by Matt Day
Mateo on the other hand, needed a firm hand on his best day! What she wouldn’t give for her husband, and the children’s father, to still be in their lives.
Estefan San Martin had been a very prominent attorney in Cuba prior to the return of Flugencio Batista in 1952. As a wealthy man, his family had lived in a nice home, had more than one vehicle, a boat, and everything they needed or wanted.
When Batista came back to Cuba, everything changed. The American mafia came with him, bringing their casinos and prostitutes. They also used Cuba as a major avenue to transport their illegal drugs – mainly marijuana and cocaine.
When Estefan had joined with several other prominent businessmen to protest the involvement of the American mafia and the widespread epidemic of corruption they brought to his homeland, he had been murdered in cold blood and in broad daylight.
Three heavily armed men had shown up at her husband’s office shortly before lunch one day, opening fire on him as he sat behind his desk, wounding his secretary, and also killing the man he’d been meeting with. No police were called. No investigation was done.
That was four years ago now and she still missed another adult being around to not only talk to, but to share the burdens of the day with.
Sighing, she gestured towards an open booth, having opted to stop by the café for dinner, rather than struggle to cook and then have to clean it up tonight.
As she and her kids were seated, she glanced up to see a handsome man watching her from the other side of the café. He looked familiar, and she tried to place him, but then Marsha arrived with menus and asking about their day
Charlie watched Carmelita sit down with her kids, grinning when she all but slapped her son upside of his head when he mouthed off in Spanish to her. Good momma!
Charlie had seen Carmelita at St. Peter’s Sunday Mass a time or two, but she had always been accompanied by her two teenagers; and always left as soon as the back doors were opened.
Based upon her attire, he assumed she was a nurse, the little nurse’s cap still sat atop her head, although it was somewhat askew. He wondered if she was just going to work, or just finishing up. Looking at the beginning of dark circles beneath her eyes, he guessed just finishing.
He finished his coffee, smiling at Marsha as she passed his booth and promised to bring his pie out shortly.
When she delivered his pie, he thanked her and asked for a coffee refill. He let the sweetness of the pie filling, and the flakiness of the crust soothe his sweet tooth, grinning and lifting a fork to Bill who was watching him from behind the kitchen serving window.
Bill smiled and waved him off, ever the humble man.
Charlie was just finishing his pie when he overheard the conversation between Carmelita and Marsha, the context of it grabbing his attention.
“It was simply horrible, what happened to those three men!” Carmelita’s expression matched her words as she explained the three bodies that had been delivered to the hospital shortly before her shift ended.
Guess that answers my question about whether or not the Coast Guard is finished up with Maclean’s boat.
He listened in for a moment before he saw Marsha turn in his direction. When she pointed to him, while still talking to Carmelita, Charlie inwardly groaned. What was the busybody up to now?
“Charlie, come over here for a minute,” Marsha waved at him.
Not wanting to be impolite in front of the kids, Charlie scooted himself from the booth and made his way over to the other side of the café just as The Monotones began to croon about “The Book of Love.” Yeah, what did they know?
“Charlie, I’d like you to meet Carmelita San Martin. And these are her two kids, Carmen and Mateo.” Marsha was beaming from ear-to-ear, and Charlie worried that she was not only being a busybody, but was also trying her hand at matchmaking.
“Nice to meet you,” he offered, giving Marsha a warning look to back off.
Carmelita nodded her head, “Nice to meet you too.” Her greeting was stilted and sounded cold even to her ears. She had seen this man around the church from time to time, and each time she had the same thought – where did he find such hideous shirts? They were truly awful. Garish colors. Bold prints. The man didn’t seem to own anything in a nice neutral beige or white.
She also knew that he was also one of the longtime members of the Alcoholics Anonymous group that met twice weekly at the church. While she was happy he had found a way to stop drinking, she really had no use for someone like that in her, or her children’s lives. What a bad influence he would be!
Scolding herself for being so judgmental, she offered him a small smile, “I think maybe we go to the same church?”
“St. Peters. I’ve seen you there a time or two.” Charlie looked at the kids, smiling at Carmen as she smiled back and forth between her Mom and him. Mateo studiously avoided meeting his eyes and Charlie’s inner radar went off. The kid is hiding something!
“I was just telling Carmelita that you were the man who stumbled across the “Big Mama” earlier today.”
Charlie just barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Here we go again! “Yes. I wish I hadn’t though. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”
Marsha stepped forward once again before anyone else could speak, “Carmelita knows all about that. Don’t you?” She continued without giving the woman and chance to speak, “She was there when the Coast Guard brought the bodies in. Weren’t you?” Again, she didn’t give Carmelita time to take a breath, let alone speak for herself. “Why, I bet the sight was enough to turn the most seasoned doctor’s stomach. Wasn’t it?” She nodded her head, emphasizing her statement.
“Marsha! Leave them poor folks alone and get back in here!”
Charlie hid his grin as Marsha rolled her eyes dramatically and then in a sotto voice added, “He’s just jealous because I learn all the good stuff first.” Turning on her heels, Charlie and the others watched her walk back towards the kitchen, telling Bill he needed to take lessons in manners and decorum. Yelling across the restaurant like that was bound to give someone indigestion!
Charlie finally lost the battle to contain his laughter, turning back to find Carmelita, Carmen, and yes – even Mateo, laughing openly at the antics of the two. “Well, I better let you folks get back to your dinner. I’ve already had mine and was just getting ready to head on out of here.” He looked at the kids before addressing their mother, “I am sorry you had to deal with the bodies of Captain Maclean and his crew. I know that couldn’t have been a pleasant task.”
“Oh no!” Carmelita rushed to tell him, her attitude towards him softening a little at the compassion she heard in his voice. “She didn’t let me explain. I was getting ready to leave as my shift was finished when the bodies arrived. All I did was see them. But I will admit that was enough for me. Those poor men looked like someone tortured them before finally putting them out of their misery. And the smell; they had been dead for a while.”
Charlie nodded, having thought the same thing when he first discovered the bodies. “Yes. Well, goodnight. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.” Just thinking about the smell that had come from the bodies was enough to make his dinner sit heavy in the pit of his stomach.
“Goodnight,” she offered with a small smile. Carmelita turned her attention back to the menu in front of her, the strange man in the Hawaiian shirt forgotten as she focused on dinner and the list of things she still had yet to accomplish before bed.
Charlie returned to his booth, leaving the correct cash on the table, along with a generous tip, and then headed for the front door. He had clearly been dismissed, and while he was curious as to what her son was hiding, it wasn’t his job to find out. It was hers and she was welcome to it.
He turned and caught Bill’s eye just before he pushed the door open, smiling at Bill’s returning nod.
Chapter 11
Walking around the side of the building, he let himself into the back patio area and had a seat, knowing that Bill would be
along when he could.
A few minutes later, the back door of the café opened, and out stepped Bill, wiping his hands on the apron tied around his waist. Charlie smiled a greeting as the older man lowered himself painfully into one of the metal chairs. “Tough day?”
“Aren’t they all? But not as bad as yours, I bet.”
“I’ve had better,” Charlie sighed, rolling himself a cigarette and then handing the supplies to Bill. After lighting it, he took a deep draw on it, slowly letting the smoke out and leaning back in the chair. “Gosh, I could have definitely done without finding those bodies.”
“From the sounds of it, someone had a good time at their expense. Any clues as to who or why?”
“No. I mean, it was Pat Maclean. The man didn’t have any enemies.”
“What about the other two bodies?”
“Jacob Parker, and another man that I feel like I should recognize, but didn’t. Hopefully Morgan’s crew can get at least that part right on this one.”
“You losing faith in the local cops?” Bill asked, taking a draw on his own cigarette before handing the supplies back to Charlie, who tucked them back into his shirt pocket.
“Nah, just feeling a little cynical. I was by Morgan’s office earlier, and he didn’t sound very positive about finding the killer. The man and his detectives haven’t even examined the boat and he’s already willing to write it off!”
“That sounds about right. He’s probably worrying about everyone in town for the races.”
“Yeah, he mentioned something about that and being understaffed. He’s always crying about being understaffed.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“Did you happen to see that group that was sitting over next to the jukebox when I came in?”
“The Batistos?” Bill asked, faking an accent.
“Yeah. They looked like trouble to me. They met up with some other guys once they were outside. If I had to guess, I’d say they were either mafia from up north, or maybe Miami.”
“Luciano’s boys?”
“Maybe. He has direct ties to Batista; it makes sense to me. Anyway, the men in the car picked up the two women and dropped off a couple of suitcases. I noticed they went next door to the Skyline.”
“They’ve been in town since at least Monday afternoon. That isn’t the first time they’ve come into the café. They’ve been eating at least one meal a day here. I haven’t seen them with anyone other than the two women during that time.”
“Monday, huh? When did racers start showing up?” Charlie was slowly putting things together in his head.
“Well, I guess I started seeing cars roll in Saturday night after the worst of the storm had passed. A few more came in Sunday, but the masses didn’t start arriving until Monday afternoon. They started the time trials Tuesday morning.”
Charlie nodded as he let his thoughts play out in his head.
“What are you thinking?” Bill asked.
“Well, that group looks like they could easily be connected to the mafia, either Cuban or American. I guess the thought occurred to me that maybe the mafia has decided to expand their drug business and go all out on the race crowd. There’s a lot of money to be made there; with plenty of alcohol already flowing, why not some weed or even coke?”
“I’m surprised it’s taken them this long to show up. It sure seems that they’ve tried to stick their fingers in everything else. Why not stock car racing?”
“Yeah. I’ll mention their presence to Morgan when I talk to him tomorrow.”
“Do that and let me know what he says. If there’s going to be a war, I don’t want any part of it.”
“Noted. Well, I guess I should head home. Have a good night. Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime. Anytime.”
Charlie let himself back out the gate he entered a few minutes prior, tossing his keys in the air and catching them as he walked. He felt better having bounced his ideas off Bill, just as he always did.
He left the top up on his car this time around, somehow not liking the exposure having the top down would provide. The sun was setting, and the darkness seemed more sinister tonight. Was it because he’d discovered dead bodies? Or was it the suspicions that were running through his mind?
As he drove home, the day’s events jumbled together in his mind: the trip to Eleuthera; finding the bodies on the boat; dealing with the Coast Guard and then the local police; overhearing the Cuban’s conversation; and finally, formally meeting Carmelita San Martin.
All things considered, meeting the attractive woman and her children was the best part of an otherwise crummy day. Deciding to focus on the positive, he parked his car, making sure to lock it up, before making his way to his front door.
As he walked through the small house, he went through the motions of checking his blood sugar in the bathroom, pleased to see a nice blue color and no traces of orange. Giving himself the normal dosage of Insulin from the fridge, he dropped the used needle and syringe in the pan next to the sink. He’d worry about sterilizing them later.
He headed for the living room, seating himself on the couch, and not bothering to turn on the radio or the television.
He picked up the phone and gave Wally a call.
“Hello?”
“Wally, its Charlie.”
“Hey Charlie, I heard you had some excitement on your way back from Eleuthera.”
“You could say that.”
“Pretty tough, for sure. You doing okay?”
Charlie smiled, knowing that Wally, like the rest of his family was always fearful that he'd fall off the wagon at each crisis in his life. He wasn’t going to do so, and only time would manage to convince them of that fact. “I’m fine. I might have a case I need some help with over the next few days. You gonna have time to help me find a missing kid?”
“A kid, you say? How old?”
“I don’t know, but Morgan’s not putting any of his men on it, so I’d say we’re looking at an older teenager. Maybe a runaway situation.”
“Geez, I hate it when kids do that. Don’t they know their parents sit at home worrying themselves sick over them?”
“Do they care?” Charlie asked; the same question he always asked the little scoundrels before turning them back over to their doting parents.
“No, probably not. What’s this world coming to? Dead bodies on fishing boats! Kids running off like they know how to fend for themselves! I’m telling you Charlie, something needs to change, or this country’s going to hell in a hand basket.”
“You won’t get any argument from me on that one. Well, are you in for finding the proverbial needle in the haystack?”
“Sure. When do we start?”
Charlie grinned, “Just as soon as the parents call me and agree to pay. I imagine I’ll be hearing from them before lunchtime tomorrow. I’ll call you once I know who we’re looking for.”
“You’re being a little presumptuous, aren’t you?”
“Not at all. The kid’s missing. The cops aren’t going to waste their time looking for him. I’m the only option they have left. So, I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Sounds good. Have a good evening.”
“You too.” Charlie hung up the phone and sat in the growing darkness, thinking about the day once more. It wasn’t long before his thoughts turned to the dark-haired, brown-eyed woman with the accent, and a smile that made him feel warm inside.
Carmelita San Martin. Even her name had a nice ring to it. He wondered if she ever dated. Deciding he would find out at the next opportunity, Charlie readied himself for bed, thoughts of the bodies, mafia men, and recalcitrant teenagers mixed amongst memories of a welcoming smile and warm brown eyes.
Chapter 12
Morning, Thursday, August 28, 1955…
Charlie entered his small office, a one-room affair on the second floor of a building looking out over the Halifax River. A small insurance business occupied the ground floor space, while Charlie ran both his charte
r service and private investigative business from the second story office space.
He was slightly later than usual getting to his office; having dropped the pants he’d worn the day before off at the cleaners. He’d pointed out the small bloodstain on the back of them, and had been assured they wouldn’t have any problems getting it out. They promised to have the pants ready no later than Monday morning for him to pick up, which he said was fine.
The telephone was ringing as he unlocked the door, and he removed his hat as he picked up the phone, “Flanigan’s.” Charlie had debated about changing the name of his business, to incorporate the private investigative part of it, but could never quite settle on anything he liked. So, keeping things simple, both businesses went by Flanigan’s.
“Mr. Flanigan? Charlie Flanigan? ” questioned a male voice from the other end of the line.
“Yes, this is Charlie Flanigan. Who’s this?” Charlie could already guess, but confirmation didn’t hurt.
“Sir, my name is James Spencer, and I was told you might be able to help us find our son.”
Charlie sat down behind his desk, pulling a writing tablet over in front of him so he could take some notes. “Your son is missing?” he asked, keeping the smile from his voice.
“Yes sir.”
“How old is he?” Charlie asked, hoping the child in question wasn’t any younger than fourteen. That would put the disappearance of the child most likely in the abduction category, and he abhorred people who preyed upon young children.
“Well, this might sound funny, but he’s twenty-two.”
Charlie frowned at that information, “So, your missing son is an adult?”
“Well, in age, yes. But he still lives at home with his mother and I. He’s only recently become employed, and well, frankly sir, I don’t know that he’s quite ready to grow up just yet.”
Charlie twirled the pen in his hand, “So, when was the last time you saw your son?”
