Make Them Sorry

by Sam Hawken

  He stood in the brilliant green field and looked at the coca plants growing in perfect cultivated rows under the bright yellow sun. There were periodic rains to refresh these lands, and with the climate so regular it was possible to grow coca all year long. His first job as a little boy was to harvest the leaves of plants exactly like these. Now he was content to let others do the work.

  Behind him were open-sided tents where the hardest work was done: sorting product and ensuring that it was ready for the next step. That was done a half hour’s drive away, in buildings disguised with camouflage netting, known only to Lorca and a handful of other men. The transformation of leaf to cocaine was something akin to magic, at least to Lorca’s eyes. The money that came from its manufacture was as magical as the rest.

  It was quiet, with none of the workers talking to one another during the height of the day. There were sounds of nature, of animals who didn’t care for the doings of human beings, but nothing betrayed a hint of civilization. He liked it here, much better than in Barrancabermeja. The city was dirty and noisy and crowded, and even money and influence couldn’t shut out completely what transpired in the streets.

  He heard the swishing of boots in the grass and turned toward the sound. Daniel Parilla was a young captain, and the closest person to Lorca besides his wife. “Daniel,” Lorca said, “you don’t look happy.”

  “I received a disturbing telephone call, General.”

  “Disturbing how?”

  “Word from Miami.”

  “From Kaur?”

  “No. From someone else.”

  Lorca’s brows knit. “Tell me.”

  Parilla took a breath. “The initial contact came yesterday. An e-mail to one of our accounts. The person who wrote it said he had information we wanted. He asked us to communicate with him via an online bulletin board. Our people reached out.”

  “And?”

  “This person, whoever he is, knows our operation. He has access to files taken from the bank in Miami. He shared a sample in a direct message, and the numbers check out. He says he knows exactly how the money is going into our accounts and exactly how it’s being cleaned. He also says he’s willing to destroy all his records if we agree to a deal.”

  Lorca looked away. He watched the bowed forms of white-clad workers in the field filling woven baskets with coca leaves. “Blackmail,” he said simply.

  “Yes. One million dollars deliverable to an overseas account of his choosing. But it doesn’t stop there.”

  “He wants more?”

  “He’s offering us more.”

  Lorca turned back to Parilla. The man shifted on his feet. They both wore green fatigues, but without insignia. Parilla’s cap was pulled low over his eyes. His fatigues seemed wilted.

  “If there is more to this, I must know everything,” Lorca said.

  “This man with our information, he says we have a problem. One which will pay much more than a million dollars if corrected. But his price is another million.”

  “Two million dollars.”

  “Yes.”

  Lorca shook his head. “This isn’t a man. It’s the woman. Unless she made a deal with someone else, this is entirely her doing. Kaur hasn’t managed to contain her, and now she’s made her way back to us. You can’t say she isn’t brave. I would skin my own brother if he took two million dollars from me. And now we’re expected to hand it over without argument?”

  “I’m sorry, General. If I could—”

  Lorca waved the words away. He turned his back on Parilla again, and stood watch over the field for several minutes. Parilla waited in the heat. Lorca was not quick to speak. He thought instead, and each thought brought him closer to a defined conclusion. “Someone is stealing from us,” he said.

  “What?”

  “It’s the only thing it could be. This woman who has access to our accounts, she knows what goes in and she knows what comes out. Someone with this kind of access cannot help but notice if money goes missing. She’s in a prime position to see everything, even those things which must remain hidden.”

  “What do you want me to do, sir? She says we have three days to make up our minds, and then the payment must be delivered. One million buys us secrecy, but two million will reveal the rest.”

  Lorca held up a hand for silence. “I want you to put our people on it and find out everything you can about this woman. There has to be more than we’ve gotten so far. Where is she? Who is she exactly? All of it. I want to know who I’m dealing with.”

  “But sir, it’s all anonymous.”

  “Nothing is anonymous on the Internet! We pay people to find out these things, so let them earn their money for once. In the meantime, I want to hear what the banker has to say. Bring me the sat phone.”

  “He’ll tell you nothing. Even if he knows the woman is trying to deal with us, he won’t say a word.”

  “He already knows we’re aware of his bungling. He doesn’t know how far it’s gone, but he has to be frightened of what might come of his mistakes.”

  “I’ll bring you the phone immediately.”

  “And Daniel?”

  “Yes, General?”

  “Not a word to anyone about this. Tell only those people who must know something, and even then tell them as little as possible. Containment is the issue now. We mustn’t let this get out of our control.”

  “Yes, General. Of course, General.”

  Parilla walked away through the grass. Lorca listened to the footsteps recede. He clasped his hands behind his back and took deep breaths. He was calm.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  SHE SLEPT ON the boat because she didn’t want to stay in the house. She made certain her gun safe was secure, checked all the doors and windows, locked herself out, and drove her truck to the marina. Behind the wheel of the big red crew cab she felt embraced, and the steady flow of air-conditioning kept off weather that grew stickier by the day. It could not help but rain soon, and it would be torrential.

  The boat had a small bathroom with a shower. Camaro washed and changed into fresh clothes. She had already thrown away the bloody T-shirt from the night before. Sitting in the galley area, she removed the dressing on her arm and checked the stitches before re-dressing the wound. On the way she made a detour to a pharmacy, armed with prescriptions for pain pills and antibiotics. She didn’t bother with the painkillers, but the antibiotics were essential.

  There was little in the way of food on board, so she went to a nearby diner and had a plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, ham, and bacon, along with a short stack of pancakes. When she was full, she went to a small family-owned grocery store half a block away and bought provisions for the boat. Back in the galley, she stocked the tiny refrigerator and the cabinets.

  It was early afternoon when Ignacio called. She sat in the fighting chair on the afterdeck and took the call. “How are you holding up?” Ignacio asked.

  “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “Okay.”

  “You got something?”

  “Yeah. Bamanian left a pretty easy paper trail to follow. I told you he was doing private security work? Well, I got an address and an appointment to talk with someone over there. Seems like no one knows the man’s dead, which works to our advantage.”

  “They won’t know to hide everything,” Camaro said.

  “You got it. I’m gonna head over there today and put the question to them. I’ll figure out who Bamanian was working for in a hurry.”

  “You hope,” Camaro said.

  “Well, yeah. There aren’t any guarantees.”

  Camaro looked out over the marina. It was still, the shapes of a dozen boats shifting subtly in the water. The ocean was never totally calm. Not even here. “I want to come.”

  Ignacio didn’t answer.

  “I said I want to come.”

  “I heard you. I’m wondering how badly I want to get into trouble.”

  “Where’s the trouble? I’m an interested client. I have a
security issue to take care of. Somebody broke into my house and tried to kill me.”

  “That’s very funny,” Ignacio returned. “I’m talking about me being a cop and you being a woman with a stack of bodies on her resume.”

  “Is that still bothering you?”

  “Are you kidding? Did you miss the part about me being a cop?”

  “Not every cop goes nuts when bad guys die.”

  “You know that from long experience?”

  “I’ve been around.”

  “I’m not sure I want to take this relationship to the next level.”

  “We’re not going out on a date. This is life-and-death stuff.”

  “Okay, listen: I’ll agree to let you tag along, but I’m the only one who talks. You said yourself you’re not a detective, so don’t make a career change while I’m doing my thing. This is my favor to you, because I don’t like the idea of people I know getting rubbed out on my watch.”

  “I feel loved,” Camaro said.

  “One more thing,” Ignacio added. “I need you to look the part. Detectives do their jobs, it’s jackets and ties. Or at least ties. So I can’t have you looking like you just came in from cutting bait.”

  “I know how to dress myself.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t. I’m only saying maybe you can be a little less…you. Know what I’m saying?”

  Camaro sighed. “Tell me where you want to meet.”

  “Bamanian’s office is on Biscayne Boulevard south of El Portal. I’ve got an appointment for two o’clock. Can you make it in time?”

  “Is this where you ask me how long it takes a woman to get ready?”

  “No judgments. Can you make it?”

  “Sure. But I’m telling you right now I have a charter tomorrow. I have to keep paying the bills. We have to work around it.”

  “Do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do.”

  “See you at two.”

  Camaro ended the call. She spent a few more minutes watching the quiet in the marina. She left the fighting chair and locked up the cabin and disembarked. Once she was in her truck, she drove to Bayside Marketplace. She parked in a spot far away from the mall entrance, back where the summer crowd thinned out and she could see all sides of the vehicle.

  She went to three shops. She bought a rose-colored jacket and skirt with a pearl blouse and a subtle bra. The second shop got her shoes to match. In the third shop she bought makeup that cost too much. The salesgirl had tried to get her to find the perfect shade of lipstick and eye shadow, but Camaro picked what looked the best at a glance and moved on.

  The mall had a family restroom as big as her living room. She locked herself in and stripped off her jeans and shirt. She put her gun and karambit on the counter by the sink before changing into the new outfit. The shoes had a small heel and weren’t perfectly comfortable. She forced herself to stand in them while she applied makeup in the mirror. She poked herself in the eye once with the eyeliner.

  When she was done, she examined herself. She fluffed her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. She tried pulling it back, but decided against it. She turned left and right and shook her head. She put the gun on underneath the jacket and parted with the karambit, stuffing it into the plastic shopping bags with everything else.

  She headed out past a waiting family of three, and consulted a map before zeroing in on a hair salon near the heart of the mall. “Do you want any particular stylist?” the girl at the desk asked.

  “Anybody who can see me now.”

  “I think Bailey can. Right over there.”

  Bailey looked like a teenager and had hair shot with pink. She had gauges in her ears, and the piercing in her nose matched two in her lower lip. She enthused over Camaro’s hair. “Do you want me to cut it shorter? Give it more volume?”

  “I need to look like I work in an office,” Camaro replied.

  “Okay, but I think I’m going to leave it long. It’s too good to shorten.”

  Camaro was patient for over an hour. She was styled and shampooed and blow-dried, and Bailey put something in her hair smelling of apples. When Camaro looked at herself, she saw someone else behind lipstick and blush. “Good,” she said.

  “Job interview?” Bailey asked.

  “No,” Camaro replied. She got up and paid and left Bailey a 30 percent tip.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  SHE SAW IGNACIO’S car in the parking lot of the building on Biscayne. She checked her watch. It was ten minutes before two. She killed the truck’s engine and got out. As she approached Ignacio’s car, he put down his window. He had his air-conditioning at full blast. “You been here long?” Camaro asked him.

  “Me? No. I’m waiting for a friend of mine. You might have seen her around. She dresses kind of rough, jeans and boots. Maybe you spotted her somewhere?”

  Camaro rolled her eyes. “Go ahead and laugh.”

  Ignacio chuckled. “You look great. Get in. I want to go over my game plan.”

  She got in on the passenger side. It was frosty. Ignacio turned the blower down two notches. “You trying to hang meat?” Camaro asked.

  “I don’t like sweating. I’m a big man. Big men sweat.”

  Camaro looked through the windshield at the three-story building. It had stucco walls with a pinkish look about them, and green eaves. There was an insurance company on the first floor, and an HVAC business. She scanned the windows of the upper floors, but they were impenetrable in the bright afternoon sun.

  “Second floor, in case you’re wondering,” Ignacio said. “I swung by there about an hour ago and had a peek. Everything seems normal. Nobody’s trying to run. Or at least the receptionist is in.”

  “So how do you want to do it?”

  “Like we talked about: I take the lead and you follow. I’ll introduce you, but I won’t give them a name. You keep quiet and listen. They probably won’t even notice you’re there. You pay attention to anything out of the ordinary. People acting like they have something to hide. Maybe something that shouldn’t be there.”

  “Like what?”

  “It could be anything. This is what being a detective is all about: noticing details.”

  Camaro nodded. She saw a car pull up and a man in a golf shirt get out. He went into the insurance company’s office.

  “I figure we’ll be in and out fast unless I can get them to give up something without a warrant. Some people, they clam up when the cops come and you have to get a writ for everything. Other people, you play them right, they tell you more than they should.”

  “What if we get separated?” Camaro asked.

  “If that happens, do not go breaking into anything or talking to people you shouldn’t. And try not to snap somebody’s arm. Or neck.”

  “I’ll do what I can, boss.”

  “Good. Let’s do this.”

  They got out of the car together. Camaro stumbled once in her shoes. She saw Ignacio notice. They took the stairs to the second floor, passed a law office and a chiropractor before reaching the door to Bamanian’s business. The stenciling on the door simply said OFFICE. “Great name,” Camaro said.

  “Lot of thought went into that one,” Ignacio agreed.

  She let Ignacio lead. The office was larger inside than she expected, with a reception area and outlets in three directions, two with closed doors and the other open. Camaro heard a radio playing somewhere deeper in the place. They were listening to KISS 99.9.

  Ignacio showed his identification to the young woman behind the high reception counter. She had the same olive complexion as Bamanian, and the same extremely dark hair. They may have been siblings, or close cousins. Her gaze flicked from Ignacio to Camaro to Ignacio again. Camaro felt herself recede from the receptionist’s perception, like an object in eclipse.

  “Detective Ignacio Montellano,” Ignacio announced. “I have an appointment with Todd Tate for two o’clock.”

  “You’re right on time.”

  “I try to be.”
/>
  “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  She got on the phone. Camaro stepped away. The waiting area had four chairs, a small table wedged between them. A stack of old magazines waited for the bored. Camaro looked at the walls. The pictures hanging were all abstract pastels. She suspected that they were bought in volume for offices exactly like this one.

  Ignacio moved behind her. He spoke in a low voice. “Very nice. Keep it low-key.”

  “Who is this Tate guy? He doesn’t sound Armenian.”

  “He’s not, as far as I know. Ex-marine, has some commendations. Nothing weird about him.”

  “You think he knows what Bamanian was into?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “Detective!”

  Camaro saw a man appear in an open doorway. He wore his sleeves rolled up and a red and gold Marine Corps tie with a crisp white shirt. His hair was thinning heavily, but he cropped it as short as Bamanian had.

  Ignacio stepped forward with his hand out. “Mr. Tate,” he said. “I’m Detective Montellano and this is my associate. I wanted to ask you some questions.”

  “Something to do with a client?”

  “I think so. Could we talk in your office?”

  “Sure, sure.” Tate paused on Camaro before moving on as the receptionist had.

  “Thanks for agreeing to see me,” Ignacio said.

  Tate led them through a small warren of offices until they reached one marked with his name. The radio that Camaro heard was on the windowsill. “I only wish Michael was here to take your questions.”

  “Michael?”

  “Michael Bamanian. He’s the majority partner in the business. I’m a recent addition.”

  They went in. Camaro stopped at the door. “Do you have a ladies’ room?” she asked.

  Ignacio shot her a look. “Of course,” Tate said. “Right down the hallway. There’s a watercooler outside the door. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks,” Camaro said. She shrugged at Ignacio and left him behind.