Thomas Harris - Cari Mora

Thomas Harris is the author of five novels and is perhaps best known for his character Hannibal Lecter. All of his books have been made into films, including most notably the multiple Oscar winner, The Silence of the Lambs. Harris began his writing career covering crime in the United States and Mexico, and was a reporter and editor at the Associated Press in New York.

Black Sunday

Red Dragon

The Silence of the Lambs

Hannibal

Hannibal Rising

To Elizabeth Pace Barnes, who gives me love and lends me wisdom.

Two men talking in the middle of the night. They are 1,040 miles apart. One side of each face is lit by a cell phone. They are two half-faces talking in the dark.

I can get the house where you say it is. Tell me the rest, Jess.

The reply is faint through a crackle of static. You paid one-fourth of what you promised. Puff-puff. Send me the rest of the money. Send it to me. Puff-puff.

Jess, if I find what I want with no more help from you, you will receive nothing from me never.

That is truer than you know. Thats the truest thing you ever said in your life. Puff-puff. What you want is sitting on fifteen kilos of Semtexif you find it without my help you will be splattered on the moon.

My arm is long, Jess.

It wont reach down from the moon, Hans-Pedro.

My name is Hans-Peter, as you know.

Youd put your hand on your peter if your arm was long enough? Is that what you said? I dont want your personal information. Quit wasting time. Send the money.

The connection is broken. Both men lie staring into the dark.

Hans-Peter Schneider is in a berth aboard his long black boat off Key Largo. He listens to a woman sobbing on the V-berth in the bow. He imitates her sobs. He is a good mimic. His own mothers voice comes out of his face, calling the crying womans name. Karla? Karla? Why are you crying, my dear child? Its just a dream.

Desperate in the dark, the woman is fooled for a second, then bitter wracking tears again.

The sound of a woman crying is Hans-Peters music; it soothes him and he goes back to sleep.

In Barranquilla, Colombia, Jess Villarreal lets the measured hiss of his respirator calm him. He breathes some oxygen from his mask. Through the common darkness he hears a patient out in the hospital ward, a man crying out to God for help, crying Jess!

Jess Villarreal whispers to the dark, I hope God can hear you as well as I can, my friend. But I doubt it.

Jess Villarreal calls information on his burner phone and obtains the number of a dance studio in Barranquilla. He pulls his oxygen mask aside to talk.

No, I am not interested in learning to dance, he says into the telephone. I am not dancing at this time. I want to speak to Don Ernesto. Yes you do know him. Say my name to him, he will know. Puff-puff.

Hans-Peter Schneiders boat slid very slowly past the great house on Biscayne Bay, water gurgling along the black hull.

Through his binoculars Hans-Peter watched Cari Mora, twenty-five, in her pajama pants and tank top as she stretched on the terrace in the early morning light.

My goodness, he said. Hans-Peters canine teeth are rather long and they have silver in them that shows when he smiles.

Hans-Peter is tall and pale, totally hairless. Lacking lashes, his eyelids touched the glass of his binoculars, making smudges. He wiped the eyepieces with a linen handkerchief.

The house-agent Felix stood behind him on the boat.

Thats her. The caretaker, Felix said. She knows the house better than anybody, she can fix things. Learn the house from her and then Ill fire her smart ass before she can see anything she shouldnt see. She can save you some time.

Time, Hans-Peter said. Time. How much longer for the permit?

The guy renting the house now is shooting commercials. His permit is good for two more weeks.

Felix, I want you to give me a key to that house. Hans-Peter speaks English with a German accent. I want the key today.

You go in there, something happens, you use my key, they know its me. Like O.J.you use my key, they know its me. Felix laughed alone. Listen, please, I will go to the renter today, ask him to let it go. You need to see the place in daylight, with people. You have to know its a creepy son of a bitch in there. I went through four housekeepers before I got this one. Shes the only one thats not afraid of it.

Felix, you go to the renter. Offer him money. Up to ten thousand dollars. But right now you give me a key or you will be a floater in five minutes.

You hurt the bitch, she cant help you, Felix said. She sleeps there. She has to sleep there for the fire insurance. She works other places in the day sometimes. Wait and go in the day.

Im only going to look around. Shell never know Im in the house.

Hans-Peter studied Cari through the glasses. She was on tiptoes filling a bird feeder now. It would be a waste to throw her away. With those interesting scars he could get a lot for her. Maybe $100,00035,433,184 Mauritanian ouguiyafrom the Acroto Grotto Stump Club in Nouakchott. Thats with all her limbs and no tattoos. If he had to customize her for top dollar, with the downtime, it would be more. A hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Chicken feed. There was between twenty-five and thirty million dollars in that house.

In the frangipani tree beside the terrace a catbird sang a song it had learned in the Colombian Cloud Forest and brought north to Miami Beach.

Cari Mora recognized the signature call of an Andean Solitaire that lived fifteen hundred miles away. The catbird sang with great enthusiasm. Cari smiled and paused to listen one more time to the song from her childhood. She whistled to the bird. It whistled back. She went inside the house.

On the boat Hans-Peter held out his hand for the key. Felix put the key on his palm without touching him.

The doors are alarmed, Felix said. But the sunroom door is faulted until we get some parts. Its the sunroom on the south side of the house. You got some lock picks? For the love of God scratch the tumblers before you use the key, and leave a pick on the steps in case something happens.

I will do that for you, Felix.

This is not a good idea, Felix said. Fuck her up, you lose the knowledge.

At his car back at the marina, Felix took up the mat in the trunk to get to his burner phone stashed with the jack and tools. He dialed the number of a dance studio in Barranquilla, Colombia.

No, seor, he said into the phone, whispering though he was outdoors. I have delayed him with the permit as long as I can. He has his own lawyer for these thingshe will find me out. He will just have the house. Thats all. He knows no more than we do Yes, I have the deposit. Thank you, seor, I will not fail you.

Cari Mora had a variety of day jobs. The one she liked was at the Pelican Harbor Seabird Station, where veterinarians and other volunteers rehabilitate birds and small animals. She maintained the treatment room and sterilized the instruments at the end of the workday. Sometimes with her cousin she catered the stations boat excursions.

Cari always went early for a chance to work with the animals. The station provided her with scrubs and she liked to wear them because they made her feel medical.