Buzzard Bay (17 page)

“Don’t be stupid, Grundman. This is a chance to meet a very important man, and you’ve had some dealings with Waddell who didn’t have the time of day for you. Now you get to watch him squirm.”

“How will I know what to do?” Grundman sounded insecure.

“You will stay in room #206 at the new Crystal Palace. It’s a corporate room, the best and totally paid for. You will be paged there, go to the front desk, and ask for line number 4 to make your calls, got it?”

Grundman nodded his head. “When do I leave?”

“This afternoon. I’ll drive you to the airport, and don’t worry, the cartel loves you. After all, you’re the man who they call when they want Ginter to do the dirty work for them.”

Grundman felt better when Krugman reminded him of that; still, he’d never traveled much, and this was a whole new world for him.

It was early spring in Zurich; Grundman still had his coat over his arm when the heat hit him as he got off the plane in Nassau. He definitely felt out of place among the scantily dressed tourists he’d been on the plane with. As soon as he got out of the airport, he did his business with the bank and then headed for his hotel. He told the hotel what room he was in. They couldn’t do enough for him, but all he wanted to do was get some sleep; it had been a long flight.

A phone call woke him up. It was the front desk. “Your car is here, sir.”

“Are you sure you have the right room,” Grundman answered half asleep.

“Yes, sir. Mr. Waddell sent it around.”

Grundman was awake now. He decided not to bother with a coat and tie; it was just too hot. A big black sedan waited for him; the night air offered some relief from the heat, but he appreciated the air con inside the car. The driver refrained from entering into any kind of conversation, so Grundman watched as the car seemed to enter some kind of warehousing area and stopped behind an old dilapidated-looking building.

“This is it?” Grundman asked looking around. “Are you going to wait for me?”

“Yes, sir,” the driver told him.

There was a naked light hanging over a door, so Grundman guessed that was how he was to enter the building and went inside. At the far end of the room, he could see a man sitting behind a desk.

“Come in, Grundman. One can’t be too careful in this business, can they?” Grundman had his confidence back now.

“What did you bring me?” Waddell asked.

“Only directions.” Grundman toyed with him.

“Directions. What do you mean directions?” Grundman knew he was in the driver’s seat.

“You and I are to be on a plane to Cuba at ten a.m. tomorrow morning to have a meeting with El Presidente.”

“They sent you all this way to tell me that?” Waddell seemed puzzled.

Grundman decided to turn the screws. “I guess he’s not too happy with what’s going on here.”

This brought the black man out of his chair with a speed that startled Grundman.

“They know fucking well what’s going on.” Waddell raged. “The Americans got Noriega in Panama by the balls, and they’ve threatened to do the same to the government here in the Bahamas.” The black man sat back down.

“The government’s scared shitless and saving their own asses,” he told Grundman.

“They told me you’d know which plane to take to Cuba.” Grundman thought he had pushed things far enough.

“Yes, yes, I’ll pick you up at your hotel at nine tomorrow morning,” Waddell waved at Grundman as if dismissing him. The driver was waiting for him and drove him back to the hotel, leaving Grundman wondering if Waddell would indeed show up in the morning.

Grundman would not have blamed Waddell if he hadn’t shown up, but he did. In fact he showed up early, taking Grundman to buy some clothes a little more suited to the Bahamian heat. He looked good in a white suit and Panama hat, something he wouldn’t be caught dead in back home. Waddell didn’t show any stress as they flew over the blue waters and islands between Nassau and Cuba. There they landed on a small gravel strip close to the water. It was Grundman who was feeling sick, never having flown in a small plane before. They walked over to a dock where they could see several yachts parked offshore. A speedboat came along from out of nowhere and picked them up letting them off on what Grundman thought to be the biggest of the yachts.

Waddell was good until the lift started to take them to the upper decks, and then he started to sweat and squirm around. Somehow, this turned Grundman on. The fear of death was leaving a smell that quickened his breath; his mind wondered what it would be like to screw that big black ass as he thrashed about drawing his last breath.

El Presidente came over to meet them, shaking hands and putting his arms around them, spoiling Grundman’s erotic thoughts. He sat them down to lunch served by one of the most beautiful women Grundman had ever seen, taking his mind off Waddell’s ass and on to hers. Latino, he thought, probably about the same age as Lena and Greta; he’d read about Latino women in smut magazines, but this was the first one he’d seen. Hot blooded, well, she made his blood boil. He was so enthralled in her he almost missed El Presidente begin to interrogate Waddell.

“We are not pleased with what’s happening in Nassau. We feel you’ve lost control.”

“Look,” Waddell responded, “I can’t just walk in and kill everyone in the government. The appropriate actions are being carried out, but it takes time. The Americans have everyone scared. I’d like to let things cool off for a while.”

“We know all this, but of all people we thought we could count on you. With this Panama situation, all our traditional routes are under heavy scrutiny right now,” El Presidente told them. “We want this route kept open. In a few months, other routes will become available, but right now you’re in the hot seat.”

Waddell sat silent for a moment. “What do you propose?”

“Well, for one thing, money will be no object, but we’re going to demand a lot from you,” El Presidente told him. “The thing we are really pissed about is you not telling us about the airstrip on Andros being plowed up. We lost our best pilot, let alone close to three million in product. We pay you well. What’s going on?”

“I told you they’re scared shitless,” Waddell retaliated. “The people who ordered this done are at the very top. They had a secret meeting with the CIA, and the next day things began happening. I didn’t have a chance to know what was decided, let alone stop it. Hell, it usually takes this government a year to decide what shoes to wear and then a year to put them on. In the last two weeks, they’ve plowed up runways, sunk a few boats, confiscated airplanes, and already started the foundation for a low-level surveillance radar station on Antigua.” Waddell sat back shaking his head, “It’s going to take more than money.”

Have you heard of a man named Tom Newton?” El Presidente asked Waddell. They had Grundman’s full attention now.

“Yeah, yeah,” Waddell answered. “He wanted to start a farm over on Andros. His problem is he’s got no money and is trying to get the Bahamian government to float him a loan. In fact, I saw him last week. He thinks I can get him a loan, but the only reason I went out there with him was to see for myself that the runway had been plowed up.” Waddell turned to Grundman. “I hear he spent a lot of money trying to get funding out of you.”

There was only one way Waddell could know that; his agent in Bowling Green, Mr. Holmes, must have told him. “He’d have to put a stop to that,” Grundman thought.

“Forget all that,” El Presidente told Waddell, “this is no time to turn this into a pissing match. The point is, Grundman has found funding for Newton to start up the project. We’re supplying five million to him, but what he doesn’t need to know right away is he’s going to have a partner who is supplying the rest. Your job will be to fast-track the project through government.”

Then El Presidente turned to Grundman. “We think Newton will do anything to get his money. He’s to get down here on the next flight and told his first priority is to have the airstrip open so he can start bringing supplies in. Tell him he’s to bring in ten of his so-called technicians to start on the land. He is not to bring in any heavy equipment or operators, that will be supplied as government funding. We want that airstrip ready within a week, and he is to be told that his people are to stay away from the airstrip and the work there. The only part of this project they are to be a part of is the day-to-day operation of the farm itself. Once the airstrip is functional, Waddell will tell Newton about his partner.”

“It will be one of our nongovernmental organizations. El Presidente turned to his beautiful companion, “Zeze, would you bring me my book, please.”

he went into a room beside them with tinted sliding doors; as she slid one of the partially opened doors to enter, they saw the outline of a man sitting inside and evidently listening to every word that was being said.

he came back out carrying a book which she handed to El Presidente. He thumbed through the book mumbling to himself until he found what he was looking for.

“Here we are. Man, someone was doing a good job of collecting donations for this one, All Peoples Care Organization, or APCO, as its better known. They’ve got close to ten million in the kitty. Perfect for this project. We’ll start releasing funds immediately, of course we’ll take their clean money and replace it with some we need to clean up, you guys know how it all works.

These NGO’s work well for us, but we will need Newton and his farm to show what their money has done for Andros. So you both know your jobs. Grundman, you’re to get Tom Newton and his people down here as quick as possible, so we can make this project look legit. Waddell, you’re to get the government to sanction this project pro bono, explaining to them all labor and equipment will be local and supplied by the NGO.”

Zeze brought them drinks and some Cubans, as the small details were ironed out. A man came to tell them their boat was ready. As they got up to leave, El Presidente came close to Grundman and said into his ear, “I don’t like the way you look at Zeze.”

Grundman froze in his tracks, and then El Presidente smiled and punched his arm.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she, but what can I do? She’s my dead pilot’s grieving wife. I must look after her,” he winked. They shook hands.

“Say hi to your man Ginter,” El Presidente told him. Grundman nodded and left knowing he had dodged a bullet. He was Ginter’s contact man, and that may just have saved his ass.

On their way back to shore, Waddell tossed his cookies over the side of the boat, but facing death had a different effect on Grundman; he got hard. The excitement of facing death and surviving it turned him on. He couldn’t explain why, it just did.

“I think I need something to fuck,” he told Waddell.

“All right, which do you prefer, black or white?” Waddell asked.

“Both,” was Grundman’s answer. On the plane ride back, both men discussed the day’s events. “Who do you think the man was in the room listening to what we said?”

Waddell was slow to answer. “There’s a rumor in the islands that there’s a man called the Referee. He’s supposed to be the one who solves problems between the cartel and the Americans. If this was true, I doubt he has much influence anymore. Myself, I doubt he ever existed, there’s not much I don’t know about in the islands.”

Grundman woke the next morning without a hangover. Cocaine, why didn’t he know about it before? You could fuck all night and wake up without a hangover. He looked at the two girls getting dressed and reached for the bag beside his bed, but one of the girls took it away.

“No way, baby. Remember we’re taking you out on the town tonight.” She reached over and rubbed his limp dick. “You better make sure you both get some rest.”

Grundman smiled; he went back to sleep. It was afternoon when he woke up again. His mind wondered what was in store for him tonight, and then it hit him; holy shit, he had to get in touch with Newton. He was less than five minutes getting down to the main desk and getting his line.

His fear was that Holmes would be out of his office, but he got an answer right away.

“Jagwar Holdings,” he recognized Holmes’s voice.

“This is Grundman. Hi, how’s things?” Holmes sounded happy.

“Have you talked to Tom Newton lately?” Grundman asked.

“Hell, yes, he phones every day, the son of a bitch is a real bulldog,” Holmes answered.

“Well, that’s good, Holmes, because you can tell him his funding’s come through.” Grundman listened as Holmes talked excitedly into the phone.

“Why did you tell Waddell that Newton was dealing with me, Holmes?”

Holmes stuttered into the phone, “I thought you were both working for the same people, so when he phoned me I told him you were trying to get Newton some money.”

“You fuck,” Grundman yelled into the phone. “You don’t think there might be a conflict of interest there, do you?” Holmes didn’t answer, so Grundman continued. “The next time he phones, you phone me and tell me what he wants, okay?” Then he proceeded to give Holmes the exact instructions he was to give Newman and he finished with “If I don’t think you’re telling me everything Waddell tells you, then you can fucking well go after him for your commission,” and hung up.

Next, he phoned Mona. The phone rang beside her bed. She ignored it, paying attention to the young man working on top of her. It continued to ring, and finally she reached over and lifted the receiver.

“Hello,” she said. It was Grundman asking how she was. “Fine,” she told him.

“Anything new at the office?”

“No, it’s pretty quiet here,” Mona answered then put her hand over the receiver and moaned. The young man pulled back and rammed into her again with an evil grin on his face. His lunges were driving her crazy.

“Please stop,” she gasped, trying to hear what Grundman was saying. The young man stopped just long enough for her to take her hand off the mouthpiece and then began stroking into her.

“I have to go to the bathroom, Grundman, goodbye,” she gasped into the phone, feeling the orgasm start as she hung up the receiver.

“You bastard,” she said affectionately to the boy on top of her. Mona was relaxed; she was sure she heard Grundman say he wouldn’t be back for a few days. She looked over to see Greta passed out at the foot of the bed.