by Bud Connell
We strutted around on the white sand, gawking at the beach lizards and downing our piña coladas until we were half loopy and dropped to the ground, falling asleep on our towels in the warm tropical sun. Two hours later, we shook off the snooze and sand and dressed for dinner.
I finished first and watched Katya put the finishing touches on her work of art, her ample body and face.
Here I am in Paradise with the woman of my fantasies, and living the life I dreamed about just a few weeks ago. Besides my little problem with the feds and Cahoone, which I planned to have under control in no time, I intended to make the most of the next two days and nights before I have to blast back to the Florida coast and take care of bees’ wax.
I was disappointed when she finished working on herself. I mean I could have watched her primp all night, making an already perfect woman, more perfect still. Good God in heaven; I had fallen, and I had fallen hard at the feet of this Detroit goddess.
Then and there I made it a personal commitment privately to me, myself, and I, to show her the time of her life before I popped the big question. I mean how could she refuse in a place like this?
+++
On the way down in the elevator, we were alone and I turned and pulled Katya into me, smelling deeply her French perfume and all the mixed female fragrances that tagged along on this beautiful woman.
“Oh, Joe. It’s almost like I miss you already.”
“I’m not gone yet, doll, and you’ll be here only as long as necessary.” I moved to kiss her and she turned her head away.
“Don’t. You’ll mess up my lipstick and I’ll have to go back upstairs and do it all over.”
“No problem.” But I had a little sinking feeling; she’d never refused a kiss before. Oh, well… first time for everything.
The Royal Tower elevator dinged and the door opened. We entered a new world.
+++
Forty-six hours in Paradise, and we did it all.
We snorkeled and snubad and ooo-ed at the fish, and struggled and laughed as we tried unsuccessfully to pedal a paddleboat; and we walked in a glass tunnel under the sharks and fed stingrays in waist-deep water.
Katya giggled as she chased me in the little waves hitting the beach, and we slept in the sun until we baked.
Whenever we got hungry we found a different restaurant and I sat across from her so I could see her face, and the more I looked at her, the deeper I fell.
On my last day, we stopped in the casino on the way to dinner. I gave Katya a hundred and told her to bet her favorite number on the roulette wheel. She dropped it on black twenty-six and the dealer exchanged the bill for a hundred-dollar chip and spun the ball.
It bounced and bounced and stopped on Katya’s number. She went wild as they paid off thirty-five hundred dollars in chips. She kept three thousand and let five hundred ride, and damned if it didn’t come in again winning her $17,500! I told her to spend every dime of it on herself while she waited on me to call her back to Florida.
+++
I reserved the quietest corner table at the Café Martinique and pre-ordered all Katya’s favorite things from champagne and crab cakes to lobster tails; and topped it all off with a special order, their flaming chocolate volcano dessert. The waiter lit the brandy and it almost exploded, and he served it when the fire died down and slipped the little blue box with a red bow next to Katya’s portion.
“What’s this?” she asked as she picked it up.
“Something for you. Open it and see,” I said matter of fact.
She looked at me with her mouth partially gaping, sort of a surprise look, and I’d say with a bit of suspicion while she slowly unwrapped it, all the time mostly keeping her eyes on me, I guess for clues.
I looked down and didn’t give away the surprise as she tore away the last bit of paper and opened the flip-top ring box containing the results of my recent labor, my secret scrimping and squirreling away chunks of cash, along with pieces of my heart.
“Oh, Joe! It’s beautiful, really beautiful!”
“Pass it to me.” While still looking at the nearly two carat marquise diamond set in white gold, Katya handed it to me with her left hand, which I grasped and pulled toward me as I slipped the ring on her ring finger.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I did it, didn’t I?”
“I mean––you know what I mean, Joe.”
I took a long beat and looked at her, memorizing her face and the moment and my feelings.
“––Katya, Catherine Lucille, will you marry me?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me a long time, and then finally nodded her head and smiled. Then she added, “I’ll say ‘yes’ when we get everything under control, Joe.”
That hurt, but I acted my part. “I wouldn’t have it any different,” I said it like I meant it, but I wanted my girl.
61 – Always Coming and Going
We stayed up all night, saw a live show, gambled, watched the sunrise, and exhausted ourselves in pre-engagement bliss. After sleeping well into the afternoon, I got up, shaved, dressed, and packed for my early evening flight back to Fort Lauderdale to face the music and the grind.
Katya woke up when I was locking my suitcase. She stretched her little hairless arms out from under the covers and over her head. “Are you leaving now?”
“That’s me, old Joe, always coming and going,” I said with my rye chuckle, as is my humorous nature. I reluctantly took the few steps back to the bed, leaned down and scooped Katya up for one last hug and I almost cried. I didn’t want to leave her alone, and I didn’t want to go back to the Florida mess, but I had to do it.
“Baby, I’ll call you as soon as it’s safe to return.”
“I’ll be thinkin’ about you, Joe.”
I buried my face into her neck and shoulder and held her a moment, and lowered her back to the pillows. She seemed all depressed and passive but I had to leave to make the plane.
62 – Good Ol’ Joe, Minnow on a Hook
As dusk turned to dark, the wheels of the Airbus touched down in Lauderdale and made a little skidding noise, and my feathers drooped. The feds and the dope-gangster problem was not something I wanted to jump back into after a long weekend of love and games and feeling sand between my toes.
As soon as the plane bumped to a stop and cut the engines, I grabbed my carry-on and fast-walked down the aisle so I’d be first off, way ahead of the lizards standing, and stretching and collecting their junk. About the time I got to the front, the tin can’s door hissed open and I hustled down the loading arm and into the terminal. And guess who was leaning up against the rail nodding at me when I came through the archway? None other than one Mr. Roosevelt Gunner of the DEA. As soon as I reached parallel to him, he came off the rail and fell into step by my side.
“I was gonna call you as soon as I landed,” I said.
“Yeah, right.”
“No, really, I was! How’d you know I’d be on this flight?”
“You’re flying a major carrier. Did you ever hear of DHS? All we got to do is put out your name and in a few seconds we know your entire itinerary. Relax, Joe, we even had somebody watching you in the Bahamas to make sure nobody attached a bomb to your ass.”
“You know about the car?”
“About ten minutes after it blew. You should’ve called us. I told you to stay around, why didn’t you?”
“I was hiding my girl in a safe place, so she wouldn’t get hurt.”
“I can’t fault you that, or your ritzy weekend. But be glad you had a good time. It may be the last for awhile.”
I panicked. “Whaddya mean? What’s going on?”
“We have a few plans for you, and also for your friend, Ramon. Care to hear?”
“Yeah, I can hardly wait.”
“You’ll have to until we’re private, besides I got to keep you safe since you’re the key part of the plan.”
“Oh, great, another reason to get me killed.”
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“You’re not too far from wrong, bait.”
“What’d you call me?”
“Bait.”
+++
I could barely see my car in the poorly lit lot and Rosy was parked right behind in a big blacked-out Navigator like Travis’s.
Just as I unlocked and opened my door, the interior lights came on, and something whizzed by my ear and shattered my Ford’s windshield. Then another immediately shattered the side window near Rosy.
“Get down,” Rosy heavy-whispered. “Hit the concrete like you’ve been shot.”
I did exactly as I was told, awfully glad that Rosy was with me. He’d drawn his concealed cannon in a snap and crawled around the car and over to my side.
“Crazy bastards,” Rosy heavy-whispered. “That was from a silencer. Somebody wants you dead, boy, and they almost did it. Sons-of-bitches obviously don’t know you got a grade A, first-class deadeye sniper sharpshooter with you. Stay down.”
I about crawled under the car and Rosy shook me.
“Be still!” he whispered as he pointed his gun toward the sound of running footsteps coming fast directly at us. “Stay down, don’t move no matter what happens.”
He raised up and fired three shots in the direction of the noise, and the guy coming on must’ve changed course on a dime because I heard like a sliding noise and shoes hitting the concrete and fading in the opposite direction.
“Dammit! Missed ‘em. Should’ve let him get a little closer. Stay here!” Rosy ran in the direction of the fading figure and stopped abruptly when he realized a car with the lights off was speeding quickly away. “Son-of-a-bitch!”
No license plate, no nothing, but it wasn’t hard to figure that Cahoone and his goons were watching my every move, and I began to wonder about Katya’s safety.
I tossed the Ford’s keys under the passenger seat, and made a mental note to tell the agency where it was, and that something or somebody had knocked out the windshield while I was out of town.
Grateful for my life, I let Rosy drive me to my motel. He’d called ahead and an agent was already staked out front to make sure I didn’t leave earth prematurely during the night. When we arrived, he introduced me to a big guy who didn’t say anything, but just grunted.
“Agent Fleming here will be parked outside your door to make sure you stay put and that nobody bothers you,” Rosy explained. “He’ll also drive you to the office in the morning and we’ll go over the plan to put an end to the fun and games. Another agent will bring in your friend Ramon Rodriguez.”
“Want to tell me about it now so I can sleep?”
“Relax, tomorrow’s another day, buddy; and thank your spirit guides I met you at the ‘port tonight, otherwise you’d already be genuflecting in front of Saint Peter.”
I went to bed, first time in a week knowing that I was as safe as I’ll ever be; but I wasn’t tired because I had slept into the middle of the afternoon. I laid there and thought about whether Katya would be safe, and whether we’d ever get out of this snarled mess. If I had her here with me, I’d hold her tight and all the problems of the day would just melt away, but now they were doing everything but…
I promised myself I’d become a better man.
63 – Got His Gun Monkeys Looking
Right after I finally went to sleep at six a.m., somebody rapped on my door.
“Who is it?” I bellowed from bed.
“Fleming.”
I leaped up and cracked the door a little, and the big guy with the shaved head said we had to leave at seven for an eight o’clock meeting. It was my turn to grunt.
I invited him in and gave him a cup of instant coffee to take back to his car while I quick-showered and shaved and tossed on yesterday’s clothes. What a change, from paradise to hell in less than twenty-four hours.
On the ride in, I tried asking a few questions and all I got was grunts, so I went silent and watched the green Florida landscape rushing past my side window.
About forty minutes and forty miles from the time we left Boynton Beach, Fleming ushered me into a large sea foam green meeting room deep in DEA headquarters. Ramon was already there, the only other guy in the room.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?”
“I didn’t know about it myself until late last night. Sorry.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know any more than you do.”
Right then, several guys sauntered in along with a good-looking blond wagging a pad and pencil, and right behind them Rosy Gunn and tall Travis Macintyre.
I plunked myself down next to Ramon and watched as the fed attack team scooted chairs, cleared throats, and positioned themselves ready for whatever was about to come down. Rosy and Travis took the catbird seats at each end of the long blond wood table. Ramon and I were on one side, dead center in the middle like feature attractions, or targets.
Rosy spoke first. “Word’s on the street that Darragh Cahoone has put out a big contract on you, Joe; and rumor is he’s got his gun monkeys looking for Ramon here. Says he wants to have a little talk.”
“How do you know all this?” I held my breath, hoping there was nothing out about the cash we stashed.
“We got a low-level guy on the inside,” Rosy answered. “Cahoone says he’s got his reasons, but that’s it.”
“He’s apparently hot that you screwed up his little domestic life,” Travis added, “and if he stays on the loose you may actually be inside the next car that blows up, or just as bad, on the receiving end of a silent dumdum sent buzzing your way. We just don’t get why he’s so anxious to put you down. Can you shed a little more light on the subject?”
I shook my head slowly and fixed my mouth in the ‘I have no earthly idea’ pose. Crap. Darragh wants his eight million back. After taking me down he’d pump Katya just before he turned her lights off. Ramon leaned forward and raised a hand off the table like he wanted the floor.
One of the people we had not been introduced to nodded toward Ramon. “Go ahead, Mr. Rodriguez.”
“The only possible reason he could want me at room temperature is because I quit pushing street drugs, unless you guys have leaked that you cut a deal with me, and with Oaks here.
“No way,” Rosy said. Pushers are a dime a dozen, and we haven’t leaked anything about you guys. “By the way, that was Agent Chastain who gave you the go ahead.”
“Like I give a rat’s ass.” Ramon pulled out a cigarette.
“No smoking, Rodriguez,” Chastain barked.
Ramon put his cigarette back in the package and let out a big sigh. I thought it was best to stay quiet, and not put in my dime’s worth of indignation.
“Let’s cut to the heart of the matter,” Rosy said. “We want to use you guys to trap Cahoone and maybe some of his boys.”
“Hell, yeah!” It spilled out of me. I didn’t want to sound too much in favor, but I couldn’t help it. Get Cahoone off the street and behind five feet of concrete, and Katya and I would be free to travel the planet and live off the eight super big with no threat of some jacko blowing us up or shooting at us. Skinny Ramon looked at me like he thought I was nuts.
“No freakin’ way, José,” Ramon said. “Those guys get out too quick, and they all hold grudges. Besides,” he tagged, “his guys on the outside will do whatever he says. Exterminio. No way.”
Ramon had a point, at least for himself. Cahoone was already trying to whack one of us. It’d only get worse for Ramon if he helped the feds.
Travis interrupted the silence. “That’s official failure-to-cooperate. You signed up for this and you’ll do it, or you’ll be prosecuted right along with Cahoone and his thugs. Take your choice, boys.”
I looked at Ramon and he looked at me for a long second. Macintyre was right, we were no longer free spirits. Either way we belonged to The Man.
“Why don’t you use your guy?” Ramon asked.
Travis fielded that one. “We already have a role for him.”
“Care to hear the plan?” Rosy ge
stured with an open palm to Ramon and then to me.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said.
Ramon slowly shook his head from side to side. “Okay, what do we do?”
+++
The plan was simpler than I figured it would be. I was the bait, and Ramon would be the bait-seller. The feds were holding the rod and reel, and Cahoone and his guys were gonna be the bottom feeders on the hook. That is, if everything went according to the plan.
If…
64 – Bulletproof Bait
Agent Fleming drove me to the sleazy little rent-a-car store where I got the fire-balled Mustang, showed ‘em his federal investigator ID, and helped me file a report. He made up a story about some vandal blowing up the gas tank and said that he’d handle the investigation with their insurance company. He told me that Rosy had already taken care of the Miami Beach police department. Anyway, they didn’t want to rent me another car and I don’t blame ‘em. I called Avis.
Fleming dropped me off at the Lauderdale airport and I drove away in a bad ass black Lincoln with dark-tinted windows and security up the kazoo. On the way back to Boynton Beach, I stopped off at a sign-maker and a half-hour later slapped signs that said “Limousine Service” on both passenger doors. Next came a hardware store where I picked up a small can of black paint and a tiny brush. I backed up to my motel door, removed the Avis stickers, and carefully changed three digits on the plate: an S to an 8, an L to an E, and a 1 to a 4. Magic! I had a car that would be hard to track.
I committed to myself that I’d drive very carefully so as not to attract the attention of the police. I didn’t want them looking too closely at the “adjustments” I’d made.
Tired, I was. Beat like a drum, so I decided to take a little siesta before the big event. The first thing I did at the motel was call Katya. There was no answer on her cell, and I tried her room. Still no answer. She was probably getting her hair done or in a noisy place where she couldn’t hear her ring-tone song.
