Bird Brained (Rachel Porter Mysteries) by Speart Jessica

Author:Speart, Jessica [Speart, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Wildlife, mystery, eco-thriller, endangered species, Jessica Speart, Rachel Porter Mystery Series, illegal wildlife trade, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, parrots, cockatoos, parrot smuggling, Miami, Florida, mountain lions, pythons, Cuba, gays, wrestling, illegal bird trade, special agent
Published: 2012-05-17T04:00:00+00:00

Ten

I pointed my Tempo for Tommy’s.

Since it was early in the day, the fishermen hadn’t gathered yet. I saw Tommy perched on a stool, dressed in his usual Gilligan’s Island garb, gutting a pile of red snapper between extra-long sips of beer. By the time I sat down next to him, a beer was ready and waiting for me.

Tommy grunted his hello and reached behind the bar’s makeshift counter to produce a bowl of seviche, which we picked at in silence. Tommy’s homemade brew slid easily down my throat, cooling the spicy marinated fish.

I leaned back and let the place work its magic. Biscayne Bay lay blue and smooth, daring any clouds to cast a blemish on its surface. An egret lazily drifted by, its wings slowly beating the heavy air like two giant white feathery fans. The remnants of Willy that had clung to me began to let go, melting beneath the sun.

It wasn’t until I was working on my second beer and feasting on grilled red snapper that I broached what was bothering me. “You told me that Cuban Amazons are usually smuggled by cigar boat into the Keys.”

Tommy removed a small cigar from his pocket, bit off the end and lit up. “That’s right.”

“There’s someone that I’m certain is smuggling in Amazons. But there’s no way this guy is a sailor.” I grinned as I visualized Willy tossing around on the high seas.

“Then he’s probably flying the birds in by plane straight from Cuba,” Tommy said.

“Exactly,” I agreed. “The only thing is, I took a look at his passport this morning. There were no Cuban entry or exit stamps there.”

Tommy picked up a well-worn toothpick and dug at his gums, producing a fibrous string of snapper.

“Cuba doesn’t stamp American passports. Neither does Mexico, for that matter,” Tommy informed me.

A gull flew past, passing judgment with a raucous snicker. Willy must be having a good laugh over my stupidity, too.

“What does Mexico have to do with anything?” I asked, my mind feeling dense from the heat.

“Well, you certainly don’t think your friend is flying in and out of Cuba from Miami, do you?” Tommy’s question slapped me awake. “There’s still a boycott going on, remember? If I were going to fly, I’d hop a plane to Mexico and from there connect to Cuba—leaving plenty of time for a few margaritas and señoritas, of course. No muss, no fuss—but best of all, no paper trail.”

Tommy slid off the stool and disappeared. When he returned he had a bottle of scotch in his hand, formally announcing that morning was over and his afternoon had begun.

“Tell me something, Tommy. How is it that you seem to know so much about Cuba?” .

Tommy poured himself a shot. “Can you guarantee that whatever I tell you will go no farther than here?” he asked.

“As long as it has nothing to do with illegal wildlife, your activities don’t concern me,” I answered honestly.

“This is a great life. I make the rules. People don’t like ’em, they go somewhere else.

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