Caribbean's Keeper (15 page)

Feeling rejuvenated, he slid the card key in his pocket, tucked his wallet in his other front pocket to keep it from prying hands on the streets below, and made his way back to the lobby, out the front doors, and hustled across the street.

Habana’s
was booming. Cole figured it out before he even got across the street. It was a brothel that happened to sell booze and cigars on the side. Beautiful women stood around sipping Red Bulls, and damn near every single one of them made eye contact with Cole. There were more than 20 ladies at the ready and probably more hidden behind their wall of tight dresses and long dark hair. Stout men stood guard over the few parking spots in front and only allowed in drivers they recognized. David motioned Cole over to a small table with plastic chairs set up against the front railing. He held a sweating Dos Equis up and Cole took it in his right hand. The music thumped and lights danced across the busy floor. Key West had never seen a night like this.

Cole took a sip as a spotless Mercedes pulled up in front of the bar and the men out front yelled furiously at each other. Within seconds, a taxi cab driver was back in his cab and moved it to clear a parking spot. The Mercedes, without ever stopping its roll, slid right into the spot. The men continued yelling, some at the traffic on the street and others at the ladies standing around the bar. Five women came down the front steps and walked to the car. A few seconds later, the men yelled again, dismissing all but one of the women and the car’s passenger door opened. The girl, young with shiny and straight black hair, smiled and slid into the passenger seat, her heels making it somewhat awkward as she tried to get in. Her tight black and white dress made it doubly difficult as she struggled to sit down.

The men blocked traffic, the Mercedes slipped back into the fray, and the remaining four women stepped back up to the bar and went back to their conversations. Cole drank half the beer and spun around 90 degrees to David, who had a big smile on his face. “Different world, huh?”

Cole nodded as he slowly swung around again to check out the innards of the bar. A beautiful young woman caught his eyes and walked over to Cole. She wore a short white dress that glowed from the blue lights and her hair was dark brown, straight, and long to the small of her back. She said something to David in Spanish and Cole heard none of it over the thumping speakers. A few blue strobe lights flickered behind the bar and a scattering of other colors danced around the ceiling and walls, half-obscuring her from his eyes. Seconds later, she put the palm of her hand on the back of his head and played with his hair. Her hand was soft and her fingers tickled the back of his neck.

She smiled and spoke more Spanish. Cole only heard
chico
as she exaggerated her words in an effort to draw Cole’s attention to her lips. It worked. She sat in his lap and shook her butt just a bit as she settled onto his thighs. David was laughing loudly. Cole reached around and put his left hand firmly on her thigh and took another sip from his beer. Her skin was soft, cool, and delicate to the touch. He shrugged his shoulders to David as if to give the impression it was no big deal. He tried hard but failed to hide a smile behind the mouth of his beer.

As Cole tried to act the part, a van pulled up to the prime parking spots out front and the men again went about clearing traffic and yelling back and forth. Out stepped some Americans. Cole knew immediately they were military. By Cole’s count, there were 12 of them, all wearing shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops. With their attire and their short hair, they stood out from the unofficial Central American dress code of long pants and flashy jewelry. They were in high spirits and shook hands with the men on guard duty as they made their way up the steps and towards the bar. Ladies flocked to them, drinks were poured, and beers appeared by the dozen.

David shooed away Cole’s lady friend and leaned into the table. The woman stood up from Cole’s lap and leaned forward, biting Cole’s ear just a bit as she turned to walk away back into the madness. David snapped his fingers twice to get Cole’s attention. “Now we are working, my friend, so pay attention.”

Cole nodded and took another sip from his beer. He was still grinning.

David continued, “Those guys, go talk to them. Figure out who they are and where they were tonight. They are U.S. military and fly out of the Panamanian base here looking for our business going north. The way they’re drinking, they probably got a bust. Go get me the details.”

Cole chewed his lip for a second and finished his Dos Equis. It was probably a test to see if he was really ready to turn his back on his country. Had he been sober, it may have taken some thought, but in his present state, Cole was up for anything. “Roger that.”

David pointed at Cole as he stood up. “And stop saying ‘roger that,’ OK?”

Cole laughed and leaned in a bit. “Roger that.” He walked around the far wall of the bar and up to a row of stools where the Americans were huddled. Each of them double-fisted drinks, and some had already latched onto a few of the working women who were quick to recognize the men as potential business.

With his back to the Americans, Cole ordered another Dos Equis. Grabbing the beer and taking his first sip, he slowly spun around, ending up next to one of the younger Americans.

“What’s up, man?” Cole nodded calmly.

The young guy stared at him for a second then turned his body to face Cole. “Not much. You an American?”

Cole took another sip and smiled. “Yeah, down here for a little rest. How about you?”

The guy, probably just a few years older than Cole, finished one of his beers with a mouthful and struggled for a second to swallow before wiping a drip off his lip and grinning like a cat. “Not really supposed to say.”

Before Cole could even respond, the other guys were giving Cole’s acquaintance a world of shit. One of them threw a handful of peanuts at him. “Hey, Secret Agent Man, tell him what you do!”

“Don’t tell him; you’ll have to kill him!” said another.

“Tell him the truth, you fucking air ninja!”

They were all laughing uncontrollably. One poured the ice from an empty drink over another’s head. More peanuts flew back and forth. The ladies kept clear of the ruckus, but stayed close to keep watch over their men.
      
      

The guy Cole talked to first finally settled down a bit and spoke quietly to Cole, his elbows pressed against the bar as he motioned for another beer. “We’re a Coast Guard C-130 crew, down here for a few weeks. Don’t mind the boys, they’re just celebrating a bit.”

Cole grew a bit nervous if any of them might recognize him, but he didn’t seem to know any of them and they were well on their way to a drunken stupor, far beyond the point of distant facial recognition.

Cole offered to buy the guy a beer and he quickly accepted. Over the next round, Cole got more details through light conversation. The American more or less laid out their night’s activity. With their radar and infrared camera, they’d latched onto a Go-Fast coming out of Colombia and orbited on top until a Panamanian Navy ship interdicted it in Panama’s territorial waters. Apparently there had been a bit of a gunfight between the two boats, and the C-130 crew had watched the whole thing from 1,000 feet. The guy went into great details about what a gunfight looks like through an infrared camera, describing the rate of fire between the Panamanians and the smugglers. He described it like a video game, except it doled out real death less than a quarter mile beneath them.

The Coasties had found the boat, successfully vectored in the Panamanians—who were always hungry for a fight—and stopped that evening’s drug run. It was a good bust for the good guys and they were blowing off steam from near non-stop operations over the past two weeks before heading home in a day or two.

Cole took a beer in return from the American and changed the conversation to women about 30 minutes later. By that point, the rest of the crew was out of their heads. Two of them had lost their flip flops on the dirty floor and were trying in vain to get them back on their feet. The others were laughing as the two shoeless clowns put left flip flops on their right feet and confused each other’s for their own. More peanuts flew back and forth. The bartender shook his head and laughed it off—just another night in Panama. After almost an hour, Cole looked back to see David still sitting patiently at the table.

Two of the Americans started wrestling and Cole’s drinking buddy broke off the conversation to break up the fight lest they get themselves kicked out. The American stuck two new beers in each of their hands and sat them down at the bar. He yelled something at both of them, and they shook hands grudgingly. Making his way back over to Cole, the American laughed a bit.

Cole looked at the bar where the two errant crewmen were seated, back to being best of friends.

“You look like you’ve got your hands full.”

The guy nodded and laughed, sipping from another beer before he replied. “Yeah, you stick these guys in a plane for twelve hours a day and there’s gonna be some infighting. But it’s still a damn good way to make a living. I love ʼem.”

The American must have been one of the pilots. He was younger than most of the other guys, but could lay down the law if it came to it. Cole figured he might have been a lieutenant, but didn’t want to ask too many questions. Cole tipped his beer against the lieutenant’s and they parted ways.

Cole shuffled between the ladies and the bar’s other patrons back to David. Some of the girls reached out and grazed him with their hands as he walked by. He was unable to hide a sly smile as he walked. They were all gorgeous, every last one of them. Sitting back down, David leaned in. Cole summarized the details, and David looked pleased. He took out his phone and consumed himself with a text message he was sending out.

Cole looked back towards the Coastie crew. The two guys were back to fighting and the lieutenant was once again breaking it up. It was well past midnight, and the entire crew seemed good and drunk. The lieutenant was busy gathering his guys, and Cole laughed as he watched the show. Each time the lieutenant got one of them up or away from the bar, another one would slip back into the fray for another drink and he had to go round them back up. The lieutenant would have had an easier time herding feral cats.

After ten minutes, Cole heard him cussing at a few of them as he instructed one of the older guys to put a girl down that he had picked up over his shoulders. Even the security guys controlling the parking were laughing and joking to themselves as the aircrew slowly made its way out of the bar and across the street towards the Marriott. Cole heard one of the younger crew complaining from the far curb that the lieutenant had ruined it and that one of the girls had really liked him. The rest of the Coasties were across the street by then, but the lieutenant was busy dodging traffic trying in vain to get his last wayward crew member to the safety of his hotel room. The kid was probably no older than 19 or 20, only a few years younger than the lieutenant. The rest of the crew, now gathered on the far side of the street, seemed older and a bit more seasoned, eager to watch the lieutenant flex his muscle against a drunk kid’s logic.

As the scene played out, everyone at the bar from the prostitutes to the bartenders and the security guys watched and laughed, smacking each other in the shoulder at each new turn. The lieutenant would run around the back end of a car stuck in traffic as the younger guy ran around the front and back towards the bar. The lieutenant, clearly not as tipsy as the kid, finally caught up to him and spun the kid around back towards the hotel with a headlock.

“GO!” barked the lieutenant. He kicked the younger guy in the ass as he pushed him across the street.

The kid stumbled forward and steadied himself yelling, “Dammit, Sir. She likes me!” He pointed back towards the club in defiance. The whole bar erupted in laughter and the pretty hooker at the center of all the trouble blew a kiss back at the crew across the street and they cheered loudly, throwing their fists into the air. Now even the police at the Marriott were laughing and pointing.

Cars were honking their horns at the show, and Cole sat back in his chair remembering fondly the bond that came from working side by side with the same guys day in and day out. Cole again thought back to
Delaney
and wondered if there wasn’t something he’d missed all along. But at that moment, the lieutenant didn’t give two shits about any sense of brotherhood. He barked out again and pointed towards the hotel. “Go!”

In a last act of vengeance, the young kid took a flip flop off his foot and threw it at the lieutenant. He missed by a long shot, but the bar applauded and cheered the kid for his effort. The lieutenant now ran after him and the two made it across the street to the welcoming cheers of the rest of their crew. The kid stumbled again, almost falling down, and mumbled something about wanting his sandal back before the lieutenant grabbed the back of the kid’s t-shirt with a fist and dragged him into the hotel. They disappeared inside the hotel and the bar settled back down to its normal pace.

David was shaking his head and laughing. “You Americans, you are crazy.”

Cole finished off a beer. He’d long ago lost track of how many he’d put down throughout the night. David sent another text then closed his phone.

“That was twenty million dollars that we lost tonight because of those guys.” David said it matter-of-factly, but Cole was impressed by the amount of money.

David flipped his phone back open and read another text. He flipped it closed and tipped his bottle to Cole. “Looks like you’re up tomorrow, my friend.”

“What do you mean, I’m up?”

“You gonna make a run to make up the losses from those drunks tonight. You ready?”

Cole’s heart thumped a bit in his chest and he felt it in his stomach. The run tonight had ended in a gunfight. The lieutenant had said it looked like a bloodbath from what they could see through their infrared camera. The Panamanians played by a different set of rules and often opted to shoot first and ask questions later. Cole thought about what he’d gotten into. Guns never even came into the mix running across the Florida Straits. The Customs guys, the Coasties, even the local police never even drew a weapon against someone unless they were being shot at themselves. And no one Cole knew carried a gun. Kevin certainly hadn’t. Cole hadn’t shot one since he’d left
Delaney
.