wouldn’t realize that. She had a gut feeling that his plan would be a disaster and that they should follow the MBLIS agents’ lead.

  “I’ll consult with a few people,” Sanchez said. “They’ll talk to the Americans’ director and whoever else they need.” His voice softened. “We’ll figure this out. You stay safe.”

  “I’m doing my best, sir.” She shook her head. Sanchez always was one to bark orders and then make sure his people were okay. “I’ll let you know when we get the information about the meet.”

  They ended the call, and Yoani relaxed into the seat. She passed the mobile back and forth between her hands for a while before returning it to her handbag. A week ago, she never would’ve guessed that she’d end up in the middle of a touchy investigation. That kind of thing happened to people in more visible departments, not a lowly liaison with a few guards. She had to trust that her superiors had reason to believe in her abilities even if she didn’t.

  “I take it that was your boss?” Ethan asked as they pulled into the hotel parking lot.

  “Yes. Your friend has left.” She studied his profile while he navigated the Emgrand into an empty space. “We need to avoid further incidents that could bring public attention to what we’re doing.”

  He nodded. “We knew this would be tricky before we got here.” He turned the vehicle off and handed the keys to Arturo. “Your superiors need to understand that there will be some activity. It’s how these things go. If they want to stop this smuggling ring and help us find the people respon
sible for that boat going down, they need to show a little faith in us.”

  His voice was slightly raspy yet smooth. There was an earnest quality that made her want to believe him, and yet, she’d been raised and trained not to trust Americans, especially those who worked for the United States government. Agencies such as MBLIS were suspect as all get out, but these two, Ethan and Robbie, didn’t feel like spies. They weren’t asking her for state secrets, which she’d been warned about. They weren’t asking her to do anything that might betray her country. They didn’t feel like enemies.

  Yoani followed the men into the hotel. Her training might not have covered law enforcement investigations, but she’d been trained to report anything untoward to her superiors. Other than their friend’s little adventure, they’d given her nothing to complain about.

  Ethan waved her over to the small restaurant on the hotel’s first floor. She wasn’t hungry, but the smell of roast beans made her mind up for her.

  “You get to pay for coffee,” he told her with a grin. “We aren’t allowed to pay for anything at state-owned businesses.”

  “I know this.” Normally, she’d be annoyed at someone telling her what she already knew, but Ethan’s light tone and the soft light in his eyes showed that he was gently teasing. “We have an open tab that my department will cover. As far as the staff knows, your group is visiting for diplomatic reasons.”

  “Well, that’s not wrong, if you look at it a certain way.” Ethan led her, Robbie, and Arturo to a booth in the back. “It’s a matter of perspective. If we get through this case without knocking too many heads with your government, it could lead to future cooperation in other ways. You never know.”

  “That would be good,” she admitted. “To do that, we have to follow the rules and my superiors’ orders.”

  “And those are?”

  “Follow through with the meet.” She decided not to mention the possibility of staging a raid. Sanchez needed time to argue on her behalf. If he chose to do so. “We need a more detailed plan for after you choose a car.”