Hometown Favorite: A Novel (37 page)

All he could do to interject himself into the moment was growl; he would fight back, even if it were only with primal
instinct. Although the sound caused the pair to release their
embrace, the two actors did not give him their visual attention.
Instead, Dewayne had to continue to watch as they never took
their eyes off each other or made a full break from their physical contact-tears were wiped from faces, hands were held.
He listened to their inquiries into each other's well-being, of
how Rosella was holding up, of where the children had been
buried, of how a distraught Bonita had once again fallen off
the face of the world, of the tragic funeral of Cherie Jobe, of the
doctors' reports and their bafflement over Dewayne's condition,
of the media attention and the upcoming trial and her plans
to avoid both, of what Sly could do to help her-anything, he
said, anything. When it came to her immediate plans, Dewayne
was finally recognized.

Rosella had not seen her husband since the episode at the
glass booth. She preferred the solitude and protection her parents could give her after the private funerals of the children.
At last, her eyes took him in, and his contracting bodily state
shocked her. Life had been eating away at him, and he was
disappearing from sight, a disappearance that could not happen
soon enough or could not be painful enough to suit her.

She had planned to stay only a second, to pass on some
information and run, but Sly had slowed her down. She was
grateful for his unexpected visit. His presence would make the
business quick and professional. She would inform Dewayne
of her plans and be gone, and perhaps Sly would go with her.

Rosella reached into her bag and removed some legal texts.
She did not hand the papers to Dewayne. She did not want to
be that close to him. Instead, she set them on the table.

"For you to read;" she said. She had steeled her heart. She would make it through this. "The house is going on the market. I've signed the papers for a Realtor to start showing it.
The other document is ... " and here she stumbled, here she
encountered the emotional obstacle she dreaded. Divorce was
not a part of her vocabulary, had never been an option. Of
course, she never considered the recent tragic circumstances
to demolish her life either. In her mind, it had all been out of
the realm of possibility, but to her surprise, she had not been
immune to evil.

She had opened the door to evil, slept with evil, birthed evil's
child. No prayers had protected her, no signs of warning given,
no holy heads-up to the potential dangers lurking just below
the surface of her perfect little world, and she had lost all trust
in anyone and anything, including herself. "I want a divorce.
Those are the papers. I've signed them; now you sign them"

God seemed to have an endless supply of daggers, Dewayne
thought. How many more plunges of the knife can I take?

His wife turned to leave.

"Rosella, please don't leave. Don't leave me. I did not do
this. I could not. You must believe me. Please don't do this. I
need you. I need you"

She hesitated as if reconsidering, then she turned back, but
only halfway.

"I want nothing from you," she said, her voice hard, bitter. "I
will take some personal items from the house, but that is all. I
want no money, nothing. I just want to start my life over"

She made her exit.

The choice must have been easy for Sly. He knew whom
to console, and after a brief hesitation, he began to make his
departure while Dewayne had his eyes buried inside his malnourished forearm.

Dewayne dropped his arm, the skin damp from weeping, and
his words caught his friend at the door. "I've lost everything,
Sly, everything. Am I gonna lose my best friend too?"

He reached out his empty hand, but like Rosella, Sly did
not hesitate. He was looking past the police officer at Rosella
stumbling down the hall, her hand braced against the wall.

"Do me a favor," he said, looking back inside Dewayne's
room. "Take my name off the short list of people you wish to
see.

And he was gone. The abyss beneath which Dewayne's arm
was poised began to widen, the darkness within streaked with
an occasional lightning flash, revealing a wasteland of erosion.
If only he could cast himself into this gulf. If only there was a
force strong enough to pull him into this expansive grave, to
lay him out and cover him from the pervasive sight of God
and man. But when he heard from the cavernous hallway Sly's
voice calling out for Rosella to wait and the faltering sound of
her stumbling footsteps, he felt the surprise of hatred seeping
into his bloodstream, hatred toward those who had abandoned
him. A second surprise followed; a small funnel of strength,
dissolving the abyss of self-pity, provided a tension against the
urge to cast himself into the chasm of his vision.

Salvador Alverez was ready to upgrade. The beachside bungalow did not provide the space needed for business purposes,
and there was not sufficient room to entertain in the lavish
way he was imagining. His tastes were changing as well, more
refined, more educated, more in line with the lifestyle in which
he intended to grow.

Tailored clothes became the norm, vehicles were test-driven,
restaurants with wine lists replaced outdoor cafes and noisy
bars, art galleries replaced the ambles through outdoor flea
markets. Women who frequented his home were attempting to increase their value by refusing payments in hopes of
persuading Senor Alverez that one of them was worthy of a
more permanent union, as permanent as something could
be for someone with the evolving tastes and commitments of
Salvador Alverez.

It was now time to think about property strategically located
far enough from the big city of Dominical so as not to attract
suspicious attention, equidistant from the suppliers so as to
avoid incriminating association, close enough to the beach for
his legs to carry him, and secluded enough within the flora of
a jungle terrain so outsiders would not have easy access. And
when he procured the property, it would be time to look for investment opportunities in the commercial infrastructure of
the local community. It would be easy for the locals to lose their
hearing, their speech, their sight, and their memories when they
were confident their financial prosperity was secure through
generous payoffs. Once again, the international language of
money would be able to satisfy the needs of everyone.

The money Tyler brought with him to Costa Rica was about
to tap out. He had invested the advance from the leadership
into initiating contact and building relationships with three
separate drug producers, each capable of manufacturing a respectable number of kilos of marijuana and cocaine. The producers also had associations with established shipping routes
into the U.S. and Europe, and yet were still small enough to be
low-level, mom-and-pop suppliers, inconsequential by large
cartel standards.

Tyler did not want to draw much attention to his growing
industry early in the game. Before he became a serious competitor, he needed the muscle to back it up. He did not need
the big dogs to get a whiff of his intentions, and the best way
to do that was to fly under the radar of the conglomerates and
local law enforcement until he had become a reckoning force.
He had proven his business acumen by securing the suppliers
in different locations but all within a fifty-mile radius of the
jungle terrain outside of Quepos. If for any reason one of the
producers were incapacitated, the supply would continue to
flow.

Tyler looked forward to giving the LA leadership the full tour
of the three production facilities in their remote jungle locations. He would awe his homeboys by what he had been able to
accomplish in such a short time. He would fly them down, first
class, and not only would they get to see firsthand the innovative ways he had parleyed their development capital, but they would be able to taste the firstfruits of their investment. Tyler
had not squandered one dollar, and the leadership would see
he had vision, determination, and a developing skill to handle
the multilayer drug business. Once they had bought into the
capitalist dream of what their puny investment had procured
and what luxuries a successful business could provide for them
back home, they would all succumb to his submission.

Although Tyler was quite capable of being cold-blooded,
out of respect for his roots and recognition of the need for a
qualified and trustworthy U.S. distributor, he would not foolishly wield his power. Slowly, beguilingly, he would draw in the
leadership first and then the gang's regular members, making
them feel a part of his organization, a part of something greater
than themselves. If any of them showed separatist tendencies,
however, they would become expendable. In the normal course
of running a company, Tyler expected he would have to make
an example of a few independent thinkers, but believed when
his associates saw his capacity for ruthlessness, those times
would be rare. It was all a part of his plan.

It was time to invest personal capital. Tyler selected a Realtor, and after an exhaustive search of virtual online tours and
a dozen-plus on-site palace tours with the leading contender
for number one courtesan in the Alverez harem attached to his
arm-Tyler liked the feminine touch in picking a house and
the level of legitimacy it gave him to the outside world-he
settled on a $2.5 million mansion on a thirty-five-acre plot just
outside Quepos. It came equipped with a fence and security
system, a winding quarter-mile drive from gate to mansion
through dense jungle, a quarter-mile hike along a path through
the manicured gardens and down a cliffside opening onto a
private beach, a view from the house high enough above the
landscape and ocean to observe miles in all directions, and a servants' bungalow housing an older Dominical couple who
spoke no English but could provide all domestic services from
landscaping to preparing dishes of local cuisine.

The final step was for the Realtor and Alverez and the number one courtesan to go to the bank, do the necessary paperwork, and make the financial transfer. Around $5 million from
his Bahamian account was enough to begin with. That amount
would purchase the house, stock the kitchen, buy a couple
of vehicles, secure the initial funds for the three suppliers to
begin production, schedule flight plans for the leadership to
come in from LA, including paying back their investment with
a nice profit, and allow the number one courtesan to furnish
and decorate the rooms. He should not need any more than
this initial investment. He fully expected to be turning a profit
from the business within six months or less. He might not have
to touch the remaining millions for a long time. After writing
multiple signatures on the appropriate documents establishing the Sea Breeze Corporation with Salvador Alverez as CEO
and president and a few minutes on the computer punching
in the numbers on the account, Senor Alverez had instant access to his money. He shook hands with the bank executive of
the Costa Rican National Bank and his assistant in charge of
offshore account transfers, amidst smiles and laughter on all
sides, and Salvador Alverez received the keys to his kingdom
before the ink was dry on the Realtor's contract.

The e-mail announced "For Your Eyes Only:' When Detective
Hathaway opened the electronic message, it read, "Funds moved
... Costa Rican National Bank, Dominical, C.R., $5,220,000.
This is how we catch tax cheats and terrorists. Good luck"
Hathaway hoped to add a murderer to that list.

Because of Treasury's relationship with the international
banking community to trace suspicious accounts, his pal at
Treasury had been able to come through with the information,
and if he could catch this guy, he would send his friend a case
of Johnnie Walker. The date of the transfer was four days ago.
Hathaway began to rub his stomach when he realized the gut
feeling he had from day one was beginning to ease. This should
be enough to go on, but was it enough to change minds, to
authorize a new investigation, to perhaps divert the attention
of the powers that be from their prime suspect and open their
minds to other possibilities?