come back with a sackful of money and bribe the Jamaican police? Are you serious?"
"Please, Reed. There's no one else. I can't call anyone at home. No one there understands what's happening here, only you. You gotta do it, Reed. Please. My life depends on it. I can't survive here. Look at me. Please, Reed. You do what I ask, get me out, and you'll be a rich man."
I back away some more as if he's contagious.
He's begging: "Come on, Reed, you got me into this mess, now get me out."
"It might be helpful if you explain how you made so much money."
"I didn't make it. I stole it."
No surprise there. "Drug money?" I ask, but I know the answer.
"No, no, no. Are we partners, Reed?"
"I don't know, Nathan. I'm not so sure I want to start bribing Jamaican police. What if I get busted? I could end up just like you."
"Then don't come back. Send the money to Rashford, get him to make the delivery. You can figure it out, Reed, hell you're a smart man."
I nod as if I like the way he's thinking. "Where's the money, Nathan?"
"Are we partners, Reed? Fifty-fifty, just me and you, man?"
"Okay, okay, but I'm not risking jail over this, you understand?"
"I got it."
There's a pause as we study each other. His breathing is labored and every word is painful. Slowly, he extends his right hand; it's puffy and scratched. "Partners, Reed?" he asks, pleading. Slowly, I shake his hand and he grimaces. It's probably broken.
"Where's the money?" I ask.
"It's at my house," he says slowly, reluctantly, as he gives away the most precious secret of his life. "You've been there. There's a storage shed in the backyard, full of junk. It has a wooden floor, and to the right, under an old Sears push mower that doesn't work, is a trapdoor. You can't see it until you move the mower and some of the junk around it. Watch out for snakes - there are a couple of king snakes that live there. Open the trapdoor, and you'll see a bronze casket." His breathing is labored and he is sweating profusely. The physical pain is obvious, but he's also tormented by the pain of such a momentous revelation.
"A casket?" I ask, incredulous.
"Yes, a child's casket. Closed and sealed, waterproof and airtight. There's a hidden latch at the narrow end, where the feet would go. When you lift it, the seals release and you can open the casket."
"What's inside?"
"A bunch of cigar boxes wrapped in duct tape. I think there are eighteen of them."
"You hid cash in cigar boxes?"
"It's not cash, Reed," he says as he leans closer. "It's gold."
I appear too dumbfounded to speak, so he continues, almost in a whisper. "Mini-bars, each weighing ten ounces, as pure as anything being mined in the world. They're about the size of a large domino. They're beautiful, Reed, just beautiful."
I stare at him for a long time in disbelief, then say, "Okay, as hard as it is, I'll resist asking a lot of obvious questions. I'm supposed to hustle home, go fetch the gold from a casket, fight off some snakes, somehow find a dealer who'll swap me gold for cash, and then figure out a way to smuggle a half a million bucks back here into Jamaica where I'll fork it over to some crooked Customs agents and police who'll then set you free. That pretty well sum it up, Nathan?"
"It does. And hurry, okay?"
"I think you're crazy."
"We shook hands. We're partners, Reed. You figure out a way to do it, and you'll be a rich man."
"How many dominoes are we talking about?"
"Between five and six hundred."
"What's gold worth these days?"
"Two days ago it was trading for fifteen hundred bucks an ounce."
I do the math and say, "That's between seven and a half and eight million bucks."
Nathan is nodding. He does the math every day of his life as he watches the price fluctuate.
There is a loud knock on the door behind me, and one of the jailers appears. "Time's up, mon," he says, then disappears.
"This is probably one of the stupidest things I'll ever do in my life," I say.
"Or maybe one of the smartest," Nathan replies. "But please hurry, Reed. I can't survive long."
We shake hands and say good-bye. My last visual of Nathan is a battered little man trying to stand, in pain. Rashford and I leave in a hurry. He drops me off at my hotel, where I run to