Like him, I never counted on the accident. Who ever does expect that an accident would temper the occasion and bring with it events no one could have predicted? It was to have been simple and very straightforward: Make the delivery. One envelope. Go home. He never went home. Wise decision, in retrospect. He left the car and a million fingerprints to prove he had been there... but little else to prove, or even suggest, where he might have gone.
Which left two of us on the loose -- me going to Miami, and he off to some quiet countryside nook tucked into the lower part of the Canadian Shield. My guess as to where he went for these nine weeks is Smith's Falls, Ontario.
Anyway, I never even heard about the 'accident' for four months, and -- not having heard from him --I concluded that he had done the delivery and decided that the money was far better off in his care and control than anyone else's - a common and courageous perspective, but fool-hardy too. Like everyone else involved, I expected to run into him again sometime... somewhere.
By the time I did, I had almost forgotten about him, and would never have recognized him at that poolside bar but for his sparse chin-beard and the same wild set of eyes that cast curiously around the bar. He was looking far too healthy. That's when I went in the direction of the washroom but detoured out the back door hoping he hadn't recognized me.
As it turned out, he didn't follow me and after a few uncomfortable minutes of loitering outside, I wandered over to the kid at the gas bar and asked him who was driving the orange Camaro. His description of the owner sent me back to my car for a tire iron and a flashlight. This, I thought, could prove to be a very interesting night.
They would find the car soon. It was theirs anyway so they could have it. The blood on the front seat mixed with broken glass would give them something to think about. Fuck em, the $100,000 is now Franco's to spend. They would have been pissed no matter how it worked out.
That stupid message. If Colin had just come over and got his share all would have been fine; but now this bus ride to oblivion. Mary would not like it if she knew the truth, but why spoil a good time with the truth. Smith's Falls up ahead. The bus driver said he would wake Franco at the stop. Mary said to call no matter what the time and she would drive over in her Camaro and pick him up.
At the bus station, before leaving, Franco had called Sabor Jack. Sabor said he would make his way to the harbor at Prescott 70 kilometers away from Smith's Falls. He said it would be about four months by the time he gets up the St. Lawrence. "Fine by me" thought Franco. Sabor said he would need $20,000 to set the boat up. That left Franco with $80,000, still lots for now.
After finding the car they would trash Franco's place looking. He won't be going back there again. So no big deal. Franco starts to nod off. Why is every night bus ride the same? Dreaming while never asleep.
I put the car between me and the front door of the bar for just a little more protection.
"Gott’a-flat?" says the kid, in the tone of voice that says: "I'm hear to help." Just what I need a little 'help'.
"Just a soft tire," I mutter. "Thinkin' of changin' it. Not keen on driving' down through the Keys tomorrow with a soft tire."
The kid examined the right rear wheel for a split second and then said: "Ya' gotta' problem guy 'cause the front-left's down too. But we can pump'em up a bit, pull'er up over there" gesturing to a spot on the far side of the parking lot," and we'll get' em both,"
"I've left my keys in my jacket inside," I offered, "back in a minute," and walked in the only direction I could - toward the front door of the motel and bar – I was just 12 feet away from it when Franco walked through the front door. Large as life and smiling as only he could. We never made eye contact because head-down I shuffled to the right to give him free passage. It was unnecessary in retrospect. He was oblivious to me - and everything else.
Franco climbed into the Camaro next to Mary. As he leaned over to kiss her he stroked her leg moving my hand up under her skirt. She smiled and said "Later, after breakfast."
Walking into the diner behind Mary, Franco went slowly so that he could watch Mary walk. She was 28, dark haired, really attractive face, great body and an extra special ass that he was now watching in action. Right, later.
While they ate, Mary had questions. What made Franco change his mind to come down so soon? "I really missed you," Franco said and she smiled looking more beautiful.
"How did the delivery go?" oops not the question he needed so soon, "Not a hitch," Franco said "I got paid and have time to relax with you." She smiled again. The truth is Franco really does like Mary and he really needed a rest.
If she knew what had happened, she would be frightened so Franco said nothing. He was supposed to deliver a warehouse claim check to Colin and split $100,000 cash and that was it and he was gone. But "Not tonight my friend," and everything got fucked up. So now Franco has $100,000 in cash and a claim check for two 500-pound cases of gold that only he knows where they are. Life isn't so bad.
Franco's plan is simple. Get the gold to a warehouse on the docks in Prescott. Sabor shows up with a 48-foot commercial boat. They load the crates into the cargo hold, then up the river to Montreal. There is a Russian boat the Alexander Pushkin; 585 feet that takes about 650 passengers and cargo across the Atlantic 3,000 miles to LeHarve, France. Into a warehouse in LeHarve where a friend of Sabor Jacks will pay cash. At $700 CDN an ounce that’s 12 Million less 2 million for Sabor’s friend, give Sabor 2 million and Franco's got 8 million and life is good.
Sure there are going to be people pissed at Franco, but there are always people pissed at Franco. Anyway, no one knows where he or where the gold is.
I'd be willing to bet a million dollars that the first words out of his mouth would be something like: "Hey guy.. I think…ahhhh… I think….someone just stole your car…"
Never underestimate the zeal of a young security guard. A moment later the guard crashed through the front door of the place with a lot of noise and bravado, and in a voice that 60 people in various stages of insobriety could hear, said to the girl at the bar:
"Call the police someone just stole an orange Camero".
"You call the police," she lipped back with a smile meant just for him. "You're the security guard."
Franco tells her that after he is settled he will need to go into town and get an axe and a chain saw and some other hardware stuff. Mary looks at him with a gleam in her eye "Settled?" "Yeah settled," Franco replies with a big smile as his hand again slides up her skirt.
Franco drops Mary off at the grocery market and takes the car on to the hardware store. Earl's Hardware&Guns has it all; the chain saw, the axe, lots of stuff. A Winchester 1894 on the wall catches Franco's eye. "You sell anything like that?" he asks. Old Earl says "Winchester has just put out a replica 1885, 30.06 single shot that is a beauty for two thousand dollars. It will bring down a moose real clean if you're a good shot." "I was a marksman in the army" says Franco. "Any shotguns?" Old Earl is quick, "Long or short barrel?" "Short," replies Franco just as quick. "I got a Winchester 12 gauge field model with three tubes over and under with a 26 inch barrel, about as short as the law allows. Four thousand for the pair." "Great," says Franco "Gimme a half dozen boxes of shells for each. Any paper work?" Old Earl says just the damned Gun Registry. Franco signs the papers Fred Smith of Ottawa and Earl is happy.
As Franco picks Mary up she asks, "Did you get the axe and chain saw?" "Yep I got everything," and again his hand slides up her skirt.
"Hold it! Hold it!" I shout, half standing by the door. "We're traveling together. I loaned him the car for the evening. He's going down to Largo to see a friend. Its only two bridges. Everything is OK. The tires are no problem."
The bar is slightly quieter now and I'm thinking: "Back to my beer." I gratefully accept the tire iron and flash light back and give the kid a ten-spot to buy himself a drink or two when he gets off work for being so zealous and that should settle things down.
As plans go, it was perfect, until, 30 minutes later, a Florida State Trooper oozed into the bar and asked if anyone knew anything about the driver of an orange Camaro that had passed him on Interstate 60 at a high rate of speed.
The bar got very quiet at this point while all eyes floated briefly toward me - as the self-declared traveling companion of the driver of the Camaro - and then away from me toward whatever wall was nearest. Don'tcha love bar patrons for that. I mean, they go to bars to get dis-involved and no Florida State Trooper can shake that ethic. I wondered what I would next say to stop the kid from fingering me as a possible 'person of interest.'
I decide to hang around town and keep an eye on Franco. What is he doing down here and why is he driving Mary's car. Next chapter
