Read A Shark in Calle Ocho Online
Authors: Joe Curtis
Brandy started snapping pictures, and Bob whirled around, his heart nearly leaping into his throat, his stomach performing cartwheels.
“Mary Catherine,” he said in a hushed tone.
Brandy stopped snapping and said, “What?”
“Those crates, those markings—I’ve seen them before,” he answered.
Confused, Brandy said, “Okay, you’ve seen them before. So what?”
Not wanting to look because he feared the worst, he asked in a whisper, “Do you see Mary Catherine Tenish out there?”
Brandy looked.
Surprised, she whipped her head toward Bob and whispered, “How did you know she was out there?”
“A Care Ambulance was at Tenish Packaging the day I went over there,” he explained, shaking his head. “They were delivering two crates just like those, and they must be full of diamonds.”
“Not only do they run drugs out of ambulances, but also diamonds,” Brandy said, stating what was obvious by now. She went back to snapping photos.
“We need to get some pictures of the diamonds,” Bob said, looking through the door windows at the open second floor balcony.
Brandy looked at Bob then looked at the balcony.
“They’ll see us if we go up there.”
“Got your running shoes on?” he asked.
“As you can see, I have only the highest quality gems,” Shark said, courting the various bidders as the excitement began to build.
“I’ve searched the world to bring you these stones,” he said, spreading his arms and flashing a dazzling smile. Mary Catherine was brooding, but she was trying to cover it up with fake smiles. She’d reached the lowest point of her life, and it seemed nothing could lift her out of it. To her it was a “no-win situation.”
Shark walked over to her and put his arm around her shoulder, sending chills of disgust up and down her spine.
“My business associate, Mary Catherine Tenish, and I have worked very hard and are very proud of our collection, so don’t let us down with your bid.” He looked around with a serious expression that was meant to be funny—and the room lit up with laughter. Shark had them eating out of his hand.
Softly, but with enough force to shift the earth from its orbit, Mary Catherine, said, “Enough.”
Still close enough to hear her, Shark turned to her with a quizzical look on his face, but before he could ask what she meant, she pulled a small caliber revolver from her purse and fired at the closest henchman, hitting him in the face.
Bob and Brandy heard the shot as they opened the door to the balcony. They were surprised to see a henchman dressed in black hiding on the balcony. Operating on pure instinct, Bob hit the man on the nose, temporarily blinding him. Bob then put his shoulder in the man’s gut and pushed him over the balcony, and he crashed into a table fifteen feet below.
This was the first time Bob had ever struck another person. After pushing the man over the side, he grabbed his fist as pain shot up his arm, making his eyes water. Brandy paid no attention to the man lying unconscious on the table below—she just continued to snap shots of Mary Catherine, Shark, the dead henchman, and the scattering bidders. The bidders were so confused that they seemed to be running in circles, screaming and pushing each other.
The world seemed to stand still as Mary Catherine swung the pistol toward Shark, but before she could take aim she felt a sharp, hot pain shoot through her shoulder, hitting her so hard that it knocked her to the ground. She saw her own blood starting to seep through her blouse.
Shark now stood over her with a look of pure hatred. He growled and pushed the heel of his right shoe into her damaged shoulder. She screamed in agony, which seemed to excite him. He left his foot there and started barking orders.
“I want everyone to be calm. Everything’s under control.”
Bob looked on in horror at the sight of Shark and Mary Catherine.
“Stay here, and keep shooting,” he said to Brandy, then he ran off the balcony before she could protest. As he bounded down the stairs, he checked for his tools of the trade. Luckily he had his pepper spray and cuffs.
Shark tried to calm the crowd, but he realized they were no longer in a spending mood. Still, he kept trying.
“Please calm down—this lady is losing her mind. We have everything under control, and you can still bid on this wonderful shipment.” Mary Catherine continued to writhe under the pressure of his foot. Shark caught the eyes of two of his men, and they obediently came over. “Take this trash away. I’ll deal with her later.”
They hauled her to her feet, and she spit in Shark’s face.
“Burn in hell!” she screamed.
Shark wiped his face with a silk handkerchief and whispered, “You’ll be there tonight. Save a place for me.” With that the men dragged her out of the building and into a waiting black BMW.
As Bob worked his way through the confused crowd, he was relying on his two most powerful weapons—his Streetwise Stun Gun, and his ability to blend in. His plan was crazy, and he was sure he was going to die when he put his arm around the neck of the great Shark and squeezed.
“Drop your gun,” he said as he pressed the stun gun to Shark’s temple with his other hand.
With a shock he’d never felt before, Shark obeyed.
Totally confused, he said, “Who are you?”
“Bob—A-1 Personal Recovery.”
Shark laughed but didn’t struggle, making Bob flush with anger.
“Look around, Bob. Do you see the guns pointing at you? Don’t you know you’re about to die?” he screamed.
Bob laughed back, beyond caring whether he lived or died. He laughed like he was the predator at the top of the food chain.
He said to Shark so everyone could hear, “What would happen to your brain if I pulled the trigger on my stun gun? What would it be like if I sent ten thousand volts of electricity into your temple and into your little brain? You’d have to wear a diaper and eat mashed potatoes for the rest of your pathetic life while somebody wiped the drool off your face.” He put his mouth close to Shark’s ear and whispered, “There’s always a bigger fish in the sea.”
“Kill him,” Shark screamed, his face red, and his body frozen with hatred—and for the first time since his childhood he felt fear. “Kill him now.”
“No, no, boys—I wouldn’t do that,” Bob said, backing up to a door and to freedom. “I’ll change your boss into a slobbering idiot.”
Preston, one of Shark’s men, eyed the diamonds as he watched the bounty hunter and Shark. All those stones could be his with just a single shot. He’d come just as a hired thug but could leave a wealthy man. He had grown up in north Florida, the middle son of a poor cotton farmer. He promised himself after leaving the family farm that he’d never be poor again, no matter what.
Tonight is my night,
he thought.
This is my big break.
Preston’s big mistake was opening his big mouth, which had always been a weakness of his. Tonight it would prove to be his end. He pointed his gun toward Bob and Shark and yelled, “Tonight’s my lucky night, baby. Preston will be king after tonight.”
A shot rang out, and everybody flinched as Preston fell to the ground, a gaping hole below his arm and chest.
“FBI, everybody down!” Carson Fingnom yelled, showing a badge and gun.
Bob knocked the Shark to the floor and fell on top of him, determined not to lose his prize. Two dozen FBI agents stormed through the doors, guns raised as they yelled, “Freeze.”
Shark grumbled in Spanish, and Bob laughed in his ear.
Epilogue
“I had a great time tonight, Bob,” Brandy said, walking beside Miami’s new ace bounty hunter.
“I did too,” he said, smiling.
She looked at him and asked, “How many times have you been to the beach in Miami?”
“Lately I’ve been busy catching bad guys,” Bob said sheepishly. “Before that I really never made time for fun. But don’t you think my tan is going well?” He held his arms up for her inspection.
She laughed and said, “It looks more red than tan.” She nudged him. “At least you’re getting a better tan than Shark. It’ll be hard for him to get a tan in prison.”
“Yeah, I believe things are looking up,” he said as they walked toward Bob’s car.
“Come on, Tammy,” Bob called as he stood by the newly restored beauty queen. The dog obeyed and jumped into the back seat. Bob closed the door and admired the new fire engine red paint job. “Boy oh boy, beauty queen—you sure do look good.”
“I do find it weird that you talk to dogs and old cars,” Brandy said with a coy smile as she sat down in the passenger side.
“I only talk to one dog and one car,” Bob answered with a laugh.
Turning onto the busy boulevard, he looked at Tammy.
“I guess we’re not getting any more money from Mary Catherine. It’s hard for her to go to the bank while she is in jail.” Tammy barked.
Just then Bob’s phone rang.
“Hello. Yes, this is A-1 Personal Recovery. Sure, I can track him down for you. That’ll be no problem.”
Bob glanced at Tammy in the rearview mirror and then looked at Brandy.
“I guess that money doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Oh, Bob,” Brandy said, rolling her eyes. “You need an accountant.”
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