by Jack Hardin
“Did you see?” she asked.
Mark handed her a towel. “We saw the boat leave out of the north but never saw it coming in. We’d have been SOL if it wasn’t for your little light show.”
“What are they teaching you kids these days if you don’t know Morse code?” Major said. He rolled his eyes. “He thought your flashlight was shorting out.”
Ellie pulled off her hat and took out her hair band. She ruffled her hair and then gathered it and threaded it through the band again. Major eased away from the key and back toward the marina. Once they were well enough away, he turned the lights back on. He looked over at Ellie and put a hand on her shoulder. “You all right?” His tone was fatherly, protective. “I’m fine. There was gas in that boat all right. I counted seventeen cans they carried out. Five gallons each.”
Mark shook his head in frustration. “I can’t believe they were right there and we didn’t come prepared for an intercept.”
“We didn’t know,” Ellie said. “Besides, they didn’t see us. We’ll be ready for them when they come back.” She asked Major, “Who owns the private island? I want to talk with them.” Mondongo Key Island was a half mile west of the little key the fishing boat was beached on. It was privately owned.
“It’s an older couple that only comes down for a few weeks a year. I can’t remember their names. They keep to themselves as far I know.”
“Someone must be maintaining the place,” Ellie said. From what she remembered, there was a large house on the island and several small buildings. “Mark, why don’t you and I get out there tomorrow and see if anyone is home? Maybe they’ve seen something and just need us to help connect the dots.”
“Sounds good.”
Major set a hand on Ellie's shoulder, kept one hand on the wheel. “Good job, kiddo. You go get those bastards. I can’t believe they’ve been here the whole time.”
“Garrett is going to be thrilled,” Mark added. He looked at his new partner. “Good job tonight. Real good job.”
“Thanks, gentlemen.” Then she smiled and added, “Mark, we need to get you a book on Morse code.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I’LL GO talk with him. Just wait here.” Chewy’s voice boomed like a Calusa war drum.
Andrés lit up a cigarette and rolled his window down. “Hurry up. I’m not missing my show because of this.”
Chewy sighed and got out of the car. Andrés lived in an apartment on the other side of town. And not a penthouse or flat kind of apartment. Just your standard apartment with cheap linoleum in the kitchen, too much old caulk in the bathroom, and cheap poor-boy carpet. And yet, Andrés wouldn’t miss new episodes of Fixer Upper. He claimed he was educating himself for when he bought his own place one day. He had a thing for surfing, which he had never done, and home renovation, also something he had never done. If Andrés had picked up a hammer once in his life, it was probably to bash someone's head in with. In fact, Chewy thought, he probably had.
The bell to the pawn shop jingled a merry hello, and Chewy made his way to the glass encasing that made up the front counter. He pulled his wool trench coat across his body and tried to ignore the cold he felt deep inside.
The man at the counter - a thin, short man wearing a sleeveless Gas Monkey t-shirt and an orange Florida Marlins hat - got off his barstool and smiled at his visitor. “If you would have told me you were coming, I would have turned the A/C off.”
“It’s all right. I’m not staying.”
“What’s the word, my friend?”
“I’m looking for Scotch. You seen him?”
“Scotch? Man, you lose an employee?” He clicked his tongue, shook his head. “You know, the kind of business you’re in, that kind of thing happens sometimes, I guess.”
“You heard from him?”
“Yeah. Couple days ago as a matter of fact.”
“And?”
“And he came in looking to sell a .45. I told him I already had more than I wanted and I wasn’t in the market right now.”
“Anything else?”
The man scratched at his thin mustache. “Come to think of it, I would say he was acting kinda strange; shifty, you know? But I guess Scotch always acts shifty.”
“He say anything about where he was going? Where he might be?”
“Nope. No, he was in-and-out pretty quick. Was aggravated that I wouldn’t buy the gun. I’ve been doing this long enough to know the difference between people who just want to offload something and those who are cash lean. As you might imagine, most fall into the second category. That’s where Scotch was. Had the cloudy disposition of someone who realized they were missing out on the payday I could give them. I know your boss pays him well, so it beats me why he needed the money so badly.” The man in the bowling shirt laughed. “Maybe he was planning on getting that lazy eye of his fixed and was cash-strapped. That eye gives me the creeps. It’s like it has a mind all its own. Like that all-seeing eye on the back of the dollar bill, you know?”
“You’ll call me if you hear from him again?”
“Yeah. Sure, Chewy.”
“Thanks.” Chewy turned and walked back outside. The sun was trending downward, just below the tops of the palms, casting growing shadows along the pavement. He got back in the car.
“Well?”
Chewy shook his head.
“I figured.” Andrés flicked his cigarette out the window. “He’ll turn up. He’s too stupid to not make a mistake. And you know what day it will be when he finally turns up?”
Chewy, uninterested, asked, “What?”
Andrés smiled. “Demo Day.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE OUTBOARD HUMMED LOUDLY in the water as Ellie and Mark worked their way back through Pine Island Sound for a return trip to Mondongo. They had met at The Salty Mangrove for a quick breakfast of fried eggs and toast that Ralphie had whipped up. Ellie’s coffee was still hot in her YETI, and the morning air was cool against her skin. They had chosen to take out a runabout from Major’s marina instead of one of the official DEA boats docked at the federal marina on the Caloosahatchee River. Ellie wanted to keep their official presence as low as possible. She and Mark were wearing shorts, ball caps, and flip flops. Just a regular pleasure ride on a beautiful Thursday morning.
It took them thirty-five minutes to arrive at the private island. Mark reduced their speed at the channel marker and approached the private island slowly. The tiny key Ellie had traversed last night lay a half mile to the east. Mondongo Key Island was much larger, twenty acres by Ellie’s estimation, and was fringed with thick mangroves and sea shrubs, making it difficult to see anything on the island but a couple rooftops and the large upstairs balcony of the main house. On their approach, pilings stuck out of the water every fifty yards with signs tacked on, reminding passersby that the island was private property and was not to be approached unless you had been invited to do so. Mark guided the boat to the west side of the island where its only dock resided, a large boat house sitting just to its north. Ellie tossed a couple fenders off the starboard and then tied off. Mark cut the engine, and they stepped onto the long dock. A green and white sign greeted them, warning once again of trespassing. A white security camera hung above it, staring down at them. The dock ended thirty yards later onto a pebble road that quickly forked. They had just begun the walk toward it when a golf cart whisked out of the left turn and made its way toward them. They paused and waited.
A middle-aged man pulled up and jumped out. His tone was clipped. “I’m sorry, but you’re on private property.” He had a distinct appearance. His hair was a platinum white, and his skin was pale, creamy white, as if he had escaped an underground bunker and just arrived in sunny Florida. His accent sounded European. Ellie pegged it for one of the Scandinavian countries. High, flat cheekbones and a hard set jaw also spoke to a genetic makeup sourced across the Atlantic. He was tall, fit, and wore a navy blue windbreaker over white shorts.
Ellie removed her badge from her pocket. “
I’m Ellie O’Conner, and this is Mark Palfrey. We’re with the Drug Enforcement Administration. We have a few questions if you don’t mind.”
The man’s eyes shifted. “DEA? I don’t believe you have an appointment with anyone.”
“No, sir,” Ellie smiled, trying to be polite. “But we’re hoping someone might be able to help us with a couple questions. Who might we speak with?”
“You can speak with me,” the man said. “I am Arnold. Arnold Niebuhr. I am the director of security for the island. The owners are not here at present. Is there a problem?”
“No,” Ellie said. “Would there be a place we can talk?”
Arnold considered the request for a brief moment. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He motioned back to the golf cart. “Please. We can speak at the staff house.” Ellie opted for the front passenger seat, and Mark took one on the back. Arnold tugged a radio off his belt and let whoever was on the other end know that he was bringing the guests up. It took less than sixty seconds for them to arrive at a stucco building that could have easily passed for a suburban home fit for a large family. Fifty yards beyond, the pebble path turned to concrete and swung out in front of what could only be called a mansion. It was built in a Mediterranean style with a pastel finish and a stacked stone apron that went all the way around. It boasted a red tile roof, high arches, balconies wrapped in wrought iron, and large windows intended to let in generous amounts of light.
Arnold stopped the cart and pushed the brake down to lock it. He got out. “Please follow me.” He opened a glass door that led into a marble-tiled foyer with a high, arched ceiling. A younger Hispanic man was sitting behind a receptionist desk staring at several monitors. He wore a black hat with a red stitched logo that said, “Hawkwing.” A prominent scar ran up the right side of his face from the side of his chin and mercifully stopped a half inch below his eye. He stared at the visitors as they passed but did not greet them.
“This way,” Arnold said. He led them down a broad hallway and through a door that opened into an expansive room with two couches, a flat screen TV, and regal bookcases. Exposed beams ran the length of the ceiling. The bright white room was decorated in pastels which gave a fresh, breezy feel to the room. Spacious windows hung on the southern wall and looked out to the main house beyond. Broad pictures of sea life graced the walls, placed with precision. Wooden employee lockers lined the wall behind the door they had entered. “Please have a seat.” Ellie and Mark planted on the end of a twill-shrouded couch, and Arnold sat in an accent chair across from them. He removed his sunglasses and looked at his guests. His eyes were a pale blue - almost grey - making his gaze feel more like an x-ray. “So,” he said, “what is it I can help you with?”
Ellie said, “We’re investigating possible illegal activity in the area and wanted to see if you have seen anything suspicious in the waters around the island?” Ellie was intentionally vague.
“What do you mean by ‘suspicious activity’?” he prompted.
“Boats running with low or no lights. Maybe late at night or in the very early hours of the morning.”
He shook his head. “No. Not that I am personally aware of.”
“Have you caught anyone trying to get onto the island?” she pushed.
He chuckled, sounded like a father responding to a child’s foolish question. “Of course. That is why we are here. Tourists think it’s funny or harmless and are curious about a private island. We get them all. Drunks, college students, dreamy retirees. Some try and get in through the fringes and some, like yourself, come right up to the dock. You may have noticed all the signs on your way in. That is why they are there.”
“Would you mind telling us how long you’ve worked here?” Mark asked.
He smiled and leaned back. “Is this where you begin to move from general questions to personal ones?”
Ellie didn’t like his haughtiness. “Mr. Niebuhr, we’re simply trying to make sense of some information we have. Would you mind answering his question?”
His smile faded. “I have been the head of security for the Michaelsons for almost three years now.”
“And how many employees work on the island?” she asked.
“Full time? Five. Two at the main house, two are groundskeepers, and myself. My security team has two on the island besides myself at all times, but they all live off island and come in on shifts.”
Ellie looked around the room. “This is where the staff live?”
“Yes. It has seven bedrooms and as many bathrooms.” Arnold’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Ellie. “How is this relevant?”
“Again, we are only trying to unravel the comings and goings around the area,” she said.
“Mrs. O’Conner━ ”
“Miss,” she corrected.
He nodded politely. “Miss O’Conner. I can assure you that no one here would present a problem for you. You do not work with someone such as the Michaelsons and not go through the highest level of vetting. Those of us that live here work directly for the Michaelsons. All the others are brought in with an outside agency that handles the vetting and staffing on every level.”
Ellie moved on. “The cameras you have around the island. Would we be able to access any footage you have if needed?”
Arnold frowned. “These are private cameras. That is not a question I am free to answer.”
“Of course. May I ask how many you have facing the water, looking away from the island?”
He looked reluctant to answer. “Eight.” He paused then shook his head. “No. Nine. We had an additional one installed at the north end two months ago.”
“Any specific reason why?” Mark asked.
“Not particularly. The joined angles of two cameras facing away from each other left a blind spot that we were not comfortable with. “We now have a three hundred and sixty degree view of the waterline.”
“And you have someone watching them at all times?” Mark asked.
“Again, I am not at liberty to discuss our security protocols. You will want to go through more formal channels for such things.”
Ellie thanked Arnold and stood up. She produced a card and handed it to him. “If you think of or see anything, please give me a call.”
“Of course.”
They followed him back down the hall and into the foyer. The man at the front desk was staring at the screens. He lifted his eyes and made eye contact with Ellie as she passed. “Ma’am. Sir,” he said. “Have a good day.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Two minutes later Ellie and Mark were in their boat headed back to St. James City. A mile out Mark slowed the boat so they could talk without yelling over the sound of the wind or the engine. “What did you make of that?” he asked her. “That guy gave me the creeps.”
“I didn’t like him either.”
“He wasn’t telling us everything. I can tell you that much,” Mark said.
“I’m not sure,” Ellie said. “Assuming someone that works there is in on the gas can situation, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to store them on a glorified sandbar a half a mile from the island if they could just do it there.”
“Well, Jet’s already getting surveillance in place to get set up out there. We need to have a team on hand to intercept when they come back out.” He brought the throttle up, and the boat strengthened its push through the water. “You going into the office today?” he shouted over the noise.
“No. I’m taking a couple days off,” she said.
“Well, enjoy them. You deserve it.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ELLIE SLID the dishcloth across the bar top and tossed it to the side. Grabbing a couple clean glasses, she slid them into the hanging glass rack above her head. After coming back from the Mondongos yesterday, she had put the investigation out of her head the rest of her day off. She had gone home, changed, gotten Citrus, and went for a ten-mile run around the island. After coming back and washing the El Camino in her driveway, she had grabbed a shower and spent the rest of the d
ay relaxing around the house. She woke this morning itching to make herself productive and came down to The Salty Mangrove just before lunch where there were always a hundred things that needed to be done to keep things running smoothly. Major and Ralphie did just fine without her, but she enjoyed being around the people and the knowledge that she was contributing in some way.
Gloria, perched on her usual stool, fanned herself with last week's copy of The Pine Island Eagle. “Ellie, it’s good to see you down here, honey. Haven’t seen you a lot since you took that new job. Everything going all right?”
Ellie wove another glass into the rack. “It’s a little early to tell, but I think we’re heading in the right direction.”
“Fu was watching this documentary about the narcotics industry, and they were talking about what they called the ‘balloon effect.’ That when you squeeze hard in one area it bulges out somewhere else. Do you think since the feds at the south end of the state are working so hard against drugs down there that the balloon is expanding up here?”
Ellie paused and set her palms into the counter. “Could be. Honestly, Gloria, it’s all convoluted. It’s not so much that consumption is so rampant around here as much as we just have a lot of coastline to bring the merchandise into. Most of what comes in here is probably headed into well-populated states; Georgia, Virginia, probably even as far as New York and Chicago.”
Gloria leaned in, eyes wide, voice low. “You don’t think the drug lords come here, do you? Do you think someone like El Toto comes here?”
