Don Bruns - Too Much Stuff

“It’s worked up till now.”

“Why? Humanitarianism? What’s in it for you?”

O’Neill looked at him and smiled. “Are you kidding? You dumb, stupid child. These aren’t indigent people from Cuba who are ready to beg on the streets of Miami. They’re sponsored by wealthy families that live here. Families that are willing to pay for each of them.”

“So you’re making some pretty good money off this venture?” Even when we were in trouble, James was looking for the next business venture.

With a smug look on his face, he turned to James. “Oh, you could say that. Ten thousand a head.”

“What?”

“We’re averaging about three hundred thousand per boatload. We pick them up from a Cuban boat about halfway, time it so that we’re part of a nighttime fishing tournament, and put them up at the Ocean Air. Then we bus, truck, or car them up to Miami. But you already figured that out, didn’t you?”

“Ten thousand dollars a head?” James hadn’t heard anything else.

“Until you showed up. Now, the whole business is busted.”

Swinging the pistol back and forth he leaned against the door frame. “Who are you anyway? Why did you decide to mess with us?”

“Honestly, this had nothing to do with you. We’re here looking for gold that was buried back in nineteen thirty-five.”

He looked confused. “Then why did you-”

“Some of the information we needed happened to be buried on the vacant lot. And while we were retrieving it, your boat showed up.”

“Bad luck, that.”

“Maybe for all of us.”

He nodded. “For you, for sure.”

The outside door opened, closed and everything was silent.

“Hello, my friend.” Malhotra walked up behind O’Neill.

“I assume the Cubans have scattered?”

“Some. I would estimate the cops rounded up fifteen or so.”

“These three, they’ve pretty much destroyed any chance of our starting over.”

“Thank you, kids. Because of you, we’ve got to get out of Dodge.”

Malhotra walked over to me and swung hard, the back of his hand hitting my chin as my chair tipped over and I landed with a thud on the floor. Walking to James, he smiled.

“You’re probably the brains behind everything, am I right? You look like a bright fellow.” He stroked his short gray beard and studied James for a moment. “Ah, no matter.” He backhanded him even harder than he’d hit me, rocking James back against the wall.

“You, missy, we’ll have a special place for you when we get to Miami.”

“We’re going to Miami?” I asked from the floor.

“In your truck, my friend.” The truck we’d left at the post office with the keys still in it. “And guess who gets to ride in the back?”

The truck rumbled and the ride was rough. All three of us were quiet, not sure if the two doctors could hear us in the cab. They’d left their fancy sports cars back at their office. They’d left everything, including our cell phones. Bits and pieces of conversation led us to believe that they had offshore accounts they could access, but it appeared to me that their days of living large in Islamorada were over. Their livelihood of smuggling for a living was over. Their lives as they knew them were over. I assumed they’d have to leave the country.

“Skip,” Em whispered loudly, over the roar of the road beneath us. “I’ve still got my purse.”

“Nail file isn’t going to get us out of this jam, Emily,” James said.

“No file, James. I’ve got the gun.”

I’d forgotten all about that.

“I could shoot through the wall. We’d either hit one of them or give them a huge scare.”

“I don’t think we want to kill anyone.”

“Pard, don’t you think they plan on killing us?”

He was probably right.

“Let’s think it through. We haven’t been gone that long. Maybe ten minutes. Don’t you think the cops are looking for us by now? Or the truck? Or Malhotra and O’Neill?” I was trying to be positive.

“I think the authorities have got their hands full trying to track down all the runaway Cubans.” We knew it was utter chaos back there.

“We get much farther up the road, our lives aren’t worth squat, Skip. They can pull over at any of those scenic views at this time of the morning, shoot us point blank, then toss our bodies into the ocean. Before anyone finds our remains we’ll have been shark bait.”

“Pray for a miracle, boys.”

With that, the truck jolted to a stop. There was a loud grinding sound, a screeching noise, and we could smell smoke.

“What the hell. Did he burn the brakes?” Even in the pitch-black I knew James was on his feet pacing.

“Em’s prayer was just answered, James.”

There was a long moment of silence. Grumbling from the cab, both doors slamming and then we could hear them opening the back of our truck. Early morning light crept into our black cavern and there stood the two smugglers below us, frowns on their faces.

“What the hell caused this truck to stop?”

They were looking up at James and me. Em was farther back.

“Well?”

“Oh, shit.” James looked at me. “We can say goodbye to the engine. No oil. It bound up.”

I motioned to James. Looking down we saw no gun in O’Neill’s hand.

I leaped headfirst into James O’Neill, driving him to the ground and heard my partner hit Praveen Malhotra as he jumped on him.

I’m not a fighter, but during the last several days I’d punched a couple of people and come out on top. Straddling O’Neill, I hit him with a left, then a right, and he was out cold. At this point, I was with Em. I could have killed him and it wouldn’t have bothered me.

James was struggling with the wiry Malhotra, and the Indian doctor was about to get the upper hand. He rolled James, coming out on top with his hands around my best friend’s throat. I struggled to my feet, grabbed the guy by the neck of his Henley shirt, and hit him once on his chin. His eyes rolled back and he slumped back to the ground. Paybacks were hell.

“So you didn’t need me at all.”

Em stood on the edge of the truck bed, her gun by her side.

“I was hoping I could save you both. Then you’d owe me.”

We met in Mary Trueblood’s suite at one o’clock in the afternoon. I’d never seen her this angry.

“You didn’t have the courtesy to call me, not once, and let me know what was going on? I can’t believe that-”

“Mrs. Trueblood,” I tried to calm her down. “It’s not like ten things weren’t happening at the same time.”

“Damn, boy, you don’t know how worried I’ve been. I hear a gunshot on the phone, you tell me not to worry, and I don’t hear from you until an hour ago.” She was pacing the floor, back and forth. “Damn.”

“Mary,” James said it almost seductively, “we’re sorry. We haven’t had any sleep.”

“I didn’t get any either. Worried about you two and-”

“We’re fine.”

“And Em.”

Worried about her forty-four mill.

“So there is no gold?”

“We don’t know that.” I took the lead. “We opened two cases and there are three more to go. We’ll open those, but it’s pretty clear that they will contain rocks and rusty iron. Plus, if you want to dig up the others, be our guest. It is our assumption that they are all filled with ballast. This friend of Bernie Blattner’s, Jackie Logan-the one who bought a plantation in South America-we’re pretty sure he went back to where he buried the boxes and stole that gold seventy-five years ago. We believe it is all gone, and we don’t want to risk lifting the remaining crates at Cheeca Lodge.”