Tropical Dominoes & Military Payoffs

Long before the infamous Fyre Festival left duped Millennials stranded and helpless on her shores, the lovely island of Exuma in the Bahamas hosted me as its special guest in the luxurious accommodations found behind the bars of its customs jail. It was more of a locked detention room and far from “hard time”, but the circumstances surrounding my entanglement with Exuma customs officials and my subsequent detainment haven’t been greatly exaggerated.

I was part of a team hosting a group on the island and with our full buy-out and takeover of one of its high-end beachfront resorts, our presence in and around town didn’t go unnoticed. On this particular day I was charged with meeting and greeting a band we had hired for that evening’s event at the resort that were flying in from the mainland. I knew the band from prior engagements so it made sense for me to be the one to meet them through customs and escort them to the gig.

The resort furnished me with a passenger van and a driver and I arrived at the airport just in time to see them walking across the tarmac and into the customs house. There’s not much to the Georgetown airport; there doesn’t really need to be. During the high season there’s a consistent flow of small commercial and private aircraft shuttling tourists intent on swimming with wild pigs on white sand beaches to and from paradise. A half-wall separates greeters from the incoming passengers as they clear Bahamian customs, releasing them to the streets to spend their foreign currency and keep the island moving along.

Josie, the lead singer, saw me first and playfully bounced toward the half-wall for a quick hug and how you do.

“We’ve got a problem,” she whispers in my ear. “They’re not letting us through because of the instruments.”

I pulled back just as a customs official casually approached.

“Are you in charge of the band here,” he asked. “You have to pay tariffs for these instruments.”

“Tariffs?”

“Tariffs,” he repeated.

“For what? This is their luggage,” I reasoned. They’re playing a paid private gig; they’re not here to make money playing around town.

“They’re not coming through unless you pay for these instruments.”

His steely eyes stared me down and I detected a slight smirk across his lips. It was clear that he was in charge, and even clearer what he was up to. This was a shakedown.

My new friend was donned in green military fatigues, black combat boots, and an impossibly bright red beret. He proudly displayed the stripes of a decorated officer, but hardly the physical stature. His gut folded over the belt designed to keep his pants in place, which was working overtime. His voice was deep and menacing, and it reminded me of the old 7-Up commercials with the unforgettable black guy in the white suit reminding you that there’s no caffeine in the soda – “Never Had It, Never Will”.

Once I realized the truth of the situation I let out a sigh and decided to just deal with it. The timetable was tight. Josie and her back band had a sound check in an hour followed by a short break before the main event. There really wasn’t time to screw around haggling with a corrupt customs official. Also, not to be ignored, he had a gun.

“How much are we talking?” I asked.

He took a look around the room. There were four guitars and a couple of miscellaneous gearboxes. That’s it. It wasn’t more than a normal amount of luggage for a group of five people.

“Thirty-five hundred,” he said arbitrarily. “U.S.D.” He dragged the initials out for dramatic effect.

“You’re kidding me?”

“I assure you I am not.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to take a credit card.”

“I assure you I am not.”

“Believe it or not, that’s the exact amount of cash I normally carry to pay off customs officials,” I said sarcastically. As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted saying them in the snarky way I chose.

“Well, you better figure it out,” he shot back.

I looked over his shoulder at Josie and the boys waiting patiently with confused faces. I was trapped and he knew it.

“Listen, they have to be on their way. They have a sound check to get to and they’re already behind. I have a van outside waiting to take us. If you let them go, I’ll stay. I’ll need to make a phone call to figure out this cash.”

“Fine by me,” he replied motioning the band to the exit. I pointed them to the car and driver outside and assured Josie that I would be fine. Once they drove away I was hastily escorted into a closet within the secured area. The door was fortified, with a small barred window. Inside the small space were a card table, two chairs, and a stack of dominoes. In one of the chairs sat Ishmael, my new friend and personal guard. He motioned for me to sit, which I did, and immediately started mixing up the dominoes across the table.

“I guess we’re playing dominoes,” I deduced. “I’m in, but I was promised a phone call. You’re boss isn’t going to get his bribe money unless I’m allowed to speak with someone at the resort.”

Just as the words left my mouth, the ambitious “General” appeared in the window. He passed a cordless phone through the bars and said, “Talk”.

I pressed the phone to my ear to find that someone was already on the other end. The General must have them on speed dial for this kind of thing.

“Mr. Todd, I hear you’re in a situation over at the airport,” said the unfamiliar voice. I’ve got someone on their way to assist.”

“That’s great, but they want money. It’s quite clear that they’ve got no problem holding me indefinitely until they’re paid off.”

“I know, he told me. Just be on the lookout for my man coming your way. He’ll get you out.”

With no more explanation than that, the voice was disconnected. He’ll get you out? Was I about to be broken out of jail in a foreign country?

I handed the phone back through the bars to the General who snatched it and quickly walked away. I sat down with Ishmael and gestured for him to commence with the dominoes.

After about an hour of combing through Ishmael’s family history and his love for all things American, including rap music and anything involving Beyoncé, I heard muffled conversation from beyond the bars. After a few seconds of inaudible conversation, a man’s face I’d never laid eyes on appeared in the doorway window.

“Mr. Todd, I’m Sidney from the resort.”

“Hey, Sidney. This is my friend Ishmael. I assume you know the General?” I couldn’t stop myself from being a smart ass about the entire situation.

As I mentioned earlier, we had made quite a disturbance in normal operations by taking over the entire property for the week and there were very few people on staff that I didn’t have some prior interaction with. Sidney was a total stranger to me. I assumed his job was “cleaner” and therefore he’s kept tucked safely in the back of the house until his services are required. He was remarkably slender and tall, wearing the typical bright white pants and short-sleeved button-up collared shirt seen so often in the resorts of the Caribbean. His dark island skin against the all white outfit radiated a sharp and clean look that had me imagining him in all the resort brochures.

“I’m familiar with him, yes,” he replied with an annoyed look on his face. With that he slid a white envelope through the bars and ended our interaction with one final direction:

“Try to get a receipt. He won’t give you one, but I need you to ask. I’ll be waiting outside for you.”

I took the envelope and Sidney immediately turned and walked away. Upon closer examination of the contents I found exactly thirty-five crisp hundreds – U…S…D.

As if cued by the arrival and my acceptance of the money, Ishmael abandoned our game of dominoes, rose to his feet and unlocked the door to my cell. I followed him out the door and he escorted me to the General’s private quarters. Once I crossed the threshold to his office, Ishmael pulled the door shut behind me. It would be the last time I ever saw my Dominoes buddy.

The General sat behind a desk reclined in his office chair, which creaked desperately to support the weight of his waistline and ego, a devil look blanketing his face. His black combat boots were propped across the desktop, and he appeared mere inches away from collapsing to the floor completely. I really wished that would have happened.

“So,” he began, “I see you had a visit from Sidney.”

I just wanted out of there. I was sick of his dramatics. I threw the envelope down on the desk far enough away from his reach to make him have to adjust his physical situation. The chair discharged a piercing squeal as he swung his boots off the side and sat up to reach his bounty. As he fanned through the bills without counting them I broke the silence.

“Can I get a receipt for that?”

“We’re out of receipts at the moment, unfortunately.”

There was really no reason for me to go down this road any further. His careless smirk and beady eyes told me that this was over and any more time spent in the General’s presence was my own fault.

“Am I free to go?”

“You have satisfied your obligation here, yes. You are free to go.”

Sidney didn’t say much on our ride back to the resort. I also didn’t have much to say. As we wound our way along the lush entrance road of my home away from home I asked the one burning question that I wanted cleared up.

“Is that cash going to end up on my master bill with the resort? It certainly wasn’t something I budgeted for.”

“It won’t,” Sidney replied as if anticipating the question before I asked. “Unfortunately, it is something that we budget for.” As we approached the main building, conversation was replaced by the sounds of Josie’s melodic voice coming from the direction of the beach, bouncing over the dunes and through the palms as the sun set over the horizon. Some things are worth $3,500, I suppose.