by J. A. Marley
When both men were sat and settled opposite Vincent, he spoke. “Mr Ferragamo, thank you for joining us. I apologise as to the lateness of the hour, but I have been busy reconnecting a few souls with our Lord’s wishes.”
“I… it’s perfectly fine, Pastor Cardell. It is important work.”
“That it is, Mr Ferragamo… that it is. I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you. We have recently called upon you to do some… how can I put it? Extraordinary duties? Would that be fair to say?”
“Yes, Pastor. In my old life, it was something I was well used to doin’.”
“Indeed. I recall, I met you at one of my missions in Raiford, the Florida State Prison, did I not?”
“Yes, Pastor, I was finishing a ten stretch. Armed robbery…”
“And, how was it? Raiford, I mean?”
“It was okay, I suppose… I had rough moments…”
“Did you belong to… a gang? Where did you stand in the yard at exercise?’
Ferragamo was looking puzzled. The Pastor had never spoken much to him directly, never mind plucking him from his favourite bar in order to meet in the middle of the night and talk over prison yard politics. He looked down at his shoes, his reflection looking back at him in the shine. “I was affiliated to a biker gang, Scorpions…”
“Not to a… famiglia?”
“I have no Sicilian blood, Pastor… I was more into… well, my buddies… meth and the like. In the outside world. But now I know Jesus, Pastor. I want to reassure you of that.”
Ferragamo looked as though he felt he was on some kind of back foot here, trying to say things he thought the Pastor might want to hear.
“Did the Scorpions ever make use of any of your… special talents?”
“I’m not sure I’d like to say…”
“Oh, come now, Mr Ferragamo. We are all made equal in the eyes of Jesus, and I have made use of those talents myself. Don’t be coy.”
“Maybe, Pastor. A lot of things went on in Raiford. Sometimes stuff had to get done… you know… to stay alive.”
“I see. And what would your friends in the Scorpions have done had the task you’d been set turned out less than an unqualified success?”
Ferragamo was in full on panic mode, sweat breaking on his brow. “I’ve done all that was asked. I held Manny down. I helped clean up. I ditched the body myself.”
What he hadn’t noticed during the conversation was that Norby, sitting beside him, had donned a pair of see-through plastic gloves. Something that flashed in the internal limo’s light was now in those plastic-covered hands.
Norby made a grab for Ferragamo’s left wrist, exhibiting surprising levels of strength as he did so, clamping the arm under his. Gripping a wrist with one hand, with his other, Norby slotted a nasty looking pair of pruning shears around the ex-convict’s pinky finger, easing pressure onto it so that the shears bit into the skin. Ferragamo knew instantly not to struggle.
“Look at me, Mr Ferragamo, not Mr Norby. It would be best for you if you pay attention to me. Right now.”
Ferragamo’s head swivelled like he was in a dream, in slow motion. Panic made it hard for him to shift his focus any faster.
“The body, Mr Ferragamo. It showed up. Rather too quickly, it so happens. And the wrong people found it… also rather too quickly.”
“I did what I was told… I did everything… I don’t know what could have happened. I put stones in the coat pockets, I lashed chains to him… I don’t… I didn’t…”
“When the very people I do not want finding that particular body suddenly produce photos of it, I get a touch suspicious.”
“I swear to you, Pastor. On my life, on the Holy Bible… I did all I was asked. I don’t even know who you were trying to stay clear from…’
“Mr Norby has already assured me of your associations, Mr Ferragamo. But, you see, we are engaged in some deeply serious work on this project. And I can’t have failure. You must realise that. We can’t let others in our brotherhood see that mistakes are left unpunished. We can’t let complacency take root like poison ivy in our midst. So, come now. Accept what you have brought onto yourself. If it helps, we can pray together, you and I, as Mr Norby does what cannot be avoided.”
Ferragamo was wild-eyed, the shears biting further into his skin. He had begun the journey to Christianity with this so-called pastor as a way of getting his jail time reduced, but slowly, he had found a certain solace and logic in his words. The charisma and the way the organisation had reached out to Ferragamo on release, when no one else would, had made for a seductive package. But now, here, in the back of this big car with his finger bleeding and the Pastor opposite him reciting the Lord’s Prayer, Ferragamo looked aghast.
“You… you bastard. This ain’t Christian. This ain’t Jesus’ way. I thought I had joined a church, but fuck you. You’re nothing but another gang, one as brutal as any I ever saw in prison.”
“Say ‘Amen’ with me, Ferragamo, at least give the Lord that much respect…”
“Wha? You motherfu—”
Cardell nodded to Norby, who squeezed with all his might.
The crack as the bone severed and the spray of blood that accompanied it caused Cardell to shift quickly in his seat. Cardell stared at the red splatter that had fallen on the seat next to him. The bright shock of it against the black leather enthralled him. Almost absentmindedly, he spoke again.
“Mr Norby will see to your wound. Goodnight, Mr Ferragamo. I trust you now know the depth to which I require my brothers to feel our mission. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes if you ever let me down again. Mind you, I doubt you will. God bless you, sir. God bless us all as we attend to his work.” His face was plastered with a beaming smile as he said it.
10
Hook, Line and Sinker
Danny hated planking. Locking his core muscles as he lay face down on his elbows and the tips of his toes, legs rigid to support his weight. He knew it was good for him, a fiendishly effective exercise that delivered. Still, he fucking hated it. He had completed the other rounds of his morning routine. He had boxed with a bag that hung behind his carport, flung weights around to keep his arms, shoulders, back and chest taut, and finally abdominals and the dreaded plank for his core.
Any distraction from his complaining muscles was welcome. It was a chance to let his core relax, give in to gravity and let his body settle back onto his hands and knees. The crunch of a car’s wheels on the oyster-shell drive heralded the arrival of a fancy-looking car pulling up to his house. He figured this was a pretty good excuse to stop planking.
The Florida sun was low in the morning sky, so it was still cool in his front yard, but the sweat was pouring from his head, his damp training vest clung to his chest as he approached the car.
The door opened, and a slender leg emerged. Danny was curious. It was a feeling which only grew as the leg was completed by a tall, brunette-haired woman. She held her head high as she walked towards him. Her chin jutted out, a little elevated to show him she was a confident woman.
“Have I caught you at an inconvenient moment, sir?”
Danny realised he must look like he’d been dragged to hell and back and mopped his forehead with the towel hanging over his shoulder. “No, not at all. Just finishing the hardest work of my day. I quite like excuses to stop trying to ‘plank’.”
“Oh, God. I hate those. My personal trainer is forever banging on about how good they are. Torture is what I call them.”
Danny instantly caught the English accent buried beneath a burgeoning transatlantic twang. In the recent past, it might have excited an interest, but that morning, it made every alarm bell in his subconscious go off like there was an electrical fire breaking out in his brain.
“Mind you, being strong in that position can be useful in so many ways. My name is June Cardell. Are you the fishing man?” The brunette extended a hand towards him, which Danny responded to by gesturing to his sweaty demeanour.
“You might wa
nt me to wash my hands before shaking yours. And yes, I am the… fishing man.”
“Nonsense. A little sweat never hurt anyone. Pleased to meet you.”
She moved in close for the handshake, the smell of her perfume wafting towards him as she did so. He was struck by how long it had been since he had spent any time in the company of a woman.
An awkward pause followed as Danny collected himself. June Cardell swept a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.
‘Err, so how can I help, Miss…?”
“It’s Mrs… Mrs June Cardell. I was hoping to charter you for a day’s fishing. It’s what you do, after all…”
“Oh, right. Yeah, that’s… indeed. I fish. When were you hoping to go?”
“Today would work for me. I think the weather looks perfect. I have the time, and I came looking. Your sign on the roadside seems to be all you advertise with. I tried googling you before I pulled up onto your drive.”
“I run a low-key operation here, Mrs Cardell. If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look dressed to go on a fishing trip.”
June looked down at herself, as if taking stock of her knee length skirt and blouse ensemble. “Oh, this outfit? Don’t worry I have some cut-offs, T-shirt and pumps in my car. Are you free?”
Danny didn’t know what to say. He was used to tourists seeing his sign and pulling in off the road. He always had the boat ready to go for just such a scenario. Plus, he liked to go out on the Gulf of Mexico on days like this one, when the water was calm and the sun sparkled on its surface like jewels on a crown, whether he had a paying customer or not. But this woman was making him feel wary. His mind flashed back to his thoughts of an oncoming storm. Was this woman the first signs of that storm?
“I can pay. I have cash. You probably prefer cash. Who wants to pay taxes and write up receipts?”
“I…” Danny couldn’t think straight; she was blindsiding him.
“Why don’t you go and have a shower. I can change in the back of my car. I’ve got all that privacy glass, so I won’t be putting on a show.”
June Cardell didn’t wait for his response. She turned away, making straight for her car, and Danny couldn’t think of anything else to do but go and have that shower. It looked like he was going fishing, and with a paying customer.
The deputies of the Monroe County Sheriff’s office worked solo in their cruisers, but there were always at least two on duty on that stretch of road at any given time. So, in a way, you did have a partner, and you came to be buddies with them, because if things got a little interesting out there, they would usually be the first on any scene to help.
Amparo Sosa felt very lucky because her shift buddy was someone she trusted and could call her friend. And there was nothing more she liked better on the job than breaking for lunch or coffee and catching up with her fellow Deputy Sheriff, Cheryl Costanza. They were at their usual lunch haunt, Lazy Days, just before Tea Table Key. Cheryl loved the coconut shrimp, but Amaparo preferred the chowder. That day, they were making each other laugh.
“I tell you, that sonofabitch, he says to me, ‘Deputy, you don’t have the jurisdiction to write me up.’ So, I just started writing him up. ‘Here, here’s your moving violation… one hunnerd and sixty bucks. Thank you so very much.’”
Cheryl was giggling at her own story. “I mean, Amparo, if you could’ve seen this jerk’s face as I handed him the ticket and reminded him I wasn’t state and that he was in my territory. You know when a kid is sucking on a Twinkie and you take it away from him? He looked just like that.”
Sosa joined in her laughter, easily recognising the face she was describing. How many times had a tourist made that mistake?
“It was like that time I stopped that hombre on over by the State Park at Indian Key…”
“Which? The gang banger?”
“No, that was outside Woody’s. No, the Touron with the battered, white conch cruiser. I think it was a Hyundai. His girlfriend was so out of it, she didn’t even know I’d pulled them over. And he goes – I ain’t got nuttin’ in the automobile, Sheriff… and as he says it, she comes round and asks him for the baggie!”
They were laughing harder now.
“So, I ask him to get out the car. You know, amigo, just do yourself a solid and step out slowly. He starts to whine, ‘You ain’t got no right!’ All I had to do was rest my hand on my baton. He got out of the car like a jack rabbit. Anyway, I find nothing, no baggie, no blunt ends, nothing and just as I’m about to give up, his girlfriend starts saying something. He’s trying to shut her up, until eventually she goes, ‘The smokie didn’t look in back, did she?’”
Cheryl blew Mountain Dew down her nose at this.
“So, lover boy is now cussing and swearing. I open the trunk… at least forty pounds of mejor cocaina… all packed up nice and pretty. It’s like Captain Corey likes to say over and over… the dumber they are…”
Cheryl finished their boss’s mantra for her. “The smarter we look… Amen to that, sister. Amen.”
They laughed a little more, until a question passed across Cheryl’s face.
“Que, hermana? You have a question?”
Cheryl looked at her, a little sheepish. “Did you ask Captain Corey? About the drive-in girls? It’s been nagging at me since you told me. I don’t figure the Captain to be a pushover…”
“Yeah, yeah, I did ask him. I don’t think he was letting anything slide. When the fancy lawyer showed up, he had about eight sheaves of paper all filled with reasons why we couldn’t hold or charge those girls. No DNA. An unreliable witness, who is now nowhere to be found. No video surveillance footage and the car we towed wasn’t registered to them. Plus, a bunch of legal bullshit to go along with it. Captain said he was going quote the Constitution at him if he hadn’t let them go.”
“You ever seen the Cap look so unnerved?”
“No, hermana, no way. But what can we do? It’s like the day I pulled that Touron over with the dumbass girlfriend. I just knew, when I saw their car… I knew. Something was muy malo…”
Cheryl looked at her friend and colleague from over the tops of her sunglasses. “Yeah, I hear ya. When something stinks, it stinks.”
“And you know… Florida Keys… the sunny place, for shady people.”
The two cops clinked glasses on that note, both taking comfort from their shared understanding.
“But, hey, sister, from what you told me, the Brit guy you found? He’s a good-looking guy, this Brit? That’s gotta be enough for you to take another look. I mean, strictly professional interest here.”
They laughed again.
“What was it you said? Oh yeah… ‘He had this hot voice’… who even thinks that?”
Amparo swatted at Cheryl, her friend pulling back at the last second. The blush came easily to the young deputy’s cheeks. She collected herself, noting on her watch that their lunch break was almost up.
“He had more than just a hot voice, muchacha… I can tell you. But he did make my radar ping. I think you might be right. I might need to take a second look. C’mon. We gotta get back to pushing the green and white.”
Sosa was right, their time was up. They had to return to keeping the peace.
As she climbed back into her green and white liveried police car, she started to talk to herself, aloud, gently. “Sí, señorita, I think we might just take another look at El ingles…”
It was a beautiful day. Danny’s boat was drifting aimlessly, having left Florida Bay behind and entered into the deeper waters of the Gulf of Mexico. He loved it when the sea was like this. A perfect blue in the sunlight, with a surface like glass, with only the wake of his own boat disturbing the calm.
However, he was having a hard time enjoying it that day. Every time he tried to engage his customer on the subject of fishing, of even trying to fish, she seemed disinterested. Taking the time instead to stretch out those long legs of hers, now clad in cut-off denim shorts, the sea breeze pushing the hair straight back on her head. She had
her sunglasses on, meaning he couldn’t get a real fix on her facial expressions. Danny was having trouble reading this woman, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
In the end, he gave up the idea of even casting a line into the sea. He cracked open one of his coolers and offered the lady a drink.
“Do you have any wine?”
Danny began to shake his head before she cut him off.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, what am I asking… a beer? I’ll take a beer.”
Danny passed a bottle of Coors Light to her. Ice was sliding down the glass adding its own twinkle to the afternoon. “So… Mrs Cardell… what part of England are you from?”
“I was wondering when you’d pick up on that. I’m a good old-fashioned Home Counties girl. Bucks, through and through…”
“But that accent…?”
“It only really comes out these days when I talk to the likes of you. You’re a London boy… proper cockney, innit?’
Danny allowed himself a smile and nodded, pulling the tab on his can of Dr Pepper.
“Not joining me in a cold one, Mr… Franklin?”
“I like to keep my boat, and guests, intact whilst out here on the salt.”
“How super responsible of you. And where exactly are we?”
Danny crossed from his perch on the side of the boat to where she was sitting, in the pivot chair that was supposed to help the fishing fan battle with whatever took a bite of their bait. Right now, June Cardell was using it to work on her already impressive tan.
Danny stood next to her and pointed. “Back that way is up into the Everglades. Unless you want to get stuck in a swamp and meet alligators, I’d steer clear of there.”
He turned, using his foot to swivel her chair at the same time so that she kept pace with his pointing hand. “Go further up and you are on the way to Tampa. Go left a bit, there’s Tallahassee, and if you really wanted to keep going, you can get all the way over there to New Orleans.”
“New Orleans? Isn’t that a den of iniquity? A place filled with hard liquor, hot jazz and loose women?”
