His accent was proud hick, pure palmetto Florida country boy-a surprising redneck linkage in what appeared to be the politically motivated kidnapping of a Central American boy.
Tattoo whistled as if in pain, and said, “Now, look at this fine-lookin’ Latin beauty. You’re just as pretty as your picture says you’d be.” The man checked the photo once more before shoving it into his pocket. “The name I was told you go by is Pilar Foo-went-tays. That the way you say it?”
The lady nodded. “ Fuentes. You’re close enough.”
“Well, it sure is a pleasure to make the acquaintance, and I hope you’re enjoyin’ that fine-smelling food.”
Without looking at Tomlinson, the man reached across the table, took a chunk of his fried yellowtail snapper, and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Humm. Not too bad for wetback cookin’. Not too bad at all.”
Now he reached, took a piece of bread from my plate, dipped it in a bowl of black beans, saying, “Trouble is, I can’t enjoy eating, ’cause my day’s already been partway spoiled. Know why? Because I was told you was gonna be alone, Miz Pilar. Told you had to be alone or I wasn’t supposed to say boo to you. But now I show up, and here you are with this hippie who probably ain’t washed his hair in a year. And Mr. Coke-glasses who looks like he sells encyclopedias for a living. So what am I supposed to tell the people paying me to help y’all close this deal?”
I said, “We’re not cops, that’s what you tell them. No association with any law enforcement agencies. We’re the lady’s friends. She sent an e-mail, they’ve been informed. We’re just along to make sure that she stays safe. Which, if your people had any brains at all, they’d appreciate-considering what the deal is. Tell your people that.”
Tattoo’s brown eyes went round in what seemed to be mock innocence. “Whoa there, hoss. I don’t give a tinker’s damn if you’re a cop or not. I don’t know what kinda deal you people got goin’ and I don’t care to know. That’s your business. What I’m bein’ paid to do is just make introductions, do some middle-man work. The Mediator, that’s what certain people call me.”
He said it with a smile, Mediator, like it deserved a capital M.
“A place like South Florida, an ol’ boy like me stays busy by playin’ Mediator for anybody who comes along. I keep it real simple, no bullshit, everything step by step. There ain’t nothin’ in the world illegal about doin’ what I do.”
He had one of those jowly, globular faces that are quick to show fat as they age. He leaned his face close to mine now as he added, “So I don’t care if you’re a cop. If you’re carryin’ a gun, or you’re wired. But maybe the people payin’ me do. So you wait right here like a good boy while I go check.”
His chair shrieked on the tile as he stood. “Maybe I’ll be back. Maybe I won’t.”
He was at the restaurant door a few minutes later, pumping his finger at us, telling us to follow him.
I paid the check and we stepped out into the incandescence of a Miami afternoon, heat radiating from sidewalks and asphalt like volcanic vents, a heat so intense that it exerted an acidic, prickling pressure on exposed skin and through the soles of shoes.
In Florida during the hottest months, I don’t dress to stay cool. It’s impossible. I dress to dry quickly. So I wore feather-weight cargo slacks, a short-sleeved shirt of soft Egyptian cotton, tie-on canvas boating shoes, and a blue ball cap with the marina logo embroidered thereon: a tarpon.
Within minutes, my shirt was wet.
Same with Tattoo. His shirt was soaked, sticking to his back as we followed him along Flagler past the courthouse built of gray, fossilized coral.
The back of his bald head, I noted, was tattooed with a jade-blue butterfly, a bright wing opening toward each ear, its lower abdomen expanding into what appeared to be a spiraling Confederate flag that disappeared within his wet shirt.
We followed him across the street to a Starbucks, where we took seats at an outdoor table, the green umbrella baking hot above us.
He said, “I talked to my guys, and they’re playin’ it careful. So careful I’m almost tempted to ask for a hint what it is you dudes got yourselves into. You don’t got the look of snort or herb about ya”-he barely glanced at Tomlinson-“except for the old acid freak here. Which leaves a couple other interesting possibilities. But, like I said, this ol’ boy just does his job. I don’t want to know. So now my orders are, I got to make sure you ain’t the law, and that you ain’t carryin’ nothin’ fancy on you.”
I said, “O.K. But aren’t you worried someone maybe might get suspicious, call the cops, if you pat us down right here?”
I was rewarded with a theatrical grin. “You got a kinda smart-ass mouth on you for a booky-looking squirt. I’m surprised you ain’t scarred up more. Instead of pattin’ you down, I could grab you by your ankles, turn you upside down, and bang your head on the street just to see what falls out. But that wouldn’t be professional. So I got a better way.”
Pilar said, “Just tell us what they want us to do. We’ll do it.”
Tattoo said, “That’s a better attitude,” then looked from me to Tomlinson. “Either one of you boys carrying a passport?”
We shook our heads. “There wasn’t any reason to bring one.”
I was surprised when he said, “Good. Saves having to dump them in your car.”
Then to Pilar, he said, “What about you?”
“Yes, of course. I’m not a U.S. citizen, so I need to keep mine with me. But we can lock it in the car, if you like.”
Tattoo was standing. “Nope, this is workin’ out just fine. You folks follow me. We’re gonna let our own U.S. government do my security work. And I’ll tell you boys right now: If you’re carryin’ some kinda pop gun and you’re a cop, it’ll be right there for me to see. If you’re carryin’ and not a cop, you’ll be going to jail.
“After that, when I’m sure everything’s nice ’n’ clean, I’ll contact my people again. They’ll tell me what they want us to do next.”
If Tattoo had come up with the idea himself, I was impressed. It was an ingenious way of making certain that strangers were neither wired for surveillance nor carrying weapons.
He led us across the street to the Claude Pepper Federal Building, a massive tombstone-colored high-rise, no ground-floor windows, metal barricades at key areas vulnerable to car bombs. Which made no sense until I saw the security cameras, and then signs warning of dire consequences if you were carrying weapons or cameras… and then, inside, we came upon a small platoon of armed guards where a line of people waited patiently to get to the lobby and the bank of elevators beyond.
They were waiting because they had to go through a series of security checkpoints that were fully manned and as high-tech as any high-security prison.
Tattoo said, “This here’s the main Dade County federal building. Which means security’s tighter than a coconut’s ass because of all the terrorist crap. Upstairs, you got about every kinda government office there is. So today, Miz Pilar is gonna tell the nice cops she’s goin’ to Immigration to see about a visa. You boys are goin’ to see about an emergency passport. I’m checking on getting my merchant seaman’s ticket. Which’ll get us all to the elevators and upstairs, plus frisked with three different types of metal detectors, and at least once by hand.
“We take the elevators up. Then we go to the toilets, wait for a couple minutes, decide we changed our minds. After that, we leave separately.”
I said, “Pretty smart.”
He seemed pleased by the compliment. “My brain ain’t the biggest, but it do got some torque to it.”
“You make a habit of coming here?”
He got my meaning instantly. “There ain’t no shortage of government buildings in Florida. But what you’re really sayin’ is, you think because of the way I look, it’s a ball-buster in my line of work. That what you’re sayin’?”
I said mildly, “Something like that.”
“That’s just where you’re wrong, pal. I’m the perfect choice, ’cause a blind man three days dead could pick me out of a police lineup. So I got to walk the straight-and-narrow. That means clients can trust me. If they’re breakin’ laws, that’s their problem, not mine. I can’t, and they know it. They know I can’t screw ’em either. I’m that easy to find.”