Ring of Lies (49 page)

‘
What about his
office and
seaplane?
’

‘
The office is rented
by the month
.
The seaplane is about the only asset
Jacob’s
has.
H
e
had
a run in with the Federal Aviation Association
a couple of months back
.
They say h
e failed to file a flight plan, but
he
disagree
d
and
said
that he submitted the requisite document
,
but
it was never received due to a computer malfunction.
The FAA refused to accept his explanation and fined him a thousand dollars.
’

‘
Any history of drug running?
’

‘
He’s not on the DEA’
s radar
, but that doesn’t mean to say he’s clean
.
According to local
gossip
, h
e specializes in charters, mainly
for
fishermen, tourists and the occasional honeymoon couple.
Although, the rumour circulating the
island
is that he’ll fly anywhere for cash.
’

‘
Check with the IRS, f
ind out whether he’s filed his taxes and whether he owes anything.
In the meantime, y
ou’d bette
r go and
join
Kennedy
,
’
Jack
said
.

‘
Kennedy can manage.
He’s
down on the beach
, keeping an eye on a group of teenagers.
They’re having a barbeque and a few beers.
I
doubt they'll cause any trouble.
’

‘
Even so,
Anderson,
I want you out there, doing your job.
’

‘
But t
here’s a storm front moving in, n
othing is likely to happen
.
’

‘
You don’t know that.
Now get your but
t
back out there.
’

Anderson’s mouth compressed into a tight thin line.
He
held Jack’s gaze
for a moment,
th
en turned on his heel and left.

Small towns made
Sergio Vasquez
nervous.
He p
referred to work in the anonymity of the city
.
T
here
he could duck down a darkened alleyway out of sight of prying eyes.
Here on Gasparilla Island he felt exposed, as if everyone knew why he was here
,
and the crime he was about to commit.

Stealing a car and getting
to the island
was
easy.
He took
the
shuttle
bus to the airport
and
strolled through the
long-term
parking lot
looking for a
suitable vehicle
.
N
othing too flashy
,
just
something that wouldn’t seem out of place on an island full of snowbirds and millionaires.
On the
third level he
’d
spotted a
black,
late model
Saab convertible
.
He’d been stealing cars since he was old enough to reach the gas pedal
.
Back then, it took him nearly half an hour to pull off a heist.
Today it took
less than two minutes
to jimmy
the lock and climb inside.

A
quick
search of the
glove compartment
revealed that
the
owner had
conveniently
left the parking ticket
f
or
him.
This time
there was no need for him to
create an
excuse
to
tell
the attendant
about losing the ticket
.
It was right there in his hand.
He kissed the ticket and crossed himself, ever thankful to the Blessed Virgin for his luck.

Once
clear
of the airport,
he drove
to a vacant lot, switch
ed
the license plates
with those
he stole
off a beat up old pick-up truck
an hour
earlier,
and
drove
,
at legal speed so as not to attract attention
,
to
Boca Grande.
The car loved the road.
He didn’t much care for Saabs, but he had to admit to himself this was one
model
he might e
ven steal for himself one day.

About
four
blocks square, and located in the
centre
of the island, the small residential community of Boca Grande
bustled
with activity.
He
parked the
car
in a side street next to
the
local
community
centre
and
walked around the
tree-lined
streets
.
Every
house
was unique
, the gardens full of flowering plants
.
There were no high rises or traffic lights
.
N
o blare of car horns
to disturb the old gentleman sleeping peacefully in a chair on his porch.

Vasquez
picked up a copy of the local paper, the
Boca Beacon
, along with a street map
from the stand
outside the post office.
He crossed the road to the local ea
tery
where he
ordered a New York strip
,
rare with pepper sauce and fries, and a bottle of Bud.
While he waited for his order to be filled, he studied the map, memorizing the layout of the town.
He lingered over his meal, only leaving the restaurant when it closed for the night.

The air inside the Saab was hot and stale.
He
wound down the window and turned the A
-
C to full.
He
drove
slowly
past the
target
building
.
He turned left at the intersection and went over a few blocks, before
park
ing
under the branches of a Banyan t
ree.
He sat and watched the street
,
and listened
.

No curtains twitched.
No doors opened
and
no lights came on
.

I
f anyone had seen
or heard
him arrive, they didn’t care. H
e grabbed the
gym
bag off the passenger seat, and
stepped out of the car
.

Dressed all in black, he strode confidently along the
tree-lined
avenues
, his footsteps silent in the still of the night
.
Suddenly,
a door
opened
, bathing him in light
.
A
barrel-shaped
middle-aged
man
appeared on the porch
, two
poodle
s
yipping frantically
at his he
e
l
s
.
Vasquez bent
down
and pretended to
tie a shoelace.
The man paused for a moment as the dogs took turns doing their business on the sidewalk
, t
hen
looked his way.

O
ne heartbeat.
Two heartbeats.

He
could only tie his shoes for so long.
He could kill
the man
if he had to, but it would be messy out here.
Besides, he liked dogs.
He wouldn’t want to drop their master right there in his yard.
They might bark, and then he
’d
have to use his sleek black gun with the silencer on them too.
That would be a shame.