A Shark in Calle Ocho (4 page)

***

Shark walked down the corridor of the Delano Hotel on South Beach. The large white columns stood at attention as he passed through them on the way to the Florida Room, where the intimate awards ceremony would be held. He was wearing a light gray Brioni suit with a sky blue shirt and no tie. It was a three-button jacket with thin white stripes running vertically and horizontally. A person can get away with that in Miami—and of course if you were Shark. His John Lobb dress shoes were clicking on the marble floor. He smiled. Yes, he was Shark—top of the food chain.

The Delano was one of Shark’s favorite places—a sanctuary of relaxation for the busy city of Miami. Shark loved it because it was clean. It had 208 rooms with a simple yet elegant design inspired by the Greek Isles, the white on white in keeping with the elegant simplicity, from the lobby draperies to the wood floors to the bed linens, the occasional splash of muted color adding to the overall sense of peace.

Shark took his seat in the Florida Room, a piano room that was reserved for this occasion. The room spoke of a bygone era in Florida, almost as if Sinatra would walk out any minute, stand by the grand piano and start singing. It took Shark back to a time when he could only dream to be in such a place. He smiled and thought how life was good.

The proceedings started off with caviar and innovative seafood dishes and the usual handshakes and shallow smiles and occasional hugs. It was a game Shark was good at, one he had perfected. He couldn’t care less about these people. They were just pawns in life’s game of chess to him. When the meal ended, the presentation of the Miami Medical Humanitarian Award started. The Award was a beautiful crystal vase with its name and the Shark’s name—Antonio LaCruz—on a gold label.

He got up amidst applause and praises from the twenty or thirty elites in the room. He smiled as he raised his arms and nodded. A blue-haired aristocrat handed him the vase, and the Shark began his short speech of thanks and how wonderful it was to live in such a colorful community as south Miami.

He ended his speech with an announcement, and everyone paid closer attention to the handsome Cuban.

“Care Enterprises, the parent company of Care Ambulance Service, would like to pledge $100,000 to the South African Heritage Museum.” The small crowd erupted with cheers. Shark lifted his arms and motioned for them to quiet down. “Care Enterprises will partner with Tenish Packaging Company to receive and transport the artifacts and museum items next week. So, I guess you will have to volunteer a few more hours to our lovely museum.” Shark finished with an award-winning smile. At that moment, he could have run for any political office in south Florida and won.

The South African Heritage Museum was a pet project of the blue hairs’ Humanitarian Club, which had poured loads of money into the project and was expected to pour in more. Shark was no humanitarian—he was an opportunist. He saw this as a perfect cover for his greatest heist yet.

Shark left the podium amid the cheers and sat down by the administrator of one of Miami’s newest hospitals and a regally coiffed and attired woman.

“Meet me at Domino Park at our usual table,” he said to woman.

“Uh, why do you insist upon such places?” the woman said snidely, her pompous nose in the air. Their eyes met with fiery insensitivity, with Shark winning and the lady looking away. “Fine, fine if you insist. What time?”

“Two o’clock—and don’t be late, Miss Mary Catherine Tenish.” He pronounced her name very deliberately as he lit a Cuban.

***

Officer Fred didn’t believe in fate, but this night fate might have played a deadly hand. He was sitting in his cruiser on 19th Street. Jeremy was flying down the lane in his unit, running late, of course, and he knew if Shark found out about his tardiness he was sure to get reamed. He didn’t have his emergency lights on, which would turn out to be a very costly mistake. Tonight he was carrying cocaine to a major pusher. It was just another stop on its way to the nose of some rich kid or druggie—or maybe even a first-time user. Wherever it wound up, it was supposed to be just another routine drop, but not tonight.

As the unit flew past the cruiser, Frederick shook his head. He hated stopping an ambulance, but it didn’t have its lights on, and it needed to slow down before someone got hurt.

“Crazy idiot,” he said out loud shaking his head, putting the cruiser in gear and turning his lights on.

He sped out into the rain-soaked street. Just thirty minutes ago, a storm was raging in Miami, but now the stars were out. This was how it was in the tropics.

The lights caught Jimmy’s eyes, instantly clenching his stomach. Expletives streamed out of his mouth. How could he be so stupid! His hands instantly started sweating, and his mind raced. He turned his head and saw the packages he was carrying. If he got caught, that would mean fifty years as someone’s girlfriend in state prison. He turned back toward the road and made his mind up: that wasn’t going to happen to him.

Jeremy jammed on the accelerator and the unit lurched forward. Street lights started zipping past his side windows and sweat started pouring down his face, even though the air conditioner was on in his cab. Frederick matched his speed and called in his position.

“Base, this is unit twenty-nine. I need backup. I’m chasing an ambulance on West 19th Street. I believe it is stolen. I repeat: need backup going west on 19th.” Frederick didn’t realize he was screaming into the mike.

“Ten-four, twenty-nine—use caution. I have units on the way,” the dispatcher responded.

Jeremy hit the entrance ramp on Dade Blvd. going seventy, nearly losing control of the boxy vehicle. Sparks flew as the back left side touched the pavement. A minivan nearly careened into the ambulance as it crashed into the barrier.

“This is unit twenty-nine, unit west on Dade. Send ambulances,” screamed Frederick, his heart pounding in his chest.

A Miami police helicopter was now flying above them, its spotlight trained on the ambulance. Jeremy looked up into the sky and saw only a beam of light. He flung curses into the sky, but the light continued to shine. He was going over a hundred now, weaving in and out of the sparse traffic on Dade. Luckily for both pedestrians and Jeremy, it was late in the night, but the wet road made the chase even trickier. The backup patrol cars entered the chase with Frederick in the lead. His eyes were tuned to the unit. For some reason, he was taking this personally. He felt no fear as adrenaline coursed through his veins, and it seemed all his senses were working overtime. He could see and feel everything, and even smells were sharper. The only problem was his sole focus was the rear lights of the ambulance he was chasing.

How dare this fool do this on my watch?
he thought, hands gripping the wheel.

Jeremy turned right on Alton Road, causing the packages of cocaine to slam into the walls of the ambulance. The vehicle slid into oncoming traffic, splitting the oncoming lights. Screeching tires and honking horns filled the air with the electricity of a thunderstorm. Frederick followed, along with his backups and helicopter. Their sirens were wailing, and lights were flashing from below and above. Jeremy pushed the unit to its limit and then asked for more. He desperately wrestled the ambulance left on 15th. He felt the truck’s wheels lift and swerve, then gain control again. Frederick followed suit, but he was so tuned to the ambulance he made a fatal mistake.

Lavon Johnson was always on schedule as a night delivery driver for an automotive parts company, and he was on schedule tonight. It was too late to stop when he saw the chase. He thought he’d seen lights a second earlier but had paid them no mind. The crowd was literally on top of him before he knew it. He missed the ambulance, but his Ford F-550 crashed into the driver’s side of the cruiser.

Frederick never saw the F-550. The bumper crashed through his window and instantly sent him into eternity. He never heard the screeching tires or felt his unit’s further impacts. Fate had truly played a deadly hand tonight.

Jeremy never saw the wreck or the other police cars trying to avoid it. Two other units crashed into the mangled cruiser while the other four missed it. Jeremy knew what he had to do. It was Shark’s plan of escape. He slid onto Dade Boulevard again to the same chorus of screeching tires and honking horns. The helicopter and patrol units full of angry cops were following close behind. As soon as Jeremy was over water and headed to the Venetian Islands, he did the unthinkable. He took a deep breath and yanked the steering wheel. The ambulance crashed through the barrier into the warm gulf waters. Jeremy, broken and bruised, swam out of the window, the spotlight from the helicopter focused on him and the police yelling to stay there. Jeremy looked back now at the place where the ambulance had entered the water. There was no sign of it. He then looked up at the cops and smiled as he pressed a switch on a small device in his pocket. All of a sudden the water belched as the unit exploded and destroyed all the evidence inside.

***

The doorbell woke Mary Catherine Tenish from an alcohol induced slumber at 3:00 a.m. She stumbled for her housecoat and wearily went to the door. When she opened the door her heart broke. Somehow she already knew what happened. The officer looked into her eyes and began the conversation she’d feared since Frederick had become a cop.

“Miss Tenish?”

“Yes,” she responded, her mouth quivering.

“I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t allow the officer to finish. She closed her eyes and put her hands against her face and sobbed out of control as she fell to her knees. The officer stood there, not knowing what to do except to put his hand on her shoulder.

***

The phone woke Shark.

“What?” he answered, not opening his eyes.

“We had a problem in the delivery tonight.”

“What problem?” Now Shark opened his eyes and sat up.

“The unit was involved in a cop chase. The driver followed protocol and drove it into the water. He detonated it. There is no evidence.”

“Who was the driver? Did he get out?” Shark asked. He wasn’t particularly worried about the driver, just if he’d be loyal or snitch.

“It was Jeremy, the white boy. He got out and is being held.”

“You know what to do, Lieutenant, don’t you?” Shark said, lighting a Cuban, the match highlighting the sharp contrasts of his face in the dark.

“Yes,” said Lt. Fennily of the Miami Police Department. “But there’s something else.”

“What?” Shark asked with jaws clenched.

“A cop was killed in the accident. Frederick Tenish, the heir to Tenish Packaging.”

Shark hung the phone up and breathed in the smoke from the Cuban. Still sitting up, he closed his eyes and exhaled.

“Everything is still under control. Just a minor setback.”

Chapter Four

The guard on watch in the third wing was in his first week. He only had two hours left in his shift, and he was just going through the motions until he walked by cell three. The pudgy guard stopped humming when his eyes caught something swinging in the cell. It was Jeremy hanging from a water pipe by a rope. He had a grotesque look of horror on his face. His bowels were down his government issued pants and leaking onto the floor.

“Oh, God,” the guard murmured as he crossed his hands over his chest.

***

It was a beautiful day at Maximo Gomez Park—or Domino Park, as it was more familiarly known. Shark was enjoying everything about it: the brilliant sunshine, the breeze, the low mumbles of locals playing dominoes. Located at the corner of Southwest 8th and 15th, it was a gathering for neighborhood retirees and elderly. Surrounded by Cuban businesses, it was completely rejuvenated in the mid-eighties.

Shark sat at a table under the park’s canopy of trees and watched the games. Some were excited and boisterous while others were quiet and intense. Smoke from cigars wafted to the ceiling. Scents from Cuban produce markets filled the air when the wind blew from a certain direction. Shark’s mind traveled to distant memories of his childhood, but his thoughts were suddenly interrupted. It was Mary Catherine Tenish looming over him. She seemed to have aged years since he had last seen her, which was not long ago. She was wearing a large black hat and shades. He noticed that her fists were clinched at her sides. He knew she could possibly cause a scene, so he started first.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said calmly, showing no emotion. “I hear your son was a good man. But before you do anything stupid, like cause a scene, remember. You are responsible for your son’s death.”

“How dare you . . .” she said through clinched teeth, her body starting to shake. “How dare you say I am responsible for my son’s death?”

“Mary Catherine,” the Shark said, using her first name to maintain dominance. “You remember the meeting at the courtyard in Setai? What was it? ‘Mr. LaCruz, I want in. I know your business and you know mine. We have mutual friends.’ Need I go on?”

“He was my son.” Her voice was quivering as tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

“Sometimes our business comes with a high price,” Shark said, raising his hands slightly. “Here is what you are going to do for the next coming days. Take your glasses off,” he demanded, looking into her eyes.

Like a little girl submitting to her father, she gingerly took off her shades and placed them on the table.

“Better. You’re going to take a few days off. After that, you’ll begin slowly, but you
will
begin to get your life back in order. You will continue to fund our business venture.” The Shark leaned forward and clenched his hands into fists, making sure she saw them. “You will not be a hero and decide to blab about our ventures all over Miami, especially to the police, because as you well know it wouldn’t do you any good. Now go. Mourn for your child. But remember, you are a business person. Business is business.”

Stifling sobs, Mary Catherine Tenish just put her shades on, got up and walked off. The domino players never looked up, and Shark casually wandered over to a near Cuban cigar store. Business is business. Sharks know no feelings.