Next, Serge and Coleman rolled a giant metal tube down the ramp and strained to hoist it over the side of the craft. After that, the rest of the loading was chump work. Serge started the trolling motor again and sailed around the bend. This time he wedged the boat deep in the mangroves to avoid daylight detection. Then he swam back to the boat ramp.
“That’s it?” said Coleman. “We’re not going to use it now? I hate waiting when I’m high.”
“We don’t have any contestants yet.” Serge got out his keys. “Unless you want to volunteer.”
“I’d rather wait.”
THE NEXT AFTERNOON
A van from the electric company rolled slowly through the finger canals off Las Olas Boulevard. Fort Lauderdale’s answer to Worth Avenue.
Since Miami-Dade was now two-thirds Hispanic, much of the wealth had migrated north over the county line into Broward. They called it Anglo flight.
The waterfront homes were getting ridiculous in scale. Thanks to building codes. Most ordinances in other cities limit the size of structures. Not here. In order to increase property values and the tax base, you could not purchase one of the older homes unless you agreed to bulldoze it and build something so big it would blot out the sun. Seriously.
Wayne Huizenga, former owner of the Miami Dolphins, Florida Marlins and Blockbuster video, has a home there. It’s a short limo ride to the downtown offices, but he likes to take the chopper from his backyard helipad. Seriously.
“There’s the house now.” Gustave pointed out the windshield. It wasn’t Huizenga’s place, but South Philly Sal was still impressed. “When are you supposed to meet this couple?”
“Noon for lunch. Actually a picnic.”
“What about the location?” said Sal. “That mess back in Palm Beach with the couple who came home early is still fresh. We need to watch our profile.”
“Sasha personally picked the spot,” said Gustave. “She’s totally comfortable there.”
“Okay, then.” Sal turned around to the rest of the gang in the back of the truck. “Everyone, we’re on at noon . . .”
At twelve on the dot:
Sasha merrily swung a wicker picnic basket as she strolled down a lush embankment of grass overlooking a mirror surface of water.
Gustave was close behind with a large checkered blanket. “What’s with you and this place? I don’t see how special it is.”
“Dumbfounding Bay?” said Sasha. “Are you joking? The history—”
“I know, I know,” said Gustave. “You have this thing for dangerous types.” He spread out the blanket under a nest of palms.
“Make sure none of those coconuts are over our heads,” said Sasha. “One knocked me out when I was a kid.”
Gustave looked up and slid the blanket to the left.
Sasha unpacked Evian, paper plates and pickles.
“What have you got in there?” asked Gustave.
The deli sandwiches came out next. “Wasn’t sure what they’d like, so I got a little of everything. Egg, tuna and chicken salad.”
Gustave checked his watch and looked around. A few cubicle people were enjoying lunch away from the office, but no couples. “Where are they? It’s already five past.”
Sasha opened the coleslaw. “They’ll be here.”
Two men walked up. “Are you Gustave and Sasha?”
The question caught them off guard.
“Why? Who are you?”
“We’re the people you’re supposed to meet. You know, the e-mails.”
“But . . . you’re two
“Is that a problem?” asked the man. “Because I can perfectly understand. It’s just that it’s usually cool in the swinging community.”
“No, we’re fine,” said Gustave. “It’s just that when you said your names were Nathan and Jamie, I naturally assumed—”
“Is that tuna salad? I love tuna salad.”
They all sat down for lunch and small talk.
“This place sure is beautiful,” said Nathan.
“Sasha picked it out,” said Gustave.
“She must have a thing for Mob types.”
“Why yes,” said Gustave. “But . . . I mean . . . How did you know?”
“You kidding?” said Nathan. “The history of this place. They found Johnny Roselli bobbing in a drum right over there with his legs sawed off. That gives me an appetite.” He took a big bite of his tuna sandwich.
Gustave and Sasha glanced warily at each other. “Uh, what exactly do you do for a living?”
Nathan noshed another bite. “Consulting work mainly. Right now I’m getting a lot of action from a private investigator. He was just hired by the family of this couple that was attacked in Palm Beach . . .”
A cell phone vibrated. Gustave flipped it open. Sal screamed so loud on the other end that everyone could hear:
The phone was snatched from Gustave’s hand and flung in the water. Then a gun barrel pressed between his eyes. “My name’s actually Serge. I thought you should know that since we’ll be spending some quality time together.”
Chapter Fifteen
MIDNIGHT
