THE NEXT DAY he got a call from Allain, who
Chapter 58
"I'M SORRY ABOUT your mother, Chantale," Max said as they
Part 5
Chapter 59
BACK IN MIAMI, back at the Kendall Radisson Hotel. They
Chapter 60
DECEMBER 21: JOE called him just after eight a.m., to
Chapter 61
"VINCENT? IT'S MAX Mingus." The line wasn't good, a lot
Part 6
Chapter 62
CHANTALE HAD JUST finished loading two cases into the back
Chapter 63
CARVER'S BEACH HOUSE overlooked a tiny scrap of paradisea
Chapter 64
THE GIRLS CAME in first. Kreyol, laughter.
Chapter 65
HUXLEY DROVE. MAX sat next to him with the gun
Chapter 66
"MY SISTER PATRICEI used to call her 'Treese.' She
Chapter 67
CARL AND ERTHA were waiting for them by the door.
Chapter 68
EARLY THE NEXT morning, Vincent Paul, Francesca, and Charlie came
EPILOGUE
TWENTY MILLION DOLLARS in $100 bills.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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PROLOGUE
New York City, November 6, 1996
TEN MILLION DOLLARS if he performed a miracle and brought the boy back alive, five million dollars if he came back with just the body and another five million if he dragged the killers in with ittheir dead-or-alive status was immaterial, as long as they had the kid's blood on their hands.
Those were the terms and, if he chose to accept them, that was the deal.
* * *
Max Mingus was an ex-cop turned private investigator. Missing persons were his specialty, finding them his talent. Most people said he was the best in the businessor at least they had until April 17, 1989, the day he'd started a seven-year sentence in Attica for manslaughter and had his license permanently revoked.
The client's name was Allain Carver. His son's name was Charlie. Charlie was missing, presumed kidnapped.
Optimistically, with things going according to plan and ending happily for all concerned, Max was looking at riding off into the sunset a millionaire ten to fifteen times over. There were a lot of things he wouldn't have to worry about again, and he'd been doing a lot of worrying lately, nothing but worrying.
So far, so good, but now for the rest:
The case was based in Haiti.
"Haytee?" Max said as if he'd heard wrong.
"Yes," Carver replied.
Shit.
He knew this about Haiti: voodoo, AIDS, Papa Doc, Baby Doc, boat people, and, recently, an American military invasion called Operation Restore Democracy he'd seen on TV.
He knewor had knownquite a few Haitians, expats he'd had regular dealings with back when he'd been a cop and worked a case in Little Haiti, Miami. They hadn't had a decent thing to say about their homeland, "bad place" being the most common and kindest.
Nevertheless, he had fond memories of most of the Haitians he'd met. In fact, he'd admired them. They were honest, honorable, hardworking people who'd found themselves in the most unenviable place in Americabottom of the food chain, south of the poverty line, a lot of ground to make up.
That went for most of the Haitians he'd met. When it came to people, there were always plenty of exceptions to every generalization, and he'd come face-to-face with those. They hadn't left him with bad memories so much as the kind of wounds that never really healed, that opened up at the slightest nudge or touch.
The whole thing was already sounding like a bad idea. He'd just come out of one tough spot. Why go to another?
Money. That was why.
* * *
Charlie had disappeared on September 4, 1994, his third birthday. Nothing had been heard or seen of him since. There had been no ransom demands and there were no witnesses. The Carver family had had to call off its search for the boy after two weeks, because the U.S. Army had invaded the country and put it on lockdown, imposing curfews and travel restrictions on the whole population. The search hadn't resumed until late October, by which time the trail, already cold, had frozen over.