Buzzard Bay (14 page)

Over the years his biggest customer was a man named El Presidente who ruthlessly controlled the Colombian drug trade for years, but lately his influence had begun to slip. Most of the people in this business were entrepreneurs who didn’t like to be held back, and the Mexican market gave them the opening they were looking for. Still El Presidente had the best contacts in the Caribbean, and the Bahamas had remained a safe reliable distribution center.

Emilio knew El Presidente’s man in the Bahamas. He was well connected in the government and had developed a system of corruption that reached to the very top. Once he had these government people on the take, there was no turning back. A few had tried to stand up to him with disastrous results. Emilio paid this man well to keep certain points open to him. That’s why he was so confident this night as he sighted the outline of North Andros Island sparkling in the moonlight.

“There it is, Paulo,” he shouted over the loud music and throttled back a bit. The strip was ideally situated, very remote, and at the end of a lake. He could stay low over the mangrove swamps between the ocean and the lake then over the lake on to the landing strip. The strip wasn’t so bad as strips go, the coral packed hard like asphalt, making it smooth to most of the places they had to land. It was also one of the few landing strips long enough to accommodate larger aircraft like his, but it was still touch and go. Usually as he came in over the lake, the pickup people parked along the runway turning on their lights to show him the strip. Tonight there was nothing. He looked at the clock on his dash.

“I am a bit early,” he told Paulo. “We might have to unload ourselves.” He was glad he had brought Paulo along.

The moonlight alone was almost bright enough to land by, but his plane was equipped with special landing lights that could light up any area he wanted without drawing too much attention. He turned them on just at the end of the lake, throttling back dropping in.

“What the fuck?” was his first reaction; he hit the throttle, the plane almost in a stall, struggling to recover.

“Someone’s plowed up the fucking runway,” he shouted, trying desperately to keep his machine in the air.

Most planes would never recover, and Emilio wasn’t sure this one would either. Instantly, the trees appeared at the end of the runway, and then the plane all of a sudden caught some air and started to climb. Even Emilio was surprised as he saw the trees disappearing and the stars enter his vision. In fact it caught him off guard.

“I’m getting too high,” he told himself, as he quickly tried to level out and then get down out of radar range.

“Shit!” He’d forgotten to shut off his landing lights. He killed the lights as he brought the plane back over the lake and out to sea. He took a deep breath, probably only few seconds from death, he thought, feeling the adrenaline flow as only a man who has faced death and survived it can feel.

“You almost killed us, man,” he heard Paulo whine as he shut off the stereo and began to search the night sky.

“Did I get too high and did someone see my lights?” he asked himself. He circled the shore area for a few minutes watching for anything that might be coming his way. Nothing yet; he started to breathe easier.

“Paulo, get the door open and start dumping the stuff,” Emilio told Paulo, but Paulo didn’t move.

“Now,” he said, pulling out a revolver and putting it to Paulo’s head. Paulo got the message and scampered to the back. He heard the trap door open as he kept his vigilance.

At the American base on Andros Island, a blip appeared on the radar screen.

“I’ve got contact with an unidentified,” the operator called on the radio, giving the coordinates.

A helicopter pilot to the south of the island responded, “I don’t know how in hell he snuck in here, but I have visual contact. I can see his lights.”

“I’ve lost him now,” the Andros base operator stated an instant later.

The helicopter pilot broke in saying he had lost visual, but his radar was still showing something. “I think he’s still there.”

imultaneously, two more choppers were airborne with the intention of surrounding their prey.

“Hurry up, Paulo,” Emilio shouted, frustrated by the amount of time it was taking Paulo to dump the bundles. They were already tied together, all he had to do was start one bag and the rest would follow; the bags would float and look after themselves just get them off the plane, all he wanted to do was get the hell out of here.

All of a sudden, his eye caught something; a helicopter appeared out of the island trees. He saw the flash at the same time as he felt the missile slam into the side of his plane. The explosion was deafening. The plane seemed to slide sideways across the sky. Emilio could feel the heat scorching the back of his head.

“I’m in hell,” he thought instinctively fighting with the controls, and then there was another explosion. This was to be the last thought he’d have in this world. Zeze never really missed him. El Presidente was moving her into one of his houses and was going to look after her personally.

Captain Horatio Norton stood watching as the men gathered up what was left of the canvas bags from Emilio’s plane. It should have been the police here picking up the bags; instead the government had sent in what was described as private contractors to handle the job. Word had traveled fast around the islands; Horatio knew some of the bags were already missing. Locals had reported seeing a fishing boat and some smaller boats being here early in the morning. He shuddered; we’ll have trouble now, there had been crashes before and always the island suffered from the after effects. Each time a wave of violence and crime followed, usually among the young on the island.

Horatio had grown up on this island and except for a short period of training in Nassau, he had spent his life here, starting as an officer, leading up to captain of the small island force. He remembered when the island had only one small holding cell, and often it wasn’t locked. Now they had a new modern building with lots of holding cells, and quite often they were full.

“I just hope it’s not my kids who got involved,” he thought.

His oldest boy and daughter were in secondary school; his son would soon be off to Nassau to attend the college there. They were good kids but naive and curious, susceptible to the temptation of drugs as were most of the kids on the island. Most of the people here were poor, too poor to be a market for drugs, but now with this batch floating by for the taking, the island would be saturated with a cheap source. Horatio shook his head; most of these drugs were destined for the states. Why do they have to involve us? He also knew that when a load like this went missing, heads would roll. There were certain activities he had been ordered to overlook on this island. These orders came from very high up in the government. When something like this happened, a very dark cloud surrounded the island. A very dark cloud indeed.

TWELVE

T
HE YOUNG GIRL
quietly crossed the room to a bed where the man and woman lay. She threw aside the covers from the man and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. She reached for his limp member and began fondling it. Slowly, it began to respond. The man moaned and opened his eyes. He watched as Greta bent down and ran her tongue along the length of his shaft; again he moaned. The woman beside him opened her eyes.

“Good morning, Greta,” she said, kissing the man and then laying back to watch.

“What are you doing up so early, Greta?” the man asked. It was one of the few times he’d seen Greta smile.

“Is it early?” she giggled.

“I should have known better than to ask,” he said, seeing the glaze in her eyes and knowing by the giggle she was still high from last night’s drugs. That’s all Greta was good at, partying and fucking.

Although not very old, Greta had left school for the streets long ago. The man knew she wasn’t very old, but how old he never asked. It was better he didn’t know.

His member was at full attention now as she took a rubber from its plastic wrapper and pulled it over his erect penis. He loved the sensation it gave him when she slipped it over the head and then rolled it down over the shaft. She seemed to inspect her work and then apparently satisfied, began to mount him.

“No,” he said, motioning toward the mirrored chest of drawers along the wall.

Greta looked at him, “I need a hundred marks,” she told him.

It was extortion, plain and simple, but he was in no condition to argue; he grunted and nodded acceptance. She knew exactly what he wanted. She got up and went to her mother’s closet, coming back wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes, and then she went to the chest of drawers and bent over it facing the mirror. Greta was not very tall; the shoes raised her high enough that the man could enter her from behind. Her body was small and firm; he felt so big and powerful inside her. He looked into the mirror hoping to see pain on her face. He was disappointed; her eyes were watching his in the mirror. There was no expression on her face at all, just a cold, blank stare.

“You bitch,” he thought and tried to stroke harder.

The woman who had been watching from the bed got up and came over to the man. She was older, a bit plump but still a beautiful woman. She rubbed her nipples along the man’s back and then reached down and rubbed his balls from behind. She felt them tighten and then release.

“God, I’m horny,” she thought. The man was mad; he was upset because Mona had rubbed his nuts making him cum quicker than he wanted to. Deep down he knew he was upset because he couldn’t make Greta squeal and ask for more. He stood there a minute, his legs too weak to move. Greta waited patiently for him to uncouple himself from her, and then she walked straight over to where his pants were folded on a chair and pulled out his wallet.

“There are more than a hundred marks there,” he told her as he saw her taking it all.

“You didn’t tip me last time,” she answered as she kicked off the high heels and left.

Mona led him into the bathroom; she pulled the rubber off his half-limp dick and flushed it down the toilet then started the shower for him. She left him and went back to bed; soon she heard him singing in the shower. It didn’t bother Mona that he had screwed Greta rather than her; in fact, she preferred it that way.

Mona knew that Greta would bring some of her friends home with her as soon as the man left; she would get one or more of the boys into her bed. Two were better anyway. Sometimes they came too quick, and she’d have to work on them to have seconds, which was hard work. If there was more than one, she could lay back and enjoy it.

The man came out of the bathroom and got dressed. As he walked through his apartment to the front door, he came across Greta’s friends; a boy and a girl asleep on the couch. On his big chair sat a young man with green hair and a biker’s jacket. He was smoking a cigarette and staring off into space, but he seemed to sense the man’s presence.

“Hey man, how’s your every little thing?” The man just grumbled, wondering if Greta had told all of them he had a small dick. He picked up his coat and went out the front door.

The man’s name was Erik Grundman, but most people just called him Grundman. In fact, most people who knew him called him “asshole” or “that prick.” Grundman was a deviant, and everyone knew it. He liked women all right, but he liked them kinky and the more perverse, the better. He hated anything legal or moral and did his best to bend anything to do with either of them. Grundman was a con man, racketeer, and small-time hood with big-time connections. Everyone hated him, but he was the kind of guy you needed if you wanted something done, something illegal that is.

He was born in Germany and lived in Germany, but his office was in Zurich; this was very suitable for his type of business. It made it very difficult for the authorities to do anything with Grundman, because of the different laws and jurisdictions between the two countries. His dual citizenship allowed him to travel freely using whichever passport suited him to ply his trade. There is always a demand for certain services out of the ordinary. In most cases, Grundman didn’t actually handle these services, but he knew who did. If someone wanted money laundered, he could arrange it. If someone wanted someone put “out of the picture,” he had the contacts. Anyone who traveled on the “shady side of the street” in the business world used guys like Grundman as a contact man when they needed something done that couldn’t go through proper channels.

One of Grundman’s many problems was that he screwed up a lot and was always in hot water. Why he wasn’t dead no one knew, but he was resilient, recovering quickly from one disaster after another, often coming out smelling like a rose. It also helped that he knew some very influential people in the world, some of them were public figures. It was amazing who would use his services and what their needs would be.

Mona had been with him for years. She had been his secretary in the early years and became a lover somewhere along the way, mainly because she had the same basic instincts and morals that Grundman had. He gained a lot of clients by granting them Mona’s sexual favors. Grundman used her sexually too and though she was game for anything, she tended to be lazy. He preferred his woman to participate a little bit.

Those were heady days for Grundman; he had lots of money, and this opened the doors to excesses he never imagined possible. It was then that he met Lena. It was impossible to pronounce her last name so she was just called Lena K., her last name’s first initial. She claimed she was Austrian, but no one really knew; in fact, no one really knew much about her at all.

Her story was that her mother was a countess who fell on hard times and had made a living going from one rich man to another until her beauty began to fade. In order to live the life she was accustomed to, her mother introduced Lena to her world at a very young age, but when her mother became terminally ill, she sold Lena to a German government minister so she wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands.

Lena was street smart, classy, and beautiful. The German official moved her into a residence in the city not far from where he lived, but the minister had a wife and family so he was away a lot, leaving Lena to herself. She loved throwing lavish parties in his absence. At one of these she had met Grundman. Somewhere during this time, she indicated to Grundman that she would be interested in meeting other influential men. Lena had found the right person, and Grundman had his first client for his escort service.

Unfortunately, the minister found out about Grundman, mistaking him for a lover. The minister put the police onto Grundman. They found out that he might be involved in a lot more than just trespassing and soon had him for fraud. If it hadn’t been for lawyer Krugman and Mona, who covered up a lot of evidence, it would have been far worse. He hadn’t been able to carry on any business while this was going on, and while he got off scot-free, the costs broke him. He couldn’t afford to pay for his and Mona’s apartment, and no doubt about it he needed her, and he owed her a lot so he did the only thing he could do—he brought her home to live in his apartment.

“Only till I get back on my feet,” he thought. She was still there.

At this time, Grundman had no idea that Mona had a daughter. In fact, it took a while for Greta to even find out where her mother had gone. Not that she cared, except when she needed money. Greta had never known who her father was. She’d seen a progression of men pass through her mother’s bedroom. It had never really bothered her; in fact, most of the men were very good to her. Mona’s lifestyle suited Greta just fine; they lived very well. What Mona didn’t like was having competition in her own home. She came home one day to find Greta blowing her latest housemate on the couch, so Mona kicked her out. Greta knew her mother wasn’t tough enough to nor would she take the time to discipline her anyway, but she did move in with some other kids at a commune of sorts.

It was run by some street-level drug dealers who supplied a place to hang out and do drugs in return for sex. This suited Greta’s lifestyle, and Mona didn’t care as long as she was out of her hair. Greta would still show up at her house with some boys and just to piss her off, she’d fuck them on the living room couch. When Mona complained and told her to get out, Greta offered her to some of the boys, Mona didn’t complain any more. When Mona moved in with Grundman, she knew he wouldn’t stand for this arrangement, so rather than tell Greta where she was going, she just left.

It took about a month for Greta to find her. Grundman came home to find a young blonde girl dressed in a leather miniskirt, black studded jacket, and motorcycle hat, talking to Mona in his living room. She looked Grundman up and down turning him on instantly. Mona didn’t introduce her to Grundman, so Greta did, telling him who she was. She began showing up more and more, bringing her friends in the afternoon. They’d get high and in general fuck around, and Mona was able to get them out before Grundman got home.

Grundman was very busy rebuilding his business at this time. His mother had been Swiss, so he was able to obtain a Swiss passport and set up an office in Zurich away from the scrutiny of the German police. Mona, for some reason or another, was very computer literate. She did most of the office work right from his apartment in Germany.

To start with, Grundman’s main income was through Lena. The minister had not been able to get rid of Lena as easily as he had Grundman. He didn’t know Lena was underage, and it had cost him a lot of money and would for a long time. She knew that once she had a man by the balls, she wouldn’t let go. She used this money to set up an elite escort service and hired Grundman as her go-between. She thought of Grundman as a snake but a snake with good contacts and no morals.

Grundman never thought of himself as a pimp, but he was good at it, and their business was flourishing. He was in love with Lena; he had wet dreams of fucking her over the railing of a tall building where she would be completely under his control, responding to his every command; one slip and she was gone begging him not to let her go over the edge, at the same time begging for more. He’d had her once; he’d gone off before he even got started. It had cost him a thousand marks, and she had given him a taste for very young girls. Someday, he’d be rich and she’d come to him, by then he’d have a penthouse on top of a high building. Until then, he was sure he could find a young girl he could afford.

One night, he came home to find Greta sleeping on his couch. This perturbed Grundman and he complained to Mona. What he didn’t tell Mona was that Greta turned him on. He got a hard-on just thinking of that black leather. He imagined her with a whip riding him naked, lashing him on. It made him so excited he climbed on top of Mona and fucked her that night, something he didn’t do much anymore. Mona knew that Grundman’s sexual pleasures were on the edge of being perverted. She’d been around men a long time; none of these things bothered her as long as she lived a good life, with most everything she wanted, without having to work too hard for it.

Mona even enjoyed Grundman’s little Friday night poker sessions. He would bring some friends or business associates to his apartment to play poker. The highlight of the evening would be when Mona crawled under the table and blew one of the players. If he couldn’t keep a poker face, he lost the pot. Of course she never blew Grundman so he never lost, but no one complained. Then she would lie around on the couch half-naked, distracting them enough so they played poorly. If they were big winners, she would take them into the kitchen and suck them off. Sometimes while she was administering to one of his clients, Grundman would come in and fuck her from behind. He wouldn’t let her fuck anyone else. She was his chattel and therefore private property. He couldn’t imagine anyone else having been in her. In his mind, it was all right if she had oral sex with these guys, but Mona was the only woman he would fuck without a contraceptive. He would stick it in anyone or anything, but he was deadly afraid of being diseased and always came prepared.

One night Grundman came home early to find Greta on his bed with a young boy on top of her. He tried to pull the boy off, but the kid was strong and was having nothing to do with it until he was finished, and then he got up and left on his own. Grundman watched as Greta got up naked in front of him and stretched. Her pert little tits made his mouth water, the nipples still erect from her lovemaking. Her eyes went up and down his body, and then she left, walking into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Grundman stood fixed to the spot. He was so turned on, he almost came in his pants.

Mona was working in the den he had turned into an office. Grundman came in raging to her at what he had seen and if he found Greta here again, Mona could pack her bags. This alarmed Mona; she had a good thing going on here, and she didn’t want to lose it. On the other hand, she knew a lot about his business, and she wasn’t sure he could actually kick her out. Grundman fucked her again that night. This was highly irregular, and she began to suspect it was really Greta that he was fucking, not her. Well, if she couldn’t control Greta, maybe she could use Greta to control Grundman, and she knew Greta wouldn’t mind in the least.