The Sea Horse Trade

by Sasscer Hill

  As Carla scribbled onto the paper, Klaire studied the blue ink scratches as if she were trying to divine a message forming on a Ouija board.

  Catching her eye, I whispered, “We’ll fill you in.” No point in her straining her abilities when we could just tell her what we knew.

  “Got it,” Carla said to George. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.” She ended the call and leaned toward me.

  “The limo’s tag traces to a Fort Lauderdale rental agency. The company that rented the limo is called Worldwide Enterprises. And get this,” she said her voice rising, “the company’s incorporated in Bangkok. It took George a while to uncover him, but guess who the CEO is?”

  I didn’t need the second sight to answer this one. “It’s Chakri, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Worldwide has offices in Fort Lauderdale.”

  “Wait,” I said, “let me guess. They’re an import/export firm.”

  “Exactly, but mostly import. Fabrics and high-end decorative arts.”

  I wondered if that included jade figurines of beautiful young women. Did Maldonista know his associate had an interest in American girls? Had maybe even abducted one?

  “Who was this girl, and who is Chakri?” Klaire asked.

  We started filling her in between sips of Coke and moved to her kitchen when Klaire offered us grapes and cheese. When we entered the room, her large cat glared, hopped from the table to the floor, and then stationed himself near my feet as soon as I sat down.

  Ignoring him, I told Klaire about finding Jade’s friend, Tracy Johnson, and the party Jade had supposedly attended. About the guy seen outside my hotel room, who may have been the man Orlando and I saw before Diablo’s race, and who may or may not have given the colt cocaine.

  Then I told her about Currito Maldonista and Tau Chakri. “Chakri doesn’t seem that connected to Currito,” I said. “He refused Currito’s invitation to lunch and then wound up next door in a Jockey Club suite full of girls in sexy dresses and high heels.”

  “Those ladies were call girls,” Klaire said. “Business women doing a job. They’ve always had them at the races. But the girl in the limo, she was something else.”

  Klaire’s words jogged my memory, flashing on hair like cinnamon and honey framing a child’s face that looked drugged. At my feet the cat’s ears flattened and the tip of his tail jerked in time to something I couldn’t hear. I pushed on.

  “The men I saw in the SUV, the night that girl was gunned down? They were Latino, too. The guy with the gun had long hair and dark glasses.”

  “You need to be very careful,” Klaire said. “There are Cubans in Fort Lauderdale who run hookers, drugs, gambling, and things I try not to know about.”

  “This is why we need Rick.” Carla rolled the last purple grape back and forth on the serving plate with one finger. “He’ll know something about organized crime and who might be involved. If there’s a connection between Worldwide Enterprises and Chakri.”

  “I will talk to some people I know who are involved in the business,” Klaire said. “Rumors and gossip can be very useful. When I get people talking, they often say more than they mean to.”

  “That’s your specialty,” I said. At least it beat looking into a crystal ball.

  CHAPTER 31

  At six that evening, I headed for dinner with Will at the Casa del Mar. After finding a parking space on a side street near the beach, I saw a sign for the Hollywood boardwalk and followed a paved path between a new condominium and an old frame hotel that sported a café facing the walkway. The smell of hot fries and onions made my mouth water.

  As I approached the ocean, the wind strengthened. At the boardwalk, a cold, hard gale hit me as it blew down the coast from the northeast, reminding me it was still January. Getting my bearings, I walked into the face of the wind. It drove so hard against me, I had trouble making headway.

  Mist blurred the outlines of shops and eateries to my left. The moisture beading my jacket and slicking my face and hair felt almost like sleet. On the beach, the ocean frothed with white caps and endless, beating waves. I shivered and wrapped my jacket tighter, wishing I’d found a parking spot closer to the restaurant.

  I walked almost a half mile before I found the Casa del Mar. Shivering, wet, and tired of the battering wind, I pushed through two sets of glass doors, almost stunned by the sudden, quiet warmth and glow of candlelight inside.

  “Good evening, señorita,” said a man in a dark suit behind a wooden stand that held a phone, a reservations list, and a large, gold dish filled with foil-wrapped chocolates. “The weather must be terrible.”

  “It’s okay, I said, pushing my wet bangs and hair back from my face.

  He reached behind the counter, withdrew a starched, cloth napkin, and held it out to me, his eyebrows raised.

  “Thanks.” I grabbed the napkin. “I’m supposed to meet Will Marshall.”

  “Let me check for you.”

  While the man consulted his reservations sheet, I swiped at my face and hair, then glanced at the long, polished wooden bar on my left. I spotted Will about halfway down, sitting on a burgundy padded stool with a tall glass of beer in front of him. I’d know his profile anywhere.

  “That’s him,” I said, pointing. “I’ll just go over.”

  “As you wish, señorita,” he said.

  I walked to Will, stood behind him, and waved at his reflection in the bar mirror.

  His face lit with a slow smile. “Hey. You swim over?” he asked.

  I climbed onto a stool. “One-horse open sleigh,” I said, rubbing my cold hands together above the gleaming surface of the bar top.

  He slid his fingers over my hands. “Man, you need something hot. Irish coffee?”

  I nodded, and he ordered. When he pulled his hand away, he left mine warm and tingly.

  “Nice win you had on Diablo earlier. I watched the replay.”

  “He was awesome. I didn’t do anything but sit on him.”

  “I was worried about you at the gate. At least there weren’t any fillies in that race with you.”

  Remembering Diablo’s “fifth leg” display in front of Will, I felt heat in my cheeks. My coffee arrived, and I cradled the hot mug between my hands and buried my lips in whipped cream. I wiped off the excess cream with one finger and licked it clean.

  He smiled, flushed, then looked away as if suddenly uncomfortable. “So…what’s going on with Carla. Any news on her daughter?”

  Stressful subject, but probably safer than whipped cream.

  “A lot,” I replied.

  I brought him up to date on everything, including Diablo’s positive test for cocaine. How could it only have been five days since Diablo had misbehaved on the track with the race filly? Five days since the morning Detective Bailey had shown up at the track and I’d told Bailey and Will about Carla and her missing daughter.

  “So let me get this straight,” Will said quietly. “You think there might be some sort of slave trade going on in South Florida?”

  I nodded.

  “What does Detective Bailey say about this?”

  “I haven’t talked to Bailey. She’s with the homicide department. This seems more Vice related.”

  While I told him about Rick and Carla’s budding romance, I sipped Irish coffee, careful not to make another display with the whipped cream.

  “So Carla’s in contact with this Vice officer?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “That’s good,” he said. “Do you think any of this is connected to the race track?”

  “You asked me that before. The day Bailey showed up. What are you after?”

  “Just trying to figure out all the angles.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him, but before I could press the point, Will asked me if I wanted to move to a table or eat at the bar.

  “I like it here,” I said.

  He had the bartender bring menus, and after we ordered sea bass, Will turned toward me. I felt his fit, hard thigh touch mine. Damn
, it was like a branding iron!

  “You mentioned Maldonista,” he said. “What is your gut feeling about him?”

  “What? Oh, Currito’s a strange dude, but he’s really into his horses. He adores those two fillies. I think he’s okay. It’s Chakri that’s bad news.”

  Will nodded.

  “But,” I said, “Currito creeped me out earlier. Said his younger brother gave him that scar. Now the brother’s dead.”

  “You think Maldonista killed him?”

  “No! I mean, I don’t think so.” But the thought had occurred to me.

  “So what does he do for a living?”

  “Jim says he owns a coffee plantation, gobs of family money.”

  I paused, studying the ice in my water glass. I’d accepted Currito as just another rich owner. They were all strange in some way. But a plantation in Colombia and cocaine in Diablo’s test? How could that be a coincidence? But why drug his own horse?

  I glanced at Will. He was so cute. Focus, Nikki.

  “What do you think he does for a living,” I asked.

  He grinned and drained the last of his beer. “Probably the same thing that just occurred to you. He may grow more than coffee.”

  Will’s steady gaze unnerved me. I needed a powder room break. The large mirror behind the bar had so many bottles of vodka, whiskey, and liqueur blocking it, I couldn’t see myself. My trek through the boardwalk gale might have left mascara streaks or something.

  “Be right back,” I told him before sliding off my stool.

  I found the bathroom, used the facilities, then stared into the large mirror, surprised to see I looked good. No mascara runs and a healthy glow on my cheeks. I fluffed my almost-dry hair and stepped back into the dining room.

  A large fish tank bubbled on the wall to my far right. I hadn’t noticed it on the way in. I took a detour to check it out, but as I got close, I couldn’t see any fish darting about, only ocean grasses waving inside.

  When I reached the tank, I grew still. A small herd of green-and-gold sea horses swayed on the grasses and coral, their tails curled and hooked onto the plants. Some were tiny, some almost as big as my hand. They reminded me of the dead girl’s tattoo.

  Trying to leave her behind, I read the card on the wall above the tank.

  THE SEA HORSE

  The sea horse is a rare ocean animal found in shallow tropical and temperate waters throughout the world. They are upright-swimming relatives of the pipefish, and unlike most other fish, they are monogamous and mate for life.

  Because of their body shape, sea horses are rather inept swimmers and can easily die of exhaustion when caught in storm-roiled seas.

  Population data for most of the world’s 35 sea horse species is sparse. Worldwide coastal habitat depletion, pollution, and rampant harvesting, mainly for use in Asian traditional medicine, have made several species vulnerable to extinction.

  I wished I hadn’t read it. Harvesting? How disgusting. I turned from the little sea creatures and beat it back to the bar.

  “What’s wrong?” Will asked when I reached him.

  “They have a tank over there. With sea horses. They’re beautiful, but they look like that girl’s tattoo. I read about them. People harvest them. Will. They’re becoming extinct—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He grabbed my hands. “Sit. Take a deep breath.”

  I did, and let the intensity in his green eyes blot everything out for a moment. “Thanks,” I said, and drained the rest of my coffee.

  “So you and Carla are going to talk to Detective Harman?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe he can help the girl in the limo. Maybe he can find Jade before it’s too late.”

  “You need to back away from this a little,” he said. “I don’t like to see you so upset.”

  Just then the bartender brought our dinners, and we dug in. The meal sobered me, and by the time I finished, I was trying not to yawn. I just wanted to lie down and sleep.

  Will put his hand on my shoulder. “You got a lot going on, Nikki. My car’s only a block away. How about I drive you to yours?”

  He did, and when I got back to my room, I sank into deep sleep as quickly as a heavy stone dropped into the ocean.

  CHAPTER 32

  I woke up the next morning restless and uneasy. Throwing my tangled covers back, I stood up quickly, as if I could distance myself from the recurring nightmare that haunted me.

  Once again I’d been thirteen, running through the dark streets of Baltimore, desperate to escape a pedophile stepfather. Stanley.

  Had fear for Jim brought the dream back? I hated to think of the stewards going after Jim. Was it the sea horses and missing young women? Or had my feelings for Will stirred up bad memories? Whatever, I hated it when that pervert Stanley came back.

  Shake it off, Nikki.

  I got the coffee maker going and splashed cold water on my face. After pulling on stable clothes, I poured hot caffeine in a to-go cup and headed for Gulfstream.

  I worked through the morning, and when Jim returned from his meeting with the stewards around eleven, he was escorted by Investigator Mike Stonehouse.

  Jim’s lips were tight and angry. He stepped away from Stonehouse and motioned Orlando and me over.

  “They ruled me off. Six weeks.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “This isn’t right!”

  I’d been in Jim’s shoes. It worked just like when office employees are fired and management forces them to surrender their key and security pass, then watches them clean out their desk before escorting them off the premises.

  As assistant trainer, without direct evidence against me, I would not be held accountable. I could stay.

  Stonehouse watched us with a cop’s unreadable expression. I faced Jim, turning my back on Stonehouse.

  “You told me this might happen,” I said. “But I didn’t believe it.”

  Orlando glared at Stonehouse. “No one here give Diablo cocaine. Is estupido!”

  “Easy son, he’ll be talking to you next,” Jim said quietly, before pulling his truck keys from his pocket. “You know where my trailer is out in the main lot?”

  “Sí.”

  I glanced toward the big lot where trailers, trucks, and cars were required to park to avoid choking up the backstretch stables during training hours. The sun burned with heat already and reflected off the few metal vehicles visible beyond the hedge and chain-link fence that surrounded the backstretch.

  “Take my truck, hook up the trailer, and bring the rig over. We’ll load Ambivalent. Take a little of the load off you. Found some races for him in Maryland.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re in charge, Nik. You know what to do.”

  His hand felt light, almost withered, on my shoulder, but his eyes held strength and integrity. I didn’t want to run the show without him. I felt like I was in charge of the whole world—training Currito’s horses, riding races, finding Carla’s missing daughter.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said, then swallowed. “Did they void Diablo’s win?”

  He withdrew his hand. “Yeah, they did.”

  “Sorry.” He could have used the bump up in his win percentage.

  So much for paying off my credit card debt. I would have no time for anything now that Jim wasn’t managing the training schedule, handling the paperwork, or taking care of the endless details involved in a racing stable. Damn it.

  I let out a breath. “I won’t let you down, Jim. Besides,” I said, glancing at Stonehouse, “we didn’t do this. You’ll be cleared, and Diablo will get his win and the money back.”

  Jim nodded and headed into his office. I trailed behind him to help, and Stonehouse followed us with a last word.

  “Ravinsky, I’ll leave you to finish up and load. You’ve got two hours. I’d better hear from stable gate security that you’ve vacated the premises and turned over your trainer’s license or I’ll be back. You don’t want to make me do that.”

  * * * *

  When Jim’s
rig pulled away from our barn early that afternoon, the wheels underneath the trailer spun up puffs of dust, and Ambivalent whinnied unhappily from inside. Imposter, still stalled next to Diablo, answered Ambivalent’s call with a frantic neigh. Diablo chimed in with something that sounded more like an angry scream. He was furious to have one of “his” horses taken away. He backed away from the stall gate, then charged forward and slammed his chest against it.

  Orlando hurried over to close the wooden door over the wire gate. We had enough troubles without Diablo getting loose and running amok. Though the colt had indirectly caused Jim’s exile, the old trainer had left Diablo’s buddy, Imposter, to keep Diablo happy once he settled down after Ambivalent’s departure.

  The two fillies pawed at the floor of their stalls, staring as the trailer rolled away. I stepped to La Bruja and stroked her gray neck.

  “Look at it this way,” I said. “You’ll get more attention now.”

  I heard one last, lonely call from Ambivalent, then the truck and trailer disappeared from sight.

  No sooner were they gone than Stonehouse rang my cell with orders.

  “I want both you and Orlando in my office at two,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” I hung up.

  Glancing at my watch, I saw we had only a few minutes. The man believed in keeping the pressure on full throttle.

  As we walked up the paved road to the track kitchen, Orlando looked as nervous as I felt.

  “You do have a green card, don’t you, Orlando?” I asked.

  “Sí, of course. But I have nothing to say to him. I don’ know what happened!” He punctuated his last sentence with spread hands, palms up.

  And I knew exactly what Orlando did—nada.

  I shook my head and studied the concrete building ahead. Palm trees ringed the white high rise, and an emerald-green roof with green-and-white ventilation cupolas crowned the top. White columns ran from the roof to the ground five or six stories below, supporting open balconies that wrapped around each floor.

  The structure housed grooms and other stable help for free during the meet. The track kitchen and the security offices were both on the first floor of the building—one of the most attractive I’d seen for stable help.