Island of Thieves

by Josh Lacey

  Otto Gonzalez was a small man, but he was solid and square, a little block of muscle. I hardly even looked at his face; all my attention was drawn to the extraordinary tattoo on his neck: the head of a snake, its mouth open, its fangs raised, snarling under his chin. Otto’s white shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show a few loops of the snake’s tail crisscrossing his thick, hairy chest. For all I knew, the rest of the snake curled all around his body, even down his legs and up again.

  His wife was skinny, blond, and very beautiful. She didn’t have any tattoos. Or hair on her chest. She looked like a model and must have been half his age.

  “Harvey Trelawney,” said Otto, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “This is a surprise, huh?”

  “A nice surprise, I hope,” said my uncle, smiling as if he were greeting an old friend. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Don’t speak so soon,” said Otto. His English was pretty good, although he had a strange accent, half American and half Spanish. “I have to tell you, Harvey, I am not happy with you. You have cheated me, my friend.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You know what I’m talking about, Harvey.”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  “Oh, really? You don’t? Then why do you think I want to see you?”

  “I’m very much hoping it’s because you want to buy another picture.”

  “Another picture?” Otto’s face flushed with blood, and he rose out of his chair. “Are you joking me?”

  “I thought you liked the first one.”

  “I like it till I find it’s a fake!”

  “Fake?” My uncle sounded astonished. “What do you mean?”

  Otto issued a quick order to one of his men, who hurried out of the room and returned a moment later with a painting in a gold frame.

  I don’t know much about art, but I know what I don’t like, and I didn’t like this. I think it was supposed to be a picture of a woman sitting in a chair, but she was all distorted and multicolored and kind of a mess. I could have done better with my eyes shut.

  My uncle ogled the picture as if he’d never set eyes on anything so lovely. “It’s a wonderful piece of work, isn’t it?”

  “Wonderful? You think this is wonderful?”

  “I certainly do.”

  “Then you’re crazy. Or you’re lying. I don’t know which.” Otto gave the wooden frame a dismissive flick with his fingers. “I bring a man all the way from New York to see this picture. I tell him, ‘I got a picture, I think it’s worth ten million dollars.’ You know what he say to me? He say, it’s worth nothing. Nothing! You cheat me, Harvey. You say you’re sure it’s Picasso.”

  “I was sure it was,” said my uncle. “If it’s not, that’s my mistake, and I’m very sorry. But it’s still a lovely picture, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll enjoy it very much for years to come.”

  “I don’t want to enjoy it. I want my money back.”

  “That’s really not possible, Otto. I told you that I couldn’t give you any guarantees. That’s why this picture was so cheap. If you’d bought it through a dealer in London or New York, it would have cost you six or seven million dollars.”

  “But it would have been real!”

  “That’s true,” said my uncle. “But life is about risk, isn’t it? You took a risk, and this time it didn’t work out. I’m sure we’ll have a better experience when we next do business together.”

  That was when Otto’s expression changed. His smile faded and his eyes darkened. For the first time since they started arguing, I began to feel seriously nervous. Up until now, I’d accepted Uncle Harvey’s own view of the situation; he’d seemed utterly confident and so I was too. Now I wasn’t sure. What had we walked into? And would we be able to get out of here? I looked at the door, but it was blocked by two big men with broad shoulders. The only other exit was the door onto the terrace, and I didn’t like that: a long drop followed by falling facefirst into the biggest ocean on the planet.

  “Give me my money,” said Otto. His voice was lower, deeper, darker. He sounded like a gangster in a movie. I wondered if he’d learned his English from watching The Godfather and The Sopranos, and then I wondered if the actors in The Godfather and The Sopranos had learned their parts by watching men like him.

  Uncle Harvey didn’t seem too bothered. He was still managing to look calm and relaxed, smiling as if he didn’t have a care in the world. I wondered what he knew that I didn’t, or if he was just really good at bluffing. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I wish I could give you back all your money, but I simply can’t.”

  “Why not?” growled Otto.

  “I don’t have it.”

  “You better get it. I want one hundred thousand dollars.”

  “I really don’t have access to that kind of cash at the moment. If you could hang on for five or six months, I might be able to—”

  “I’m not gonna wait six months. I want my money now.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Uncle Harvey. “I’m a businessman. I don’t like unhappy customers. If you really don’t want this picture, I’ll buy it back from you. Of course, I’ll need a little time to raise the cash. Why don’t you give me a couple of weeks and I’ll see what I can do?”

  “You got twenty-four hours,” said Otto.

  “That’s simply not possible,” said Uncle Harvey.

  “Everything is possible.”

  There was something ominous about the way Otto said those words. What happened next was even worse. He ordered his wife to leave the room. She sulkily gathered up her coffee and her newspaper and stalked out. Once she had gone and the door was closed, Otto told two of his men to take hold of Uncle Harvey’s arms. No one touched me; they seemed to have forgotten that I even existed.

  Otto walked to the sideboard, opened a drawer, and pulled out a long carving knife. Uncle Harvey struggled, but the thugs were too strong for him. They sat him in a chair and spread his hand out on the table.

  As soon as I realized what was happening, I threw myself toward my uncle, trying to dislodge the men who were holding him. But I wasn’t quick enough. One of the thugs grabbed me and held me back.

  Otto was smiling. He ran his finger slowly along the blade.

  “Which finger you wanna lose?” he said to my uncle. “If it is me, I say the little one. But you can choose. The left hand? The right hand? The big finger? The little finger? Which you want?”

  Uncle Harvey thought for a moment. I could see him considering it: The left or the right? Which would be less useful? What could he live without more easily? And then he said, “I might be able to get your money a bit quicker.”

  “You see?” said Otto. “Like I say before. Everything is possible.”

  “Give me a week.”

  Otto shook his head. “One day. Twenty-four hours. Starting now.” He glanced at the clock. “You better get going, Harvey. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.”

  “Very well,” said Uncle Harvey. “I’ll have the money for you in twenty-four hours. But you’re going to have to let me go. I can’t do it from here. I have to make some calls and meet some people.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  Otto nodded to his men, who stepped back, letting my uncle go.

  He stood up, rubbing his wrist.

  “You come back here,” said Otto. “Same time tomorrow. You have my money. And you take away your picture.”

  “It’s a deal,” my uncle said, and then nodded to me. “Let’s go, Tom.”

  Before I could move, Otto said, “He stays here.”

  “That wasn’t the deal.”

  “It is now,” said Otto. “Come back here in twenty-four hours with the money. Then you can have him.”

  “No chance,” said Uncle Harvey.

  “Is no problem.” Otto looked at me. “You like computers? You like games? You wanna stay here and play some games?”

  Suddenly everyone was looking at me. I smiled, trying to look as cool as Uncl
e Harvey. “Sure,” I said. “I love games.” I turned to my uncle. “I don’t mind staying here. Seriously, Uncle Harvey, I’ll be fine.”

  My uncle gave a little shake of his head. I could see him mulling over the situation, thinking through his options and considering what to do. He didn’t take long to reach a decision. He pulled back his chair and sat down again. “Listen, Otto. Let me tell you why I’m in Peru.”

  “I don’t care why you’re in Peru,” said Otto. “One hundred thousand dollars, that’s all I want.”

  “Let me tell you anyway,” said my uncle.

  He started talking. At first Otto made it quite clear that he wasn’t even listening, pouring himself another cup of coffee and walking around the room, but Uncle Harvey just kept talking and gradually managed to get Otto’s attention, telling him about the necklace and the shop in the mountains, just as he had told me. He avoided giving any specific information about the shop’s location, dodging Otto’s questions by opening his bag, taking out his blue folder, and handing over the old, crumpled piece of paper.

  Otto stared at it for a long time. I don’t know why. I’m sure he couldn’t read the handwriting. I found it hard enough and I speak English.

  “There are no guarantees,” said my uncle. “But I think it’s a risk worth taking. That’s why I’ve come back to Peru. I’m going to start searching for this treasure today. If I find it, my first stop will be right here. I’m going to give you a lump of gold worth a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “That’s a good story,” said Otto. “I just got one question. Is it true?”

  “Of course it’s true.”

  “You sure? Because I’m thinking, Harvey, maybe you’re not very good at telling the truth.”

  “I swear on my life,” said my uncle.

  Otto pointed at me. “You swear on his life?”

  Uncle Harvey nodded without even pausing to think. “I swear on his life too. Every word is true.”

  Otto reached across the table and opened a box of thin cigars. He offered one to my uncle, then to me, but we both said no. He lit one, leaned back in his chair, and blew smoke at the ceiling. He was smiling. It was difficult to believe that only a few minutes ago he’d been threatening to chop off my uncle’s little finger. He asked a few more questions, getting the details straight in his mind, and then he said, “You know what, Harvey? We’ll do this thing together. You and me, we’ll find the island and the treasure too. What do you say? It’ll be fun, no?”

  “That’s a very nice offer,” said Uncle Harvey. From his tone of voice, I couldn’t tell whether he was genuinely interested or just humoring our host. “If you don’t mind me asking, how exactly are you going to help us? What can you do that we can’t?”

  Otto gave him a little smile as if he were a child who had asked a silly question. “To come to this island, you must have a boat. To find the treasure, you need men. You are an Englishman, Harvey, but this is my country. I have men. I have cars. I have planes and helicopters. I have boats. Together we can do everything. And when we find the treasure, we will split it between us, half for you and half for me. That is fair, no?”

  “I’m not sure that’s very fair at all,” said Uncle Harvey. “How about eighty-twenty?”

  Otto shook his head. “Half-half.”

  “Seventy-thirty.”

  “Half-half.”

  “Sixty-forty.”

  “Half-half.”

  “Let me get one thing straight. For that price, you’ll supply whatever we need? Equipment, men, boats, cars—everything?”

  “Everything,” said Otto.

  Uncle Harvey thought for a moment, considering his options. Then he nodded. “It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Otto. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  5

  Suddenly everyone was smiling. Otto rubbed his hands together. “Let’s have a drink! What do you want, Harvey? A whiskey?”

  “That’s very kind of you, Otto, but I can’t possibly drink at this time of the morning. I haven’t even had breakfast.”

  “That’s no problem! Have a whiskey for breakfast!”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather have a hot shower and a decent cup of coffee. Would that be possible?”

  “Sure, no problem—we got showers, we got coffee, we got whatever you want. Maria will show you to a room.”

  Maria was the maid, a skinny girl in a black dress. Otto issued an order to her in Spanish. He must have been telling her which rooms to put us in.

  “You should have a shower too,” my uncle said to me.

  I said I was fine, but my uncle insisted. I guess I must have smelled.

  Maria led us down the corridor. I had a bunch of questions for my uncle. I wanted to know what was going to happen to me. Was I staying here or going with him? Plus, what if we couldn’t find the treasure? What if it had already been found by someone else? If the island had been turned into a resort and a huge hotel had been built on the exact spot where the treasure was hidden, would he still owe Otto a hundred thousand dollars? But I didn’t get a chance to ask any of these questions. As soon as I started talking, my uncle put his finger to his lips and nodded at the maid.

  She showed us to our rooms. I went into mine and shut the door. It was massive—three times the size of my room at home, if not bigger. And there I have to share the bathroom with Mom, Dad, Grace, and Jack, whereas here I had my own private bathroom with an enormous bath and gold taps and a thick, fluffy white robe hanging on the back of the door.

  I stood by the window, looking at the view of the ocean, and wondered what to do next. I was in a whole heap of trouble, that much was obvious. Had I made a huge mistake coming here? Should I have stayed in New York?

  Stop worrying, I told myself. Trust Uncle Harvey. He knows what he’s doing. Have a shower, like he told you, and see what happens next.

  My bag was on the bed. It must have been put there by one of the maids. I pulled off my sweater and slipped off my shoes. I was just about to step out of my jeans when the door opened. It was my uncle.

  “You could knock,” I said.

  He closed the door before answering.

  “Get your stuff together,” he said in a whisper. “We’re leaving.”

  “Now?”

  “Shhh!” He put his finger to his lips. “We’ve got to get out of here. Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere. Just not here. As you’ve probably realized already, Otto Gonzalez is one of the biggest crooks in South America. I’ll tell you the gory details later, but now we’ve got to hurry. Didn’t I tell you to put your shoes on?”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “You’ve just made a deal with the biggest crook in South America and now you’re going to double-cross him? Are you crazy?”

  “We don’t have any choice. If we stick around, Otto will kill us.”

  “Then why did you—”

  My uncle interrupted me: “I’m leaving. You can stay here if you want to. Your choice.”

  I pulled on my sneakers, put my sweater back on, and grabbed my bag. Uncle Harvey opened the door and tiptoed into the corridor. He glanced both ways. From the other end of the apartment, we could hear music and conversation. Uncle Harvey nodded to me and walked quickly and quietly toward the big wooden door of the apartment. I hurried after him.

  A floorboard creaked. We stopped and listened. Seconds passed. There were no more creaks. Uncle Harvey nodded and we kept walking.

  Everything went fine till we got to the main door. There, sitting on a chair, reading a newspaper, was one of Otto’s men. I suppose he was making sure we didn’t do exactly what we were doing. When he saw us he stood up, dropped his newspaper on the chair, and positioned himself solidly in front of the door. He must have noticed that we were carrying our bags, but he didn’t say anything, just waited for us to make the first move.

  I looked at my uncle, wondering how he was going to talk his way out of this situation. I’m sure I must have looked
terrified, but my uncle appeared as cool as always. He stepped forward with a cheerful grin on his face and said, “Hello, Miguel. It is Miguel, isn’t it?” He paused for a moment, giving the man a chance to answer, then realized the guy wasn’t going to and hurried onward: “We’re just heading out for a moment. Could we get past, please?”

  Miguel replied in Spanish.

  Uncle Harvey stuck to English: “Don’t be difficult, Miguel. Señor Gonzalez has asked me to fetch something and I’m sure he doesn’t want to be kept waiting. Excuse me, please.” He tried to step past, but Miguel wouldn’t budge. He was a big man with broad shoulders and there was no way around him.

  If I had been in Uncle Harvey’s position, I don’t know what I would have done. Apologized, probably. Then gone back to my room and tried to think of a good lie to tell Otto.

  Uncle Harvey had his own way of doing things. He dropped his bag on the floor, swung his arm, and threw a punch.

  I was impressed. If you met him, you wouldn’t immediately think that Uncle Harvey was the type of guy who could take care of himself in a fight, but he had a neat right hook. His arm whipped through the air and his fist rammed into Miguel’s chin with a very satisfying crunch.

  A punch like that—it would have been enough to knock me across the room. Most men would have fallen to the ground, clutching their broken chins and seeing stars. Not Miguel. He barely flinched.

  The momentum of the punch put my uncle off-balance. Before he could right himself, he had been grabbed by Miguel, who whirled him around in one crisp movement and bent him over with his right arm twisted up behind his back.

  “Arrrggghh!” yelled my uncle.

  Miguel shouted loudly in Spanish. I didn’t know what he was saying, but he must have been calling for help.

  No one answered.

  He shouted again, louder.

  My uncle tried to free himself and then cried out once more as Miguel jerked his arm upward. A little further and the bone would have snapped. Uncle Harvey must have known that, but he didn’t stop struggling, and he kicked backwards with one heel, then the other, trying to connect with Miguel’s ankles.