Buzzard Bay (44 page)

July reached into her handbag and pulled out the $50,000 all in nice crisp American bills. She laid them in front of Gator on his desk. He looked at the money in shock; this was not what he expected.

July walked around the deck and stood beside him. “I believe I have kept my side of the bargain, will you keep yours?” Gator started to protest then he looked up and realized that he forgotten to shut the office door. All his employees stood looking at him through the doorway.

He’d look like a fool if he didn’t sign now. He was also very aware of her presence. He could feel her body next to his; a faint smell of perfume and sweat filled the room. He picked up a pen and signed the agreement; July in turn signed it. “We need a witness.” She looked toward the mechanics. Gator cursed under his breath; they were all witnesses and all on her side. He called one of them in, and he signed the document.

“There,” she tousled Gator’s hair, “we have an agreement.” She took his hand and shook it. All the mechanics followed her out to the jeep to see her off, but Gator stayed behind his desk. He still had a hard-on and was not about to let his boys razz him about it. He was pretty confident that before long Mrs. Green would be back to see him hat in hand, then he’d show her that black and white goes very well together.

July was elated; she took the old jeep out to the main highway and opened it up letting the air cool her body. Then she passed by the airport and posted her documents on the first flight back to Nassau. She took a walk around the hotel grounds to get her mind on track then headed back to the guesthouse only to find Fauna Norton sitting on her front step.

Fauna was Horatio Norton’s youngest daughter. Rikker and she knew each other since middle school. The last few years Rikker had spent most of his time with the Nortons, they had become like brother and sister.

“Fauna, have you been crying?” July asked as she walked up to her. Fauna burst into tears; July put her arms around her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s about Rikker,” Fauna sobbed. For an instant, July’s heart stopped beating, and then she heard Fauna say, “I’m so embarrassed.”

July heaved a sigh of relief as she realized this was something personal. “It’s okay, Fauna, tell me what happened.”

“If I do, he’ll be so mad at me he’ll never talk to me again.”

“I think you need to talk to someone about this,” July tried to sound reassuring.

Fauna burst back into tears, “I have to tell you because you’re the only one he’ll listen to.”

July remained quiet; Fauna wiped her eyes. “Rikker been seeing this girl. She’s older than us, very pretty. I think she’s Haitian because she’s new to the island. Rikker’s been following her around like a little puppy dog. All us girls are mad at him; you can tell she’s had lots of men before, but he won’t listen to us. He’s always protecting us girls. If any of the boys do something we don’t want, they have to answer to Rikker. But will he listen to us? No. Anyway, I went down to the beach last night to hang out for a while. There was a group of girls standing around talking. They said this girl had told them she didn’t want Rikker to go away to college, so she was going to let him make her pregnant so he would have to stay here and look after her.”

Fauna looked up at July. “Rikker doesn’t want to stay on this island, Mrs. Green. We used to spend hours down on the beach talking about what we thought was on the other side of the water. I couldn’t just let him throw his life away, so I walked down the beach looking for them. There they were laying in the sand, and Rikker was on top of her. I felt I had to do something so I ran over to them and rolled Rikker off her, but then his… well, you know… his thing popped up in front of me, and then it spouted at me.”

“It did what?” July asked.

“Well, I guess the proper word is it ejaculated all over the front of my shirt. I’m so embarrassed, Mrs. Green. He gave me this disgusted look, and then I just ran away.”

July tried to lighten up the situation. “Well, you’re going to the States to study biology, I guess that was one hell of a first lesson.” But Fauna was not in the mood, so July just held her for a while. “You’re a very brave girl, Fauna, and I’m very grateful. Rikker’s a wild boy, reminds me of his father when I first met him. He needs an education and some direction. If you and your friends can’t help him, then I guess it’s time his mother did.”

July was on the phone the rest of the afternoon; her jubilation on getting the hotel had worn off. Rikker was the most important thing on her mind now. When she heard his motorcycle coming up the lane, she stepped out onto the porch to meet him.

“Hi Mom, I hope you’ve got supper on. I’m starved.”

“Sit down, Rikker. You and I have to talk.”

“What’s happened, Mom, is something wrong?” he said, hurrying up the steps, looking concerned.

“Fauna was here. She told me what happened last night.”

“Oh jeez, Mom! That’s embarrassing. What I do is none of her business.” He flopped down on a chair.

“So that’s embarrassing to you. Well, what’s embarrassing to me and your friends is you’ve been screwing around with a girl who’s already married to a young man whose family is supporting her. She has a baby whom her grandmother is looking after, and she hasn’t seen her for a week.”

July sat down beside him. “You were having unprotected sex with a woman you didn’t even know and never once thought about the consequences. Her intent was to get pregnant. Then who would look after the child? She obviously won’t and you can’t, so who would? The answer is obvious, isn’t it? So in the long run, she saved my ass.”

Rikker put his face in his hands. “Is this all true, Mom?”

“You know mothers have ways of finding out these things, Rikker.”

“God, I’m just like Dad, aren’t I? Running off and doing something lamebrain that gets you in trouble.”

July had to be careful how she handled this one. “There’s a lot you don’t know about your father, but yes, you are like two peas in the pod. One thing you have to understand is whatever trouble we got into, we always had each other and friends to help us out, but there were always consequences, and these are yours, Rikker. I know college doesn’t start for another month, but I’ve been talking to Mr. Novak. I think you met him at the hospital in Nassau.”

Rikker nodded his head as July continued, “He has agreed that you can go to work for him until school starts. He has a room off his villa that you can live in while you go to school, and if you want to continue working part time, you can, or you can say goodbye to all of us and go live with your woman.”

Rikker asked meekly, “When do I leave?”

July gave no ground, “Tomorrow, so I suggest you go and make amends with Fauna. Mrs. Norton’s going to live in Nassau, and Fauna and her brother are going to school in the States, so you won’t be seeing them for a while, might as well say your goodbyes.”

There were tears in Rikker’s eyes. “Thank you, Mom.” They stood and hugged each other for a long time. He stepped back and looked at her, “Even when we’re apart, we’re together, aren’t we?”

“Yes, always, no matter what happens.” She watched as Rikker walked toward the Norton house; she couldn’t resist shouting after him, “Tell Fauna you’ll buy her a new shirt.” She laughed as she got the finger from Rikker.

“Don’t push it,” he replied.

Those two decisions—buying the Andros Hotel and sending Rikker off to college in Nassau—were the best they’d ever made, July thought as she helped get the kitchen ready for breakfast. Bob hadn’t woken up in a sweat for months now. In fact, he was lucky to get any sleep at all. The early morning participants in the pool had faded away with the coming light, and Bob was out cleaning it.

The first year had been a tough one with her away so much doing the tourism gig. Then the ad hit TV’s in a brutally cold North American winter. All hell broke loose; the hotel was suddenly inundated with people, and they never looked back. People seemed to love the charm of the old hotel. They had leased a beach and bought Sea-Doos and other toys to keep their guests entertained during the day then supplied them with a bar and bands at night.

There wasn’t much time for sleep, but Bob and July didn’t mind; the hotel was making money, and they had no problem making their second payment. Rikker had successfully completed his second year of college. His grades were okay, and he loved his job with Novak, although he couldn’t actually tell them what he did because it was top secret.

Mindy had been their biggest source of inspiration. She had worked her way up becoming the manager of a large hotel in Minneapolis. Bob and July were not prepared for the influx of guests and were totally overwhelmed until Mindy came to their rescue. She spent her holidays helping them train new people and getting their house in order. She still sacrificed some of her weekends to fly down to help them; she’d been a real godsend, July thought as she went out to help Bob clean the pool.

TWENTY-FIVE

A
RED HAZE HUNG
in the early morning air as Henekie walked across the field. It was covered with dead bodies, and carnage was everywhere. Around him, he saw soldiers walking; they were his friends. He saw Ginter and yelled at him, but for some reason no one could hear him. This surely must be hell, Henekie thought, as that’s the only place a man like Ginter would be. Then he heard a voice, and it certainly wasn’t a friend. The voice he heard was Bernard’s, the police interrogator, and the man he was talking to was the prison superintendent. The prison super was obviously very agitated. “I’ve got Amnesty International breathing down my neck, and in three days the Americans are coming to interview this guy. If they see him like this Bernard, we’re both fucked.”

“Give me one more day. I know he’s right there.”

“Fuck! You’ve been telling me that for a week now, Bernard. Get this man cleaned up and down to the infirmary.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bernard told him. “The people down there will rat us out. My man here is a medic. He knows what to do.”

“No more, Bernard! We have to keep this man alive, and then we have to figure how in hell to get out of this mess.”

Maybe you should talk to Krugman. He seems to want this prick.”

The superintendent scratched his head. “Maybe you’re right. He’s the one who’s behind Amnesty International getting involved, and you can bet there’s an ulterior motive.”

Bernard picked Henekie up by the neck and stuck his face in front of his. “So you think you’ve won, you murdering bastard? You think the Americans are going to be easier than me? They’re going to cut your balls off.” He turned to his two helpers. “Take this stinky bastard down to the showers.”

What Bernard didn’t know was that Henekie was screaming at him, “Please let me tell you I can’t take this anymore.” But somehow no one was listening; he didn’t realize he could no longer talk. Bernard had grabbed him by the throat one too many times. The two guards dragged Henekie to the showers where he dropped to his knees trying to brace himself against the icy blast of water about to hit him. It took a while for his senses to realize that the water was warm. He hung his head, letting the water splash over his body, the aroma of flowers surrounding him. At first he thought he was in heaven, but he knew that couldn’t be true; there was no place there for a man like him.

Henekie was aware that he had left the Bahamas by the skin of his teeth. Sir Harry would be pissed that he’d outfoxed them, and even in Cuba, he wouldn’t be safe. Now that Interpol had computers and satellite communications around the world, it was becoming very dangerous for him to move around. That was why he preferred to work in backward or poor areas where communications were not so good. From Cuba, he had taken a direct flight to Liberia. There, a Cuban passport was like gold.

Liberia had been in chaos for years. The Americans pumped money in by the truckload to prop up a corrupt government. The Cubans had no money, but they supplied the local government with arms and expertise. They also supplied the many factions with expertise on how to run a revolution there; in theory playing both sides and as a result took the Americans’ money out by the boatload back to Cuba. It was common for a boatload of humanitarian aid to come into harbor and overnight be unloaded onto a Cuban freighter. The Cuban freighter would in turn unload its cargo of arms onto the humanitarian ship to be unloaded onto the docks in the morning. This was where Henekie felt at home. He had been a mercenary most of his life and still would be if it hadn’t been for Ginter. “This is a fool’s game, Henekie. The money’s not that good, and sooner or later your luck has to run out.”

Well, Ginter’s luck had run out but not before he’d shown Henekie there was a lot of money to be made in this business. Monrovia, the capital of Liberia, was a bustling seaport city. There he had contacts that moved mercenaries around Africa for a price. He waited a couple of days to make sure all the warlords along his route had been paid off then made his way overland to Algeria. There, Ginter had set him up as an Algerian national which gave him the right to travel to France. His work permit said he worked for a private security service and was to be employed as a bodyguard for Algerian diplomats. This enabled him to cross over the German border. He stayed in a hotel for a couple of weeks just to make sure he wasn’t under surveillance and to check out Rona’s house.

“The one thing you never do in this business is fall in love,” Ginter had told him. “Sooner or later, she’ll turn on you or someone will find out and use it against you. Either way, you’re dead.”

Henekie wasn’t in love, he told himself, yet every time he’d pass Rona’s house, he felt something inside he’d never felt before. This was something he didn’t understand; she wasn’t beautiful, she had no money, and she had three kids. Yet he thought about her all the time. How many times had he lain at night dreaming of sleeping on her soft breast? He told himself that maybe if she didn’t have a man staying with her, he might stop in and say hello, but that’s it.

The fact was that there was no place else for Henekie to go. He’d lost all his other contacts, so his options were either to go back to being a mercenary or back to Germany where he had the potential of finding new people in need of his services. Grundman, he’d found out had been nothing more than a messenger boy, but who was his boss?

Henekie racked his brains trying to remember something Ginter would have said that gave him a clue. Ginter had talked about an asshole lawyer but had never mentioned any names. A lawyer by the name of Krugman used to ride with the motorcycle gang once in a while. Henekie had dismissed him as a nobody at the time, but what a perfect way to meet with Ginter when he used to ride with the gang. Krugman was obviously not a lightweight. His office was in one of the most prestigious buildings in Munich. Over the next couple of days, he learned something else about Krugman; everywhere he went, someone was following him which meant Henekie would have to meet him somewhere else.

Henekie began frequenting the bars where his old motorcycle friends hung out. He let it be known he wanted to meet with Herr Krugman. When they asked why, he just told them he knew Ginter. His persistence paid off. One day, as they were out riding, one of the gang waved him to follow him into a rest area. When they stopped, Henekie noted that two other riders had stopped with them.

“So I understand you’re looking for me?” The man who spoke wore a helmet with full-face visor which he didn’t bother to lift.

“If you’re Herr Krugman?” The man nodded but didn’t say anything. “My name is Henekie, and I worked for Ginter.”

“That means nothing to me,” the man answered.

Henekie was becoming frustrated. “Does the name Grundman mean anything to you?”

The man started his machine. “I don’t think I like this conversation.”

Henekie had to let it all hang out. “I was part of a team that worked for Grundman. I’m the one that got away up in Canada.” The man shut off his machine and lifted his visor to reveal he really was Krugman.

“How did you find me?” Krugman wanted to know.

“It wasn’t easy. At first I thought Grundman was you, but it soon became obvious that he didn’t have the brains. Ginter told me he used to ride with an asshole lawyer, and I remembered your name being mentioned among the gang, so I put two and two together and came up with you.”

“That’s funny because I cannot remember riding with a man named Ginter. The only one I knew personally was the liaison between Grundman and me,” Krugman told Henekie. “He would ride with us, I would give him the assignment and negotiate a price, and then he’d take the information back to Grundman. You are right. Grundman was an idiot, but he had control over this group of men that took care of our problems without anything coming back on us so we put up with him.”

“Describe this man to me would you, Herr Krugman.”

As Krugman described the man, Henekie began to laugh, “That man was Ginter.”

Now Krugman began to laugh too. “We knew Grundman was a weasel and wondered how long it would take Ginter to figure out he was being screwed. Ginter negotiated the deal before Grundman ever even knew what was happening.”

“Yes,” Henekie added, “and Grundman took all the risks because everything went through him but if he tried to take more than his cut, Ginter would make sure to get it out of him.”

“Brilliant man, this Ginter, I just want you to know we didn’t sanction that hit up in Canada. That came from someone in the Bahamas.” Krugman sounded apologetic.

“Yes, I figured that out,” Henekie told him.

“We do business with him, but it’s all done through intermediaries. All we know is he controls that whole Caribbean,” Krugman added.

“Someday, I’ll find him. Until then, I need some work,” Henekie told him.

“We always need people with your qualifications, Henekie. Ride with us next week, and we’ll talk business.”

Henekie started up his bike and pulled out of the rest area. He was elated; there had been a great deal of risk to his returning to Germany, but then he was in a risky business. Herr Krugman and the two other riders watched Henekie ride away. “That’s a very dangerous man,” one of them said.

“Yes,” Krugman answered. “That’s why we’d better make sure he’s on our side.”

Henekie’s risk at returning to Germany was paying off financially, but there was something missing. He’d been too busy with other things to spend a lot of time finding out about Rona. He’d been by her house a few times and made a few observations. One was that the house was not under observation, and the other was that it seemed to be unoccupied. He couldn’t blame her for finding a man and moving in with him. He certainly hadn’t been much help to her, and she did have a family to feed. Still he was curious as to where she was. He asked some of the bikers if they’d seen her, but no one seemed to know anything.

After leaving Krugman, Henekie decided to make a pass by Rona’s place. In North America, it would be classified as a town house he guessed, being as it was joined to the buildings on either side of it. In fact, it looked like every other building on the street except for the color of the door and the number on it.” Maybe she’s just away visiting someone,” Henekie thought as he parked the bike on impulse and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the key to the front door. He decided to go in; maybe she had left something inside that would tell him where she had gone, he reasoned.

Henekie opened the door and went to step inside, but the barrel of a gun appeared right between his eyes impeding his forward progress. Henekie remembered what his old instructor had taught him, “If you hear the shot, you’re already dead, but if you don’t hear the shot, it means the man holding the gun doesn’t want to shoot you, and the advantage comes back to you for the next five or six seconds.” Another gun appeared behind that one.

“Come on in,” he heard a voice behind the second gun say. Henekie relaxed; he’d have to wait for his next advantage.

There were three men inside the house and not much else. The interior walls had all been stripped leaving only the studding. The kitchen table and four chairs were all that was left of the furniture. One of the men frisked Henekie and then guided him to a chair. “We’d almost given up on you.” The second gunman seemed to be the boss. He looked at Henekie’s passport. “Why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Henekie answered. “This is Rona’s house, what have you done to her?”

The boss walked over and whacked Henekie in the head. “Why are you here?”

Henekie cowered a bit, “I work as a bodyguard for a French company. They gave me a few days off, so I came here to see Rona.” One of the men took Henekie’s passport and was immediately on the phone to see if what Henekie told them was true. Henekie had no trouble giving them information that might help him, and that’s how it went; the men would beat on him a bit, and he would give them only what he thought they should know. Some more men came, and they all talked over in a corner.

Henekie overheard them say that his story checked out. “Maybe I’ll get away with this yet,” he thought.

There was a bit of an argument, but finally, the boss won. “Take him and put him in high security. I want fingerprints, blood work, ass search, photos, and then get everything out to Interpol. I think we have their man.”

“I want a lawyer,” Henekie told them as they cuffed him.

“Get him out of here.” The boss man gave him another whack in the head. Henekie didn’t mind; he’d like to whack himself in the head for being so stupid.

Twice they almost let Henekie go, but each time someone would come along to change the German authorities’ minds. The Americans were sure they could identify him then; the Canadians were sure they had their man. There weren’t too many countries in the world that Ginter and his crew hadn’t in some way caused problems, and they all wanted a look at him. The autopsy on the bodies up in Canada had all been identified, but one was inconclusive.

This man and the one that got away carried Argentinean passports. They were of German descent, the sons of high-ranking Nazi officers who had escaped there after the war. The Argentinean government denied the existence of these men, and most police officials believed one of these men was still hiding there, so no one was sure which of these men was actually dead. “Could this be the missing man?” Some thought so, but no one could prove it.

Henekie’s passport was legitimate as far as passports go. Many of these were issued to sons of French soldiers married to Algerian women. The records were poorly written or sketchy at best, but his seemed legit and gave him French residency.

Eight months rolled by and as Henekie had hoped, people began to lose interest in him. He passed his time reading every book about computers that he could lay his hands on. The fact that he was in isolation required that he keep his mind occupied, and his curiosity about these machines led him to be referred to as the “Geek.”

The police forces of the world had not been able to pin anything on this man, so the German Secret Service decided to turn Henekie over to the local police to see if they could get him on some internal issues.