Sails Job - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 6th Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Connie Barrera Thrillers) Read online

  "Yeah, yeah. I get it."

  "Why don't you drive back to Coconut Grove and drop us off?"

  "Okay. But what happens next?"

  "Next? That's between you and Sam. He's running the collections, now."

  "Shit! Come on, guys. I been straight with you. Help me out here. There's gotta be somethin' I can do. I ain't ever screwed up before. I -- "

  "There may be one thing, Joe. I don't know, but I'll run it by the boss, for old times' sake. You've been around a long time, like you said. Maybe he'll forgive one mistake. I don't know."

  "What's the one thing, then?"

  "Who's the new supplier?"

  "I'm not sure. All I can give you is the guy who came to me."

  "Let's start with that, then. I'll see what the boss thinks and let you know."

  "What about the million?"

  "It's business, Joe. Nothing personal, okay? The sooner, the better, to put this behind us and get back to work."

  "It'll take me a few days to put it together."

  "No problem, Joe. Your credit's good. Twenty-five percent a week, though. That's the best we can do. Now, just drop us up here at the Fort Lauderdale airport. Never mind about Coconut Grove."

  "What about the guy?"

  "Guy?"

  "From the other supplier?"

  "Oh, yeah. Work with Sam on that. He'll be in touch; you'll need to set up a meet, I'm sure, but wait for Sam to call, okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Good. Now shut up and drive, asshole."

  ****

  "Welcome to Grenada!" Connie said, as the Lewises stepped out of the taxi she had sent to meet their flight. "I'm Connie; my husband, Paul, is putting together some refreshments to welcome you aboard. Your driver will arrange for someone to bring your luggage to Diamantista II. Come with me, and I'll show you to your yacht."

  "Thanks, Connie," Kathy said. "I'm Dr. Lewis, and this is my husband, Mr. Lewis. It was nice of you to arrange to have us met."

  "I'm happy to do that. Usually, I try to meet our guests at the airport myself, but we had a little scheduling problem with the laundry, and I thought it would be more important to make up your stateroom with fresh linens."

  "Quite right," Kathy Lewis said. "The taxi driver gave us a nice introduction to Grenada on the way from the airport, anyway."

  "I'm sure," Connie said, as she led them down the dock. "Dennis -- his real business is running tours; he just picked you up as a favor to us, actually. If you're interested in an island tour, he'd be glad to accommodate you. Just let me know and I'll call him. Paul and I weren't sure what your schedule might be, so we got everything ready for an immediate departure, just in case. If you do want to get underway this afternoon, I'll need to clear out with customs and immigration, but that only takes a few minutes."

  "Oh, no," Kathy Lewis said. "We're bushed from the trip; I think lolling around in the shade and sipping rum punch is about all we're ready for this afternoon. We can talk about plans over dinner, maybe."

  "That'll be no problem," Connie said. "We left the awnings up, thinking you might have some relaxation in mind, and Paul makes a mean rum punch. Here we are; welcome to Diamantista II." She stopped and made a sweeping gesture as Paul stepped to the gate in the yacht's lifelines and extended a hand to help their guests aboard.

  "Doctor Lewis, Mr. Lewis, meet my husband, Paul Russo."

  "Paul," Kathy Lewis said, taking his hand, "nice to meet you."

  "Likewise," Paul said. "Welcome aboard, Dr. Lewis. You, too, Mr. Lewis. Why don't you have a seat in the cockpit and help yourselves to some fruit, or cheese and crackers while I rustle up some drinks. What can I get you?"

  "Your wife said you made a good rum punch," Frank Lewis said.

  "Yes, sir! I just happen to have a fresh batch in the fridge. How about for you, Dr. Lewis?"

  "Rum punch sounds good, Paul, thanks."

  "Make yourselves comfortable, and I'll be right back with the drinks. Connie?"

  "I'll get a glass of wine for myself after Dennis and I stow their luggage." She went below and opened the forward hatch while Paul put a pitcher of punch and three glasses on a tray.

  "You okay with their bags?" Paul asked as she passed through the galley on her way to the aft cabin with a roll-on suitcase. She had taken their two bags from Dennis as he passed them through the forward hatch.

  "Sure. I've got it." She put the case in the aft cabin and went forward to retrieve the other one.

  Paul took the drinks tray up into the cockpit and set it on the fold-down table forward of the helm. He handed a moisture-beaded glass to each of their guests and took one for himself. Before he sat down, Connie joined them with a glass of chilled white wine in her hand. She put her glass on the table and slid along the port cockpit seat, leaving room for Paul next to her.

  Once Paul was settled, Connie raised her glass. "To new shipmates and a wonderful holiday for you," she said. "Welcome aboard."

  "Thanks. We've been looking forward to this," Kathy Lewis said, touching her glass first to Connie's, then to Paul's, and then her husband's. She took a sip and sighed. "Mmm, that's so good! Can I get your recipe?"

  "Sure," Paul said. "Glad you like it, but I have to warn you. It's really potent. It's made with 180-proof white rum, mostly."

  "I've never heard of rum that strong. Where do you find it?"

  "This particular rum is local, but most of the islands have distilleries," he said. "Most of them make a white rum like this."

  She nodded and took another sip, putting her glass down and picking up a cracker topped with a sliver of cheese.

  "So," Connie said, "what sort of medicine do you practice?"

  Frank smiled, and Kathy stiffened a bit. "I'm not that kind of doctor. I'm a PhD."

  "I see," Connie said. "Are you in academia?"

  "Sorry, I don't understand," Kathy said, munching on the cracker. "What was that?"

  "Nothing important," Connie said. "It's just that most of the PhDs I've met don't use their titles outside the academic environment."

  "Oh," Kathy said, exchanging glances with Frank.

  "But you prefer to be called Dr. Lewis," Paul said, "is that right?"

  Kathy looked at Frank again.

  "Actually," he said, "that's a habit from our business. As long as it's just the four of us, you can call us Frank and Kathy, I think. No need for formality since we're going to be in such close contact."

  "But when we have guests aboard," Kathy said, "Stick to Dr. Lewis or Mr. Lewis, please."

  "Sure," Connie said. "That's fine."

  "What sort of business are you in?" Paul asked.

  "We manage private investments for a select number of clients," Frank said. "I handle the formalities, and Kathy is the financial wizard. She got her doctorate at the London School of Economics."

  "I see." Connie said. "That's impressive."

  "What do you mean, formalities?" Paul asked.

  "Frank's a Harvard Law grad," Kathy said. "He keeps all the i's dotted and t's crossed."

  "You make quite a team," Connie said. "Do you like working with each other? I don't mean to pry, but Paul and I find it challenging, sometimes."

  "It can be, for sure," Kathy said. "But I stick to my specialty and let Frank do his thing, you know?"

  "That makes sense," Connie said. "Well, I hope you have a great holiday with us. We're here to make sure you do, so just let us know what you need."

  "Thanks," Kathy said, finishing her drink. "I think I'd like a nap before dinner. How about you, Frank?"

  "Yeah, okay. What time's dinner?"

  "Whenever you'd like," Paul said. "I have some fresh tuna steaks, caught this morning. "You can set a time, or just give me about a thirty-minute warning before you want to eat. Either way's fine."

  "Six o'clock okay?" Frank asked.

  "Six it is," Paul said. "Rest well."

  ****

  Art Jansen decided not to call O'Toole. He'd hold off until he had more information from Pinki
e Schultz. After all, he hadn't yet learned anything that they hadn't already guessed; he just had confirmation that O'Toole's initial suspicion was correct. Jansen shook a handful of antacid tablets from the bottle he kept in his top left desk drawer and gobbled them down as he reread the encrypted text message on the screen of his iPad.

  Joe Torres had admitted to Pinkie's guys that he had been dealing with a new supplier. Torres didn't know who his new source was, and Jansen wasn't surprised by that. Given the scope of the interlopers' market penetration, he was sure they weren't new at this business. They'd be well buffered.

  Jansen had confidence that Pinkie knew what to do; he'd have Horton and Kilgore peel back the protective layers one by one until they found the core of the organization. O'Toole wasn't interested in the process; he only cared about the results. Jansen wished he had that luxury, but he didn't. He wasn't out on the street kicking ass and taking names, but he was one step closer to that than O'Toole was.

  Torres didn't know Jansen, didn't even know who he was. Neither did Horton and Kilgore, even though Horton had written the text that Jansen was reading. Jansen knew all about Cary Horton and Dick Kilgore; they were ultimately on his payroll, even if they didn't know it. Kilgore, the one who'd held the gun on Torres, had come up through the ranks -- a street soldier. Horton was the smooth one who had done the talking. He was one of the new breed, but he was also a blood relative of Pinkie Schultz, the man Torres thought was the boss.

  As far as any of the people in Jansen's organization knew, Al "Pinkie" Schultz was where the buck stopped. Only Schultz knew who Jansen was. Jansen chuckled at the nickname, Pinkie. He'd heard how Schultz got the nickname, but he had his doubts about the veracity of the tale. It was a bit far-fetched, right out of one of those old black and white gangster movies with the flickering pictures and the warbling sound. And if that wasn't retro enough, they were going to have Torres set up his contact for "Sam the Barber," Pinkie Schultz's collection man.

  Jansen shook his head. The whole situation would be funny if it weren't for the fact that his bonus depended on these clowns. At least Schultz had brains. He had his troops out working all of Torres's peers across the southeast. Sam the Barber was going to be a busy man until they zeroed in on whoever was flooding the streets with competing product.

  Chapter 3

  "What's on your mind?" Connie asked. "You look lost in thought."

  Paul smiled. "I guess. Take a walk with me?"

  "Sure. Are we going anywhere in particular?"

  "We can, if you need to go somewhere. But I just need to stretch my legs."

  "Sounds good to me. Let's head over to the club; we can have a cold drink and sit in the shade. Think the Lewises will be okay without us?"

  "Leave 'em a note with our phone number, just in case," Paul said. "I'll grab our hats while you do that."

  A few minutes later, they were strolling along the sidewalk around the yacht basin, headed for the yacht club. It was late enough in the afternoon that the sun wasn't too intense, and a pleasant breeze blew in off the water, keeping them cool.

  "Okay, cookie," Connie said, nudging Paul with her elbow. "Talk."

  "Remind me not to try to hide anything from you, lady."

  "I shouldn't have to, by now. I read you as well as you read me. What's bugging you?"

  "Bugging is probably too strong a word. I just felt the need for a little private time with you."

  "Are you still uncomfortable with this charter?"

  Paul shrugged. "Not uncomfortable, but even after meeting them, it still feels funny."

  "They're a little different," Connie said. "It was a relief when he said we could use their first names."

  Paul chuckled. "As long as there're no other people around."

  "Well, that's something, anyway. Given her introduction when I met the taxi, I thought it was going to be Mr. Lewis and Dr. Lewis the whole time."

  "She seems to be a little stiffer than he is," Paul said. "Don't you think?"

  "Yes, she does. And I sense a little rivalry there, too."

  "Rivalry?"

  "It's like they're jockeying for position," Connie said, "sort of wrestling to see who's going to lead."

  "Hmm," Paul said. "I didn't see that. Not that I'm arguing with you ... "

  "It's probably because she took the initiative when I introduced myself. It felt like she jumped in and set the tone for our encounter before he got a chance."

  "Okay," Paul said. "Well, maybe they'll loosen up a little once they settle in."

  "Maybe. Frank seems a little more at ease with himself than she does."

  "Are you saying that because he's the one who suggested we drop the formality when we're in private?" Paul asked.

  "I hadn't made the connection, but that may be. Interesting."

  "Yeah. Interesting's one way to look at it. They seem pretty cold to me," Paul said.

  "Cold?"

  "Yeah, in the sense of being a little standoffish. I'd think they'd be more sales types."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Well, I may be off base. I picture them running a sort of boutique investment advisory business."

  "I got that impression, too," Connie said. "You're thinking they'd be back-slapping types?"

  "Right. Riding on a smile and a shoeshine, kind of."

  "That sounds more like used car salesmen than investment advisors, Paul."

  He grinned. "Yep. it's probably just me, but I put them in the same category. Hustlers."

  "But he's a Harvard grad," Connie protested. "And she has a doctorate from the London School of Economics."

  "I rest my case," Paul said, pulling out a chair for her at an unoccupied table on the veranda of the yacht club. "What're you drinking?"

  "See if they have any passion fruit juice, please."

  "Yes ma'am. Be right back."

  ****

  Leon Contreras sat in his broom-closet of an office, listening to the boys in the midst of a pickup basketball game out in the parking lot. They were getting along well enough without him, and he knew it was important not to hover. Two of the older boys were acting as referees; he wanted to stay out of sight, to let them see that he trusted them to be fair. He was proud of the way they shouldered the responsibility to teach the younger ones about sportsmanship.

  Satisfied that they were doing okay, he let his thoughts wander to yesterday's conversation with Connie Barrera. After some initial reluctance, she seemed to accept his explanation that he was her estranged cousin.

  He'd told her that he'd learned about her while going through his mother's things after her recent death. He had said that he'd not been close to his mother, Connie's mother's sister, Maria, when he was younger. He'd told Connie had re-established his relationship with his mother in the last few years.

  He had shared enough information about the family to convince Connie that he was indeed her relative, but had asked for nothing, telling her that he had no other relatives and only wanted to establish contact with her. Knowing that she'd lost her parents at an early age, he thought it might be nice for both of them to know they each had at least one living relative. Thanking her for her time, he'd exchanged contact information with her, promising to stay in touch from time to time, and bid her goodbye.

  Connie seemed to have prospered, given what he'd learned about her early years. Life must have been tough for her, he thought. Hell, it had been tough for him, and he'd had two parents. It seemed that Connie had come out all right in spite of her rocky beginning. He wondered how she'd ended up married and living on a yacht that had to be worth a fortune. He'd seen the pictures on her website.

  She was running a business with her husband, taking rich people sailing in the Caribbean. And she was a gorgeous woman. He could see Maria Contreras in her dark, flashing eyes, even in the low resolution pictures on the internet. But Maria had never been as stunning as Connie looked, standing in front of a full sail, her wavy black hair blowing in the wind. Good for her, he thought, looki
ng forward to eventually getting to know her and her husband.

  He heard voices raised in anger from the parking lot and got to his feet, grabbing a whistle from the top of the scarred table that served as his desk. Before he reached the door, the boys settled down. He decided to go outside and see how they were doing, maybe shoot a few baskets himself.

  ****

  "That was great," Kathy said. "I wish I could cook like that." She and Frank sat at the cockpit table with Connie and Paul, lingering over the second bottle of wine that Paul had served with dinner.

  "I do, too," Frank said, smiling.

  "Watch it, buddy," Kathy said, elbowing him in the ribs.

  "Just kidding," he said. "I've never had tuna like that; I always thought it came out of a can."

  "Fresh-caught tuna's nothing like canned tuna," Paul said. "I'm glad you enjoyed the meal."

  "Me, too," Connie said. "And I can't cook like that, either. That's why I married him."

  "I like that," Kathy said. "It never occurred to me to find out if Frank could cook before I decided on him as a partner."

  "Speaking of our partnership," Frank said, "I hate to bring up business, but I guess we need to discuss where we're going."

  "It's tempting just to hang out here," Kathy said, "but you're right."

  "We got the impression from our charter broker that you had a commercial agenda of sorts," Connie said, watching their guests as their expressions registered a flicker of anxiety.

  "What did she tell you?" Kathy asked. "We didn't -- " she stopped as Frank laid his hand on hers.

  "She actually recommended you to us because of what she'd read about us," Frank said. "She thought you'd be a good fit with our expansion plans."

  "Your expansion plans?" Paul said, as he poured a little more wine into their guests' glasses.

  "Our business has been successful enough so that we're faced with making some fundamental changes," Frank said.

  "We've reached the point where we're limited by what the two of us can handle personally," Kathy said. "It's time for us to bring some more people into the business so that Frank and I can concentrate on doing the things that we're uniquely suited for." She paused.

  When she realized that Frank and Kathy were waiting, Connie asked, "Could you tell us a little more about what you do?"