W E DIDN’T CALL AHEAD. We both decided it was better to surprise him, and given the fact that we had some very pertinent information, I assumed he’d see us. We got to the guardhouse and he wasn’t home.
“I believe they are out for the evening.” The stone-faced guard dismissed us and we pulled out of the drive.
“Now what?”
“Maybe they went to dinner. Maybe they’re shopping.”
“A late dinner maybe.”
The only bar close by served cracked crab and at first James refused to go in. “Isn’t it bad enough I have to live with that stench eight hours a day?” Finally he relented and we went in and ordered two drafts. A handful of patrons around us used small forks and crab crackers to extract the meat from the crustaceans. James shuddered.
“We need a plan.” I put a dash of salt in my beer. I’ve found it gives cheap beer more flavor.
“Things are not good, my friend. I’m usually the one with the plan. When you have to come up with the plan, things aren’t good.”
“I don’t care who comes up with it. We need one. Listen to me, James. We’ve involved Em and Angel. It’s up to us to get them-and ourselves-uninvolved.”
“Dude. We were there when someone was killed. It was our guy who did the shooting if you remember. You don’t get uninvolved from a killing.”
“We don’t know anything. The shooting was to save our asses. We can make that case.”
“What if no one believes us?”
“We try, James.”
“But after tonight, if we meet with Rick Fuentes, what then? What if he tells us something? You see? We’re headed into the belly of the beast. We’re constantly involving ourselves further and further. It’s like we want to know what we’re involved in. And after you find out what kind of a mess this is, you can’t pretend you don’t know anything.”
He was right. I was afraid for Em, for James, for myself, and even for Angel. And I was afraid for Vic Maitlin. I didn’t want to make too strong a case to James or Em, but I had an opportunity to return a favor, and I prayed Vic was still alive so I could at least have the chance. I really wanted to keep going. This was like a really good Hardy Boys mystery, except it involved people I knew. And it involved me.
“What do you want to do?”
He stared at the beer, then took the short glass and downed it in one single gulp. “I want the rest of our money. And I guess we’re just going to have to see Rick Fuentes to get it. This is a business, Skip. I lost sight of that. Somebody is trying to screw with my business before it’s even off the ground. It’s time to show a little backbone. Let’s see what the Cuban financier has to say.” He smiled at me and ordered two more beers.