ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE (16 page)

Wary
after being “outed” by that damned policeman, Jackson decided to do his
surveillance on foot. He parked the car close to the tourist area of Ybor City
and made his way back to Leon’s house, taking a circuitous route to avoid being
spotted. He realized he was getting paranoid, but didn’t want to take any
chances.

It was
around nine-thirty and a moonless night made it difficult to see. Jackson
squeezed behind an overflowing Dumpster and waited—for what, he wasn’t sure.
After only ten minutes, he was ready to go home to the comfort of his
apartment. The stink of rotting garbage and lingering heat from the sun beating
on the concrete all day sank into his pores, making him dizzy and nauseous. The
occasional scurrying feet of some four-legged critter only made things worse.

Besides
that, mosquitoes were making him their late-night snack. With little success,
he waved his hand frantically in front of his face
to ward
them off. They seemed to return as quickly as they departed.

He was about
to call it a night, when a van pulled up and stopped directly behind Leon’s
backyard. It was the break Jackson had been hoping for. All he had to do now
was make sure that van contained the human cargo he suspected it held and then
call police, hoping they arrived while the victims were still inside. It
shouldn’t be that hard.

As he
stood up, a startled cat fled, knocking over a pile of beer cans. He quickly
stooped behind the Dumpster, lowering his head in an effort to somehow make
himself smaller. After a few seconds, hearing nothing, he got on his feet.
That’s when he felt cold metal press against the back of his neck and heard a
voice shout, “Leon, get over here. We got company.

Waiting
for the latest shipment of illegals to come through the back door, Zac sat at
the kitchen table perusing his travel brochures. Not only did he suspect Leon
may be using cruise ships as a means of “importing” his so-called product, but
he wondered if the man used it as a means of the occasional “export” as well.
He had no proof, of course, any more than the police did. It was only a gut
feeling.

As he
looked at the colorful pamphlets, he couldn’t help but think how great it would
be to go on one of those trips. The flier he held in his hand was for five days
starting in Tampa, with stops in the Grand Caymans, Mahogany Bay and
Belize—wherever the hell they were. By the looks of the photographs, they were
tropical places. How cool would that be?

He was so
focused on pictures of the gleaming cruise ship with its festive passengers,
placid ocean scenes and endless beaches, complete with scantily-clad beauties,
that he didn’t hear Leon approach.

“Hey,
Zac,” he called out, “Look what we found.”

Zac
glanced up and saw the last thing he expected: Jackson being hauled through the
door, a gun at his back. Struggling to keep from acknowledging their
relationship, Zac avoided eye contact with his brother.

“Oh yeah?
He come in the van with the others?”

“No,
stupid. He look like one
a them
women who don’t speak
English?”

Zac
shrugged and scrutinized Jackson. His brother, shorter than Zac anyway, seemed
to have shrunk by several inches.

“Guess
not. Where’d he come from?”

“He was
hiding in the alley
watchin
’ us unload the van.”

“Really?
He with the police?”

“Don’t
know. Didn’t have ID. Says not, but why
else’d
he be
out there this time a night?”

Zac
shrugged. “What’d he say?”

“Said his
old lady kicked him out ’n he
wuz
searching through
the Dumpster for food.”

“Maybe
it’s the truth.”

“Yeah,
right. Look at him. Way he’s dressed? He look like someone who’d have to
rummage through garbage to find food? Even if he’s telling the truth, wouldn’t
he just spend the night at a hotel or with a friend?” He thumped Jackson hard
on the back.

“You.
Sit.” Turning to Zac and nodding toward the new arrivals, he said, “Take them
upstairs while I sign Sam’s papers and figure out what to do with him.”

Zac took
a hard look at his younger brother.
Why the hell hadn’t he stayed away?
As usual he’d stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong. But this time he might
pay for it with his life.

The whole
time he was upstairs watching the latest “shipment”, Zac brooded over what he could
possibly do to rescue his brother. No matter which way he looked at it, the
endpoint was the same: they’d be found out—and would pay a heavy price for
their deception.

Leon was
not a forgiving man. He’d consider Zac a traitor. After all, he’d provided a
place for Zac to stay when he had nowhere else to turn. If he discovered Zac
was a snitch, well, as they say in those old Westerns, his life wouldn’t be
worth a plugged nickel.

One of
the girls nudged him and pointed to the bathroom. He nodded. Why they felt his
permission was necessary, he didn’t know. A pattern had been established when
they entered the room and, one by one, the women sought his approval to go to
the toilet. It made him feel like a school teacher. At least he didn’t ask if
it was for “number one” or “number two.”

Leon came
up with a tray of rations: some kind of sandwiches, soup, chips and cans of
pop. The women were so hungry, they seemed grateful, as though it was a
feast—which maybe to them it was. Who knows when they’d eaten last? Zac
wondered what would happen when they reached their final destination and
realized they’d been duped; there’d be no fancy education or high-paying
job—only a slave’s life of endless work or sexual exploitation.

One
pretty young girl looked particularly hopeful. She smiled at him as she dug
into a baloney sandwich and sipped her drink. At the thought of what she faced,
a surge of anger tore through Zac. Unable to make eye contact, he swallowed
hard and looked away.

Before
Jackson’s unexpected appearance, Zac had begun to think about dumping this gig.
By now Izzie was probably dead or in some Middle-Eastern harem. The police
hadn’t been able to catch Leon and his cronies in the act. And from what
Detective Anders said, human trafficking in the U.S. was so pervasive, catching
a few victims or traffickers here or there wouldn’t make a dent in the problem.
Why bother?

That’s
the frame of mind he’d been in to the point he’d seriously begun to think about
taking one of those cruises and then heading back to Iowa. Now with Jackson’s
arrival, all that changed. What a freaking mess.

It was
after eleven and the “guests” were thankfully gone. When Zac had escorted them
downstairs, he expected to see Jackson at the kitchen table under Leon’s
watchful eye, but the room was empty.
Where was he?

While
Leon was outside finishing up with the distributor, Zac took a quick tour of
the first floor, thinking his brother had been stashed in one of the rooms, but
there was no trace of him. Sweat erupted on his temples and under his armpits.
The temperature in the room seemed to spike. He could scarcely breathe. Did
Leon murder Jackson?
Oh God, no, not that.

He loved
his younger brother. Yes, they’d had their differences. If he was honest, Zac
had to admit his younger brother’s success gnawed at him.

Five
years older than Jackson, Zac had always been something of a screw-up, taking
the easy way out, never thinking beyond the next drink or hookup. Their parents
had tried to “motivate” him by comparing his younger brother’s accomplishments
to his failures.

To say it
didn’t work, would be an understatement. It didn’t make him want to succeed, or
go back to school and get some training. It just made him angry—at his parents,
at his brother and at the world. And now? Dad was dead. Mom alone. And his only
brother?
What had Leon done with him?

The back
door slammed shut signaling Leon’s return. How could he bring up the topic of
Jackson? He’d have to be careful.

“So,
they’re on their way?”

“Yep.
Another day, another dollar, so to speak.”  Leon swept his hands together,
a relieved expression on his face. “I’m always glad when we move them out
without nosy neighbors causing problems.” He stooped down and retrieved Tiny’s
food bowl. “Feel free to feed him when I’m busy,” he said. “I don’t gotta do
everything around here,
ya
’ know.”

“All
right. Sorry about that.” Zac stretched and yawned. “It’s been a long day.” He
looked around as if checking for something. “Say, where’s that guy?”

“What
guy?”

“You
know, the one you found in the alley. You let him go?”

“Don’t
worry. I took care of him.”

“What do
you mean? What’d you do?” Zac knew he shouldn’t quiz Leon. The man had a sixth
sense and would quickly figure something was up.

“Nothing.
What’s it to you anyway?”

“I just wondered,
that’s all. He saw me too, you know and can cause me as much grief as you. If
I’m going to be part of this operation, I need to be able to cover my ass.”

Leon
hesitated, as if trying to decide whether to let Zac in on a secret. Then, he
shrugged. “Follow me.”

They went
into a back room, a kind of office which held a desk and several chairs. A
built-in bookcase took up part of the wall.

Zac was puzzled. They’d been
talking about what Leon did with Jackson and now the guy was showing off his home
office?
What the hell?
He was about to ask Leon about Jackson again,
when the man moved the desk, pressed something on the side of the bookcase and
pulled. It rotated, revealing a hidden staircase. Zac was astonished. He’d only
ever seen such things in movies.

Leon snapped on a wall switch and
gestured for him to follow. As they went down the steps, the space opened up
into a room. On
the bottom step, Zac blinked to
accustom
his eyes to the dim light. After a few seconds, he could make out several objects.
Then what he saw caused his stomach to drop.

Lying on a cot was Jackson.
His eyes were closed, his mouth agape. Bruises on his face
appeared swollen and bluish-black. Cold fingers of dread coursed through Zac.
He took several deep breaths. He couldn’t let Leon see how upset he was.

"He
dead?" Zac managed to keep fear from overtaking his voice.

"
Naw
. I drugged him. He'll be out a long time—or at least
till we take care of him."

 Zac
stood over the bed, looking down at his brother. He hadn’t a clue what Leon had
in mind. Before he had a chance to speak, Leon pointed to a steamer trunk
stashed in the corner.

"We'll
stuff him in that and send him on his way."

He's
going to dump Jackson in the Gulf?
Zac's
heart drummed in his ears. How could he prevent Leon from killing him? He
glanced around the room for something to smash over the man’s head. That’s when
he remembered Izzie. With Leon dead how would they find her? He knew in his gut
Jackson would never forgive him if he did something like that.

"How's
that?" He managed to say casually, as if asking about dinner plans.

“What?”
Leon turned toward Zac, drilling him with his dark eyes.

“I just
wondered what the plan was.” Zac had to work hard to keep his voice on an even
keel.
Tell yourself you’re talking about Leon’s favorite ball team— the
Rays?

“Oh yeah,
you haven’t done this before. I keep forgetting you’ve only been here a few
days.” Leon slapped Zac on the back. “See how fast I got used to depending on
you?”

Surprised
at the compliment, Zac forced a grin and wondered how to cash in on it. If Leon
had begun to have confidence in him, maybe he’d let
him
“dispose” of his
brother.

“That’s
what I’m here for.” He said, drawing on the acting experience he’d learned in
high school theater
. “So, what
d’ya
want me to do with him?”

Leon
looked from Zac to Jackson and back. “He’ll be out a long time. Let’s go
upstairs and we’ll talk about it.”

Tiny was
asleep in the corner, enjoying the feel of cool cement against his body.

“C’mon
boy,” Leon nudged the dog with his foot. “Let’s go.”

Back
upstairs, Leon rotated the bookcase making sure it was securely locked. “Get me
a beer.”

They sat
around the kitchen table drinking the last of the Coronas, Leon’s favorite. Zac
made a mental note to buy a case the next time he was out. Leon flipped through
the brochures Zac left on the table.

“Hey, you
wanna
go on a cruise?”

He said
it as though it occurred to him out of the blue. It was the last thing Zac
expected. He thought he’d be ordered to dump Jackson’s body in a sugarcane
field or a canal somewhere for alligators to find.

“A
cruise?” Zac didn’t bother keeping the astonishment from his voice.

Leon
threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t be so shocked. You were talking about
it earlier.” He spread the brochures out in a fan and waved them in the air.
“So,
wanna
take a cruise or not?”

“Hell,
yes,” Zac said. This time his enthusiasm was genuine, even if he was still
puzzled. Why would Leon be so generous all of a sudden? Only a few hours ago
he’d said he had neither the time nor the money for a cruise. “When do we
leave?”

“
We’re
not going—
you are
.”

Zac was
even more confused. What was Leon getting at? “I am?”

“Yes. You
are. And you’re taking our buddy downstairs with you.”

All of a
sudden the murky picture came into focus. Leon wanted Zac to spirit Jackson out
of the country in a steamer trunk. For a moment he was at a loss for words.
What do you say when your boss demands you do something that may very well mean
the death of your only brother—and when refusing’s not an option?

“I am?”
he repeated.

“Yes,
you’re going to take care of this for me, and here’s how.”

“Sounds
like maybe you’ve done this before.” Zac tried to make it sound like an
observation rather than an accusation.

“You could
say that.” Leon didn’t gloat—exactly, but to Zac he seemed proud.
Right.
Delivering people into slavery was an accomplishment all right, but to his way
of thinking it wasn’t worth bragging about.

“Well,
it’s not a cruise exactly, but close enough.”

“What do
you mean?” If it wasn’t to be a cruise ship, what did Leon have in mind?

“It’s a
yacht. Ever been on one
a those
?”

“A
yacht?” Photographs of beautiful people lounging on a gorgeous craft danced
before Zac’s eyes. “Where’re you gonna get something like that?”

A smug
expression crossed Leon’s face. “I got connections. In this business you got to
have ’
em
or you’re dead meat.” He spoke as though
tutoring a particularly slow child. “First we need to get you—and our friend
downstairs—passports. Don’t worry about it. I have a guy who takes care of that
stuff. Already called him. I took a picture of the guy, so we just need one of
you—unless you have a passport. Do you?” He looked hopefully at Zac.

“No.
Never needed one of those,” Zac said.

“I didn’t
think so. They’ll be ready tomorrow. I also called about the yacht. You leave
tomorrow—with the trunk, of course.”

“What
about customs? Won’t it be searched?”

“
Naw
, they don’t usually bother us. They’ll think you’re
just another tourist going deep-sea fishing or riding in a fancy boat.”

“But
won’t he suffocate, I mean being in a trunk like that?” Zac was frantic. How
could he possibly rescue Jackson?

Leon
snorted. “Dude, I’ve done this a time or two and haven’t lost one yet. If they
die, I don’t get paid; so
ya
’ think maybe I’m
motivated to do it right?”

Zac
scratched his chin. “Is that what happened to that Izzie girl? You ship her off
some place?” He realized the question was out of line, but he had to at least
try.

Leon’s
face took on a sad mixture of sorrow and rage, then he glared at Zac. “You ever
bring up her name again you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

He’d hit
a nerve. That must be precisely what Leon did.
Izzie’d
been carted off in a steamer trunk. Now he had to find out where.

After a
few minutes during which Leon got himself under control, he said, “So, your
passport’ll
be ready and the yacht’s booked. All you gotta
do is get on and keep your eye on the trunk. Here’s the key. Give it to the
buyer when you get there.”

Zac
noticed how Leon always used business lingo when referring to his illegal
activities. Maybe it was his way of justifying what he did—making it appear to
be legitimate.

“When the
ship arrives in Belize—”

“Belize?
We’re going to Belize?”

“Yeah,
didn’t I tell you that?” Leon seemed amused.

“No, you
didn’t. How far is it?”

“Around
800 miles. It should take a little over two days, assuming there’s no problem
with the weather.”

“So, the
guy—you know, the guy downstairs—he’ll be in the trunk the whole time?”

“Yep.”

“How? I mean,
he’s gotta have food, water, be able to use the bathroom. Besides, being all
curled up in a trunk for two days, I wouldn’t do that to a dog.”

“Good
thing you’re not in charge, then, ain’t it?”

The
expression on Leon’s face said don’t mess with me. Zac knew that look only too
well.

“If
you’re not up to the job, I’ll take care of it.”

The way
Leon said it reminded Zac of a parent trying to get their kid to take out the
trash. He couldn’t risk letting Leon
‘take care’
of Jackson. “I’ll do
it,” he said. “Does the guy who owns the boat know what we’re doing?”

“Not in
so many words, I mean I think he’s figured out we’re not exactly Boy Scouts,
but he doesn’t ask questions long as he gets his money.”

He took a
final swig of beer and tossed the empty bottle in the garbage. “Once you get to
Belize, the
buyer’ll
be waiting for you at the dock.
You deliver the trunk and the key; he pays for the merchandise and your job’s
done. That’s all there is to it.”

“Do I pay
for the boat too?”

“
Naw
, I take care of that upfront. Anything else?”

“Be okay
if I stay a few days? I’ve never been to Belize. I’d like to look around if
it’s all right with you. I could fly back.” It was the only way Zac could begin
to extract Izzie and Jackson from the mess they’d gotten into.

“No problem,
but don’t stay too long. I want my money,
ya
know and
I need your help around here—now that I’ve gotten used to it. And, Zac…don’t
even think of running off. As you probably figured out, I have a big network of
contacts. One word from me, and
you’ll
get a trunk of your own.” Leon’s
expression said he meant every word he said.

“Hey, you
don’t need to worry about that.” Zac put on his “you can trust me” face and
hoped the man bought it.

Leon
stared at him, then leaned back in the chair with a satisfied look. “So, think
you can get the job done without screwing up?”

“Absolutely,”
Zac said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He had to succeed—with
his own mission, not Leon’s. The consequences of failure were simply too
horrible to contemplate.