“Word on the street is that you care,” Papa Joe said. “This man has a story like those you’re investigating. Except that it happened to an immigrant. An illegal, probably. One of this city’s forgotten people. I’ll let my friend Pierre tell you the story. His English is good enough. I think you’ll find what he has to say illuminating—and, I pray, helpful.”
Brett thanked him, then, as their waitress appeared at the table, reached for one of the necklaces, a handcrafted rendering of St. Francis. “I think Lara would like this one, Papa Joe. She’s such an animal enthusiast.”
Papa Joe smiled, then ordered the Cajun-spiced fish and chips. Brett and Lara followed suit. The waitress left them.
“We can’t just walk away right now. Can you tell us anything else?” Lara asked. “And what do we owe you for the necklace?”
“Consider it my gift. You may feel free to pick up the dinner check,” he said. “Meanwhile, since we will be here a little while, I will tell you my friend’s story after all. It will save time when you meet him. Pierre came here on a raft with a group of other Haitians, including his wife and several of his brothers. They were among the lucky ones who survived the journey. He was given work by a man who found him Dumpster diving at one of the hotels on Biscayne Boulevard. He went to work for the man he knew only as Mr. Z, dropping bags. Literally dropping paper bags where he was told to leave them. He never looked inside them. He felt lucky simply to have a job, because he was illegal, living off friends who had made it here before him. He got his older brother, Antoine, a job working for the same man. This goes on for a few months when suddenly Antoine has a heart attack and dies. The man promises to take care of his burial. There’s a funeral.”
“Where?” Brett asked.
“Pierre doesn’t remember. The man took care of everything for him. He drove Pierre and his family to the gravesite, he saw a coffin go into the ground.”
“And then?” Lara asked.
Then their food arrived and they started talking about jewelry again.
The waitress left. Brett continued to look through the necklaces while eating, and Papa Joe went on.
“Pierre was walking down the street one day when his brother came walking toward him. His dead brother. Pierre said he knew right away that something was wrong. He’d seen things like it as a child. He realized that Antoine had become a zombie, and worse, that his own brother was coming at him with a baseball bat in his hands. His brother had been a very good player, but he wasn’t looking to play now. Pierre could tell that his brother didn’t recognize him, that he meant to hurt him. But when he swung the bat, his swing went wild. And then he fell.
“When Pierre touched him, he was certain that Antoine was dead then. Really dead. He ran, ran to his wife. A man who was living with them went back with Pierre, but the police were there and the body was gone. He tried to follow the news, because he couldn’t go and identify his brother, since he is afraid of being deported. But as you can imagine, the death of an illegal immigrant was not important to the TV stations. There was a brief mention the day the body was found, then...nothing.” Papa Joe stopped speaking and stared at Brett. “You will get justice for Antoine, and you won’t let Pierre be deported. I swore for you that you will not let that happen.”
He didn’t have the right to swear such a thing, but if this man could help them, Brett would do whatever it took to see that he somehow gained legitimate residency. Even if he didn’t know the right people, he knew people who did.
Brett nodded. He leaned back, slipping his hand over Lara’s as their waitress approached to see if they wanted anything else. He asked for the check while praising the food.
“You all come back,” she said.
“I always bring my best friends and clients here, Miss Marie,” Papa Joe assured her.
Brett paid the bill, leaving a generous tip. He made a point of fitting the necklace around Lara’s neck once they were out on the sidewalk as Papa Joe cheerfully said that doing business with them had been a pleasure, and to please call or come by the store any time.
On the way back to his car Brett slipped his arm around her shoulder, just as if they were a real couple, and she leaned against him. He breathed in the scent of her and reminded himself to stay alert, because danger could be anywhere.
When they got to the car, he was surprised that she smiled at him when he opened the door for her.
“What?”
“Not so bad for a guy with a stick up his ass,” she said.
He couldn’t believe it, but he was pretty sure he blushed.
“Go figure, huh?” he said lightly, walking around to his own side. In the car, he quickly pulled out his phone and dialed Diego, who assured him, after Brett told him what was happening next, that the others would keep following at a distance.
“Watch for our guy,” Brett told Lara as soon as he hung up.
She nodded.
As they headed toward 2nd Avenue and their rendezvous with Pierre, they entered an area where skimpily clad prostitutes plied their trade. He was glad that Lara was watching for Pierre, because it was hard for him to search the diverse crowd while driving.