by J. A. Marley
“So, we are talking a little dirty money?”
“It’s dirty when it gets to us. It’s clean when it leaves.”
“Now I know why you wanted to talk to me, Mrs C. When the money is from somewhere a touch exotic, there are always complications. Let me guess. Has your God-fearing other half been taking a little slice off the top?”
June just looked. She took a sip of the iced tea and grimaced at the foul taste. Cold tea… seriously? But then, she thought the nasty flavour somehow seemed instantly appropriate.
“And tell me, young lady, whose money is your husband taking his extra commission from?”
June took a deep breath, this was it. The ultimate moment of trust.
“So, what can I get you to eat? The Conch fritters are terrific!”
Mr Belly was back, with all the timing of a heart attack, and June’s shaven-headed collaborator roared with laughter.
The Delano Hotel on Collins Avenue was one of South Beach’s most chic. Vincent strode through the lobby, with its muted tones and long flowing linen drapes. The fabric billowed, caught by a breeze that flowed through the entire lobby, from its huge French windows that lead to the pool and on to the shore itself. He shared the lift with a beautiful, young woman, wearing an off-the-shoulder sundress. Her skin was the colour of warm caramel, her voice just as smooth as she wished him a great day and exited on the tenth floor. He kept going up to the top of the building, arriving at the door of the penthouse suite. Taking a moment to compose himself, he fixed on a smile and pressed the doorbell.
He was ushered in by a large Latino man wearing a suit that looked at least a size too small for his hulking frame. The interior was simply, yet stylishly, furnished. More muted colours on both the walls and the furniture served to radiate serenity. The lounge filled with light from the open doors which led to a large terrace that afforded breathtaking views of the golden strand that made South Beach such a magnet for sun seekers of all types.
Ines Zedillo stood to greet him. Before her, a table was arranged with an exquisite lunch – seafood, salads, a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and bowls of exotic fruit.
“Señor Cardell. It’s always a joy to see you.”
“Señora Zedillo. The pleasure is all mine. This looks like a fine spread; the Lord certainly has provided.”
“Sí, my friend, he does… when my guests arrive, they will be well looked after.”
Cardell’s face flushed at his own presumption and the knock-back that met it, but Ines went on as though she had not noticed.
“Vamos. Let’s take in the vista. It’s such a beautiful day, no?”
Ines moved towards the glass panels that framed the edge of the terrace, beckoning the preacher to follow. As he joined her, he was struck by how elegant she looked. Tall, in great shape, despite the fact that he knew she was at least sixty. Her hair had lost its original raven-black sheen, now highlighted by grey in many places. Her long face and bright eyes radiated intelligence, whilst her blood-red, manicured fingernails hinted at a ferocity to match it. The glint of the crucifix at her throat on its simple gold chain reminded him of her Catholic faith. It was a stripe of Christianity he neither trusted nor saw as anything other than a collection of smells and spells. For him, the true Christianity came from the bible and nothing else. Not from some old man in Rome.
Ines raised her face to the sun, letting the breeze shift her hair. She closed her eyes to the warmth on her skin. Cardell stood waiting to hear why she wanted to meet. As he regarded her, for a second, he imagined her naked. What would she look like if her were to draw a thin-edged blade across that long, clear-skinned face of hers? He shook the image from his thoughts when she spoke.
“Señor Cardell. How long have we had our arrangement?”
“I believe it is three years now, señora.”
“And you have enjoyed our… support. We have taken your mission and backed your expansion. We have invested in you, making you a man of God with a significant flock, no?”
“Of course, señora. The resources you have brought to bear have made it easier for many to hear the Lord’s word.”
“And we have treated you fairly simpatico?”
“Yes, and we have done all we have been asked to. It is a… business arrangement as well as a spiritual one.”
“And in six weeks, we will have your big fiesta. The time in which we can move the most significant amounts of our funds. I trust the preparations are all in place?”
“Indeed. We are expecting our largest crowds ever, and at the same time, we are, as always, ready to serve you and your colleagues with the usual financial arrangements.”
“No problems? Not even a small wrinkle in your plans?”
Vincent felt his guts tighten. Whatever she knew or thought she knew, was it about to come out? That thin-edged blade appeared in his mind again, albeit briefly. He held his hands out in an assured manner. “All is fine at my end, señora. Have you heard otherwise?”
Ines ignored his question, producing a long, elegant cigarette and a zippo. She touched the flame to the end, letting the first smoke roil out of her fiery red lips. “You met Arturo? On the way into the suite…”
Cardell just nodded, thinking, Who the hell is Arturo?
“Arturo has been my guard and friend for almost… Madre de Dios… ten years. How time passes. But Arturo has just had some awful news. Come… see…”
Ines took Vincent by the elbow, leading him back into the suite, back to a long table that dissected the room. On it was a large envelope, nothing else.
“Arturo has a cousin, one very dear to him, his mother’s sister’s only child. Only children are always treasured. You feel it, no? So, when Arturo got the bad news, he had to break it to his own mother, and she now cries as if she has lost one of her own… Mira…”
Zedillo gestured to the envelope. It was the very last thing of this earth he wanted to touch, let alone open. But Ines’s stare was enough to make him reach out. Automatically, slowly, taking the envelope in his hands, he felt the slight weight of what might be inside. The seal had not been stuck down, so he was able to simply slide the contents out onto a table that the hotel’s designer could never have imagined would see such a moment.
Photographs.
Two of them. In colour. Photos of a badly beaten, wet, naked corpse. A dead man. The first picture a full length shot, showing how chains had been wrapped around the corpse’s feet, yet had obviously not been enough to stop it re-emerging. The second picture was the kicker, though. It was a close up of the face. A man’s face. A man’s face that had bruises and burns across it. A man’s face bloated by time in the sea, but if you looked closely enough you might be able to recognise it as the face of Manny. The last time Vincent had seen that face was as he had helped to pull a black, plastic bag over it. The pictures held Vincent in their thrall for a beat too long. He realised he was staring.
“My Sweet Jesus.” Cardell’s response was a whisper. He knew he had to up the emotion in his own voice. “Is this… is this Emmanuel? Manny? The Manny who works for…” Cardell let his voice trail. His face was slack, and he made a point of unsteadily leaning on the arm of the sofa behind him. “I… I… what in God’s name happened here? “
Zedillo was watching him very closely, trying to gauge the level of sincerity in the shock that he was exhibiting. “Your guess is as good as ours, Señor Cardell. His mama, she called Arturo to say he had not been home in days. So, we ask questions, to seek help from our contacts. And yesterday, we get this from some hermanos in the Miami police.”
“But… but I saw him. We prayed together at the start of the last mission, the one in Coral Gables. He was the sweetest soul.” And, at this point, Cardell pulled off his masterstroke. A single tear gathered in his right eye. Swelling, breaching the lower lid, it slowly traversed down his cheek.
“I’m sorry, Señora Zedillo, but this is heart-breaking news. I must pray for his passing, that the Lord may seem him safely to his ete
rnal reward.”
“Señor Cardell, I can see you are shocked, but do not worry. We will find out exactly what happened here. But you can see now, no? I need, you need, to be sure that there are no problems between now and your Mission next month.”
“I can assure you, Señora, this is a shock and will be for all my team. We loved Manny… but surely you don’t think this has anything to do with our operations?”
“I hope not. But it is better that you know and know to watch closely. What you and your team do for us, Señor Cardell, is muy importante to me and my associates. We will let nothing, nada, get in the way of what we have built with you… the faith we have shown in your faith… claro? Claro, Señor?”
“Crystal, Señora… quite crystal. Can we prepare a visit to the family? He was, after all, like a member of ours.”
“I will leave that to you. Now thank you for your time. I will be watching… adios…” She blew a cloud of smoke at him, the sweet fumes causing him to blink whilst confirming his dismissal.
Once alone in the elevator, Vincent thanked Jesus. At first under his breath, but then slowly, his voice rose, until, as the doors opened on the ground floor, the people waiting to enter could hear his prayers before the metal doors opened.
Ines Zedillo returned to her spot on the terrace, her face once again taking in the warm afternoon sun. Arturo came and stood beside her, handing her a glass of water as he did so.
“Señora, forgive me, but I do not have a primo called Manny…”
“Muchacho! I know that, but I wanted to push our little preacher. I wanted to see how he would react.”
“And what did you see, Señora?”
“See? Yo no se… I don’t know… but I know that a man cannot hide behind God and his bible forever. If he is lying to us, we will know… we will know. Entonces… what time is the senator due? This lunch is going to waste…”
7
Step in Time
Danny had enjoyed his trip. Simeon had proved to be excellent company and was unlike any other priest he had met.
The day had been punctuated by laughter, easy silences, and relaxed conversations on everything from music to climate change to celibacy. They’d even chatted about what Simeon liked to call ‘soccer’ while Danny kept correcting him by calling it ‘football.’
Back at Danny’s clapboard home, they were enjoying another easy silence as they unloaded the trash, fishing gear and the solitary fish they’d managed to land.
Once they’d finished, Simeon gripped Danny’s hand in a shake that was both strong and sincere.
“You’re a badass mofo, Danny… That was a fine day’s fishing… I only get one day off a month, but I figure I know what I’ll be doing when it rolls around again.”
“It’ll be a pleasure to see you then, Simeon. You are, as they say where I come from, a top geezer.”
Simeon’s booming laugh was a great response, but what he said next took Danny by surprise. “You could always swing on by and see me at my place of work. Mass is every Sunday morning at ten or eleven-thirty. Yo’ could even sit yo’ ass in my confessional, like I suggested. Sometimes, it’s good to get a little something off our chests… know what I’m sayin’?”
Danny considered the holy man, and his reply, before opening his mouth. “That’s an interesting offer… but, really, Father, I know what I think of God, and I am sure he knows it too. We leave each other alone. It works best that way for all concerned.”
“God, consciousness, the Force… I don’t give two shits what people wanna call it. So long as they know it’s there, Danny. And you know. Something in your life gave you a glimpse of it. You wanna take a closer look, have a proper talk about it… you’ll find me over at St Justin the Martyr in Key Largo. I promise not to bite… See ya later, my man… Keep it real.”
And with that, Father Simeon squeezed himself into his bedraggled Ford Taurus and drove off, leaving Danny standing there on his oyster-shell drive thinking that he might just have been given the most individual call to prayer any human had ever had.
Deputy Amparo Sosa almost missed the turning. The road sign was so small as to be self-defeating. But at the very last second, she spotted it, spraying gravel as she pulled off the highway and onto the narrow drive. Almost immediately, she had to swerve to avoid a battered Ford that was coming towards her at speed.
Another time, she would have buzzed her lights and pulled over the driver to warn him about putting the “pedal to the metal,” but right now, she was too curious about meeting the mystery English guy whose little sign promised an excellent day’s fishing at competitive prices.
The drive, which was flanked by Camellia bushes, soon widened to reveal a little clapboard house complete with a veranda with an old swing chair in one corner. To the left of the house was a boat dock which gave out onto one of the many channels that gave Florida Keys’ residents access to the Gulf of Mexico. A modest-sized fishing boat was tied up, gently bumping against its moorings. On the right side was a battered-looking carport. A vehicle sat there with a tarpaulin covering it. It looked dusty, as though it hadn’t been pulled aside in a very long time. She couldn’t tell from the shape whether it was a truck or not. That was okay, she aimed to find out.
It hadn’t taken long to discover where this little fishing operation worked out of. One of the fire fighters who shared the depot with the police at Founders Park had heard of the English guy and spotted the sign a little further down the road past Marathon Key.
As she stepped from her cruiser, making sure she had her rover radio clipped to her belt, a tall man came around the corner of the house from the boat side. He was hefting a dripping cool box. Amparo was instantly struck by the man’s gait. He carried himself with ease, despite his height. His hair was close cropped, unlike many of the dropout fishing types who ran such businesses.
His legs were muscular and lean. As the breeze caught his T-shirt, pushing it against his frame, she noted that didn’t have the little beer belly that other fishermen often had either. Too many Tecates in the sun, but not for this charter man. It then struck Amparo that she was paying maybe a little too much attention to what this guy looked like.
“Can I help you, officer?”
“That confirms it. I’ve found my Englishman.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m Deputy Sosa from the Monroe County Sheriff’s office… and you are?”
Looking him directly in the eye, she reached out her hand and noted the strength of the handshake she got in return. He was less than an inch taller than her, so maintaining that eye contact was easy.
“My name’s Danny… Danny Franklin. I hope this isn’t an official visit, Deputy. I can’t recall running a light or being at the scene of a dodgy crime recently.”
“Dodgy?”
“Sorry, I mean suspicious circumstances… that sort of thing.”
“I am here on business, Mr Franklin. I’m following up on an incident that was a little strange up at the Tom Thumb on Highway One… the store by mile marker seventy-nine?”
“Excuse me for saying, but one Tom Thumb kind of melds into another. They’re hardly Harrods Food Hall, now, are they?’
“Harrods? I’m not sure…”
Danny held up his hands, an easy smile spreading across his face. She could see he was having a little fun here at her expense. “All right, all right. I’ll stop with the British references. It’ll make your life easier. Mind you, haven’t you ever seen Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins? Step in toime?’’ He laced the last phrase with as much comedy cockney as he could.
Sosa felt even more confused, but she also had to suppress a little smile. “Mr Franklin, this is a serious matter I’m investigating. There was an attempted armed robbery.”
“And how does this involve me, officer?”
“A member of the public stepped in. Stopped the robbery. Witnesses said he had an English accent.”
“So, you’re looking for this gentleman to give him a medal? W
ith the number of visitors you get round here, that could be a long old search, don’t you think?”
Sosa felt she had lost the initiative in her questioning. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she was enjoying listening to the man speak. His accent… it was… anyway. She tried a different tack.
“Would you mind showing me what’s under the tarp in your carport?”
Danny raised an eyebrow. “Are you a petrol head?”
“Sir, I would appreciate it if you would stop talking to me in riddles.”
Danny laughed. “Okay, okay. I promise, but answer me this. Aren’t you supposed to have some kind of a search warrant before snooping under a person’s carport?”
“If you have something to hide, I can go away and get that warrant.”
“And if this bloke stopped a robbery, why are you so intent on finding him? Did he rob the shop, too, after foiling the first attempt?”
“No, sir, but we have reason to believe there was an over-zealous use of force involved.”
“So, this would-be, have-a-go hero punched somebody?”
“Are you going to let me see under the tarpaulin or not?”
“Okay, officer, okay. As you have asked so nicely.”
The two of them walked over to the carport. Danny pushed some foliage aside to reach his corner of the tarp. “Here we go, officer. You take one corner, I’ll take the other.”
Sosa still couldn’t tell what was under the covering, but she wasn’t optimistic. It didn’t look the right shape to be an honest-to-god American truck.
They peeled back the green canvas, slowly but surely revealing a battered ex-military Jeep underneath. It was a flatbed, but it wasn’t anything you could mistake for a modern shit-kicker run-around.
“This what you’re looking for, officer?”
Sosa felt a little crestfallen. She’d been pleased that her detective work had taken her this far, but disappointed that she had ground to a halt so soon.
