Adrift from Paradise

By J.R. Locke

Sequel to Possible Twenty & Book 2 in the Tommy Gallagher series. With the FBI hounding his tale, Tommy is forced to leave his luxurious tropical hide out and jump into the wind. His travels take him from Kingston to Haiti, and from Miami to New York, while he attempts to elude the FBI in the company of Irish gangsters and a mysterious femme fatale named Desi.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.R. Locke
• Release date: Jun 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301749805

J.R. Locke

I was born and raised in New York. I worked on Wall Street during the late 1980's and have operated clubs and bars in New York and Miami since the 1990's and through the New Millennium into the present day. Along the way I met a lot of the characters who live in my novels.

Book preview

Adrift From Paradise

A Novel

J. R. Locke

Adrift From Paradise

Coral Way Publishing Group

2670 SW 151st Ave.

Miami, Fl 33185

Copyright © 2013 by Justin Callahan

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review in a newspaper, magazine or electronic publication; nor may any part of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other, without written permission from the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-4657-6400-3

Chapter One

For nearly two years the salt spray and the lazy waves washing up against the sun dappled shore had conspired with the smell of coco butter and BBQ to make it seem like I was in heaven, but I knew better. Yeah, I knew better. After almost two years of freedom, of feeling good, like I got away with it, now here I was sitting across the table from that mad dog and his pit bull.

Tommy Noonan regarded me from behind his pale blue killer’s eyes deep in the crow’s feet under his tan. You know, he said, it took me a while to figure out what happened to youse guys after that day at Yuri’s.

You really shouldn’t have troubled yourself. I replied warily, then took a shot at explaining myself: We just thought it would be better for all parties concerned if we took a powder.

He laughed, his head rocking back, Like Joe D., what he always wanted, a Possible Twenty. That what you wanted too?

Liam, my six foot nine inch business partner and childhood friend, strolled onto the patio, a cooler under one arm, his long, blonde hair blowing in the ocean breeze. He could have been forgiven for displaying shock, or at least surprise, at encountering the boss and under boss of the tiny New York Irish mob infesting our tropical hide out. But Liam was Liam; nothing really fazed him, or if it did, he never let it show. He dropped the red foam cooler on the table and sank into one of the empty chairs. Long time no see, was all he said.

Long time no see? Miles Mahoney, Tommy Noonan’s ferret faced sidekick repeated sarcastically. That’s what you got to say? You mother fuckers been AWOL for over two years and that’s what you got to say?

Liam produced a small caliber revolver from somewhere down around his ankle and placed it on the arm of his chair. I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up over, he replied laconically to the smaller man. Last I heard you were inside and looking to stay that way for a long time. You should really be more grateful to have a second chance. He stared pointedly into Mahoney’s eyes; You shouldn’t be so anxious to blow your second chance, cause right now you seem to me kinda like one of them lemmings running into the North Sea.

What the fuck-Lemmings! What the fuck are you talking about?! Miles shouted, the words frothing from his mouth.

Liam sighed, They’re these English birds that every year commits suicide—

Noonan shook his head in disgust, Would you shut the fuck up with the birds already?

Right, Liam nodded agreeably and popped the top off a bottle of Red Stripe.

Why don’t we cut through the chase, I said, What brings you here and even more to the point; how did you guys find us?

You weren’t hard to find. Noonan declared smugly.

Really, I responded, knowing the more blasé I sounded the more likely he was to give up his source.

Okay, I’ll tell you, he said.

I didn’t ask.

I’m gonna tell you anyway. He snarled. You remember that day at the Landmark Tavern; we were shaking down a union guy and you had just come from the Social Security office on Broadway?

I nodded.

You had all that paperwork with you, you were setting up identities, the name you’re using right now; Dirk Vandenheuval, it was in the paper work you left on the table when you went to the restroom. I never forget nothing, he tapped his forehead.

"Right, but you haven’t answered my question; what does bring you here?"

Money, what the fuck you think brings me here, Einstein?

I groaned deep into my bones, How much?

He gave me a foxy grin, It’s not about that, Buddy Boy, and it’s not like you got it to give anyway.

An alarm went off inside my skull. Noonan might look like a Neanderthal and have the diction of a longshoreman but he was not stupid nor did he say what he did not mean. What are you talking about? I demanded.

I’m gonna tell you a couple a three things, he responded; First your girl just left and I don’t think she’s coming back, second you, and when I say you, I mean Tommy Gallagher, were just indicted in New York. He looked pointedly over at Liam, You too Goliath.

Okay. I responded, unsure of where he was going.

That’s it, that’s all you got to say? You are one blasé motherfucker.

Yeah, I said, knowing it would all come faster if I let him spill it out on his own.

All right since you don’t wanna let me have any fun I’ll explain it all to you. Your girl’s father; he’s some kinda retired general, right?

Right.

Well I guess the old man’s still got some kinda chops because when she went to town this morning to shop, he had her abducted and taken home. Now in the process of locating her, he also located you and he gave that information to the FBI. The FBI who just last month busted Nathan and that Israeli kid you had on ice awhile back and they rolled over on you. Not only that, but that rat bastard motherfucking Nathan had you on tape. Well you, me, Liam, Mahoney a lot a guys. Long story short; you got hit with a RICO indictment and all your assets are frozen right now in the local bank here while the Feds figure out how to extradite you and send you back to the Big Apple to face the music. So what you need right now my friend is money, money and a second chance, a Possible Fucking Twenty. And that, Buddy Boy, is what I am here to provide. Maybe.

And why would you want to do that? In fact why would you come all the way here to warn me in the first place?

He lifted the phone from the table next to him and shoved it at me, You don’t believe me? Call your bank.

I took the phone from his hand and dialed the number for Ravi, my private banker. He was an oily character, an East Indian of Hindu extraction who catered to people with wealth culled from dubious sources. And this was why I was having trouble believing Noonan; these banks made their living serving people who needed to hide and launder money. It didn’t make sense for them to risk their reputations by cooperating with the authorities.

Ravi’s secretary put me right through, Mr. Vandenheuval, Ravi exclaimed in a voice brimming with fake sunshine, how are you today?

I’m not sure, Ravi. See I’ve just heard a rumor that I might be having a problem with the accounts.

I let it hang, and there came enough silence to let me know that there was indeed something wrong. After a moment, during which time I’m sure Ravi composed himself and probably took a stiff shot of rum too, I mean it’s not every day you tell a man you played golf with the week before, that you’ve just conspired with Uncle Sam to freeze twenty million in his assets. Dirk, he said pleadingly, finally, I had no choice—

You mean it’s true? I was incredulous, the reality just starting to sink in.

Dirk, these are very powerful people, they could ruin the entire bank—

I thought your business was built on secrecy—

It is Dirk; it’s just that your secret got out.

Fuck you, Ravi. I said without raising my voice and then I slammed down the phone and turned back to Noonan, So you were right about the bank, which means you were right about Lisa too? My heart was now lying on the floor in front of me and it must have shown because Noonan’s voice took on a tone I’d never heard in it before, almost sympathetic.

She is, he said, she’s gone, Tommy. But you know, she’s perfectly safe, the guys who grabbed her, they work for her old man, the general. There’s no way they would hurt her.

He was right, of course and considering what seemed to be heading straight for me, to whit; some fucked up scheme of Noonan’s and or imminent incarceration, it was probably better that she was safely out of harm’s way. I scooped my heart up off the floor and looked Noonan in the eye, How much time do I have?

Time? he looked puzzled, time till what?

Till they show up at my door of course. I responded patiently.

He grinned, showing a lot of white teeth, I’d say you’re already on borrowed time.

So you’re saying we shouldn’t sleep here tonight? I asked.

Right, he said, be a bad idea.

My Dad, I said out loud.

He’s okay, Noonan said, he’s not indicted and they won’t seize the house right away, just don’t tell him where you’re going or even that you’re going.

Mahoney chuckled in that irritating way of his and Liam leaned forward on his chair, You mean you think they could come for us tonight?

Could be, Noonan said.

Who? I asked, I mean this is a sovereign country, there’s got to be some kind of due process.

I already told you, Noonan sounded irritated, The powers that be on this island are gonna cooperate with the Feds, it’s to their advantage. This chapter in your life is closed.

And you guys, you got no problem? Nobody’s looking for you?

Noonan pressed his index finger to the side of his nose, Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly, but I will say that nobody’s looking for Miguel Lora and Bobby Blankenship.

Liam threw his head back and roared with laughter, Which one of you two gringos is calling himself Miguel? He demanded.

Mahoney jerked his thumb back toward his own chest, Me.

Liam shook his hairy head, That is priceless.

I popped a Red Stripe and knocked back a long cold guzzle, So whada you guys want from us? I asked.

Noonan shrugged his big shoulders, I’m in exile now, he confessed, So I need to put together a new crew and you guys are great earners and, if you don’t mind my saying so, you seem like you’re available.

I nodded, beginning to put the pieces together, You gotta plan for getting off the island?

Noonan grinned, We got a boat.

Chapter Two

So that’s how I found myself frolicking in the surf at Sundown with Liam, Noonan and Mahoney. I had a pack strapped to my back and forty thousand dollars double wrapped in plastic tied to my waist, and I waited nervously, looking over my shoulder for some tub chartered by my brutal buddies to pull up to the pier. I’ll tell you this; it was a long wait made only slightly more tolerable by the seemingly bottomless cooler of beer which Liam had had the forethought to tuck under his arm when we left the beach house. And a good thing too, because it wasn’t till well after dark that the boat finally bumped up to the rickety old dock.

I didn’t know much about boats then, and I still don’t today, so I can’t tell you exactly what kind it was except that it had an engine so it wasn’t a sail boat (thank God) and it was pretty big in a modest kind of way; with a small, smelly cabin below and a large open deck above. Beyond that it was rusty and blue with half the paint peeling off and a motor that made funny, coughing noises. Written across its hull in big green, jumbled letters was the name: Rum Punch. The Skipper was big, black and myopic with one of those Seventies style high top Afros and the thickest pair of glasses I’d ever seen. His deck hand was small and white and slovenly. The two reeked of marijuana and certainly appeared stoned; their names were Cedric and Robby. What followed were about six of the most miserable hours I’ve ever spent in my life.

If you’ve never been seasick you won’t understand what I mean. I think the worst thing about seasickness is the hopelessness of it, you’re trapped in the middle of the ocean and it kicks in, the motion of the thin deck rolling between you and the deep blue. There’s just no where to go and you start puking, and you don’t stop even when you’ve given up all you have, and all you’ve got left is green bile. It doesn’t make it any easier that you’re traveling with a couple of strangers, a couple of stone cold killers and a friend whose basic instinct is sarcasm. So there I was with no sympathy to be had and no end in sight, and then the water got rough, as the Caribbean sometimes does in August during hurricane season. The swells and white caps rose higher than the ship, lifting the tiny blue craft almost straight up only to drop it straight down into the bottom of a trough. Even the bucolic Captain Cedric and his ferret like first mate began to look nervous. At least my seasickness began to fade as the Dramamine Robby slipped me began to finally take effect. About five hours into the trip we came out of the rough sea and into a patch of calm with the sun rising over a reluctant morning which was spectacular in the way it can only be in the Caribbean; with pink, blue, red and gold chasing across the Eastern sky and smearing together like a celestial water color. Captain Cedric brewed some coffee in a tin pot and mixed it with a ton of sugar before passing it around in small cups, it was very good. About an hour later we sighted land, just a small spec of an island on the pink horizon with the ocean all around.

We pulled close and Cedric cut the engine to let us drift into shore and as we got closer I saw a deep canal cutting into the tree line, and we were steering toward it at about five miles an hour. We entered the canal and the jungle closed all around us, the trees knitting a canopy overhead through which the sun light filtered creating a dim, greenish light. We traveled inland for about twenty minutes with nothing in sight but the dank vegetation and the rotten smell of decayed plant life until we came to a rickety wooden pier. It sat back in the mangrove swamp near a large ramshackle house topped by a tin roof with some out buildings scattered around. I stared at it for a minute and there was an Irish flag jutting out over the front door. I looked over at Noonan and asked; Where are we?

Somewhere in the Caribbean, Bro, he replied in a soft voice.

There was a thin, energetic young black man there to tie off the boat and help us ashore and there were also two ladies, one very old and wrinkled and the other, about forty or so, light skinned and attractive. To my surprise, Noonan introduced the thin young man as Cedric; his son and the middle aged woman as Carol, the boy’s mother, the older woman was Bertha, the grandmother. Cedric seemed excited to see his father and meet his father’s friends and the women made us welcome after their fashion, feeding us roast pork and fried bananas and preparing rooms in the big house, but even so there was something off about them. The house itself was large and comfortable with all of the modern conveniences including a tv and vcr, which at the time was cutting edge. After dinner we took our ease on the veranda.

Noonan took a long pull off a short scotch and leaned back in his chair rubbing a bit of sweat off his forehead and I could tell he was about to make some revelations because the room got awful quiet. In fact, all I could hear aside from the drone of the jungle was the ceiling fan rotating on its loose and rusty ball bearings as it pushed humidity all around us.

You know how I got my start? he mused rhetorically; "Smuggling pot outta Jamaica like twenty-five years ago. I was maybe seventeen, eighteen and I hooked up with these longshoremen down on the Brooklyn docks. That was back when a lot of freight was still coming in. There was this one guy name a Cory one eye, he was a foreman and a friend of my father’s. Well anyway, that was about a year after the old man