Chapter Thirteen
The following day, Clarity read a copy of the Miami Herald left on the kitchen counter of Mannen's home. On the first page, there was an article on Mclannan's and the horse meat fiasco. The U.S. Department of Agriculture was placing a hold on the status of Mclannan's. In a bold step to ensure the beef provider complies with all regulations, USDA spokesperson Damario Abreyo said that it is putting on hold the license of the Mlanannan's restaurants to operate as a fast food retail chain. Customers will eat horse meat, if they decide to do so, and if the horse agrees to it. After having breakfast prepared by Baggio, Clarity walked to the library, where Mannen was talking loudly with Di Laure, explaining that he would not leave South Florida, just because Moe wanted to live at Swankeye.
"Moe wants to see the judge? Fine, we'll see the judge," said Mannen. "I'm staying here in South Florida though. I like South Florida."
The teleoperator from Malibu left the library room and walked out of the home, taking a cab to the USDA office in Coral Gables on Old Cutler Road, the place in charge of licensing and importing food and drinks to Florida. Details were part of Cocoanomics, and Mannen wanted the various pieces of his puzzle to come together for him. Damario Abreyo, a gatekeeper of the US Department of Agriculture, was one of the people allowing him to do that. She gave her name at the entrance of the USDA office, telling the front guard of an appointment with one of the officials, Abreyo, made by Mannen eight days earlier. The security officer let her in, pointing her to the second floor. Within minutes, she was sitting in a room with the USDA official sitting across from her.
"What can I do for you?" Asked Abreyo.
"I represent a new retail chain that would like to operate in South Florida, Oakland Bellevue. I'd like to apply for a license to operate and sell organic beef." She remembered the second item Mannen wanted her to solve.
"And also, I would like a license to import cocoa in South Florida."
"You can do that, we suggest that you work with one of our Accredited Certifying Agents before you apply."
"Here in Miami?"
"No, you'll have to go to one the farms in South Florida, we work with local farmers, meat packers and cattle producers. Can't help you much today, we're receiving a visit from some people who work at Mclannan's, about that horse meat issue."
Abreyo handed her a list of Certifying Agents working with the USDA. Walking on the sidewalk outside the USDA office building, she called several numbers. The various agents certified by the USDA, were ready to work with her, but none could process an application in one day, or get USDA approval for a license in less than a week. One of the places, Healthy Veggies Community Farm, located in Davie, agreed to work with her on the application. Provided she'd pay an additional five hundred dollars, Alwin, the guy in charge of organic meat licenses, might be able to provide assistance.
She took bus 297, riding North to Davie. After a two hour trip, she reached the South Florida town and took a local cab to the farm house of Healthy Veggies. Alwin was the only employee of the farm, a place which had about ten cows, and was owned by a man who showed up on weekends to check on the business. They moved to the office of Alwin, where the employee began to print out application files from the USDA.
"We'll see what we can do," said the employee, "it'll take me a few hours to see if I can do this for you and for Oakland."
"Can you check on the status of Mclannan's regarding that horse meat fiasco?" Asked Clarity. "You know, as a potential provider of meat for them." Alwin shook his head.
"It's impossible to work for those guys, they ask for too many things. We just have cows here, and they're good. But yeah, I can sort of check what's happening with their license."
He entered a site of the USDA for partners, and accessed the digest area, which was provided to organic farmers, meat packers, and food distributors of South Florida.
"Bearing in mind that there has not been an opinion from state authorities, the license of Mclannan's to operate in Florida is under review. A review committee is going to go through the issue and issue a report that will be published in a few days. They could get reapproved if they can show what happened with the horse meat is just a mistake that can be avoided."
"State authorities?"
"Yeah, that means the governor."
The political ramifications of Cocoanomics were getting complex, thought Clarity. She thanked Alwin for his work and exited the office of the farmer, telling him she'd stay a few hours. Standing on the front porch of the farm, she took out her smartphone to call a cab and get back to Miami from Davie that evening. She had her eyes on dinner at the East or another good spot in South Beach. She glanced to her right, and saw a black sedan parked near the side wall of the farmhouse. Ambrosio stepped out of the passenger seat, while Giacomino got out of the driver's seat. Knowing that the two henchmen were going after her, she took refuge in a barn close to the farm house, calling Baggio from there. She was going back to Miami earlier than expected.
"Can't pick you up," said Baggio, "busy at the pawnshop, putting back in place all the mess Ambrosio and Giacomino did yesterday here. All the shelves are broken. We have to reorder the items, buy some things, to keep the shop open."
"Ambrosio is on my tail," said Clarity, "I think he found me through the USDA office in Coral Gables, I was there today. What about Mr. Mannen, can he come to pick me up?"
"He's very busy with the memorandum of Oakland Capital, working with Eiesland. He can't pick you up. You're on your own."
Being used to having Jaguar 73 at her disposal, Clarity had some difficulty reframing her thinking towards the less affluent transportation services available to the middle class. Checking her notes on the smartphone about Lloyd, the guy who brought her to Mannen from the airport, she called the Reverplain transportation service.
"Yeah, come to the barn, not the farmhouse, the barn. Ten minutes, all right."
She peeked outside the barn, noticing Ambrosio and Giacomino were going inside the house to talk to Alwin. She looked for a barrier or lock for the main door of the barn, but there was nothing around it, the door was meant to remain open. She looked behind seeing that a patch of light came out of the opposite area of the barn. She called Reverplain again, for a slight adjustment in pickup location.
"Make that the back of the barn, yeah, the back, not the front. No, not the farmhouse, the barn. Yeah, the front of the barn is what you see as you come in with the car, not the other front, that's the back of the barn. No, there are no cows in the barn. Barbecue for a stopover? No, no barbecue, I'm in a hurry. A few minutes? All right."
Clarity ended the call, and peeked out of the barn a second time. Ambrosio was standing on the porch of the farm and began to walk towards the structure. Closing the door of the place, she moved to the opposite exit door of the barn. A few minutes later, a Ford 550 Blue 28 passenger limousine drove through the doors of the ranch at thirty miles an hour, honking out of its way a distracted cow which had come out of the pasture area. The limo headed towards the farmhouse, and veered right, going past Ambrosio only inches away from the retainer, and lifting a cloud of dust on the face of the trusted man of Di Laure, who fell to the ground on a big patch of mud. Going around the barn, the limousine service vehicle screeched to a halt near the other door of the structure. Clarity got out and hopped inside. 27 passengers who were part of a convention of retired couples driving through Florida's various attractions, were carrying out a lively conversation. One passenger had decided to stay in Clearwater to have pancakes, and it was the reason that there was one spot left in the car.
"Howdy, mam," said the driver.
"Reverplain?"
"Sort of a subcontractor for them, yeah, you called, right?" Clarity saw Ambrosio getting up from the muddy ground, feeling heavier than before.
"Yes, to Miami please."
"Just Miami?"
"Yeah, just Miami, but now, please, sort of in a hurry."
The limo driver pressed the foot pedal and t
he limo drove out of the farm, honking good bye to the distracted cow that was slowly making its way back to the pasture. The black sedan of Ambrosio followed them, tailing the large vehicle meant for ample, but not swift transportation. With so many people in the vehicle, Clarity felt somewhat safe. She knew that Ambrosio could not do much to stop her while they drove to Miami. The problem would begin once they got there. She texted Baggio for assistance. Where can I go? They're after me. Baggio texted back a few minutes later. Go to the strip club, at Milton's, and ask for the owner, Silk Herald, Mr. Mannen knows him. Hide there, Ambrosio will have a hard time getting inside. She gave an additional fifty dollars to the Reverplain driver, who reached Miami forty minutes later. With the sedan following them, she told the driver to park at the entrance of the swank strip club of Miami, Milton's.
The owner of Milton's was not there. Maggie, the chubby lady she'd seen at Swankeye, was at the bar. She was the keeper and administrator of the club. Two girls were holding on to their dancing poles, training for their number that evening. Remembering Clarity, the keeper of the club led her to a room where she would be out of view of Ambrosio. From the window of her room, Clarity could hear Maggie talk to the retainer of Di Laure.
"No one is here, come out this evening, our girls will be there."
Ambrosio felt like saying yes to the chubby lady, but his boss did not approve of strip clubs. Gavino Di Laure got girls from the strip clubs, and from Moe, and slept with them, but he didn't go there himself, per se. After trying to negotiate his entrance into the club several times, without receiving access, Ambrosio headed back into the sedan and drove away with his colleague, heading for the home of Di Laure. Maggie went into the room where Clarity was hiding.
"What did you do?" Asked Maggie, "Ambrosio did not look amiable out there."
"We're opening the new burger place of Mr. Mannen. Di Laure doesn't like him in South Florida, he wants him out."
"You better stay here for a while. You can stay here tonight."
Clarity thanked the chubby lady and called Baggio, who supported the suggestion of Maggie. Later that evening, she prompted the administrator of Milton's about the bonds stolen that Mannen had in his home in Nelson Quay. According to Maggie, the bonds that were stolen by Mista Jack belonged to a family of bankers in New York, the Bensons. Some of those family members attended another strip club in New York, the Flamingo Boyle. The Boyle was part of the Privilege Club Network, and Milton's had opted out of that, to remain independent. They were not associated with the privilege club.
"There is a feud between the Bensons and those who sent Mr. Jack to steal the bonds in their private vault." The name of the dwarf triggered the memory of Cuba for Clarity.
"Who does he work for, I thought he didn't have a boss."
"He doesn't have a boss, works on his own, but he is a messenger for some people, sort of a herald for this minted gold bar called Lady Fortuna. It is a spiritual group, who understands this idea of transmutation apparently, never seen them. Silk knows about them. I'll show you."
She opened a drawer, and took out a snow globe, made of glass, filled with distilled water, showing a few sparse houses at the bottom which looked like huts, and a few bushes around it.
"This globe belongs to them, they are a group of women, known as the Aurum Lux Ordo, the Order of Gold Light. It is led by a group of druidesses, known as the Melissai, a small community. People think that they live in places like these, somewhere in the Caribbean, off the coast of Panama."
Clarity shook the globe and gold flakes, instead of snow flakes, began to float inside. Once again, she was intrigued by the connection of Mannen and Mista Jack to an area of interest and value to her, spirituality, and the corollaries related to the Mysteries, that body of knowledge passed on for two thousand years or so.