He pointed at a tall, thick Mr. Clean sitting off to one side with an Amazon on his lap. “He’s moved into trucking. Wanted to own and run his own business, so I set him up. Sent him on his way.”
“No hard feelings?”
Colin shook his head and offered nothing more.
“How about competition?”
“Competition exists when others know what need you are meeting. Others don’t know of”—he waved his hand across the crowd—“their need. So, I have little—if any—competition.” He shrugged. “I don’t sell on street corners. Don’t employ men with guns.”
“If you, in fact, operate this way, then your buyers trust you.”
“It also means that if I don’t deliver on what I promise, that my boutique model will come crumbling down. While I possess what they want, they possess the ability to tear down my house of cards with just a few aptly spoken words. It’s a”—he weighed his head side to side—“delicate relationship. So, I do what I can to massage it and make them feel at ease with me. Reassure them that they can trust me because they trust very few people. My legitimate business provides us with a fine life. All the money we want. My illegitimate business provides us with the lifestyle, entertainment, and adventure that my wife and I enjoy.”
“What would I do? How would you pay me? I imagine I wouldn’t see you too often.”
He set a cell phone on the railing in front of me. “I’ll get you a new SIM card with every drop. It’ll either be in the boat or some place we designate. You’ll never make two drops with the same SIM—”
I interrupted him. “That might make it difficult to remember the number.”
“I didn’t get this good and stay in this business this long by getting lazy or being stupid. The law around here knows that I exist, but that’s about it.”
“You keep your hands clean and I get mine dirty.”
“We’re all dirty. Anyone that tells you otherwise is selling something.” He motioned to the phone again. “I’m the only one who will ever know this number. You don’t give it to anyone. Not your mother. Sister. Hack. And certainly not your girlfriend. Keep it on 24-7.”
“Sort of like a tether.”
“Exactly. I’ll send you coordinates, you plug them into the GPS on the boat, follow my instructions to the T, and leave the package exactly where I tell you. You never handle the people or the money. Just the drop. You’re in, out, and you get to see some beautiful places and people in the process.”
“What’s my percentage?”
“Ten percent of whatever you’re carrying with a five-thousand-dollar minimum.”
“That seems like a lot of money to drive a boat.”
“You won’t think that if you find yourself staring through bars. In a sense, I am buying your silence. Both now and if and when you find yourself staring at prison walls.” He let the truth sink in. “I treat my people well. I’ll wire the money to your offshore account before you make the drop.”
“You’ll pay me before I drop?”
He nodded.
“You trust me that much?”
“I need you that much. If you want to burn me? Great. Keep the money. Even in this business, loyalty means something. If you want to make a lot of money, then do what I ask, when I ask, every time I ask.” He shrugged. “In some cases, because of the various businesses people are in and their desire to eliminate a paper trail, people pay me only in cash. When that occurs, I’ll pay you in cash. But there will never be cash and dope in the boat at the same time. In those instances, I’ll arrange payment separate from the drop, and I can’t promise you it’ll occur before you run.” He held a finger in the air. “What you do with the cash is your business, but you do realize that if you want to continue in this line of employment you can’t just go deposit it in a bank.”
The pendulum had swung. I was no longer delivering pizzas, but I was back doing something I was good at. “When would I start?”
He pointed below us at a sleek black Intrepid that looked to be about forty-five feet long and powered by four outboard engines. Each engine had 350 horsepower. That meant the boat had 1,400. “I need that in the Abacos by tomorrow evening.”
I slid the cell phone into my pocket and shook his hand. “I’ve been wanting to see the Abacos.”
It was the beginning of a beautiful and profitable relationship. Colin made me an employee of Specter Import Nationale. He said the acronym didn’t occur to him until after he’d filed the corporation papers, but he never changed it. From a certain perspective, it fit.
Before we left the crow’s nest, he whispered, “One thing you need to know from the beginning. This business has a definite life span. There is a ticking clock for every guy like me—and now like you—who steps into this. The trick is pushing the envelope just far enough—enjoying the life and making all the money we can—and then getting out before the clock strikes twelve.” He stared out across the canals and the neighborhood filled with $10 million and $20 million homes. “There will come a day, and it will come in a flash, when this will end. When this ride is over. When the only business that remains is legitimate. When the pool deck is empty. And when that day comes, you have to be willing to walk away. Period. We are simply riding a wave.”
Chapter Eleven
I slept in a hammock hanging on the balcony of the master bedroom. The breeze was cool and the sound of the ocean reminded me of my hurricane shack on Bimini. I thought of Hack; his laughter; his love of boats, bonefish, cigarettes, and women—all women. From there I wandered to Shelly and the pain etched across her face when she’d met me on the beach. It was the same look of pain worn by Amanda the last time I’d seen her standing in the snow outside her parents’ house. What was it with me and women standing in some form of water, experiencing pain of my doing? I left and wondered what sick scheme Marshall was up to and just how miserable Brendan had become now that he was waiting for the old man to die so he could get his money. I ended, as I did most nights, staring into the emptiness that had become my life. At the series of disconnected events that marked moments of direction in my life. I often tried to connect these dots. To see one event through the meaning of another. I could not. They shared no relation. They did not connect.
I woke at daylight desperately craving a good cup of coffee. Rummaging through the kitchen, I found some frozen beans in the fridge and managed a cup. Staring across the mug, I decided to leave the Bertram at anchor and set out across land. I needed to get to León, then Corinto, and while she could certainly get me up to Corinto, she’d be no good to me once there. Colin’s home had a well-protected and safe berth. I just needed transportation.
Standing in the kitchen, I pulled down a framed picture of Zaul where, undoubtedly, Marguerite could look at it while washing dishes. I removed the picture and put it in my wallet.
The garage was empty, but there was a single room next to it that looked like it might house the lawn equipment. I tried the handle, but several locks barred the door. Evidently, the partygoers had not bothered to open these. I found Colin’s keys, unlocked the doors, and smiled at Colin’s good taste. “Bingo.”
Colin’s house bordered a Costa Rican national park. Mostly dunes, it contained miles of sandy roads and was an ATVers paradise. Obviously, Colin and his family had bought the truck to chase waves and the ATVs to ride the dunes. This room was where he kept all these toys. Complete with three four-wheelers and two motorcycles, one of which was a KTM 600 with a few modifications. Essentially, an Enduro dirt bike bred for long stretches on the desert or back roads on which someone had slapped a tag and two turn signals thereby making it street legal.
Perfect.
I grabbed what I needed from the boat, stuffed it in a backpack, and hid a key for Colin’s workmen who would arrive throughout the next week and begin repairing the house. Then I hopped on the back of the motorcycle, pulled down my Costas, and turned north.
Six hours later, I was circling the cathedral in León, searching for both a hotel and a really good cup of coffee.