Godsend_a gripping, fast-paced thriller

by J. A. Marley

  There was much to think on in the coming days.

  Danny was careful to arrive early at Schooners Wharf in Old Key West, not wanting Amparo waiting in the bar on her own. The place was as crowded as it usually was, tourists and locals all enjoying the great atmosphere, with music being played by a chain-smoking man playing an acoustic guitar on the little makeshift stage, a huge and very old Labrador sitting patiently at his feet. The only time the dog moved was when it had to avoid the ash dropping off his master’s cigarette. It didn’t surprise Danny at all to hear the guy had a growl of speaking voice, a bit like a bike chain being dropped onto a metal bin lid.

  Danny was feeling nervous. He was contradicting every single rule he had previously held about his personal life. He had always avoided distractions of the relationship kind. He barely committed to furniture, let alone a girlfriend. And yet, here he was, waiting on a girl. A girl who was a policewoman, to boot! Was he so tired of his chosen path? Was this an early onset mid-life crisis? No. It wasn’t as clichéd as that. He just felt it. He felt he deserved a touch of affection in his life. He wanted to indulge himself. To feel. As to why that was the case? He didn’t have an answer to that yet.

  When she did arrive, suitably ten minutes late, Danny spotted her instantly. She dodged customers in the entrance way, looking around, trying to spot him in the bar area that was partly open to fresh evening air. He caught her eye, and, smiling, she made her way to where he stood at the end of the bar.

  “Hola, Danny… how ya doin’?”

  She shuffled onto the barstool he had pulled out for her. He wasn’t sure whether to chastely kiss her on the cheek or shake her hand. He felt like an awkward teenager, something he’d never really been. He opted for the kiss, and she responded except they both misjudged, and it almost ended up being a kiss on the lips as they got their cheek directions confused. They stopped and looked at each other, laughing.

  “Sorry, Amparo, let’s try that again, shall we?” Danny lent in, clearly telegraphing the direction of his face this time, being rewarded with the touch of her skin on his face and the sweet, musky smell of her perfume. “What can I get you to drink? I’ve got one of these awful, fizzy beers you Americans seem to like.”

  “Don’t diss the king of beers, they’re delicious!”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Claro. I’ll have a margarita, please, Janey knows how I like mine…”

  The bartender winked at her, and Danny couldn’t help but smile. He may have suggested the venue, but it was now clear he was on her turf.

  When her drink came, it was in a plastic cup placed inside another plastic cup with a Schooners Wharf beer mat jammed in between. Danny was puzzled, and it showed.

  “The beer mat? It means I’m a local.”

  “Oh, okay… and I’m not.” Danny gestured to his single plastic cup.

  “No, you’re not. You get the ‘touron’ prices!” She giggled, taking a sip of her margarita through a straw.

  “Now it’s your turn to translate. ‘Touron’?”

  “Sí… ‘touron’, half tourist, half moron, usually how they show up round here.” She laughed again.

  Danny thought how much he liked the sound. “Okay, I get it… We call them grockles in England. They aren’t much liked. Their money is always welcome, though.”

  “True, true…”

  “Speaking of truth, why did you ask me out for a drink, Amparo?”

  “Can’t a chica ask a nice boy out for a little fun?”

  “I suppose…”

  “Listen, I always liked the bad boys, the ones who are a little mysterioso. And you intrigue me… it must be the cop in me…”

  “Is this some kind of alternative interrogation technique?’

  “No… no, I just like conundrums.”

  “You like being a cop?”

  “Si… me gusto. It’s the best job in the world when it goes right and you’re making a difference.”

  “Is that important to you? Making a difference?”

  “Definitely. When I was young, my hermano, my brother, he got involved with the wrong people. He ended up in a gang, selling a little marijuana, boosting the odd car… relatively small-time shit. Except it wasn’t small enough… He was shot, lost an eye. It was a drive-by, gang feud over some stupid stuff, a girl or money or something. From that day on, I wanted to try and stop the small stuff before it became the big stuff. Before someone got hurt.”

  Danny signalled the bartender. He had decided to dump the terrible beer, switching to a Blanton’s on ice. He took a sip, savouring the smoky aroma on his tongue.

  “And what about you, Danny? How come you wanted to be a fisherman? You like tuna?”

  “Ha! I just wanted a quieter life.”

  “You need money to drop out these days… you must have been a lucky man in the past. Or is that part of your mystery?”

  “What can I tell you? I’m an international bank robber living off the proceeds of just one big job.”

  Amparo laughed, and Danny sipped his drink to disguise his own amusement at how he’d just told her the truth. He could see that she hadn’t taken him seriously.

  The evening wore on. The two of them chatted, easy with each other’s company, crossing from subject to subject, everything from why Americans didn’t understand kettles to why the British drank warm beer. Danny was enjoying the warmth of her presence. Only now and again did he catch a flash of his own discomfort, a tinge of worry that he was getting to know this woman, a police woman no less, at a time when he was about to embark on a dangerous new phase in his life. A phase that would almost certainly lead to him either being dead or, at the very least, running the hell out of town.

  And that was when he realised it. He was getting to know her. He was flirting, because deep down, he knew it might be his last chance at experiencing something other people were able to take for granted. That was why he was feeling close to Father Simeon. That was why he was feeling lonely. His life choices were putting him on a path to this point. A point where his options were going to grind to a halt. Soon, he would either have to kill or be killed. And for a time, even if it was going to be a short one, he wanted to feel friendship. Companionship. Maybe even a little love.

  “Danny? Que pasa? Where you gone?”

  He had been busted, staring off into middle distance, coming to terms with why he was even here. “Sorry, Amparo, I was just off with Alice for a second there.”

  “Who’s Alice? Should I be jealous already?”

  “Ha-ha… no, I mean off in wonderland… like Alice.”

  “Oh, amigo… if I am boring you…”

  “No… no, really… I was actually wondering about something really important.”

  “Digame… tell me…”

  “I was wondering, as you’re a local, if I walk you home, would you let me kiss you goodnight?”

  Amparo reached for her drink, tossing it back in one sizeable swig and, without speaking, started to pick up her little purse, standing up off her stool. “Hombre… vamos. Let’s get walking…”

  And they both laughed. Danny felt like the luckiest boy in class who had just been allowed to hold hands with the pretty girl.

  21

  Daydream Believer

  Danny was daydreaming. He was thinking about kissing Deputy Sheriff Amparo Sosa. He caught himself thinking about the night before. How she had felt in his arms. Her perfume. The sheen of her hair. The fact that he had turned into some kind of infatuated puppy from a 1950s pop song.

  He liked the fact that she had not invited him in for the proverbial “coffee”. He had been left with an inane grin on his face as she closed the door on him, and he’d stood there for a full minute and a half before walking away. Here he was, replaying the scenario in his head and enjoying every second.

  A revelry that was instantly spoiled when the woman sitting next to him grabbed his hand and forced him to stand up, along with the rest of the congregation. The church was massive,
with an altar to match, decked out in obvious plastic plants and a deep-pile scarlet-red carpet. To one side, a band had launched into a version of Are You Washed in the Blood, except their version was a quasi-heavy metal one, complete with screaming guitars and a drummer who thought he was in AC/DC. Jolted back into the here and now, Danny thought, not for the first time that morning, that this was the very definition of mass hysteria.

  As he watched the musicians, Danny moved his mouth in a fake low-level sing-along. The lady next to him was belting out the words.

  “Are your garments spotless? Are they white as snow? Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?”

  Bloodstains are hard to remove, love. I know better than most, thought Danny as the woman tugged his hand about in the air in time with the racket the band was making. It puzzled Danny. How could you put all those hours of learning and practise into playing electric guitar only to then use it playing “Christian Rock”? If it were me, I’d be on the road, banging for Britain in every town we visited.

  Sitting towards the back of the altar, June Cardell was looking every inch the dutiful preacher’s wife. Dressed in a cornflower-blue twinset, she wore a pearl necklace to complete the look. Danny nearly burst into laughter at the next line of the hymn: “When the Bridegroom cometh, will your robes be white?” He reckoned June hadn’t worn that kind of white for at least twenty years.

  When Danny had climbed into the blacked-out Escalade that had arrived at his home earlier that morning, he truly had no idea what he was letting himself in for. The service had been going on for over an hour and a half. On… and on… interminable. Danny didn’t know how much more he could take. So far he’d seen a little white-haired lady tell the gathered faithful that “Global warming isn’t the work of human hands. It’s God telling us to mend our ways.” This had been followed by a tall man in cowboy hat and boots. He was introduced as a ‘modern day Hank Williams with a bible in one hand and guitar in the other.’ He had sung three songs about the evils of alcohol, at one stage proclaiming whiskey to be the “Devil’s buttermilk”. All he managed to do was make Danny crave a Blanton’s on ice.

  Finally, Vincent Cardell entered. He took centre stage. The room had fallen eerily silent, an expectant hush signalled that he was the main act here today. Except, Danny mused, for the majority here, this is no act. This is a way of life. These people literally believed every single phrase, word, doctrine and epithet that had been cast from the altar. The notion terrified him.

  Cardell had been like a whirlwind. Starting at the pulpit, he strode about the raised dais. His message became ever more strident. He preached about the purity of the Bible, how many had tried, but not succeeded, to taint the Christian legacy. He condemned Catholics, politicians and scientists. Even Darwin got a pasting. All for the sake of Cardell’s version of religion. His was, to Danny’s mind, a vengeful, capricious and bigoted version of the “All-powerful.’ Cardell spoke of reckonings, of cleansing fires, floods and pestilence. At one point, he argued that only Americans would survive the apocalypse. Only they would see the true face of God. And when Danny thought Vincent might be on the brink of some kind of seizure, so intense was his tirade, he suddenly stood still. The silence in the church became claustrophobic. Cardell slowly and deliberately surveyed the whole room, taking in the two thousand or so people; he looked around as most hung on his every word.

  His final volley was then delivered in whispered tones. “Know this, my fellow believers. His judgement upon us will be swift and relentless. We have built a world that worships false gods. We have been complicit in allowing these ungodly weeds to proliferate in the Garden of Eden. But His word still rings true. Romans, chapter one, verse eighteen. ‘For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men who suppress the truth in unrighteousness.’ Are you suppressing? Are you living His truth? It’s time we abandoned false idols. It’s time we returned our America to good old Christian values. It’s time we tell our leaders to lead so we can follow them back to the path of righteousness. When you leave here today, it is your calling to tell your politicians that is what you want. It is what we all here want. Because it’s not me simply spouting from a pulpit. No. It. Is. God’s. Will.”

  Cardell paused, letting his message settle on the congregation. “We do not want to anger him. We do not want to invoke God’s wrath. We want to execute His will and see the glory of His second coming. We can return our nation to God’s favour. God bless each and every one of you… and God Bless our America.”

  The congregation had been silent until this point. They were rapt at Cardell’s fervour. As soon as he stopped, the crowd went ballistic. The last time Danny had heard a noise like it had been at a world title boxing match, the challenger severely cutting the incumbent champion’s eye, with bloodlust fuelling the wave of noisy euphoria that followed.

  A few more acolytes had taken to the pulpit, but none had held the sway Cardell had. Danny’s thoughts had wandered off to Amparo, and now, he hummed along to a heavy metal hymn he neither knew nor cared for. As the song neared its frenetic, guitar solo-ed climax, a tall man in a suit appeared next to Danny. He bent to half-shout, half-whisper into Danny’s ear.

  “Come with me now, Mr Franklin.”

  At first, Danny hesitated, not recognising the name, but quickly remembered that he went by Franklin these days. It may have been a year-and-a-half since he’d left London, but he still had moments where his cover name sounded unfamiliar.

  They picked their way through the rows of congregants, Danny struck at how they looked cut from the same cloth. The men were wearing a kind of uniform – chinos, white starchy shirts and old-fashioned ties. The women were in long skirts and blouses that buttoned right to the neck, despite the humidity inside the huge Floridian church. They looked like an army.

  The tall man led the way to a door at the right-hand side of the altar whilst the host preacher wrapped up the day’s worshipping, trotting out earnest “thank-you”s to his guest speakers. Once through the door, a maze of beige-coloured corridors, multiple doors on either side met them, until they came to what looked like a fire exit. The tall man pushed through it, and a stretch limousine was on the other side, engine running, a chauffeur stationed at the open rear door.

  “Get in.”

  Danny was about to smart-mouth the tall man, but then thought better of it when he heard June Cardell’s voice call him from inside the huge vehicle. “Come on in, Danny. The air-con is struggling.”

  He ducked into the car. His eyes adjusted from the sunny glare to muted tones of the interior. The door closed behind him. June was sitting at the far end of the limo. She patted the seat alongside her. “Sit here. That way, when he arrives, you will be able to see us both.”

  “I feel like a pet dog.”

  “Behave, and I might give you a treat later.” June winked. “Now remember, my husband is a little… intense. And he will be terse with you. He always feels exhausted after delivering a sermon.”

  “I can imagine… the weight of all that bullshit.”

  “There’s no need to take that tone, Danny. What I’m offering you is a fabulous opportunity. Play nicely.”

  “What you’re offering and what your husband is offering are two different things.”

  “Remember what I told you, Danny.” June cocked her index finger and thumb like a gun, pulling the imaginary trigger.

  Danny ignored her. “Why can’t I mention Harkness?”

  “When you plan to dupe someone, do you normally furnish them with the plan and a list of names of those involved?”

  “I’m still not fully on board with your little game here, June. Just remember that. You might think you hold all the aces, but I’m not even playing just yet.”

  “Would it help if I told you a number?”

  Danny shot her a look. He had been considering for some time that there must be a significant amount of cash at stake. Why else would Harkness be sniffing around? Why else would a
woman like June embark on such a risky venture? Danny looked at her, being careful not to remain poker-faced.

  “Try me.”

  “Around eighteen million dollars. The mission only rakes in about half that… but then… we launder.”

  Nine million dollars laundered in a little over seventy-two hours. That’s time and efficiency in motion right there, he thought. Who knew a little Gospel could take you so far?

  “That’s a lot of money that Jesus is missing out on.”

  “And you could have your share… if you behave.”

  “You mean, if I misbehave, June. Misbehave on your behalf…”

  “I’ll make it worth your while… in all sorts of ways.”

  Danny was about to answer when he heard the chauffeur grip the handle of the car door.

  Vincent Cardell climbed in. Despite his energetic performance, when Cardell sat down opposite Danny he looked remarkably calm and fresh.

  “It’s Mr Franklin, isn’t it?” Cardell then looked down at his right hand. He inspected his fingernails, which, to Danny’s mind, looked long for a man. He then slowly offered it to Danny.

  Danny shook it, unsurprised by the wan, limp handshake that he received. “You don’t like to touch strangers, do you?” Danny tightened his grip a little towards the end of the shake in order to see the preacher’s discomfort flicker up a notch. “I’d like to say it’s a pleasure, Mr Cardell. But compulsory invites are not ones I usually relish or comply with.”

  “Really? Why are you here, then?”

  “Let’s just say that June can be a persuasive person.”

  Cardell glanced at his wife. There was no obvious expression on his face, but Danny knew something had passed between them.

  “My wife seems to think you are the answer to our prayers. Is she right?”

  “Depends on what you are praying for. I can show you a fabulous day’s fishing.”

  “Danny…” June tutted at him.

  “Have you ever killed a man, Mr Franklin?”