"We're not cops," I said.

  He smiled. "So?"

  "We know things about you."

  He cocked his head. "So?"

  "We might be able to help you."

  "Help me?" he asked, his eyebrows raising. He frowned and shook his head.

  "We know you had a relationship with Lawrence Taggert." I said.

  He shrugged, his large shoulders rising against his thick neck, and frowned. "We were friends. This is known."

  "I think we both know you were more than that."

  The man smiled slowly. "What business is this of yours, little girl?"

  Out of my peripheral vision I saw Mulberry's head turn to look at me, but I couldn't make out his expression. However, I could guess it was worried. Worried that I'd take a running leap at this mountain-size man, spring off the bar, and, placing one hand on his chin and the other at the top of his head, use my momentum to snap that tree trunk-size neck. But instead I smiled at him. "You're right Ivan, it is none of my business what you do or who you do it with."

  I paused for a moment and looked around the dark bar, took a deep breath inhaling the stench of beer and sex. "But," I held up a finger and shook my hand gently, "I do have a very strong interest in who killed Lawrence Taggert and since you're clearly the absolute worst kind of scum on the earth, I'd say you're suspect #1." I held the hand still, my finger extended up.

  Ivan stared at it for a moment and then burst out laughing. "You are very brave, little girl."

  I smiled. "That's because I'm very strong."

  "Come, we have a drink, we talk." He turned and headed toward the back of the bar.

  "You are seriously lucky that worked," Mulberry whispered to me as we followed Ivan into the back room.

  #

  Ivan led us into a small private office that smelled of cigar smoke and money. He offered us two chairs and took a third. His sweat-suited soldier stood behind him looking indestructible. A slight, blonde woman with pale skin wearing a short black mini dress came in and Ivan spoke to her in his native tongue. She listened, nodded, and left toward the bar.

  "You drink," Ivan said. It wasn't a question. We nodded. "Smoke?" This time he was asking.

  "No thanks," Mulberry said. Ivan's eyes fell on me. They were small for his face but bright blue. They looked like thick ice, cold and hard.

  I shook my head. "Tell me about Taggert," I said.

  Ivan turned to the man behind him and said something. The henchman nodded and then opened a cabinet, removing a dark wood humidor. He held it open in front of Ivan who looked at me. "Are you sure? They are the best."

  I smiled. "Thanks, but I'm good."

  Ivan shrugged and waved the box away. "I thought it was clear who killed Lawrence Taggert. Hugh Defry."

  "You know him?"

  "Of course," Ivan said. "I love his food, I will miss Defry's."

  "You think Hugh was capable of something like this?"

  Ivan held my gaze. "You must know what men are capable of."

  "Why should I believe you didn't have him killed?"

  Ivan held a hand to his chest as though I'd wounded him. "Why would I kill him?"

  "Maybe he messed up?"

  "How?"

  I shrugged. The woman returned with three shots of clear liquid on a round tray. As she bent to offer me one I noticed fading bruises on her wrists. I took the drink and thanked her. She moved onto Mulberry who also took a glass. I checked her ankles and saw more marks. "I bet there are a lot of ways to mess up around here," I answered.

  Ivan took a glass from the woman. "What makes you think it wasn't Hugh?" Ivan asked, holding his drink lightly in one hand.

  "We're not at liberty to say," Mulberry answered.

  Ivan smiled and looked at me. "You ask for information but you do not want to give any." I didn't answer. "If it was not Hugh, I would like to know who killed Lawrence. He was a valued business associate. There were things that he provided that no one else has. Maybe you can help me with this."

  "In what way?" I asked.

  Ivan shrugged again. "Maybe you can't. Salut," Ivan said, holding up the glass. Mulberry and I mimicked his movement and then we all took the shot. Strong, gasoline-like vodka hit the back of my throat but I kept my face still. Ivan watched me and smiled when I didn't cough or tear up.

  "I tell you the truth. I did not kill Lawrence. You find out who did. I would very much like to know."

  #

  As we got back in the car I paused for a moment and looked up at the strip club. The cinderblock building was painted with advertisements for the pleasures found inside. It looked grotesque in the bright mid-day sun. I thought about the bruises on that girl. She was probably undocumented, brought here for the express purpose of turning her into a prostitute. I wondered what her dreams had been, if she had any left.

  My fingers tightened around the door handle as I thought about Ivan and his sweat-suited comrade. Men like that did not deserve to rule the world. Maybe Malina was right. Maybe we needed to do something. Then again, maybe that was just the lunch-hour drinking talking.

  "You okay?" Mulberry asked.

  I turned to him. "Yeah, just thinking." I took one last glance up at the building and then climbed into the car.

  "Want to go back to the office and watch some surveillance video?" Mulberry asked.

  "Sounds like a scream." Mulberry pulled onto the highway and we cruised along in silence for awhile. "What do you think Lawrence was doing for Ivan?" I asked. "I'd been thinking money laundering but I'm not sure. Didn't it sound like it wasn't that simple?" I asked Mulberry.

  He changed lanes and exited. "Yeah," Mulberry said. "He seemed willing to do business until he realized we had no idea what he was talking about."

  "Yeah."

  "At least he didn't figure out you were the group of guys and pit bulls who just beat the shit out of his men."

  "That's good," I agreed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Big Brother

  “Hey,” said Ashley, as we entered the viewing room, which was a floor beneath the conference room we’d been using. She swiveled in a black office chair, turning away from several screens that all showed the front entrance of Defry.

  "How's it going?" Mulberry asked, taking a seat to her left. I sat in a matching chair on her right and Blue maneuvered himself under the desk with his snout resting on my foot. The room itself was small and dark. Four screens were set into the desk that Ashley worked at. Within arm’s reach were a variety of dials and a keyboard color-coded for something I did not understand.

  "I'm just going through the outdoor feed from the front of the restaurant for the day leading up to the fire."

  "How far back have you watched?" I asked.

  "So far," she leaned back in her chair and it seemed to sigh, "I've done the kitchen footage for three days prior to the fire. Nothing on that."

  I smiled. "No evidence of someone sneaking in and sabotaging the oven?"

  "Not as of yet," she smiled. "But, I'll go back further once I've gotten through this."

  "Sydney, do you want me to set you up in a room to watch those gas station feeds?" Mulberry asked. I looked at the array of instruments in front of Ashley. Seeing my glance, Mulberry continued, "Don't worry, I'll show you the basics."

  Mulberry took me to a room that was almost identical to the one where we'd found Ashley. He sat down in one of the dark leather chairs and pointed to another. I took my place and Blue curled up under the desk, happy to have a dark, quiet place to nap. Mulberry grabbed the armrest of my chair and pulled me close to his, right up in front of all the gadgetry. Knobs and keyboards, not my friends.

  "Don't look so worried," he said with a smile. "You're gonna get this fine."

  I shy away from technology. It is overwhelming and powerful. Without emotions there seems no angle at which to approach it.

  Mulberry typed quickly onto the keyboard and a menu came up on one of the screens. He navigated to a file and clicked it, which caused it to open onto a different screen. A still, blurry image of the gas pumps at the Everglades station. He clicked another file and the next screen glowed to life, displaying an angle from inside the store, facing the cash register. Sharif was leaning on his counter, looking out the door. Mulberry filled the next two screens with angles from different cameras. I could see the pumps, the register, the fridges filled with drinks that promised power, relief, and just plain sugar, as well as the bathroom door and aisle leading to it.

  At the bottom of each screen a time clock paused at 9 pm, six months before the murder. "You want to start all the way back here?" Mulberry asked.

  I laughed. "Can I start with the night of the murder and go backwards?"

  "You can do anything you want with this thing," he said with a smile. He looked like a kid with a new video game as he turned back to the screen in the center of the console. He typed and explained what he was doing, but I wasn't listening. My eye had caught the way his lips and the whiskers of his stubble glowed in the computer's screen light and I was suddenly entranced, watching his mouth move as he spoke.

  "Sydney," I realized he said my name.

  "Hmm, yeah," I said, looking up at his eyes.

  A smile teased the corners of his mouth. "You okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine. Just um," I looked over at the screens. "How do I do it again?"

  Mulberry laughed and turned back to the computer. "Here," he said. "See these knobs?" I nodded seeing the dials built into the desk. "They control the time on the four different monitors which you can see, obviously, from the clock on the bottom of the screen." He reached out and pointed at the time stamp. I nodded again. "If you want to go back or forward you just turn the corresponding knob."

  He took one between his fingers and twisted it slowly. Action began to happen in the top left screen. Sanjit stood up from the counter and began to turn. When Mulberry stopped moving his fingers, so did Sanjit. "To jump faster you can go into your controls here," Mulberry brought up a window on the center screen, "and just type it in here." He showed me how each film was labeled and how to change the times. He turned to me. "Got it?"

  I smiled but it was clear I had not got it. "Why don't you just watch with me?" I asked.

  He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head, examining me. "Did you just ask for my help?"

  "What?" I said with faux dismay.

  "Sydney Rye asking for help." He folded his arms and looked smug.

  "I don't like computers."

  He laughed. "You know there is quite a bit of irony in that."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Because your legacy is being made on them."

  I felt a chill run down my spine and land in my gut as a golf ball-size nut of anxiety. "What do you know about it?"

  He leaned forward and put his hand on my knee. "I know about Joyful Justice," he said, his voice quiet and intimate.

  "Do you think it's a good idea?" I asked, holding my breath, not sure I was ready to hear his answer. Scared of how deeply it might affect me.

  Before he could respond the door opened. Ashley walked in and, seeing our intimate pose, flustered, apologized, and left quickly. Mulberry and I both couldn't help but giggle. "I should probably go," Mulberry said as he stood. "Don't want the troops talking."

  I furrowed my brow. "Who cares what she thinks?"

  Mulberry looked down at me. "You would be wise not to ignore what other people say about you, Sydney. It can be dangerous to stay misinformed."

  And with that he left, leaving me alone with the big bad computer.

  #

  I figured out how to use the system easily enough. I started just turning the knobs and soon I was off, watching the daily life at the Everglades Quick n' Go. There was not much to see and plenty at the same time. I learned the schedule for the employees, who was late, who ate a lot of chocolate. I felt a bit like I was watching that Kevin Smith movie Clerks, but without any of the witty banter or cruel irony.

  I watched the day that Hugh came from morning until night. The moment of truth, when Hugh's car pulled into view and stopped in front of pump #4, was a letdown after watching ten hours of the same thing happen in fast forward. I slowed down the tape, inching it along, making Hugh pump gas in a herky-jerky painfully slow way. I'd watched cars and drivers do the same thing all day.

  On those hours of tape a car arrived, its driver climbed out, sometimes there were kids in the back, often at least a passenger. But at pump 4 it was hard to tell if there was anyone in the passenger seat unless they propped an elbow out the window, or decided to get out and take a stretch, pulling up shirts and exposing bellies to the camera they didn't realize was there.

  But if anyone was with Hugh, if there was a puppet master sitting by his side, then he or she would know about the cameras and make sure not to be seen. With the tank nearly full the only reason to stop at this station was to make sure this footage happened. I stared at the dark passenger window of Hugh's car as he replaced the nozzle and inched back to the driver's side. Leaning across the desk, slowing the action and pushing closer to the screen, I tried to decipher some movement, some hint of life from the dark pixels that filled the car's interior.

  The sedan began to move, the overhead fluorescents glinting off the glass. It pulled into the darkness of the Everglades, its taillights receding in the gloom. I sat back and stared at the screen, allowing it to return to normal speed.

  The footage from that night became slowly stiller until the headlights that had passed by in a semi-regular flow fully stopped for two hours. I marveled that Sanjit kept his place open for such long hours when so few customers were passing by. As the sun rose on the day that Hugh was arrested, the footage stopped. It was the end of what he'd given me.

  I went to the main screen, put in midnight from two days before the murder and hit play. It worked. All four cameras began at the same place. I was quietly pleased with myself for figuring it out. Sure, Mulberry showed it to me like an hour ago but still, not every day I managed something new on a computer. And then Mulberry was back in my mind, swirling around, balling all my emotions into a big fat mess.

  Blue sensed my tension and sat up, pushing against me, his wet nose touching my hand. I looked down at him and held his steady gaze. Staring deep into his mismatched eyes I found some peace. "What are we gonna do, boy?" I asked him. He blinked and settled his head across my lap. My cell phone pinged and I looked down at a message from Dan. Found some really interesting stuff about datura, can you meet for dinner, 8?

  How did he find out about the datura? Joyful Justice at work? Were Santiago and Hugh members of Joyful Justice too? How many members were there? I thought about Mulberry's warning and glanced up at the screens. "I should really go on that site," I said to Blue. He sighed and closed his eyes. I needed to figure out what happened to Hugh before anything else. I returned Dan’s message telling him to text me the address of the restaurant.

  I spent another two hours going over uneventful footage from those two final days when there was a knock at the door. "Yup," I said, hitting the pause button like a regular pro.

  "Hey," Mulberry said, Ashley standing right behind him. "We're going to get take out. You want?"

  "Wait, what time is it?" I checked my phone and saw I was about to be late to meet Dan. "I can't. I've got to run," I said, standing up and grabbing my bag. Blue came out from under the desk and stretched out his front paws, lifted his tail in the air and yawned as he fanned it lazily back and forth.

  "Looks like he had a good nap," Mulberry said, smiling down at him.

  "I'll call you later," I told him as I pushed past and hurried down the hall.

  He caught up to me at the elevators. "Hey," he said. "What's going on? Where are you going?"

  "I'm meeting Dan."

  He smiled but looked annoyed. "Fine, enjoy your dinner," he said, an edge to his voice. Then he quickly turned back toward Ashley who waited at the end of the hall pretending not to watch us.

  #

  I pulled up to the restaurant only ten minutes late and Dan smiled as he watched me approach in a hurry. "Sorry," I said as I joined him at the outdoor table.

  "No problem, I'm used to you being late," he said it as though my tardiness was charming.

  "I'm not always late," I said.

  "Sure, if you're on Indian time I'd say you're more than punctual."

  I laughed. "Yeah, right, maybe I'm judging myself by the wrong standards."

  "Hey, you're here and that's what matters," Dan said as he picked up the menu. "Want me to order?" he asked.

  "Please." Dan always picked the best stuff and I'd learned that if I didn't have him order for me I'd just be jealous of his choice. The waiter came over and Dan greeted him in Spanish, then ordered several dishes I'd never heard of.

  "This is your first time in a Cuban restaurant?" the waiter said, turning to me.

  I looked over at Dan and then back to him. The waiter was round in the middle wearing high pants with a white button-down shirt tucked in. "Yes," I answered.

  "Ah, then I will make something special for you. For your special lady, eh, Dan."

  "You guys know each other?" I asked.

  "Sure," the waiter answered. "He is one of my favorite customers."

  I smiled at him and he laughed. "I leave you two lovebirds alone, eh."

  "Lovebirds?" I said to Dan after the waiter left us.

  Dan shrugged. "He made an assumption."

  "Why?" I asked. "Did you used to bring a lot of dates here?"

  He blushed. "Maybe one or two."

  "Dan!"

  "What? I'm not trying to date you, Sydney, I just really like the food."

  "Fine," I said.

  He laughed.

  "So," I said, changing the subject, "what did you find out?"

  Dan sat forward. "A lot. Datura is fascinating. You know, I'd heard about it before, but now that I've dug deeper, this shit is crazy."

  "Yeah?" I said, leaning toward him. The waiter arrived with a mojito for me and I thanked him before turning back to Dan.

  "It's used a lot in Colombia for robbing people, raping women, the list goes on. Now, I didn't find any cold hard examples of people being forced to commit murder while on the drug but it seems like it could be done. There is some new stuff hitting the streets now, just in the past six months or so, they are calling designer."

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22