by JB Sanders
“If we could define what cargo each of us will handle, what corridors each of us will work in, and which cities in the States are whose, that would settle much of our problems.”
Tyler nodded, and took a pull of his mojito again. “Sounds reasonable. Want me to arrange a dinner meeting, and we can hash this all out?”
Vedrasse laughed. Then he wiped his face with the towel around his neck. “If LeMans was that reasonable, don’t you think we would have worked this out already? He wants nothing less than total control of the trade between the islands and the States. I am just in his way.”
“Ah.” Tyler set down his glass, and stood up. “Right, got my work cut out for me then.”
Vedrasse looked up at him. “I think your task is impossible. But if you can convince the beast to sit up and obey, I’ll come to a meeting. If you are running security.”
“Thanks. I’ll see what I can do. Nice meeting you.”
Vedrasse nodded to him.
***
Out in the lobby, as Tyler was adjusting his cuffs, and Tim was settling the bill, James leaned over.
“We have a small problem.”
“Oh, great. What’s exploding now?” Tyler gave James a wary look.
“Jeremy’s boyfriend, Levins, was posing as a waiter earlier and he’s outside now watching the spa with binoculars.”
Tyler tipped his head to one side, considering. “That’s interesting. Explains a lot more about why they ‘fled’ to Bermuda.” Tyler sighed. “I really hope there’s more to the boyfriend than this.”
James nodded.
Tyler nodded. “Ok then, let him watch.”
Surf and Turf
The ocean sparkled and lapped, calm and soothing. Glen let himself float in the salty water and felt his cares ease away. His first stab at solving the Jeremy Problem could wait just a minute or two longer. Right then, he wanted to just … be.
There was a chirp from his waterproof earbud.
“Charlie Levin is in place,” Tim said.
Glen swiveled onto his front, swam up into the shallows and stood up. In a move that Tyler had helped him practice, he pushed the water back out of his hair — while letting it cascade down his wet, muscled body. Glen then walked slowly out of the sea, water trickling down his skin, and let everyone see him in the form-fitting La Perla Grigioperla Lodato swimsuit. Yes, that very same one worn by James Bond in that beach scene. Tyler referred to it as the Magic Suit — it hugged all the right curves, and somehow also enhanced in the right places.
Glen had to admit, the suit did make him feel … bigger.
Glen focused on something past the beach, but all his interest was on one particular man sunning himself nearby.
The man was in his mid to late thirties and very fit. If it weren’t for a few lines around his neck and eyes, Glen would have pegged him as younger by ten years. He had straight black hair, cut and styled. He may not have been able to model for a living but he definitely turned heads everywhere he went.
The man was rubbing on sunblock and he seemed uninterested in everything, looking out to the horizon.
Uninterested in everything but Glen, that is. Because his eyes darted to Glen several times and when Glen had first emerged from the sea, the man had gawked. That, and he was making sure his one arm was exceptionally well protected from the sun.
Glen walked up to his towel, picked up his sunglasses and put them on. He picked up his towel and casually accentuated his body by rubbing various parts of it. Satisfied, Glen then put the towel around his neck, picked up his other stuff, and walked over to their target.
“Excuse me, do you know when the bar opens,” Glen pointed at the shack near the beach.
The man was good at nonchalance. His face when he looked up at Glen had a perfect bored expression. But his eyes were just a hair slow rising to meet Glen’s.
“I think at noon.”
“Thanks.” Glen looked down at the man, as if seeing him for the first time. “Hey, were you in Cancun last year? You look familiar.”
The man smiled up at him, very open and honest looking, except Glen could see it didn’t really reach his eyes. “Oh, yeah, maybe. A year is a long time ago, you know? My name’s Paolo, by the way. If I knew your name from Mexico, I don’t remember it, sorry.”
“I’m Glen. No sweat. I meet a lot of people, too, and names are tough.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. Hey, you wanna get lunch?”
“Sure! I still need to swim a little. How about at the Seagull at noon? It’s a great seafood place just down the road from here.” The man smiled, wider this time, and Glen felt a little warm at the charm. The guy was very good. Jeremy-good. If Glen wasn’t already fully Tyler’ed…
“Sounds good. See you then.” Glen waved.
The guy hopped up, and took a slow Bay Watch run to the surf and dove in. Glen watched, appreciating the view and stocking up on details to amuse Tyler with later.
***
The Seagull was two steps up from a shack, with small tables spilling out from it like shells on the beach. It was brightly painted in yellow, with seagulls and palm trees silhouetted like polkadots across the sides.
The Seagull had the most amazing smells coming from it. Glen thought he got a whiff of cinnamon rolls, and coffee, and then the exotic mix of some kind of seafood gumbo.
Glen got a table, and read the menu on the hand-painted sign. While he was waiting for the guy, he ordered an iced coffee, sugary with just a little cream.
From Glen’s earpiece came Tim’s voice. “Ok, we got the guys in place. Two eating at a table nearby, two more down the beach, and six in the command car here in the parking lot. Got two snipers in place on overwatch. And the fast evac boat just offshore. We’re recording on two channels, plus video. Panic word is pumpernickel.”
“Roger that,” Glen murmured.
The handsome man arrived after Glen’s third sip. He was wearing board shorts and a white polo that was just a little tight. He smiled and offered his hand.
Glen shook. The man clasped his hand just a touch too long and seemed to let go with regret. Glen wasn’t even sure if it was genuine or not.
Glen peered over at the menu/sign again. “What’s good here?”
“The gumbo. You have to order it. And we need to finish with the cinnamon bread.”
“Sounds good.” Glen sipped his coffee.
They ordered from the perky waitress, who obviously couldn’t decide which man to flirt with more, and Paolo smiled at her shamelessly. Paolo’s charm reminded Glen of someone, but he didn’t need more than one Tyler.
“So other than swimming and relaxing on the beach, what are you up to? This is a vacation, right, not business?”
Glen sipped his coffee again. “Well, a little business, but I’m also doing some sailing and a bit of treasure hunting.”
“Oh, treasure hunting? It’s like a hobby down in the Caribbean, but seems kind of funny around here.”
“Well, we’re following up some leads that begin here. I’m sure we’ll be sailing down to the islands soon.”
Their food arrived, gumbo and warm bread. They ate in silence for a bite or two. The guy was right — it was terrific gumbo.
Paolo looked slightly bashful. “So is ‘we’ your crew, or are you, uh, spoken for?”
But again, Glen could see that the shyness didn’t reach his eyes. The man was very good looking and an exceptional liar. Glen was starting to get a little mad.
“Oh, I’m spoken for — married.” Glen took another spoonful of the delicious gumbo.
“Oh, who’s the lucky lady? I’m surprised she’s not hanging off you, or is she the spa and umbrella type?”
“No lady.” Glen paused with a spoon near his mouth and put it back down. “My husband is otherwise occupied.”
Paolo took two blinks, and Glen was pretty certain he’d actually surprised the man this time. “What?”
“You should meet him. If you’re free for dinner this evening, you
should join us.”
“Ah, I have plans. But thanks. So what’s this business you’re here for?”
Glen smiled slightly. “Doing a favor for a friend. But that’s not what I’m working on, that’s Tyler.”
Paolo put down his spoon and leaned back in his chair. He was laser-focused on Glen. “And what are you working on?”
“What am I working on?” Glen smiled and spread some butter on the warm bread. “I’m trying to work out what Jeremy sees in you, Charlie Levin.”
Charlie paled.
Glen summoned his own inner Tyler and smiled at the man.
Then Levin stood up, his face red and he leaned over the table. He looked enraged. “I don’t know where you found that name, or what favors you’re doing for Vedrasse, but if you come anywhere near Jeremy, I’ll turn you into chum and feed you to the sharks. Do you understand me?”
Glen leaned away, feeling like the man had smacked him and nodded.
Levin stormed off.
“Well, that went well,” Tim said.
Glen turned to watch Levin walk away, then swiveled back and took a bite of the cinnamon bread. It was amazing. He chewed thoughtfully for a minute, swallowed and took another sip of coffee.
“You know what? I really think it did.”
Gunrunning 101
The Douglas creaked and swayed a little. Even docked, the sailing ship still reacted to the ocean’s constant pull. Below decks, it also made the sunlight dance rhythmically up and down the walls.
Tyler huffed. “Ok, that was most of my day shot — well, the spa stuff was nice but I mean, all that for one conversation? I probably could have just done that and had the rest of my day free. What do we have for the afternoon?”
“I thought we’d talk to some of the uninvolved smugglers in the area. Get the lay of the land.” James tapped a folder.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Russian bar.” James raised his eyebrows at Tyler.
“Oooh, it’s a Russian bar? That’s neat!” Tyler grinned.
Tucker looked confused. “Why on earth is a Russian gang-run bar neat?”
Tyler looked like a cat with a mouse. “I’ll let you review the video when I’m done with them.”
***
Tyler strode through the door of the St. Petersburg Social Club as if he owned it.
The place was opulently appointed, looking more like a high-end whore house than a place for gentlemen of a certain cultural similarity to hang out.
Tyler and the boys got looks from the patrons. Not friendly looks.
“I think you in wrong place.” The man’s heavy Russian accent pummeled the air.
Tyler glanced back at the door, then at the blunt-faced man. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m in the right place. The St. Petersburg Social Club, right? Where the Russian gang running guns through Bermuda hangs out?”
At this, the men in the club got dangerous looks on their faces, and made slow but certain moves to pockets, inside jackets, and under the bar.
“Oooh, wouldn’t do that. I would hate for this to go bad.” Tyler’s tone was commanding.
“What? Are you some kind of American action hero? Going to shoot up the place?” The man was the only one with glasses, and was thinner than the others. Tyler guessed he had more brains, too.
“Now, you see, if I was some kind of action hero, I’d probably start with Ivan over here, since he has an Uzi tucked behind the bar and that’s dangerous. Then I’d plug Yuri, because he’s fast, and then Gendy, because if I let him get close, he’d have a chance to use that wicked knife he carries.” Tyler paused to watch their shocked faces. “But I’m not an action hero, and I made a promise: no killing this trip.”
The Russians didn’t know what to think about that.
“You … don’t kill?” The man with glasses recovered first.
“Well, not first, anyway. I’m more of a persuader. I talk, you listen, and we come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”
“A … what?”
Tyler switched to Russian. “An agreement that we both like and everyone leaves the table happy.”
Also in Russian, softly, the be-speckled man said: “Sweet mother of god, it’s the Bloody Prince.”
Each of the men made an inarticulate noise, some stepping back from Tyler’s general area.
Tyler just smiled, and continued in flawless Russian. “Oh yes. I get called that. Probably exaggerated. But I promised my husband no killing this time, and I hate breaking my promises. So, may we talk?”
There was a lot of nodding.
***
They huddled around one of the two tables in the lounge, most of them on the bench seat. Tucker’s unattended glass of iced tea clinked against the dish railing that ran around the lip of the solid wood table.
“Would you believe it? The Russians don’t do smuggling anymore.” Tyler sipped his own iced tea.
Tucker shook his head. “But why? That seems like something they’d be perfect at — so many ships use Russian sailors. Smuggling is practically a national pastime. More so when it was the Soviet Union, but still…”
“They were persuaded to stick to local crime, and leave the smuggling to others.”
“That’s … kind of intimidating.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Well, not intimidating, I don’t do that, but weird. They said a woman in a red dress stopped by and laid it all out for them.”
“A woman … in a red dress.”
“Someone out there has a theatrical bent, don’t you think?”
“Yeah. So was it money or threats?”
Tyler grinned. “Money and threats. Gal after my own heart.”
“And?”
“There’s an and?”
Tucker pursed his lips. “I know something about Russian crime gangs. Money and threats are nice, but to really drive the point home, they’d need a rap on the knuckles, and it’d have to be painful.”
Tyler nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Apparently, two of their ships just … vanished.”
“Two ships vanished? That’s … yeah, that would do it.” Tucker paused. “So how did you drag all of this out of them? Did you spike their drinks?”
Tyler handed Tucker a USB flash drive. “I have a rather specialized interrogation technique, mostly founded on bluffs and innuendo. Let me know what you think.”
Blackjack is for Wimps
Back at the ship that evening, Glen found Tyler breaking out the Armani tuxedos.
“I like where this is going, but isn’t that a bit much for dinner?” Glen pulled Tyler away from the garment bags and gave him a kiss. Sparring with Paulo/Charlie must have gotten his blood up, because Glen pushed Tyler back onto the bed, still maintaining the lip-lock.
Eventually they pulled apart for a breath.
“Wow. Where did that come from?” Tyler was a little wide-eyed.
“The surf walk worked perfectly, thank you.” Glen grinned.
“Maybe a little too well?” Tyler smirked at him.
“Yes, you bastard, now I know one of your secrets for totally turning me on. Wet hair, near nakedness and just the right flick at the end.”
Tyler laughed. “I think that would turn anyone on, my dear husband.”
Glen mock frowned. “Are you getting pretentious on me? You know what that means, right?”
Glen began tickling Tyler, who laughed and protested between gasps. There was some wrestling, and then some very careful removing of the tuxedos to a safe distance, and then the wrestling became … a bit more amorous.
***
“So, we’re doing a casino why?” Glen looked around the opulent surroundings and equally well-attired guests.
They were in the lobby of the Jack of Diamonds Club, a very high-end gambling establishment in Hamilton. It was as swanky as you could ask for and just oozed class. The place appeared to be a renovated plantation mansion, with white-painted woodwork, slow-moving overhead fans, and teak-wood antiques off to the side
with fresh flowers arranged on them. Lights appeared to be candle sconces converted to electricity and the carpets expensive Turkish affairs. There were palm fronds, young men and women in livery, and a very slight whiff of expensive tobacco smoke — though no one was smoking anywhere in sight.
All-in-all, the place looked like it had been operating, untouched by time, since the 1920’s. Glen knew, however, that the anti-gambling laws had only very recently been repealed in Bermuda, so the well-crafted illusion was doubly impressive. The place couldn’t have been more than a year or two old.
“Seriously? Did you not see the new Casino Royale, same as me?” Tyler seemed to brighten in the casino’s ambience, giddy with the James Bond of it all.
“Yes, I was in the same theater you were. I saw the same wonderful walk out of the surf as you did, and the woman in that dress, and the gambling … oh, that’s what this is about.”
“Yeah, LeMans loves this place. And his favorite game is … guess what?”
Glen snorted. “You’re kidding, not—?”
“Yup, I did not learn Chemin De Fer for nothing. And now that I can meet the minimum bet—“
“And then some,” put in Tim.
“—I just had to sit down and try my hand.” Tyler pulled slightly on his shirt cuff.
“No pun intended.” Glen smiled down at Tyler.
“No, I intended that one. Have fun with it.”
Glen mimed tossing the pun over his shoulder. Tyler stuck out his tongue.
Then Tyler straightened his bow tie.
“Ok, Tim, you’re on drinks. James and Genevieve, find me the Chemin De Fer table. Glen, you’re on my arm.” Tyler eyed the rest of the bodyguards. “And you guys keep looking scary, this is that kind of crowd.”
Glen smirked, and put his arm through Tyler’s.
Tim took off in the direction of the bar. James and Genevieve moved into the casino proper, cutting an imposing swath through the crowd, circulating the room slowly, towering over nearly everyone there.
