Carats and Coconuts (13 page)

Holy Bejeezus. If she wasn’t on her
Maxine kick, she was in Rambo-mania Mode.

I hoped The Foz could be bought off
quickly with the contents of Vitto’s briefcase. If not, we’d be
doomed before we even got to the lodge.

Making me more nervous than Gram’s
outbreak was the fact that Roman had yet to say a word. In a tense
situation, when he was this silent, it meant one thing. There was a
lot more danger present than any of us knew or understood…except
him.

I
knew from what my parents had told us before we left their
Michigan vaults that the Brazilian black market had recently seen a
huge surge in volume. The question was, how did Stanley, our former
employee, fit into the now booming smuggled gem market.

Here’s the normal course of business
down here…on the dark side…

A gem mined here on this reservation
can be sold in town by locals acting as middlemen for around
$8,000. Another middleman may then sell that same gem for $25,000
to a third person, who then passes it on to a buyer in Sao Paulo
who can get $250,000 for the same stone.

People will fly in from around the
world for the promise of cheap, very pure stones in carat sizes
from five carats on up.

I’ll never forget Chief Valente once
telling me that gems are easier to sell here than
cocaine.

But this kind of business brings the
same kinds of violence as one sees in the drug smuggling world.
With the violence comes the corruption involved in ensuring people
look the other way.

As Vitto came out of the shack without
his briefcase, I got the distinct impression that The Foz was also
now looking the other way.

Little did he know that it was our
mission to see just who all and what all he was looking away
from.

Before we could begin that journey, we
had to get through these gates and travel deeper still into the
rainforest to my family’s Witherspoon & Witherspoon on-site
headquarters.

Thanks to Vitto, it appeared we’d just
purchased our very expensive ticket to our next
destination.

“
How much do you suppose
your grandpa paid for our gate pass?” I asked Roman, who still
hadn’t said a single word.

“
I’m guessing a cool hundred
grand,” Roman said in an unassuming tone as if that were simply
pocket change. “That’s what he usually starts with, which is damn
good money in these parts unless gems are part of the
deal.”

I suppose, for a prince and his royal
family, that is merely pocket change. But to the rest of us, it
isn’t.

“
You know, at first, Fosito
said he was here to protect the Indians, but I’m convinced the line
he’s now walking favors the other side. The government’s interests
are far from the Indians’ best interest and far from the
environmental regulation of the mining on these lands,” I said,
barely loud enough to override the sound of the Jeep’s
engine.

I was too weary to speak any louder,
totally unsure as to who else might be watching or
listening.

“
Without the ability to mine
from their lands, the Sol Larga can’t sustain themselves,
right?”

“
Absolutely right. No one
cares about bringing food, medicine, and basic living supplies to
the Sol Larga. All they care about are the gems they can take away
from their land,” I said, filling in Roman on the issues facing my
indigenous friends.

“
So where are they at in
their current negotiations?”

“
That’s the problem, and one
I think our buddy Stanley is profiting from. There’s an agreement
in place to shut down the mines while the government decides who
controls the gems.”

“
While the government
decides?” Roman asked.

“
Don’t even go there,” I
said, feeling the familiar disgust I had for this entire situation
almost nauseate me.

“
How can you decide to take
what was never yours to begin with?” Roman asked.

Another very legitimate and dead-on
question.

That’s why we’re fighting yet another
Cozy Cash scheme, I thought to myself then sighed, trying to let
out a little of my frustration. Although, this one is hitting a wee
bit too close to home for me to seek much relief until we could
stop the cycle for good.

I was beginning to understand how
Bernie McCall’s Ponzi-scheme had affected Roman’s family. It’s one
thing to be disgusted by a cash scam, it’s another entirely to have
your family neck deep in one.

After buying off Fosito, we followed
the tight, hand-cut paths through the rainforest and deep into the
heart of Sol Larga Country.

I didn’t fear the Sol Larga. I feared
the people who were allowed on the reservation by invitation only.
Invitations that could be bought with briefcases full of cash and
granted any access desired.

We rode in silence for the next few
miles.

The Sol Larga Reservation consists of
over six and a half million acres. We had twenty miles to cover to
reach Witherspoon & Witherspoon. Make that twenty miles over
which we could barely travel 20 mph.

The drive was beautiful, flanked by
the lush forest, but we didn’t have time to stop and enjoy the
scenery.

We were due at the Sol Larga village
at sundown. And you didn’t stand-up the Sol Larga Chief and his
family.

E
very jewel in every jewelry box has a story behind
it.

To me, those stories are worth much
more than any precious stone’s dollar amount.

Whether it’s the Hope Diamond, The
Hooker Emerald, The Spanish Inquisition Necklace, The
Marie-Antoinette Earrings, The Marie-Louise Diadem, The Portuguese
Diamond, The Napoleon Necklace, Cleopatra’s Emeralds or your own
family’s prized heirloom pieces, all precious gems have stories.
Many of those stories originate on the land belonging to indigenous
populations like the one my family has come to love like
family.

We were about to hear some of those
stories.

Already settled into the Witherspoon
Lodge and ready for what should be an interesting night, I smiled
as the Sol Larga’s panpipes began echoing through the forests. It
was time I rounded-up our entourage of guests and got this show on
the road.

The dissonant sounds of the
instruments carried great distances through the forests, calling us
to the festival about to kick-off.

“
It’s time,” I said to my
companions, more than nervous for sure to introduce Grams to my Sol
Larga friends.

I wasn’t too worried about Vitto and
Granny V nor Roman and R. They knew when to keep their mouths shut.
But Grams? Yeah…not so much.

Bunny and Beefcakes also seemed more
than up to the festivities. In fact, I’d kinda taken a liking to
them.

It wasn’t as if I could leave Grams
behind. If she were left to her own entertainment, well, let’s just
say that that could be worse yet.

To the Sol Larga, reciprocity was key.
They’d invited all of us, Grams included, onto their land, and it
wasn’t acceptable by their cultural standards for us to refuse to
socialize with them at a welcoming festival they were holding in
our honor.

“
Whatever you do, just keep
dancing, drinking and eat the pig,” I said to our group.

“
Ah, so that’s why we left
Vinnie in Rio with Bunny’s friends.”

“
Yes it is, Grams,” I
said.

Even though I’d answered her in the
affirmative, all I could do was shake my head. Every time she
opened her mouth, I was even more baffled by how her brain
worked.

“
So drink, dance and eat.
Got it,” she said, while practicing a hula dance.

“
I see you’re still hung-up
on Hawaii.”

“
What?!” She shouted,
wiggling her boney hips till I swore she’d be in need of a
hip-replacement any moment.

“
Turn up your hearing aids
and pay attention. We’ve got to follow their traditions here. We
can’t afford to offend our friends,” I warned her, thinking her
gyrations came off as a hula dancer in need of a strip-tease
pole.

“
Are you our protocol
officer too, Little Missy? I’ve been offending people for years,
and I’m still goin’ strong.”

“
She’s got ya there,” Roman
said, covering his mouth once more with his hands, trying to
prevent me from hearing his snicker.

“
Just c’mon and follow me.
We can’t be late,” I said, moving towards the Sol Larga village and
wanting to get this night over with as fast as I could.

Reaching Chief Valente’s longhouse, a
home that was not just called a longhouse but actually looked the
same as its name, we approached the entrance.

I laid my Glock by the side of the
door, as was customary and motioned for Roman and the others in our
party to do the same.

“
I don’t think…” Roman
began, but I cut him off.

“
It’s not your job to think
tonight, it’s mine. So just do it. Trust me.”

“
I do trust you,” Roman
said, laying down his weapon and motioning for the rest of our
party to do the same. “Letting you think for us, though, I’m still
working on that idea.”

I didn’t have time to squabble over
his cute but snide remark because Grams seemed to be struggling
with getting the butcher knife out of the harness under her
skirt.

“
What the?!”

“
What do you mean ‘what
the’? I’ve worked in my diner’s kitchen for over sixty years. If
there’s one thing I’m comfortable with it’s a Goddamn meat
cleaver.”

Granny V helped her remove the knife,
and Vitto placed it on our pile of weapons.

“
Now that’s what I call some
kinda costume,” Grams said, kid-punching the gigantic Sol Larga
warrior guarding the Chief’s door.

The warrior never budged. Not one
eagle or macaw feather from his crown, not one piece of tree bark
from his multi-layered collar and belt, not one muscle twitch gave
in to Gram’s revelry.

“
Do you suppose I could
borrow that for Halloween this year?”

Grams was on her tiptoes trying to
look the giant warrior in the eyes.

He grunted and looked down at her, the
expression in his eyes making it clear he thought she was a total
nut job.

See? There are some notions that do
carry across cultural and language barriers. He had her number, and
it didn’t matter whether or not he understood a damn word she was
sayin’.

‘
Course, Grams was probably
lucky he didn’t slit her throat.

The Sol Larga Indians are primarily
hunters who have elaborate festivals and complex rituals
celebrating the game they hunt. But because rubber-gatherers,
wildcat miners and gold-panners have upset their society’s
equilibrium, they’ve become known as mighty warriors
too.

Their warriors fiercely protected
their families and homes from the men robbing the riches that lined
their riverbanks.

I doubt these warriors usually let
outsiders sock it to ‘em on their biceps like Grams had done to
this one. I’d been the recipient of one of her sucker punches. The
woman’s brittle bones packed a nasty bite.

Since our arrival, the music from
inside had increased in its liveliness. A set of reed flutes
provided accompaniment to two lines of men, dancing face-to-face,
in the middle of the house.

Before we knew what was happening,
Chief Valente had Roman positioned beside him, and there I was
behind Roman in a line of women. My hands had been placed on
Roman’s belt like the women’s were on each of their husbands,
boyfriends or brothers.

In between our rowdy dance numbers,
Sol Larga singers sang their berewa songs. I focused carefully on
the words and was able to catch the meaning of the festival. The
songs didn’t mention the fights and gem wars, they were simply
affirming that all was well between Witherspoon & Witherspoon
and the Sol Larga.

I was relieved to hear
that.

At least Stanley and his Corruption
Crew hadn’t damaged my family’s standing with our Sol Larga friends
and associates.

What I was concerned about, however,
was the other basis for the songs, and that was their intent to
make it a good night, or two nights back-to-back to drink a lot of
chicha.

Chicha was a fermented beverage the
Sol Larga had made to honor our get-together. It was a mixture of
corn, manioc and yams that gave ya one helluva hangover.

I didn’t even want to think about what
Grams would do if she consumed too much chicha.

Thank God, after a little while
longer, I wasn’t able to think very clearly about it
anyway.

C
leopatra’s famous stones came from mountains in the deserts of
Egypt. But here in the Brazilian rainforest, the gems come from the
sludge along the banks and at the bottom of the forest’s plentiful
rivers.