J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 02 - No Time to Die (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

Kermit decided that he would drive Michael from the Sunset Resort to the Cancun airport.

“We
gotta make good time, and that’s only possible in this classic piece of Detroit’s mechanized glory.” Kermit ran his hand along the dashboard of his El Camino.  Then he punched the gas. The triple-carb, V8 engine roared, and the El Camino shot onto Highway 307.

The sudden motion jerked Michael’s head back. He tried to keep himself from getting sick as the half-car, half-truck barreled north.

Kermit weaved from one side of the road to the other, avoiding the frequent potholes. The Mexican economy had been battered by a combination of bad weather, violent turf battles among the country’s various drug-runners, and a global recession. None of it was good for the tourism industry. And when tourists stopped spending their money in Mexico, a major source of revenue went away. Infrastructure was the first to be cut.

“You think you can slow down?” Michael grabbed the side of his seat as Kermit cut left, and then back to the right.

“Not possible,
mi amigo
.” Kermit shook his head. “We’ve got a schedule.” Kermit smiled, and then he fiddled with the radio. He found a classic rock station, bobbed his head to a few Led Zeppelin power chords, and then began to tell Michael more about Tommy Estrada, the man they were going to Florida to find.

“
You were awesome last night,” Kermit said. “You gave this big speech about justice and truth, and I was, like, blown away by your passion for helping Pace and his family. Everybody in the bar was going crazy.”

Michael shook his head.

“I was drunk.”

Kermit reached out and squeezed Michael’s shoulder.

“I know,” he laughed. “Drunken bravado is, like, the best kind of bravado.”

Kermit jerked the wheel, dodging a dead animal of some sort. The El Camino groaned.

“Pace says that his dad was a crew leader, like, out in the fields.” The Zeppelin song finished, and so Kermit stopped talking and fiddled with the dial again. He found a station playing some alternative Mexican music by a band from Tijuana. It was a fusion of classic mariachi and punk ska.

Kermit listened for a minute, making sure it was acceptable, and then he continued.

“Name of the company is Jolly Boy.” Kermit avoided another pothole.  “They’ve got a lot of farms up there. They hire a lot of illegals to pick the crops.”

Michael listened, but didn’t say much as Kermit continued relaying what Pace had told him. Between bumps, swerves, and waves of nausea, Michael simultaneously tried
to comprehend what Kermit was telling him and not to pass out.

According to Kermit, Tommy Estrada had been staying at a furnished townhome paid for by Jolly Boy. The townhome was part of a larger complex. It wasn’t a mansion, but Pace told Kermit that the housing complex had a pool and a gym.

Pace and his dad had talked every week, but about a month-and-a-half ago, the phone calls stopped.  Before the calls ended, Pace’s dad told him that he was a little sick, but his dad hadn’t gone into too much detail.

“We got an address for his dad, but not a whole lot else to go on. We
gotta be, like, super-sleuths, yo.” Kermit honked the El Camino’s horn, and then pressed the gas pedal down even further as he turned the radio up louder. “Watch out world, the boys are back in town. A little adventure.”

Kermit looked at Michael and laughed, but Michael didn’t laugh. Michael just shut his eyes and said a few prayers.

###

From Cancun it was a two-hour plane ride to the Southwest Florida International Airport in Fort Myers. At each step along the way, Michael had paid with his credit card. He felt uncomfortable every time his card had been swiped.

It wasn’t because he didn’t have the money. Michael had plenty of money. Last time he checked, his balance was still close to $500 million.

Spending money made him feel uncomfortable for other reasons.

His actions were leaving an electronic trail. He knew that the trail would eventually be found and the money would lead to him. It was only a matter of time.

Bank secrecy wasn’t what it used to be. When the secrecy broke down and his banks started responding to the government’s subpoenas, he would be revealed as a thief. It didn’t matter that he stole the money from a crook. As a matter of policy, the government didn’t like attorneys taking client funds and moving to Mexico – even if that client was a horrible human being.

As the plane descended and the seat belt lights turned on, Michael’s concern grew. Everything that morning had happened fast. Living at the Sunset, it was easy to forget the reality of what he left behind in the United States. Although the initial grand jury had decided not to indict him, questions still remained. The money was still missing. Some FBI agents believed that Lowell Moore and his assistant, Patty Bernice, had simply laundered it through Michael’s old law firm and the money was gone, but Agent Frank
Vatch hadn’t given up.

Vatch
had never believed Michael’s story. Vatch looked at Michael’s background and current lifestyle, and he knew that somehow Michael had gotten a piece of his old client’s hidden assets. He didn’t believe that Michael had simply walked away from one of New York’s largest and most prestigious law firms for a life of shorts, T-shirts, and sandals.

With his partner dead,
Vatch was still obsessed. It didn’t matter that Michael had nearly died along with Vatch’s partner, or that nearly everyone else involved in the matter was dead or in prison. Vatch wanted Michael to go down, too. He was certain that Michael had taken millions, but still needed the proof.

###

Michael was tentative.  He took small steps when he got off the plane; slowly he walked into the terminal. He looked around, scanning every face. He half-expected Vatch to emerge with a pair of handcuffs, but nothing happened.

Michael and Kermit walked down the airport terminal, and then passed through customs.  It was easy for them. They had U.S. passports and they weren’t Latino. Michael looked across the room and saw a Mexican family that had been pulled aside. They were being questioned. Two agents examined their documents. They were agents from Immigration and Customs Enforcement, otherwise known as ICE.

A few years ago, they had been called INS agents. “INS” stood for Immigration and Naturalization Service.  Then the politicians in Washington, D.C., had decided that sounded too friendly. The purpose of the agency wasn’t to help people immigrate and naturalize. That era was gone. The purpose of the agency was to keep people out, and so ICE was born.  

 
After getting their passports scanned and stamped, Michael and Kermit took a shuttle that ran around the airport’s rental car loop. They got off at the first stop, Michael filled out some paperwork, and then they got in line.

It wasn’t too busy. Before long, they were called to the counter.

“Let’s get a nice ride, man, nothing sub-compacted. I need air, man. I need lots of air.” Kermit pointed to the picture of a Mustang convertible as they approached the agent. “I needs me some room for the legs to stretch and the cool wind to blow through my beautiful hair.”

Michael looked at the agent.

“I’ll take the SUV.”

Michael slid the paperwork across the counter, and Kermit shook his head in disapproval.

“SUVs are bad karma, yo, real bad karma. They’re the ride of the devil.” Kermit made his fingers into little devil horns.

The clerk took the paper that Michael had filled out.

“Is he also going to be driving?” She nodded toward Kermit, looking concerned.

“
I’m afraid so,” Michael said, “so we’d better buy some of that insurance, too.”

###

Michael and Kermit passed the last cookie-cutter housing development after just 30 minutes on Highway 82 toward the town of
Jesser, Florida.

The transition from suburbs to farmland wasn’t gradual. There was an abrupt line. On one side of the line were hundreds of new brown and tan houses. On the other side of the line was nothing but fields. The ground turned from plush green grass to sandy brown dirt.

As they drove, the fields encircled them.

The fields were still. There was no breeze to push. The air just stopped, hazing over the crops.

Kermit looked down at the map and a wrinkled piece of paper with Tommy Estrada’s address written on it.

“
Turn this boat due north at that intersection.” Kermit pointed.

“
Got it.” Michael turned on his left blinker, leaving the highway. They started down a long gravel road. The road’s small rocks popped and cracked beneath the SUV’s tires. Every few seconds there would be high-pitched clink as a rock hit the metal undercarriage and ricocheted off to the side.

“
What’s the address again?” Michael turned to Kermit and glanced down at the map in Kermit’s lap. “I don’t see anything but fields.”

“
Shouldn’t be far.” Kermit looked at the wrinkled piece of paper. “3587 Greenway,” he said.

The rental SUV continued, and then, just on the other side of a small hill, there were a half-dozen rusted trailers.

“We have to be close.” Michael slowed, looking at the trailers as they drove past. “What’s the address on those?”

“
I missed it,” Kermit said. “Turn around.”

Michael slowed the SUV down even further and then pulled a U-turn. They drove back to the shambled trailers, and then stopped. “You see an address?”

“Nope, but this can’t be it.” Kermit shook his head. “No pool, man.”

“
Not exactly townhomes, either.” Michael put the SUV in park. He turned the key. The engine stopped, and then he unlocked and opened the door.

He got out, looking around.

A little further into the turn-off there were six rusted poles with faded plastic mailboxes wired to the top.

Michael walked over to the mailboxes with Kermit trailing behind. He lifted the lid on the top box, and Michael looked.

Inside the mailbox there were a few letters. Michael pulled out one of the letters. The address was 3587 Greenway.

“
This is the place.” Michael put the letter back into the mailbox. “Wonder what else Pace’s dad didn’t tell his son.” Michael started walking toward one of the trailers.

Kermit continued to follow behind. He was happy to let Michael take the lead.

They got to the door of the first trailer. Michael knocked, waiting for an answer.

Silence.

Michael shrugged his shoulders, and then he started to turn. “Well I guess that’s a dead-end for now. We could check the others or we could wait and see if anybody –”

Michael stopped.

He saw the gun pointed at Kermit’s head, and Michael put his hands in the air.

CHAPTER FOUR

Inside the interrogation room at the Collier County Sheriff’s Department, the walls were all white and plain, except one. One wall had a large mirror. It was unclear if anybody was watching from the other side of the mirror, but Michael stared. He wondered about Agent
Vatch. Michael wondered whether Vatch already knew that he was back in the United States and whether he was behind that mirror.

The Sheriff’s Deputy pounded his fist on the table to get Michael’s attention. Both Michael and Kermit jumped.

“Listen up.” The deputy glared. “I’m not messing around with you two.”

The Sheriff’s Deputy looked like he had been a big high school football player. Not big enough, however, to make it any further than the varsity team. Now as a grown man, he still had that chip on his shoulder. He was the team captain. Kermit and Michael were the dorks in charge of the pep band.

“I ran your identification, Mr. Michael Collins.” The deputy pulled out a chair and sat across the table from him. His badge said his name was T. MAUS.

“
No record that I could see.” The deputy crooked his head to the side, looking at Kermit. “But you, on the other hand, have a more colorful history.”

Kermit blinked.

“These fluorescent lights make my eyes hurt.” Kermit closed his eyes and then leaned his head against the wall. “Is there, like, a dimmer, man?”

“
Wake up.” The deputy slammed his hand on the table, again.

“
Dude, chill.” Kermit opened his eyes.

“
Are we under arrest?” Michael made sure his voice was slow and overly calm. It was a way of sounding polite, without actually being polite. It also concealed a growing panic.

“
Are you a lawyer?” The deputy’s eyebrows arched, disliking Michael even more.

Michael decided not to answer
Maus’ question, but Kermit had other ideas.

“
He
is
a lawyer.” Kermit pointed at Michael. “This fact should not be doubted, my kind sir.” Kermit was now awake, reaching the top of his emotional roller-coaster. In a few minutes, he’d be crashing again.

Kermit continued, “Smart as a whip, too, provided he’s not three sheets to the wind. Alcohol tends to dull the sharper edges of his mind. But I want to make this clear: do not mess with the legal eagle sitting to my right.”

Deputy Maus shook his head. He’d had enough. He raised his hand in surrender.

“
Listen, we’re not charging you with trespass today. I talked to the owners and they said to give you a warning –”

“
But,” said Kermit.

“
But we catch you out there again, then there’s gonna be some consequences.” Deputy Maus stood. “You’re free to go, and I hope you get as far away from here as possible.”

Michael and Kermit stood and Deputy
Maus led them into the hallway. Michael allowed himself to relax a little as they got closer to the exit. He wanted to get out and to the airport as soon as possible, but then there was the promise.

There was a time when Michael wouldn’t have cared about the promise. He believed the world was against him, and he didn’t owe anything to anybody. But he was starting to soften. There were people he relied on, and there were people who relied on him.

Just find Pace’s dad and get out
, Michael thought.
Try and be a good person for once in your life.

###

“
You want to tell me where my client is?”  Her voice was loud. The other people waiting in the front room of the jail stopped talking.

“
He’s in detention, now.” The clerk looked at her computer screen, reading the green lettering generated by an ancient software program developed by the government in the early 1980s. “Says they’ve got an ICE hold on him.” The clerk checked the screen, again, and then looked back at the woman through the bulletproof glass.

The clerk had a pleading face. It wasn’t that she wanted the matter resolved. It wasn’t as if the clerk even wanted to help the woman. The clerk simply wanted the woman to leave so that she could finish her shift in relative peace and go home.

“I’m his attorney and I have a right to speak with him, regardless of who is holding him.” She pointed at the door next to the window that led to the holding area. “You need to buzz me in and let me talk to my client.”

The clerk looked at the door and shook her head.

“Talk to the local ICE agent. I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

“
That’s where you’re wrong. You do have something to do with it,” the woman said. “He’s in your jail.”

“
Talk to the local ICE agent.” The clerk looked beyond the woman at the other people waiting in line. “Next.”

“
Damn it.” She turned and began to walk away just as the door to the holding area opened.

She and Kermit collided.

“Whoa, princess.” Kermit stepped back and smiled. “We haven’t even had dinner, yet.”

She looked at Kermit. The collision made her even madder.

“Who the hell are you?”

“
Kermit Guillardo, my miss.” Kermit bowed to her, and then gracefully waved his long arm toward Michael. “This is my co-conspirator, Mr. Michael Collins.”

“
Well, I’m not your princess, and I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of my way.”

Michael stepped in.

“I’m sorry.” He glared at Kermit, and then looked back at her. “My friend’s got some mental problems.”

They all began to walk toward the door, although she was trying to get some space between them. Michael wasn’t letting her get too far.

“You represent some of the workers here?” Michael matched her, stride for stride.

“
I don’t have time for you and I’m not going to give you my number, not even for business reasons.” She kept walking.

“
Well, I didn’t ask for it, so that resolves that issue.” Michael continued to follow her out of the police station and into the parking lot. “I have a friend. He’s a worker.” They walked down the front steps; Michael still chasing her. “Wondering if you know him or somebody who might? Tommy Estrada?”

Mention of the name stopped her.

She turned and looked at both Michael and Kermit. She looked carefully before responding.