The Death Box (30 page)

It wouldn’t last.

44

Without knocking, Orzibel entered Amili’s office, crossed to her desk and stood beside her. Amili was making calculations with a pad and pencil. Orzibel plucked the pencil from her fingers.

“Forget Kazankis’s numbers, Amili. Tonight we start making our own.”

Amili closed the pad and set it atop the ever-present laptop. She gave Orzibel a questioning eyebrow. “This deal with Chalk, Orlando? I am truly to receive twenty-five thousand dollars?”

“Ah, the money has your interest now?”

“I have never lost interest in money. Otherwise, how should I find myself in this place?”

“You’ve been here one year now, correct? A very prosperous year for a girl from the Honduran countryside? But we shall prosper tenfold in this next year, Amili Zelaya.” He winked. “In the business and in the bed.”

“Is Chalk coming here to the club, Orlando? Is there risk?”

Orzibel waved it away. “Risk is slight and to be shared. I am to pick up a Lincoln Town Car rented by Mr Chalk. Chaku will follow me to Marathon Key where Chaku will enter a certain bar. Mr Chalk will arrive by cab. When Chaku enters, Mr Chalk will exit, and check his merchandise. If satisfied, he will leave the blessed money and return to Key West in the Lincoln with a shiny new toy in the trunk.”

Amili closed her eyes. “Toy.”

Orzibel grinned. “Who knows, Amili Zelaya. Perhaps Leala Rosales will capture Chalk’s heart, just as you captured the heart of El Jefé.”

“Kazankis has no heart, Orlando. He has only desires. In his own way he is as sick as Chalk, just more sane.”

“Sometimes you make no sense, little whore.”

“I am to be your partner and you call me whore?”

“Amili … I make a joke. We can joke now, can we not? We have enjoyed one other to the fullest. And we will continue to do so, correct, my little … lady? Lovers and partners.”

Amili nodded toward the hall where Guzman sat. “You have no trust in your partner? I continue to be guarded.”

Orzibel moved behind Amili, his hands stroking her shoulders. “Only until little Leala has been delivered. You have not been yourself in matters of Leala Rosales. Fighting my wishes to discipline the mother, wanting to send Leala home when she is worth much money.” He lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “Did you recognize something in Leala, Amili … this girl delivered a year after you arrived? Do you see something I cannot?”

Amili sighed and shook her head. “Your mind is too busy, Orlando. You make me more than I am.”

“So you have no feelings for the girl? No
similitud
?”

“I saw only a danger, that’s all.”

Orzibel’s fingers slipped beneath Amili’s chin and turned her face to his. “Prove it then, Amili Zelaya. Prepare Leala for her journey tonight. Can you do that?”

Amili shrugged as if asked to paint a door. “Of course. She is an investment.”

Orzibel grinned. “Ah … here’s our true Amili Zelaya again. Maker of contracts, seller of flesh. Bookkeeper of souls.”

Taunts. All true. Amili spun away and stood. “Enough for now, Orlando. Do you have the clothing?”

“Let’s go and decorate Leala Rosales. She has a big date awaiting.”

The pair stopped at Orzibel’s office where several pink dresses lay on his couch. “I keep several sizes for Mr Chalk. They will get used.”

Amili picked the size she knew would fit Rosales and they went to the depths of the nightclub, through the sturdy gate and down the shadowed hall to a locked room. “Are you to follow my every step, Orlando? Or do you have more important tasks?”

“I will tell Chaku we are preparing to leave. Guzman!” He motioned the gangster to continue watching and strode away. Amili paused at Leala’s door, pushed it open. The girl was sitting on the bed, her eyes lost. Amili knew the look: the girl had given up hope.

“I warned you to behave, Leala Rosales,” Amili said. “This is not my fault.”

“How do you do this thing that you do?” Leala said quietly. “How do you look at yourself?”

“Shut up! Put on these clothes. Now.”

Amili threw the clothes in Leala’s face. Pink dress and shoes, white panties. With Guzman at her back, she set the red scarf carefully on the bed. “Put the clothes on. The scarf must be last. Keep it nice.”

Leala stepped into the clothes like a robot. Amili nodded at the ensemble. “Now give me your face.”

Leala closed her eyes and Amili applied lipstick and eye shadow and brushed rose into her cheeks. “Don’t touch it or Señor Orzibel will put it back on. You will not like his methods.”

“We must go,” Guzman said from the door. “I hear Señor Orzibel calling.”

Amili looked into Leala’s eyes. “Go to the bathroom and relieve yourself. I am sorry, it is all I can manage in the circumstances. But you have a sharp mind. Use it and let it take you away.”

Leala stared. “What are you saying?”

“Bathroom,” Amili pointed. “Now.”

Leala shuffled to the dirty toilet. Amili went to the door and stepped into the hall. Guzman started to push into the room but Amili stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“She is urinating,” Amili told Guzman. “So she will not piss herself on the journey. She will be out in
dos minutos
.”

Leala stepped to the toilet but was as empty in her body as in her heart. Something terrible was about to happen. She wanted to cry but her eyes had emptied as well. Everything was gone. She passed through the room for the door, but stopped. She had almost forgotten the headscarf. She plucked it from the bed and was surprised by its weight. Something was knotted into the fabric. She slipped loose the knot and a small black object fell to the bed.

A phone.

The yellow tab stuck to it said simply,
911 = Emergencia.

Amili returned to her office with Orzibel’s minions at her side. Guzman sat on the couch and ticked at the video game, the other gangster wandered the hall and sucked a soda pop. Music from below shivered the floor. Amili marked on a large pair of padded envelopes and snapped her fingers.

“The bank deposit is prepared. Can you be trusted?”

“Of course,” Guzman said. “I am selected by Mr Orzibel.”

Amili handed him an envelope. “The address is there, the bank downtown. It is closed until Monday but there is an outside deposit window.”

The man frowned in confusion. “I must watch you. Can Jorgé take the envelope?” He nodded toward the man in the hall.

Amili rolled her eyes. “Is he smart enough to read the bank address?”

“I will tell him where to find it.”

Guzman passed along the package and instructions. Outside, the twilight beaconed toward Tomorrow. “Now I must go to the bathroom,” Amili said. “Are you to watch me there as well?”

Guzman looked stricken: Orzibel was his boss, but Señorita Zelaya was also very powerful and rumored to be one of El Jefé’s lovers.

“You have no phone?” Guzman said. “I am sorry to ask such an impertinent question.”

“Search me.”

“I-I will have to touch you.”

“Then hurry, but do not let fingers linger.”

Face averted, Guzman patted Amili down. She went to the bathroom and closed the door. Her hands moved beneath the sink and found the packet kept for long days at the office. She returned with fingers rubbing her temples.

“I do not feel well, the migraine. I must be alone to take a nap.”

“I-I am sorry but I am not permitted to permit it.”

Amili frowned in thought, nodded. “Aha! There is a simple solution. I will go to the basement and take my rest there.”

“Basement?”

“So you can be certain no communications will take place.” She aimed an accusatory finger at Guzman. “Unless you people leave phones laying about down there.”

“Never! Señor Orzibel strictly forbids—”

“Then put me in a room and lock the door. I assure you Mr Orzibel will approve. You have found a good solution, Guzman.”

“Thank you, Señorita. Thank you.”

They descended into the stink of mold and the rustle of rats. Amili chose a small bare room centered by a yellowed mattress and stained pillow. Concrete bricks formed the horizon and pipes the sky: It was the room where Amili had been imprisoned one year ago.

Guzman looked uncertain. “Are you sure that you wish to rest in—”

“I will be fine, Guzman. Do not disturb me until Mr Orzibel returns. Tell him to come wake me with a kiss.”

45

“I bought four sleeping bags as you instructed, Orlando. And pillows.”

“Line the trunk.”

Leala heard tape stripping from a roll. Her ankles and wrists were crossed and bound.

“Careful of bruises, Chaku. I promised perfection.”

“A towel between her and the tape?”

“Yes. But make sure the tape is tight.”

Leala’s crossed legs pressed the small phone tighter into the junction of her thighs. Her hands were bound at her waist and she could touch the phone through her clothes. She was lifted from the warehouse floor and set into the padded cushioning of the Lincoln’s cavernous trunk.

“How is that, Orlando?”

“Like an egg in its nest, Chaku. A nest egg … how perfect! A symbol of our new wealth. There are other Chalks out there, and an endless supply of Lealas. Close the trunk, my large friend. Time to
vamos
.”

Leala’s world turned dark. Her fingers began clawing the fabric of the short dress higher.

We hovered afar for twenty minutes before a line of vehicles roared to Redi-flow like a cavalry charge, sirens their bugle, the blue lights beating like volleys from Remington rifles. Within five minutes a dozen men were belly-down on the lot with hands behind their heads. I aimed the glasses toward the hut, another four men on their bellies as the former slaves-to-be huddled in fear and confusion. It was time to put our feet on the ground.

We landed in the lot and the pilot buzzed off, the chopper replaced by Roy at the wheel of his Yukon. “Come look at something interesting,” Roy said, waving us inside. “You’re gonna love it.”

He roared across the lot to a semi rig carrying a bus-sized metal tank marked
Redi-flow Porta-Plant
. An opened hatch revealed a line of rickety benches bolted inside the tank. Gershwin and I stared in amazement.

“How’s that for a slave-delivery system?” Roy asked. “Even if the rig gets stopped by a cop, who’d look inside mixing machinery?”

We saw a black SUV barreling in, the door bearing the insignia of Homeland Security. The driver stopped beside us and Rayles exited, the implacable and chin-led face now looking worn and too far from sleep. I waited for Pinker to exit, but Rayles seemed to have left the pet monkey at home.

“There’s been a troubling discovery,” Rayles said as his weary face nodded toward the office. “Let’s go inside to talk.”

I shot a look at Roy and we followed Rayles toward the empty office, all occupants outside and being readied for a trip downtown. Kazankis stood to the side with hands cuffed behind his back and doing his best to look distraught. He saw me and did several frantic come-hither nods.

I kept walking. I’d get to Kazankis soon enough. We entered the spare meeting room and Rayles closed the door. Roy gave Rayles a
what’s happening?
look.

“It’s Robert Pinker, my adjutant, assistant, whatever …” Rayles stopped and seemed lost for words.

“What is it, sir?” I asked.

“Pinker is … He’s dirty, I suppose, as you people say.”

“Come again?” Roy said, eyes wide.

Rayles sighed and leaned against the wall with arms crossed. “I’ve been bothered by Robert. It started that day at the crime scene when I passed the case back to the FCLE, reluctantly, I admit. Did you find Robert’s behavior odd?”

“He almost went physical,” I said. “It seemed unprofessional.”

Rayles nodded at my assessment. “It wasn’t the deferential Robert Pinker I knew, respectful of my decisions. I asked him about it later, what had angered him so. His answers were plausible: lack of sleep, a lingering sinus infection, a touch of nerves.”

“You didn’t buy it?” I asked.

“His answers came with troubling microfacial shifts. It was like seeing a different face, another Robert Pinker breaking the surface.”

I hid my surprise. “You’re acquainted with microfacial analysis, Major?” Though the minute shifts in facial musculature were termed “lie-detector expressions” by some, they were not, though an experienced professional could glean such traits as evasion and stress.

Rayles nodded. “I spent ten years at Gitmo in interrogation and studied all the techniques and situational adaptations. I analyzed faces as the interrogators asked questions. Got pretty decent at it, actually. I became intrigued by Robert’s insincerity and took a background interest in the cistern case, finding he chose an inexperienced team for a complex assignment. Then Robert handed the Paul Carosso investigation to the Miami-Dade department, which made little sense unless it was to keep HS out of the loop.”

I looked at Rayles with fresh eyes. He was a lot sharper than I’d given him credit for.

“Three days ago I put Robert under surveillance by our best people,” Rayles continued. “This morning he and two confederates on the Miami docks falsified records on an incoming shipment, essentially making it disappear. That cargo module is now on a truck by the Quonset hut, where it seems our investigations have become one.”

“Jeeeeezle,” Roy said. “Pinker would be the perfect insider, access to shipment dates, cargo manifests, backgrounds of dock workers. You know how Kazankis got his claws into your man?”

“I figure Robert happened onto the trafficking operation and approached Kazankis or someone in his operation. The bane of our business, gentlemen, a weak employee near large amounts of money.”

“Where’s Pinker now?” Roy asked.

Rayles glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes ago Robert was arrested coming out of a downtown health club. He loves his workouts, but I hear most federal prisons have excellent gyms these days.”

The requested jail transport was arriving, a faded blue bus with smoked windows. There was a lot of sorting out to be done. Kazankis was at the end of the line, side-whispering to a couple of men, heads bowed like a prayer session, but I figured they were getting stories straight.