Marlow: Banana Wind

By Bill Craig

In bestselling author Bill Craig’s second entry in his Marlow series, a woman is washed up on the beach, battered and beaten, clutching a small leather sack and no memory of who she was. But Jorge Leone recognized what was in the sack and knew it meant trouble was blowing into Key West. He hired Marlow to find out who the girl was and where she had come from. As Marlow works the case, he finds himself being blown about in a Banana Wind as a storm of violence descends on Key West!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AbsolutelyAmazingEbooks.com
• Release date: Apr 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311814999

Bill Craig

Bill Craig taught himself to read at age four and began writing his own stories at age six. He published his first novel at age 40 and says it only took him 34 years to become an overnight success! He has been publishing steadily ever since that first book Valley of Death and now has 27 books in print or ebook. Bill is the proud father of four children ranging in age from 38 to almost 8. He has 7 grandchildren and 1 great grandchild. Mr. Craig has worked a wide variety of jobs over the years from private security and corrections work to being a grill cook and dishwasher. He has been a news reporter, done factory work and even a stint as a railroad clerk. He currently does customer service work to support his writing addiction. His ultimate goal in life is to break the record held by pulp author and creator of The Shadow, Walter B. Gibson, for writing the most works in a single year!

Book preview

Marlow:

Banana

Wind

A Key West Mystery

Bill Craig

ABSOLUTELY AMAZING eBOOKS

Published by Whiz Bang LLC, 926 Truman Avenue, Key West, Florida 33040, USA

Copyright © 2013 by Bill Craig.

Electronic compilation/print edition copyright © 2013 by Whiz Bang LLC.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. While the author has made every effort to provide accurate information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their contents.

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To Shirrel Rhoades, for taking a chance on an unknown author on the word of a mutual friend … And for Marie Arnold, the most wonderful woman I know … And for Susie Specht Fultz for being such a tremendous friend across the years …

Banana Wind is an Island term. It is a wind not as dangerous as a hurricane, but strong enough to blow the bananas off the trees. It comes out of Africa like rhythm and gumbo, riding across the South Atlantic on the Equatorial Current to Martinique & Guadeloupe where it turns towards Hispaniola and the Bahamas until it reaches Florida …

- Jimmy Buffett from the album Banana Wind

Chapter One

Somewhere South of Key West…

The storm had blown up unexpectedly, catching them all off guard. Dominga Esteban pushed her dark hair back out of her face as the boat gave a sudden lurch. The captain was cursing in rapid-fire Spanish using words that her father never would have. Of course those days were long gone. She missed her Papa, but she knew he would not have approved of her career. He was no fan of the Communist government that ruled their island home. No, her Papa would not like her working for the Dirección General de Inteligencia.

Nor would he have liked the dangerous mission that had brought her out onto this boat in the stormy seas between her native Cuba and Key West. But while she was less than happy with her mission, her superiors felt that it would aid the interests of Cuba in the region. Personally, she cared little for mindless ideology and theology, though she did sometimes pray to the Christian God for success in her missions. She made her way across the constantly shifting deck to where the Captain stood firmly behind the wheel, striving to keep them on course.

"¿Estamos casi allí?" Dominga asked.

"Pronto, muy pronto vamos a estar ahí," The Captain replied.

Dominga shivered. Ahead something was growing beyond the rain-slashed windshield. At first she thought it was the boat they were supposed to meet, but then she realized it was something worse. A giant wave, bigger than anything she had ever seen. Then it was on them and she was slammed off her feet as the boat tumbled in the storm and sea water washed over her, dragging her away from the wreckage of the boat that she had entrusted her life to…

≈≈≈

Key West, Florida.

Jorge Leone was a short, stocky, black man of indeterminate age. His hair had been cotton white for many years but he still moved with a certain strength and vitality that spoke of a young man. The sun had not broken over the horizon as Jorge was up and walking along the beach of the southern shore of Key West. A cool breeze was blowing, following the storm that had come in the night before on the Banana Wind. It had originated in his native Africa from which he had come many, many years before as a young man.

Before the dawn after a storm was his favorite time of day. The island was at its calmest, before it awoke to start the insanity that passed for normal on the island. He also liked to walk the beach to see what sort of treasures that the storm might have blown in, from unique pieces of driftwood to unusual shells and occasionally an exotic fish. Nothing in the past prepared him for what he discovered this morning, however.

He first noticed the large lump on the beach and that drew him down closer to where the waves lapped against the shore. The sun was now peeking above the horizon, showing brilliant blue skies with few clouds off to the east. At first, he thought he had found a manatee, trapped within either a net or tangled in seaweed.

Jorge moved closer. It was a woman. Even in the soft light of the dawn he could tell she was a beauty. Her dark hair lay tangled about her, a large lump on her forehead. She wore only a thin blue shirt that was giving him a better look at her curves than he was comfortable with and a pair of pale pink Capri pants and deck shoes. In her hand she had clutched tightly a brown leather bag knotted by string.

Jorge knelt down beside her, seeing her chest rise and fall, and was glad to discover that she still breathed. He took the bag from her hand and untied the knots. Water came out along with something else. Something he hadn’t seen since he had left Africa. Uncut diamonds. He felt a chill race down his spine. Jorge put them back in the bag and tucked it into his pocket. He would get help for the girl then decide what to do next. He had a bad feeling that a storm was blowing towards Key West. A violent one!

≈≈≈

Rick Marlow walked into the office. He had actually managed a half-mile run this morning without puking his guts out. The fact he had cut his smoking down from four packs a day to one might have something to do with it. This particular morning he was in khaki cargo shorts, a red aloha shirt and blue canvas deck shoes of the slip-on variety. Only somebody who knew what to look for would spot the clip-on holster behind his right kidney that held his Smith & Wesson .38 snub nose revolver.

Good morning, Lola, he greeted Lola Ponsberry, the vivacious red-haired secretary of his boss, Attorney Walter Loomis. Lola was desperately in love with their boss but had kept it a secret until Walter had been shot during Marlow’s first case in Key West.

Good morning, Rick. Walter told me to have you go on in. I think he has something for you, Lola smiled at him. Marlow stopped and poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffee maker and added two sugar packets to it, stirring it in.

How’s he doing, Lola?

Still weak but getting stronger. God forbid he slow down any, Lola shook her head.

That’s our Walter, Marlow nodded. He had discovered that Lola was desperately in love with their boss and had been for years. Walter felt the same about her, but being an old-fashioned Southern Gentleman of advanced years, meaning nearly twenty years her senior, he was too gentlemanly to act on his feelings. Marlow had done his best to nudge them together. Marlow carried his coffee and opened Walter’s office door and walked in.

Walter was sitting behind his desk wearing a white three-piece suit with a pastel blue tie, looking like an aging Andy Griffith. As long as Marlow had known him Walter had reminded him of the Television attorney Matlock. Across the desk from him sat a black gentleman of indeterminate age.

Lola said you wanted to see me, Walter, Marlow sat down next to the black man.

She was right, Ricky my boy, I did. This is Jorge Leone, a resident of our little island, Walter said by way of introduction.

Nice to meet you, Jorge. How can I help? Marlow asked. Before moving to Key West, Marlow had been a New York City Police Officer. Until one night on patrol when he had been shot by his partner who then apparently committed suicide, though Marlow never believed that part. After that, he had left the NYPD under a cloud and came to Key West to recover and start over. Walter had been an old friend of his father’s.

Go ahead and tell your story, Jorge. Ricky is a very good investigator, Walter gently prodded.

"I do odd jobs around the island and comb the beaches after storms to see what washes up. Sometimes I find things that I can clean up and sell to tourists. I’m a simple man with simple needs. I have a place down on the beach on the south shore.

Last night a big storm blew in on the Banana Wind. Usually there are good pickings on the beach afterwards. I was out this morning before the dawn. I found something all right. A young woman washed up on the beach, Jorge explained.

Dead or alive? Marlow asked, curious now.

Alive but in bad shape. She had a big lump on her head and no identification of any kind. Nothing on her but this, Jorge put the leather sack on the desk.

May I? Marlow asked. Jorge nodded. Marlow unknotted the bag and poured the contents onto the desk. They were actually pretty unremarkable looking. What are they?

Uncut diamonds. Specifically, conflict diamonds, Jorge replied.

How can you tell? Marlow asked.

"When I was a boy, I worked in the