Stuff to Die For

by Don Bruns

  “We’ll make the drop tomorrow at eight o’clock.”

  “You don’t want to go any further with these men, Mr. Moore. Trust me. Please, for Victor’s sake, leave it alone. I’ll let you know when everything is settled.” He hung up the phone.

  For Victor’s sake. I couldn’t put him at risk. I glanced at my two hands, thinking about having a finger amputated. Crudely amputated. A ring finger.

  “We’re going to drop off the envelope in the trash can at Denny’s.”

  “And that’s it?” James seemed relieved.

  I thought about it. I thought about the fact that I was still around to think about it. And if it hadn’t been for Vic putting his life on the line—

  “No. That’s not it. We’re going to follow these guys and see where Vic is.”

  “You’re out of your fucking mind. You’re a madman, Skip.”

  “You said it yourself, James. Once they get everything they want, they could kill us. I want to know who they are, where they are, and where Vic is.

  “Skip! We could get killed. Vic could get killed.”

  “Yeah, but we’re not going to get free of this until we find out where he is.”

  It wasn’t just saving a life, it was putting a life on the line and there’s the difference.

  There was no other choice. “I’m going to try to get some sleep.” Who was I kidding. I lay there for half an hour and finally got up and made a cup of weak coffee. I watched the sun creep over the horizon and cast its bold red rays into the cloudy sky. Red sky. My father had taught me a saying from his Navy days.

  Red sky at night,

  sailor’s delight.

  Red sky in the morning,

  sailor take warning.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  I TURNED ON THE TELEVISION at six and watched the first news of the day. I’d started to doze off when I heard the announcer mention the fire.

  “Late last night, fire investigators announced that they had uncovered the identity of one of the bodies found in the explosion and fire in Little Havana.”

  I held a breath.

  “They have positively identified Juan Sistaro, a Miami grocer, through his dental records. The identity of the second victim has not been discovered, but investigators say that the body has some unique physical characteristics.”

  I sat up on the couch and shook the cobwebs from my head.

  “It appears that the ring finger on his left hand is missing. Medical examiners were not certain whether the digit had been severed recently or sometime in the past. Both bodies were burned beyond recognition.”

  I remember shivering. It was seventy-eight degrees already, and I was shivering like it was below freezing.

  “The deaths appear to be the result of a major explosion at the Cuban Social Club, a club that—”

  I shut the television off and stood up. The death? Vic was dead? The thought paralyzed me. I stood there staring at the blank screen for at least a minute, then went back to James’s bedroom and shook him.

  Finally he gained consciousness.

  “What the hell?”

  I couldn’t say it.

  “Skip, what the hell did you wake me up for? It’s . . . for crying out loud it’s six fifteen in the morning. Why do you do this to me?”

  “It’s Vic.”

  “What’s Vic?”

  “The news. One of the bodies they found in the burned-out building. It’s Vic.”

  James threw the covers off and got out of bed. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a stained T-shirt that were thrown on the floor, and walked out of the room. I could hear him banging cups and spoons around as he made himself a cup of instant coffee. In about three minutes he came back in the room. I was still standing where I’d made the announcement.

  “You’re positive?”

  “One of the bodies has a missing ring finger and they don’t have a positive ID.

  “Vic? Nah. There’s no positive ID, Skip. Listen, that guy was tough! Saved your life? He could save his own. It wasn’t Vic.”

  “It’s not like we were his best friends, but—”

  “Hey, he’s someone we knew. Hell, he dated Emily. And now we know his father and stepmother. Are you going to tell me about him saving your life?” He walked to the kitchen table and sat down. I followed him, sat down, and shook my head.

  “Is this what it’s all about? You owe him?” James went on.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “You won’t tell me?”

  “James. These guys have tried to kill us. They’ve killed at least two people that we know of. I don’t know if it’s Vic. Let’s assume he’s still alive. We can’t go to the cops without putting Vic and his father and everyone else in jeopardy. Isn’t that reason enough?”

  “I agree we don’t go to the cops. But I don’t know, pard. It’s virgin territory.”

  “Yeah. I say we follow these assholes and find out if Vic is alive. I don’t see any other option.”

  James sipped his coffee, staring out the window at the parking lot. “You agreed to do the college thing so we could start our restaurant. That sort of fizzled. You went along with me on this crazy truck scheme, and God knows where that’s taking us. I owe you. I’m with you on your crazy scheme. If Vic Maitlin or Fuentes or whatever the fuck his name is . . . if he saved your life, I owe him too. Because of Vic, I’ve got my best friend by my side. I’m with you, compadre.” He lifted his right hand and we hit palms across the tiny kitchen table.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  WE CALLED IN SICK. I’d only done it twice before and once because I’d actually been sick. This time I was afraid I might be sick. I called Em. She was sick, really sick, and asked if I could call later.

  I nodded off to sleep about 8 a.m. and woke up at nine. There’s a rhythm to my sleep pattern no matter how tired or rested I am. I’m up by seven and even on weekends I can’t sleep past nine. I don’t care if I’ve been on a bender, I still am up by 9 a.m.

  I called Em again and this time she could talk.

  “Are you going to hang up on me again?”

  “No.” I’d been properly chastised.

  “I’m feeling a little better. Can you get away for some coffee?”

  “Sure. I’m not going in to work, so let’s do it. I’ll drive in and meet you in the deli.”

  The deli is in her condo building. All she’s got to do is get on the elevator. A sick person should be able to do that. I had to drive twenty-five minutes.

  She looked great. Cutoffs and a short T, with thin sandals that showed off her sexy legs and feet. For just a moment I forgot she was carrying our kid. Just a very brief moment.

  “Em, I’m sorry about last night.”

  “This morning.”

  We sat at a table in the large hallway outside the deli, sipping on coffee and chewing on bagels.

  “Yeah. Things are happening.”

  “What things?”

  “Do you want to talk about that or about the—” how was I to refer to it?

  “The what?”

  “The situation?”

  “Why don’t we just call it what it is, Skip? The pregnancy.”

  “Okay.”

  She frowned. “Do you want to say it? Why not try it out.”

  I didn’t like being treated like a kid, however, I knew she was right. If I couldn’t even say it, I probably couldn’t deal with it.

  “Do you want to talk about my phone calls last night or your pregnancy?”

  She didn’t smile. “First of all, tell me what was so important about last night.”

  I did. And then I told her about the news this morning.

  “Oh, my God.” She stared at her coffee. A man next to us opened his Miami Herald and I could hear him softly whisper, “Oh, my God.” God was a busy guy this morning.

  “Em, it might not be Vic.”

  She said nothing, just continued to look into her coffee. What’s the song by Carly Simon about clouds in the coffee?

 
Finally she looked up. “If it is Vic, then we need to call the authorities. This could be murder and we can’t let that go unreported.” It came to me. “You’re So Vain” from some time back in the sixties or seventies.

  “What about Fuentes?”

  “He’s bound to hear the news.”

  “But do we still drop off the mail? He told me to drop the entire matter, that if we kept getting ourselves involved, it would put Vic’s life in danger. But now, if his son is dead—”

  “Do you think he’ll call you?”

  “Fuentes? I don’t know. I think he’s under a lot of pressure. I may be low priority right now. It’s strange, Em. He asked us to find his son, now he wants us to get out of the way.”

  “Trust me,” she said. “Your phone call at four in the morning moved you up to the top of his priority list.”

  “I’ll wait till noon and see if he calls. If he doesn’t, I’ll call him. Considering we’re talking about his kid, I would think he’s monitoring the situation.”

  “It’s a plan.” She smiled, the first one I’d seen in a couple of days. “Do you want to discuss the situation?”

  “Sure.” But I didn’t know what to say.

  “You are the father. There’s no question about it. I took a home pregnancy test about a week ago, and I would guess I’m five or six weeks.”

  She looked into my eyes, waiting for some reaction and I had none. It was still a shock to me.

  “I’ve considered my options. I can have the baby and keep it or I can put it up for adoption.”

  “There’s another option.”

  “Not as far as I’m concerned.” She squinted her eyes. “Don’t bring that up again, Skip. Ever.”

  Facing the doors at the end of the hall, I could see Biscayne Bay, the sparkling blue water and several of the big white boats in the marina. A yellow kayak drifted up to the dock. I wondered what it would be like to just sail away with no destination and no master plan. It sounded good until I realized it was kind of like being adrift on the ocean without a rudder. It all depends on your perspective. Right now I was on the ocean and rudderless. Problems seemed to compound themselves.

  “Have you been to the doctor?”

  “No.”

  Two chubby Latin babes in too-tight pants and halter tops walked by us, both pushing a stroller with an infant inside.

  “I’m going to see my OB-GYN in a couple of days.”

  I searched for questions. I had a million, but couldn’t think of one. Finally, I said, “Does your dad know?”

  She sighed. “No. He’s going to rave and rant and threaten you—”

  “Tell him to stand in line.”

  “Then he’ll settle down and realize it takes two to tango.”

  There was an uneasy silence. Finally, I had to ask.

  “Where do you see me in this scenario?”

  “You’re the father. Where do you see yourself?”

  “Look, Em, I’m in love with you. You know that. I’d have an exclusive relationship if you’d agree to it. That’s no secret.”

  “So what are you proposing?”

  I put my hand on hers. “Proposing may be a bad choice of words.”

  She laughed. Out loud. “God, Skip. I’m scared. I never, we never . . . did you ever—”

  “No. I never expected anything like this. Should we get married?”

  “Oh, God no. Are you ready for marriage? I don’t think so.”

  “And you are?”

  She shook her head with exaggerated swings. “Hell no. I’m not ready to have a kid either. But I’ll deal with it.”

  “Why wouldn’t you marry me?”

  She took her hand from mine and picked up her coffee cup. Taking a sip she struggled for words. “I wish I smoked cigarettes.”

  “So you wouldn’t have to deal with issues.”

  “All right,” she said, “you want issues? You’re immature.”

  “Well . . .”

  “You live like a pig, you and your Neanderthal roommate.”

  “Not a husbandly trait?”

  “You’ve got a job that doesn’t even support you, and you have absolutely no future.”

  I shook my head in agreement. “Yeah, but I’m cute. And I love you.”

  She pursed her lips. “All right, let me take those two things into consideration.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  I MET JAMES AT THE APARTMENT. He told me he’d slept till noon in between two calls from Cap’n Crab threatening his employment if he didn’t get his ass into work. But James has a great sick voice. You’d swear he was going to die. He groans, sputters, wheezes and pretty soon you decide he isn’t long for the world. Lindsey at Cap’n Crab told him he’d better be in tomorrow for sure. She didn’t fire him, but I think she’s sweet on him, so he gets a pass.

  “When we have employees, Skip, I hope to hell they’re better workers than we are.” He lay on the couch sucking on a long-neck beer.

  “If they don’t show up, we’ll have to do all the work.”

  “Yeah.”

  I straddled a dining room chair, the screws stripped from the metal legs. It was perilously close to collapsing and we had a bet on how many more days it could support us. The bet was only for five bucks. Probably an immature act on my part.

  “James, Fuentes hasn’t called. If the man doesn’t watch the news, he probably doesn’t know about the bodies.”

  “Call him, pardner. I do not want to get into this mess tonight unless he knows what’s going on.”

  I dialed the number. This time he answered on the first ring.

  “Mr. Moore. I assume you’re still dropping off the mail tonight?”

  “I am, Mr. Fuentes. However, I may have some bad news.”

  “I don’t recall you calling me with good news.”

  “No. I haven’t. However, this may be the worst. They found two bodies in the burned-out building. One of them was missing a ring finger.”

  He was silent, but I could hear him breathing on the other end.

  “Mr. Fuentes?”

  “Holy Mary, mother of God. Do they know?”

  “No. The last time I heard, they had not identified the body of that person.”

  “Then there is hope. Continue with your plans, Mr. Moore, and keep your mouth shut. Please. I’ll look into this matter. I know some people on the Miami police force and I’ll make some immediate inquiries.” Abruptly he hung up the phone.

  “He was pretty shook up?” James asked.

  I thought for a second. “He sounded shook up. Not like I think I would sound if I’d lost a son, but, you know, shaken.” It wouldn’t be too long before I could relate.

  “Do we drop off the mail?”

  “He said to go ahead with the plans. Then he told me to shut up. What is that? About the tenth time? Anyway, maybe he’s in denial. He said, ‘Then there is hope,’ so I’m thinking he believes Vic may still be alive.”

  James drained the bottle of beer and rolled it like a bowling ball into the kitchen area. “You haven’t talked much about Em. How did the meeting go?”

  How did it go? “It was awkward.”

  “You’d think, after all the history, that it wouldn’t be that tough.”

  “But it is.”

  “How did you leave it?”

  I shouldn’t have told him but I did. “I proposed. Sort of.”

  His eyes got wide and he slowly sat up. “You really did? This is big, compadre.”

  “Not as big as her situation.”

  “Situation? You mean Em being pregnant?”

  “Yeah. Pregnant. Anyway, she said no.”

  “She’s not thinking rationally.” He stood up and went to the refrigerator, grabbing another beer. “But, then, neither are you.”

  I bristled. “What would be wrong with that scenerio?”

  “Wrong? Jesus, Skip. You’re my best friend, okay. I’d trust my life to you, but come on, buddy. You’re immature. I mean really. You’ve got a job with absol
utely no future and . . .”

  I got off the chair and walked to the door. I needed some fresh air. “And I live with an asshole roommate who not only is an asshole but a complete idiot. Fuck you.” I walked out and slammed the door, almost taking it off the hinges. The door, like everything else in our apartment, was dirt-cheap.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  I DROVE AROUND FOR A WHILE. Down to the stadium, then onto I-95, and I lost track of time. When I finally got back to Carol City, I drove over to Gas and Grocery. I parked, walked in, and pulled a bottle of Pepsi out of the cooler. I paid and asked if Angel had been around. The girl simply shrugged her shoulders and turned around, stocking cigarette packs behind the counter.

  He was sitting on the hood of the Prism when I walked out. Knowing how cheap the car was, I was concerned he might leave a dent. Hell, the car had so many dents already one more wouldn’t be noticed.

  “Angel!”

  “Man, how does it go?”

  “It goes. Listen, tonight we’re dropping off a piece of mail from our truck into a trash can at Denny’s.”

  I’m sure he thought I was crazy. He cocked his bald head and looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

  “You can give it to me. I’ll throw it away right here.”

  “No. The Cuban guys asked us to drop it off. They’re going to pick it up and we’re going to try to follow them. We can see where they go and, hopefully, find our friend Vic.”

  He shook his head. “You guys are crazy.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” I knew he was right. Angel was much smarter than we were. “Do you want to come along?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  The guy was as crazy as we were. Somehow that made me feel better.

  “Do you want the complete package?”

  “We do.”

  Angel smiled, his white teeth contrasting with his dark skin. “Okay, man. I’ll bring everything. We’ll find those sons of bitches.”

  The three caballeros. For justice, for a way of life. It was a stupid move on our part, but we were young and there’s an age when you understand death, you watch it happen around you, but you, you are invincible. Soldiers going into war must feel like that. Fear, trepidation, awe, but no doubt that you’ll come away alive and victorious.