Originally Posted by Truestoryteller
Points South, Part Dos
While riding in the Mercedes going over MacArthur Causeway, I realized we were going to be in some traffic for a while, Saturday Night at the beach was a solid 20 minute wait to get from downtown to Collins Blvd. I got onto my phone trying to figure out where April was, no texts or calls, just Chop wondering when she was coming back. I was more focused on this meeting and was actually a little bit nervous. Sitting in the car, I noticed it wasn't a normal S550 - it was longer, but it wasn't a limo. The seats in the back were bolstered and there was a fixed arm rest so it was in reality a four seater. I never asked if it were bulletproof, but everything seemed highly reinforced and I can only assume that the vehicle was very far from stock as far as the exterior goes.
My nerves were uneasy because I had done quite a bit of business with both the "Boss" and his employee, my friend from New Zealand. I had, however, not met either one of them, I had only talked to my Kiwi friend and never the Boss. I had sent packages to the Boss's physical address, it was the longest name I have ever written on a package in my life. It was a rather easy transaction though because he did not have to have packages examined by the government in his country due to his status or require any documentation. Someone who has that much immunity to normal laws made me a little nervous. I was fairly certain that my friend was gay, he seemed to post quite a bit of "suspect" material on Facebook, but I couldn't be sure because there were no pictures of him with guys, etc. which I attributed to the fact he worked in a country where being gay may get you killed. He told me he could only drink at the US Embassy but that the Boss was "lenient" with his religious practices and they often had drinks at his residence. I was surprised he took on the job that he did due to his possible sexual orientation.
We somehow weaved through the traffic pretty fast and got up to Middle Beach area within 10 minutes or so. Miami Beach is unique in that most beach towns wind down after dinner, where this is the time that South Beach really starts to wake up. LIV and the Fountainbleau hotel are up a ways around 42nd Street where South Beach really is 20th Street and south, so you don't get a lot of the noise and the tourists walking the street as you do a couple miles south. This separates your average South Beach tourist from the upscale oceanfront experience that is the Fountainbleau and LIV. I didn't know if my head could handle any more music tonight, and looked up on my phone that realized there wasn't a show until later in the night. We pulled into one of the cul-de-sacs for parking, and the driver let me out but quickly ushered me away from the buildings and back out towards the road.
"This way, this way sir." I got the feeling he was well paid but was fearful that I would somehow drift away. I followed him to the road and we crossed it, and I realized we weren't going to be in the club or the hotel for that matter, but were meeting at the dock across the street which housed massive boats - boats that made the guys in Boca Grande look like child's play and probably started around 10 million. We walked over to one boat in particular, it appeared to be about 90 feet long and was completely blacked out, but everyone seemed to be up on a deck wandering back and forth. As I walked towards the catwalk onto what appeared to be the second floor, I saw Cory, my New Zealand friend, and he greeted me with a classic "How's it going mate?" which relaxed me, as I was getting nervous. I felt like this would have been the type of boat and location where a lot of coke deals went down in the 80s, where Don Aronow would have met up to show the DEA and drug cartel members his newest Cigarette boat. I honestly felt like I was walking into a huge drug deal and it made my anxiety skyrocket.
"It's nice to finally meet my friend," I said with a big smile on my face, trying to chop up the anxiety with some talk to get my mind away from it all.
"If only we lived closer mate....come on in. You are going to get patted down, I hope you understand." I realized that someone of this caliber must have security measures in place considering his home country and his political status.
Now I have been in a lot of beachfront houses in the Hamptons, Miami, Naples, and other affluent areas, but this boat's custom interior was genuinely one of a kind. There was gold, silver, and diamonds on everything. The mantels, the tables, the mirrors, and the floors were of a wood that I did not recognize, but it was heavy, shiny, and presumably expensive. Bowls of crystal held dates, almonds, and other Middle Eastern delicacies, and the seating areas were all leather and alcantera. I was ushered in and finally was in the presence of "The Boss". I was not sure what to call him, so I googled what the proper title was and showed traditional respect to His Excellency.
"It is very nice to meet you Liam," he said in an Arab-British accent, and he was not dressed as I expected. He had on a very nice button down business shirt, dress pants, and leather loafers - not typical Middle Eastern garb. He offered me a drink, and normally I would say no but I feared insulting him so I took a Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks. We were not outside, but in a room that was next to a galley that led outside to another group of people walking around, but they were not talking. I noticed one of them was armed, then I realized they were all armed security guards - my curiosity was piqued but I didn't want to start asking questions about guns as a first impression. His Excellency did not waste any time in his getting to the point.
So Liam, tell me about this palm, where does it grow? He had asked about a certain species of very rare palms that grow outside a small town in Cuba. These were some of the most sought after plants in the world and also some of the most expensive. I told him what I knew about the palm, where it grows, and it appeared he wanted to collect some seed.
"Well why don't you collect seed from the palms here in the US?" I asked, curious about his intent.
"Liam, my garden is 100% wild collected material. If I collect from another garden, then the garden has no purpose." I started to nod my head in approval and respect for his pure intentions.
"Have you ever been to this place?" He had asked this since my knowledge of the area was very descriptive, and though I knew exactly where they were, I had not. Only two Americans at the time had been to the area, and one was too old to go back, the other was spooked by someone following him 5 hours from Havana that spoke perfect English and asked him questions about his family. I let him know that although I had this information, I was not a guide and could make no promises. He paused for a while to talk to someone from outside in Arabic.
"Would you like to come with us? I need someone who can spot the perfect, pure specimens. I cannot have hybrids or runts in my collection. I really need this palm to complete my collection and will not accept anything other than what has been collected in the wild." I could hear my ears ringing, sort of in shock, knowing I had to give an answer quickly to a man of this stature.
"Yes, I'd love to come." I had no idea how I felt about it. Cuba was unknown territory for Americans still, and I had my passport, but was unaware of what Visas were needed. He assured me this was not a problem, that any points of entry were taken care of. I was suddenly nervous, I felt like I needed to perform for him and the thought of failure was a little unnerving.
"Meet us at Kendall Executive tomorrow evening, 630pm." He gave me very specific instructions and not to discuss this with anyone. I wasn't going to fly to Cuba solo and not tell anyone, but I certainly wasn't going to tell Chop, who will lose his mind and tell me about the legal implications and probably call me a communist. I trusted Cory as well, he was a Westerner and he wouldn't lead me into a shady situation. Then again, this was our first time meeting. My thoughts started to speed up which created this cycle of anxiety that words cannot explain. Only one person would know, and I called Ken to let him know I had to stay over tonight as he lived closer to the airport and I felt better telling him what was going on. He would understand as a palm guy why I was doing this and I didn't have to deal with April anymore. April was just a memory, I had forgotten about her at this point, and as I was driven back to Chop's house I got my stuff, got onto US1 and headed south towards Redland. I felt this glowing feeling knowing that this man trusted me to take him to find a specific, very rare palm, and pick a pure one out of the cultivated ones or the hybrids. It is times like these when you work for yourself that you can tell yourself the reward is worth the risk, and you can feel that you are successful in your line of work. In the meantime, Xanax was going to have to take care of the anxiety as Ken had stopped drinking years ago. Should I tell my family, other friends? The thoughts would not stop racing as I pulled off US1 and onto SW 216th Avenue into farm country, heading West into the Everglades.
