A Shark in Calle Ocho (13 page)

“Interesting,” Bob said.

“Later on that day, I heard loud cracking and popping noises, and after it died down I saw him.” All of a sudden she seemed nervous, and she started wiping off the counter.

“Saw whom?” Bob asked.

“Shark. He came out of the shop and was picked up by some high-dollar car. Just as soon as he left, the store started smoking, and I started hearing the fire department. Right before the fire trucks, police and ambulances came, the workers were picked up in a van.”

“So there was no one at the shop when the fire department arrived?” Bob asked.

“No. The police arrived first and seemed to give orders to the fire department and ambulances.”

“What did the ambulances pick up?” Brandy asked.

“They brought out three body bags.”

“Cliford didn’t mention anything about bodies in his story,” Brandy said.

“Cliford?”

“Cliford has the Little Havana beat,” she explained. “I read his story last night, and he didn’t mention any casualties. He’s a good reporter and would have made that his lead.”

“Would you mind calling him and asking if he saw anything in the police report about bodies?” Brandy dialed as she walked away.

“Thank you for the coffees—they were wonderful,” Bob said before stepping away from the window.

“You’re welcome,” Cynthia said, adding, “She’s very beautiful.”

Bob let a giggle escape from his mouth.

“I know.”

***

That afternoon, Bob pulled up to Tenish Headquarters to tell Mary Catherine the news about Shark. He felt like he was walking on clouds, and he’d had a smile on his face ever since his date with Brandy earlier. She was beautiful and smart and liked investigating as much as Bob. During the walk home she’d called the reporter who’d written the article about the fire. He told Brandy he’d seen the police report, and there was no mention of any deaths, but there were two Care ambulances at the scene. Bob figured the police deliberately omitted any mention of bodies in the report, and Care cleaned up the scene. He was about to climb out of the beauty queen when an ambulance drove past him to the back of the building. Thinking that was strange, he got out and jogged around the building to see where it went. Rounding the corner, he crouched behind a bush and, to his surprise, the ambulance was from Care.

“What are
they
doing here?” he muttered.

Two men get out of the ambulance, both dressed in their street clothes. Upon closer inspection, Bob saw pistols poking out of the pants in the back.
Now when did EMTs start wearing street clothes and carrying guns?
he wondered.

Constantly checking their surroundings, the two men walked around the ambulance and opened the back door. Each grabbed a wooden crate and quickly hauled it inside the building. Bob followed at a close distance, but by the time he entered the building the elevator door was closing behind the two. But the floor indicator showed that the elevator didn’t stop until it reached the top floor, and Bob knew there were only a few offices up there—including Mary Catherine’s.

“The plot thickens,” he muttered, pressing the call button.

***

Shark looked over the crates—twenty in all. The African artifacts had been separated from the diamonds and delivered to the waiting hands of blue-haired aristocrats of Miami. They praised Antonio for his “untiring efforts to ensure the people of Miami had world-class art within their grasps.” Shark greeted each of the blue-hairs with a hug and a polite kiss, making them coo like schoolgirls. After dining on vodka and caviar and laughing at their pathetic tales, Shark hurried home to be with his new prized possessions—a $40 million bundle of black market diamonds. He sat behind his desk in his inner quarters. The top of the large mahogany desk was covered with so many rocks that it was almost impossible to see the dark wood between them. He laughed when he realized that his desk top was almost solid diamonds. The greed generated by the diamonds sent his spirit into a euphoria that no drug on earth could match. He bent down until he touched them with the tip of his nose. He moved his head back and forth, breathing in deeply and exhaling softly so as not to disturb them. After he tired of that, he rose and started moving his hands through them like a baker kneading dough. The cool cleanliness excited him.

“Well, it looks like I’ve been replaced.”

Shark jumped and opened his eyes. It was Lauren.

“What do you want?” he shouted.

“Cool it, darling,” she said. “Greed is getting the better of you. You have to be more careful.”

“No one can touch me—I can buy anyone,” he snarled. “And most are cheap. Look at you.”

Lauren ignored the comment.

“A police officer has been talking to the bounty hunter lately.”

Shark grunted, smoothing his diamonds out into a level plain.

“You mean the accountant-turned-bounty hunter?”

“Yes, the accountant-turned-bounty hunter. He has an informant in the police department now. I told you he was dangerous.”

Shark stood suddenly, pushing back his leather chair and knocking over pictures as it careened into a table.

“One informant,” he shouted. “One! Do you think one informant can bring down this?” He swept his arms at the opulence.

“Yes, Shark,” she answered walking toward him. “Yes, I do. The right informant can bring down all this—and bring
you
down too.”

He grabbed a handful of diamonds and gave them a close inspection.

Looking up, he said, “I’ll take care of it.”

***

Bob was able to walk through the halls of Tenish Packaging at will because he’d become a familiar figure there in the last few weeks, so when he walked past Mary Catherine’s receptionist and into her office, he expected his usual greeting. But when he bounded through the door figuring he’d see two strangers harassing Mary Catherine, he got the surprise of his life.

Mary Catherine and her visitors were startled, and the shock was evident in their faces.

“What are you doing here?” Mary Catherine screamed.

“I, uh . . . I have some information,” Bob said, still clutching the door. He felt like a child catching his parents wrapping presents on Christmas Eve. In that instant, he surmised the EMTs weren’t bothering Mary Catherine but delivering the crates he’d seen them carrying.

The two men looked at Mary Catherine, who nodded, and excused themselves. As they passed Bob, bumping into his shoulder, he could see the two crates had foreign markings on them. They were sitting behind her desk.

She collected herself and asked, “What information do you have for me?”

Bob told her what he’d learned over the last few days.

She listened to him intently, and when he was finished, she said, “Bob, that’s great, but it seems to me you have a long way to go, and if you want to get paid the rest of the money you need to gather more.”

Surprised, Bob thought he must have interrupted something private and important. Was Mary Catherine somehow involved with the Shark?

“Okay, well—” Bob was at a loss for words, so he started backing toward the door, trying not to stare at the crates—“I guess I’ll do just that. If I have any more information I’ll let you know.”

As Bob turned to go, she said, “You need to hurry. My son’s case is getting colder by the day.”

He stopped, looked over his shoulder, and said, “Oh no—I believe I’m getting some evidence tonight that will prove Shark was responsible for much more than your son’s death. He has several rackets going on, including gem smuggling.”

Mary Catherine flushed suddenly as she bolted across the room and grabbed his arm, surprising him.

“Is this source reliable?” she asked.

“Oh yeah, very reliable. The source is Juan, your son’s partner.” Without knowing why, he instantly regretted telling her Juan’s name. He’d noticed something dark and suspicious about Mary Catherine’s demeanor.

“Fine.” She let go of his arm and gave him a fake smile.

He backed away.

“Fine,” he repeated. “I have to go. Got a lot of work to do.”

He left, disturbed by his conflicting thoughts.

***

Shark answered his Blackberry and was greeted by, “You’re a moron,” from Mary Catherine.

“What?” he answered.

“You have a leak in your impenetrable security,” she said sarcastically.

“I’m too busy for your games, Mary Catherine. Tell me what you’re talking about,” Shark said, his voice starting to rise.

“Word is that there’s a cop that might have some information about our diamond smuggling, and he’s about to inform on you,” she answered.

“Let him tell whatever to his fellow cops,” he said. “His bosses are on my payroll.”

“I don’t think you get it. What if he goes further than the police? What if he goes to the media? You are losing control, Shark!”

“Who is it?”

“Juan Hernandez.”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” Shark assured her. “I’ll take care of this little bump in the road. Did you get your shipment today?”

“Yes. Are you sure it was wise bringing it in the middle of the day?” she asked.

Shark laughed, sat back in his leather couch and crossed his legs.

“You forget who you are dealing with. No one is over me. No one can bring me down. Everything is under control.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I hope so.” After he hung up, Mary Catherine looked to the heavens, fighting back the sadness that once again was trying to overwhelm her. “I’m sorry, Frederick.”

***

Juan hurried home after a long day and was met by his best friend, Tammy, who pushed him into his recliner and licked his face. Tammy was his ten-year-old, seventy-pound golden retriever.

“Yeah, I know, girl—I missed you too,” Juan said with a laugh, trying to escape the dog’s wet tongue. “I’m gonna feed you, but first you know what to do.”

The dog barked and shot through the door. Juan had trained Tammy to scratch at an elderly woman’s door, Miss Felicia’s, everyday. The woman looked forward to the daily visit and would often feed the dog
and
Juan.

Juan was used to the streets, not like his ex-partner. He remembered when the two were paired up: the street kid and prep school brat, both now cops. It was rough going in the beginning as their personalities and their pasts clashed, but they learned to work together and eventually became like brothers. It was the saddest day of his life when he learned about Fred’s death. He looked over the mini-cassette now resting in his hand. This small device would bring down the largest, most powerful crime lord in Miami. He was doing this for his partner, for his brother.

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. His police instincts kicked in as he reached for his gun, but before he could get it out the door was reduced to flying splinters as two brutes crashed through it. They came after him with unbelievable speed, tackling the big Hispanic and taking him over his sofa and into an end table, crushing it and pushing broken wood and glass into hiss back.

They quickly yanked a dazed Juan to his feet, slapping him repeatedly in the face.

“You want to be a hero cop, huh?” said the one doing most of the slapping. He was white, and his head was shaved bald. With each blow, Juan felt lightning bolts piercing his mind and eyes, and he teetered on the edge of consciousness. The other thug, who was holding Juan from behind, was laughing so hard he snorted.

“Yeah, that’s right, Mr. Hero. Your partner died too easily. We didn’t have a chance to have any fun with him—but we’re going to have a lot of fun with you.”

With all the strength he could muster, Juan sent his right foot into his assailant’s groin. This shut him up, and he seemed to bow to Juan. On the way down, he vomited on Juan’s feet.

“You dirty Mexican,” the other Mexican screamed in his ear. He flung Juan against the wall, leaving a hole in the plaster. Juan could taste blood and plaster mixing his mouth as he slid once again to the floor. His attacker showed no mercy as he kicked Juan in the ribs repeatedly.

As he kicked, he would ask, “What is it you were gonna give your friend tonight? What?”

Juan was silent. The best thing he could do for Frederick now was to be quiet.

“Tell me, and I’ll kill you now instead of torturing you,” he said. “You know you just wanna get this over with.”

The other was up again and hobbled over. He grabbed Juan by the hair and yanked him to his knees. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and put it to Juan’s throat.

“Tell me—now.”

Juan weakly pointed at the bookshelf and croaked, “The cassette.”

The two followed his finger and grabbed a cassette off the bookcase.

“Now that wasn’t hard, was it? Grab his wallet out of his pocket, get the cash and credit cards—make it look like a robbery.” The other complied as he raised his silenced pistol. “Goodbye, Hero.” He shot Juan twice in the chest, a fatal wound. The two rushed out the door and into the night.

By the time Tammy and Miss Felicia came to the busted door, the men were gone. When she saw Juan, Miss Felicia wailed, “Oh, dear God,” and rushed to call 911. Tammy crept to her master and whimpered as she nuzzled him. As Juan’s life leaked away, he lifted his hand to her neck and pushed the actual mini-cassette under her collar.

He patted her and said, “Give to Bob.”

***

It was well after midnight when Bob pulled up at Juan’s apartments. When Juan didn’t show up at Versailles, he had a sickening feeling in his stomach—almost as if he sensed death. When he reached Juan’s apartment, he knew something was wrong. People were milling in the parking lot and speaking in muffled whispers in the lobby. He was only a few feet into the hall when he saw yellow police tape over a door. Bob rushed to where the door had been and pushed aside the sheet of plastic that had been hung. What he saw looked like a bomb had exploded.

“Oh, Juan—I’m so sorry,” Bob said, pounding the wall out of frustration and anger as tears ran down his cheeks. He’d only known Juan for a short while but had gained much respect for the man because of his loyalty to his dead friend.

A frail voice startled him, and he spun around.

“What’s your name?” A tiny, elderly woman stood before him. Her gray hair was tousled and partly covered her swollen red eyes. Before he could answer, she moved her hair with trembling fingers and excused herself. “I’m sorry. I usually look better than this.”