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thirty-three f

Peacocks

G ary Nielsen, the boat coordinator and one of “the bosses,” was our main contact at The Crew. Mike envied Gary’s penthouse condo with views of the ocean and Intracoastal Waterway. Every piece of furniture and work of art reflected quality and good taste. And why not? The Crew grossed millions every month.

“We’ll be livin’ like Gary before you know it,” Mike said on the way to Ben’s the next day, “but I’m more interested in livin’ like his boss.”

“One step at a time, Mike,” I said. “We’ve only been in Florida a few months. You don’t know what Ben’s got in mind.”

We drove north on A1A, eventually crossing the Lake Worth Lagoon and Bingham Island. From there, Mike made a left onto Flagler Drive. A few twists and turns brought us onto a quiet, treelined street. Sprawling homes were set back from the road, some barely visible through manicured landscapes.

“Here we are,” Mike said as he drove his Cutlass down a shaded driveway, eventually parking behind a white Rolls Royce convertible.

A fire-red Ferrari and a sleek black Maserati were parked in front of a three-car garage. Tennis courts and a hot tub were off to the left. Tall palms graced the sides of the house. A two-story, carved, teak door with beveled glass sidelights welcomed us.

“Where’s Robert Redford?” I joked.

The teak door opened and Ben, not Robert Redford, stepped outside. I found it hard to believe this young, scraggly guy was the head of a multimillion-dollar drug ring.

“Nice wheels,” Ben said to Mike.

“You, too, man,” Mike replied.

The entrance foyer was decorated with potted palms, bringing the natural landscape of the property indoors. A geometric crystal chandelier hung from the sixteen-foot ceiling and shone onto the cream, ceramic-tiled floor. An antique Venetian mirror reflected it all, adding even more elegance to the room.

“Your home is gorgeous,” I said.

“Thanks. C’mon back to the lanai.”

We walked through a formal living room, done in white with a few accents of coral and black. To the right was a library, complete with leather sofas, a massive partner desk, and built-in mahogany shelves. I imagined Ben sitting at the desk arranging shipments of tons of marijuana from Colombia to Florida.

A black lacquer table served as the centerpiece for the dining room. Twelve white satin upholstered chairs waited for the next round of guests. A glass cabinet held shelves of cut crystal, which reflected the light from another chandelier. Everything was immaculate.

When we first arrived, I wondered what Ben’s place cost. Now I wondered what it cost to maintain.

Ben opened a set of French doors, and we stepped into the lanai. Gary and another guy were sitting at a glass-top table, sipping red wine.

“Help yourselves to wine and food.” Ben escorted us to a sideboard with several bottles of French wine, a cheese board, a basket of bread, caviar, and an assortment of fruit.

I poured wine for Mike and me, then arranged a plate of food for us. We joined the men already at the table.

“How’s it goin’, Ava?” Gary said. “By the way, this here’s Vinnie Lasseter.”

“Pleasure.” Vinnie stood and offered his hand to me.

“Ready to get down to business?” Ben asked.

Three male heads nodded. I sat quietly observing the dynamics. Ben controlled the room, exuding power and wealth. The acoustics created a slight echo when he spoke, adding to his dominance. He never raised his voice, never criticized, and never bad-mouthed anyone.

Gary and Vinnie mirrored Ben with thin builds and dirty blond hair. All three were in their mid-twenties, confident, relaxed, and focused. Mike was the odd man out. His good looks were no match for the others.

“We’ve got a situation here in Florida,” Ben said. “Word on the street is the DEA is onto us.”

“What else is new?” Gary said.

“Yeah, but now they have extra agents watching the marinas. They know the Smooth Sailin’ and the Olympia ,” Ben said, referring to two of his yachts.

“We move operations north or south,” Gary suggested. “We trade the boats in and buy some new ones.”

“Forty tons of product in one week on the Olympia might’ve been pushin’ it,” Vinnie said.

“Forty tons, fifty tons, what’s the difference? Everybody’s on the payroll. Problem now is we got some new agents on our trail. Mike’s hot after he got busted in Nassau. There’s gonna be trouble anywhere he goes,” Ben said.

“Sorry, man,” Mike said.

“Apology accepted,” Ben said. “It was bound to happen. I think the incident brought things to a head.”

“You’re an excellent mechanic, Mike,” Gary said. “The Crew doesn’t wanna lose you.”

“We take care of our own,” Ben continued. “Now, before we get to new business, I wanted to talk about that last shipment. Chuck Fedder says sales are up, and demand is higher than ever.”

From their conversation, I assumed Chuck Fedder was another boss in The Crew, and along with Ben, responsible for keeping the books. I wondered why he wasn’t at today’s meeting.

Ben started talking numbers. Other than hearing “millions” repeatedly, I tuned him out and stared through the row of sliding glass doors leading from the lanai to the back of the property. A guesthouse matching the design of the main estate sat off to the side of an expansive kidney-shaped pool. Two peacocks strutted across the lawn, adding a touch of magical elegance to the scene.

I wanted to join the peacocks, stroll the grounds, and dangle my feet in the pool. I wasn’t part of the conversation, so why did they want me at the table?

“Ava, whadda ya think?” Mike asked.

I snapped out of my daydream. “About what?”

The guys laughed. I turned a bright shade of scarlet.

“Kenya,” Mike said.

“Sorry, I’ve been watching the peacocks.” I imagined the guys thinking, Typical female.

“Vinnie’s our man in Asia—Hong Kong, Singapore, Bangkok—made us a fortune with Thai sticks,” Ben said. “He’s getting us set up to grow our own in Northern Thailand.”

I’d begun to master the art of acting nonchalant, but my brain was doing backflips. Here I was, Ava Novak, in the company of worldwide drug smugglers.

“We’re looking for another country with the right climate, poor farmers, and a cooperative government,” Ben said. “We think Kenya’s the place.”

“Kenya’s not for me,” Vinnie said. “Got my hands full in Asia. Ben thought you and Mike might be interested.”

“I’m game,” Mike said.

“Why us?” I asked.

“You proved yourself on the Smooth Sailin’ ,” Ben said. “I think a nice young couple would do well over there.”

“And since Mike’s hot, it’ll get him out of the country and allow us to get back to business as usual,” Gary said.

Ben must have noticed my worried expression. “Gary’s got a point but, more than that, I think you two are perfect for the job. You’ve only been in Florida a few months, you’ve got no family, no ties, nothing to hold you here.”

No family except two kids who’ve forgotten I’m alive.

“How ’bout we do a few lines, fire up the grill, and give these two a chance to talk about it?” Vinnie said.

A Baccarat crystal box appeared on the table along with a gold-plated coke sniffer for each of us. Ben laid out lines on a gold-handled mirror, which we passed around the table. Ben signaled to someone in the kitchen, who wheeled a cart laden with steaks and shrimp out by the pool.

I’ll always remember the beauty of that day, Friday, May 1, 1977. For a short while, I felt as though I’d entered paradise.