Blank Slate (A Kyle Jackle Thriller) (12 page)

I scrambled down the mast and reached the bottom just as the cutter came alongside and dropped anchor. I was relieved to see it was the Coast Guard even though I had a little bit of a twinge at the sight of the deck crew casually standing by the .50 cal gun on the bow. They rigged an RIB, launched it and gently bumped into the Dolce Vita as they tied up to our stern rail. “Welcome aboard,” I said with a relaxed easy smile as I unclipped the gate on the lifelines and extended my hand. A young Ensign scrambled aboard first, followed by two other Coasties hot on his heels. I slowly let out my breath-they were only armed with sidearm’s-obviously just a routine boarding for them.

“I’m Kyle Jackle. This is my mate Tasha,” I said gesturing in her direction.

If there was one thing Tasha knew from her job at the club, it was how to make a man feel welcome. She turned on a killer thousand-watt smile-that combined with the tiny shorts and tight top she was wearing was enough to guarantee they would be focused more on inspecting her rather than the vessel.

“Just a routine vessel check, I’m Jackson” stuttered the Ensign. “Could I see your passports and boat registration documents, please?”

I stepped below. I breathed a sigh of relief that the documentation I needed had been pulled out of the hidden compartment the night before and prepared for just this possibility. “Here you go,” I said as I reached up and handed both of our passports to Ensign Jackson.

“What are you guys doing out here?” asked Jackson. “You are supposed to clear customs at the Bahamas-the station is about one hundred fifty miles in that direction,” he said pointing to the east. It was a fair question-this desolate landscape of coral and stunted palms was last on most cruisers choice of places to cruise in the Bahamas.

“This was an unplanned stop-we had a little problem last night-lost our halyard in the storm,” I said holding up the frayed end of the line to emphasize my point. “This was the closest place to put in for repairs.”

“I understand; last night we had a distress call from another boat thirty miles north of here. What a nasty night! I’ll call your location and a report in to our counterparts with Bahamas Customs and let them know what happened. Might save you another boarding. We’ll just do a quick check below and be on our way.”

Jackson clambered down the narrow ladder with one of his crewman trailing behind while the other waited above decks with us. We could hear closets and cabinet doors banging as they searched the boat for any contraband that might be on board.

“Captain, could you come down here for a minute?” called Jackson from the cabin. “I wanted to ask you about something.” My blood froze and I slowly made my way below.

“Just curious about where this came from?” Jackson asked pointing at an old picture of the Dolce Vita hanging on the wall. The picture was faded and obviously thirty or forty years old. There was a full racing crew of eight on board standing on the rail with a large trophy.

At the last second, I spotted the CYC flag in the background of the picture. “Long before my time, but that was a picture taken at the Chicago Yacht Club just after the boat won the Chicago-Mackinac race in the early 70s.”

Curiosity satisfied, they disembarked and motored back to the cutter while we waved farewell. I looked at Tasha, “I don’t know about you, but I could really use my daily ration of rum about now.”

“I’ll pour,” she said.

At least the inspection had been a little break in the monotony of patrolling these god-forsaken islands,
Jackson thought as they pulled up to the side of the cutter.
And that girl-just smoking hot
. The only thing he found a little strange was that when he had asked the Captain of the sailboat about the picture, it was almost like he was seeing it for the very first time.

“Hey, Tasha. I’m not really excited about trying to navigate through these coral heads at night,” I said pointing at the shallows and narrow channels running through the area. “Just too damn risky. Why don’t we wait until morning until we head south?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” said Tasha. “I, for one have had enough emergencies for one trip. And besides, I think after I fished you out of the ocean last night, I heard something about a promise to cook me dinner tonight.”

“I can tell already, you’re going to be very difficult,” I said with a smile. “So what would madam like the chef to prepare? Possibly a nice medium-rare steak,” I said thinking of the fat filets we had below in the freezer.”

“Fish,” Tasha said.

“I think that’s the one thing we didn’t buy at the store,” I said, but was cut off before I could elaborate further when she reached into the side lazarette and handed me a light saltwater rig. Thirty minutes later after catching some pinfish, I rigged a circle hook and sinker, hooked one of the pinfish and cast into about thirty feet of water. I didn’t have to wait long before the rod tip bent over. “Tasha, this one’s all yours,” I said handing the rod over to let her land the fish.

“What is it? It weighs a ton!”

“Hard to tell, probably a red grouper. Whatever it is, you can call it dinner.”

Within a couple of minutes, Tasha cranked the fish to the surface where it was lying on its side occasionally making a feeble attempt at a run for freedom. I reached over, grabbed the leader with a gloved hand and threw the fish in the cockpit. I quickly dispatched the thrashing fish with a club and made short work of filleting the grouper.

“Watch this.” I said throwing the bones and remains of the fish overboard. There was a swarm as the small reef fish quickly dove in for the unexpected banquet. The party was cut short by the arrival of a large barracuda that glided in, snatched the entire remaining carcass, and disappeared into the depths of the lagoon.

“Why don’t I give you a hand-we’ll eat sooner,” Tasha said as she smiled and disappeared below with a filet in each hand.

Now it was my turn to go to work. I broke out the propane grill, mounted it on the stern rail and somehow started it without creating a fireball. Timing was nearly perfect as Tasha reappeared with the filets seasoned with pesto and olive oil ready for the grill. I was just as pleased to see the wine bottle and glasses that she was somehow balancing as she climbed out of the cabin.

“How do you like yours done?” I asked flipping the filets to let them sear on the other side.

“I think it looks just right,” said Tasha leaning over my shoulder to inspect the process.

There’s nothing better than fish cooked fresh from the ocean enjoyed with a good bottle of wine, a beautiful woman and a sunset filling the western sky. Dinner finished, we dropped the scraps overboard for the waiting scavengers and watched the canopy of the stars brighten in the sky as daylight faded into night. I wrapped my arm around Tasha and she looked at me expectantly.

“I think you owe me the rest of that conversation,” I said.

“OK, what do you want to know?”

“I’m beginning to fill in some of the blanks about myself, but we didn’t have much of a chance to talk about you. How long had you been at the club?”

Tasha paused, “I started working there maybe two months ago.”

“Why? It’s pretty obvious to me that you are intelligent, don’t have a drug problem, and are an absolute pleasure to be around. So what brought you to Florida and why are you stripping?”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get a job in this country if you have an accent?” she asked with a smoldering glare. “And it really pisses me off that you judge me for being a stripper. There’s nothing wrong with it. And as far as why I’m here, I’m trying to find my little sister-she went to Italy on modeling contract and disappeared. I got one phone message after she arrived there that was cut off just as we started talking..and then nothing. I’m only here because I heard Popov had bought the agency and thought she might have come here with him.”

“I’m sorry, have you had any luck finding her?”

“None, it’s like she dropped off the face of the earth.” Tasha said.

“Each of us has our mysteries,” I said. “When we get this problem resolved in Nicaragua, maybe I can help look into the disappearance of your sister. I’m sure whoever the hell I work for has some resources I can use to sort through it. This is so damn frustrating. We’re headed to down to Nicaragua and have no idea what I’m going to do once we get there.”

“I know you’ll figure it out,” said Tasha as she stroked the side of my face. The moon illuminated her face with a soft glow and the lush lips seemed to beckon me onward. No turning back now. It was impossible to carry her down the narrow ladder into the cabin, but somehow we managed to make our way forward to the tiny cabin.

There’s nothing more sensual than skin still warmed from the setting tropical sun. I kissed her, gently at first, trying to find if there were any boundaries remaining between us, but she was having none of it. She stripped off her few remaining clothes, wrapped her legs around me and began softly moaning as she kissed me deeply. I flipped her over and began slowly teasing her, nibbling her earlobes, alternately sucking and biting her flesh as I worked my way down her body. Her nipples were amazing, taut, upright and begging for my attention. She responded by arching her back and pulling me into her. The sun was almost ready to peek over the horizon when we finally collapsed exhausted into the berth to get a couple of hours sleep before heading south into the unknown.

“This guy is deliberately trying to annoy the hell out of me,” said Rivera as he spun his chair in a circle. Thirty minutes late and not a phone call.”

“Popov will be here,” said Miller. “I made it pretty damn clear to his attorney that we needed to speak to him immediately. I also made it clear that if he didn't come to us, we'd come to Fisher Island, throw him in handcuffs and walk him all the way to the ferry in front of his neighbors.”

No sooner had he finished the statement than the elevator doors chimed as they opened. Leading the way was Popov, with a large hulking man beside him who was clearly a bodyguard. They were followed closely followed by a small weasel of a man with a bad comb-over who carried an expensive alligator briefcase.

“Gentlemen, I’m Manny Rivera with the Miami-Dade Police Department. This is Special Agent Miller and Davis,” Rivera indicated as he nodded at the two. “Before we get started, you’ll need to check your weapon at the door.”

“What are you talking about?” growled Popov. “We got wanded on the way in the building. They checked everything except my underwear."

“I’m talking about Brutus,” Rivera indicating the bodyguard with his thumb. “He waits outside.” The bodyguard looked expectantly at Popov and on receiving the nod, stepped outside the conference room.

“I’m Joseph Castiglio, Mr. Popov’s attorney, ” said the other man with a voice that quavered slightly as he spoke. “I’ll need to stay.”

“Oh, you certainly will Mr. Castiglio,” said Rivera with a smile like the cat about eat the canary. “We’ve been wanting to talk to you about the minor matter of a boat explosion the other day. Pieces of your boat are still washing up on the beach all the way down to Aventura.”

“Why don’t we start with the boat first?” asked Miller. “State records show the boat belonging to an LLC that is under your name, Mr Castiglio?”

“It wasn’t chartered that day. Suncrest Marine had been working on the diesels and the Captain apparently took the boat on a test run,” said Castiglio with a shrug of his shoulders.

“You’re trying to tell me with a straight face that a Captain with twenty years experience broke every regulation on the books by speeding down the Intercoastal and somehow managed to blow himself and the vessel to Hell and back in the Atlantic. That was just a test run?” said Miller as his face began to darken with anger. “To what would you attribute this series of events?”

“Sounds like a friggin’ mechanical problem to me,” interrupted Popov. “Sounds like you ought to talk to the guys who worked on the boat. If you are going to continue questioning my attorney and don’t have any questions for me, perhaps I should go? I have a business to run.”

“I just have one question for you,” said Miller. “What happened in your club the other night?”

“I really have no idea because I wasn’t there, but I had some reports from my employees about the unfortunate disturbance,” said Popov. “Apparently Kyle Jackle, a disgruntled employee we had just terminated, was drunk and belligerent and had to be escorted out of the building by security.”

“So you deny any knowledge of his beating earlier in the week, the murder of a dancer from your club, and the explosion on board the yacht the other day?”

“Absolutely not,” said Popov as he stood to exit the room. “I’m just a simple businessman. If you have any further questions, please submit them through my attorney.” With that, the group stood and marched out of the office followed closely by Rivera who escorted them to the elevator.

“That was about a huge waste of time,” yawned Davis as he leaned back in his chair. “Did we actually learn anything from that?”

“Not much,” said Miller, “but it’s obvious to me that the attorney is the front man for Popov-there’s no way that little weasel owns a four million dollar yacht. We’ll just keep an eye on him until we come up with a direct link that we can prosecute him on.”

Rivera walked back into the room with a smile. “What have you got to be happy about?” asked Miller.

“Just this,” said Rivera as he presented a printout still warm from the printer. “Apparently, sometime yesterday morning, the Coast Guard inspected a sailboat about seventy five miles south of Key West. They had anchored off Cay Sal to repair some damage from a storm the night before. All completely routine, except for one thing. The name on the passport – Kyle Jackle. The report also noted he was accompanied by a young woman with an accent and a EU passport.”