Smugglers 4 - South Beach Heat by Gerald McCallum Read Free Book Online Page A

thought of the three of them talking on the dock.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER 7
     
     
    The “Major” came out and said that he had heard about Auschultz, that he was sorry and asked Nikki if he could be of any help. After delivering his condolences, he went to his car. Nikki stayed a few minutes more talking to Mercedes then went to work on the dock.
    Soon it was Sunday, and Glenn thought he would take Nikki and the people on the Pipefitter out on his boat and go bar hopping.
    They had not been out more than an hour when the first DEA boat stopped them and went through the boat from stem to stern, and from bimini top to water line. They even made Glenn blow in a device to do an alcohol test at noon. That was one of three stops that day, all with searches and questions about the guests and Jim.
    When they got back to the dock, they all went to Nikki’s apartment and had more to drink. Patrick went to get his coke. They all partook except Glenn. It was four in the morning when Patrick and his friends finally went back to their boat. Nikki and Glenn made love until the sun came up, then fell asleep in each other’s arms. Glenn didn’t wake up until 11 o’clock. When he opened his eyes, Nikki was just laying there in his arms staring at him with a tear running down her face.
    “What was that all about yesterday with the DEA, the Coast Guard, and the Water Patrol? What the hell is going on? Why are they on your shit so bad? And don’t tell me that it’s because you were Jim’s friend. Shit doesn’t go on like that if you two were just friends! Glenn, they’ve been on this dock three or four times and stopped us three times in one day. What was Jim doing or what were you and Jim doing? Look, Glenn, I’ve been in the Keys for over fifteen years, and I know smugglers when I see them. What’s going on? What happened to Jim? Where were you that night?” she said with concern.
    “I was here, asleep upstairs. I don’t know anything about Jim or his business,” replied Glenn. He took his coffee and went outside to his boat.
    On the way he ran into Dave, the cop from apartment two. It was his day off. He walked to the boat with Glenn. Glenn could smell the whiskey on his breath and saw that his glass was full, too.
    “They have your cell phone records for the past several years to see if you called Jim or any big boats at night,” Dave said.
    “They’ll see I called Jim a lot. He was my best friend, and we went fishing all the time,” exclaimed Glenn.
    Little did they know that every time Glenn went to Miami he made several stops and bought three or four Trac phones. So he never called the mother ship on his phone, and the Trac phones couldn’t be traced, and those phones got the deep six treatment on the way back from each run. He never used the same phone more than once, and they were not in his name. He always paid cash in several stores in Miami, and he never bought them at home.
    Glenn thought, ‘As far as what Dave said to me about my cell phone bills and the cops, this business is like a real high stakes Texas Hold’em game. You get more from what your adversary does and says than the cards. Empty wagons rattle the most. It’s better to be quiet than speak up and prove you’re a fool. My dad and mom were bush smugglers here, and my granddad and grandma ran rum and scotch before them. Consequently they never, that’s never talked to strangers as you would end up in jail.’
    Glenn took the boat out for a while and ran it at one hundred mph. Then he tied it back up. The ride felt great and gave him time to think about his next move and what the cops would do when they found nothing in his cell phone bills or his being friends with Jim. His finger prints were all over Jim’s house but they were supposed to be. He was his friend for many, many years.
    It was Saturday, and Glenn was having coffee with Nikki and several of the tenants. Dave the cop was sober and at work in town. There were five cops in the