Great Minds Come Together
Chapter 9
My digs at the Holiday Inn were the same as I remembered from before: quaint. Others might describe the place as rundown and dreary. In the Foreign Service, it was all a matter of parsing one’s words to best effect. Okay, the hotel was really a freaking dump!
The hot water and satellite TV worked and that was the best I could hope for under the circumstances. The AC unit had a mind of its own. It worked or didn’t of its own volition and in its good time. The bed linens were iffy and I slept in my clothes for some protection against the cooties I envisioned sharing my room. I was a bit paranoid when it came to the nasty critters vying to be my bedmate.
My government per diem wouldn’t cover better accommodations at one of the nicer hotels in Petionville. But I’d be damned if I’d be out-of-pocket on this trip, cooties or no cooties. Otherwise, things were just hunky-dory.
***
Frank and I lunched on the patio of my hotel. The food was actually pretty decent, but I didn’t want to tour the kitchen. Frank ordered one of those fruity drinks with the little umbrellas and I had a cold bottle of Prestige, the local beer. It was time for Frank to finish his story and me to come up with a game plan. He had the easier job.
“So, I gave you the big picture last night of how and why voodoo plays such an important role in our society. That’s the main theme in what we’re facing as regards the embassy. The Family is responsible for these violent acts and intimidation of our employees. It’s an open secret and the authorities are doing nothing to stop it. Another horrific act of savagery by The Family, no doubt, was reported in the papers this morning.”
He handed me a copy of Le Nouvelliste. It was in French so I asked him to translate the article, mentioning I’d left my reading glasses in the room. An English paper might have posed a bit of a problem as well. However, I could use the same lame excuse. Haitian English could be so damn confusing to the literacy challenged among us.
He obliged and began reading the short blurb.
Dateline: Port-au-Prince. The gendarmes responded to citizen calls of a man wandering the streets of our city in what appeared to be a confused state. The authorities identified the man as Jean-Claude Dubois of no known address. Both of Dubois’s hands had been chopped off at the wrists. A spokesperson for the gendarmerie stated that Dubois had likely attempted suicide given his emotional state. He was taken to Hospital Sainte-Croix for treatment of his self inflicted wounds and a psychiatric evaluation.
We both laughed at the article, although there was nothing funny about the incident. The laughable part was the assertion the victim had somehow cut off both his hands in a suicide attempt! It was a ludicrous claim on the face of it. Yet much of the public would likely buy into the story.
“Welcome to my world, Dick. The news media isn’t particularly corrupt here, but the police are another matter altogether. Someone bribed someone to concoct the story about Jean-Claude and leak it to the press. It’s done here all of the time. The authorities simply can’t be trusted to tell the truth. By the way, Jean-Claude is a long time embassy employee. Without a doubt, this is the handiwork of The Family. It’s also our target if we want to put a stop to this nonsense.”
“I’ve heard about The Family, but know little about it, so fill me in on the details.”
“Sure, The Family, first and foremost, is a criminal enterprise that has operated with impunity for the past ten years or so. It tries to cloak its illegal activities under the guise of a voodoo cult. And, in fact, it has many followers and ardent supporters. Its leader is Marie Claire Dumont, but better known as Mama Mambo, a self proclaimed voodoo high priestess and a ruthless character in her own right.”
I interrupted Frank to order food. I had an omelet au fromage with grated cheddar cheese as the entree and Frank stuck to another fruity drink. It was to be a liquid lunch in his case. And I was pleased I could damn well speak French after all. But reading it was more problematic.
“The Family’s stock-in-trade is extortion, particularly kidnappings for ransom. But it also facilitates the many Columbian drug flights that use Haiti as a refueling waypoint before heading to the states. There are many remote airstrips here and The Family makes sure the flights land and takeoff without incident and without interference from the local authorities. It’s paid with cocaine which it then sells for enormous profit in Port-au-Prince.”
“As mentioned, Marie Claire heads the organization and her son Desmond is the enforcer who carries out the dirty work on her orders and behalf. He’s a despicable character, a sociopathic dwarf, who revels in causing misery and pain. He’s nicknamed the Poison Dwarf for good reason. Perhaps his penchant for violence and seeing his victims suffering by his hand has something to do with self-loathing or hatred of those who appear normal. Who knows, but I believe the shrinks could figure it out. He controls the so-called zombies of The Family, simply a goon squad ala the Tonton Macutes of earlier times. They’re a bunch of illiterate thugs and nothing more, but very useful to the organization when it comes to wet-work and other nasty business.”
“So where do the Cubans come into play,” I asked, giving Frank a chance to catch his breath.
“Their role is very clear since the station keeps close tabs on their whereabouts and activities. The resident is Roberto Ruiz who nominally serves as the Cultural Attaché at its embassy here. He’s a savvy, seasoned intelligence operative according to my sources. And he’s the go between for the G-2 and The Family. That much we know for certain, but little else.”
“So Dick, how do we break up this cabal?
“I’m not sure, but I want to meet this Marie Claire in person to size her up and see our adversary in the flesh, so to speak.”
Frank chuckled at my statement. I didn’t know why, but would learn later and the joke would be on me. He could have given me a heads-up, although maybe he thought I should learn things on my own without his reassuring handholding.
“You can find her at her shop, the Green Serpent, on Rue Duval in the heart of the old section of the city, at least what’s left of it since the last trembler hit Port-au-Prince.”
I really didn’t have a clue about what to do next as government detectives often said. But I did have a couple of ideas I’d share with Frank later when he was sober.