ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE (8 page)

It was after three in the morning and
despite his best efforts Leon Donatello was still awake. Even Tiny’s rhythmic
snoring from his corner on the floor hadn’t made him the least bit drowsy the
way it usually did.

Having spent the day working to
ensure the products’ enclosures were secure, he was dog-tired, but simply
couldn’t get Izzie off his mind. The harder he tried, the more wide awake he
became. Finally, with the red numbers on the clock approaching four, he decided
to get up and start his day.

Measuring grounds into the coffeemaker,
he wondered for what seemed like the hundredth time why Izzie couldn’t have
just stayed out of his business: why she had to start asking questions and
showing up like that. He had grown to care for her, damn it. Had let himself
become vulnerable for maybe the first time in his life. Why’d she have to go
and ruin it?

Grounds overran the top of the
filter as he’d continued to obsess over his ruined relationship.

“Son of a bitch!” he shouted to the
empty room, adding two more swearwords for good measure.

Then the oddest thing happened:
Leon Donatello, the tough guy who wasn’t afraid of anybody or anything—except
maybe Seymour Cottingham—began to bawl. It wasn’t a brief emotion-filled
breakdown either; it was the real thing.

Leon’s torrent of heart-wrenching
sobs left his face awash in tears which poured down his cheeks and onto his
boxers. Unable or unwilling to exercise control over his imagination, the love
of his life appeared before him looking every bit as lovely as the last time he
saw her. That evening her skin had seemed almost translucent in the moonlight;
her smile dazzled him. It never occurred to him their relationship would end
the way it did. His mournful lament was that of a grief-stricken man who would
not be comforted.

“Izzie,” he cried, “Why’d you have
to go and be so damned stupid? I miss you.” he buried his face in his hands and
wept until he had no tears left. Only then did he become aware of Tiny at his
side, nuzzling his foot with his nose.

Baffled and angered by vulnerable
feelings with which he had no experience, Leon picked up a plate from the
counter and threw it as hard as he could at the nearest wall.  The violent
sound of shattering china startled Tiny who tore from the room and took shelter
under the nearest bed.

Zac listened intently as Jackson
recounted the dressing-down he’d received earlier that day. “So your boss isn’t
the least bit concerned about your reporter? That what you’re saying?” The
incredulous expression on the older brother’s face said it all. How could it be
that one’s employer would be so dismissive of what might be the disappearance
of a member of his staff?

Jackson shrugged. “I don’t know,
but that’s the way it looks. He said they’d done everything to contact her and
then just assumed she’d quit. I guess it never occurred to them she might’ve
met with foul play.”

They were sitting in the living
room waiting for supper to finish cooking.

“Is that what you think—that
something bad happened to her?” Zac leaned in, his body language took on a more
serious posture together with his uncharacteristically somber expression.

Jackson hesitated a few seconds as
if reluctant to state what to him was obvious. He realized his reputation for
jumping to conclusions was as well-known at work as it was among his family and
friends. It made him all the more hesitant to raise concerns like this. But Zac
seemed open to the possibility that something had indeed happened to Izzie.
Besides, at this point, he could turn to no one else.

“Okay, yes, I think she’s in
serious trouble—maybe even dead.” The word “dead” came out in a near whisper as
emotion surged inside him.

Zac took a pull on his beer bottle,
swallowed and then said, “What makes you think that?”

“Two things: from the research I
did on human trafficking, I found out it’s going on here in Tampa—right under
the noses of law enforcement and little or nothing’s being done about it.
During a shoot we witnessed a young girl being yanked off a balcony by a man
she was obviously afraid of and Izzie, in her misguided desire to become an
investigative reporter, first staked out the place and then, of all things,
started going out with the guy.”

“And you know that how?” Zac’s
forehead was a mass of wrinkles.

“She told me he’d asked her out for
a drink. Then I saw her with him at the beach. She said she’d been to his house
and the girl, who he claimed was his niece, was gone. She got furious when I
suggested she might be playing with fire; said she was a grown woman and for me
to mind my own business.”

“Well, there it is. The little shit
told you to back off. Whatever happens or happened to her serves her right.”
Zac leaned back in the chair and put his feet on the cluttered cocktail table.
When Jackson remained silent, he added, “You agree?”

“I know you and Stone are right,
still I can’t help feeling something’s really wrong here. Zac, if it was me
would you shrug your shoulders and walk away? Well, would you?”

“No, but you’re my brother and my
job’s not on the line. Didn’t your boss pretty much say if you didn’t let it go
you’d be fired?”

Jackson nodded.

“So, what choice do you have? We
reported it to the police, so I say let them do their job. Hey, if it’d make
you feel any better I’ll stop by the police station tomorrow and see if they
found out anything. That is,” he threw a sly grin in Jackson’s direction, “if
you loan me that old beater you like to call your car.”

“That girl’s not missing,” the cop
at the desk insisted.

Giving the man a skeptical look, Zac
said, “But do you know for a fact nothing happened? I mean, doesn’t it seem odd
she’d leave without saying a word to her boss, her partner or her apartment
manager? Just leave her fancy car to the elements? Not bother to forward her
mail? Doesn’t any of that sound the least bit suspicious?”

“Happens all the time. Man, if we
chased down every person who decided to fly the coup, that’s all we’d be
doing.” The policeman scratched the bald spot on his head. When it became
obvious Zac wasn’t satisfied, he added, “We checked with the family. They
weren’t especially concerned; said she’s taken off before only to show up in a
week or so. Unless you provide us with evidence of foul play, there’s nothing
to investigate.”

Zac reluctantly agreed with the
cop. Besides, he knew his brother was prone to jumping to conclusions. He’d
been like that ever since he was little.

He recalled the time Jackson was
absolutely sure Zac had been “kidnapped” and told his teacher, who went to the
principal, who in turn reported it to the police. By the time they were
finished, half the town was searching for him.

Imagine the furor when he returned
home at the “usual” time, having played hooky. He’d been punished royally and
didn’t speak to Jackson for a week.

With nothing better to do and in
possession of Jackson’s old heap of a car, he decided to head over to Ybor
City. It was where Jackson had spotted that girl on the balcony. Besides, Ybor
was supposedly a tourist attraction. After being cooped up in the apartment for
several days, he could use the distraction, even if it meant watching someone
roll cigars in a storefront.

Zac turned off Seventh Avenue and
found a parking spot. He figured if he walked the area he could check out the
house without calling attention to himself. The place wasn’t hard to find.
Jackson had played the videotape for him so many times he recognized it
immediately: There it was—the two-story house with the balcony.

Zac bent down as though to tie a
loose shoelace, then glanced around acting nonchalant. The property’s front
yard with its ankle-high grass and half dead bushes seemed embarrassed to be
seen. Shades gave the place an unfriendly vibe, preventing even the slightest
peek inside. Security bars, the decorative type, enclosed each and every
window. It made the house appear charming—in a European sort of way. Still, if
the man inside had something or someone to hide, that would be a perfect way to
do it.

Surreptitiously scrutinizing the
property, Zac sauntered down the block playing the role of tourist to the hilt
for
any one
watching. After strolling a little over a
block, he glanced at his watch, then turned around. Lil ’
ol
tourist guy’s lost and going back the way he came—at least that’s what he hoped
nosy neighbors would think. He barely reached the edge of the property when a
man came out the front door and headed down the street without giving Zac a
second glance.

It couldn’t have been more perfect
if Zac had scripted it himself. He’d follow the guy and see what he could find
out. The man wasn’t hard to track. His shabby apparel set him apart from the
stylish tourists parading up and down the street. He appeared preoccupied to
the point he nearly got hit by a car as he crossed the street and entered a
cafe.

The place reminded Zac of the
eateries back home where he could afford to dine without having to take out a
loan. Its shabby walls were covered with local art—a devil with a hot pink
joojoo
eyeball; sassy signs suggested customers could “Take
it or leave it”; and sculptures that reflected Cuban-American taste.

Booths squatted along one side of
the room, a counter with stools on the opposite side with a smattering of
tables down the center. Zac hesitated at the door as if waiting to be seated.
Nodding when a server said he could “sit anywhere” he drew a breath of relief.
The man had parked himself at the counter with two unoccupied stools next to
him.

Zac quickly followed before the
opportunity was lost. Picking up a menu, he began to scan it, then turning to
the man, said, “You eat here often?”

“What if I do? What’s it to you?”

Zac had to admit the man wasn’t bad
looking in a tough-guy sort of way. He had thick black hair, piercing eyes with
eyelashes most women would kill for. His most obvious flaw was his teeth. Apart
from needing a good cleaning and some whitening, he probably should’ve worn
braces as a kid. They weren’t what used to be called “buck teeth” but were
crooked, detracting from what was possibly a pleasant smile. With a
well developed
set of muscles the man had an attitude that
said using them on whoever crossed him would suit him just fine. 

“Sorry.”
Zac’d
love to bust the guy across the mouth but since that wouldn’t get him anywhere,
he put his nice-guy face on and said, “I’ve never had Cuban food and wondered
what someone who eats here often would recommend. Do you?”

“Do I what?”

What’s the guy deaf?
Digging
deep to avoid showing his annoyance, Zac said, “Eat here often?”

A light bulb seemed to go on inside
the man’s head. His attitude went from rude and sullen to that of a
connoisseur.

“Oh, yeah, I
s’pose
I do at that. Sure.
Wadda
ya
’
wanna
know?”

“What’s good to eat?” Zac figured
if he kept his sentences short, maybe the man would understand him.

“Oh,
lemme
think.” He moved one stool over so as to sit next to Zac. “Myself I most always
order the ‘Real Cuban.’ It’s so good they got an award for it. Has crusty
bread, pork and ham with some
kinda
mustard-mayo mix,
pickle and Swiss cheese. Plus they include a dipping sauce.” He stopped for a
moment and swallowed as if in anticipation.

Returning to the subject, he added,
“But don’ let me tell you what to order. Most anything here’s real good.” He
waved his hand as if he owned the place. “I’ve had it all. But the Cuban’s what
keeps me coming back whenever I want something special.”

Right then the server approached
and both men ordered the Cuban with sides of fries and, at the man’s
suggestion, a Corona. Zac would have preferred a Coke but didn’t want to risk
offending him. He appeared to be teetering on the edge of some kind of
breakdown and Zac didn’t want to be the one to push him over.

While they waited for their order,
Zac reached out and said, “Thanks for your help. Name’s Zac. I’m visiting my
brother for a few days.”

Half expecting to be rebuffed, he was
more than a little surprised when the man grinned, shook his hand and said,
“You’re welcome. I’m Leon. Welcome to Tampa.”

“Thanks,” Zac tossed him a smile so
big you’d think he’d just met his favorite rock star. “So what’s to do around
here for fun?”

“Depends on how much
ya
wanna
spend. You can go
high-end and do the town with shows, theater, expensive dining and women—or do
it on the cheap by going to the beach, the aquarium or a ballgame if the Rays
are in town.”

“And how about you? What do you
do?”

A shadow seemed to fall across
Leon’s face. His pleasant expression morphed into what Zac took to be pain.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry,” Zac
feared he was about to lose the man along with what may well be his only
opportunity to get to the bottom of the Izzie situation.

Clearing his throat and putting on
what looked like a forced smile, Leon said, “No, it’s all right. You weren’t
sticking your nose in my business or nothin’. It’s just that my girl and I,
well, we, uh, sort of broke up and I’m still dealing with it. Know what I
mean?” He stopped talking and took a swig of beer.

“You kidding me? Broads can tear
your heart out, shred it to pieces and feed it to you on a fork. Been there
more than once, believe me.”

“You’ve been dumped? Seriously?”
Leon set his beer bottle down on the counter and swung the stool around to face
Zac.

“Hasn’t everyone? That what
happened?” He realized he was pushing the envelope. If he went too far, Leon
might shut him out and leave. But he’d opened the door and if the girl he’d
broken up with was Izzie, then he might have information on her whereabouts. He
had to at least give it a try.

“Not exactly. My girl, man she was
perfect, drop-dead gorgeous—had these big blue eyes that just begged you to
take her to bed. Know what I mean?”

Zac watched Leon become
increasingly animated with every reference to his lost love. His expression
alternated between joy and grief as his words brought memories of her to the
surface. It was curious how he referred to her in the past tense. Was that merely
his way of expressing the death of their relationship?

The conversation lulled as Zac
chewed the last bite of his Cuban while Leon stared across the counter at
something or someone only he could see.

“So, what happened?” Zac said it
carefully hoping he hadn’t crossed the line.

Leon appeared startled as if he’d
forgotten Zac was still there. “What happened with what?”

“With your girl, uh, what’s her
name now?” Zac held his breath. If Leon said anything other than Izzie, all
bets were off and he’d know he was barking up the wrong tree.

“Isabelle Campbell’s her name,
Izzie for short. God, I miss her.”

“She dump you?”

“What’s it to you?” Leon lashed out
at Zac and reached for the bill.

Zac put his hand on Leon’s and
said, “Let me get it. You’ve been good company for a lonely tourist. I didn’t
mean to stir up bad memories. I was just interested, that’s all. No harm done?”

Leon examined Zac’s face as if
searching for a hint of duplicity. Apparently finding none, he blew out a sigh
of relief. “Well, thanks. I ain’t had nobody buy me lunch in like, well, maybe
never. ’
Preciate
it.”

“My pleasure.” Zac pulled out
several bills and, not knowing what else to say, stood up preparing to depart.

“Say,” Leon said, as though a light
had gone on inside his head. “If you’re not doing anything,
wanna
go over to Clearwater? The pier’s a cool place,
’specially
if you’ve never been there.”

Zac eagerly agreed. This day was
turning out to be damned near perfect. Not only had he connected with the man
who may have something to do with Izzie’s disappearance, but he’d get to see
the Gulf of Mexico for the very first time. How cool was that?