Judge and Jury Page 11

  Dan knew he should keep his mouth shut, but as usual, didn’t. “Is that some kind of threat?”

  “I don’t make threats. I win lawsuits. The smartest thing you could do is drop this suit. Right now. Before it goes a minute longer. But if you choose to proceed...” Drake shook his head, and for a moment, almost looked genuinely distressed. “I won’t be responsible for the consequences. To you. And everyone else you know.”

  On the video screen, Sweeney simply smiled.

  Chapter 15

  Fabian Fuentes tried to hide his disgust as he brought the deal to completion.

  They waited until well past midnight so the port authorities would not be watching as the secret compartment in his ship was opened. No one would notice who came in or out of the dock. No one would ask them to complete tax forms as huge sums of cash passed hands.

  His purchaser was nervous. He had been told the man had done this before with other suppliers. No matter. He had Jose and Roberto close but out of sight. He did not anticipate trouble, but when money was exchanged there was always the possibility of a double-cross, someone getting too greedy for their own good. The jittery nature of this man did not suggest deception, but it was always best to be cautious. His instincts were the reason he had survived this pirate life for so long. Cartels rose and fell. El Chapo was caught and arrested. Even the great and mighty Captain could end up a blood splatter on a courtroom wall.

  But Fabian still stood tall. Part of that was his intelligence. Part was caution. And part was that he understood why he was doing this. He did not seek fame. He did not want to be perceived as a big man. He did not need a huge show house. He thought of himself as an artist. He wanted to create something that would last. Security for his children, yes, but more importantly, security for his people. He did not care about American morality or their arrogant attempts to serve as policeman for the entire world. Prostitution has been with us since the dawn of time. No amount of morality would change that. For that matter, if people could afford to purchase organs, why shouldn’t they be allowed to do so? As in all things, the strong survive and the meek perish. No amount of piety was ever going to change that.

  His purchaser, Albert Gomez, was ready to get the transaction completed. “You have it?”

  “Indeed. And you have the money.”

  Gomez passed him the gym bags. In the movies, smugglers always exchanged those hardshell silver briefcases, but why would anyone trying to avoid attention use such a shiny bag?

  It appeared to all be there. It would be gauche to count the dollars. And needless. He knew where Gomez lived.

  “It’s all there,” Gomez said. “Where’s the stuff?”

  Fabian led him to the other side of the boat. Replaced a key in an unobtrusive cargo hold and opened the door.

  Sixteen plastic bags rested in dry ice.

  It did not look like much. But it was worth almost half a million dollars.

  Gomez peered inside one of the bags. Fabian waited anxiously. He had no reason to believe the federal authorities knew anything about this—but of course, the Captain thought the same thing. And he was now buried in an unmarked American grave.

  Gomez chuckled. “They don’t look like delicacies, do they?”

  Fabian shrugged. “I prefer tomato soup myself.”

  “Bisque?”

  “Campbell’s.”

  Gomez grabbed one of the bags and loaded it onto his dolly. “Fortunately, Florida’s significant Asian population feels differently. The ultra-elite cannot get enough shark fin. They will pay almost anything for it.”

  This seemed to be true, which was why, in the wake of the disruption of, first, the sex trafficking network, and now, the organ smuggling network, they had become shark hunters.

  Unwillingly.

  Shark fin soup was considered a rare delicacy, particularly in wealthy Asian communities. Chinese emperors supposedly ate shark fin soup and served it to guests, in part to impress upon others that the emperor was so strong he could even conquer sharks. Shark meat was in demand as well, but transporting and selling shark meat, in and of itself, was not illegal. Selling shark fins were, especially when they were unaccompanied by the rest of the shark. After a wave of hunters taking the fins and leaving the carcasses behind, the ever-present American overlords passed a conservation law forbidding the finning of sharks. You could be arrested for having shark fins aboard a fishing vessel without the corresponding carcass.

  The safest approach would be to simply take the entire shark and sell the meat, but those carcasses consumed valuable and limited space in the cargo hold. Though shark meat could be sold, it fetched nothing near the same price. Shark meat was considered a delicacy in some circles. Some believe it has medicinal qualities, but Fabian’s people said it was completely without nutritional or health value and, due to mercury poisoning, could be dangerous to eat. The big money was in the fins. So that was what they smuggled.

  Gomez finished loading his dolly. “When will you return?”

  “Give us three weeks.”

  “The usual arrangements?”

  “Yes. I will contact you when we are ready.”

  Gomez gave him a small salute. “Been a pleasure.”

  Fabian watched as he hauled his pathetic loot away, his teeth clenched.

  It had not been a pleasure. Nothing about his had been a pleasure. He was a pirate.

  And now he had been reduced to a fisherman. Just as his own father had been a fisherman.

  A very different type of fisherman. And considerably less prosperous. But a fisherman, just the same.

  After Gomez had left the site and the area appeared secure, Roberto and Jose joined him on the boat.

  “Any signs of trouble?” he asked his associates.

  “None,” Roberto said. “I believe we are completely under the federal radar.”

  Fabian pursed his lips. “I recall once hearing the Captain say almost the exact same thing.”

  “Perhaps this shark fin business is beneath their notice.”

  “It is beneath my notice.” Fabian said, his voice rising. He recovered himself immediately. He was usually in better control of his emotions. But he did not like this. He did not like anything about this.

  “I simply mean that, for Americans, kidnapped girls and children needing transplants raise emotional issues. Few people are emotionally attached to sharks.”

  “And yet Clinton passed the shark-fin law.”

  Jose smiled. “Creating a new avenue for crime that did not exist before. Another stream of income for us.”

  That part was true. “Did you make your appointment this afternoon?”

  Jose beamed. He obviously liked being given assignments he thought important. He was too young and too stupid to realize that, because he was relatively new, he was given the riskiest jobs most likely to attract law-enforcement attention. “I did.”

  “Was the report informative?”

  “I learned everything that happened in that deposition. And I have been promised a recording. So there are no secrets.”

  Always useful to have a source on the inside. Another consistent trait of Americans—having been raised in a culture that worshipped only wealth, they were all too easy to buy. “And? Did our friend Mr. Sweeney behave himself?”

  “He barely even mentioned the cartel. Said he had nothing to do with it.”

  “And so erased more than twenty years of smuggling. Amazing bravado.”

  “He is a hard man to disturb.”

  “And what about the lawyer? They one they all think is so smart, so dangerous. The one who helped bring down the Captain.”

  “He barely spoke. Let his woman do all the talking.”

  “Is he a man or a mouse?”

  Jose shrugged. “He is a lawyer. It is much the same.”

  “Does he understand that Sweeney is involved in this matter he is investigating?”

  “He suspects. He cannot prove anything.”

  “And his father’s conne
ction? Does he suspect that?”

  “I do not think so.”

  “He is still being followed? Watched?”

  “Of course.”

  “Any concerns?”

  “I have noticed a...discrepancy.”

  “Which is? Don’t speak to me in riddles.”

  “There are some witnesses Pike quizzes in an official way. With a reporter taking down each word. But there are others he speaks to in private.”

  “And what is the difference between them?”

  Jose appeared embarrassed. “I confess...I do not know. I cannot even speculate.”

  He could speculate, especially given the sensitive matters being discussed. Pike’s father was a convicted murderer. There might be things he preferred to hear without a reporter taking down each word.

  “Will they take a deposition of Jaquith?”

  “He is not on the deposition witness list.”

  Then perhaps Pike knows more about the past than they realize. “Watch them both carefully. If those two meet—we must take action. Decisive action.”

  “I do not believe Pike has learned anything of value. This lawsuit is an enormous fishing expedition that so far has produced no fish.”

  “We cannot assume that situation will last forever. We cannot become complacent. That is what happened to the Captain. And you see where that led.”

  “I have worked for both of you,” Roberto said. “You are much smarter than the Captain.”

  “Smart is not always enough.”

  “If you want this man silenced, you need only give the word.”

  “The lawyer? Or Sweeney?”

  “I thought you meant the lawyer.” Roberto’s eyes narrowed. “But I would do anything you asked.”

  Fabian almost smiled. “Your loyalty is appreciated. But I think there is a better way.”

  “The dark web?”

  “What I am, a child? You cannot solve all your problems by staring at a screen. I have a much better idea. And I think it is time to put it into practice.” He paused, laying a hand on his associate’s shoulder. “Americans love to talk. They talk and talk and talk. But I am much better at silence.”

  Chapter 16

  Dan passed through the glass doors of Revel 18, one of the city’s swankiest salons, not far from Coffee Pot Bayou. He hadn’t been in this area for a long time, not since a case brought him to a then-closed bakery, and most of that experience he preferred to forget.

  The perky woman behind the front desk beamed at him. Orchid neck tat. Six piercings in her left ear. Spot of something white on her blouse. She appeared to be around twenty and to have perfect teeth. Was that a service they provided at the salon?

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Sort of. I’m not here for a makeover.” Although as he glanced at himself in the overhead mirror, he wondered if he should. He was looking kinda ragged. Stress, he supposed. Stress, plus the fact that Maria, who normally chided him for sartorial and grooming errors, was keeping quiet. Because she thought he was under enough stress? Because she didn’t want to upset him during this tricky time in their relationship? Because she thought he was hopeless? “I’m here to see Erica.”

  “She told me someone was coming. She’s on break. You can go on back if you want.”

  He nodded. She led the way.

  The salon was an impressively large-scale operation. He’d had a pedicure not long ago—only way to meet a witness, long story—but that place looked like a dive compared to this one. On the left were the expected berths where people got their hair cut and styled and colored, but on the left were an equal number of berths with chairs and foot boxes, where mani-pedis could be delivered simultaneously. He also spotted some rooms with curtains where he assumed facials and massages and such took place.

  Peeking between the curtains, he spotted something he couldn’t identify. “Is she pouring...wax in that guy’s nose?”

  The receptionist smiled. “Yes. Ear and nose waxes. The latest rage.”

  “But...why?”

  “Why does anyone get waxed? To remove hair.”

  “It will grow back.”

  “Then it’s time for another wax. Come on—no one wants to look at your nose hair. It’s super-gross. Ick.”

  “That’s why God invented tweezers. How do people breathe during this procedure?”

  “They only do one nostril at a time.”

  “And did you say ears? As in, ear wax? Why would anyone do that?”

  She smiled. “Ask me again when you’re twenty years older.”

  She opened the door to the break room. Predictably small, predictably lined with vending machines, though the options were considerably healthier than most of what he usually saw in vending machines.

  A woman in her late fifties rose when he entered the room. She was generous in figure and comfortably dressed. Big strand of fake pearls. Flip-flops. Dangling earrings.

  “Danny!” She rushed toward him with arms spread wide and wrapped them around him, squeezing tightly.

  He stood there wordlessly, not exactly sure how to respond. Danny?

  “I have heard so much about you,” she explained, hugging all the tighter. “And I wanted to reach out to you. But it didn’t feel right, you know? Not fair to your mom.”

  He took a step back and gave her a closer look. She looked good, not only for her age, but for any age. Tight cheekbones. Mandala necklace. Black smudge on right forefinger. “You knew my mother?”

  “How could I not? We were all thick as thieves back then. Even lived together for a short while. One big weird wife-swapping household.”

  “Um, excuse me?”

  “Aw hell, kid. It was so long ago. Why keep secrets? Turned out horribly, sure, but we had some great times while it lasted. Your dad and Jack were both major up-and-comers on the police force. Your mom taught school. I was fresh out of cosmetology school and had my first gig as a hairdresser.”

  “I’m a little confused. My dad’s former partner described you as his ex-girlfriend.”

  “That’s one way of putting it. We lived together.”

  “But...my mother lived in the same house?”

  “Yeah. Your dad and I were together for like two years. We both had basically no family. We desperately needed someone and were lucky enough to find each other. Your mom was with Jack.”

  “She was married to Jack before she married my father.”

  “Correct.”

  “But...she later divorced Jack and married my father.”

  “Also correct.”

  “And you all lived together?”

  She waved her hand in the air. “It was another time. Have a seat.”

  He took a chair at the card table. Between the vending machines he noticed a brown door, closed and locked. Dust on the doorknob.

  She followed his gaze. “Hungry?”

  “No. Just curious. Nice that you offer your employees healthy options.”

  She shrugged. “It’s important for people working in the beauty industry to appear, if not exactly beautiful, at least not haggard and unhealthy. I encourage people to eat well—to the extent that anything that comes out of a vending machine can be called eating well.”

  “My friend Garrett tells me you own this place.”

  “True enough. Started as one of many hairdressers, and now, all these years later, it’s mine. I turned it into a much enhanced, much cooler, full-service salon.”

  “I got the quick tour as I came in. It does look like you offer everything there is to make a person look better.”

  “Well, we don’t have plastic surgeons on the premises yet, but we’re working on it.” She smiled. “Believe me, this didn’t happen overnight. I had to scrape together a lot of pennies. Had to make some smart investments. Had to find investors willing to take a chance on me, including a few I didn’t particularly like. But money is money. Your father taught me a lot about business, you know. If not for him, I’d probably still be cutting hair.”

&nb
sp; That was surprising. So far as he knew, his father had no actual business experience. “What did he teach you?”

  “Little stuff, Mind you, when we were together, I knew nothing. He told me to start an IRA. I did. He told me to always pay myself first, to save and invest the first ten percent right off the top. Basic stuff, but I didn’t know any of it. Till Ethan taught me.”

  “Did he live the same way? Far as I know, he never amassed much cash.”

  “Because he was generous. Always giving it away. And because he chose to be a police officer, not a—”

  He arched an eyebrow. “A lawyer?”

  “Or anything likely to bring in big bucks. He wasn’t a spendthrift. That was Jack.”

  “Jack had money?”

  “Every now and again. Not every day. Not regularly. But occasionally he would pop up with big wads of cash and no one had the slightest idea where it came from.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “Yeah, but he always blew the question off with some silly answer. Won the lottery. Inheritance from a rich uncle. Yeah, sure. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it. And he never saved any of it, so what did it matter? Never changed our lives. At least not for long. He spent some on your mother, but mostly he just frittered it away.”

  How does a young police officer come into sudden significant influxes of money? “Ever heard anyone mention it since?”

  “No. Didn’t matter to me what the roomies did. Your daddy took care of me. I preferred a strong man with a steady income to a flashy guy with unexplained spikes of wealth. After your dad left me for your mother, Jack made some moves toward me. Like we should all just change lobsters and dance, you know? But I wasn’t having any of it. Not interested. Your dad was the man for me. If I couldn’t have him, I certainly wasn’t going to settle for the inferior clone.”

  “Sounds like...you really liked my father.”

  “I adored your daddy.” Her eyes lit. “Did I say that strongly enough? I adored him. I got goosepimply when he walked into the room. I worshipped that man. I still think of our two years together as the happiest part of my life. I’ve had other relationships since, sure, and I’ve had some business success. But no one ever made me feel the way he did. He was a good man, your daddy. Through and through. They don’t make many like that.”