Читать книгу The Last Flight of the Ariel - Joseph Dylan Dylan - Страница 6

With the eidetic memory of a prodigy, Hewlett could well remember the day it all changed for the both of them. It was a misty November morning more than a year ago. Drizzle that had begun falling the day before and hadn’t stopped obscuring the tops of the Miami. Hewlett and his associates had an office on the top of one of Miami’s skyscrapers. His office had an inside out view. If he looked the other way he could see pretty well everything going on in the office. The center piece was the trading floor: the illusionary life force of their business. At about ten o’clock, he was watching overseas markets waver on the neon ticker tape his secretary rang him. “A Mr. Roland Rosario to see you.”

“Did I have an appointment with this Mr. Rosario?”

“No. Mr. Hewlett. You have the eleven o’clock with Mr. Stevens, but that’s it for this morning.” It was not unusual for Hewlett to have a fairly open appointment book. Most of his clients were too busy businessmen finding it hard to get away from their office, so they called him at his, his acute mind recalling the broad sweep of his client’s portfolios with little difficulty. Rosario...Rosario...No, Rosario, never had he seen him in the past. He looked out and saw a man he wouldn’t have forgotten.

“Did he say what this was in regards to?”

“He said it was a private matter.”

“Give me about thirty seconds, and then I’ll be out.” There was a small bathroom off his office. He adjusted the part in his hair and rinsed his mouth out with Listerine. Entering the waiting area, he found a swarthy man sitting very erectly, his briefcase on his lap and his elbows resting on it. For the briefest second, Hewlett hesitated. Walking over to where the man was sitting, he said, “Mr. Rosario? I don’t believe I have the pleasure of knowing you? My name is Paul Hewlett.”

When he offered the man his hand, Rosario just stood, ignoring it. He was a short man of Mediterranean extraction, who looked as dour as the weather. “How can I help you?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather discuss the matter in your office.”

“Most of my clients see me by appointment. I have another appointment coming in in about half an hour.” Hewlett noticed he had a lazy eye, the left eye tracking him while the right one didn’t.

“I think, Mr. Hewlett, you should cancel his appointment. There is some urgency in the matter of which I have come to discuss with you.” Given the man’s inclination for privacy, his stern demeanor, his hint of menace, Hewlett began to wonder if the firm was about to be audited by the SEC.

As CEO of the investment firm, it was not unusual for anyone in an official capacity to ask to see him rather than Townsend or one of the other partners. Hewlett looked at Sandra Burke, who caught his look, just shrugged her shoulders and looked away. “Please try to cancel my appointment, will you, Sandra. Call Mr. Clark and tell him it was a matter of a small family emergency. Make it sometime later in the week. And please convey my apologies.”

Once they were in his office, Hewlett ushered him to the seat in front of his desk. The man sat down, his toes, but not the heels of his shoes, touching the floor. He sat very still, like a devout soul listening to a sermon. Hewlett walked around and settled in the swivelling leather chair behind his desk. “Can I get something for you to drink? A cup of coffee?” Rosario took the leather chair on the opposite side of the desk.

Without so much as answering his question, Rosario said, “You run a very tight operation here, Mr. Hewlett. No one would guess what goes on behind these walls.”

“I beg your pardon?” Suddenly, Hewlett felt the slightest bit queasy. Feeling like he felt the time he was scuba diving in Australia and noticed a large shark come towards him, he now felt no less wary. Reconnoitering him, the shark circled several times then left as suddenly as he had appeared. So unnerved was he by the encounter that he did no further scuba diving on the trip. When friends he used to dive with would plan a trip, he went with them with some reluctance. There are only so many times a shark comes up to you with no more than just curiosity. Like that shark, Rosario made him feel like he was being sized up by a predator. The statement was like a shot across the bow of a ship: either Rosario worked for the government or he worked for some criminal organization. But if it was government, they would probably be setting him up for a sting, but he had the feeling Rosario was not DEA.

“I said, you run a very tight operation here. Very tight. I’m impressed. So are the people whom I represent.” Rosario’s confidence was unsettling.

“We do our best we can for our clients.”

“I was not talking about investments.”

“Then what are we talking about, Mr. Rosario? I’m afraid you lost me.”

“I think that you run one of the small, but tidiest cocaine supplying entities here in southern Florida.”

“I think you’ve made a mistake here. I am just a stockbroker.”

“Oh, Mr. Hewlett, there’s no need for the false modesty.”

“As I said, I think you’ve made a mistake here, Mr. Rosario. I’ve had modest success at the investment business, and I think my clients have a certain respect for me in that capacity. Colleagues in financial circles will vouch for me.”

“We’re not talking stocks, Mr. Hewlett.”

“That’s what we do here, Mr. Rosario. Mr. Townsend, Mr. Stolley, Mr. Jewell, Mr. Casey, Mr. Jamison, Mr. Downing, Mr. Moriarty and I — we are all stockbrokers. Now if there’s something in the investment field I, or one of my colleagues, can do for you, please let me know. If not, then I think you should leave.”

“Now that, Mr. Hewlett, would be a mistake. You haven’t even heard me out just yet.”

“I think I’ve heard enough. Please leave.”

“I can leave, but the people I answer to will just send someone here of more unpleasant disposition. I can guarantee that they won’t take tomorrow as an answer. Someone less friendly. Someone less likely to take you at your word. Tell me, how would you explain the presence of let’s just say of having one of my associates in your waiting room.” He made associates sound ominous and unforgiving.

“Well to repeat myself, what is it you want?”

“Just how much are you charging for a gram, Mr. Hewlett?”

“A gram?” Leaning back in the leather chair, Hewlett found himself rubbing his mouth with the palm of his right hand. He needed a cigarette, even though he gave up the habit over many years ago. “I’m afraid you really must go.”

“Mr. Hewlett, be reasonable.” From his briefcase, he removed a manila folder that he handed to Hewlett. Hewlett leaned forward. In the photos, taken with a telephoto lens, Jake Townsend was handing baggies full of white powder to various men whom Hewlett knew to be dealers. In the photos, Townsend could be seen taking greenback dollars of unknown denomination from the dealers. “You see Mr. Hewlett, my organization has eyes everywhere.” Goddamn Jake. He told him time and time again not to be dropping off product in the street because of prying eyes. But he never listened.

“You heard me, a gram?” Rosario said again, a little more forcefully.

“I’m a stockbroker, Mr. Rosario.”

“You’re a stockbroker who sells cocaine on the side, Mr. Hewlett.”

“Look, occasionally the opportunity arises to sell a little cocaine. We sell only to a very select group of people. Does that make you feel better?”

“You’ll have to do better than that, Mr. Hewlett. You can continue to pretend that you’re a broker who ‘dabbles,’ but if you persist in this charade, I’ll just come back with my associates.”

“I just told you that we occasionally get some cocaine for friends or clients. We’re not big time suppliers by any means.”

“How much a gram?”

“It depends on the market conditions. Purity. Supply and demand. ”

“My personal associates just spent time in Starke for various capital offenses. Mr. Newell was there for manslaughter. Seems there was a small matter over a poker hand. His opponent refused to settle the matter amicably. Mr. Newell allegedly beat him over the head with a gun until the man was senseless. He later died in a Miami hospital. Funny, I can’t recall which one. Of course, Mr. Newell denied the charges. He claims he just had charitable feelings for the man, despite their dispute over the money. In my limited recollection it seems to me, it was over just fifty dollars. But fifty dollars is fifty dollars. As far as I know, Mr. Newell never did recover his money. Mr. Newell was no less busy in Starke. While he was there, he was alleged to have dispatched a particularly unpopular inmate with a shiv. Of course, they couldn’t convict him on that charge. There were no witnesses. And if Mr. Newell is not enough to get your attention, there’s Mr. Spader.

“Mr. Spader was convicted of murdering his neighbor in Tallahassee for playing his music too loud. Though Mr. Spader loves music, especially the classics or opera, he is no fan of the Beatles. According to the court proceedings, Mr. Spader used a knife to kill the now deceased teenager by stabbing him thirty-three times in the chest, abdomen and neck. Seems the victim was playing ‘Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,’ an album that Spader particularly detests. He knocked on his neighbors’ door to ask them to turn off their stereo. When the boy refused, he stabbed him. He did so much damage internally, they couldn’t even harvest his organs. When the police came to arrest him, he was watching reruns of Archie Bunker. His lawyer got him off by pleading to Murder Two. Now, Mr. Hewlett, you really don’t want me bringing this sort of...let’s just say, ‘business associates’ around to your premises, do you?”

“One hundred dollars, more or less. Look, we just want a small part of the sandbox to play in. We’re not stepping on your toes. We can go away. I don’t run in the fast crowd like my cousin does.”

But Rosario didn’t seem to be listening to him.

“Does the name Bob Black ring a bell? It should. It was Bob Black’s body that washed up on the beach last week. Maybe you read about it in the Herald.”

Hewlett shook his head. “I seldom get past the Financial Page.”

“Maybe you saw it on the local news channel.”

“I seldom watch the news, except for...”

“Except for the financial news,” Rosario finished for him. “Mr. Newell and Mr. Spader had a hard time loading him in the trunk of a van. Seems he weighed over two hundred fifty pounds. He was the one who washed up on the beach with his hands tied behind his back and his feet bound. Duct tape covered his mouth. It was Mr. Newell who put two .22 slugs behind his left ear.” As Rosario recited the execution style slaying of Black, Hewlett remembered seeing pictures of them hauling the body out of the water on late night news on KMTV. “The double tap 22’s behind the ear is the trademark of the organization I work for. You see a larger bullet would go straight out the other side of the skull. A .22, though, enters the skull and ricochets back and forth inside the skull like a billiard ball in the cushions of the table because it doesn’t possess the firepower that another handgun might have. It doesn’t have the power to go through the skull. Each time it ricochets it takes out more brain. There goes high school; there goes college.”

Without even being aware of it, Hewlett found himself shaking his head. “OK. I said aside from threatening me, what is it you want, Mr. Rosario?”

“Now, we seem to be getting somewhere.”

“I’m going to repeat my question. What is it you want Mr. Rosario?”

“So now you admit you sell cocaine on the side? Confession is good for the soul.”

Feeling as worn down as a prizefighter who had just gone two or three rounds too many, Hewlett just nodded his head. “I’ve admitted that to you Mr. Rosario. That’s something I’d never admit to my priest, even if I still worshipped in a church.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t hear you. You want to speak up.”

“I have a thing about running a secure operation, Mr. Rosario. Mr. Townsend and I have never — and let me repeat this — never talked business on the premises.”

“You have quite a reputation for discretion.”

“Discretion has kept us out of Starke. Like you said, ‘We run a very tight operation.’ It’s just my cousin, and business partner, Jake Townsend.”

“No, a boy from Dartmouth would not do well behind the walls at Starke. You’d be someone’s bitch before you were fully integrated into the justice system. Right now, I represent an organization that wants to do business with you. As partners.”

“I was wondering when the mob would muscle in on us. I was dreading it.”

“Come now, Mr. Hewlett, we never refer to ourselves as the mob.”

“What is it then? The Mafia? The Cosa Nostra?”

“You are a little behind the times, Mr. Hewlett. It’s a little like people in the Old Testament who’d never say the name of Yahweh. I suppose if we had to refer to ourselves as something, it would be the family. But no more talk of the ‘mob.’ It just belittles the both of us. If you must use a word for the organization I represent, then use ‘family.’”

“Okay, let me just say how much does the family want from our take?”

“Any profit we share 60:40. Sixty percent for us. Forty percent for you.”

“That seems a little steep.” Maybe it was his turn to run for it. Using one of his aliases he’d established an account in the Cayman Islands in the name of Dan Chisholm. Hewlett was certain they didn’t know about his secret savings. He had six hundred and fifty thousand in it.

Rosario seemed to read his mind. “If you’re thinking of running, Mr. Hewlett, I wouldn’t suggest it. The family takes a very dim view of it, and there’s no rock that we wouldn’t overturn trying to find you.”

“I’m not upset with the way the family splits the profits. I am concerned about length of employment. I was thinking of retiring within a year. I can’t speak for Jake.”

“Now, Mr. Hewlett, you’re a player. We can’t just let you go. If it seems steep to your cousin, just tell him that he needs to imagine what it’s like doing a stint in prison. The same goes for you. You’d have to give up your stockbroker’s license. You’d have a hard time finding work with a felony on your record. In fact, I don’t know if there’s any similar job or position you might obtain. Do you? The people I represent can give you protection. Protection up to a point. Should you or your cousin do something really outrageous, we could not help you. But you seem to possess a keen sense of just what it takes to keep a step ahead of the law. Furthermore, we’ve paid off a lot of the key people in the agencies that put people behind bars. That is, people like you who sell drugs.”

“I can certainly convey your wishes to Mr. Townsend. But speaking for myself, I am anxious to get out of the business, and this seems to be the most appropriate time. I’ve had my run at it. I don’t want to have to worry about the DEA or the Miami Vice Squad anymore. I’ve lost too much sleep over dealing coke. I tell you with all sincerity I want out.”

“But we could protect you.”

“Mr. Rosario, dealing is a young man’s game. It’s made me feel old before my time.”

“Paul — may I call you Paul? You see the family is more interested in acquiring your services than they are your cousin’s. We can’t allow you just to quit.”

“You can’t make me deal cocaine for you, now can you?”

“Well, Paul, look at it this way. Life is full of little choices. Say you want to quit. You quit. Now, Mr. Townsend could end up at the short end of a drug deal that goes bad. You catch my drift. From what my informants told me before I came here, they said you might want to get out. They said your cousin was much less likely to do so. Am I right? As of this point, with the family’s merger, I’d hoped we might change your mind.”

“Mr. Rosario, I want out. I truly do. Mr. Townsend can manage these accounts as well as I can.”

“The fact is, he can’t. Right now, you can’t even afford a ski vacation for two weeks without your cousin screwing things up. C’mon Paul. You know I’m right.”

“Okay. Suppose I stay. Will you let me go in a year?”

“You can go when I can find someone with your expertise. Not before.”

“I’ll give you a year. But I won’t make promises.”

“We’ll see, Paul. For now, you will keep on dealing, but you will be working with us. The profits will be split in our favor, but we will bring you more business than you can imagine which translates into more money than you are currently. By far.”

“I’ve got to speak to Jake.”

“It should be a brief conversation. I don’t see that you have a whole lot of choice.”

Rosario started to stand. “No,” said Hewlett. Rosario seated himself again. “Tomorrow, the sun is supposed to be out again. Miami will be back on the weather channel as the capital of the ‘Sunshine State.’ This cold front is due to blow through by late this afternoon. Whenever Jake and I want to discuss business, we go over to Simon Bolivar Park — the park just across the street — where we sit down on one of the park benches and discuss business. While the Feds can bug the office, they pretty much can’t bug the park. Why don’t we meet there, say about ten?”

“You sure you’re not pulling my leg.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I was wondering.”

“You’ve got my word,” said Hewlett. “In this business, that’s usually the best one can do. At ten, I’ll be down in the park. Don’t bring your friends. You’ll find there’s no reason to. Besides, I abhor violence. I abhor guns.”

“Well, then. I’ll take your word for it. I’ll go ahead and let myself out.” Grabbing his briefcase, Rosario stood up and walked out the door of Hewlett’s office. There was a slight limp, his left leg the least bit gimpy, something that Hewlett hadn’t noticed when he came in.

“What’s your real name, Mr. Rosario?”

“Roland Rosario. Besides, does it really matter?”

As soon as Roland Rosario was out of his office and out of the investment firm, he got back on the intercom, speaking to his secretary. “Does Townsend have any clients right now? If so cancel them. We have a small fire to put out.”

Snatching his umbrella, he left his office and went by Townsend’s office. Townsend was going through a futures contract at his desk. “C’mon, Jake, we’ve got to talk.”

“Can’t it wait? There’s a rush on this futures contract for Jed MacIntyre.” One of their better clients, MacIntyre had been with Townsend since his days at Hauser, Longo and Fauci.

“It’ll wait. You can do it over lunch. This won’t wait. Grab your umbrella. We can’t talk down at the park because of the rain, but we’ll get one of the back booths at Nanette’s,” which was a small coffee shop on the corner, half a block away. The members of the investment firm often met there for lunch and brought clients as well.

The one thing about Miami was that one never needed a coat, even when it was raining. You just needed an umbrella. It was eleven-fifteen. Nanette greeted them at the door. “You fellas look like you could use a cup of coffee on a miserable day like this,” she said. “You look a little pale, Paul. Not like your cousin. He looks as chipper as ever.”

“Thank you, kind lady,” said Townsend.

“Do you have a quiet booth at the back?” inquired Hewlett.

“For you, Paul, anything,” she said smiling. She ushered them to the corner booth against the back wall. Still early for the lunch crowd, the tables at either side were empty. “So two coffees?”

"Two coffees. And make them Irish. Don’t hold back on the whiskey.” For the downtown neighborhood, Nanette’s was a cardinal landmark where people met and caught up on their life. Though it had a strong breakfast and lunch crowd, most of the people in the area hit the more modern restaurants for dinner, particularly if they were not in the mood for anything but a steak. The steaks at Nanette’s were outstanding. Serving the neighborhood, it was a special place often reserved for weddings and wakes. Was there any difference?