A Shark in Calle Ocho (6 page)

Still wearing the smile, he made it to the beauty queen, patted her on the hood and said, “Don’t worry, girl—you’ll get a new paint job when I’m a big-time bounty hunter.”

After a restless night of sleep thanks to the previous day’s adrenaline rush and the anticipation of the newspaper story, Bob woke with a start. He wasted no time, dashing out the door still in his underwear. He ran to the sidewalk where the paperboy had thrown the
Herald
and picked it up. Only then did he notice his neighbor looking at him, a blank stare on her face. She was a beautiful professional fitness model who moonlighted as a personal trainer.

“Oh, um, well.” Bob tried to spit out something intelligent. “Do you have any openings in your workout schedule?”

She paused for a second with mouth open.

“You need it.” She shook her head and apologized. “I have to go wash my hair.”

Bob waved goodbye and said, “You need it.”

He burst through the door and opened the paper. He scanned the first page. His story wasn’t there, nor was it on the second, third, fourth or fifth. On the sixth page, he saw his story. The headline read: “Retired librarian bags criminal.” Below the headline was a photo of Helga Smith, the librarian, astride her moped with a big thumbs up. Bob read the story, which told of Helga’s many adventures in the library and how she’d bravely captured the deadly criminal. In the last paragraph, it mentioned she had some assistance from Bob McKaren, a new local bounty hunter in the Miami area.

Bob stared at the paper for a while before finally saying, “Humph. Guess I’ll cut it out and put it in the office.”

Chapter Six

Two weeks had gone by, and Mary Catherine’s heart was still broken. She rarely left her home and only took calls from her closest advisors. She hated to take this call when her maid brought her the phone to her room.

“Mr. LaCruz, Ma’am,” the maid said as she handed her the phone.

She took it with a grim look and answered, “Yes.”

“Hello, Mary Catherine,” Shark said on the other end. “I hope you are feeling better. I called to tell you to get out of your house. It’s time to enter the land of the living again.”

Mary Catherine closed her eyes tightly and squeezed the phone as tight as she could.

With compressed lips, she said, “What do you want?”

“Come to Domino Park tomorrow morning at ten,” he answered. “Don’t be late.”

She hung up the phone without saying anything but let sobs escape from her mouth. Hours later, in the middle of the afternoon, she descended the stairs, intending to go to the kitchen, where Maria, her maid, was cleaning. The radio was tuned to Gloria Estefan’s Latin Beat, and Maria was cleaning and dancing, singing along to the upbeat music. Mary Catherine stood for a moment, wishing she could find just a portion of Maria’s joy.

Maria was startled when Mary Catherine cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, Miss Mary,” she said, embarrassed. She turned down the volume on the Bose. “Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, yes please,” Mary Catherine answered as she gingerly stepped down from the stairs. “Maybe some tea, no sugar or cream.”

“Of course,” Maria said, relieved that her employer was out of that dreadful room. Maria truly cared for Mary Catherine. She was only thirty-nine and had already been the housekeeper for twenty years. She had grown to love Mary Catherine and was also heartbroken over her son’s death.

Mary Catherine climbed onto a tall chair by the kitchen island. She hunched over the cool black marble top and waited for her tea. A
Miami Herald
was open on the island. Not paying much attention to it, she idly grabbed it and glanced through it. A picture of an elderly woman on a damaged moped caught her eye. Out of curiosity, she started reading the story. While reading she actually chuckled.
Who would’ve thought an old lady could stop such a big crook?
she thought. She read down, and when she got to “Assisting Smith was Bob McKaren, who is the owner and head bounty hunter of A-1 Personal Recovery, Inc.,” she set the paper down and raised her head.

“Bounty hunter, bounty hunter, bounty hunter,” she mumbled as she stared off into the distance—or perhaps she was looking at the near future.

“Miss Mary . . . excuse me, Miss Mary?” interrupted her trance. “Your tea is ready. Is everything all right?”

Mary Catherine turned her head.

Her blue, almost gray eyes met Maria’s with renewed fierceness as she said, “Everything is going to be all right, Maria.”

***

Bob got out of the beauty queen with a smile on his face and a whistle on his lips. Before going into his office, he turned and patted the queen on her top and thanked her for not breaking down. He was excited. He had a new office, his first successful bounty under his belt—and, of course, money in his pocket.

Walking down the short hall, Bob stopped in at Miss Garza’s.

“How’s everything?” he asked while poking his head in the door.

His voice made Miss Garza jump. She turned around quickly to see who it was, and her large bosom knocked over a few of the fake flowers that surrounded her. This made Bob laugh. She shook her head and laughed with Bob.

“Oh, Bob—it’s only you,” she said, still clutching scissors and flowers. “You know a girl like me can’t be too careful. There a lot of crazy people on dope out there.”

“Yes, Miss Garza, I know,” he said. “Did you see my story in the
Herald
?”

“Well, no, honey—I didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I did hear that you caught somebody. Was he on dope?”

“He might have been.”

“I knew it,” she said with her hands on her hips. “So many on dope, so many on dope.” With that, she turned around to her flowers. Bob smiled and wished Miss Garza a good day. When he turned around, he nearly ran over a petite older woman wearing a large dark hat and shades. She put her hands up, as if to protect against a collision.

“Excuse me,” Bob said, stopping himself before he bowled her over. “May I help you?”

“I certainly hope you can,” said Mary Catherine Tenish in a quavering voice as she studied the thin man.

***

Hector spotted Shark from across Domino Park. He’d known where he’d be, lounging in a shaded section by himself, enjoying a Cuban. He almost looked like a friend to Hector, but he banished the thought from his mind as he approached the crime lord.

“Good morning,” he said, bending his head forward slightly in a sign of respect.

“Any word on our contacts in Port Nolloth?” Shark asked, removing the cigar from his mouth and toying with it.

“Yes. Ayize Braiil said the collection is adding up nicely and is about to be ready to be shipped,” Hector said, sitting down and awaiting the next barrage of questions.

“Good. I will talk to our shipping lady today. She will give us no problem. She’s like putty in my hands now,” Shark said coldly, still inspecting his Cuban. “The death of her son has drained the life out of her.”

He looked at Hector and laughed softly.

“Poor thing.” Hector returned the laugh, nodding his approval. Shark continued: “Call Ayize. Make sure I have my shipment in Miami no later than next week. I have waited long enough.”

“Yes, Shark.” Hector rose from his seat, knowing the conversation was over, and started to walk away.

“Hector.”

He turned.

“Yes, Shark?”

“I will kill you if there is a single carat harmed or missing.” Hector felt the blood rising to his head. He said nothing, just walked away. He knew Shark was deathly serious.

Port Nolloth, South Africa

Ayize Braiil sat behind an ancient wooden desk in the one-room, flat-roofed concrete shed and watched as the dark stranger crept in. The ceiling fan’s worn motor was the only sound. He made sure they were alone.

“Let me see what you have,” Ayize said, motioning for the man to come closer. Ayize was a Portuguese diamond buyer, and one of the best in his line of work. A person shopping for diamonds would see his gems all over the world in major and upscale jewelry stores, but Ayize never worked directly with them. No, they would never admit to having any of his diamonds because his diamonds were stolen, killed or raped for, acquired by whatever means necessary.

The man stood over the desk and pulled a small leather sack out of his worn left boot. With shaking hands, he opened it and carefully poured the beautiful gems on the desk. The diamonds had already had a wild journey before they arrived at this checkpoint. They were smuggled out by miners who’d pressed them under their fingernails or picked them up in the sorting house with the help of boots with soles impregnated with adhesive. Some even strapped them to homing pigeons. In fact, Ayize had heard of people getting caught with the pigeons by loading them too heavily. The birds were found flopping on the ground, unable to take off due to the weight. Beach mines were a thief’s delight. In that sorting house they scooped out ore and fed it to nearby plants. But on the beach, like the ones in Namaqualand, the diamonds were found on the old seabed.

Diamonds made their way to Namaqualand and other beachfront mines millions of years ago by tumbling down the rivers and into the sea. When the ocean receded, some of the diamonds remained on the beach. Others were embedded in gravel along the ocean floor. Millions upon millions of dollars a year poured into the efforts to retrieve them. The area, land and sea, was a grid of mining concessions. South Africa’s government owned many of them, as well as the gem giant De Beers. It didn’t matter to the ones Ayize worked with. They were poor, and this was a way for them to feed their families and give them what they never could afford before.

Port Nolloth, where Ayize was stationed, was literally built or at least improved by diamond thieves. The hamlet had few visible means of support, but it had a flourishing population of BMWs. At the north end of town stood a cluster of neat concrete villas, painted ocher or white. With shiny German cars parked out front, it was common knowledge that illicit diamonds paid for some of these villas—and of course the sporty cars. There had been raids on the hamlet to end the thievery, but all were unsuccessful because some police officials had been paid off.

Ayize carefully weighed the diamonds, made some notes and offered the man $1,000 in American currency. The man nodded in agreement. Ayize then turned, rose from his chair and made eye contact with a shadowy figure in the corner who had entered a few minutes before. He walked to the safe in the wall and dialed a few numbers, retrieved the money and put the diamonds away. When he turned, he saw the man was pointing a revolver at Ayize. He was shaking and sweating, and mumbling under his breath about more money. Ayize looked at him in disgust.

Shaking his head and wagging his finger at the man like a parent would do a disobedient child, he said, “You poor, pathetic fool. Don’t you know you are about to die because of your stupidity?”

“G-g-give me the money—you have the diamonds,” the man said in broken English.

“Oh, wow—someone who knows English,” Ayize said sarcastically with arms upraised, eliciting hushed laughter in the room. The man looked around, gun still pointing at Ayize, and he realized he’d made a deadly mistake.

Ayize snarled, utterly disgusted with the sight before him.

“Kill him.”

The shadowy figure pulled a Wist-94 9mm semi-automatic. The man’s moan was drowned out by gunshots. He fell to the floor in a crumbled heap.

“Get him out before he makes a mess,” Ayize snarled. He sat back down, picked up the phone and called his American friend.

Little Havana

Hector was enjoying dinner at one of his favorite restaurants in Miami—Mendoza, on Brickell Bay Drive. He was sitting outside under the palms, the ocean breeze cooling his body, when his Blackberry interrupted. When he looked at the caller ID, he became excited.

“Hello,” he answered in a level tone to hide any emotion.

“We are finished,” Ayize said on the other end. “We have all that you ordered. Can I expect Shark to come?”

“You will never see Shark—unless you screw up.”

Ayize took a deep breath. Hector’s words sent a chill through him.

“I assure you—the diamonds are perfect.” He paused then added, “We have purchased the other items for the shipment also.”

“Do you remember my instructions?”

“Yes—we will do it precisely as you say.”

“Good. Good.” Hector could feel his heart beating faster with excitement at Ayize’s words. “I will send someone to Port Nolloth in two days. I will call you later for time and place. Be ready anytime for the exchange.”

“Fine.”

Hector calculated the value of the diamonds coming to Shark. He smiled at his price—$100.5 million, all transported in a small Tenish Packaging plane. Hector’s palms started to sweat as he entertained an enticing thought. If he played his cards right, it could all be his.

“Yes—this is my time,” he whispered to himself. “Years of servitude will soon come to an end. The great Shark’s greed will finally do him in.” He closed his eyes and let his thoughts go to grandiose places.

***

“Are you the bounty hunter mentioned in the newspaper article?”

“Yes I am,” Bob said with a large smile and an extended hand. Mary Catherine gingerly took his offered hand as she looked around. Bob added, “It might not look like much, but most of the action takes place outside the office.”

Mary Catherine nodded and looked over his shoulder into the office.

Bob immediately said, “Oh excuse me—how rude of me. Please come in.” Saying nothing, she walked past him and took a chair in front of the desk.

He stood beside her and introduced himself.

She responded, “I’m Mary Catherine Tenish.”

“What can I do for you today, Miss Tenish?”

“My son was the officer who was recently killed in the high-speed chase.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bob said. “I read about it in the paper. According to the account, it was an accident. It was a tragedy, but an accident.”

Mary Catherine shook her head.

“The actual crash might have been an accident, but I know who caused the chase.” Her voice started to crack.