Hawke

The six remaining men moved swiftly toward the old club, bristling with weapons. All they knew was what Stokely had told them on the ramp. It was going to be a search and seizure, and it was most likely going to be a hot one.

The door of the club, not surprisingly, was open. There was a man sleeping atop the bar, snoring loudly. Ambrose considered waking him and reminding him of the club rules but disturbing him seemed u

Two days ago, this had been a solid wall of photographs. Now, quite a few obvious patches of crumbling stucco revealed that a number of them had recently been removed. He looked at the picture in his hand, then placed it inside his jacket pocket. Satisfied, he turned to Sutherland and Stokely.

“All right, then. Two doors either side at the top of these stairs. Amen’s room is on the right,” Ambrose said. “At least, I saw him enter that room two nights ago. Ross, you and Stokely come with me. Tom, you and your fellows please remain down here unless you hear something disturbing upstairs.”

Ambrose was first up the steps. He waited for his two colleagues outside the bedroom door. Then he pulled out his revolver and stood back as Stokely kicked the old wooden door open. The force of his kick knocked the door off its hinges and sent it flying into the room.

A startled Amen sat bolt upright in his single iron bed, his eyes wide with surprise and fear.

“Good morning, Mr. Lillywhite,” Ambrose said, and walked straight toward him, his gun aimed at the naked man’s heart. Stoke and Sutherland stood just inside the doorframe, their weapons at the ready.

“What the—”

“Please be silent and listen,” Ambrose said. “I’m going to ask you a few very important questions. If I hear the right answers, no harm will come to you. You should know that I am a policeman and so are these gentlemen.”

Ambrose opened the small black leather case and showed the man his shield. “Are you ready?”

Amen, eyes on the gun, nodded his head.

“Good,” Ambrose said. “What is your name?”

“Amen, sir. Everybody knows that.”

“Your full name, please.”

“My name is Amen Lillywhite,” Amen said. “Named after my father.”

“Mr. Lillywhite, the very first time I visited this establishment, I noticed a number of particularly interesting snapshots on the wall downstairs. Some of them appeared to have been taken at a New Year’s Eve party in the early seventies. Tonight, I return only to find that many, if not all, of those particular pictures, have been removed. Any idea who might have taken them? Or why?”

“I don’t know,” Amen said. “I swear. So many pictures up there, I didn’t even notice they were missing.”

“You don’t have them?”

“No, sir. I don’t.”

“I believe you. Next question. Who is the owner of this establishment?”

Amen Lillywhite leaned back against the stained wall and shook his head.

“I am investigating a murder case for the Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland Yard,” Ambrose said. “If you withhold either evidence or information pertaining to this crime, you’re going to prison for a long, long time. Again, who is the owner of this club?”

“I don’t know anything. I just work for the man is all.”

“Give me his name. Now.” Ambrose pulled the hammer back on his revolver. It made a big impression.

“Don Carlo, that’s what he’s always been called ’round this little island. Just Don Carlo.”

“Did he remove the pictures?”

“I guess maybe he wanted some pictures taken down. Two days ago, Gloria ask me why Don Carlo seemed so upset about some pictures on the wall. Said he noticed one was missing. Said somebody had taken one. He told her to take some other ones down and burn them all out in the trash pit.”

“Did she do it?”

“I don’t think so. Don Carlo beat her up pretty badly one time she wouldn’t, uh, well, you know what I’m talking about. Ever since then, she don’t ever do what he say, less he standin’ right there watchin’ over her. Prob’ly, she hid the pictures in her room.”

“I hope so, for her sake. Destroying evidence related to a homicide investigation is a very serious offense.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. How long has Don Carlo owned this club?”

“I guess thirty years or so. As a young man, he work for me tending bar. Only a month or so. Then he left without a word. One day he shows up again with a big wad of cash money and buys the place from my boss, Mr. Daniel Staniel was his name. Don Carlo, well, he’s what you call an international businessman. Big man. To him, this old club ain’t nothin’ but a hobby, like a—”

“Front for an international narco-terrorist operation. What is this man’s nationality?”

“You mean—”

“What is his country of origin?”

“You mean, where he was born, that would be Cuba. He and his brothers are big shots there. Military.”

“Their names?”

“Don Manso is one. The other he just calls Juanito.”

“Ah, yes,” Ambrose said, barely suppressing an urge to shout with joy at the mention of these two names.

Ambrose removed an envelope from his jacket and took out three folded and yellowed sheets of paper. He selected one and showed it to Lillywhite.

“Is this the man now known as Don Carlo, who worked for you thirty years ago?”

Lillywhite narrowed his eyes and said, “Yes, sir, that’s him.”

It was the police sketch Stubbs Witherspoon had given Ambrose on Nassau.

“Is this man on this island now?”

“Yes, sir. He live here most of the year. Spends a lot of time up in Cuba, too. But the man here now. Showed up yesterday.”

“Where does he live? His house, where is it?”

“Other side of the island. Over on the ocean side. Big place.”

“Guards?”

“Yes, sir. All the time.”

“Does the house have a name?”

“Finca de las Palmas.”

“Describe it.”

“Big white place. High stone walls all around it. Main gate at the top of the steps up from the beach road. Where de guard house is. Some big wooden gates round dere on de west side wall. House sits in a pine forest up high overlooking the sea. Nothing else round that place, sir.”

“Where is Don Carlo’s room?

“I ain’t been up there. But I think it’s third floor, overlooking the sea. He got a long balcony where I think he sleeps sometimes. Anyway, I’ve seen him up there in his pajamas, entertaining, you know? Fancy black iron railing up there.”

“Does he have a wife? Children in the house?”

“No, sir, he do not have no wife, no children.”

“There’s an old schoolbus parked outside the club.”

“Yessuh.”

“Run?”

“That’s my mother’s bus. She hauls kids to school in it every day. Calls it her bread and butter.”

“You have keys?”

“Yes, sir. ’Course I do.”

“Get dressed. You’re coming with us.”

“I ain’t done nothin’, sir, but tell you the Lord’s honest truth.”

“I’m taking you into protective custody until I can determine the truth of that statement.”

“Don Carlo, he see me with policemen, I’m dead.”

“He won’t get the chance to see you, Mr. Lillywhite. I’ll see to it that he does not. No harm will come to you or any member of your family.”

“You got to mind yourself with Don Carlo, Mr. Congreve. Real careful. Man is crazy. He ’bout bad as they get down in these islands. And they can get very bad.”

Lowering his weapon, Ambrose walked toward the empty doorframe, paused, and looked over his shoulder at the man still lying on the bed.

“You’re dealing with Scotland Yard, Mr. Lillywhite. Bad is our bread and butter.”