Rum Luck Page 20

  “Quick thinking, Ben,” Victoria said.

  He almost didn’t hear her. He was a thousand miles and decades away, struggling to comfort his cousin Emily after a shouting match between her and her father, the man who had become Ben’s guardian.

  The weight of the emeralds in his hand brought Ben back to the cantina. He blinked twice and saw in Miguel’s eyes a desperate plea for silence. “The same thing happens to me sometimes, when I’m woken suddenly,” he lied, removing his hand from Miguel’s shoulder.

  “Oh,” Victoria said, puzzled.

  Miguel took the bag of emeralds from Ben’s hand. “These are bad news, brother.”

  “You’re thinking this points to the cartel?” Ben asked.

  “Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionares de Colombia.”

  “FARC,” Ben said.

  Miguel’s eyes grew distant. “Or worse.”

  “Miguel, stop scaring Ben.” Victoria plucked a stone from the bag and held it up to the light. “You realize how ridiculous this is, right? Where did you find them?”

  “Hidden in the draft tower.”

  “Hell of a place to stash a small fortune in emeralds,” she replied.

  “No wonder the burglar couldn’t find them,” Miguel said. “I should have thought of that earlier. There was a kink in the line. That’s why the beer was foamy.”

  “Antonio must’ve planned to collect them at the end of the night,” Ben said.

  “Sounds risky,” Victoria said. “What if you’d come back later that night? It was your bar by then, after all.”

  Ben told them what Captain Reyes had said at the funeral about the benzodiazepine.

  Miguel whistled. “That’s one way to arrange some privacy.”

  “Except that someone who knew about these stones came by the bar soon after Ana left.” Victoria put the emerald back in the bag and pulled out a larger one.

  “Speaking of Ana, we need to tell her about this,” Ben said.

  “Are you sure?” Victoria asked. “What if she was involved?”

  “Not this again,” Miguel said.

  “Ana deserves to know why her uncle died,” Ben said. “Where is she?”

  “I thought she was with you,” Victoria said.

  “She said she was coming back to the cantina,” Miguel said.

  “She probably got caught up with something to do with the funeral,” Ben said.

  “I’ll give her a call.” Miguel borrowed Ben’s phone. “No answer,” he reported a few moments later.

  “She might have forgotten to turn it on again after the service. We’ll try her again later,” Ben said. “Right now, we need to figure out what we’re going to do with these emeralds.” He reached for the bag.

  Victoria clutched the emeralds to her chest and glowered at Ben, then slowly handed them back. “In case you were wondering, these fourteen little green rocks would more than take care of our financial problems.”

  “You’re not suggesting we keep them?” Ben was astounded. “After what happened to Antonio?”

  “While we’re at it, why don’t we set up our own drug ring?” Miguel asked.

  “The bar has a lost-and-found box, doesn’t it?” Victoria said. “We’ll put the emeralds there. If no one claims them after a month, they’ll become the property of the cantina. Done.”

  “And if someone does claim them?” Ben asked.

  “Then we have them arrested for Antonio’s murder.” Her face was the picture of innocence.

  Ben laughed at the notion of keeping the emeralds in a ragged cardboard box between a pair of scratched aviator glasses and a baseball cap that smelled of sardines. “Tempting, but I think we need another plan.”

  “Suit yourself.” She tapped a few numbers into her phone. “By my calculations, you only need to sell 350,000 beers to make up the difference.”

  He glared at her. “We need to catch this killer. I don’t want him coming back here again, looking for these emeralds.”

  “I have an idea for how to lure him in, but we’ll need to pick up some supplies,” Miguel said.

  “Like what?”

  “I need a ski mask, ten pounds of ball bearings, a chainsaw, a tank full of helium, and thirty yards of marine-grade rope.”

  Ben stared at him blankly.

  “Or we could call the police,” Victoria said.

  “That’s probably a better idea,” Miguel admitted.

  There was a loud crash in the kitchen. “I’m okay!” Enrico shouted. Then, “Has anyone seen the first aid kit?”

  “First, we need to take Enrico somewhere he won’t hurt himself,” Ben said above the racket of another crash. “Or the cantina.”

  The bar was unusually quiet as Ben paced the floor, waiting for the police to arrive. Even the rustle of the palms and the boom of the distant surf seemed strangely muted. Most days, the place would already be packed with chattering bargoers, backlit by the last rays of the setting sun. There would be no vivid sunset that night; the long-awaited clouds had rolled in from the Pacific, ushering in an early dusk. Heavy raindrops had already begun to patter on the thatched roof of the cantina and drip through its gaping holes.

  He flipped on a light to boost his spirits. Miguel and Victoria had dragged Enrico back to the Tamarindo Diria, chasing yet another fabricated clue. He wasn’t convinced they could hold the man’s attention for more than a few minutes, but Victoria assured him she had the matter well in hand. Miguel had offered to stay at the cantina with Ben, but it made more sense for him to keep an eye on his uncle and keep trying to reach Ana.

  He checked his phone. Nothing from Jenni. Maybe she—

  There was a knock by the front entrance. Detective Vasquez.

  “Good evening, Mr. Cooper.” The detective stepped inside when Ben opened the door, brushing the rain from his suit jacket. “I am here for the emeralds.”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Miguel whispered to Victoria while keeping an eye on Enrico.

  “Do you have a better one?” she hissed.

  Miguel shook his head.

  “This is fantastic,” Enrico said, pointing the parabolic microphone at some diners in the poolside restaurant. “Oh, you catty little minx.” He clucked his tongue. “How could you say that about your very own sister?”

  “Remember, Enrico, we’re expecting Luis to meet with his supplier this afternoon. Make sure you don’t miss him,” Victoria said.

  Miguel wasn’t a fan of this little fiction, but it was safer than telling Enrico about the emeralds.

  “Yes, yes.” Enrico kept the binoculars firmly planted against his face. “You’ve told me that three times already. Luis is meeting with one of Chris’s clients within the hour. He wants to buy a forged passport and escape to Nicaragua. Why even a fugitive would want to live in Nicaragua is beyond me.” He exchanged the binoculars for Victoria’s camera and took a rapid-fire series of shots. “So much for your ‘secret’ liaison, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

  The camera beeped twice. Enrico frowned at the black screen for a moment, then felt in Victoria’s bag for a spare memory card, which he slotted in with the grace of a seasoned gunslinger. The camera beeped again. “Full already? I haven’t taken a single picture.” He pulled up the photo display with a press of a button.

  “What have we here?” Enrico was staring at a photo from Victoria’s stakeout earlier that day. “That looks like Ben’s lady friend.” He flipped through more photos, and then abruptly stopped.

  Enrico shot Miguel and Victoria each a look of pure disdain. “Fun’s over, you two. I need to see these on a proper screen.”

  “Would you like a drink, Detective?” Ben asked as they walked toward the office.

  “Thank you, no.” Vasquez scanned the bar as they went, vainly trying to avoid the streams of water that trickled from the ceiling. “Where are your friends?”

  “We thought it best if I handled this on my own.” Ben held the door open for the detective.

  “That was wise. I am glad you are t
aking this seriously.” Vasquez unbuttoned his sodden jacket and sat in one of the guest chairs. “Where did you find them?”

  “The emeralds? Hidden inside the draft tap, of all places.”

  The detective leaned back in his chair, absently scratching his chest. “The draft tap,” he said finally. “Yes. Yes, of course.” His damp shirt clung to his skin where he’d scratched, revealing a lurid half-moon bruise beneath the translucent fabric. It looked to Ben to be exactly the shape and size as the wine bottle Miguel had hit the intruder with, two days earlier.

  “Next. Next. Next,” Enrico barked.

  Victoria clicked slowly through the photos she’d taken during the meeting between Jenni and the unknown man. Enrico stared hard at each one, muttering, “Come on. Come on. Think, think, think.”

  He brushed Victoria’s hand away from the laptop with a flick of his wrist, wresting control himself, and flipped through a few more pictures. Then he stopped. The hotel room was dark and silent, but for the patter of rain on the window and the hum of the laptop’s fan.

  “I know this man. I know him.” Enrico leaned forward, squinting. “I can almost . . .” He grunted in exasperation and hammered a few more keys.

  Victoria crossed her arms and glared at the back of Enrico’s head, apparently having both second and third thoughts about letting Enrico touch her equipment.

  “Did you notice anything in particular, Uncle?” Miguel asked quietly.

  “Not really. It’s only a feeling.” He leaned closer to look at the next photo. “Well, you don’t see one of those every day.” Enrico zoomed in and pointed to a small black object hanging off the unknown man’s belt. “See that pouch?”

  “The intruder last night wore one just like it,” Miguel said.

  “It’s a baton.”

  Miguel closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. He should have known.

  Victoria squinted at the screen. “It can’t be much more than six inches long.”

  “It telescopes. There are two or three sections inside. It’s about two feet long, extended. Nasty bits of work, those.”

  “How do you know so much about telescoping batons?” Miguel asked.

  “Life on the road isn’t all rum and bongos, you know.” Enrico glared at Miguel before turning back to the screen. “One of my musician friends carries one for protection.”

  “Didn’t the medical report say Antonio had some strange injuries? A break that was too thin to be caused by a baseball bat?” Miguel leaned over and tapped on the screen. “A telescoping baton would do that.”

  Enrico clicked through the photos once more. “Now if we can figure out who it is . . .”

  Victoria suddenly reached into her bag, pulled out her notebook, and began flipping through it.

  “What is it?” Miguel asked.

  “Something Ana said a few days ago.” Victoria flipped through another half-dozen pages. “Here it is. ‘Vasquez once broke a rookie’s nose while teaching him how to use the baton.’ ”

  “That’s it!” Enrico slapped the desk. “It’s his voice on the tape. I knew it. That bloody man never used a contraction in his life.”

  “We need to get back to the cantina.” Miguel reached for the door.

  “And where are the emeralds now?” asked the detective.

  Ben leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk, ignoring the question. “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you plan to catch the murderer?”

  “I do mind you asking!” Vasquez bellowed, his eyes gleaming with rage. He lowered his voice. “The less you know about police operations, Mr. Cooper, the safer you and your friends will be. Now, where are the emeralds?”

  “They’re in the safe,” Ben said. “I expect you remember the combination from your earlier visit.”

  Vasquez glowered at Ben, then walked over to the safe, dented from years of use. He knelt down and started to twist the dial.

  Ben rose from his chair wordlessly and reached for a clean glass from a shelf. “Are you sure you won’t have a drink?” he asked.

  Vasquez looked back and shook his head, then returned his attention to the safe.

  “Back in a minute,” Ben mumbled. “Need to get some ice.” He walked out of the office, leaving the door open, and flinched as he heard the safe open with a mechanical thunk.

  The light fixture beside him exploded in a cloud of flying glass. “Raise your hands and turn around,” Vasquez shouted. “The safe is empty, Mr. Cooper. Where are the emeralds? Hand them over, and you may still get out of here alive. There will not be another warning shot.”

  Ben lifted his hands and slowly turned around, his ears ringing from the report. The detective knelt by the safe, his pistol trained on Ben’s chest. He’d never make it out of the cantina; Vasquez would put a bullet in him before he got twenty feet. He stole a glance to his left, through the doorway to the kitchen.

  As Vasquez rose to his feet, Ben dashed into the kitchen, tossing pots and pans from the counter as he ran. Even with his ears ringing, he could tell the detective was gaining on him. He had seconds at best.

  He threw open the door to the walk-in freezer and leapt in, slamming the heavy metal door behind him and reaching for a lock that wasn’t there. His hands closed on the emergency release latch instead. He pulled the lever as far away from “Emergency Open” as it would go, then jammed a metal tray between it and the wall.

  The handle began to move.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Blood trickled down Ben’s forehead and into one eye. He hadn’t felt the cut until then; he must have been hit when the light exploded. He shivered in the darkness, and the frigid air burned his lungs as he struggled to catch his breath. He strained to catch some sound of Vasquez in the kitchen. Silence.

  Ben touched a hand to his ears and then rubbed his fingers together in the dark. At least his ears weren’t bleeding. It was small comfort. He leaned against the cold, heavy door of the freezer and patted the reassuring weight of the emeralds in his pants pocket, then reached to double-check the tray was still in place.

  There was a series of deafening explosions, each joined by the shriek of metal being pierced. A horrifying noise that came again, and again, and again as Vasquez tried to shoot through the freezer’s latch.

  Ben found his breath. He screamed.

  Miguel stopped sprinting about a hundred feet from the cantina, taking shelter beneath a large palm from the pouring rain. Enrico and Victoria caught up with him a few seconds later, after weaving their way around several rapidly growing puddles.

  Miguel pointed to a shop across from the cantina. “Wait over there,” he said. “I’ll go inside the bar and—”

  The repeated crack of gunfire cut him off. He ducked his head instinctively, while Victoria and Enrico froze for a few terrifying seconds. Then Miguel grabbed them each by the arm and dragged them around the corner of the shop.

  Safely behind cover, Victoria shook herself from her daze and pulled out her phone. “I need to speak to Captain Reyes. Now,” she said in Spanish. “No, only Captain Reyes.” She listened. “Call him at home if you have to.” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s this about? It’s about you spending the next six months of your miserable life hosing out the holding cell, if you don’t get him on the phone in the next three minutes.”

  She turned to the others. “He’s putting me through now.”

  Miguel motioned for her and Enrico to hug the wall. He leaned around the corner to assess the situation in the bar, but a torrent of rain obscured his view. He tried in vain to hear anything from the cantina above the drum of water on the shop’s metal roof. Nothing. He slid back behind cover.

  “Captain? It’s Victoria Holmes. Shots fired in the cantina. It’s Detective Vasquez.” She paused. “No, he doesn’t need backup. We need backup. He murdered Antonio.” Another pause. “Good idea.”

  She turned back to Miguel and Enrico. “They’ll be here soon.”

  “Who? Reyes?” Enrico asked.

  “No. Everyone
.”

  “How long do you think you can play this game, Mr. Cooper?” Vasquez’s voice was muted by the freezer door.

  Ben shivered. He’d never thought he’d feel so grateful for Enrico’s ill-fitting wool suit, but it did offer some protection from the icy cold. His racing heart and the sudden rush of adrenaline had kept him warm for a time, but the effects were already wearing off.

  How long before Miguel and Victoria began to miss him, he wondered. They hadn’t thought to schedule a meeting, opting instead to message each other as the situation developed. Ben pulled out his cell phone. No signal. Apparently the thick freezer walls blocked more than bullets.

  He used the glow from his phone to locate the light switch on the inside of the freezer. He flipped it on, but nothing happened. Right. That was another item on his never-ending list of repairs, somewhere between getting rid of the strange smell in the dishwasher and figuring out why the blender gave off purple smoke. He found the candle Ana had shown him, but had nothing to light it with. He clicked off his phone, plunging the room into darkness.

  “You cannot stay in there forever. It is only a matter of time before you freeze to death or run out of air,” Vasquez said. “Give me the emeralds. It is your only option.”

  “Not happening, Vasquez,” Ben said. “You’ll shoot me the moment the door is open.”

  “Do you really think I am that kind of man, Mr. Cooper?”

  “Would you like an honest answer?”

  “If I had wanted to, I could have killed you and your friends countless times over,” Vasquez said. “All I wanted was for you to leave the bar so I could find my emeralds.”

  “Your emeralds? How many centuries did you save to buy those on a detective’s salary?”

  “You can believe what you wish, Mr. Cooper, but I have my reasons for what I have done. I do not expect you to understand, but some loyalties are more important than those represented by a badge.”

  “That’s small comfort for Antonio.”

  The door of the freezer clanged as Vasquez struck it. “He made his choice!” he yelled. Then, more quietly, “You have no idea what happened that night, do you?”