Luz Stella's Tale: A Bismark Pacheco Mystery

By Max Blue

Luz Stella wanted the world to be a better place. When she found it to be otherwise, she did not hesitate to do all in her power to change it.

Bismark Pacheco was there to do his part-to save the world, and to save Luz Stella. Or was it the other way around?

When Pacheco loses his passport in a desperate deep water escape from a Cape Canaveral Cruise ship, the two seek help in Birmingham from their old friend Wilson Abut. The former quarterback, now a journalist, stirs the pot with his column Abut To You.

Bubba Driver, the mammoth defensive tackle, runs interference. Eighty-year-old Dr. Helene Stern dodges terrorists who would destroy her Health First Clinic, and provides comfort to Siboney, the Latin beauty and unapologetic revolutionary. All are arrayed against the steely-eyed Bobby Sanchez who wants to bring down anything and anyone who would stand for an orderly world. This is Luz Stella's Tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 22, 2003
• ISBN: 9781469743806

Max Blue

Max Blue has been a professional baseball player, a US Navy line officer, and a scientist. He is the author of twelve novels, four baseball books, and forty short tales published as e-books. Max resides with the Luminous Liddy, his wife of sixty-one years, in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

Book preview

LUZ STELLA’S TALE

A Bismark Pacheco Mystery

Max Blue and Wilson Abut

iUniverse, Inc.

New York Lincoln Shanghai

Luz Stella’s Tale A Bismark Pacheco Mystery

All Rights Reserved © 2003 by Max Blue

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

iUniverse, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse 2021

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Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

ISBN: 0-595-28728-X (Pbk)

ISBN: 0-595-74862-7 (Cloth)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

Dedicated to Helen Sternglanz

CHAPTER 1

TEXAS HOLD ’EM

The Starlight Casino cruise ship cleared the Cape Canaveral sea buoy, and immediately accelerated to 20 knots on a heading due east toward the Gulf Stream; the ship would reach it in 30 minutes. Luz Stella leaned on the rail, absorbed by the specks of phosphorescence mined from the sea by the ship’s bow as it plowed relentlessly forward through the dark pliant water. The sea was flat calm, and Venus hung low on the horizon like a pilot for the soon-torise full moon.

Why was she here? She had been at the Bell House in Cocoa Beach for just short of two weeks, but she had been restless, moody, and anxious, to the point where Nina Bell had finally insisted that she go on this midweek Starlight Casino cruise. Luz Stella’s mind remained in turmoil over the violent death of her lover Stefan, and it didn’t help knowing that she too, was a target of the narcos. She was a nervous wreck. She had changed her appearance, as Pacheco had suggested, mainly by having her long dark hair cut into a short bob, and having the remainder dyed a warm chestnut brown. She still did double takes when seeing her reflection in mirrors and store windows.

The idea of the short cruise was to get her mind off her troubles, but it wasn’t working. She could not stop thinking about what to do with her life. She knew she would have to leave the Bell House soon, but her options were limited, and she fretted endlessly. Her mind raced to metaphoric thoughts standing on the upper deck of the gambling ship watching the bow rip through unsuspecting plankton. Life was a gamble. Risks must be taken. How did the odds stack up? Where should she place her bets? Would she ever be in the right place at the right time? Was there a jackpot waiting for her, or the dark despair of poverty and degradation? Her eyes took on a pale gray tint, mirroring her uncertainty. Luz Stella’s eyes, like her life, reflected shades of gray; when she was sure, her eyes flashed dark. Until Stefan’s death she always thought of herself as blessed with the luck of the Irish. Well, the Colombian Irish—one of her ancestors had been from Ireland. But now she had doubts. Maybe she would learn something about herself this night, on this floating casino. She had $100 to gamble with, courtesy of the saintly Nina Bell. She would start at the bottom: the quarter slots. She did not know what the odds on beating the slots were, though of course they favored the house. It would be a test of her luck.

Jackpot! Luz Stella could hardly believe her eyes—three bars on the first pull and $250 came pouring out, to the accompaniment of a tinkling music box tune that she recognized as Happy Days Are Here Again. She looked around in embarrassment, and found herself the focus of more smiling faces than she would have liked. But this was a happy crowd and none of the faces appeared threatening. The easy victory at the slots emboldened her to move quickly to a different level of risk, but still one that required no skills, only luck; she was not prepared to think about any of this. She floated to the roulette wheel, riding the magic carpet of the Jackpot adrenaline rush.

Heads turned at the table upon the arrival of the excited young lady holding a handful of $50 chips, which she daintily placed on the black square in a neat stack of five. When the croupier gave the wheel a spin, Luz Stella turned her back indifferently to survey the room. The first thing she noticed was the mirrored ceiling with the gently swaying crystal chandeliers. Scanning the ceiling, she was amazed at the number of bald heads, not all of them men. She started to count them, but stopped when she noticed that in one corner somebody else was looking at the ceiling, and more to the point, was looking at her.

Pacheco! Luz Stella stared at the reflection to be sure she was not imagining. He was in disguise, with hairpiece and without mustache, but it was Pacheco all right. There was no hiding those eyes. Luz Stella calmly turned back to the table, picked up her winnings, and coolly walked away to the admiring gazes, shaking heads, and approving glances of the assembled players.

She followed him out on deck, exchanged a warm abrazo, looked carefully at his expression, and, because he was momentarily speechless, asked, Is it over?

Pacheco grasped her shoulders, held her at arms’ length, and looked deeply into her gray eyes. He pulled her close, and held her tightly. Luz Stella felt warm and safe. At length he released her and turned to the rail. Luz Stella stood beside him. They looked out over the peaceful water and she heard him say, in his deep rumbling voice, It never ends.

He told her in detail what had happened. All the action had taken place at the Center for Tropical Agriculture—the CAT—in Turrialba, Costa Rica. The Director-General, the D-G, was behind everything, and the Sub-Director was behind him—all the killings had been ordered by them. Luz Stella listened quietly. She sensed his pain as he described the loss of life, especially of Chief Hernandez’s deputies. When everything had been recounted, he turned to her with an open face, inviting questions.

She nodded her head. So the D-G and the Sub thought they were making a clean getaway in the helicopter only to be greeted by Rigo and Montoya, and Paco piloting. I would like to have seen their faces when they boarded that chopper. How did you manage that, B.P.?

Pacheco shrugged. It was a hunch that paid off, he answered. You knew about that helicopter pad at the Poche Hotel where they give rides on weekends? Luz Stella nodded affirmatively.

Pacheco continued. I knew Paco was piloting those rides, he said, so I made a simple arrangement with him—he agreed to call me if the D-G contacted him about leaving the CAT by the chopper route. I was just covering all the bases. It was nothing out of the ordinary—routine, I would say.

Luz Stella shook her head. Not so routine, she said. I think you are being modest. What will happen to the D-G?

Pacheco nodded. Ah, yes, the most difficult question, he said.Under ordinary circumstances, since Costa Rican law does not allow capital punishment, he would serve a long prison sentence—perhaps even life in prison—for being responsible for eight deaths, to say nothing of the illegal drug activities. But his case is mitigated by the confounding fact that he used most of the money gained from the illegal drug sales to set up a trust, the interest from which will provide operating costs for the CAT in perpetuity. He did not lie when he said it was done for the CAT. When we arrested him, the trust had reached almost ten million dollars. So he is very much in the tradition of those who accumulate money by questionable means and use it for good purposes. Like Alfred Nobel, whose invention of dynamite has been responsible for countless deaths and human misery, but whose trust provides for recognition of the world’s outstanding scientists, writers, and statesmen. And more recently, Yasser Arafat is given a Nobel Peace Prize though he began as a heartless terrorist. So the question is, should we put the D-G in jail or should we give him a prize? Does the end justify the means? What do you think, Luz Stella?

Luz Stella sensed the confusion and uncertainty in Pacheco’s thoughts about the man responsible for all those premature deaths. Her own memories of the D-G were of an enthusiastic back-slapper who wanted everything to be bright, sunny, and optimistic. She spoke quietly, but with great conviction. He should be severely punished, she said. Who can count the ruined lives caused by the heroin funneled through the CAT? And the wasted lives. She choked back tears as she thought of Stefan. Arrogance…insolence. He should be forced to listen every day to a tape of Stefan playing the guitar and singing El Condor Pasa to remind him of the lives he took with his stupid empire building. I have no patience with the means. Society provides laws to make life civilized—he who puts himself above these laws must pay a harsh price or what good are the laws? I applaud Chief Hernandez for extracting at least a small price from the venomous D-G.

Pacheco agreed. Yes, he said, then added, At least we got his ear.

After all the talk and all the explanations, Pacheco and Luz Stella began a slow walk around the moon-washed, and mostly deserted upper deck of the Starlight Casino Cruise Ship. Neither spoke for a long time, both occupied with the same thoughts: what now?

At length Pacheco stopped walking, and holding Luz Stella’s two hands, looked at her in the moonlight. Do you feel like gambling? he asked.

Pacheco—Inspector Bismark Pacheco—and Luz Stella, who called him B.P.—Luz Stella Ramirez, whom he called cielito lindo, stood shoulder to shoulder at the rail gazing at the flat calm sea washed with the pale light of a recently risen full moon. They were a handsome couple even though, or perhaps because, Pacheco was in disguise, with black hairpiece to cover his baldness and minus his trademark drooping mustache. Pacheco never traveled out of his native Costa Rica without a disguise. He was dressed in a well-tailored white dinner jacket with a red carnation in his lapel and a maroon cummerbund. Luz Stella wore a long black evening gown sprinkled with sparkling sequins; a white gardenia was tucked into the soft brown hair behind her left ear.

Luz Stella was fighting to overcome a crushing burden of melancholy brought on by the recent cruel murder of her lover, a crime that Pacheco, in his capacity as Chief Inspector for the Costa Rican Ministry of Justice, had solved. Luz Stella had a warm feeling for Pacheco, not just because he had collared those responsible for Stefan’s death, but also because Pacheco had always treated her with dignity, respect, and consideration, to say nothing of the fact that Pacheco was the best dancer she had ever partnered with. When he asked her if she felt like gambling, she knew that he was not just talking about slot machines and roulette wheels.

Luz Stella turned slowly from the rail to face Pacheco. Their eyes locked and held. And held. She reached for his hands, and held them together in front of her. What are my odds? she asked in a throaty whisper.

Pacheco did not hesitate. With me, you cannot lose, he said.

It occurred to Luz Stella that in her present situation—on the run from el Hermanadad, the narco-thug organization based in her native Colombia, she had little choice but to stick with Pacheco. It was not a difficult decision, given that even without the narco threat she might well have chosen Pacheco as a partner, gambling or otherwise.

Luz Stella smiled—her dazzling, heart-stopping smile with full-white teeth displayed, and crinkly lines spreading from her sparkling eyes. Well, then, she said, what are we waiting for? She held Pacheco’s right hand and led him along the deck on the way to the casino. I do feel like gambling, she said throwing her head back and executing a floating ballerina leap down the deck, now I do.

She headed straight for the high stakes poker game. In her purse she carried the returns of her recent success on the slots and at the wheel—a stack of 20 chips, each worth $50. Before Pacheco had surprised her by his unexpected appearance, Luz Stella had confined her gambling to slot machines and the roulette wheel so that she would not have to think about what she was doing. She had been in no mood to think, her mind given to melancholy meandering as it had been. But that was then. Pacheco had energized her in a totally unforeseen and blissfully liberating way. She could be Luz Stella again. And Luz Stella she would be: the Luz Stella of high-riding risk, and unrestrained joy.

Before they entered the casino, Pacheco slipped Luz Stella $5,000 in $100 bills.

Luz Stella unrolled the tightly wrapped wad of bills, and looked admiringly at the stack.

Then she held it up to her nose for a sniff. Umm, nice, she said, the smell of money. But I don’t need it, B.P. She took the stack of chips from her purse, and held them up proudly for Pacheco to see. She tossed her head teasingly and said, I have my own money.

This is your money too, said Pacheco, your share of the loot—it came from the greasy D-G’s bag. He had started to say the D-G’s greasy bag, but switched in mid thought. The greasy bag held the dirty money—the filthy lucre that the D-G had been collecting from the gang of narco-terrorists Pacheco was sworn to bring down. Besides, he added, if you plan to play high stakes poker, you better come with enough to play,

Deal me in! Luz Stella commanded, taking a seat at the smoke enshrouded green felt covered table. She reached into her purse and withdrew a thin black cigar. Four lighters flamed at once around the table as chivalry reared its long sequestered head. Luz Stella smiled sweetly, accepted the closest light, and coquettishly aimed a thin stream of smoke over the man’s shoulder by way of thanks.

Pacheco took a seat across the table from Luz Stella, noting her antics with some pleasure, and a certain amount of satisfaction. Pacheco handed the attendant fifty $100 bills and called for chips. He never went anywhere without enough cash to take him around the world at least once.

The five men and one other woman at the table were entirely unknown to Pacheco except for one guy who looked vaguely familiar. Pacheco was cautious. Deeply ingrained instincts informed him that it was best to remain behind a shield of anonymity in such a highly exposed public place as this. The other players might be nothing more than shopkeepers or Jacksonville lawyers, but there was always the chance that they were under cover for one reason or another, perhaps with an eye out for ladies on the lam, or cops in disguise.

The game was Texas Hold ’Em. It was no place for amateurs, and yet as Pacheco sized up the competition he knew instinctively that sitting at this table were indeed five amateurs soon to lose their stash, and two professionals—hustlers—here to pick the bones of the innocent. And then there was Luz Stella. Pacheco knew that, hustlers or no, Luz Stella was the best poker player at this table by any measure. By any measure, that is, except for Pacheco.

The ante was up—50 dollars apiece—400 dollars in the pot before any bets were made. Texas Hold ’Em was like a combination of draw poker and seven card stud. Each player received two hole cards after which there was a round of betting. Next came the flop—three cards turned face up in the middle of the table. The flop cards were community cards—they became part of each player’s hand. A round of betting followed the flop. This was followed by another up card, more betting, and a final up card with climactic betting. In the end there were five exposed cards and two hole cards for those who stayed for the concluding bets.

Pacheco looked at his hole cards. Ace of hearts and 10 of spades. A good start. He called the 100 dollar bet as it came around to him. Everybody was in—$1,200 in the pot. Pacheco watched the faces of the players as the 3 flop cards came up. Two of the players were watching him. Luz Stella appeared to be bored with the whole proceeding—she was looking toward a nearby table. Pacheco glanced at the flop cards: 7♠ 2 black.jpg 10 black.jpg .

With his pair of 10s and ace kicker Pacheco decided it was time to see who were the serious players in this hand. Three players folded before any bets were made. A 100 dollar bet was called by two players before Pacheco raised 100 dollars. The remaining four players called the raise. There was $2,500 in the pot. Luz Stella was in, but still looking bored. The dealer turned up the next card: Q 2296.jpg .

No help to Pacheco, but also no help to anyone who might have been hoping for another diamond to fill out a flush. Pacheco was mildly surprised that four players had called his raise. This time he would make the poker more dear. Three checks to him. He pushed five 100 dollar chips into the pot. All of the remaining four players called the bet. The pot was up to $5,000 waiting for the final up card. Except for Luz Stella, none of the players would meet his eyes as he swept his glance around the table. Luz Stella met his quick look with narrowed eyes. One player lighted a cigarette. One player grimaced slightly but perceptibly when the final card was displayed: 2 black.jpg .

Two players threw in their cards immediately. Three remained in the game: Luz Stella, Pacheco, and one of the hustlers—but not a very good hustler. Pacheco knew it was a hustler. He knew because the guy was trying too hard to appear not to be a hustler: he smiled when he should have been grim, he relaxed when he should have been tense, he talked when he should have been quiet. He was a hustler, and he was checking the bet to Luz Stella.

Luz Stella had come into the game with a $1,000 stake plus the $5,000 Pacheco had given her. She had already put $950 of it into the pot. She checked. Pacheco liked his chances with tens and deuces—with the five cards showing there was no possibility of anyone holding a flush or a straight. He could lose to queens and deuces or to three deuces. He bet $500.

The hustler saw the same possibilities as Pacheco, but knew his position was shaky because with his sevens and deuces there were three chances for him to lose. He raised the bet by $2,000.

Luz Stella, holding two pair—virtually the same hand as Pacheco—read it the same way as Pacheco—there were two ways she could lose. She had to decide now whether the man on her left, who she did not identify as a hustler, held a queen which would give him a high pair, a two which would give him trips, or if he was bluffing. She stared at him, hoping for a sign, but found him studiously inscrutable. She looked at Pacheco across the table; he was looking at his fingernails. She waited for her intuition to kick in. When at last it did, she called the bet.

The pot now overflowed with $9,500 worth of black and green chips. It was up to Pacheco. The hustler never had a chance. Pacheco knew the guy was bluffing. He knew it from the time the guy coughed to mask the slight hesitation that came in the blink of an eye before his raise. He also knew that if Luz Stella held the queen or deuce that would have signaled a sure winner, she would have raised instead of called the bet. Pacheco pushed $4000 into the pot. Call—and raise.

The hustler knew when he was being hustled. With a grudging nod to Pacheco, he folded without calling the raise. Luz Stella and Pacheco locked eyes across the table. It was up to her. She had to decide: should she call, should she raise, or should she fold? It was only money. Or was it more than that? As she stasred into Pacheco’s dark eyes across the table, a familiar tune popped into her head—Ace in the Hole…Some fellows write to the old folks for coin—that’s their old ace in the hole. While others have gals on the old tenderloin—that’s their old ace down in the hole. Luz Stella knew—she knew two things. First, she knew that in the poker game of life, Pacheco was her ace in the hole. She smiled at the thought. Pacheco received the smile in the spirit in which it was given—that it had nothing to do with the present hand. Second, she knew that in the present predicament, one of Pacheco’s hole cards was an ace. It was even possible that Pacheco held two aces in the hole but she didn’t think so; because of the song. If Pacheco’s other hole card was a queen she would lose to a higher pair, if it was a 10 she was a loser because her puny six kicker would fall to Pacheco’s ace. She liked her chances. Besides, what the hell, it was only money. She also remembered that Pacheco told her with him she couldn’t lose. She called the bet.

It was a tie—tens and deuces straight up. But Luz Stella was right—Pacheco’s ace in the hole