Wood's Wall (4 page)

"I was just thinking that it might be easier to get rid of it down here than to take it home. A lot safer, anyway."

Trufante shook his head, his face suddenly serious, and Pete’s heart dropped. “There's nothing safe about what you got. I’ll guarantee there's some mean-ass folks looking for you guys right now." It was quiet for a few minutes while Pete tried to engage his brain. 

Finally Trufante sighed. “Got an idea that might work. Make all of us look good. Thing is, you're not going to get what you think for it. You get greedy with this thing, it's not going to go well for you guys."

"I'm open. It's pure profit anyway. We just got lucky."

"Let's not call it lucky ‘til you’re back home with the cash stuffed in your mattress. I think I know whose those initials are. If it's his stuff, we just return it and trust his generosity for a reward. We all look good and get some cash."

Pete was silent. He was sure Dan had a number in his head - probably breaking the whole thing into grams and selling it like that - over a half million each. That was how the alphabet agencies gave street value - the lowest salable amounts brought in the most money. Selling it off in grams at a hundred bucks a shot would net much more than a reward. But the risks of doing that were astronomical. One or all of them winding up dead or in jail was not a long shot. This made sense to his logical mind. Just take the reward. "What would you be expecting out of this?"

"I set up the whole deal. You and me take it together. I don't want to meet your buddies. Cut me in for a full share and I'm good."

Pete held out his hand. “I got to sell this to my buddies. But they don’t really have a choice. They might be dreaming of getting rich off this, but they have no way to sell it. I’ll talk them into it. OK, four-way split."

Trufante ignored the hand. "Put that away, this ain't no business deal."

***

Mel sat at the coffee house, waiting for her boss to show. She thumbed her phone, rubbing the edges, trying to make it vibrate. She hand’t heard from Mac, her boyfriend in Marathon, for at least a day. Not all that unusual for him. She knew that. He lived in a different world without the constant text messages - and no Facebook or Twitter. She doubted he even knew what they were. It had been an hour since she’d received the message from her boss. She'd showered, packed, and gotten to their meeting. And now he was late. Typical. 

She was so engrossed in massaging her phone that she didn't notice him come in until he sat down. She looked up and smiled to herself; he could have been her grandfather in a track suit. And in many ways, he was. Bradley Davies had found Mel, fresh out of law school, full of radical ideas and the energy to see them through. He’d immediately become a mentor - channeling that energy into his causes. 

"Sorry for the quick notice. This just came up Friday night, and no one was in the office yesterday.” He handed her a sheaf of papers, then waited patiently while she scanned them.

"Sons of bitches. Tried to pull the Friday afternoon fast ball. Slide in a hearing on Friday afternoon for Monday morning, hoping we wouldn't get there.”

"Pretty much. I went in this morning to check on something else and saw this on the fax machine." 

"I can prepare on the plane. Not a big deal, just a discovery hearing. Those bastards are trying to disallow my testimony as an eyewitness, due to a conflict of interest."

She sat back, thinking. She’d seen what the US Navy had done first hand - used drones to spy on her father. Using drones to spy on US citizens on US soil was highly illegal. 

"I think you might want to step aside and just play the witness here,” Davies said suddenly.

Mel shook her head sharply. “I’ve been lead council on this suit from the start. No way I'm stepping aside. Even if they disallow my testimony, Mac was there with me.
He'll
testify.”

The overgrown grey eyebrows furrowed at the mention of Mac's name. "Will he?"

"For me he will,” Mel said, though she hesitated slightly. Mac leaned toward being invisible. He was a libertarian, much like her father had been. Neither liked the way the government meddled in their lives. She'd thought her dad, always a conspiracy buff, was just paranoid until she witnessed firsthand how corrupt the men and women in power actually were. At one point she had aspired to be one of them; now she just wanted to stop them. 

“Look, you’re not going to like this, but I’m sending Jason Patel down there to back you up.”

“Damn it, I have my own team! You know I can’t stand that guy. He’s a freakin suck up.”

“He does what I ask him to do.” He leaned forward. “Look, Mel, I love you like a daughter, but you’ve changed. You’re on a mission to avenge your father. I understand it, but it’s not alway aligned with our purpose. You used to be the cheerleader. Now … well you’ve changed. Patel will do a good job.”

Finally she sighed. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“I’m afraid not, kiddo.”

They got up and hugged. "Be careful down there. You have some enemies.”

6

Pete looked around the house in disbelief. It looked like a scene from Caligula. Four unconscious, half-dressed bodies were strewn among the cushions pulled off the couches. Liquor bottles, mostly empty, sat on the coffee table. A pile of white powder was piled on the glass of a picture taken from the wall. An open brick lay on the kitchen counter. 

He panicked and went for the storeroom. The gear they had used to hide the cooler looked untouched. They were either really careful or had taken the brick out on the boat and hid it. He remembered losing count as they loaded them into the cooler. There were fifty when they were laid on the deck of the boat - how many were left in the cooler? He remembered counting to at least forty before he got distracted. 

He moved the surrounding gear and stared at the cooler. He opened the lid; it looked the same. One by one, he took the bricks out of the cooler, and started to stack them. Sweat poured down his brow from the heat in the enclosed space. 

He had four stacks of ten laid out when he removed the last bricks. At five, he realized they were short. Forty-eight. He double-checked his count as he replaced them, and paused when he noticed that one package was slightly different. It was hard and slightly smaller. He hadn’t noticed anything different before, but he hadn’t handled every one - Jeff had helped him. It was slightly smaller but had the same outer wrapping. Curious, he removed a corner of the wrapping, and saw the dull sheen of metal.

He placed the unusual brick to the side and loaded the cooler again. His brain was swirling - working on full power now — the missing inventory made him sure that his friends, now partners, had liberated a brick each for themselves. If it came up, he would confront them and say he took a brick to even things up. The gear back in place he went back to the house.

He passed the couples still prone on the floor, pausing to make sure each was still breathing. Satisfied he went to his room and stashed the brick in the closet. Back in the living room he surveyed the scene again, trying to decide whether to wake the dead. The wind was down, and it would be another good fishing day, though they’d get a late start. In the end, he decided to load the boat and then wake them. The open water would be a good spot for privacy. They needed to have a board meeting, away from the women, so he could sell them on his plan. 

***

Dan and Jeff looked green before they even left the dock, and Pete relished the payback as he watched them, surprised that both held onto the contents of their stomachs - sure that he wouldn’t be able to if he’d partied like that. They’d only agreed to go after they each had another line from the mountain of drugs on the coffee table. He doubted whether it had helped much. Now, he continued the torture as he took his time bringing the boat on plane, letting it pound a few more waves before accelerating. Before long, Dan and Jeff were starting to nod off, succumbing to the rhythm of the boat as they made their way to the Gulf Stream, twelve miles off the reef.

Pete slowed as they approached a weed patch. He yelled for Dan and Jeff to get up and get lines in the water. Frustrated at their lack of response he set the boat in neutral and started to set out two rods himself. As soon as the second line was out he went back to the helm and nudged the throttle forward, slowly moving the boat towards the weeds. 

The reel screamed as line came off it - a fish jumping fifty feet off the boat. The alarm woke Dan and Jeff who instantly went for the rods. The fish came in easily. It was a schoolie, just longer than the twenty inch limit. The school swarmed around the boat after following their lost comrade. Ordinarily they would have kept the hooked fish in the water to keep the school by the boat enabling them to catch more. Dan and Jeff looked at Pete in surprise as he wrapped the leader around his hand and lifted the fish out of the water. It flapped across the deck, scattering blood everywhere, before he finally got it into the box. 

“Hey,” Jeff said. “What about the rest.”

“Later. We need to talk.” Pete said as they gathered in the shade provided by the T-top over the center console.

"What the fuck do you think you were doing with that little party last night? Now your wives know. What's next, take it home and have a block party?"

Their heads hung low. "Take it easy. We only told them we found one brick. They don't know anything more than that.”

Pete decided to allow them their secret of the missing bricks. "Ok, well, I got sick of your little orgy, so I went out. Met this guy that can help us."

"So, you just met some guy, told him everything, and you’re pissed at us? Did he come with a resume?”

 "It's not like that." Pete explained the Key West trip. 

Dan slapped Pete on the back and Jeff fist bumped him. "Way to go son. Didn't think you had it in you."

Pete blushed. "Anyway, I saw this guy go out and score some stuff.” He turned on them. “Look, we’ve got to get rid of this stuff, do it ourselves or trust someone. After what you guys did last night, if this stuff finds its way to Tampa, we'll be on the front page of the paper - either in handcuffs or dead in a gutter.”

"So, what do you have in mind?"

"When I described the packages and told him about the initials, he thought he might know the guy. Said maybe we could get a finder’s fee for returning it.” He paused, “Look, it's found money. You saw that guy in the boat point his finger like a gun at us yesterday. These guys won’t think twice about killing us to get their stuff back." He waited to see their reaction before continuing. “How do you think your going to sell it off without getting caught. Just because it’s worth a crap load of money at street value doesn’t mean we can sell it.”

"A score like that and we just get a finders fee?" Jeff asked.

"And we cut him in for brokering it."

"And split it. I don't know about that. This could pay off my plastic and house if I play it right. Hell, I could retire on this,” Jeff said.

"You guys really think we’re capable of selling this stuff without getting in trouble? We don't even know where to start."

"I know a guy,” Dan said.

"Of course you know a guy. And he knows a guy, and pretty soon all the other guys know about this and we're on the front page and can't even read it because we're wearing cement boots having crabs bite our balls.” 

They stood there, each making his own calculations.

You’ve got a point." Jeff wavered. “I guess I’m good if we take this to him, see what he has in mind for a reward." 

"I don’t know guys. I could really use a big score,” Dan whined. “You guys know what the real estate market has done to me.” 

"And you’re just gonna walk into town and pay everything off? Don't you think the IRS is going to have some questions?"

He put his head down in defeat. “Alright. I'll go along. Looks like I'm outvoted anyway."

***

The fly kissed the water, leader following in a loop, and Mac started to strip the line back in. Two quick pulls, one slow pull, rinse and repeat, until he'd recovered the line. He balanced on his paddle board, paddle resting on the board between his legs, as he restarted the casting motion. 

The snook hit the fly as soon as it hit the water, jumped and made a run for the safety of the mangroves. Mac used the bend of the rod to muscle him out into the open, then quickly reeled the slack line in and started pumping the fish toward his board. Minutes later, on his knees, he reached into the water and released the fish. He watched it swim away and thought again how lucky he was to live here. Every month brought something different for him. A retired commercial diver, he lobstered in season and took on whatever salvage jobs came his way. This allowed plenty of time to paddle and fish.

The tide was easing now, working toward the slack period where the water had no current, so he stretched the line, hooking the fly to the eyelet near the handle, and switched the rod for the paddle. Slack tide was the least productive for fishing. Moving water brought bait in and out of the flats attracting the larger fish that preyed on it. He started paddling slowly, coasting by the mangroves. He picked up speed as his muscles warmed and he headed into the main channel. The wind on his back and no tidal pull, it was an easy paddle home.