Caribbean's Keeper (14 page)

Cole looked the stranger in the eye, nodded his head and extended his hand. The man took a firm grip and the two shook hands.

“I’m David and I will show you around a bit. Please come with me.”

The two climbed in. It was a smaller European-style van with windows all around and three rows of seats. David sat in the middle row and Cole was in the first. The driver said nothing as he navigated through the congestion and onto the highway. It was past nine o’clock at night but the traffic was still heavy as the highway paralleled the Pacific towards downtown Panama City. After 20 minutes, Cole could see the city in front of him, its towering buildings and bright lights rivaling that of any big city in the states.

David spouted off random facts about Panama. There was construction everywhere and as they hit the main streets of the business district, thumping music echoed amid the car horns and bright lights. There were casinos, bars, and restaurants along the way. The sidewalks were lined with people going about their business. It took them another 20 minutes to get to the far side of town. As they left the bright lights and turned down some smaller streets, Cole looked around a bit more, trying not to give away the sinking feeling in his gut.

David picked up on it and reassured Cole, “Don’t worry, my friend. We just need to make one stop and we’ll head back to the hotel. Everything is cool.”

Everything was not cool. They were now in the ghetto and only one out of every six street lights worked. There was graffiti on the walls of just about every building and at least half of them looked deserted, their windows busted and the doors either boarded up or kicked in. Fences all had barbed wire across their tops.

David spoke calmly, “Give it a few more years and this will all be luxury condos. The beach is only a few hundred yards from here. Primo real estate.”

The driver took three quick turns, and they pulled up to what was most certainly an abandoned building. Graffiti covered the walls. A man stood outside the door of the building and David motioned for Cole to step out.

“David, what the fuck is this?”

David spoke quickly, “You gotta trust me on this one. Don’t get excited. This will be a few minutes and we’ll be on our way. If you freak out on me, it’s gonna be trouble. Just stay cool and we’re good, OK?”

Out of options, Cole stepped out of the van.

“Hola,” was all he said to the man outside the door and the plainly clothed guard nodded his head back at Cole.

David walked them inside. It was total darkness save for some light from a room at the end of the hallway. The two walked down the dark corridor and turned into a room, where there were a few lights plugged into the wall. Three men stood talking in the middle of the room and looked at Cole as he walked in.

Cole again said “Hola,” and made a slight waving gesture with his thumb, pointer, and middle finger. His mouth was dry. One of the men, in his late 40s by Cole’s estimate, rubbed his chin with his fingers and looked at David. David nodded and spoke rapid Spanish. The two had a quick conversation and Cole could only pick up the words “gringo,” “Estados Unidos,” and of course “Mickey.” They all seemed to say Mickey’s name as if it carried a good deal of weight.

The man finished up talking with David and walked over to Cole. He extended his hand and the two shook. At first Cole thought it broke the tension, but afterwards he could still feel it heating up the room even more than the stagnant air.

“You got some balls, my man.”

The man had his hands on his hips now and shook his head. He spoke the same way Mickey did, substituting a
J
for the
Y
in
you
. But this time it wasn’t funny.

“Why you wanna come down here and drive boats?”

Cole took a deep breath to hold his composure and said, “Well, I’m good at it. I’m comfortable on the water and driving boats like I do makes good money for you and for me.”

The man shook his head no, “You make good money in Florida.”

Cole replied, “I can make better money here.”

“Were you really in the fucking Coast Guard?”

Cole laughed just a bit and replied, “Well, yeah, I was, but they didn’t like me.”

Now the man laughed a bit too. “Well, shit, my friend. I can see why.”

“Are you sure you’re not undercover?” The man seemed calm and cool but the question was a serious one.

Cole thought for a second. Part of him wanted to just laugh, but he knew he had to be convincing. Mickey had warned him about this. Cole wanted to explain how much Potts had hated his guts, how he’d been thrown out with the trash and couldn’t give two shits about the damn Coast Guard, but he maintained his composure.

“I’ve been running a lot of migrants to be undercover, don’t you think? I’ll give you any information on me you’d like if that will assure you that I am no longer interested in doing anything for the fucking Coast Guard.” He emphasized ‘fucking’ when he said it.

“No.” The man shook his head. “We’ve looked into you. You seem legit. And like I said—you’ve got some fucking balls to walk in here.”

The other two in the room walked out, leaving Cole, David, and the new guy in the room by themselves.

The older man continued, “We’ll put you to work. It’ll be a few days. You’ll go on a run with some of my guys, help them out and we’ll see how you do. This is the big leagues, Señor Cole.”

Cole nodded. “Well, Sir, I can assure you that I’m varsity.”

The older man and David laughed, then picked up another fast-paced conversation in Spanish. They used their hands when they talked, just like Mickey. Cole couldn’t understand what they were talking about, but from the more controlled gestures of their hands, he figured things were calm enough not to worry.

The old man turned to Cole again. “There is something you must understand.”

He cleared his throat. “There are very real consequences when you move something that costs a lot of money. Jail is not something you worry about here. If you get caught and go to jail, so be it. You get out one day and things are OK. But if you talk to save yourself or don’t do what you’ve been asked to do, there are very real consequences.”

Cole softly nodded.
Understood
.

The man motioned for them to walk out of the room. “There is something you must see.”

Cole, David, and the man walked back down the hall they’d just come down and turned left into a dark room he’d passed when he first walked in. As he entered the doorway, tucking his head a bit to fit his hat through the frame, the lights came on. The other two men were in there standing next to a younger guy sitting in a chair. Cole could see that the kid had his hands tied behind his back and his face was a bit beat up. It wasn’t horrible, but clearly the kid had taken a few punches. He had on a pair of jeans and a basketball jersey. He had no shoes on and looked straight ahead without much of an expression on his face.

The older man spoke. “This kid, he fucked up.”

He pointed with his finger at the kid.

The older man walked over to the kid and the first two men stepped back against the wall. The kid took a deep breath and exhaled with a bit of a shudder.

The older man continued. “He got caught and tried to talk his way out of jail. Now, jail in Panama is no fun. Anyone who goes in has a decent chance of getting fucked up. There are different gangs and groups and cartels and all of that shit.” He motioned with one hand in a circular gesture as if the rival cartels were no big deal.

“But Cole, I promise you we will do our best to look out for you if you get caught.”

He pointed at the kid again. “But this kid didn’t trust me. He got caught and he started talking. And because he started talking, I lost some stuff I didn’t want to lose. And when I lose stuff, I gotta explain to my boss why I fucked up. And he’s gotta explain to his boss why he fucked up. And together, we gotta take some steps to make sure none of our people fuck up again. This shit ain’t personal, it’s business.”

He paused and looked at Cole before asking, “Do you understand, Cole?”

“Yes, I do. Clearly.”

The man stared at Cole, nodding gently to indicate he was convinced he’d made his point.

It seemed the meeting was over, but David took a deep breath and Cole didn’t like the vibe that came with it.

The older man repeated himself. “It’s not personal, it’s just business.”

He reached behind his shirt and drew a stainless steel snub-nosed revolver from the small of his back. The kid looked to his right at the gun and yelled. Cole didn’t have to speak Spanish to understand what the kid was saying.
He was sorry…It would never happen again…He’d do anything to make it right
. The kid was sweating now and squirming in the chair, his legs underneath him trying to get some traction, but there was nowhere he could go. His words fell on deaf ears.

In one smooth motion, the older man pressed the gun up to the kid’s head and pulled the trigger. It was a blur to Cole. The kid screaming was muted by the sound of the gunshot bouncing off the walls of the little room. After the shot, smoke lingered and obscured details from the room. It must have been a magnum caliber to shake the room like it did. Cole’s ears were ringing, and his feet felt unsteady for a second or two from the blast. He was feet away from the muzzle, but it felt as though someone had just punched him in the face. The kid was slumped over and no longer screaming, his head having rolled forward and his body only partly propped up by his two hands tied together behind the chair. The smell of gunpowder dominated the room. Cole saw dark blood all over the kid’s head and turned away in disgust.

Cole’s heart was beating so loud he feared they would all hear it. He was sweating too. The older man wiped the muzzle with his shirt and returned the gun to the small of his back. “We’re done here.”

Cole took one last look at the kid’s lifeless body as it sat in a contorted mess on the chair. He’d been alive ten seconds before, and now he was dead. Mickey hadn’t lied. Cole’s feet felt drunk underneath him and he gritted his teeth to get his balance back, taking a deep gunpowder-laced breath. As they walked out of the building and back into the nighttime air, it was a welcome relief from the heat and stench inside. Cole took another deep breath and looked up at the sky. There were stars and a few clouds were backlit by the moon. The light breeze hit the sweat on Cole’s face and chest, cooling him.

The older man extended his hand to Cole. Cole shook it without thinking.

“We’ll be in touch, Cole. Until then, enjoy yourself.”

“Gracias,” was all Cole could manage. It was surreal. The guy had just shot a kid in the head and now he was telling Cole to enjoy himself.

David patted Cole on the back and motioned him back to the van. The driver was still sitting in his seat, expressionless, reading a newspaper.

Sitting down in their same seats, David perked back up and said, “All right, I’ll show you the hotel. It’s nice, the Marriott downtown. There’s a bar across the street, Habana’s—we’ll have a drink.”

Chapter 7 – Pangas

THE VAN PULLED UP along the sloping crescent driveway of the Marriott hotel. There were two policemen, dressed in military garb, with their backs against the outer wall when Cole stepped out. Each had a rifle slung over their shoulder and seemed bored by security duty at the hotel. David opened the back of the van, handed Cole his duffel bag, and the two began to walk inside. As they walked in, Cole turned and behind him across the congested street, he saw an outdoor bar with loud dance music blaring over the speakers. It was overrun by stunningly good-looking women. As David and Cole walked through the glass doors, David laughed.

“So you want to get a drink now or what?”

Cole laughed and nodded his head, turning back towards the lobby. As the doors closed behind them, the sounds of the club faded and the cold air-conditioned lobby chilled the bit of sweat on Cole’s back left from the vinyl seats of the van. David spoke in Spanish to the man behind the counter and in short order, Cole had a plastic room key in his hand. He figured everyone in the hotel knew what the hell he was doing down there, but he tried his best to hide it. The man behind the counter casually nodded at Cole and extended his hand towards the elevators. The expression on the man’s face told Cole that his secret was already out.

“So much for a low profile, huh?” Cole looked at David.

David smiled and replied, “It’s fine, my friend.”

David walked with Cole over to the elevators. “Meet me across the street in a few. I’ll save you a seat.”

“Cool.” Cole stepped into the elevator and selected the 12
^th
floor. The doors closed and he was finally alone. He huffed out a breath and looked at himself in the elevator’s mirror. His hair was a mess, longer than it should be and dirty blond still from the months in Key West. After his travels, his shirt now hung on his shoulders and there were drops of sweat that had soaked through in a few random spots on his chest. Cole looked in the mirror again and recalled the kid getting shot. He wondered what, if anything, the kid felt as the old man pressed the barrel up to his head. The kid knew he was dead the second they’d tied him to the chair, and he had played it cool right up until the moment the older man pulled the gun.

Had he tried to maintain his composure and simply lost it at the end
?
Or did he really think he could bargain his way to freedom with a drug cartel?
Cole took another long exaggerated breath. He wondered if he could have kept calm like the kid.
Could I have slowed my breathing and accepted my fate without a final desperate and uncontrollable outburst?
He did not plan to get himself into that situation in the first place, so he shook the thoughts from his mind and looked down at the carpet in the elevator. The truth was it scared the living shit out of him.

The elevator opened up on the 12
^th
floor and Cole made his way down to his room. Opening the door, he dropped his duffel on the bed and opened up the curtains looking down at the city street. It was a bit like La Concha on Duval Street. Twelve stories up, he couldn’t hear the music or smell the warmth of the Latin American city life, but he knew it was there waiting for him. The room was quiet. The air conditioner purred like a kitten. Cole dialed it down a few degrees and drew the curtains again. He opened the mini fridge and pulled out a Miller High Life. It was most certainly there for gringos like himself. No self-respecting local would touch the stuff, of that much he was certain. Cracking the bottle cap open on the lip of the dresser, he tipped it back and drained half the bottle in one swoop. His thirst taking hold, Cole drained the rest with a second swig.