Don Bruns - Stuff to die for

“Oh, that’s brilliant. Put her in danger too?”

“Skip? Skip? Are you there?”

“Yeah. Hold on just a sec.”

“She’s out of danger. We’re in danger, Jackie Fuentes may be in danger. Vic Maitlin is definitely in danger, but Emily is on the outside. We could use some advice from someone on the outside.”

“I guess we don’t have to take it.” He frowned. “All right. Do what you need to do.”

“Em, we’re going to stop by. We need to talk to you about something that’s come up.”

“Skip, that doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not, Emily.” I almost quoted Angel’s line about starting a task that becomes a nightmare, but she wouldn’t have understood and it probably would have scared the hell out of her.

EM LIVES TWENTY STORIES up in a high-rise overlooking Biscayne Bay. Everyone we know seems to have a water view; James and I are the only ones that have a brown water ditch to look at. Em looks out at South Beach and the cruise ships that dock across from the causeway. It took us about twenty minutes to get to her condo.

“Come on out on the balcony.”

She brought out three Heinekens and we stared out at the lights from the Saturday night party that South Beach was putting on a mile away. You can see some of the Miami skyline and you can see Indian Creek Village from her place. The drawbridge was opening on the causeway to South Beach to let a large-masted sailboat through and a dozen or so cars, trucks, panel vans, and buses were backed up on either side of the bridge. One rich boater, holding up the progress of twenty-four working-class slobs. Florida is all about water and boats and the rich and famous who can afford to live on the water and own those boats. Maybe James was right in his pursuit of the golden goose. Someday he’d be that rich asshole with the boat, holding up the little people on the bridge.

“So, what’s so important?” She handed me the check for $1,500. I had to agree with James, we’d lined up more money in one day than either of us made in three months.

James looked at me. “We had an accident.”

Em frowned and glanced at the check, still in my hand.

“What kind of accident?”

I believed in fast and factual. “We hit the storage building, the mail spilled out of the back of the truck, and we found an envelope with a severed finger.”

I’ve never seen Emily get such an incredulous expression on her face before. The three of us sat there as she absorbed the short story. Finally, she found her voice.

“A severed finger. Somebody’s actual finger.”

“Yes. We tried to take it back to Jackie, but she wouldn’t give us permission to come back to her home and-”

“She knows about the finger?”

“No. I don’t think so. So we-”

“Came here instead?”

James squinted. “Not exactly.”

“Where did you go? To the police. You went to the police. My God, a human finger.”

“Uh, Em,” I cleared my throat. “We didn’t go to the police.”

“Tell me.”

“We went to Rick Fuentes.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Well, James pointed out that it was his mail.”

“This is a joke. You guys made up this story just to mess with me.”

“No.”

“Tell me it’s a joke.”

“We’d be lying.”

She stood up and started pacing, taking short swallows of beer as she walked. “Jesus, what am I going to tell Jackie? Why this finger?”

“Well, it’s not her business is it? And we’re not sure why the finger. It came in the form of a threat to Fuentes.”

“Of course it’s Jackie’s business. And what kind of threat?”

I shook my head. “Em, it’s Rick Fuentes’s business. The threat seems to be from some Cuban guys who have an ax to grind with Fuentes. And we haven’t got to the bad part yet.”

“Give me a break. Tell me that it doesn’t go any further.”

“It’s his son. Vic Maitlin.”

She dropped the green bottle and it shattered into a dozen splintered pieces, watery brown beer running into the grout between the white ceramic tiles on the balcony.

“Vic? Oh, my God.”

“You remember him?”

“I went out with him. We dated. His dad wasn’t-I don’t remember. Maybe he’d left his first wife by then. I don’t remember anything about his father, but Vic Maitlin was the first-oh, my God.”

She let it hang. I knew they’d gone out before Em and I had started our off-and-on dating.

“It gets worse.”

“How? How could it possibly get worse? How?”

“Trust me. Since there are a limited number of people who know that this finger was sent to Fuentes-”

She held up her right hand. “One, Vic Maitlin. Two, the person who cut it off.” She held up her third finger. “Three, you. Four James. And five, Rick Fuentes.”

“Seven.” I was the business major, math was my strong suit.

“Seven?”

“Seven that we know of. You. And Fuentes’s girlfriend, this little nineteen-year-old blond.”

“Un-fucking believable.” I’d never heard her use that word in my life. “And it gets worse?”

“Fuentes asked us to find Vic.”

“You said no.”

“Actually,” I gave James a nod.

“Actually, I said yes.”

“Are you crazy? Have you completely lost your minds?”

“He’s paying us $5,000. And he claims to know where Vic is. He just wants confirmation.

“You are crazy. You’re both idiots. I simply gave you a lead for a little job and you’ve got yourself involved in a what? An international incident? Dismemberment? You’re nuts. I don’t even know you.” She glared at me, bending down, and picking up shards of green bottle.

I leaned over and helped.

“Here.” She held up her finger, a thin line of blood running down her hand. “Now I’ve cut my-” She stared at the blood then walked into the condo leaving James and me in the warm Miami night.

We finished picking up the pieces.

“Are you happy with all the advice she’s given you so far?”

“Fuck you. How would you expect her to react? I’d rather have her know than not. I don’t think Emily is someone I want on my bad side.” A ship horn sounded and echoed over the bay.

“I’ve always been on her bad side.”

She walked back onto the balcony, a Band-Aid on her finger. Stepping to the railing, she looked out at the water. Lights glimmered as far as you could see.

“You know where Vic is?”

“We know where his father thinks he is. All we’re supposed to do is sit outside and see if there is any sign of him. In twenty-four hours we report back to Fuentes.”

“It doesn’t sound difficult, not even particularly dangerous.”

James smiled at me. “And I didn’t think that sounded like bad work for five grand.”

“But we are talking about people who cut off fingers and threaten lives. I am still amazed that you guys could get in so much trouble in such a short amount of time.”

We both stared at the tile floor, watching the beer settle into the discolored grout.

“Tomorrow is Sunday.” She never looked at us but kept staring out at the water. “I don’t work, Skip doesn’t work, what about you, James?”

“No Cap’n Crab tomorrow.”

“All right. What if the three of us keep an eye on this place tonight and tomorrow. We can use my car and your truck and alternate. We’ve got our cell phones if one of us sees anything, and we’ll call Fuentes either way.”

James let out a deep breath. “I’m surprised. I actually think that’s a good idea. We can go over there now, and a couple of us sleep while one watches the property. I knew this was going to work.”

Em turned around and gave James a hard look. “I didn’t take a cut on your hauling job. You guys worked hard for that.”