Domino Effect (2019 Edition)

She spotted three fishing trawlers all named, Spanky: I, II, and III. “It looks like you’re doing well, Spank. I’m happy to see that.”
“Yeah, the sea has been good to me. It feeds me, keeps a roof over my head, and now more than ever, it seems to be the last place I can relax.”
Her expression pinched. “How’s that? I thought you loved Key West.”
“Old Key West, but this new one, I don’t know,” he said, taking a deep drag off his cigarette.
Sin leaned back against the seat of her bike. “Tell me about this new Key West.”
“You’ve seen the traffic and the people; it’s like this all year, not just Spring Break. Don’t get me wrong, tourism brings money, but,” he flicked his cigarette into the parking lot, “it also brings crime.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “What type of crime?”
“Have you seen all the crotch rockets around the island?”
She envisioned the motorcycles that had shot past her. “A few of them practically ran me off the road on my way in earlier today.”
“Not surprised. The son-of-a-bitches riding them have no respect for anybody. They race around the island like they own it. The riders are as obnoxious as the bikes.”
“They’re the ones committing the crimes?”
Spanky shrugged. “Don’t know, but I do know that when they showed up, so did an increase in breaking and entering. The bigger businesses on the main strip have started hiring private security companies to watch their places twenty-four, seven. I’ve heard rumors of a major shake down happening.”
“Extortion?”
“Yep. Money for safety. And I’ll tell you something else,” he pointed a finger at her, “most of the small business owners are paying it. They say it’s cheaper than hiring the security companies.”
“Any idea who they’re paying it to?”
“They’re tight-lipped. Maybe they’d tell you.”
She noticed the sun touching the water and realized the time. “I need to get going but do me a favor and text me a list of people I can talk to.”
“Only if you promise to come for dinner before you leave. Bring whoever you want. The more the merrier.”
She threw her leg over her saddle. “Tell you what, instead of texting me that list, ask your friends to come for a late dinner tomorrow night. I’ll talk to them then and see what I can do to help.”

12
It was eight p.m. when Sin rolled up to the Johnson Place. The mansion built around the turn of the twentieth century by Henry Flagler, a friend of the Johnsons, sat right along the sands of the Atlantic Ocean. More recently, it was owned by Charlie, the last of the Johnsons, which now made it hers, along with the rest of his estate.
Riding up the newly refurbished driveway, she barely recognized the place. Even with the setting sun, she noticed the renovations. The outside had been historically restored and the grounds were no longer overgrown. In their place was an expansive lawn which wound its way around the old mansion.
Parking her bike on the shell-rock driveway, she heard the front door open and saw a young girl, all legs and hair, run down the stairs. Maria, she beamed. Maria was one of the girls from Nicaragua that had been targeted by the human traffickers. By the grace of God, Carmelita stepped in and adopted the frightened little girl before anything horrible happened.
Sin had just enough time to plant her feet before Maria jumped in her arms and wrapped her legs around her. Sin squeezed the six-year-old and breathed her in. The smell of innocence and baby shampoo was intoxicating.
“I missed you, Sinclair,” Maria squealed with a heavy Spanish accent.
Sin, still holding Maria by the waist, leaned back, her eyes wide. “Your English is so good!”
Maria just giggled and hugged her tighter.
Putting Maria down, she held her hand and pulled her backpack from her saddlebag. Looking up, Sin saw Carmelita standing on the porch at the top of the stairs.
Just seeing her caused Sin to well-up. Carmelita was stunning. A woman who defied aging. In her late sixties, she still bore a youthful figure. She was the epitome of a Cuban woman: her mocha skin, smooth; her shape, full in all the right places. Her face bore the lines of maturity, but they only added to her beauty. Her big, brown eyes framed with long lashes and just a touch of makeup still turned the heads of men regardless of age. But what made Carmelita so elegant was her class and humility.
After a tear-filled reunion, the three made their way inside. If Sin was amazed at the changes to the outside of the property, the interior took her breath away. Under Carmelita’s supervision, the entire home had been gutted and upgraded. Every room was modern, yet its old-world charm remained. It was the embodiment of the woman, herself.
After a tour of all four floors, the girls found their way to the kitchen, one of the three rooms Charlie had upgraded a few years ago, along with a bathroom and the library.
“Madre, I wouldn’t have believed the difference in this place if I hadn’t seen it, you have made this old home a masterpiece,” Sin remarked.
“Once you convinced me to move from Tumbleboat, I wanted to make it a house where Maria could feel at home.”
“What about the basement?” Sin asked.
“It’s just as you requested, and before you ask, a complete security system has been installed. The entire grounds as well as the interior of the home can be viewed on your phone or laptop through a website.” Carmelita reached for a pen and post-it-note, scratched an online address on it, and handed it to Sin. “But enough about the house, let’s talk about you.” She placed her hand on top of Sin’s. “How are you doing?”
Sin sipped a cup of espresso. “Every day gets a little better, but I miss Charlie, deeply.”
Carmelita smiled knowingly; the lines around her eyes deepening. “He loved you like a daughter. I know from conversations how happy you