“Contract was on the fax machine this morning, Skipper. Two more sales. I think someone took our little conversation to heart.”
I cringed. I kept my mouth shut, but I cringed. I didn’t take him seriously, much less to heart. The guy was a flaming asshole and whatever had happened must be pure, dumb luck.
I called Em from the office phone. It saves minutes. She answered like it was a business call, very formal. Then when she heard my voice she got even more cold and distant.
“Em. What do you think?”
“About what?”
I knew the kid issue wasn’t her favorite subject at the moment. “About last night.”
“What about last night?”
I was getting slightly irritated by the attitude. “Were you there? I thought I saw you. I know you didn’t talk to me, but I would swear you were there. Jesus, Em. About the CIA guy and Jackie.”
“What’s there to talk about? If you keep meddling in this thing, Vic is going to be in even more trouble, Jackie could be in trouble, and you and James could be in trouble. You heard him. I thought he was very clear.” Her smug voice came through the receiver loud and clear.
“Listen, I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but I wish you’d lose the attitude.” I started to build up a head of steam. “It seems to me that we’ve got a couple of things on our plate that need to be dealt with, and your shitty attitude isn’t going to help us get through them.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Maybe I should look at that other option.”
“What other-” and it hit me. “Really?”
“I don’t need a kid in my life right now, Skip.”
“I can’t ever imagine a time when I will.” I should have kept my mouth shut. “I don’t mean that. I mean, I’m like you. It’s going to take a while to adjust. I think it’s a wonderful thing and if you decide to have this baby, I’ll be the best father that-” It suddenly occurred to me. “Em. I’ve had three sales in the past two days. Three. I’m not sure this is a dead end job.” I was sure. More than ever. This job was totally dead end, but to be stuck with this loser image in the mind of the woman I love-well, you know.
“Congratulations.”
That was it.
“Well, I could buy a playpen with the commission.”
“I told you, I’m considering other options.”
“Would you tell me before you do anything? After all, I did have something to do with this.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “I remember what you had to do with this.” There was a long silent pause. “I’m busy, Skip.” She hung up. Just like that.
My first two morning calls weren’t home, and my third took almost two hours. They asked me dozens of questions, and gave me an extensive tour of their four-room house. After an hour and a half I found out neither one of them had a job and they were about to be evicted. Then they had the nerve to ask if they had won the hot tub. I told them yes. They were the grand-prize winners. I gave them Sammy’s cell phone number, told them he’d arrange delivery, and I drove down to Chili’s for lunch. Sammy was going to be so pissed.
The cute little waitress, Nancy, who had come on to James, waited on me.
“You’re James’s roomate.”
“Yep.”
“He hasn’t called.”
“He’s been a little busy.”
“The second job?”
“It’s become more than that.” I ordered a boneless rib sandwich and a beer.
She brought the draft to the table and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What kind of a car do you drive?”
“Car?”
“A Cadillac?”
“Hardly. A Geo Prism. Ugly green. Why?”
“James told me that the next time we went out he was going to pick me up in a brand new Cadillac. I figured he could hardly afford one, working at Cap’n Crab.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Esther’s parking lot was half full at three, with James’s truck right out front and a fire engine parked on the side. Five uniformed firefighters crowded into one booth in the front, and they were discussing a morning rescue as I walked by.
“Hey, pard.” James nodded to me as I approached his booth. “Angel’s on his way.”
“I had lunch at Chili’s. Nancy says hi.”
“Oh, yeah. Nancy. I should probably call her.”
“She says you promised to pick her up in a new Cadillac?”
He tilted his head. “I probably had too much to drink.”
“That would be so unlike you.”
“Someday, Skip. Once we get this Fuentes thing settled.” He sipped a Coke and pushed around a spoonful of potato salad on his plate. “You having anything?”
“Nah. I’ll wait and see what sumptuous dinner plans we come up with tonight.”
“I’ll have it someday, Skip. A Cadillac. They got that new convertible out. What? You don’t believe me?”
“For you or for your dad?”
“Angel’s here.” He pointed toward the door.
Angel sat down and I noticed his Jeep outside the window.
“I filled our Bahamian friend in on the meeting last night. He says he wants in on the project. Right, Angel?”
Angel nodded.
“Let’s lay out the entire scenario.”
James was in his business-planning mode. The thought crossed my mind that the last time he did this, we got into our current mess. That thought crossed my mind. How deep do you dig your hole before you realize the shovel is the problem? If you toss out the shovel, you don’t have to dig anymore.
“Rick Fuentes is helping fund a terrorist group that wants to overthrow Castro.”
There it was. Plain and simple. The enormity of that statement made me shiver. I knew everything that James knew, but for some reason the far-reaching implications of what we were involved with had never been that clear. If my child was born, he would read about this in eighth-grade history class. Our entire country’s economy could be affected. Lives would be lost, fortunes would be lost-and won. And even though the three of us-four, counting Emily, were major players, I saw absolutely no way this situation could benefit us. If the Cuban element thought we were a threat to their plan, they’d kill us. Not a benefit. If we ignored them, they could be successful or not and whatever fortunes were won or lost, James, Em, Angel, and I would never see a penny. If anything, we could lose. Our jobs, our relationships-again, not a benefit.
“Vic Maitlen may or may not be in jeopardy,” James continued. “Up to this point, we’ve avoided going to any law enforcement agency because Rick Fuentes has asked us not to. He was afraid that his son might be killed if we pursued this any further.”
“But now-” I knew what he knew.
“But now, the law enforcement agency has come to us.” He swallowed a gulp of his Coke. “So the question is, do we continue to try and find Vic Maitlin?”
“And,” I interjected, “don’t forget that Jackie Fuentes’s life has been threatened.”
“Hell,” James said. “Seems to me our lives were threatened too.”
I nodded. “So, do we tell Rick Fuentes what we’ve learned so far?”
“You know nothing.” Angel scowled. We’d been through this with him before and he’d made his point. Apparently, not strongly enough. “You saw someone who might have been Victor Maitlin. If you tell the father that his son is alive and you are wrong, he’ll be devastated. If you tell him that you followed the Cubans, he’ll be furious. Whatever you tell this man, it will do you no good and could do irreparable damage.”
Nothing stood between James and his food. He shoveled down a forkful of beans and nodded, apparently agreeing with Angel.
“Let’s assume Vic is still a victim. And that he’s alive.” I believed he was alive. I hoped that was him in the warehouse. “If he is, and we can witness it, we can still go to the authorities.” I wanted to identify the goal.
“But,” Angel crossed his arms, “you claim the authorities have already come to you. If you identify anything, it’s simply for your edification. We need to do two things.”