“Ask Bob. All I know is he doesn’t want you killed or maimed. How much do you owe Sharky?”
“Forty-five thousand dollars.”
“Geez. That’s enough money for him to invest in a trip down here to collect. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that it’s seventeen degrees in New York. Another excuse for him to come to Miami.”
She raised both hands to her face for a moment.
I said, “Now tell me about Sharky contacting you.”
“Yesterday, he sent a text to my other phone. You know, the flip-phone I left in my rental.”
I had returned the flip-phone when I brought her back to the Port City Palace the previous Saturday. “Let me see the text.”
Her hand shook as she gave me the phone. All it said was Tawanda Grisham.
Her chin quivered as she took the phone back. “I thought Sharky was in New York. Then, last night, when Mom and Dad and I got back from the restaurant, there he was.” Her voice broke. “He…he was…standing on the sidewalk in front of this house, leaning on the lamp post. He wore a baseball cap and a hoodie, so at first I didn’t recognize him. But when I got out of the car, he flipped the hoodie back and took off his baseball cap so I could see his face. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at me. Then, as I walked to the front door, he pointed that finger at me.” Her voice became ragged. “He…he followed me…tracked me with that finger all the way to the front porch. He said he had come for his money and I’d better have it tomorrow night when he came back. That’s when I called Bob.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Oh, Chuck, I’m so scared,” she sobbed, hands in front of her face again.
I waited while she pulled herself together.
She looked up as the mascara streaked her cheeks. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“In the short run, nothing. I’m going to protect you. I’ll put Snoop or another of my men outside the house or with you when you leave, all day, sixteen hours a day. He’ll go with you wherever you go, and he’ll see you safely home at night. He or another man will be on duty outside the next morning. When you want to go out, he’ll go with you. Snoop’s on the way now.”
“Sharky said he’d come back tonight.”
“I’ll be here when he does.”
She nodded wordlessly.
“Did Sharky have a car?”
“I…I guess. I really didn’t notice.”
“When he left, how did he leave? Did he walk? Drive? Someone pick him up?”
“I was so shaken up that I didn’t think to look out the window.”
“You said he was in a hoodie. What color was it? What else was he wearing?”
“It was a light-gray hoodie. And blue jeans.”
“Shoes?”
“Didn’t notice.”
“What about the baseball hat? Describe it.”
Gracie looked upward for a second. “Black with the New York Yankees NY logo on the front.”
“That’s great. If you see him again anywhere else, I want to know everything you observe. Which direction he came from, which direction he leaves in, what he’s wearing, what kind of vehicle. If you can, get a license plate. Snap a picture with your phone, if nothing else.”
She nodded again.
I patted her shoulder. “I’m going to check your home’s physical security now. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I walked the perimeter of the house. Horatio had replaced the broken padlock on the backyard fence. Several years before, her parents had planted Crown of Thorns under each window. They were mature and heavy with flowers that hid the dangerous spines. They were a good defense if anyone tried to break in at a window. The bad news was that the locks on the front and back doors were cheap and easily broken. I sent Horatio to the hardware store to get better deadbolts. He was handy with tools and promised he’d have the new ones installed before sunset.
I had arranged for Snoop and Frank Bennett, a young Port City cop on vacation for a couple of weeks, to alternate watches outside the house for a few days. Bob would get tired of writing checks for this eventually, but neither he nor I knew what else to do.
Snoop showed up at ten o’clock. I gave him a mug shot of Sharky and an extra to give to Frank Bennett when he showed up at four.
Then I went in to talk to her parents.
Chapter 67
“Evangelina, a woman in the house across the street watched Horatio and me through the window when we were in front of your house. How well do you know her?”
“That’s Señora Guzman. She’s lived in the neighborhood forever. I’ve known her since Graciela was a baby and we first moved here. Why do you ask?”
“Sharky is out there somewhere. I’d feel better if I put eyes on him, instead of waiting for him to come back. I’d rather play offense than defense. Maybe Señora Guzman saw something last night. Would you introduce me to her?”
Señora Guzman opened her front door while Evangelina and I were walking up the sidewalk. She gave Evangelina a big hug and welcomed me in heavily-accented English. When I returned her welcome in Spanish she grinned like I was a long-lost relative. She was barely five feet tall, with salt-and-pepper gray hair worn in a bun. Her face was largely unlined, except for the laugh lines. I’d guess her at ninety-five pounds if she carried a brick in the front pocket of her calf-length blue dress. Large trifocal glasses made her brown eyes look the size of half-dollars. It must have been eighty degrees, but she wore a white knit shawl over her long sleeves. She had on discount store flip-flops. Her wide smile revealed one gold tooth. She reminded me of the cook at my Mexican grandma’s hacienda. I liked her immediately.
When Evangelina told her I had rescued Graciela from Vidali’s yacht, she hugged me like I had saved her own life. She insisted on serving us a tray of freshly baked pastelitos, a Cuban pastry with a flaky crust filled with guava and cream cheese. She made us each a cortadito, a type of sweet Cuban coffee. I got the feeling Señora Guzman didn’t have company often and wanted to take advantage of our visit.
I let Evangelina and Señora Guzman catch up on all the neighborhood news while I enjoyed my pastelito and cortadito. We had a fair-sized Little Havana in Port City, but nothing like the original neighborhood here in Miami. Señora Guzman was quick to tell me she had come with her parents from Havana in 1960 when she was a little girl. She cursed Fidel and Raul Castro and made a sign, maybe to ward off evil.
Señora Guzman was the neighborhood busybody. She watched a lot of cop shows on Telemundo television and was a one-woman Neighborhood Watch program. She had seen Sharky on the sidewalk the night before, and had written down the license number of the car he was driving. She gave a detailed description of the car, including the make, model, and color.
I made my goodbyes to another big hug. This time she pulled my head down with both hands and kissed me firmly on the cheek. “You protect my Gracielita, Carlitos. God be with you.”
Chapter 68
I got back to the van, booted my tablet, and researched Sharky’s license number. It was a rental car plate that I hoped he had stolen. That would give me grounds to alert the cops to arrest him. Unfortunately, the rental’s online description matched the one Senora Guzman had given me. The plate wasn’t stolen.
My nondescript white minivan was like a million others, so it was effectively invisible. I cruised the neighborhood in widening circles. At sunset, I found Sharky’s rental in the parking lot of a diner a few blocks away.
I parked in a lot across the street where I could see the door to the diner. I put on a reversible windbreaker and sunglasses and walked across. When I opened the door, the place smelled so good that my stomach shouted at me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. My mouth watered, but I wasn’t there to eat.
Sharky was the only one at the long counter. I read in a magazine somewhere that invading someone’s space makes them feel intimidated. If it was printed in a magazine, it had to be true, right? I took an empty seat beside him. He had a plate of picadillo, sweet plantains, and yuca.
/> He frowned in my direction. “Who the hell are you?” He didn’t look intimidated yet, so I gave him a business card. He glanced at it, but didn’t look impressed. Maybe if I added a logo of crossed daggers.
I spoke softly. “Leave Graciela Perez alone.”
That got his attention, so I pressed my small advantage. “You are Samuel Torrance, but you prefer that people call you ‘Sharky’ because you think it’s cool. You live in Brooklyn.” I rattled off his street address and phone number. “You were arrested and released for maiming Tawanda Grisham.” I recited his rap sheet from memory. I’d done my homework. I even impressed myself.
So far, he didn’t look intimidated.
I went on. “I know all about you, Sharky, but you don’t know anything about me. I suggest when you get back to whatever spider hole you’re staying in tonight, you should Google me.” I reached over and grabbed a plantain chunk off his plate and ate it, invading his space more. “I’m about to become your worst nightmare. If you’re smart, you’ll cut your losses, turn in that rented Impala out front, and fly back to New York. If you’re smart, you’ll forget you ever knew Graciela Perez. If you’re smart, I’ll let you stay alive a little longer.”
When I stood, I made sure he saw the gun under my windbreaker. I walked out without looking back. Maybe that would intimidate him, but I had my doubts.
I turned left outside the diner door and walked a half-block down the street to get out of sight. I turned my windbreaker inside out from the black to the red side. I put on a Port City Pilots baseball cap, removed the sunglasses, and walked back to the van on the other side of the street.
His back was to the window. Even through the binoculars it was hard to see what he was doing. I hoped he would look me up on his smartphone. As far as I knew, he’d never committed a capital crime, so I hoped I didn’t have to kill him. Maybe when he found out what a super-sleuth tough guy and major righter-of-wrongs I was, he’d turn tail and slink back to Brooklyn. But I doubted it.
Dad always said, “Wish in one hand and spit in the other and see which gets full first.” I was wishing.
An hour later, I followed him to a cheap motel on US 1 with a sign that said Yes, we have waterbeds and DVD players. I wondered if they rented rooms by the hour. I waited thirty minutes after he’d gone into his room on the second floor and put a GPS tracker under his back bumper. I found a nearby fast food place and grabbed two quick hamburgers while I watched the GPS monitor. He never moved.
I waited outside the motel to follow him when he returned to Gracie’s parents’ house. The only thing I learned was that the motel did rent rooms by the hour. Sharky must have decided that tonight wasn’t his night. Perhaps I had shaken his confidence.
I gave up and went home at 2:00 a.m.
###
The next day was Saturday. At 11:00 a.m. I found Sharky’s car had not moved from where he’d left it the night before. At noon I followed him to an Italian restaurant. At 1:30 I followed him to an adult video store.
I checked in with Snoop while I waited outside the XXX Adult Emporium Couples welcome!!! Snoop was bored. When you’re on a protection detail, boring is good.
Sharky came out a few minutes later with a plain white plastic bag. Maybe he had bought a copy of Gone With the Wind. Back to the no-tell motel.
At 4:30 a silver Cadillac double-parked in the motel lot. A teenage girl in four-inch gold heels, a white halter top, and a red skirt that barely covered her assets, got out. As she walked around the car, the driver rolled down his window and said something. She walked back and leaned into the window for a short consultation. Her skirt hiked up to reveal a transparent black thong something-or-other. She was probably here for a financial analysts conference. She didn’t carry a briefcase, though, only a silver-sequined clutch purse.
She climbed the stairs carefully, glanced at a piece of paper in her hand, and took out a container of breath spray from the clutch. She squirted the spray into her mouth, returned it to the purse, and tugged her skirt down. It covered her behind, but barely. She knocked on Sharky’s door. Maybe she wasn’t there for a financial analysts conference after all.
I figured Sharky wouldn’t go anywhere for a while. I drove down Calle Ocho to a little Cuban restaurant I knew. We didn’t have them like that in Port City. I parked on a side street and ordered three Media Noches and a to-go thermos of Cuban coffee from the walk-up window.
I took up post again outside Sharky’s motel and checked in with Frank Bennett. Frank was bored too. Hooray.
About 6:30 the silver Cadillac returned and double-parked. A few minutes later the teenager left Sharky’s room and got back in the Cadillac. She handed her purse to the driver, who took some bills out of it and tossed it back to the girl. Life in the big city.
I munched on the Media Noches, drank the Cuban coffee, and hung around ’til midnight.
###
Sunday morning at 9:00 a.m. I returned to Sharky’s motel. His car was gone. I punched up the GPS monitor. The signal said the car was at Miami International Airport.
I called Snoop.
“Yeah, Chuck. I’m on post out front. Been here since 8:00.”
“I can’t find Sharky. The GPS I stuck on his car says the car is at MIA. He must’ve turned it in to the rental company sometime in the night.”
“Maybe he gave up and went back to Brooklyn.”
“Or maybe he made my tail and got another car.”
“Now who’s being the pessimist?”
I called Jorge. “Need another favor of your cop super-powers, Jorge. A New York drug dealer is in Miami. He threatened my client, a woman. I want to know where his cellphone is right now.” I gave him the number.
“This have anything to do the Vidali case?”
“That case is closed. This is a different case, a protection gig. I had an eye on the guy, name of Samuel Torrance from Brooklyn, New York. He gave me the slip. I have to find him again.”
“Hang on.” He was gone for a couple of minutes. “The phone is in Miami. I’ll text you the address.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. The address was the home of Gracie’s parents. I headed at warp speed to Little Havana and said a little prayer.
Chapter 69
I parked at the curb, right behind Snoop’s car. Horatio’s Dodge minivan was in the driveway behind Evangelina’s Ford Focus.
Snoop got out and walked back to my van. “Nothing’s happened since we talked.”
I called Graciela’s new cellphone. It rang four times and went to voicemail. I called her flip-phone. Same thing. I called Horatio and Evangelina’s home number. Four rings and it went to voicemail.
This couldn’t be good. Sharky was inside listening to the phones ring. A ringing phone always puts me on edge. Sharky didn’t need to be any more on edge than he was.
How in the hell had he gotten inside? I called his cellphone.
“You finished leaving your voicemail messages? Whaddya want, McCrary?”
“Can I come in?”
“You got my money?”
“Yeah.”
“Step outside your van and show it to me.”
I walked around the van and stood on the sidewalk. A finger lifted a blind in the living room window. I pulled out the envelope Vidali had given Gracie. I fanned the sheaf of bills where Sharky would see them. At that distance, fifteen grand would look like enough.
I put the envelope in my pants pocket. “Can I come in now?”
“Take off your coat.”
I took off my windbreaker.
“And your shoulder holster.”
I shrugged out of my holster.
“Put them in the back of your van.”
I did.
“Turn around where I can see your back.”
I did that too.
“Tell your pal to get in his car and drive away.”
I turned to Snoop. “He wants you to get in your car and drive away.”
Snoop went to his car, opened the door,
and stood there. He looked a question at me over the roof.
“It’ll be okay, Snoop. You can go home.” I winked at him.
He sighed and drove away.
I said, “He’s gone.”
“Okay, you can come in. The door’s unlocked.”
I walked up the sidewalk and climbed the steps. The front door had the old locks on it, broken. Horatio hadn’t installed the deadbolts. I hoped he wouldn’t have cause to regret his procrastination. I stepped through the door and closed it behind me.
Graciela sat on the upholstered couch where her parents had served Snoop and me Cuban coffee only a few days ago. So much had happened since then that it felt like much longer. Her parents sat on either side of her. All three had their wrists duct taped in front. All three wore pajamas and robes. Physically, they looked okay.
Sharky had broken into their house sometime after Frank Bennett went off duty and before Snoop got there. Maybe he caught them at breakfast, then forced Gracie to duct tape them while he held the knife to her throat. The roll of duct tape lay on the floor beside the couch.
Sharky stood behind Gracie. His left hand clutched her shoulder. His right hand held a wicked-looking carpet knife at her throat. I guess he wasn’t going to use acid this time. Dried tears tracked her cheeks. The curved blade in Sharky’s hand looked like an obscene boomerang on the end of the wooden handle. I couldn’t see any blood on it. I wondered if he had used that carpet knife on the other girl he maimed, the one with cuts on her cheeks and forehead.
Horatio sat like a statue, not leaning on the arm of the couch. Evangelina’s lips moved in silent prayer. Despite the tape, her fingers thumbed an imaginary rosary, counting her countless Hail Marys. I hoped to God they worked.
“Gimme the money.”
“Move the knife away from her throat.”
“Gimme the goddamn money, or I’ll slit her pretty little throat.”
“Sharky, you’re not wanted for murder. You’ve done a lot of bad things, but you’ve never killed anyone. Remember that Florida has capital punishment. You want to get your money and get out of here in one piece. I want that too. We all want that. Now, let’s make that happen. Move the knife away from her throat.”
Quarterback Trap (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 3) Page 22
