Stuff to Die For (19 page)

“What?”

“That call was serious. The guys who tried to kill us were on the phone. They want the rest of the mail by tomorrow night or they’re going to start chopping off more of Vic’s body parts.”

“Oh, my God. You still have some of that?”

“And we were trying to call Fuentes and see what his reaction was and you were on the—” the phone beeped.

“Jesus! Em, it’s ringing again. I’ve got to get this, but can we talk tomorrow? Please? We need a serious face-to-face. Em?”

“Take your call. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She sounded defeated. I’d had one night to consider her earthshaking news. She’d obviously been grappling with the information for a much longer time.

I punched the green button. “Hello?”

“This is Rick Fuentes.”

“Rick . . . Mr. Fuentes, since we left your place the other night a lot of things have happened. Let me start at the beginning.”

I did. I even told him about the Café Cubana list falling out of the box and accidentally still being in our truck. And by the time I was done, I was exhausted. James sat on the trunk and kept shaking his head as if he was reliving all the highlights.

Fuentes was quiet on the other end of the line. I assumed he was absorbing the information.

Finally, “Mr. Moore, the two men you refer to did stop by here. They have my son, and until I am certain that Victor is alive and well—until I am certain he will return to me, I must do what they tell me. They asked for the list. Apparently you had it when they met you at the storage unit.” He was quiet, waiting for my response.

“Yeah, maybe.” God I hate getting caught in a lie.

“They picked and sorted through the mail, but the list wasn’t there. I convinced them I was not aware of its whereabouts. Apparently they knew where to look.”

“Yeah. Well, do you want it back or should we—”

“I asked you to walk away from this situation for Victor’s sake. Please, Mr. Moore. Deliver the envelope as they have asked and then just go away. You’ve done all you need to do.” And then he said something I found very strange, but very true. “You know, if Jackie had opened my mail you wouldn’t even be involved in this. She was supposed to open the fucking mail.”

I thought about that for a moment. He was right. If the wife had opened the mail, she would have found the finger. That probably should have happened, but Jackie never opened any of his mail. She would have seen the list of donors. God, I wish she had. We’d be oblivious to this entire situation.

“Are you surprised she didn’t open your mail?”

“Yes. Actually, somewhat disappointed that she didn’t,” he paused, “and that you did. I asked her to open it. I asked her to please open anything that came to our . . . her house, but that’s not the point here. Give them the list and walk away. I can’t have your blood on my hands.”

I glanced at James, who was chewing on a fingernail. He gave me a look of exasperation.

“We’ll make the drop tomorrow at eight o’clock.”

“You don’t want to go any further with these men, Mr. Moore. Trust me. Please, for Victor’s sake, leave it alone. I’ll let you know when everything is settled.” He hung up the phone.

For Victor’s sake. I couldn’t put him at risk. I glanced at my two hands, thinking about having a finger amputated. Crudely amputated. A ring finger.

“We’re going to drop off the envelope in the trash can at Denny’s.”

“And that’s it?” James seemed relieved.

I thought about it. I thought about the fact that I was still around to think about it. And if it hadn’t been for Vic putting his life on the line—

“No. That’s not it. We’re going to follow these guys and see where Vic is.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind. You’re a madman, Skip.”

“You said it yourself, James. Once they get everything they want, they could kill us. I want to know who they are, where they are, and where Vic is.

“Skip! We could get killed. Vic could get killed.”

“Yeah, but we’re not going to get free of this until we find out where he is.”

It wasn’t just saving a life, it was putting a life on the line and there’s the difference.

There was no other choice. “I’m going to try to get some sleep.” Who was I kidding. I lay there for half an hour and finally got up and made a cup of weak coffee. I watched the sun creep over the horizon and cast its bold red rays into the cloudy sky. Red sky. My father had taught me a saying from his Navy days.

Red sky at night,
sailor’s delight.
Red sky in the morning,
sailor take warning.

CHAPTER FORTY

I
TURNED ON THE TELEVISION at six and watched the first news of the day. I’d started to doze off when I heard the announcer mention the fire.

“Late last night, fire investigators announced that they had uncovered the identity of one of the bodies found in the explosion and fire in Little Havana.”

I held a breath.

“They have positively identified Juan Sistaro, a Miami grocer, through his dental records. The identity of the second victim has not been discovered, but investigators say that the body has some unique physical characteristics.”

I sat up on the couch and shook the cobwebs from my head.

“It appears that the ring finger on his left hand is missing. Medical examiners were not certain whether the digit had been severed recently or sometime in the past. Both bodies were burned beyond recognition.”

I remember shivering. It was seventy-eight degrees already, and I was shivering like it was below freezing.

“The deaths appear to be the result of a major explosion at the Cuban Social Club, a club that—”

I shut the television off and stood up. The death? Vic was dead? The thought paralyzed me. I stood there staring at the blank screen for at least a minute, then went back to James’s bedroom and shook him.

Finally he gained consciousness.

“What the hell?”

I couldn’t say it.

“Skip, what the hell did you wake me up for? It’s . . . for crying out loud it’s six fifteen in the morning. Why do you do this to me?”

“It’s Vic.”

“What’s Vic?”

“The news. One of the bodies they found in the burned-out building. It’s Vic.”

James threw the covers off and got out of bed. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a stained T-shirt that were thrown on the floor, and walked out of the room. I could hear him banging cups and spoons around as he made himself a cup of instant coffee. In about three minutes he came back in the room. I was still standing where I’d made the announcement.

“You’re positive?”

“One of the bodies has a missing ring finger and they don’t have a positive ID.

“Vic? Nah. There’s no positive ID, Skip. Listen, that guy was tough! Saved your life? He could save his own. It wasn’t Vic.”

“It’s not like we were his best friends, but—”

“Hey, he’s someone we knew. Hell, he dated Emily. And now we know his father and stepmother. Are you going to tell me about him saving your life?” He walked to the kitchen table and sat down. I followed him, sat down, and shook my head.

“Is this what it’s all about? You owe him?” James went on.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You won’t tell me?”

“James. These guys have tried to kill us. They’ve killed at least two people that we know of. I don’t know if it’s Vic. Let’s assume he’s still alive. We can’t go to the cops without putting Vic and his father and everyone else in jeopardy. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“I agree we don’t go to the cops. But I don’t know, pard. It’s virgin territory.”

“Yeah. I say we follow these assholes and find out if Vic
is
alive. I don’t see any other option.”

James sipped his coffee, staring out the window at the parking lot. “You agreed to do the college thing so we could start our restaurant. That sort of fizzled. You went along with me on this crazy truck scheme, and God knows where that’s taking us. I owe you. I’m with you on
your
crazy scheme. If Vic Maitlin or Fuentes or whatever the fuck his name is . . . if he saved your life, I owe him too. Because of Vic, I’ve got my best friend by my side. I’m with you, compadre.” He lifted his right hand and we hit palms across the tiny kitchen table.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

W
E CALLED IN SICK. I’d only done it twice before and once because I’d actually
been
sick. This time I was afraid I might
be
sick. I called Em. She
was
sick, really sick, and asked if I could call later.

I nodded off to sleep about 8 a.m. and woke up at nine. There’s a rhythm to my sleep pattern no matter how tired or rested I am. I’m up by seven and even on weekends I can’t sleep past nine. I don’t care if I’ve been on a bender, I still am up by 9 a.m.

I called Em again and this time she could talk.

“Are you going to hang up on me again?”

“No.” I’d been properly chastised.

“I’m feeling a little better. Can you get away for some coffee?”

“Sure. I’m not going in to work, so let’s do it. I’ll drive in and meet you in the deli.”

The deli is in her condo building. All she’s got to do is get on the elevator. A sick person should be able to do that. I had to drive twenty-five minutes.

She looked great. Cutoffs and a short T, with thin sandals that showed off her sexy legs and feet. For just a moment I forgot she was carrying our kid. Just a very brief moment.

“Em, I’m sorry about last night.”

“This morning.”

We sat at a table in the large hallway outside the deli, sipping on coffee and chewing on bagels.

“Yeah. Things are happening.”

“What things?”

“Do you want to talk about that or about the—” how was I to refer to it?

“The what?”

“The situation?”

“Why don’t we just call it what it is, Skip? The pregnancy.”

“Okay.”

She frowned. “Do you want to say it? Why not try it out.”

I didn’t like being treated like a kid, however, I knew she was right. If I couldn’t even say it, I probably couldn’t deal with it.

“Do you want to talk about my phone calls last night or your pregnancy?”

She didn’t smile. “First of all, tell me what was so important about last night.”

I did. And then I told her about the news this morning.

“Oh, my God.” She stared at her coffee. A man next to us opened his
Miami Herald
and I could hear him softly whisper, “Oh, my God.” God was a busy guy this morning.

“Em, it might not be Vic.”

She said nothing, just continued to look into her coffee. What’s the song by Carly Simon about clouds in the coffee?

Finally she looked up. “If it
is
Vic, then we need to call the authorities. This could be murder and we can’t let that go unreported.” It came to me. “You’re So Vain” from some time back in the sixties or seventies.

“What about Fuentes?”

“He’s bound to hear the news.”

“But do we still drop off the mail? He told me to drop the entire matter, that if we kept getting ourselves involved, it would put Vic’s life in danger. But now, if his son is dead—”

“Do you think he’ll call you?”

“Fuentes? I don’t know. I think he’s under a lot of pressure. I may be low priority right now. It’s strange, Em. He asked us to find his son, now he wants us to get out of the way.”

“Trust me,” she said. “Your phone call at four in the morning moved you up to the top of his priority list.”

“I’ll wait till noon and see if he calls. If he doesn’t, I’ll call him. Considering we’re talking about his kid, I would think he’s monitoring the situation.”

“It’s a plan.” She smiled, the first one I’d seen in a couple of days. “Do you want to discuss the
situation
?”

“Sure.” But I didn’t know what to say.

“You are the father. There’s no question about it. I took a home pregnancy test about a week ago, and I would guess I’m five or six weeks.”

She looked into my eyes, waiting for some reaction and I had none. It was still a shock to me.

“I’ve considered my options. I can have the baby and keep it or I can put it up for adoption.”

“There’s another option.”

“Not as far as I’m concerned.” She squinted her eyes. “Don’t bring that up again, Skip. Ever.”

Facing the doors at the end of the hall, I could see Biscayne Bay, the sparkling blue water and several of the big white boats in the marina. A yellow kayak drifted up to the dock. I wondered what it would be like to just sail away with no destination and no master plan. It sounded good until I realized it was kind of like being adrift on the ocean without a rudder. It all depends on your perspective. Right now I was on the ocean and rudderless. Problems seemed to compound themselves.