Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [87]
After Kate settled Rosita in for a late-afternoon nap, she, Jelly, and Tick migrated to the porch, where they could talk without fear of being overheard. Rosita had seen enough. It was time to allow her to be taken care of until they knew exactly where things stood.
Out on the porch, they settled themselves in the lounge chairs. The late-afternoon air was balmy, with the temperature still hovering around the ninety-degree mark. Bird chose that moment to swoop out the front door and settle on Tick’s shoulder. “Get the girls! Get the girls!”
Jelly almost fell out of his chair. “What did that bird just say?”
Tick laughed. Jelly hadn’t been introduced to Bird’s extensive vocabulary yet. Wait until he heard the bird when he got up a head of steam.
“He’s been with me almost since I found this place. He sort of adopted me at some point after I moved here. I suspect he might have belonged to someone over at the compound. He’s got quite a vocabulary. He even speaks Spanish.”
Jelly rolled his eyes. “I’d have to hear that to believe it.”
Tick rolled off a few words in Spanish. When Bird replied in Spanish, Jelly just shook his head in bewilderment. “Never say never. I sure would like to know what the old Bird has seen over there. Or maybe not. It doesn’t look good on finding the girl’s parents alive.”
“Are you telling us you know something, or are you just assuming?” Kate asked.
“Actually, a bit of both. Southwest Florida being such a breeding ground for immigrants wanting to touch US soil, I know you’re both aware of this, but hear me out. They’re coming by the boatloads now. Someone is providing them with fancy speedboats, cigarette boats, and enough fuel to take them to safety in Miami. Once they touch our sandy beaches, we have no choice but to take care of them. It’s truly a pitiful sight seeing the hundreds of men, women, and children who manage to make it here safely. They actually kiss the ground or your feet. Now that Castro’s brother Raúl has taken the reins, it appears to some that those ninety miles to freedom are worth the risk. We’ve seen more immigrants in the past year than ever before. Then come the smugglers, who are looking to make big bucks. It’s a food chain in a sense. There’s the HMFIC, and I know you both know what that means, so don’t ask me to repeat it because I won’t. Plus there are tender ears just inside. From what I can see, that poor kid has heard and seen enough to last a lifetime.”
“Get to the point, Jelly.” Kate turned to Tick, who was seated next to her. “He can really go on and on if you don’t put a stop to it.”
“I don’t know what HMFIC means,” Tick offered out of the blue.
Kate whispered, “It’s head mother F in charge.”
Tick simply shook his head and smiled a smile so broad it sent a sparkle to his eyes and butterflies directly to the pit of Kate’s stomach.
Jelly laughed at Kate, then continued where he left off. “Someone with big bucks is financing these immigrants. Even worse, someone is promising them a pot of gold when they arrive. They’re told they must pay for the risky trip to the US, and, of course, they’re agreeable, anything to set foot in the good old US of A. This is where they’re exploited by the big boys. Once they’re here, more often than not, families are torn apart. The men are sent to work in the citrus camps, the women, depending on their age and looks, are either sent to work as sex slaves, prostitutes, maids, or strippers. They do this willingly because they’re so damned grateful to be here. The jerks who do this know it and use it to their advantage. They threaten the immigrants with being sent back to Cuba, so they continue to work in the lowliest professions. The children are used in ways that I don’t even want to put a voice to, but they’re farmed out