Ava’s breath caught and she was sure she that she was as good as dead. Jake had finally figured out that she was working with Little Havana. Even though the attempt on Jake’s life was all her stupid, wonderful, Gonzalo’s doing, she was finally going to pay for their transgressions. Why couldn’t he have just waited? It made her so angry. She had asked Gonzalo to be patient. It was such a simple request. All he had to do was wait for her to finalize everything. She was so close. Everything was ready. If he could have just held off for a few more days. But no; he’d gone and tried to do it all himself. He wanted to make things right with her, to compensate for the past and take care of everything. And now he was dead, and soon she would be joining him.
“I thought I could trust you to keep things straight here,” said Jake. “But you left these fucks to cause trouble. Their little power play almost cost me my life. But I’m better than that. Better than them. Better than you. Now I’ll be calling the shots…all the shots,” he smacked her hard across the cheek. It snapped her head sideways, but she took it. She licked away a trickle of blood from the side of her mouth as she watched Jake walk away from her and over to the table. There, he addressed the three heads. “You fucked me up once!” he yelled, pointing at them. “But you won’t fuck me up again!”
Ava stood stunned, not from the blow, but from Jake’s arrogance and once again his stupidity. He thought it was only Little Havana out to take him down. He still had no idea that Ava had been involved with them in any way other than a strictly business sense. Jake thought her only connection with Little Havana was her naivety at thinking their two organizations could peacefully co-exist within the same city. Jake was still clueless regarding her real relationship with Gonzalo and Little Havana.
This gave Ava hope. It meant her overall plan could still very well be intact. Without Little Havana at her side, things would have to be adjusted, but not much. Their demise, while horrific to her personally, might actually make her job simpler. With Little Havana dealt with, Jake might relax and let his guard down, thinking his biggest competitor out of the way. Not only this, but several of Jake’s most loyal generals – Kill King and Steel Will – were now out of the picture as well.
And while the loss of Little Havana decreased Ava’s available manpower, she had an idea of how she might regain the advantage and complete the plan that had begun to form months earlier, and until just minutes ago, she had hoped to finish with her one true love.
Now her love’s once beautiful head sat with lifeless eyes, staring at her from the center of the same table where he had made the most passionate, most beautiful, most meaningful love to her she’d ever experienced.
CHAPTER 17
Monday morning dawned bright, but I’d already been up for hours. I hardly ate any breakfast I was so amped up with nervous excitement. I didn’t even wait upstairs for Bushy’s arrival, deciding instead to sit outside.
Will joined me just as Bushy drove up and got out of his SUV.
“What the heck happened to the car?” he asked, walking up and looking at the loaner he’d provided with a frown. He inspected the flat tire and damaged front fender from where tire pieces had beat it to hell, and then he moved to finger several bullet holes in the front of the car.
“Jake had some unexpected guests on Friday,” I told him.
“Yeah, I know,” Bushy nodded.
“Kind of caught us in the crossfire,” I nodded at the damaged car. “Sorry.”
“Well, at least you made it out alive,” Bushy shrugged. “We can talk more about that later though. In the meantime, you ready to head down to the marina and take a look at your boat.”
“Sounds good,” I nodded.
I didn’t see that there was much more to discuss regarding the Jake matter. Bushy probably just wanted our notes on how the whole thing went down, which was fine. Will and I had spent a little extra time over the weekend adding to our description of the event just to be on the safe side. We wanted to make our available information as detailed and as valuable as possible in hopes of getting top dollar, or in this case, as much insulin as we could for our efforts.
We made the short trip to the marina largely in silence. Bushy drove. He didn’t seem like he was in much of a mood to converse, and in the week we’d known him, we’d already come to the conclusion that he wasn’t a man of many words.
We arrived to what a year prior had probably been a quite lovely looking marina. Unfortunately, there weren’t many recreational boaters left after the flu’s passing, and those who did remain certainly didn’t have the time or the resources to expend sailing around south Florida. Therefore, the marina – and many of the boats docked within it – had cruelly been left to the elements.
Several of the docks running between the rows of boats angled sharply into the water, distended and distorted by strong storms and lack of maintenance. There was a nice variety of boats both large and small, and a good combination of engine and wind powered ships. However, most of the vessels we passed were in various states of disrepair. Many showed heavy rust stains, some were partially submerged or listing badly, and others were sunk completely with just their highest points still protruding from the marina’s shallow waters. Gentle waves now wiggled mast rigging and antennas, the ghostly grave markers of the millions of dollars of once fine boats that now lay below.
Much of the water nearest the docks was littered with floating debris. Life vests, ringed life preservers, foam coolers, ropes, plastic bottles of all shapes and sizes, and all sorts of other trash bobbed soothingly in the morning calm.
The briny smell of the ocean and dead fish wafted through the air. It wasn’t a nice smell, but it fit, and I breathed deeply nonetheless in an effort to absorb the essence of the sea. I likened it to the scents of the city – vehicle exhaust, garbage, the smell of cooking food – they weren’t always the best smells, but they fit the setting and put you in the right frame of mind for the particular environment.
“Looks like this place has seen better days,” Will casually observed as we walked.
“Still a few good boats around,” Bushy retorted shortly.
We kept walking along the main dock that ran between the off-shoots of multiple rows of boats until Bushy hooked a right and led us onto a smaller dock that ran between two rows in particular. Toward the end of one row was a large and still very clean and well-maintained looking boat. It was what one might term a “yacht.” The thing was immensely intimidating for landlubbers non-skilled and largely unfamiliar with ocean-going vessels. Upon seeing it, I immediately began rethinking my plans.
“There she is,” said Bushy, nodding at the monstrosity.
“Big,” I breathed.
“Real big,” Will seconded my opinion.
“Should be enough room for you and your group,” Bushy went on. “It’s fueled up and ready to go.”
I just nodded.
“Why’s it in such good condition when almost all these other boats look so beat up?” Will asked.
“Until recently it was owned by one of the heads of the Little Havana neighborhood,” Bushy told us. He paused, and then said, “He won’t be needing it anymore.”
The back of the boat was facing us, and it read, “Havana Bound,” and under this, “Miami Beach, Florida.”
“Well, I don’t think we’re heading that far south,” I nodded at the boat’s name. “It certainly looks like it ought to work for our purposes though.”
The boat was comprised of multiple levels, the backs of which were mostly all open-air decks. The back of the top deck housed a small-motor skiff, which I liked since it could act as a sort of lifeboat in an emergency. The entire boat was painted pure white and had black, tinted windows. There were even small portholes lining the bottom deck, which I took to house the sleeping quarters.
“What’s the range on this baby?” I asked Bushy.
He shrugged, “Don’t know much about boats myself, but I’ll tell you what I do know. Range probably depends on what type
of seas you’re navigating. This particular boat is a 2001 Lazzara. It’s 80 feet in length, has about a 19 foot beam, a max speed of around 24 knots, has two 1150 horsepower engines, and tanks that hold 2200 gallons of fuel and 350 gallons of water, both of which are currently full. As for range, like I said, it all depends, but I’ve heard there’s a rule of thumb when heading out to sea.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” I asked.
“You use a third of your fuel to get there, a third to get back, and a third as reserve against the unexpected.”
“That sounds smart,” Will agreed.
“Well…want to see her?” Bushy asked.
“Definitely,” I said, starting to get excited. I secretly hoped that Dad, who used to have a speedboat before we were born, would be able to help operate and navigate this beast, as this was one area where my experience and confidence were both sorely lacking.
We all walked to the edge of the dock and climbed aboard.
“Like I said,” Bushy noted, “I don’t know much about the boat. What I just told you is pretty much what I was told, so don’t expect me to be answering many questions. I’m just a country boy from north Georgia. Biggest boats we had up there were fishin’ boats.”
Will and I took a few minutes to clamor around the exterior of the mighty vessel, pretending like we knew what we were looking at.
The front of the boat had a nice open deck space. “The girls will like this for laying out,” Will grinned at me, giving me raised eyebrows.
“And we’ll like it for the pleasure of watching them lay out,” I gave him raised eyebrows back.
The back of the boat had a nice space for fishing or lounging, and several deck chairs were folded up and stashed near one side of the space. The very back of this area led to a small extended platform that jutted off the back of the boat and that sat about six to eight inches above the water making for easy access from the boat to the water and vice versa.
“This will be a nice spot to fish from,” I nodded to Will.
“You think you’ll be able to manage this thing?” Will said in a hushed tone, as if Bushy, who was preoccupied with lighting up a cigarette, cared.
I shrugged, “We’ll figure it out.”
“No Coast Guard anymore,” Will reminded me, eyeing me warily. “Once we’re out there, we’re on our own. We run out of gas or something breaks, and we could be floating around for weeks…or longer.”
“Any worse than taking our chances on dry land?” I frowned. “We’ll take it easy. I won’t push her hard and we don’t have that far to go. We’ve got the skiff if worse comes to worst.”
“Oh great,” Will sighed, rolling his eyes. “You going to load all nine of us and a cat into that little dingy in an emergency?”
“No…I’m just saying, it’s an option to at least get help…or something,” I shrugged.
Will just looked at me.
“Come on,” I said, leading him back to where Bushy sat smoking on the edge of the boat. “The skiff got gas in it?” I asked Bushy.
“Think so,” he nodded. “We can check when we get up there. Want to take a look inside?” he nodded to the door leading to the interior of the boat.
“You bet,” I said, trying to remain upbeat even though Will had me feeling less than confident about the soundness of my plan.
But my concerns faded as we entered the pristine surroundings of the boat’s interior through a sliding tinted glass door. The inside appeared deceptively spacious compared to how it looked from outside the boat. And I was stunned not just by the lavishness of the furnishings and décor but by the size of the space and numerous amenities within it.
We entered the salon which was the ship’s communal living space and included a large L-shaped sofa, several cushioned chairs, a coffee table, and an end table with lamp. The floor was covered with a plush and immaculately-kept white carpet that made me wonder how it had remained so clean over the years. At the far end of this space, heading toward the bow of the ship, there was an oak wet bar with black granite top and three bar stools bolted to the floor in front of it. Across from this, on the opposite wall, protruded a buffet-style ledge, and beside this, a chrome gate kept wobbly sea-legged individuals from taking a tumble down the small stairway that led to the sleeping quarters below.
A short hallway with tiny half bath complete with toilet and sink separated this space from the lavishly appointed kitchen and dining spaces.
The kitchen had everything one might find necessary for fine living on the high seas. There were mocha-colored granite countertops, stainless steel appliances that included a microwave, stove and oven combo, dishwasher, coffee maker, toaster oven, refrigerator with ice maker and water dispenser, and even a trash compactor.
Just up from, and connected to the kitchen space, was the dining area that had a boomerang-shaped black-granite table top on stainless steel legs ringed by a sofa seating area that looked like it could easily seat seven. Skirting this seating space were large slanted windows that faced out over the bow of the ship and that had blinds that could be pulled up from below.
From the kitchen, a small stairway led up to the lounge that was decorated with a sherbet green sofa and several cushioned chairs. In front of this space was the bridge, with two white leather commander’s chairs facing a control panel that made me feel as though I would be captaining the USS Enterprise. Looking at all the controls and out through the windows at the deck below, I found the scene somewhat intimidating. To be honest, I found it extremely intimidating, but I wasn’t about to let on that I was having any misgivings about our plan.
From the bridge, we headed down to the bowels of the ship where the bedrooms were located.
We began our below deck tour in the aft portion of the ship where we found the master suite. It was superbly appointed with immaculately made up queen-sized bed, a sizeable sitting area, and plenty of storage in finely-finished wood cabinetry. The bathroom had dual sinks and enclosed shower and tub. Just down the hall from this were two more bedrooms, each with double beds and small attached baths.
We walked in wonder as we counted three more, smaller bedrooms – two of which were built with bunk beds – another two small bathrooms, and even a tiny office.
“You could start writing again,” Will referenced my pre-flu work as a freelancer with a smile and a nod at the office space that came complete with now useless phone and fax machine.
“No kidding,” I said. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were in a downtown condo. This place is amazing. It even has a stacked washer and dryer. Heck, we could just live here,” I said, shaking my head in sheer amazement at how well designed the space was.
“Amazing how the other half lives…or used to live at least,” Will considered as he gawked around him. “Well, looks like there’s room for everyone to sleep,” he said. “I think Paul and Sarah will like the bunk beds. They always wanted them. Now they get them on their own yacht. Not too shabby.”
“Guess it’s time to show you the engine room,” Bushy said, tearing us away from our daydreaming in the lap of luxury.
He led us outside to the lower aft deck – what he referred to as the “fishing landing” – where two beautifully appointed wood fishing chairs faced the ship’s stern. Here there was a small hatchway with tiny glass porthole that he opened for us, ushering us inside ahead of him. We had to duck our heads to make it through the small opening.
Will and I stopped abruptly as we entered, but Bushy pushed us in ahead of him just far enough to get the hatch closed behind us. It wasn’t the intimidating scene of the engine room mechanics facing us that caused us pause, but the two hulking men who filled the small room. I had to wonder how these gigantic men managed to squeeze themselves through the entrance through which we’d just wriggled.
I instinctually went for my gun, but Bushy stopped me, grabbing my hand, “Whoa, whoa, whoa…it’s okay,” he said. “These guys just want to talk to you.”
Looking at the two be
asts standing before us and who looked like un-bathed professional football players, it was hard to believe they just wanted to talk, but the men seemed calm, unfazed by my initial reaction, and they hadn’t made a move to counter it, so I guessed that Bushy must be telling us the truth.
Both had long hair – one blonde and grimy, one dark and grimy – that didn’t look as though it’d been washed in days or longer. And both men looked as though they could have snapped Will and me in two if they had half a desire to do so.
Bushy nodded to the dark haired man, “That’s Rambo. And this,” he nodded to the dirty blonde, “is Mad Dog.”
I wanted to tell them that their names fit them perfectly, but instead I just stepped forward and reached out a tenuous hand in greeting.
They both just stared at me, unflinching.
I pulled back my hand, somewhat offended but not daring to mention it.
“So what is it you want to talk to us about?” Will asked as he squeezed up beside me in the tight quarters of the engine room, trying to be brave.
Bushy stayed back by the engine room door, blocking our only escape. I figured he did this just in case we tried to make a break for it.
The two men remained silent, still staring.
“Things have changed slightly since we talked last Friday,” said Bushy from behind us.
I turned halfway around so I could talk to him while still keeping an eye on the two hulking thugs on the other side of the engine room. “So, what’s that have to do with us?” I asked. “We had a deal.”
“We still have a deal,” Bushy agreed. “But we need to ask a little bit more of you before we hand over everything we promised.”
The Systemic Series - Box Set Page 95
