Encomienda
Chapter 2
The next day Caridad had just opened the office when I came up the stairs. I could see her and Vlad going inside. The door had just clicked shut when I opened it again.
“Good morning, guys.”
Caridad said, “Hello, Buck. I got coffee on the way in.”
“Chocolate Mocha?”
“Of course.”
“Great. Vlad, how are ya?”
“A little sleepy, but fine.” He had mousy brown hair and a sallow complexion as if he had been living too near Chernobyl. But, I never said that to his face; he was Russian and would revile the notion that he was Ukrainian.
“Grab a coffee and come into my office.”
Vlad was one of the many Russian immigrants who lived in South Florida. His reasons for coming were intriguing. As a kid, he’d been drawn to espionage, so when he got to Moscow University, he studied English, computer programming, cryptology and electronic engineering. Unfortunately, the year was 1989 and the spy business was about to crash. So, after doing some odd computer programming, he came to the States in 1995.
In 1996, he answered my want ad for an electronic surveillance operative, and I’ve been using him ever since. I recommend him to others whenever electronics can be part of the solution, so he works fairly regularly, which is fine with him. As he puts it, “Nine to five was never for Vlad. But give Vlad a puzzle, Vlad’s happy all the day long.”
I filled him in on the missing boys. “What I want you to do is get into Nano’s computer because I think we can find some clues there.”
“Sure. Can do that.”
I called Señor Concepción to let him know we were on our way. Vlad said he’d follow me in his van. “I’ve got my gear in it. Never know what is needed.”
I picked Señor Concepción up in my Z3 and drove us to the South Bay Apartments, with Vlad tagging behind us in the van. The apartments were fairly simple places designed for modest incomes. I introduced Vlad to Concepción outside the manager’s office. When the manager, a stocky Latino, came to the door, he squinted at us through the bright morning sunlight. We didn’t look like potential renters. He said, “Yes?” I explained who I was, showed my identification, introduced Nano’s father, showed the missing person’s report. “Ok, I guess it’s all right for you to look inside the apartment. By the way, the rent’s due this week.”
“I’ll pay it, “Concepción said.
“Follow me.” The manager slapped barefoot up some stairs to the third floor and let us into Apartment 329. The door opened onto a spacious two-bedroom, one-bath apartment. The long living room ended with sliding glass doors leading onto a balcony that had room for a table and several chairs set among potted plants. A doorless doorway on the right led to a kitchen and dining area. The two bedrooms were on the left; each had a desk and PC.
I said, “Vlad, boot both. Señor Concepción, which is your son’s room?”
“It’s the one next to the balcony.”
We went in and I looked around. Posters of musical groups on the wall. A soccer ball next to the bed. A nine-by-twelve-inch frame held a photograph of a palomino on whose back sat a very proud Mexican boy. Some candid photographs lay on the desk. I picked them up. They were of a young man; like Señor Concepción, he was a mestizo with reddish skin, but his hair was curly brown. He had brown European eyes but his nose and cheeks could have been Aztec or Mayan. “Is this your son?”
“Yes.”
“Nice looking.” Just as I said that, there was a knock on the door. Concepción went to the door, opened it and found the manager holding an armful of envelopes, catalogs and magazines. The manager said, “Here’s all the mail – a month’s worth. I thought you might want it. It was clogging up the box.”
“Gracias.” He took it, closed the door and loosed the mail onto the dining room table.
I went there to sort through it. I set aside the one letter to Pablo Menendez: it was from Venezuela, return address to J.L. Menendez. I separated all the bills from the magazines and catalogs and started opening them. I gave the phone and utility bills to Concepción. “I guess you ought to pay these, too.” The VISA, MasterCard, American Express and gasoline credit card bills I went through carefully. I also perused bank statements for both Nano and Paulie. Nano’s was very healthy: over $15,000. Paulie’s wasn’t quite as lush: around $5,500. For college students, they were flush. “How much does Nano’s trust fund pay out each month?”
“Around $2,000.”
“He must be pretty frugal.”
“Yes. He’s not a waster.”
The most interesting item was in Paulie’s statement. On December 6 he had withdrawn $300 from an ATM. That was the last withdrawal before the bill had been sent. Nano’s last ATM withdrawal was $100 on November 28. “When did they leave on the trip?”
“I think it was December seventh or eighth. I spoke to him earlier in the week. He said they were going in two or three days.”
I figured Paulie had withdrawn the $300 for the trip. The more frugal Nano hadn’t spent enough of the $100 so that he needed to withdraw more.
“Bingo!” shouted Vlad from Paulie’s room.
I went in there. “What’cha got?”
“I’m into his files. You can take it from here. Check out whatever you want.”
“That was easy.”
“Well, he kept his ID and password in his calendar. Yeah, for Vlad, it was easy.” He pointed out the numbers written in the notebook part of the calendar.
“Go figure out the other one.”
“Sure thing.”
I sat down and started clicking through Paulie’s files. He was organized. I checked the word document files first. He had everything in the appropriate folders: Classes; Letters; Poesía. I glanced at samples of each one. Classes had outlines and papers in English. Letters had letters in English and Spanish, but none very recent. Poesía had poetry in Spanish but I couldn’t tell if they were his own compositions or just a compendium of his favorite poems.
I hit the Internet account icon and a password screen popped up. I tried the computer password. It took me to the Internet. I clicked on Favorites. The drop-down menu revealed some of the expected – Miami University, Venezuelan Consulate, his online banking site, Amazom.com – and some unexpected – Shakira’s website and a couple XXX sites. I clicked on those to see what he was into, but there was nothing deviant, just young, risk-taking women having sex in the usual ways.
Then I checked his email files. He had a ton of spam from XXX sites. I deleted them all in groups. A series of personal emails were left. The interesting ones were from janicep@hotmail.com. Emails from December 9 and 10 said “Where are you guys? Did you change your minds? What’s going on?” One from December 12 said, “Now we’re really pissed. If you decided not to come, you could’ve told us.” I replied to the one of the twelfth. “My name is Buck Jaspers. I’m a private detective. Paulie and Nano are missing. Please contact me at Jaspers&Marquez@aol.com as soon as you can.” I printed copies of all the emails from janicep.
I went back into the dining room. Concepción was pacing around the living room, so I gave him something to do. “Señor,” I said, “would you go into Paulie’s room and find a photograph that you think looks most like him?”
“Of course,” he said and went.
I picked up the gasoline credit card bills. Paulie had one fill-up from November on an Exxon account. Nano had two charges on his BP card. One from November and one dated December 7. He put in twelve gallons on December 7. That would just about top off a Samurai. The address of the station was West Highway 41, the Tamiami Trail. We had our first good directional clue. I tore off the statement part of the bill and left the payment coupon with the envelope.
I checked the credit card bills. Paulie had one MasterCard with a balance of $4,869.56. Last month’s payment was the minimum, and there were no charges in the past billing cycle. Nano had three cards. An American Express with one small charge at the campus bookstore. A MasterCard with a balance of $59.50 and no charges from the previous month. And a VISA with one charge dated December 7. The charge was for $30.52 at the Everglades Inn in Everglades City. Now we were getting someplace. They drove across the Trail, had lunch in Everglades City and then headed out. Where? West to Naples? North to Tampa? South? No south would be possible only by boat, so if they went south, the Samurai would have been left in Everglades City. What bothered me most was that there were no charges on any bill after December 7. I tore out the statement section of Nano’s VISA bill and put it with the emails and the BP bill.
“Bingo!” Vlad shouted from Nano’s room.
I went in. “You’re on fire today.”
“This was more difficult. His ID was written in an old computer manual at the bottom of his bottom drawer. But the password wasn’t. He might have changed the password. So, Vlad asked Mr. Conception what was the name of the horse in the picture: Conquistador. That was it, but not quite. Vlad needed a combination of eight digits and numbers. Vlad said to himself the numbers one to twenty in Spanish. Uno, dos . . .”
“I know the numbers, Vlad. What was it?”
“Quince. C-o-n-1-5-d-o-r. Conquincedor.”
“Very clever.”
“Thanks.”
I sat down and began clicking the files. Nano was more organized than Paulie, but he had no emails from someone expecting him. He had Excel files: tables of investments, budgets, cash flow. His word files were similar to Paulie’s except labeled slightly differently. One paper caught my eye; it was titled “The Evolution of the Encomienda.” The abstract read: “The encomienda system established in Spain’s New World empire never really disappeared but transformed itself, taking on new forms into the twentieth century.” I wrote the word down on a piece of notebook paper and put it into my pocket; I’m always interested in learning new things just like my hero Benjamin Franklin was. Nano’s Internet favorites included Miami University, the Mexican consulate, Amazon.com, all his credit card companies and his bank, and the website of a Mexican League soccer team Los Diablos Rojos de Toluca.
Señor Concepción came in and handed me some photographs. “Here’s a good one of Paulie, and a couple of some girls. They look like students. Perhaps the boys were going to visit those girls.”
I took the photos. “Good work. You might make a good detective.”
He smiled briefly, but his face regained its tension quickly.
“I see Nano is a fan of Los Diablos Rojos.”
“Oh, si, he loves 'Pepe' Cardozo.”
Then on the pull down menu of most recent usage, there was a visit to MapQuest.com. Nano had looked for an address on MapQuest. Had probably printed out the map. Knowing that the first map is not always the best one, I looked in the trashcan. Sure enough. A sheet of paper had a map printed. The red star was resting on Dolores Street in Tampa, but it didn’t have much detail. He had probably zoomed in and printed and taken a more detailed map. I added the map to my collection.
On the ride back I filled in the details for Concepción. “Tomorrow, I’ll drive to Everglades City to see if I can find some more traces of their journey.”
END of Chapter 2
Nano has a BP credit card. This was written before BP's well spilled into the Gulf of Mexico; now the government of Mexico has filed a suit against BP. Below are items related to this chapter, including a link to Futbol Club Toluca, which just happens to be the 2010 League Champions of Mexico. I'm a fan of Shakira, especially after I learned last year that she is building and staffing charter schools in the slums of Colombia to give the children a means to create a better society. Jose 'Pepe' Cardozo (a Paraguayan) achieved American Footballer of the Year while playing for the Red Devils.
Los Diablos Rojos de Toluca
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