responsible for the drug trafficking and the death of my son. He’s known as Shark in the underworld and is one of the most powerful men in southern Florida—especially in the Cuban community.”
“Okay,” he said, starting to worry about where this conversation was going.
“No, Bob—it’s not okay. My son is dead, and Shark is still out there hurting people,” she said, taking a final drag of her first cigarette and lighting another. The smoke was starting to choke him. “I need you, Bob.”
There was another long moment of silence. Bob was starting to sweat, even though the room was cool.
He fidgeted in his chair, cleared his throat and said, “Okay”—all that he could manage.
“I need you to prove to the world that Care Ambulance Service is trafficking drugs. I need you to ruin the Shark.”
“Why me? I’m just starting out as a private investigator and bounty hunter. I’m new at this. I don’t have the experience. I can’t.” His hands were on his head now, with fear, frustration and confusion all coming together in one mangled emotion.
“No one else will.” Mary Catherine started sobbing, throwing her cigarette on the floor and covering her face. She sobbed uncontrollable sobs for a few minutes, and Bob looked on, not knowing where to go or what to say. Finally she removed her hands, her makeup now ruined. “You’re it. He doesn’t know you. You’re new in town. Everyone else told me they can’t get too close to the Shark because he’s surrounded by henchmen. You must help me. Money is no object. Matter of fact, I brought you something.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a check and put it on the table. “This is an advance. It’s half of what I’m willing to pay you. I’ll give you the other half when you complete the task I want you to do.”
Bob looked at the check for a moment. It was lying face down. He’d have to touch it to see how much it was. He reached for it, but before his hand got to the check he looked at Mary Catherine. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Yes, you can. Get your check.” It was almost a command.
Bob grabbed the check and flipped it over. Fireworks went off in his brain as he read the amount out loud: “Fifty thousand dollars.”
“That is your advance.”
Suddenly, Bob was overcome by a wave of self-assurance.
He looked up with a smile and said, “Again, Miss Tenish, what can I do for you?”
“I need pictures; I need documentation. I need hard evidence about what they’re doing,” she answered with renewed energy. “When you have this evidence, you must go to the papers. Shark owns the police department. Give the politicians a black eye. That’s what they understand. Bob, they must go down—and it’s up to you.”
Bob looked at the check again and took another deep breath.
“I guess I’m your man.”
With that, they both stood and shook hands.
“I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Bob.” Mary Catherine turned and left as Bob followed her to the door and watched her walk down the hall.
Miss Garza poked her head out the door.
“Bob, do you think she’s on drugs?”
“No, Miss Garza,” he said.
“What does she want you to do, Bob?” she asked.
“Nothing, really—just take down Miami’s most powerful drug lord.”
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, slamming the door. Bob could hear her picking up the phone and calling her Little Havana “network.”
Bob banged his head on the door jamb and said, “My sentiments exactly, Miss Garza.”
***
Shark was particularly relaxed today in Domino Park. A tropical storm was brewing over Cuba, hitting the small community hard, and it had sent a charge to the atmosphere around Little Havana and Miami. Shark loved the weather here, particularly the violence of a tropical storm. He smiled in satisfaction when he saw Mary Catherine enter the park. She seemed to be walking with more of a swagger. That was good—he was getting tired of the tears and snot. She needed to
“Okay,” he said, starting to worry about where this conversation was going.
“No, Bob—it’s not okay. My son is dead, and Shark is still out there hurting people,” she said, taking a final drag of her first cigarette and lighting another. The smoke was starting to choke him. “I need you, Bob.”
There was another long moment of silence. Bob was starting to sweat, even though the room was cool.
He fidgeted in his chair, cleared his throat and said, “Okay”—all that he could manage.
“I need you to prove to the world that Care Ambulance Service is trafficking drugs. I need you to ruin the Shark.”
“Why me? I’m just starting out as a private investigator and bounty hunter. I’m new at this. I don’t have the experience. I can’t.” His hands were on his head now, with fear, frustration and confusion all coming together in one mangled emotion.
“No one else will.” Mary Catherine started sobbing, throwing her cigarette on the floor and covering her face. She sobbed uncontrollable sobs for a few minutes, and Bob looked on, not knowing where to go or what to say. Finally she removed her hands, her makeup now ruined. “You’re it. He doesn’t know you. You’re new in town. Everyone else told me they can’t get too close to the Shark because he’s surrounded by henchmen. You must help me. Money is no object. Matter of fact, I brought you something.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a check and put it on the table. “This is an advance. It’s half of what I’m willing to pay you. I’ll give you the other half when you complete the task I want you to do.”
Bob looked at the check for a moment. It was lying face down. He’d have to touch it to see how much it was. He reached for it, but before his hand got to the check he looked at Mary Catherine. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Yes, you can. Get your check.” It was almost a command.
Bob grabbed the check and flipped it over. Fireworks went off in his brain as he read the amount out loud: “Fifty thousand dollars.”
“That is your advance.”
Suddenly, Bob was overcome by a wave of self-assurance.
He looked up with a smile and said, “Again, Miss Tenish, what can I do for you?”
“I need pictures; I need documentation. I need hard evidence about what they’re doing,” she answered with renewed energy. “When you have this evidence, you must go to the papers. Shark owns the police department. Give the politicians a black eye. That’s what they understand. Bob, they must go down—and it’s up to you.”
Bob looked at the check again and took another deep breath.
“I guess I’m your man.”
With that, they both stood and shook hands.
“I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Bob.” Mary Catherine turned and left as Bob followed her to the door and watched her walk down the hall.
Miss Garza poked her head out the door.
“Bob, do you think she’s on drugs?”
“No, Miss Garza,” he said.
“What does she want you to do, Bob?” she asked.
“Nothing, really—just take down Miami’s most powerful drug lord.”
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, slamming the door. Bob could hear her picking up the phone and calling her Little Havana “network.”
Bob banged his head on the door jamb and said, “My sentiments exactly, Miss Garza.”
***
Shark was particularly relaxed today in Domino Park. A tropical storm was brewing over Cuba, hitting the small community hard, and it had sent a charge to the atmosphere around Little Havana and Miami. Shark loved the weather here, particularly the violence of a tropical storm. He smiled in satisfaction when he saw Mary Catherine enter the park. She seemed to be walking with more of a swagger. That was good—he was getting tired of the tears and snot. She needed to
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