2 Queenie Baby - Out of Office (4 page)

Argh! Schooled by a pirate. He was right, of course, I thought dejectedly.

"Where's the plank?" I asked, feeling the martini going to my brain. "Might as well walk it now and get it over with."

Carlos leaned forward and patted my leg. "No need to scuttle the ship, m'lady. We'll find a solution."

"So I've got to ask." I paused to take another swig of my drink. "This whole pirate thing." I waved my hand around. "What's it all about? I mean do you actually go on stage as a pirate?"

Carlos looked uncomfortable.

I glanced over at Andre. His eyes were dancing as he waited for Carlos' response.

"Roger and Phil don't feel the public is ready to embrace my pirate heritage. But I'd rather be keelhauled than pretend to be Justin Bieber with a Spanish accent." He shook is shoulder-length black hair. He had the whole Johnny Depp thing spot on.

I was starting to get a feel for this situation. "Maybe you should mutiny," I suggested.

Carlos stared at me for a few moments. "Aye, m'lady, that's always an option. But my coffers are a wee bit small. And mutiny is a luxury that I can't afford quite yet. But I like how you think," he said, pointing his cigar at me.

My phone rang. I didn't recognize the number. I gave Carlos a one-sec finger.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" Mark demanded.

"Where are you?" I countered.

Mark sighed before answering. "At the hotel, looking for you."

"Didn't you get my texts?" I asked.

"No, I lost my phone."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," he replied impatiently. "Where are you?" he repeated.

"I'm at Carlos Rodriguez's house."

I turned away from Carlos, adding in a whisper, "He's a pirate, Mark."

"What?!" he yelled loud enough for everyone to hear.

"He's a pirate," I said loudly into the phone. "A pirate is singing 'The Rum Song.' How funny is that?" I hiccupped.

"Are you drunk?" he asked loudly. I pictured his hand raking his hair. I made a mental note to suggest he start using Rogaine.

"You don't have to yell. I tried to call you, and I sent you two texts. And in answer to your question, I might be drunk."

"When did you send the texts?" His voice was suddenly serious.

"About thirty minutes ago, why?"

"Because the goons chasing David and Charles have my phone. What exactly did you say?" he asked with concern.

"All I said was that I was going to Carlos Rodriguez's house and that 'The Rum Song' was being sung by a pirate."

I thought I heard Mark mutter a swear word. "Great, now they know where you are."

I rolled my eyes. "And why would they care?"

"Because Charles and David owe them, and I'm these guys' only lead to get to those two idiots." He paused. "Strike that. I
was
their only lead. Now they have two." 

Crap. He had a point.

"Look, they've got my phone, and I don't want to take any chances. Put Andre on," Mark ordered.

"Oh, so now you want to talk to Andre," I began sarcastically. Andre sat up in his chair and motioned me to hand him the phone. I swatted his hand away. "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"Diana, these guys have guns. Do you have a gun?"

The word 'gun' had a sobering effect on me. Maybe I should let the professional handle this.

"He wants to talk to you," I said, handing the phone to Andre.

Andre took the phone, said a few words, and then handed it back to me. "We need to leave," he announced, turning to Carlos. "Get dressed. I'll call in more help, but in the meantime I want you both in the limo."

Excited by the prospect of treachery, Carlos sprinted off to his room.

Andre turned to me. "This place isn't exactly a secret with all the girls partying their way through the door. It won't take these guys long to figure out where you are."

"This is ridiculous."

Andre's eyes showed real concern. "I can't take the
chance. Mark said you were in imminent danger."

"What does he know about '
imminent danger'?" I asked. "He's a real estate developer."

Andre pursed his lips. "He might be that as well."

"As well as what?" I asked.

"Diana, your boyfriend's a spook."

Andre's phone rang, cutting off the questions surging through my head at his announcement. I waited impatiently for him to finish.

"What were you talking about?" I demanded as soon as he hung up.

"Not now. I've got to get more security out here."

"Not now? Are you kidding me, Andre?"

Only Carlos' dramatic entrance in full pirate regalia, including a wicked looking cutlass, could have distracted me.

"I am prepared to do battle with these bilge rats," he announced from the top of the veranda.

Andre shook his head in disbelief.

I wondered for the hundredth time how this guy was a better choice to sing my song than I was. Roger and Phil had a lot of explaining to do.

Carlos squinted off into the distance. He pulled a spyglass from his belt and peered through it. "Sail Ho!" he cried.

Andre followed his line of sight, swearing softly at the sound of tires on gravel.

"Get in the car," he ordered.

He didn't need to tell me twice. I was pretty freaked out at how quickly the thugs had found me.

The driver started the limo as Andre opened the door.

But Carlos had other ideas.

"Say there, mate," he yelled to Andre. "We must defend our ship. Arm yourself!"

Andre's plan for getting in the limo and out of sight was quickly unraveling.

A tricked out SUV ground to a halt in front of the limo, blocking our exit. I heard the click of the locks and glanced up at the limo driver. He looked at me in the rearview mirror and put a finger to his lips. He drew something from his jacket pocket, and I heard the distinct click of a gun being armed. I lowered the darkened window next to me just a crack so I could hear the conversation about to take place.

I saw Andre put a hand up to Carlos, warning him to stay back. But Carlos was having none of it.

"Time to run a rig on these landlubbers!" Carlos exclaimed, swaggering down the steps looking for all the world like Captain Jack.

I watched as four guys exited the SUV. I guess two were the Miami gangbangers; heavy gold jewelry, droopy drawers, and an unmistakable attitude. The other two looked Hispanic and were much more low profile. Locals by the looks of it.

I heard Andre say politely, "Can I help you gentlemen?"

One of the gangbangers lowered his sunglasses and took a hard look at Andre. He sniffed and worked his mouth a little before saying, "No, I think we goin' help ourselves just fine. Whatcha think, Freddie?" he asked the guy next to him.

"I think it is what it is, my man," Freddie replied noncommittally.

And then they saw Carlos.

He must spend every waking moment studying the Johnny Depp pirate movies, because his entrance was nothing short of spectacular.

"Gentlemen," he called. "Welcome to my humble abode." He waved his hand grandly and descended the stairs.

The only noise was his cutlass clanking against his boots. It took the gangsters a minute to recover from the shock of Carlos the Pirate.

The ringleader asked Andre, "What up with that dude? He playin' in a movie?"

Andre shrugged. "He's a pirate."

The ringleader called back to the local gangsters behind him. "Man, I thought you said this dude was a singer. Not no crazy pirate!"

They replied in Spanish. I caught Carlos' name.

The ringleader turned again to Carlos. "You Carlos Rodriguez, the singer?" he asked.

"In the flesh," said Carlos, spreading his arms wide.

"Look man," said the ringleader, clearly rattled by the pirate costume. "Don' know what crazy-ass game you playin' here, but I'm lookin' for a shorty. Her name's Diana."

"There's no one here by that name," Andre said quietly.

The ringleader turned to Andre. "Don' think I was talkin' to you, slick. I was askin' the pirate."

"Well, I'm answering you." Andre shifted his stance slightly.

The ringleader glanced towards the limo. I jerked back and sank into the leather seat.

"Maybe Shorty's in the limo?" he asked, taking a step in my direction.

"Avast!" Carlos yelled, pulling the cutlass from his waist.

The ringleader turned towards him, propping his sunglasses on his head to get a better look. "What the fuck is wrong with him?" he yelled to no one in particular.

"He's a pirate," Andre repeated dryly.

Carlos brought his sword to fighting stance. "Depart now! Or no quarter will be given. I will cut ye limb from limb."

That got the ringleader's attention. "Jose," he yelled, "shoot this crazy mother fucker!"

A buzz of angry Spanish ensued. One of the men stepped forward.

"He is Carlos Rodriguez," he said rolling his r's dramatically. "He will put Puerto Rico on the map with 'The Rum Song.' We will do him no harm."

The gangster rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. "He's a crazy pirate. You throwin' in with a crazy pirate?"

"He is Carlos Rodriguez," said the man simply.

Carlos smiled and shrugged. "It's good to be Carlos," he quipped and swiped his cutlass in front of him.

Then he did the strangest thing. He spun around like a dancer, swiping his sword in figure eights as he turned. He leapt into the air and landed directly in front of the lead gangbanger. The tip of his cutlass an inch from the man's tattooed throat.

"I believe you have worn out your welcome. Or would you be wantin' to go for a visit to Davy Jones' locker?"

Andre's gun was in his hand and pointed at the two local gangsters. The limo driver had rolled down the window, and his gun was pointed directly at Freddie.

The two local thugs were backing away towards the truck.

Freddie said, "This place full of crazy people. Shit like this get you shot in Miami."

A muscle ticked in the ringleader's cheek. "This ain't over," he threatened. "Tell your girl I've got some questions for her and her boyfriend. An' I better not hear you nuts have been helpin' Charlie. That mother fucker's a dead man, and so is anybody that's helpin' him. Hear that, mamacita?" he yelled, banging on the hood of the limo.

He turned towards the truck. When he got to the door, he yelled, "I got a score to settle with you. Ain't no one, 'specially some crazy-ass pirate, gonna disrespect me. "He pointed at Carlos, and I heard him mumble, "Crazy, sword-carryin' mother fucker."

"I look forward to it, sir," called Carlos glibly with an exaggerated bow.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I watched the truck disappear down the road.

Andre opened the door.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sitting down beside me.

"I think so." I was a little shook up by all the guns. Kind of like being in the middle of a low-budget action movie. "What the hell just happened? How did Carlos do that?"

Andre smiled. "He's a pirate."

*  *  *

It took about thirty minutes for the backup security team to get in place. Andre had hired four more guards to make sure the compound would be safe.

I called the hotel room to let Mark know what had happened. His voice expressed relief at me being safe and irritation at me being with Andre in the first place. After a few minutes of verbal wrangling, he finally let it go and brought me up to speed on the David situation.

The meeting had not gone as planned. He'd met Charles and David at their motel, but Charles' bullet nick had required bandaging, so Mark had gone to a nearby drugstore. When he'd returned, the tricked-out SUV had been parked in front of the room. He had parked farther away and walked by, pretending to go to another room. It had looked like Charles and David had gotten away. Their rental car was gone. The thugs were tearing up the room, and they noticed him when he walked by a second time.

"Guess why?" he asked.

Uh-oh, I had a pretty good idea. "Because your phone was ringing?"

"Yep."
I could hear the accusation in his voice.

"I was just trying to keep you informed," I apologized.

"Yeah, well, unfortunately it informed the thugs of my presence, too." He sounded more exasperated than angry.

"But why would they assume you had anything to do with Charles and David? I mean at that point you're just some guy curious about what they're doing," I reasoned.

There was a long pause on Mark's end. "Because I had a run-in before with one of the Miami guys—Tyrell Fisher. He recognized me."

I felt like the room was spinning. "Wow, you keep pretty strange company for a real estate developer. Whatcha do, sell him a condo right before the big real estate bust?'

"No, the company I worked for before I was in real estate ran an investigation into drug-trafficking between Army units in the Middle East and the United States. His brother got twenty years in federal prison."

"Unbelievable—I've got to go. I'm starving, and Carlos asked me to dinner. You're welcome to join us if you can tear yourself away from chasing bad guys."

I was getting tired of all this cloak and dagger stuff. It was almost eight, and I was cranky and hungry. More importantly, I really needed another drink. Carlos had reservations at a hotspot restaurant not far from Mark's hotel. Mark reluctantly agreed to meet us there. If he was hoping to pick up where we left off this afternoon, I wasn't feeling it. And wouldn't be until I had some answers from him.

I glanced over at Carlos sitting across from me in the limo. He had changed out of his pirate garb into hip evening clothes and now looked every inch the successful performer. Andre sat next to me dressed classic body guard attire—expensive, understated suit with the unmistakable bulge of a gun as his only accessory.

"Champagne?" Carlos held up a bottle of Cristal.

"Sure, why not?" I glanced over at Andre, just itching to question him more about his comment about Mark, but not sure I dared in front of Carlos.

"How come you're not dressed like a pirate anymore?" I asked.

Carlos sighed as he handed me my glass. "I'm a pirate at heart. Ever since I was little, I knew I had Bluebeard blood in my veins. I've been a pirate role-player since I was twelve. And I still play at twenty-two," he added with a smile. "However, I understand Roger's and Phil's concerns regarding the marketability of a singing pirate. Of course, I wish it were different."

"So you just talk and dress like a pirate when you are at home?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Don't you ever worry about being found out? Or slipping in a 'Blimey, mate!' in the middle of a straight conversation?"

He nodded. "It happens occasionally."

"So Roger and Phil are making you keep your pirate-ness in the closet, so to speak?"

A frown creased Carlos' smooth tan forehead. "I suppose that's true, m'lady," he said slowly.

I made a mental note that he slipped back into pirate-mode when he was agitated. I shrugged. "I guess they know best. But if I was one of your fans, I'd want to know the
real
Carlos."

He nodded, mulling over the idea of letting the real Carlos express himself.

I took the opportunity to lean over to Andre and whisper, "What did you mean back there by spook?"

"A spook is a current or former CIA operative," Andre replied like he was reading from a manual.

"Why would you say that about Mark?"

"Because I recognize him from an overseas operation I was involved in five years ago."

"That's ridiculous!" I sat back, folding my arms across my chest.

Andre shrugged. "So ask him."

"I'm supposed to ask my boyfriend of two weeks if he is a spook?" I gestured with my hands. "He already thinks I'm a nut. This will just confirm it. He's a real estate developer for God's sake."

"Yep," he agreed, leaning closer to me, "and I've known lawyers, doctors and accountants who were spooks."

I just couldn't wrap my head around this.

"He told me he worked overseas for a couple of years for some college football buddies who had started a security business together after getting out of the military."

"Razor Edge Ops," he said matter-of-factly. "Yeah, I know those guys. They do a lot of behind the scenes work. Recon stuff."

"He said it wasn't as glamorous as it sounded. He has an MBA. He said he was their logistics guy. Does that sound right to you?" I turned to Andre.

I must have had a woebegone look on my face, because Andre put his hand on mine. "Hey, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with your new boyfriend. I'm sure most of what he told you is the truth."

Most? That didn't sit well with me at all.

"So what part isn't true?" I asked between clenched teeth. "For sure," I added.

Andre sighed and glanced out the window. "One thing I know for sure. He didn't work for Razor Edge Ops, they worked for him. At least that was the way it was when I worked there."

"You worked for him?" I asked in surprise.