Leaderboard

This one falls between the pilot and Heart of Darkness. Just my take on how Sonny and Rico might have started fitting together as a team. “You can’t be serious.” Lieutenant Lou Rodriguez sent a cloud of cigar smoke into the still office air. “I am, Crockett. Provided I can get him hired on in the first place, you’re partnering with Tubbs.” He gave it a moment to sink in, looking out his office window at the wider squad room and seeing Ricardo Tubbs standing near the double doors. Part of him enjoyed the look of outrage decorating Sonny Crockett’s face, but another part was tired of it already. “You need a partner, and he’s going to be available.” “We got lucky with Calderone. He doesn’t know the players. He doesn’t know the terrain. He…” “Is the only partner you’ll get, Crockett.” Lou looked down at the papers on his desk. “I’m trying to put together a reply to the complaint Maria Rivera filed last week. Wanting to know why you and Eddie didn’t have any backup on that buy. You remember, Crockett? The one where he got blown up?” Sonny staggered as if he’d been punched, and some of the anger left his eyes. “I tried calling her. She told me she didn’t want to talk to me and hung up.” “I know. She mentioned that in her complaint. Don’t call her again. We don’t want to make this worse than it already is.” “Worse how?” “She blames you for Detective Rivera’s death.” He shook his head. “I can cover most of this, but you need to get back on cases, Sonny. To do that you need a partner. And Tubbs out there is the only one you got.” “Why? Because no one else will work with me?” Lou didn’t answer. That’s right, Sonny. Instead he looked at the forms again, trying not to see the shattered remains of Eddie Rivera again. “I want an update on what you’re working on before you leave today, Crockett.” Sonny Crockett slammed the office door on his way out, rattling the glass and silencing the talk in the squad room. But only for a moment. He felt his cheeks getting warm as he stomped to his desk. No one so much as looked away from their conversations or asked any questions. Guess that answers my question he thought as he slumped in his chair. Still, I guess I can’t blame ‘em. Scrolling a piece of blank paper into the battered typewriter, he started pecking away at the keys. Trying to whip something into shape to get Lou off his back and buy him some time. He sensed rather than saw Tubbs moving over from the doors, but didn’t look up. So we almost got Calderone. So what? He still… “How’d it go in there? Rodriguez looked pissed enough to chew nails.” “Lou always looks like that. You get used to it eventually.” Sonny stopped typing and looked up. “You really planning on sticking around down here?” Rico laughed. “Hell, it ain’t like I can bop back up to New York and ask for my badge back. I still don’t know why they didn’t bring me up on charges.” “Some old story, Tubbs. They don’t like airing dirty laundry. And I’ll bet there was a leak somewhere that gave your brother up to Calderone. Hell, if he could buy a DEA agent…” “Yeah, I bet there’s something to that. Always thought it was funny Homicide was getting nowhere on a cop killing.” Rico hooked a chair and sat down across from Sonny, that damned grin back on his face. “How much do you want to bet we’ll be riding together?” “How do you figure?” What the hell! Does he have Lou’s office bugged? “Just makes sense. I’m damaged goods, and you don’t seem too popular around here.” He raised his hands. “Not sayin’ anything. Just an observation.” “Congratulations, detective.” Sonny grinned in spite of himself. “Just a temporary setback. Anyhow, I gotta finish this update for Lou. Cases in progress and all that.” He paused, seeing the fear in Rico’s eyes. “You think you got a chance of getting on Metro-Dade?” “The lieutenant thinks so. Can’t say I’d mind it, either. Hell, being a cop’s about the only thing I know.” He glanced at his watch and stood up. “Gotta run. Got a call to New York in an hour.” Left alone, Sonny tried to focus on the keys in front of him. But it was no good. He kept hearing Maria shouting ‘Go to hell, Sonny!’ on the other end of the phone before she hung up on him. That had been two weeks ago. And now this… He’d gone over it a hundred times, both with himself and Lou and the punks from internal affairs. It was supposed to be a simple meet and greet. Flash the cash and let the players shake hands. Then Corky changed the game. Deep down Sonny knew he should have aborted the meet right then, just like he knew Eddie would have gone along with any call he made. He still snapped awake at night, seeing the hesitation and doubt in Eddie’s eyes just before he nodded to go ahead with the change. Still, they’d almost gotten Calderone. Hell, they would have if his mouthpiece hadn’t have dragged a judge out of bed and the morons at lockup had done their jobs and stalled until the arresting officers arrived. He felt bad about Eddie, but it almost bothered him more that Calderone had gotten away. Shaking his head, he chased the doubts away and finished the update. Enough to let Lou know he was after Calderone’s right hand in Miami. He might have missed cutting off the head, but he could still take out a few limbs and set Calderone’s operation back months or even years. He felt the old rush coming back as he typed the last few lines. Ricardo Tubbs got lost twice on his way back to his hotel, cursing the rental car’s weak air conditioning and the swarms of doddering tourists clogging the roads and making him miss his exit not once but twice. Still, he’d allowed for the delay and made it to his room with fifteen minutes to spare. He was used to the time delays involved in getting around in a big city. The call went about as expected…him mostly listening while his old captain and at least one puke from Internal Affairs shouted at him down the line. He’d dialed in his PBA rep, and the union guy gave as good as they tried to give, threatening them with legal action and freedom of information requests relating to the Calderone investigation and the activities of certain high-ranking officers before the murder of Rafael Tubbs and the status of their financials after it went down. In the end it amounted to squat. After all the shouting NYPD decided they’d simply dismiss Ricardo Tubbs, but with a notation in his record indicating he was not to be rehired. The PBA guy wanted to fight, but Rico said he’d take their terms so long as he got a full payout of all monies owed, including his pension. There would be another call tomorrow, but he knew in his gut they’d agree. The PBA guy said he’d handle it and let him know, but he agreed with Rico’s gut. Easier to pay him off than to fight him in court, lose, and have all their dirty laundry aired. Besides, he knew he’d never work in New York again. Sitting alone in the room, listening to the air conditioning laboring against the heat, he stared at the TV without seeing the blank screen. For a moment he looked back at the phone, toying with calling Valerie. Then he smiled. He doubted she’d talk to him any case. Last time he’d called her he’d heard a man in the background and she’d been too busy ‘working’ to talk. No, he didn’t want to put himself through that again. Now all that was left was for Lieutenant Rodriguez to work his magic with Metro-Dade’s higher command. Walking to the room’s mini-fridge, Rico pulled out one of the room service bottles of cheap scotch and twisted off the cap. He wasn’t sure what his chances were, and if he made it he’d be partnered with Sonny Crockett. Lou had made that clear to him before Crockett came back to the office that afternoon. Pouring a good measure of scotch into one of the glasses from the bathroom, Rico took a swig and felt the golden liquid warm its way down his throat. He got it. They were both damaged goods. He was a rogue cop from New York, and Crockett…Crockett was a cowboy. Taking another drink, Rico looked out the dirty window at a hazy view of the airport. He was paid up through the end of the week, and then he’d try to find something that didn’t rattle every time a flight came in. Hopefully closer to the center of town. A city boy born and bred, he liked being close to the action. But not too close. Somehow he got the idea that was exactly where Crockett liked to be. He’d known cops like Crockett back in New York, where they usually ended up on the SWAT teams or high-risk warrant squads. Junkies chasing the action until the action claimed them. Somehow Sonny had missed that train, and ended up in Vice. Living on a boat with a damned alligator! And running head-long after one of the most dangerous dealers to come out of Columbia without even knowing the man’s name or the network he had behind him. It had cost at least one cop his life. “Who am I kidding?” Rico looked at the scotch in his glass. “I’ll work with the damned fool if that’s what it takes for me to get a badge again. Rodriguez knows that. Man’s smarter than Crockett gives him credit for.” The Jack Daniel’s bottle on the saloon table was half empty by the time Sonny Crockett lit his third Lucky Strike and watched the smoke spiral toward the cabin roof. Topside Elvis crunched on the remains of his tuna dinner, dragging his chain over the deck like a convict moving around in his cell. “I know how you feel,” he said, not caring if the gator could understand or not. Caroline, the divorce, Tubbs, Maria…they were all big chains around his ankles, rattling every time he moved. And then there was the damned interoffice memo he’d found just before calling it a day. Metro-Dade was recalling all its .45 SIGs. He couldn’t puzzle through the reasoning, but the memo said any detective still carrying one was to turn it in immediately and select a new weapon. Period. Blinking the smoke away from his eyes, Sonny pulled his own SIG and laid it on the saloon table. He’d carried that gun for two years now. It was comfortable. Familiar. Now he’d have to find something else. Taking a drink, his grimace turned into a grin. The memo hadn’t said what they had to replace the SIGs with. Only that they had to be replaced. A memory, out of focus from Jack Daniel’s, slipped into place. A few months back he’d been shooting for qualification when he stopped to talk to one of the Metro-Dade SWAT guys at the next shooting station. The man had been using a big stainless steel auto-loader of a make Sonny hadn’t seen before. They got to talking, and the guy told him it was called a Bren 10, and used a new 10mm cartridge designed by Jeff Cooper himself. Cooper’s name didn’t mean much, but Sonny was taken by the look of the pistol, along with the way it shot when he sweet-talked the SWAT guy into letting him fire off a magazine. As soon as it took root the idea swam out of focus, replaced by an image of his six year old son Billy. Six! How the hell dd the kid get so big so fast? Back when I was in Robbery he could barely talk. Now… Sonny took another drink, not really tasting the bourbon any more. Now I think of his age in relation to where I worked. No wonder she’s leaving. He’d gone home less and less, spending more time on the boat away from her nagging and accusing glances. He’d never understood why she had so much trouble understanding he was a cop, and a Vice cop working undercover at that. Not some goof selling cars for her brother. It went with the Job. But he’d also found it was easier living out here. He could run with the dealers and the other boat guys without worrying about having to be home for dinner. And him doing that, gathering enough evidence to put the bastards behind bars for years instead of months, was part of what let her have that nice house in the suburbs and good schools for their son to go to. He sighed and set down the empty glass. The thought of another tempted him, but he had to swing by the armory in the morning and see if they had any of those Bren 10s in stock. And if not, one of the gun shops on the way in. He wanted to have the gun in hand before telling Lou he’d replaced his SIG. And once that was taken care of maybe he’d come up with a way to ditch this Tubbs character. Tubbs. Just thinking of the name made him splash some more Black Jack in the glass. Sure, the dude had style in a New York sorta way. But this was Miami. Sonny had built his Burnett cover to deal with rednecks with fast boats and the occasional middleman like the late and unlamented Leon. Still, maybe this was a chance for him to up his status. He could still see the sneer on Leon’s face when he made his crack about Burnett upping his status a bit. Maybe this Tubbs was a way to do that. Instead of just being some sea bum with a fast boat he could be a guy with a fast boat and a contact who had the cash to make big deals. He’d been working his way up slowly but surely, a series of small deals punctuated by a bigger one. But he always slid back down. He and Eddie had talked about ways to change that, but Eddie hadn’t had the cool manner of Tubbs. Taking a drink, Sonny could feel the adrenalin rush again. Tubbs might be what he needed. Didn’t mean he had to like the guy. But he had to admit the New Yorker had a flair for undercover work, able to switch his personalities on a dime. So long as he was content to follow Sonny’s lead things should be tolerable. Morning came too damned soon, and Sonny’s mouth was still dry after two cups of coffee and a longish shower. Swallowing a couple of aspirin against the looming hangover, he dressed quickly and slipped on his sunglasses against the early morning glare. “Don’t eat the boat, big guy,” he muttered as he passed Elvis sprawled on a torn blue blanket and headed down the gangplank. The boom of the Daytona’s exhaust was almost more than his head could manage, and he took it easy as he backed out of his usual spot in the marina parking lot and pulled into the flow of Miami morning traffic. He drove with his usual easy confidence, still squinting a bit behind the dark Ray Bans until the aspirin started to work its magic and his head stopped feeling like an echo chamber for kettle drums. He skipped his usual turn for the nondescript Vice offices and instead headed for the main Metro-Dade complex. He figured the armory there was his best chance. The guy behind the wire mesh screen looked at his ID, the sunglasses, and back again with the bare minimum of interest. “Here to turn in one of them SIGs, detective?” “Yeah, but I want a replacement first.” Sonny turned on his old football frat boy charm, even though he’d never been in a frat. If that didn’t work he’d fall back on a Marine bark. “You know how it is out there with the bad guys. Especially working undercover.” “Yeah.” The guy clearly didn’t, but he liked being flattered. “Bet you ran some nice jobs before they stuck you behind that desk. You got the look of an old Homicide guy.” He didn’t, but Sonny knew the desk commandos all thought they should have been Homicide. “You know how it is. But yeah, we gotta look after each other.” The guy narrowed his eyes and looked around. “Can’t expect the bosses to do that.” “No, we sure as hell can’t.” Sonny flashed his best ‘we’re all warriors’ grin. “I was shooting quals not long back and ran into a SWAT guy who was packing a pistol I ain’t seen before. Big old stainless thing called a Bren 10.” “Yeah. They tried a few of them out with those cowboys. Some of ‘em cried about the recoil so the brass pulled them all back.” “Go figure. But undercover ain’t for girls.” Sonny grinned again and leaned forward. “You wouldn’t happen to have one or two of those stashed away back there, would you?” The desk commando looked around again, trying to copy Sonny’s grin and failing. “You know, I think I might. Let me go have a look see.” “You do that. And if you do I’ve got my SIG ready for turn in. Makes us both look good, and you’re helpin’ keep another undercover guy safe out there.” Sonny fought the urge to rest his forehead against the cool metal frame of the screen while the clerk pried his wide ass out of his chair and waddled back to go through the pistol racks. He knew he’d laid it on thick, but he figured it was the only way to get what he wanted out of the system. It was that or some kind of 9mm like Switek or Zito carried, and he’d never cared for the smaller cartridge. The way he looked at it, there was a reason they carried more bullets. The clerk came back with a plain blue cardboard box and a wide grin. “You’re in luck,” he said, plunking the box down in front of him on the desk. “Had one hidin’ back there with six extra mags. Dropped ‘em in the box for you. Now if you wanna turn in that SIG…” It took about fifteen minutes to finish the paperwork, and then Sonny was back on the street with the heavy box tucked under his arm. He couldn’t stop grinning. It always felt good to pull a fast one on the system, and this was no different. He’d need a new shoulder rig, but he could order that after the morning briefing. “Shouldn’t take more than a phone call,” he muttered as he dropped the box on the seat beside him and started the Ferrari. In the meantime he’d make something work. The squad room was humming with activity when he strolled in just after nine. Trudy and Gina were in the middle of filling out reports, and he could see Switek and Zito huddled around a work table putting the finishing touches on some contraption or another. Gorman’s bald head was obvious toward the back of the big room, and where he was Dibble wasn’t far behind. Eddie hadn’t really been there long enough to be missed, and he’d forced himself to forget about Scotty Wheeler. Any time he was doing would never be enough as far as Sonny was concerned. He was just about to sit down when Lou’s voice boomed over the background noise. “Crockett! My office!” “If it’s about the memo, Lou, I just turned in my SIG. Got the replacement already. And I left that update in your in box.” “Now, Crockett!” Sighing, Sonny caught Gina looking at him and winked, grinning when her cheeks went a bright red. “Guess I’d better go see what dad wants now.” She smiled and moved away from Trudy. “Be careful, Sonny. He’s in a mood this morning.” “When isn’t he in a mood?” Sonny took a step, then stopped and looked back at her. Remembering what she looked like under the dress. “You free later? Maybe we can get a drink or something.” She started to answer, then paused. “I…I don’t know, Sonny. We just caught a case, and…” “It’s ok if you’re not, Gina. But it’s an open invitation. Just let me know.” Sonny smiled again, not sure why he’d just said what he did. But Gina was familiar. She knew what he did and didn’t complain or whine. And she was a good lover. Then he pushed those memories to the back of his mind. If Lou was really pissed he needed to be on top of his game. The cigar tasted wet and old in his mouth, but Lou Rodriguez wasn’t about to give up his favorite prop. Especially when dealing with Sonny Crockett. He looked up to see his best, and worst, detective breeze into his office and sit down across from him like he owned the place. There was a pause, and then Sonny unbent. But not much. “You wanted to see me, lieutenant?” Lou Rodriguez considered himself a good cop. Not a great cop, but a good one. He figured captain was as far as he’d ever go, and he was content with that. It provided a good life for his wife and kids, and he got to go in every morning to a job that mattered. Maybe he didn’t make a difference every day, but they took bad guys off the streets and made things a bit safer for those who followed the rules. To his way of thinking that was good enough. Not perfect, but better than most got to do in a day. He’d been a cop long enough to see all kinds. The cowards who hid behind the badge. The criminals who used the badge to protect themselves. The regular cops who honored the badge and did their jobs. The rare gifted ones who made the badge something more than themselves. And the cowboys who took the badge for granted. Most of his squad were good cops. One or two had the makings of excellent cops. And then there was Crockett. Most days he was a good cop. Some days he was a great cop. But almost every day he was a cowboy. Successful enough the mistakes never came home to roost, but never quite careful enough to avoid the mistakes. Lou chomped his cigar, going though the same discussion with himself he had at least three times a week about Detective James Crockett. Finally he looked up. “It’s about that list of ongoing cases. Anything you left out? Anything you want to tell me about now instead of later?” Sonny grinned, then his face turned serious when he saw Lou wasn’t playing. “The dealer on there, lieutenant. Alex Quintaro. He’s one of Calderone’s old people. I heard about him through Leon, but thought he was just another mid-level guy.” “And…” This was the part Lou hated. It was like pulling teeth trying to get case details out of Crockett. Especially when he was wanting to run off and do his own thing. “I think I was wrong. My CIs say he’s still making deals, and big ones. I think he’s actually higher in the food chain than Leon was. Maybe even Calderone’s right hand in Miami.” “And you didn’t put this in the list why?” “Aw, come on, Lou! So I miss one thing…” “A big thing!” Lou could feel his blood pressure rising as his teeth clamped down on the cigar stump. Pausing, making himself breathe, he parked the shredded cigar in the ashtray on his desk. “Look, Crockett. If you want to stay on the street you need to play this by the book. The Calderone thing raised enough questions about this unit as it is. Like how a renegade from NYPD managed to fool us. And how Scott Wheeler got access to the information he did. The DEA’s looking to shift blame, and they’re looking at you.” “Me?” “Of course, Sonny. You’re the one who bends the rules, remember?” Lou leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “But the brass want to know how Wheeler could have operated under DEA’s nose as long as he did, so they’ll be pissing at each other for months. But that doesn’t mean you get to go running off playing cowboy again.” Sonny leaned back in the chair on the other side of the desk and put on his contrite face. Lou had seen it so many times he didn’t even notice anymore. It was the look Crockett had when he’d been caught and knew shouting wouldn’t work. “If we want to hurt Calderone, we need to take out as much of his network as we can. He may be hiding overseas, but his product’s still coming in…” “I know. But you need to keep me fully informed, Crockett. Not just the Reader’s Digest version. Understood?” “Yeah, Lou. I get it. I’ll do that from now on.” Lou nodded. He’d lost track of how many times he’d heard that line from Crockett before. Still… “I have to run downtown in half an hour. They’re having another meeting about Tubbs.” “You weren’t serious about…” “If you want to stay on the street you have to have a partner. And Tubbs is who’s available. Make it work, Crockett, or get ready to ride a desk for a few weeks.” Lou looked down. “That’s from the top, Sonny.” “Like the gun memo? And yeah, I took care of that already.” Sonny slid the signed form across the desk. “My SIG’s in the custody of the armorer now.” Lou looked at the carbon form. “And you drew a Bren 10 to replace it?” He sighed. “You do know they pulled those from SWAT after they tested them, right?” “Yeah. The armorer said something about that. But it hits almost as hard as my .45, carries more rounds, and has the flash people expect from a player.” Sonny grinned. “Stainless steel and all.” Lou threw up his hands, making a show of frustration he didn’t really feel. Sometimes you just had to throw Sonny a bone to make him think he’d won something. “Do what you want, Crockett. But stick around this afternoon. The brass said we’d be deciding on Tubbs this morning, and I want both of you here this afternoon.” “I’m gonna make a few calls before then. See if I can get a good line on Quintaro.” Sonny got to his feet. “And I ain’t sure about this Tubbs deal. But he’s got the flair we need to make it into the next layer of dealers.” Those last words lingered with Lou as he drove downtown. Sonny’s right. Tubbs does have the flair we need. He can look big money and carry it off. No one else in my unit can do that. He figured it was something he could use, another layer to the argument to hire Tubbs in spite of his problems in New York. The head of Personnel kicked things off. “We just heard from NYPD they’re not going to be charging Tubbs. They are kicking him off the force with a do not rehire tag, though.” The chief nodded, his jowls jiggling with the movement. “No surprise there. I’ll bet the union threatened to sue their asses off if they charged. And air a bunch of dirty laundry in the process.” He turned, his beady eyes coming to rest on Lou. “What’s your take, lieutenant? He’s gonna be your guy after all.” “He gives us something we don’t have in house. A guy who can pass as a rich out of town buyer. We’ve always had trouble with undercover operations where we needed someone who could take us to that next level. Buying fifty keys instead of five.” The lieutenant from Narcotics nodded. “Yeah. That’s always hard. And if he’s from New York he can claim he’s got access to new pipelines. New sales routes.” “Still…the asshole lied to get down here.” Internal Affairs had sent a senior lieutenant to the table. “Broke God knows how many laws…” “And helped us grab Calderone even after DEA’s mole leaked the information about him.” Lou fixed the man with a stare. “How’s your investigation into the mistakes at lockup coming along, Rick?” The chief cleared his throat. “We all know Tubbs bent some rules. We also know why he did it. And even then, he followed procedure to the letter. What I want to know is he an asset or a risk to my department?” Lou looked around the table. “I think he’s an asset. He’s got good undercover instincts, he’s already trained, and he adds something to my unit we previously lacked.” He looked at Personnel and tried not to grin. “He’d also count as a minority hire and promotion.” “That’s not funny, Lou.” “I didn’t mean for it to be. Look, I know my unit’s mostly white. We can’t operate in Overton, for example, without drawing attention to ourselves. Tubbs can. If I pair him with Joplin we can send a black couple into any club in Overton without anyone batting an eye. We can’t do that now.” The lieutenant from Homicide finally spoke. “Yeah, I get that. We’ve had to diversify our recruitment to get any leads of out there and Little Havana in the last few years. Times are changing, gents.” Lou looked at the white faces around him and kept his face blank. Don’t think I don’t notice I’m the only one at this table who isn’t white. But if that’s the argument I have to make to get Tubbs, I’ll play that damned card. “He’ll be partnered up with Detective Crockett if we decide to hire him. So he won’t be going out with a rookie.” “Cowboy Crockett.” Now the guy from Robbery laughed. “Hell of a way to welcome him to Miami, Lou.” “They worked well together going after Calderone. That and coming out of NYPD Tubbs has procedure drilled into his head.” “And you’re thinking he might slow Crockett down.” The Robbery guy nodded. “Makes sense. I remember him when he was on my squad. Good cop when he’s not running ahead of the pack.” The chief scrunched up his face. “Isn’t Crockett the one whose last partner was killed? There’s some kind of complaint coming up about that, isn’t there?” “Yes. The officer’s widow.” The clerk from Personnel squirmed in his chair. “She’s demanding a full investigation into why there was no backup.” The guy from Robbery snorted. “I can answer that. Crockett ran off without telling anyone. Isn’t that right, Lou?” Lou nodded, knowing if he didn’t the puke from IAD would jump all over it. “Yeah. And Detective Rivera was new enough he thought that’s how things were done.” “He did that more than once over in Robbery, too. And you think Tubbs will rein him in?” “He did during the Calderone case.” The IAD lieutenant snorted again. “Look. Let’s just put it out there. Tubbs might be a good cop, but he’s also not one of our own. If Crockett screws up and gets him killed, we can use that to bust Crockett out and we won’t have any local widows clamoring for an investigation.” Lou looked at the man, not hiding his disgust this time. How the hell do you assholes sleep at night? “I’m sure Tubbs would love to hear you say that.” The chief raised his hands. “Gentlemen. We’re almost out of time here. I have a meeting with the mayor at ten. So we need a decision. Do we hire this Tubbs or not? Show of hands is fine.” He looked around, watching all the men raise their hands, some faster than others. “Good. Have Personnel get the paperwork started. Rodriguez, you can break the news to Tubbs. He’ll start as a Detective effective immediately. I want to get him out on the street if he’s as useful as you all say.” Sonny Crockett could sense rather than hear the echoes of his last shot chasing each other down the lanes of the indoor range as he ejected the empty magazine from the Bren 10. The earmuffs pressed against his head and ears, but it was better than dealing with gunshots and a hangover at the same time. After leaving Lou’s office he’d made a couple of calls and then decided he needed some range therapy. Having a new pistol to shoot in gave him the ultimate excuse, too. He had to admit the 10mm had a bit of kick, but the Bren was also heavy and ate most of it up without missing a beat. The action was smooth, and having ten rounds instead of eight was a good feeling. And each time he ran the target back up to the bench he was pleased with what he saw. Good groups and smooth reloads. After fifty rounds he hadn’t had a single misfeed or jam. Wish I could say the same about the rest of my life. He’d toyed briefly with calling Caroline, but knew it would just turn into another fight about something or another. Why he hadn’t stopped by. Why he’d stopped by when he did. Had he been drinking again? The list went on. And in a corner of his mind he didn’t want to see her after he’d slept with Gina. Slamming another magazine into the warm pistol, Sonny hit the slide release and sent a fresh round into the chamber. As the first shot sent the pistol recoiling into his hands and shoulders, he thought back again to that whole night. Had he planned it? Not consciously, but deep down he knew he’d been looking at Gina for some time as more than another cop in the squad. And he and Caroline were separated, with divorce just around the corner. Besides, he was sure she’d been seeing other people. She never said anything, but he’d seen the signs. He was, after all, a cop. Still, he wasn’t sure just what he felt for Gina. At least once they got past the physical part. He fired three more rounds, adjusting his grip to account for the Bren’s firm recoil, and let the question rattle around in his head. That they were good in bed was beyond question, at least for him. But were they good the next morning? That he didn’t know. Two more shots and he pushed his thoughts back to Quintaro and Tubbs. As Burnett he couldn’t get in the same room as Quintaro. The man simply moved too much product. His street name was Atlas, and not because he was strong. It was because of the amount of weight he moved. “Like the moving vans,” one of his CIs had said. Atlas never touched a deal unless it was north of fifty keys. And a deal like that called for something more than a well-dressed Cracker with a fast boat. As he hit the button pulling the target back to the shooting bench, Sonny shook his head. He needed Tubbs to make this damned bust. No two ways about it. And if that meant playing it by the book, he’d have to give it his best damned try. Looking at the target, he noted the tight cluster of holes and smiled. Another couple of magazines and he’d be ready to work. Clipping a fresh target into the frame, Sonny hit the button sending the target downrange and fed the Bren another full magazine. Personnel had called Ricardo Tubbs in just after ten to start the paperwork, and he walked out into the hot Miami sun just after noon with his badge and freshly-printed ID tucked into the breast pocket of his suit. Four more suits rested in garment bags slung over his shoulder, and the hangers were cutting grooves into his index and middle fingers. But he didn’t care. Raiding the property room for his wardrobe had been the highlight of his day, sorting through the Armani and Versaci suits putting together a picture of a man he was already calling Rico Cooper. Cooper had just popped into his head, a reminder of the name of his first collar in Armed Robbery back in the Bronx. Cooper Dawson was his name. A two-bit bodega stickup man who’d come quietly when he saw Rico’s .38 under his nose. But he wanted to keep a bit of New York with him in the cover. Just like he kept the .38 on his hip and the cut-down double barrel locked in the rental car. He had an appointment tomorrow at the impound lot to pick out a car, and they were promising some help finding a place. It took the air conditioning a couple of minutes to start blowing cool air, and he let the rental idle until then. Thinking back to something Crockett had said after Calderone made his escape, Rico smiled. He hadn’t thought of a career in Southern law enforcement until one landed in his lap. Turning the car into the mid-day traffic, he took his time getting to the Vice offices in the old Gold Coast Shipping building. As he parked, he wondered whose cousin owned the place and how much rent they raked in from the city. The squad room was mostly empty. Gina and Trudy were out working a case, and their desks sat empty. He didn’t know where the two surveillance men, Stan and Larry, had gotten off to, but their desks were empty as well. Two or three of what he’d consider the third string members of the unit were pecking away on typewriters at their desks, and he looked around until he spotted the desk near Crockett’s. Someone had cleared away all of Eddie Rivera’s things, leaving it empty and waiting for the next chump to come along. He’d just dropped his things off when the lieutenant’s office door opened. “Tubbs!” “Be right there, lieutenant.” Rico buttoned his suit coat and headed in, trying not to put a dance step or two into his walk. Even with all the hassles it felt good being in a squad room again. Doing the Job he’d given up just about everything for. Lou sat behind his desk flipping through a folder, and he waved Rico to chair. “Crockett should be here soon,” he announced as he turned a page. “But I thought we should get to know each other first.” “Not sure what else I can tell you, lieutenant. I’m sure New York sent my file down. Warts and all.” He grinned, shifting a bit in the chair. He still didn’t have a good feel for Lou and wasn’t sure which path this little talk would take. “You had a good record up there, Tubbs. Until all this.” He waved his hand to encompass all of Dade County. “But you’re starting fresh here. Understand I had to burn some favors to get you hired, and put in at detective grade in the bargain. So…” “Don’t bite the hand that feeds me. I get it, Lieutenant.” “Not quite what I meant. What I mean is you’re on thin ice. I know NYPD is big on procedure, and you need to make sure you follow ours.” “By the book, lieutenant. I can do that.” “Your new partner sometimes has problems with that.” Lou looked up as Sonny breezed into the office. “Have a seat, Crockett. I was just telling your new partner you have a problem with following procedure. That ends now.” Sonny sat down, and Rico could smell the burned powder on his clothes. “We talked about this, Lou. I’m cool.” “See that you are. Tubbs here is on thin ice, so…” “That’s not my…” “Wrong, Crockett!” Lou’s fist crashed down on the desk, making the cigar stump fall off its perch on the side of the ash tray. “It IS your problem! Partners look out for each other. That’s rule number one. You look after each other by following procedure. If you want to go after this Quintaro you WILL follow procedure. Otherwise I’ll give it to Dibble and Gorman.” “Those two jackwads? They couldn’t bust a hooker giving a guy head in the middle of the town square!” “I’m glad to get the point. If you want to take him down, you take him down WITH Tubbs and you do it by the book!” Rico turned to Sonny. “I heard about Atlas back in New York. He only touches big deals. Fifty keys and up. He was supposed to be the step up after Tooney. That was why Rafael was playing the deal like he was.” Lou’s face shifted into a smile Rico thought would be more at home on a wolf’s face. “See, Sonny? Rico’s already ahead of the game. I’d say you two need each other again.” Back in the squad room, Rico waited until Sonny had flopped into his desk chair before speaking again. “Look, Crockett. I ain’t over the moon about this, either. But if we want to keep our jobs…” “Yeah, yeah. We gotta make it work.” Sonny shook his head and then forced a smile. “Ya know, we did ok taking down Calderone. And I gotta admit, you bring something to the table we didn’t have before. Someone who can be convincing as hell as an out of town money man.” “Yeah. These chumps all want to expand their networks. Rafael used to tell me the dealers were starting to beat a path to New York trying to get in on the market there.” Sonny nodded. “How much do you know about this Atlas character.” “Quintaro don’t like getting his hands dirty for one. He only shows up at the negotiations and not the actual deal. Makes it harder to pin anything on the chump. And he contracts out all the rough stuff. He’s smarter than Calderone. Never did much business over the phone. But he also didn’t operate much in New York. At least that’s what Rafael’s intel said.” “I know that bozo Leon was afraid of him.” Sonny seemed to notice the suit for the first time. “I see they already got you into the property room.” “Yeah. Getting a car tomorrow. Think I’ll go for one of those ragtop Caddys or something like that. A big car for a big dude.” “There’s more than a few of those down there. Once Scarface came out all the punk dealers started driving those old sleds. Made ‘em easy to bust, though.” Rico nodded, then grinned. “You wanna come with? Maybe you can give me some pointers on the local color.” “Aw, why the hell not? Don’t want you picking out one that might have belonged to one of the local queens or a pimp.” “My thought exactly.” Rico chuckled. That wasn’t really why he’d asked Sonny. It was more a matter of throwing him a bone…showing him he valued how things worked down here. But the man also made sense. He didn’t want to blow his cover before it was out of the gate by picking a known car. They sat in silence for a time, each man making a show of flipping through notes or arranging clutter on their desks. Rico thought about saying something, but decided against it. He’d made the first nod with the car thing. Now it was Crockett’s turn. If this thing’s gonna work, we both need to kick in. Finally Sonny closed the folder on his desk. “What say we go get and drink and start planing this thing? If we’re gonna nab Quintaro we need to be on our game, not working from different playbooks.” The Dugout was a sports bar favored by cops with bad lighting and worse ventilation. The place always smelled of stale cigarette and cigar smoke, and the guys along the bar stared at the cheap TVs arguing about baseball or whatever sport happened to be on. The owner had been a uniform with Metro-Dade for years, and ran tabs for cops with no questions asked. It was one of those places you could duck into during a long shift, have a beer, and get back out on the streets with no worry about your sergeant ever knowing. In fact, he might be at the bar with the other guys arguing about sports. Sonny didn’t come here often, but he figured it was a good place to size up Rico in a more relaxed environment. They’d been pushed together during the Calderone thing, but it looked like Lou intended this to be long-term deal. And Sonny knew just how far he could push the lieutenant. He either had to work with Tubbs or ride a desk for the foreseeable future. Waving Rico to a table near the back he went to the bar. “Black Jack and scotch on the rocks,” he said to the bartender. Leaving a ten on the bar he took the two glassed back and set them on the stained table. “Next round’s on you, partner.” “You got it, partner.” Rico sipped the scotch. “Not bad.” “Yeah. It don’t look like much, but they treat cops well in here.” Sonny let the first drink of the day roll over his tongue and sighed. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other.” “Yeah. Rodriguez didn’t look like he wanted to give an inch on that one.” “No. So we gotta make it work. Look, I know I ain’t no prize catch, and you got a bit of stink around you from that whole impersonating your brother thing, but there’s gotta be something…” “There is. Think about it, Sonny. You got the whole guy with a fast boat thing down. But you ain’t gonna be more than that until you can connect people with a buyer. That’s where I come in. I can be Rico Cooper from New York, Teddy Prentiss up from de Islands, or whatever we need. And I can sell them on it.” “Yeah.” Sonny nodded. Rico sure as hell had fooled Scotty Wheeler, a guy who’d been known for his ability to sniff out a trap. “That was the problem we had before. Eddie was good, but only to a certain point. Wheeler had the same deal. Back when he was a straight cop anyhow.” “Yeah. Money guys have a look. A feel. Hell, even the way they walk. Dealers just know a dude’s good for the cash when you can pull that off. And no punk white boy in a shirt from Sears can pull that off.” “You got that right. Plus you can sell them on opening new markets.” He shook his head. “Hell, that Prentiss act was pure gold. If this new one, Cooper, is half as good…” “It’s better.” Rico shifted a bit, sitting up straighter and moving his head back so his eyes were almost invisible in the gloom. “My associates in New York sent me down to have a look see what kind of deal we can arrange. They want a guaranteed supply that’s at least ninety percent pure. You can’t deliver that, we got nothing to say to each other. And I need fifty keys a week, not five or ten. My people will take delivery once the product in. You don’t worry about it after that. Miss a delivery, and we have a problem.” Sonny whistled. “Damn. That’s a nice roll. Dangle New York then rip it away. Threaten to walk if they screw up.” “Yeah. I picked up quite a bit from my brother. We used to talk shop.” “Let’s compare notes on this Atlas punk, then. See if we can find a way in. He’s gonna be twice as careful now that Calderone’s out of the country. Unless he decides to go into business for himself.” “He won’t. He’s a chump, but he’s Calderone’s chump. Cat is straight up loyal.” “Maybe we can dangle a new market at him. I can reach out and hit one or two guys who still are in contract with him.” Sonny ran through his list of CIs in his head. “Maybe not New York, since we know Calderone has ties there. What about your Island guy? Maybe we can get at him through the supply end.” “But I brought Prentiss in as someone from New York.” “Sure. But maybe we can flip it. Teddy decided that market’s too hot right now so he’s looking to move some different product. Maybe weed from back home. There’s always a market there.” “One Calderone doesn’t have much reach in.” Rico nodded, scratching his chin. “Yeah…it could work. We can try, at least. Dangle the hook and see if anyone bites.” “And they know Burnett will move anything he can get on his boat, so there’s no worry there. I’ve kept that cover pretty loose just in case.” Sonny grinned, thinking back to the courtroom. “Hell…we cooked up the idea while we were waiting to be bailed out. Both our cases were dismissed for lack of evidence, anyhow.” “You gonna brief the lieutenant?” Sonny sensed the trap. “Hell, we got to. It’s procedure.” Then he grinned. “Look, Tubbs. I know my methods seem a bit…” “Crazy?” “Yeah. That word’s as good as any. But if it’s gonna make all this go easier I can play by the rules. Learned how to do that in the Marines. It’s just…” “Sometimes you get a whiff of the game and just go.” He nodded, turning the words over in his head. “Yeah, I guess that’s it. I know it ain’t the smartest thing in the world to do, but sometimes…sometimes you just gotta go with your gut.” He took another deep drink of his bourbon, not wanting to think about it any more. He didn’t need to see Eddie’s smiling face again in a dream. But he knew he would, along with a few others from Vietnam and other places. Rico cleared his throat, and Sonny realized he’d been staring at the bottom of his empty glass. “I don’t know about you, partner, but I need another drink if we’re gonna get serious about this planning stuff.” “Sounds good, Rico. Black Jack again for me. And if you see that asshole try to pour from a bottle with a green label, you can plug him for me.” Rico was still laughing as he walked to the bar, and Sonny allowed himself a smile. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Even though it wasn’t quite ten, the summer heat had the impound lot in its thick grip. Sonny stared at the cars through his Ray Bans, waiting for Rico to decide between two convertible Caddys he’d been eyeballing for the last ten minutes. Finally he settled on a lighter-colored one and they headed back into the air-conditioned bliss of the office to finish the inevitable paperwork. Rico grinned as he signed the final form. “Hand me them keys. I’ll be ridin’ and stylin’ like no one’s business in no time, partner.” “Yeah, and it suits you down to the ground.” Sonny would have taken a Mercedes instead, but he guessed Rico had a handle on his cover. Just like he did on his, and the Daytona suited Burnett. So Cooper would just be a Caddy kinda guy. “Let’s get back and get to callin’ those CIs of yours. I wanna get a start on this Atlas chump.” The squad room was busy when they came through the double doors. Typewriters clattered and dinged, and Sonny was glad he wasn’t lugging a hangover around for the first time this week. Gina and Trudy were busy putting together a report, and he could see Stan and Larry adding photo prints to the mix. Not wanting to get dragged into whatever pimp bust they were working, he grabbed Rico’s bicep and steered him toward Lou’s office. “Let’s get this done before the rest of the crew starts in,” he said as they walked. Lou looked up from the papers on his desk. “So. The new partners. Get everything sorted out at the impound lot?” Rico nodded. “Yes, lieutenant. And we’re ready to start working the Quintaro case.” Sonny jumped in before Lou could start asking questions he didn’t want to answer. “I’ve got a line on him through one of my CIs. Tubbs and I were talking, and we think it makes more sense to go at this guy using that cover he used when he first hit town. Prentiss.” “And what’s the logic behind that?” “Time.” Rico’s voice was clear and sharp, and Sonny let him run with it. “We don’t have time to get a new player on stage in case Quintaro decides to bolt like his boss. And we know they don’t need coke. Prentiss was tied to New York, but I can flip him quick enough to being from Jamaica or someplace equally tropical. That means weed.” Sonny nodded. “Yeah. Quintaro might be looking to diversify with the boss hiding out of country. We don’t want to use New York in case their organization still has sources there, so weed seemed like the next best option. There’s always a market for it, and if it gets us to him we can step up our game.” Lou shook his head. “So my newest detective is gonna pose as some ganja-peddling Jamaican with his trusty Cracker sidekick with a fast boat? Is that the best we have?” “It’s what we’ve got, Lou. Unless you have something better.” “No, Crockett. I don’t. And that’s what bothers me. But we need to get this guy out of circulation. I take it you won’t need buy money.” “No, but we might need some product.” Sonny grinned. “I heard Lauderdale pulled in about two hundred pounds of prime ganja last week. Maybe we can…” “I’ll reach out to them. You two just get your covers in order. I want a plan before you move. Is that clear?” “You got it, lieutenant.” Rico got to his feet. “We’ll go put some feelers out with Crockett’s CIs and see if we can get this guy to break cover. You’ll have the plan before we have a meet.” Back in the squad room, Sonny clapped Rico on the shoulder. “Nice job managing Lou, Rico. You really gonna get him a plan?” “No. We’re gonna get him a plan. He’s right about that, you know.” “Yeah, I know. I know. It just feels slow when we need to be fast.” “It won’t hurt to go slow with Quintaro.” “Yeah. He’s gonna be on edge after the whole Calderone thing. We come on too strong he’ll either go to ground or try to take us out.” Sonny pulled his sunglasses out of his blazer pocket and slipped them on. “Come on. Let’s go pay someone a visit. You can try out the Caddy.” Cuba Libre clung to the edges of Little Havana, an older bar from a different time. The owner had been one of the first refugees to flee ahead of Fidel, and he ran the place like an old Havana watering hole. The lights were low, the drink specials in Spanish, and outsiders watched like hawks as soon as they came through the doors. Sonny nodded to the bartender. “Afternoon, Hector. You seen Vincent around?” “Sonny Burnett!” Hector announced the name for the benefit of the rest of the bar. “Man, I ain’t seen you for a few.” “You know how it is, Hector. Business and all. Anyway, Vincent?” “Yeah. He’s at the far end of the bar.” Leaving a ten on the bar, Sonny turned and led Rico deeper into the gloom. Vincent was a skinny punk with lank black hair and blackheads on his nose. But he was also Quintaro’s man in Little Havana. He looked up from his drink, nodded to Sonny, and stared hard at Rico. “Burnett. You I know. Him I don’t.” “Vincent, this is Teddy. Teddy Prentiss. He came to me looking to make a deal, and it’s a bit more than I can handle.” Sonny raised his hands. “You know me, man. I’m a fast boat but that’s all I do. Product placement ain’t my thing aside from making sure it’s unloaded at the right spot.” “Righteous, mon.” Rico held out his hand. “Burnett an’ I meet when he doing some business in my neck of de woods.” Vincent shook hands. “And let me guess. Jamaica?” “Some days, mon. Some days. De islands come and dey go. I been workin’ up north, but tings dere ain’t so solid, seen? So now I come back here.” “He had a deal in the works with Leon before that all got blown sky-high.” Sonny shook his head. “I’d been in on the transportation for that job, an’ Teddy here reached out as soon as that case got tossed out.” He grinned. “Lack of witnesses and evidence. Anyhow, he comes to me an’ asks if I can handle a certain green product his island’s known for. I said no, that ain’t my end of things. But I thought I knew someone who could. So here we are.” Vincent looked from one man to the other and back again, swirling the ice in his drink. Sonny could almost see the gears turning in his head. “If it was powder I’d have to say no. That market’s kinda tied up right now. But weed? Hell, I could unload that on the University of Miami campus in half an hour.” Sonny turned and slapped Rico on the back. “See? I told you Vincent was the man for the deal!” “How much are we talking?” Rico flashed his best Prentiss grin. “This shipment alone? Two hun’red pound.” Vincent coughed as he swallowed whatever booze mixture he was drinking wrong. “Did you say two hundred pounds?” “Yeah, mon. In this one shipment. And I got way more than that on call. Righteous weed, mon. None better you can find. Turn top dollar easy.” “I gotta make a couple of calls on that. And your supply’s steady?” “Yeah, mon. Steady as me hand.” He held up his right hand. “We got crop planted all over de island. A cure house for each field.” “How much are we talkin’?” “For you, mon, I make a special deal with this first load.” Rico waved for the bartender. “But first we need a drink.” Sonny mostly sat and watched while Rico worked his magic on Vincent. He’d had his doubts, but he had to admit his new partner had skills. Serious skills. Rico took a sip of rum. “You see, mon, I come down here from New York ready to deal for some associates. Righteous, right? But then me new friend an’ me get busted with Leon and some other mon we find out is a cop. One t’ing turn into another, an’ by the time we’re back on de street this mon Calderone is gone an’ my deal wit’ him, seen? And when he go, New York go wit’ him. But a mon still gotta make right, seen?” “And you remember the weed.” “No, mon. I never forget the weed. The men in New York want powder, but that too much trouble most days. And long jail time if things go wrong.” “Yeah. No question there. But the damned money’s good.” Vincent slurped down more of his drink and turned to Sonny. “You been damned quiet, Burnett.” “You know me, pal. I ain’t got much to say until I know where the load’s coming in, where it’s going, and what my percentage is gonna be.” The Black Jack was hitting just right now, and he let a smile touch his face. “But Teddy’s right about one thing. Getting caught with a load of weed is a whole lot different from getting caught with a load of coke. Weed these days they just slap you on the wrist. Coke is ten to twenty. Federal time.” “Like I said, I’ll make some calls. See what’s there in terms of interest.” He looked at the number Rico had scribbled on the inside of a matchbook. “An’ that number’s fair. Meet me back here tomorrow night after six. I’ll know by then were we stand.” Once they were back out on the street, Rico turned to Sonny. “That chump ain’t no CI.” “He is, but he doesn’t know it.” Sonny grinned and turned back to look at the dark door of Cuba Libre. “Vincent likes to hear his own voice, especially after you get a couple of those damned zombies down his throat. I pick up more from him with ten bucks than you would with a registered CI in three months.” “Don’t bother me none.” Rico cranked the Caddy and waited for Sonny to settle in before easing the big car into traffic. “So long as his info’s good and he can deliver.” “His info’s always been good.” Sonny looked out at the passing cars. “Ain’t never used him for a deal before, so I don’t know how solid the little punk is there. But he’s connected to Quintaro, and I’ll bet he’s the first one he calls.” He drummed his fingers on the door frame. “We’ll write up a quick report for Rodriguez when we get back, and then I’m calling it a night.” He could hear water lapping at the hull of the boat. It was a restful sound, especially after three Black Jacks, and it took all Sonny’s focus to stay awake. Outside it was dark, the air cooling as night took over from the blazing heat of the day. The sounds of laughter and some unidentifiable music leaked in from one of the boats farther down the marina. But none of it mattered. Looking up from the table, he caught sight of a picture of a younger him in green fatigues, standing next to another man in the same uniform. Me and Robbie during our first week in Da Nang. Damn! I wonder what he’s up to? Heard he got married. Might be an invite somewhere, but I was working a case. It was the same story every time. Billy’s birthdays missed because he was undercover somewhere. You name it, he’d missed it because he was working a case. The bourbon seemed to glow in the glass as he held it up to catch the light from the single fixture. But what did anyone expect? Of course he missed things. It came with the job. With doing the Job right instead of half-assing it like so many others did. Like waiting for some paper-pusher to sign off on something instead of just doing it. He sloshed more Jack into the glass and stared at it again. He had to admit Rico had been damned good with Vincent. He also had to admit it surprised him. He’d gotten used to carrying most of the load himself. Even with Eddie. The kid might have been good given time, but the Job didn’t always give you that luxury. Tubbs was already good. Maybe not with a long-term cover like Burnett, but he didn’t need that as the buyer. He had to be a flashy camelion, shifting shape depending on what was needed to seal the deal. Looking around, he saw another picture. One of him and Caroline in better days. He must have forgotten to put it away; both that and the picture of him and Robbie could blow his cover. He was about to put them both away when he looked at them again. The one with Caroline must have been taken soon after he got out of the Academy. They both looked so damned young, her more than him, and happy. He’d forgotten about the happy part. It had lasted through his first assignment on patrol and later during part of his time in Robbery. That all changed when he started working undercover. Sighing, he dropped both photos into a side compartment and let the latch snap closed. He had two lives now: Crockett and Burnett. And he couldn’t let the two come together. Ricardo Tubbs sauntered into the squad room just before eight, his feet moving to a tune only he could hear. “Morning, all!” he announced, doing a quick spin before snapping his fingers and bopping to his desk. “And a fine day it is!” Stan looked up from his desk and chuckled. “You got that right, Tubbs! Ain’t that right, Lar?” Zito stopped working on whatever piece of electronic stuff he’d been rooting in. “Yeah. I guess. Not what you’re used to, though, is it?” “No. But I’ll survive. So long as the A/C keeps on pumpin’ out the cool breezes.” “In this dump? Don’t hold your breath.” Stan chuckled. “The damned unit goes out about every other week.” “Aw, Stan! Don’t tell the new guy that! You’ll scare him off.” Rico laughed with them as he sat down and checked his phone messages. Then he looked at the thick interoffice envelope on his desk and groaned. “More Personnel paperwork?” “Yeah. They ain’t happy until they got Stan’s weight in paper on you.” Larry looked over at his thickset partner and laughed. “He’s not kidding. But he’s also just jealous of my girlish figure. I call it that ‘cause the ladies love it.” Picking up a pen, Rico listed to the partners squabble with half an ear while he started filling out forms he was sure he’d done yesterday. The NYPD had gotten him conditioned to paperwork, and by now he could fill out most government forms with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back. He caught wind of their arrival before he saw them…a cloud of expensive perfume carried though the squad room air by the laboring central air unit. Trudy clicked in on heels high enough to serve as a step-ladder, her body wrapped in a dress that could have been painted on. Gina’s heels were a shade lower, and the dress a bit looser, but the two looked fantastic. For an instant Rico was tempted, but only for an instant. After Valerie he’d sworn off office romance, and he intended to stick with that pledge. He thought of his new partner and grimaced. He just hoped Sonny didn’t get burned like he had. Still, the thought of Valerie stirred something in him. A longing to go back to New York City. Just to see if there was a chance. The rational part of him knew there wasn’t, and pretending there was would get him nowhere. But there was the other part…the one that kept whispering she was the one and that he couldn’t let her get away. But he knew he couldn’t go back. There wasn’t anything to go back to. No job. No family, after his father had refused to even look at him during Rafael’s funeral. No, he was stuck down here in the land of sunshine and adult diapers. He had to make it work if he wanted to keep being a cop. And being a cop was all Ricardo Tubbs knew. And he knew enough to know he could never stomach being a mall cop or some kind of rent-a-badge. He was still filling in blanks on forms when Sonny Crockett breezed in around ten. “Mornin’, girls,” he announced in a cloud of cigarette smoke as he headed for his desk, sunglasses still in place and a Lucky Strike dangling from the corner of his mouth. He looked at Rico’s desk and chuckled. “Looks like the punks over in Personnel found you already. Those’ll be the same damned forms you already did.” “Yeah, I kinda noticed that.” Rico looked down at the scattered papers. “They always lose the first set?” “Seems like it. Sometimes the second, too, so you might see those again in about a week.” He started to sit down, then paused. “You wanna go fill the lieutenant in now or wait?” “Might as well do it now, partner. Especially since we’re gonna need that weed from Lauderdale if this deal gets legs.” “Yeah.” Sonny took another drag and crushed the cigarette out in the half-full ashtray perched on the corner of his desk. “Let’s get this over with.” Rico did most of the talking, using his hands now and again to make a particular point. He couldn’t tell how it was going over with Lou, aside from an occasional grunt or nod. “…so we’re meeting the chump again at six tonight to see where things stand. If it’s looking like a meet with Quintaro we will need the weed in the next couple of days.” “I made a couple of calls yesterday. Lauderdale’s wanting some assurances their bust won’t just walk away.” Lou turned to Sonny. “We can give them those, can’t we?” “Of course, Lou. Hell, I was figuring we’d scoop up Quintaro as soon as he agrees to the buy. He’s got at least one outstanding for conspiracy to distribute cocaine, so it’s not like he’s only coming in for a slap on the wrist for some weed.” “Run him to make sure. I don’t want him posting some petty cash bail and walking out.” Lou looked from one man to the other. “See? It’s not so bad having a partner, is it? I’ll expect a unit briefing on your plan as soon as you know the deal’s going down.” Sonny winced and started to talk, but Rico beat him to it. “Sounds good, Lieutenant. We’ll know more after tonight, but we can start sketching out some ideas now.” They were back in the squad room and at their desks before Sonny found his voice again. “Team briefings around here are a crap shoot, pal. You’ve seen what we’ve got to work with.” “Yeah, but it’s the only game in town so we gotta make do.” Rico leaned across his desk. “Look, Sonny, Rodriguez isn’t giving us a choice. So we gotta play along. Besides, we can’t take down Atlas without blowing our covers. And I don’t know about you, but I kinda like this Prentiss character, mon. Be a crime if he had to go away, seen?” “Point taken, partner.” Sonny finally took off his sunglasses and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Sometimes I gotta remember not to let the hangover do the talking.” It was close to five before they finished going through the background on both Vincent and Quintaro. Rico closed the last folder with a sigh. “Man, those chumps go back a ways.” “Yeah. I had no idea Vincent was so tight with the guy. I always thought he was a low-level punk. But I guess that’s how he wants to look.” “Makes sense. That way he can scout the talent for the boss without them knowin’ he’s doing it. He ain’t as smooth as Leon was, so no one’s gonna be trying to work him.” “Until now.” Sonny looked at his own reports. “And I was right about Quintaro. He’s got two outstandings for conspiracy to distribute cocaine and another for conspiracy to transport dangerous drugs. So we can hold him no matter what happens with the pot deal.” Rico scratched his chin. “So read me in, partner. I know how we’re gonna handle old Vincent tonight, but what about Atlas?” “Glad you asked, Tubbs.” Sonny grinned. “We gotta draw him someplace open, where he ain’t gonna notice cars and such. Places we can hide SWAT and the rest of the squad when we make the bust. But it’s gotta look natural, too. If he wants to see the product…” “Someplace like that dock where I met Leon?” Sonny’s face changed, but then he forced a grin. “Yeah. Something like that. Burnett’s a boat guy, and most buyers want to see the damned boat before they close a deal. So if we get him out there, Bluto and Lee Harvey Oswald can listen in with one of those mics of theirs and roll the cavalry when we say the magic words.” “Solid.” Rico nodded. “Hey. You wanna grab a bite before we go see Vincent? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” “Yeah. And maybe we should take the Caddy. Don’t want Vincent getting all nervous because the cars changed.” Sonny chased the last of the ketchup on his plate with a thick-cut french fry as he chewed the last of his burger. He had to hide a grin as Rico forked salad into his mouth. Of course the guy has to be one of those health nuts! Can’t complain, though. At least he drinks. He had to admit eating had been a good idea. His headache had finally called it a day sometime around three, and soon after that his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten since last night. But it was always like that when a case took hold. He started forgetting other things. Food. Family. You name it. Elvis always reminded him about feeding time, but that was it. Rico set down his fork. “Not bad for a greasy spoon. Speaking of which, how long do you think it’ll take for the department to set me up with a place?” “I wouldn’t hold your breath. I only ended up on the boat because they happened to seize it from some sleaze bag who was cleaning money for one of the Columbian gangs. And even then Lou had to do some fast talking.” He ate the last fry. “And apartments ain’t cheap, man.” “Compared to New York this place ain’t bad. Hell, you could pay two weeks’ take home for a damned closet.” “Bet you can’t wait to get out of the flight path, though.” Sonny looked at the check and pulled out some bills. “I got this. And we’d better get moving. Traffic can be a bitch this time of day.” Vincent was waiting for them at the same spot way down the bar. “Teddy! Sonny! My two new favorite guys!” He waved for the bartender. “Set us up, man! On my tab.” Sonny was very aware of the weight of the Bren 10 under his left arm. “Your old lady finally give you some, Vincent? You make me nervous when you’re happy.” “Naw, man. You know old ladies.” Vincent grinned, showing his bad teeth in the dim light. “It’s about our business.” He waited until the drinks arrived and then raised his glass. “A toast to our business!” Sonny raised his glass with a thin smile. “Good news, then?” “The best. I made those calls, and Atlas is interested.” Rico chuckled. “You call Greek gods? Righteous, mon!” “Naw, Teddy. Atlas is a dude you got to know if you want to do big business in Miami. He’s connected, an’ always looking for more to lift, if you know what I mean.” “Righteous, mon! So this Atlas he like my ganja?” “If it checks out, he’ll be looking for the same weight every couple of weeks.” Vincent turned to Sonny. “Think you can handle that, Burnett?” “From Teddy to you? No problem. I can make that run in my damend sleep.” “And if he needs more or faster?” “More means a second boat, which means my cut goes up. Faster? Look, Vincent. You know how this works. Where I pick up ain’t your concern. Ain’t Atlas’s worry, either. I go as fast as the Coast Guard patrols allow. Let’s just say they patrol some areas more than others.” Vincent nodded. “Fair enough, man. You know I had to ask.” He turned back to Rico. “Teddy, the man wants to meet you. Check out a sample of the goods and talk price and volume.” “So long as it’s in de next two day. Then I be gone for a week or so.” Rico flashed a brilliant smile. “Crops need tendin’, seen?” “He was thinking tomorrow night.” “Righteous, mon! I can do that t’ing. No problem.” “And you, Burnett?” “Name the time and place. But it’ll have to be by water if he wants to see the boat.” Something flashed in Sonny’s mind and he pulled out the Bren, setting the big stainless steel pistol on the bar. “And don’t try to rip us, Vincent.” “You can put the cannon away, man! Jeeze!” Vincent’s eyes went wide. “Atlas don’t need to rip people like some common street dealer.” “Maybe not. But you might.” “You think I’m gonna use Atlas’s name and then try something like that?” Vincent waited until the Bren was off the bar. “Man, I like life too much to do something that stupid.” “Just had to make that clear.” “Sure, man. And I don’t blame you since you ain’t heard of Atlas.” Vincent lowered his voice. “Truth is, some dude did use his name and pulled a rip-off about a year back. Once Atlas found out he had the guy pulled in. They found bits of him in sandwich bags all over Lauderdale for weeks afterwards. Believe me, I ain’t ready to check out like that. No way.” “So we all friends here, seen? Look, mon, I see you an’ your Atlas tomorrow night. But where and when, mon?” “Sonny should know where the old Restpro shipyard is. Be there at ten with the boat and a sample of the product.” Sonny saw Vincent’s hand was still shaking as he set down his empty glass. “And this calls for another round on me. Harry! Set us up again!” Sonny was surprised Rico managed to contain his anger until they were outside in the cooling night air. “What the hell was that stunt with that cannon of yours?” “It’s a Bren 10, Tubbs. I’ll show you sometime.” He grinned. “That’s called setting the stage. Burnett’s a Cracker with a boat. Those boys have tempers and don’t trust easy. I gotta keep setting the stage for him, just like you do with that goofball ‘islands mon’ accent.” “Yeah. Ok. But in New York that’s a good way to get shot.” “In case you haven’t noticed, this ain’t New York, pal. We got a lot of hot-blooded Latins with that macho thing running around here with guns and drugs. The rules are different here.” Rico unlocked the Caddy and reached across to open Sonny’s door. “Yeah. I know. Just takes some adjusting.” “It’ll come.” Sonny shook his head and decided to throw his partner a bone. “Hell, I’d be as lost if the tables were turned and I was in New York. And that was a nice touch, putting some time pressure on Vincent to take back to Quintaro.” “My brother took down a couple of pot growers. He said they were always worrying about the crop.” The drive back to Gold Coast Shipping went quickly, and Sonny soon found himself in the Daytona with the top down heading for the marina. There was a time, he couldn’t remember how far gone now, when he’d leave the parking lot and start toward the house and have to correct for the marina. Now he figured the car could drive there itself. It was never really dark in Miami anymore. As soon as the sun went down the neon came up, bathing everything in a rainbow of flickering light. As he drove, Sonny watched it play off the black hood of the Daytona, his mind tracking back to the call he’d made to Caroline while he and Tubbs were racing to bust Calderone. It felt like it had happened moments and years ago at the same time. As the rush from the meeting started to leave his veins, he wondered again what was real and what wasn’t. And when some things stopped being real. Her accusation replayed itself in his head from time to time. ‘You get high on the action.’ He snorted as he accelerated away from a red light. Of course you did. He remembered the same feelings when the quarterback was shouting signals over the roar of the crowd, and then had that same rush multiplied by a thousand the first time rounds cracked over his head in Vietnam. Seconds drawn out into hours and hours smashed into heartbeats. Of course you got high on it. Or you did if you wanted to be good at it. Or survive. After he got his early out from the Corps he’d dreamed he could settle down. Marry Caroline and find some white picket fence in the suburbs and raise sons who played football. But the gloss wore off. He started feeling trapped, like he had when he rotated back from Vietnam both times. Ground down by the boredom of garrison duty. So he took his training and joined Metro-Dade. It worked for a time, but then Mike Orgell did what he did and Evan went off the rails. He wanted a change, and needed to feel that same rush again. So he took an open spot in Robbery and never looked back. Pulling into his normal spot in the marina lot, Sonny shut off the car and listened the engine tick as it cooled. He thought back to how Rico had adjusted to the Bren on the fly, playing along without missing a beat. This time his smile was real. Maybe he’d found a partner who could keep up with him. The briefing for the deal was simple and direct. “Lauderdale has graciously loaned us twenty pounds of prime Jamaican green from a recent bust so we can bait our hook.” Sonny looked around the room. “Quintaro is going to expect samples, not the full load. No price has been agreed to, so this is more or less a social call. But he’s got active warrants, so we don’t need to worry about being too formal.” He looked around the room, seeing the assembled team and a few outsiders. Mostly SWAT guys who’d provide the firepower if things went south. “The Restpro shipyard’s a good spot for a meet. At least from our perspective. There’s plenty of buildings for teams to set up in, and Stan and Larry can get their toys in place without too much trouble. The only thing is the meet’s not until ten, so you’ll be in place for a bit. Either that or you can stage outside the area and I’ll wear a wire so you can listen to the action.” In the front row Lou shook his head. “No wire. We can’t risk then finding it. Switek, you and Zito find a spot to set up where your mics will reach.” Stan nodded. “Copy that, Lieutenant.” “He wanted to see the boat, so I can come in to the third dock.” Sonny pointed to a spot on the sketch map. “We’ll control that, at least, so you can plan from there.” The SWAT sergeant spoke up. “Where do you want us?” “Someplace they can’t see you. Maybe one of your shooters can go in with Stan and Larry and set up for high cover.” The guy in black fatigues nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll keep the team back on that access road so we can roll in hot if you need us.” Sonny turned back to his scribbled notes. “We don’t have much on Quintaro. He’s usually a hands-off kinda guy, so we don’t know how many shooters he’d bring to a meet and greet. I’m guessing four, no more than six, but the truth is we’re not sure. So be careful out there.” Lou stood up, and the chatter that had been growing in the back of the room stopped. “This man not only has warrants, but he’s been the right hand of Calderone in Miami for over a year. Taking him out will do serious damage to that man’s network in our city. Be careful, but get the job done. I’ll be with the lead SWAT team in case we need to call for more support.” Once the briefing was over, the cops started clustering by unit. Sonny spotted Rico talking with Gina and Trudy and headed over. “You about ready to make this happen, partner?” “Righteous, mon! We do t’is t’ing right.” Rico grinned. “Sorry. Had to get in character.” Trudy giggled. “I think I like the New York dealer better. What’s his name again?” “Cooper, pretty lady. Rico Cooper. The man with the cash and the moves to make things happen.” Sonny let them banter as his gaze slid over to Gina. She saw him, and he winked as her cheeks went red again. Maybe we can get a drink after the bust. A celebration kinda thing. He liked the thought, but it still didn’t sit quite where he wanted it. Time for that later, though. “If you’re done flirting with the ladies, we need to blow this pop stand. I got a boat to get ready.” Rico chuckled. “Ensign Tubbs reporting for duty, sir! Let’s get de party favors an’ have a righteous evening!” Lou was waiting by the door with the receipt and duffle bag of pot. “Sign here, Crockett. Lauderdale PD will have our collective asses if the paperwork isn’t done right.” “You got it, Lou.” Sonny signed with a flourish. “At least we don’t have to use the whole two hundred pounds. I’d never get the smell out of the Cigarette.” Rico opened the bag and peered inside. “Yeah, that’s top-grade Jamaican product. We used to haul this stuff off some of our armed robbery crews back in the Bronx. Lotsa island boys up there workin’ their games.” “Good.” Lou clenched his cigar in his teeth. “You two play it cool, now. No cowboy stunts. And I mean you, Crockett.” “Scout’s honor, Lou. I’m playing it by the book this time. We might have gotten cheated out of Calderone, but we’ll roll up his right hand guy.” “Yeah.” Rico’s voice was hard, and Sonny looked at his new partner out of the corner of his eye. “We’ll bring him in, lieutenant.” “See that you do. The go phrase is ‘let’s get this party started.’ Either one of you can say it, and we’ll roll. Make sure you don’t hit that dock until just before ten. If anything goes wrong, Switek will contact you on marine band one.” “Got it.” Sonny fought back a yawn. He was ready to go. No more foreplay. “Let’s roll, Rico.” Out at the marina, the Cigarette boat came alive with a roar. Rico grinned, watching the gauges spike on the golden lit control panel. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, baby! Let her roar!” Sonny grinned, cranking the wheel and easing away from the dock. “Relax, tiger. We don’t wanna move too fast and get to the party early. It’s not that long a haul to Restpro.” “So you been there before?” “Yeah. One or two small deals about a year back, I guess. Mostly controlled buys to set someone up for a bigger bust.” Sonny eased the throttles open, smiling as the boat started to come up out of the water. “It’s a good place for a quiet little deal or an ambush. I never got ripped there, but I have heard stories about runners who did.” Rico nodded, shifting so the wind whipped his bright Rasta shirt away from the butt of his Smith & Wesson. “Well, I got Old Reliable here and you got your cannon. We should be able to look after ourselves until the cavalry arrives if things go bad.” “Yeah, but I’m hopin’ not. Only thing I can see going wrong is if Quintaro reached out to Calderone and got some warning about Prentiss.” “I bet Calderone’s in some deep, dark hole right now sending the word by carrier pigeon.” Rico’s smile faded a bit. “But it could happen, I guess.” “Yeah, so keep your eyes open, pal. I’d say if he’s got more than four guys with him it’s a rip or a hit.” Sonny cut the power and let the big boat idle up to the dock when they reached the rusting hulks and crumbling buildings of Restpro shipyard. He could see four cars parked at the far end of the dock, their headlights blazing and lighting up the area like an action yard. Vincent’s lank form was obvious as he started down toward the boat, and the guy in the well-cut suit next to him had to be Quintaro. What concerned Sonny were the three guys just behind the two men. Big slabs of meat with badly-fitting coats and what looked to be Uzis in their hands. And unless each one drove his own car there weren’t enough bodies on the dock to account for the cars. “It’s a hit,” he whispered to Rico. “Yeah.” Tubbs didn’t move his lips. When the group got closer, he stood up and raised his hands. “Vincent! An’ dis must be Atlas! Teddy Prentiss, mon! An’ I bring party favors from de Islands.” Vincent grinned, but Sonny could see sweat beading on his high forehead. “Teddy! My man! Come on down. I told you they were good for it, boss. And Burnett’s boat! It’s big enough to handle what was promised.” Alex Quintaro had a voice that was deeper than seemed natural for his thin frame. “I hear many good things about you, Burnett. From many people. Prentiss I hear nothing about, but let’s talk.” “Righteous, mon!” Rico grabbed the bag and jumped down to the dock with Sonny close behind. “I got a sample right here. You see if it’s too your liking an’ then we talk, seen?” Quintaro nodded to one of the slabs, and the big man came around, taking the bag with a huge hand and bringing it to his boss. The sound of the zipper opening was loud in the heavy air. “So this is the fabled Jamaican ganja?” “It is, mon. Straight from a field my people control. We grow our own, cure our own. The supply is secure.” Quintaro rubbed the dried leaves between his fingers and brought the dust to his nose. “Excellent quality. And it’s all this good?” “Ya, mon.” Sonny kept his eyes moving, looking for cover. The dock was mostly open, but here and there old fuel barrels and abandoned crates of parts dotted the space. The back of his neck started to crawl like spiders were dancing on his spine, and he shifted slightly. That feeling always meant trouble. We’ve got warrants. Who cares if this goes too soon? “Come on, you two. Let’s get this party started.” Quintaro looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I’m afraid there won’t be any party, Burnett.” He raised his hand and the three slabs started to move. Sonny’s hand was a blur as he reached under his blazer and came up with the big Bren. The 10mm boomed twice, the hollow points catching the first goon in the chest and spinning him off the dock. The splash as he hit the water was lost in the echoes of Sonny’s shots, the sudden ripping of the two remaining Uzis, and a quick wail of sirens as their backup started rolling. Off to his right Sonny heard two pops from a .38 as Rico dealt himself into the game, and then he was rolling for cover behind one of the parts crates as 9mm slugs tore up the planks he’d been standing on a heartbeat before. Popping up, he triggered off two more quick shots at one of the bright muzzle flashes from the Uzis, rewarded by a scream and thud as another man went down. Somewhere off in the distance he heard the heavy boom of a rifle and the third sub machine-gun went quite. The sirens were getting louder now, and he heard Lou’s voice rasping through a bullhorn. “Metro-Dade Police! Throw down your weapons and raise your hands!” “That was quick thinking, Tubbs. Shooting Quintaro in the knee so he couldn’t run.” Rico grinned. “It was an accident. I was actually trying to hit one of the goofballs with the Uzis.” Sonny didn’t believe it for a second. They were sitting around the conference table back off the squad room, no one ready to leave even though it was past midnight. They’d made a clean sweep, loading Quintaro and his shattered knee into an ambulance along with a whimpering Vincent who’d shit his pants and hit the deck as soon as the bullets started to fly. SWAT had rounded up an additional four gunmen waiting in the cars. According to the sergeant they’d been about to get out and add their firepower to the situation when they came face to face with SWAT’s M-16s and decided they weren’t paid enough to deal with those odds. Lou raised his hands. “Ok, people. Let’s wrap this up and call it a day. Crockett, Tubbs, that was good work. Sonny, how did you know it was a hit?” “Just a feeling, Lou.” “And a good one. Now we can add conspiracy to murder law enforcement personnel to his list of charges.” Lou turned to Rico. “Do you think you were blown?” “I don’t know, Lou. He didn’t really say one way or the other. It’s possible Calderone warned him about Prentiss, so I’ll have to put that cover on the shelf for a bit.” “Still, good work everyone. Go home and get some sleep. It all starts again in a few hours.” Sonny looked over at Rico and grinned. “Looks like this partner thing’s gonna work out ok.” “Yeah, I guess it will at that.” “You had doubts?” “Just like you did.” Sonny nodded. “Yeah, I guess I did at that. But we’re a good team, Tubbs. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink before I drop you at that no-tell motel you’re camped out in. Then tomorrow we can work on this Cooper thing and see how he fits in with Burnett. I think we’re gonna be working together for a bit.”

Sorry, my favorite music in that scene is the Ferrari's exhaust note.

My top 3:

Another little experiment. This one is actually pre-Tubbs with Eddie and Lou. The red and blue lights from the patrol car washed across Sonny Crockett’s face as he stared down at the body in the shallow drainage ditch. “So we got another one?” The Metro-Dade uniform cop looked up from his notebook. “Looks like, detective. That’s why we called Vice out. Figured you’d like to see another dealer off the streets.” “Yeah, but they’re better behind bars so we can squeeze ‘em for their buddies.” He knocked a Lucky Strike out of a small pack and lit it with his battered Ronson lighter, letting the smoke hiss out his nostrils before looking down at the body again. “And this one sure ain’t alive and kicking.” Off to one side his partner Eddie Rivera talked to the other uniform cop. He turned back to Crockett. “This one says they got a tip about the body.” “Well, if you call a hooker screaming at us about a dead body, then yeah we got a tip.” “Fair enough. You got any ID on the guy?” “I know him.” The older uniform spoke up. “Goes by the street name Rocket. His real name’s Carlos Paloma. Small dealer with ambitions. Word is some new player was trying to cut in on his action and ol’ Rocket wasn’t having any.” Sonny nodded. “This new player have a name?” “Not that we ever heard. The street guys are scared of him, though.” Eddie walked over and looked in the ditch, wincing as he saw the single bullet hole in the dead man’s forehead. “You think Excedrin can take on that headache?” “Hard to say, partner. But I think that’s the lieutenant’s Ford comin’ down the lane. You up for his headache?” Sonny grinned and took another drag from his cigarette. “It’s been how many days since we checked in?” “Oh, man…I don’t know.” Eddie slipped on his sunglasses. “You bring any earplugs?” “Musta forgotten them at home.” Sonny took a last pull from his cigarette and crushed it out with the toe of his slip-on shoe. “Well if it isn’t the great Sonny Crockett and his trusty sidekick Eddie Rivera.” Lou Rodriguez came out of the car in a rush, a stubby cigar clenched in his teeth and his thinning hair snaking across his bald spot. “Forget how to check in?” “Sorry, Lou. We were just running down some leads and got the call…” “Don’t play games with me, Crockett.” “I’m not, lieutenant. Eddie and I were following up on a lead we got about that Columbian when we got the call over the radio about this dealer. Turns out he’d been warned off by some new guy who wanted his turf. Sound familiar?” “Only like every other drug killing in this city. What makes you think it’s your phantom Columbian?” “The way this guy was killed. A single round to the head. Forensics gets done I bet they dig out a 9mm slug that matches the other two.” Shaking his head, Sonny lit another Lucky Strike. “Don’t take a genius to follow that trail.” Lou’s eyes blazed for a moment, and he surrounded them with a thick cloud of cigar smoke. When it cleared, he seemed calmer. Or maybe just out of oxygen. “And this lead you got?” Eddie spoke before Sonny could dig a deeper hole. “Actually it’s two leads, lieutenant. One’s a rising dealer and the other’s a deal-maker who’s supposed to work for the Columbian.” “I’ve been working Leon for a while now.” Sonny spoke fast, not wanting Lou to get a roll again about them not checking in. “At least a couple of weeks. Ran into him down at The Flamingo Club with another runner I was working. Turns out he needed a fast boat for a job.” “And the report on this is…” “Almost done and in your in-box.” Sonny grinned, hoping to head off Lou’s anger. One of the first things he’d explained to Eddie when the kid came on with Vice was Lou’s anger always sounded worse than it was. But it was still hell to listen to. Especially with a hangover. “There was no buy money involved, and I invoiced the cut Burnett got for moving the load. Two keys of low-grade coke. I think Leon was just testing me.” Lou glared, his jaw working on the butt of his cigar. “And the other lead?” “Kid named Corky. Corky Fowler. He’s as annoying as the name makes you think he’d be. Leon put me on to him after that first deal. Said he’s the man to know if you want to move up.” Sonny shook his head. “Personally I think it’s another test. This Corky bozo’s a lightweight with ambition. But if it gets me closer to the Columbian…” “Your ghost again? Not even a name?” “No, Lou. Just a trail of bodies.” Lou glared at Sonny, then Eddie, then the body in the ditch. “I want that report first thing in the morning, Crockett. No excuses! And I want to know how you’re planning to deal with this Fowler kid.” Turning away, he stomped back to his unmarked Ford. “You got it, lieutenant.” Sonny took another drag on the cigarette and looked down at the body. Turning, he saw the patrol officer. “Don’t suppose your witness got a look at anything?” “Naw. I think she was busy with some old dude in an Olds at the time.” The older cop chuckled. “She said she spotted the body when she was on the stroll and I think she’s telling the truth.” “Yeah. And if she did she anything she’d be too scared to talk to us.” Sonny turned and nodded toward the white van rolling down the street. “Looks like the forensics boys are finally here. Not much else we can do, so let’s hand it over to them. I want to check the files and see if we got anything else on the dead bozo.” Eddie grinned. “You go ahead, Sonny. Maria’s expecting me home on time for once. Said she had a surprise, and the last thing I want is to screw that up and have her pissed at me again for two weeks.” “Yeah.” Sonny nodded, pushing thoughts of Caroline and his son into the back of his mind. He figured the only surprise waiting for him if he went to their house would be divorce papers. Hell, it’s really her house now. With the separation and all. Only a matter of time before the papers do show up I suppose. Then the case took hold again as he looked back at the body. “I gotta wonder, though. Why is the Columbian killing these guys instead of turning them?” Eddie had already started back to his car. “I don’t know. Maybe he wants his own people running things.” Sonny didn’t even hear the car pull away. He just kept staring down at the body as the Forensics team started taking their pictures. “But if you kill them you lose their networks. Have to start over. Maybe it’s worth it if you want total control of your operation.” He got back to the Vice squad room after six, just in time to see most of the team heading home for the night. Balding Gorman with his nasty mustache and nastier cigars, Dibble who was so bland he disappeared in the team briefings, Stan and Larry laughing about some bad joke or another in their Hawaiian shirts, and Gina and Trudy dolled up for a night working the streets. He flashed Gina his best smile. “Lookin’ good, darlin’.” She giggled. “Don’t touch the merchandise unless you’re a paying customer, bud.” His smile softened around the edges. There’d always been something about Gina Calabrese that pulled him close, and he wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe the dark hair reminded him of Barbara. He thought of her more now that he and Caroline were vanishing in life’s rear view mirror. First college, then Vietnam pulled them apart, but a corner of him still wondered… “I’m sure I got a twenty somewhere in these pants. Maybe we can go work some magic…” Trudy Joplin raised her hand. “We gotta be out here in less than twenty minutes, Sonny. You know it’s the end of the month. Gotta get those arrest numbers up.” “Yeah, yeah. You ladies have fun.” He raised his hands. “I gotta go finish a report before Lou has my ass writing traffic tickets for the next month.” He hadn’t been exaggerating; it only took about five minutes to type the last lines and drop the finished product in Lou’s basket. But he didn’t leave. Instead he headed for the battered gray file cabinets and dug for “Paloma, Carlos” in the drawer marked P. He couldn’t let it go, not while the whole thing was still fresh in his head. What was it about Carlos that got him whacked? Sitting at his desk, adding to the pile of cigarette butts in his ashtray, Sonny flipped through the file. Arrest reports. Interrogation forms. Surveillance logs. Mostly done by other cops. He hadn’t been involved in any of Paloma’s busts, though he’d heard the street name Rocket a time or two working other cases. When he’d come over to Vice from Robbery he’d gravitated to the transportation side of things, turning his skill with boats and cars into a low-key redneck ocean bum cover named Burnett…a name he’d pulled out of a hat because it sounded like burn out and was close enough to his real last name he’d react to it if someone shouted. Lou encouraged the cover because it helped them pin town the transportation routes the exploding drug trade used. But it also meant he didn’t encounter street dealers all that often after his first year in Vice. He could almost see Paloma’s career trajectory as he read the reports. Started as a street corner hustler in Overton and clawed his way up to a better corner on the edge of Little Havana. He’d been linked to at least six homicides, but never brought in on charges for any of them. Each time witnesses either disappeared or developed amnesia, telling Sonny Paloma was, or had been, a vicious little bastard people were afraid to cross. Over time his network grew, and the buys his name came up in went from one or two kilos to ten or twenty. “Movin’ into the big time,” Sonny muttered as he poured the last of the coffee from the office pot and shut the machine off. “Makin’ himself a target.” He was starting to see a pattern through the haze of cigarette smoke. The other two dealers with the Columbian’s signature on them had also just graduated to the twenty kilo point. It would take a couple of weeks for the ripples from Paloma’s hit to wash through his territory, but from what Sonny had seen someone would step in quickly to take over. Someone who never seemed to have a face and brought in his own people to run things. Usually they came from up north, and when the man was mentioned at all it was only as “The Columbian,” even by people like Leon who were on his payroll. Snapping his fingers, Sonny flipped back through the thin carbons in the file. “Got you, you slippery little punk,” he whispered, reading through one of the more recent surveillance logs. Paloma had been seen meeting with Leon by a Homicide team who forwarded the report to Vice as a courtesy. It wasn’t clear from the report which man Homicide had been tracking, but the connection was plain. At least to Crockett. Shifting his hand to turn another page, Sonny looked at his watch and grimaced. It was after nine. Too late to call Billy and say goodnight, and not early enough for Caroline not to rip his ear off for forgetting to call. Once she’d have been ok with ‘I was on case,’ but those days were long gone. Which is why she lived in their house with his son and he was on the boat with an alligator. He shook his head and closed the file. He’d never understood how she couldn’t see how important this work was. Or that he was doing it so Billy could grow up safe. All she could do was shout about how he was hooked on the action or how much he was like the dealers he chased. Just once he’d like to take her out to a ditch, show her the mangled body of some scumbag like Rocket, and ask her how she thought he was like that man. Or the one who’d put him in the ditch. Still, it wasn’t all bad. Elvis didn’t yell at him if he had more than a couple of drinks, and didn’t drop dishes in the sink when he had a hangover. And he sure as hell couldn’t overdraw the checking account. And now that the report rested in the lieutenant’s in basket, he could head back to the boat and have a drink or two while he puzzled out how to turn the Rocket’s murder into something he could use to get closer to the Columbian. Sonny turned the black Ferrari Daytona into his usual parking spot at the dock and sat for a time, listening to the hot engine tick as it cooled and the voices carried from boats by the onshore breeze. Like the car, his new home was property seized from some busted dealer and assigned to him by Metro-Dade to maintain his cover. Just like most of his clothes. Hell, the only things on me I own are my underwear, my smokes, and my lighter. The thought brought a quick smile to his face as he stepped out and started down toward his boat. Home for Sonny Burnett was a forty-two foot sailboat christened the St. Vitus Dance by a one-time dealer who was now a long term guest of the State of Florida in some upstate prison. Bobbing next to it was his real tool of the trade: a Chris Craft Stinger. Running low in the water and powered by twin Mercruisers she could hit over sixty in calm water and was perfect for fast pick up and delivery. Just the thing for bringing suspect cargoes from offshore vessels or drops to any one of the small fishing docks or other abandoned locations dotting the South Florida coastline. A fast boat and the skill to use it made Burnett someone in growing demand among the up-and-coming dealers in Miami. And it was a damned sight better that sitting in an old Ford reeking of stale cigarette smoke and feet waiting to bust some numbers runner or back alley pimp. Somewhere in the gloom of the sailboat’s bow Elvis grumbled, and Sonny chuckled as he fished a tuna out of the big cooler next to the pilot’s cabin. “Sorry dinner’s late, pal. Had some work to finish.” He waited for the crunch as Elvis found the big fish and started chomping before going down the ladder into the boat’s main cabin. At first rescuing the gator had been something of a joke, and a way to keep his old school’s latest incarnation of its mascot from being put down for trying to chomp on a Georgia player during a game. But the damned thing had grown on him, especially since he was on the boat a lot more because of his separation from Caroline. Two fingers of Jack Daniels’ Black Label glittered like liquid smoke in the light thrown by a single overhead fixture in the sailboat’s main cabin. Cigarette smoke curled lazily toward an open porthole as Sonny tried to piece together what he’d read about Paloma and how that might fit in with the Columbian. The Columbian. All he had were a couple of fuzzy surveillance photos of the man. No name. No prints. He was a ghost…a deadly ghost who’d first appeared on Sonny’s radar about three months back just before the first dealer turned up dead. A big man from up north was all anyone ever said about him. That and his people were way more organized than anything the locals had seen for some time. Sonny thought about reaching out to his old partner to see if the Feds had any intel, but quickly discarded the idea. Even though Scotty Wheeler had gotten his start with Metro-Dade, he was DEA now and then Feds only cooperated when they had something to gain. And he didn’t want to jam his old friend up because he had nothing to offer. Just rumors and his own suspicions. He missed working with Wheeler, but understood the man’s reasons for taking the other job. The Feds paid more and had better benefits, and with his family situation Wheeler needed the best benefits he could get. And Eddie was shaping up to be a good replacement. Another few months and he’d be moving with the pros. The first drink was gone before he realized it, and Sonny poured another. Four fingers this time. Another thin smile wandered across his face as he thought about Caroline used to yell at him when he poured the second glass. Well, maybe not yell exactly. But her voice always got tighter. She never got that it helped him unwind…let things like the image of Rocket in the ditch slip from his mind so he could sleep. Of course she hadn’t been around when he got back from Nam the first time. If anything it had been worse then, when he was younger and still trying to make sense of it all. Big claws scratched across the cabin ceiling, and he raised his glass. “Go easy up there, Elvis! I don’t wanna have to shovel gator crap overboard until morning!” Not for the first time the idea of sending Elvis to some kind of sanctuary ran through his head, and like always he discarded it. At least Elvis was someone else on the boat. Take him away and Sonny would be all alone. Eddie Rivera came into the squad room with a huge grin on his face. “Sonny! You ain’t gonna believe it!” Sonny looked up from his draft report about finding Paloma’s body. “What? You finally got some?” “No, man. Maria’s surprise! I’m gonna be a father!” “No kidding? That’s great news, man! I’m happy for both of you.” Sonny grinned to cover a sudden stab of pain. He remembered when he’d come into a squad room with that same look on his face and made the same announcement. “How far along is she?” “We don’t know. Maybe a month or so. She’s got an appointment this afternoon.” “Go ahead and skip out if you want to. I’ll cover with Lou.” Sonny didn’t want to admit he’d skipped a similar appointment when Caroline first found out she was pregnant. “Thanks, man!” Eddie looked around. “I’m glad the place is still empty. I wanted you to be the first to know.” “I appreciate it, man. Really.” Sonny felt another stab. He’d made sure Scotty Wheeler was the first one to find out about his kid. The difference was Wheeler hadn’t encouraged him to make the initial appointment with Caroline. “I can handle the report on Paloma if you need to take off early.” “No, man. I want to pull my own weight. I will take you up on the afternoon offer, though.” Eddie sat down at his desk with the silly smile still glued on his face. “You find out anything more about our dead guy?” “Like the uniform said, he was a small timer. What the uniform didn’t know is he was trying to move up. And had come into contact with our old friend Leon.” “Leon who fronts for the Columbian?” “The very same. I’m thinking we should take a closer look at good ol’ Leon and see what skeletons are rattling around in his closet.” Eddie nodded, heading over to the battered filing cabinets. “What’s his name again?” “Leon Muhammed Jefferson.” Sonny banged out a few more words on the report form spooled into his typewriter. “Probably shoulda looked him up before.” “Jackpot.” Eddie came back with a reasonably thick folder. “He’s got a rap sheet about as long as your arm. Small time mostly. Some GTA, possession, never anything big enough to do serious time for.” He flipped through the pages. “Looks like he drops off for a couple of years and then shows back up in Miami working for the Columbian.” “Any idea where he went?” “No clue in here. There’s an interview note where a CI says he went north, but nothing more than that.” “Maybe that’s where he hooked up with the Columbian. We keep hearing he’s down from somewhere up north.” “It makes sense, Sonny. Before that he was strictly small time. A nobody more or less. But when he comes back he’s driving a Mercedes, flush with cash, and living the good life when he ain’t setting up deals for the Columbian.” “Who’s been keeping tabs on him?” “Some unnamed Federal agency.” Eddie grinned. “Lots of black lines in some of these reports.” “I’ll call an old friend and see if he can clear some of it up.” Sonny reached for the phone. Wheeler picked up on the third ring. “Agent Wheeler.” “Scotty.” “Sonny! It’s been a bit. How you doin’?” “Breaking in a new partner since my old one decided to defect to the Feds. How’s life on easy street?” “You know. Same day, different dealer. We need to get together for dinner sometime. You, me, the kids…” “I’d like that, but Caroline and I are separated now.” “I…I’m sorry to hear that, Sonny. Is there a chance…” “I don’t know, man. Anyhow, I didn’t call to cry in your ear. We had a name come up in an investigation and it looks like some Feds have been interested in the same bozo. I just wanted to see if it was your Feds or some other Feds.” “Lots of us in the game, Sonny. Both declared and otherwise. I’ll help if I can.” “Bozo’s name is Leon Jefferson.” There was a pause. “Jefferson? Name’s a bit familiar but nothing jumps out at me. You guys looking at him for something?” “Naw.” Sonny wasn’t sure what made him lie. “Just a name I hadn’t heard before in connection with something. You know me. I like to have a full score card. And I forgot to congratulate you on that DeMarco bust you boys pulled last week. Must be a good-sized feather in the Miami office’s cap.” “Yeah. That much heroin off the street always makes us look good come reporting time.” Wheeler paused. “You got anything new on that Columbian you’re chasing?” Again, something told him to lie. “Naw. I’m starting to think he’s just some dealer urban legend. Tell you what, though. I’ll give you a call and maybe we can get a drink or something.” Eddie was still looking at him when he hung up. “Why didn’t you…” “He’s a Fed now. He was my partner, but now he’s with them. One thing you learn quick in Vice is the Feds will always try to take your case. Or take the credit for your case. Or blame you when their case goes south.” He grinned. “Never trust a Fed, Eddie. Not in our line of work.” “Good to know. And he didn’t know anything?” “I don’t think so. The name was familiar to him, but I don’t think it’s an active case. If it was he would have tried to ‘help out’ in some way. He did ask about the Columbian, though.” “Which means the guy isn’t just a myth.” “You got it, man.” Sonny looked at his watch. “I’ll get this report wrapped up and maybe we can go get a late breakfast. On me. To celebrate you becoming a dad.” “Got a few months yet before that happens.” Eddie was grinning again. “You should see Maria, though.” “I’m sure she’s happy as hell.” Sonny turned back to his typing, blocking his own memories out of his mind for now. He couldn’t afford the distraction. Not with Leon looking more and more like the lead they needed into the Columbian’s operation. Eddie pushed the last of his eggs onto a wedge of toast and chewed. “You really think Leon’s our way in?” “Sure.” Sonny munched on a strip of bacon and considered another cup of coffee. Anything to dull the thumping in his head. “Think about it. The guy’s a nobody. A bozo with a one-way ticket to Loserville. He drops off the map for a few months and then comes back in the big leagues. Ain’t no way Leon Jefferson did that on his own.” “But how do you think he made his way in? If he was that big a loser down here…” “Maybe he closed out a couple of big scores. Gave the Columbian an in down here. Leon was a punk, but he was a punk with connections before he left. Kid knew everyone. And someone as careful as the Columbian is gonna want a walking score card to be his face.” “Yeah. It makes sense. And you’re sure our only way to Leon is through this Corky kid?” “Afraid so. I’ve gotten close to Leon a time or two. Mostly as the pick up and delivery service for some deal he put together. Two steps removed. Close enough for him to know who Burnett is, but not close enough to get a solid face-to-face with the bozo.” “So how does the Fowler kid fit in?” Eddie scrubbed his plate with his last bit of toast. “I know what you had me tell the lieutenant, but what’s the real story?” “There isn’t a real story. Leon told me if I wanted to make it to the main stage I should run a deal or two with Fowler. I only met him once, and he’s as loopy as they come. Not just screws loose, but missing a couple of important ones. But he’s one of Leon’s major suppliers.” Giving in, Sonny raised a finger when the waitress walked by and pointed to his coffee cup. “Why that is I don’t even begin to understand. Seems Corky can get the stuff to the coast but isn’t worth crap when it comes to moving it inside the US.” Sonny looked at his watch and frowned. “We’d better wrap this up. I don’t want you being late for that appointment.” “Is this what it was like when you and Caroline…” “Naw. I was working a case and couldn’t make it. Scotty was running surveillance on some big-time pot smuggler out of the islands and we had to be on station.” “He didn’t offer to cover for you?” “No. Scotty’s all business.” “I gotta say I appreciate it, Sonny. Maria would kill me if I missed it.” “Trust me, pal, it’s purely selfish. I don’t wanna have to break in another Vice rookie.” Sonny grinned. “One is enough.” “I’ll try to get back before four. It shouldn’t take too long.” “Take as long as you need, Eddie. Now get going or you’ll be late. I’ll settle up here.” Sonny took another sip of his hot coffee. “Gonna get my dime’s worth out of the free refills. It beats that crap Gorman makes to hell and gone.” Sonny made it back to the office just after one, and found Lou waiting by his desk. “Good work on the reports, Crockett. You lose Rivera in the traffic on the way back?” “He had an errand to run, Lou. He’ll be back soon. I got the reports wrapped and we’ve got nothing pressing until the next meeting with that Fowler kid.” “And just when is that?” “Sometime in the next couple of days.” Sonny jerked his head toward the pager sitting on his desk. “He’s got my number and is gonna call. Something about him having to finish another deal. It’s hard to get anything straight out of the little bozo.” “I know the feeling.” Lou glared at him over the stub of his cigar. “How long is this going to take? And don’t tell me you don’t know.” “A few weeks probably. It took me two just to get Corky on tap, and half of that was cozying up to Leon. No one said this was easy, Lou.” “We’ve got three bodies now, Crockett. All somehow tied to this ghost you’re chasing. This Columbian. And we’re no closer now than we were three weeks ago.” Sonny slammed his hand on the desk. “Don’t you think I know that, Lou? Every day I wake up thinking I’m going to catch a break on this guy. Something more than those crap pictures we have. I’ve pushed my CIs as hard as I can without blowing my cover. I gotta nail this guy, but he’s always one step ahead of us!” “And why do you think that is?” “I don’t know! Maybe he’s just good. Or lucky.” Sonny didn’t mention the other option…one that had been growing in his mind over the last few weeks. Maybe there’s a leak in the department. “You and Eddie stay on it. But I want updates, Crockett! Not scribbled notes or late-night phone messages. Real updates!” “You got it, lieutenant.” But deep down Sonny wasn’t sure. He didn’t know how much he’d actually give the rest of the unit until he was sure there were no leaks. When Eddie got back his smile lit up the entire squad room. “She’s actually almost two months along, Sonny,” he said with a big grin. “Can you believe it? We’re gonna start converting the spare room this weekend.” “That’s great news, Eddie. You’re gonna love being a dad.” Sonny shook his head, remembering too late he’d said he might stop by to see Billy after work. No chance of that happening now. Not with Lou on the warpath and their case slipping sideways. And showing up late was worse than not showing up at all. He was about to say something else when the pager buzzed. “Well, well. Looks like Corky took the bait. I’ll give the little bozo a call and see if we can make us a deal.” Corky Fowler had a voice like a surf bum who’d hit his head three times too many. “I’ve been hearing good things about you, Burnett. Like really solid things.” “Wish I could say the same. But all I know is what Leon told me.” “Leon? Leon’s a drag, man. No sense of place, you know? He’s like go go go when sometimes you just gotta stay stay stay. You know?” Sonny had no idea but tried to keep his voice even. “All I know is he says you need a fast boat with deep pockets for some offshore business.” He looked across the desk at Eddie and mouthed ‘whacko’ over the phone mouthpiece. “Yeah, man. Like who doesn’t need a fast boat these days? Everything’s always moving, man.” A song kicked on in the background, and Sonny guessed he was calling from a bar. “Oh, wow! Journey! Turn it up, dude. Anyhow, like I said, always moving, man.” “All I need to know is where it’s moving and what my cut is.” “Sure, dude, sure. But I like to meet the guys who do my moving, dig? You know a place called Bomber’s?” “Yeah.” “Cool, man. Meet me there in an hour.” The buzz of the dial tone filled Sonny’s ear. “You’re actually going to meet with him?” “I don’t have much of a choice, Eddie. He’s our ticket in no matter what he does. He flakes out, I can say Leon owes me. He stays solid, I can use that to push for bigger deals through Leon. We come out ahead either way.” “Maybe.” Eddie shook his head. “I just don’t like you running down there alone.” “Who says I’ll be alone? Grab that Mustang from Impound and go stake the place out. Get there at least fifteen minutes before I do. You’ll be close if anything goes south.” Sonny shifted the heavy SIG in his shoulder holster. “And I’ve got seven good reasons for Corky to behave himself.” “What about other support? Switek and Zito?” “Bluto and Lee Harvey Oswald? No thanks. And don’t even mention Trudy and Gina. They’d start a riot in a place like Bomber’s. No, partner, this is on us.” He ginned and slapped Eddie on the shoulder. “Now get moving so you’re in position on time.” Bomber’s wasn’t anything to write home about. Just another would-be biker bar clinging to life on the edge of a Miami district that was itself slowly dying. Sonny parked the Daytona under one of the few working streetlights, more so Eddie could keep an eye on the car than to deter any thieves, and unbuttoned his baggy white blazer. In a place like Bomber’s he didn’t really need to hide the SIG. Pinball machines in the back clattered and clanged, competing with the TV over the bar for the most obnoxious noise in the place. Walking up to the bar, Sonny locked eyes with the bartender. “Black Jack. And where’s Corky?” The man jerked his head toward the far end of the bar as he poured the Jack Daniels. Sonny laid a ten on the bar. “Keep it,” he said and headed down. Corky’s grin was as obnoxious as his voice, showing too many teeth and accenting his heavy-lidded eyes. To Sonny he looked like a kid who’d sniffed too much glue before finding his dad’s stash of Penthouse magazines in the closet. He shifted his own face into boat-dude expression and nodded. “Bartender says you’re Corky. I’m Burnett.” The grin got wider. “Outstanding, dude! Outstanding! Pull up a stool and check out this guy schooling the pinball! He OWNS the KISS machine! Man, I can’t break ten grand on that damned thing.” Sonny gritted his teeth. This one’s gonna be a pain in my ass. No question. “That is a tough one. Me? I’d rather spend the time tuning my boat.” “Yeah, I hear you got one of the good ones. She as fast as they say?” “Faster. I like to hold something back for special occasions.” Corky’s laugh was worse than his voice and grin combined. “I like that! Special occasions! You’re a funny guy, Burnett. Last boat dude I worked with wasn’t. He was like some kinda Goddamned undertaker. Always so serious. But ya gotta look at the big picture with this stuff, man. You know the product we move is grown by farmers, dude? Little farmers out there in their fields workin’ with the dirt, dude. Like dirt. It’s so natural.” “Yeah, and then we bring it here and rich bozos snort their dirt right up their noses.” “You got that right, dude.” Corky gave the pinball machines a last lingering stare and then turned to Sonny. “Here’s the skinny, dude. I got one shipment already bought and paid for just waiting to come ashore. Done deal, but my original boat guy got busted with some stripped over in Daytona Beach and ain’t gonna make it. Leon says you can pinch hit.” “Yeah. Pick up and delivery anywhere between here and Lauderdale.” “Outstanding, dude!” Corky drained the last of the beer from his pitcher and waved for another. “Normally we’d be doing tequila shots, but that’s only for a deal in the works. This one’s done, so it’s Miller time.” “Gotcha.” Sonny waved for another drink and fired up a Lucky. It was going to be a long night. “See, the thing is I got this second stash. It’s lookin’ for a home.” “I might be able to line up a buyer for you, Corky.” Sonny decided to take a risk. “So long as the Columbian don’t mind outside buyers.” “Ah, the Columbian, dude! He don’t care so long as the money’s green.” Corky waved his hand, and Sonny sensed that conversation was over. “But we gotta finish the old deal first before we can talk new ones. And new ones means tequila.” It was after midnight before Sonny managed to untangle himself from Corky and escape into the cool night air. It had taken six hours to accomplish what could have been done in twenty minutes, and his stomach lurched at the thought of what doing a full deal with the little punk would be like. But if it got him closer to the Columbian… Looking across the street, he spotted the Mustang and gave a casual wave. His signal for Eddie to take off and meet him back at the office. They’d need to get some rough notes down before he could call it a night. The Vice squad room was dark when they arrived, lit only by the dim red glow from the coffee maker’s on light. Sonny clicked on his desk lamp and groaned when he saw the folded message form in the middle of his blotter. It was written in Switek’s familiar block letters. ‘Caroline called. She’s pissed. Really pissed. Didn’t want to write what she said.’ “Bad news?” “Naw, just Caroline pissed at me again. Switek didn’t want to write down what she really said, but it’s nothing I ain’t heard before.” “It’s not easy being a cop’s wife.” Eddie tossed his coat on his desk. “Maria and I talk about that sometimes. “And now that we’re expecting…” “It ain’t gonna get any easier.” Sonny rubbed his temples. “Trust me on that one, Eddie. Maria’s old man was a cop, wasn’t he?” He saw Eddie nod. “That means she knows part of the drill. That’s good. Caroline…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what she thought it would be. Hell, I think she’d rather see me selling cars with her brother. Bob or whatever his damned name is.” “Yeah. Once it gets in your blood it’s hard to stop.” “Don’t I know it, pal.” He shook his head. “Anyhow, I got a deal to close with Fowler. And yeah, he’s even more annoying in person. Simple pick up and drop in place of his usual guy who got busted. But he did mention a second stash that needed a buyer. One the Columbian has a finger in.” “You think it’s our way in?” “It sure as hell could be, partner.” Sonny crumpled the note and tossed it in the general direction of the trash can. “But since he’s managed to stay at least two steps ahead of us this whole time I think we should keep the thing under wraps until it’s about to go.” “You think the lieutenant’s gonna like that?” “No, but if we bring in the Columbian all will be forgiven.” Sonny flashed his winning ‘let’s make a deal’ smile. “If there’s a leak, this is the only way to head it off. And for a simple meet and greet we won’t need any backup.” “A meet?” “Yeah. My angle’s gonna be you’re a big-time guy from out West. Maybe California somewhere. Someplace Corky ain’t gonna have ties to, and also something that should interest the Columbian. I’ll say you want to meet with the guy behind the product, and if the deal’s big enough he’s sure to show.” “Seems kinda risky.” “It won’t all happen at once. First I gotta pull off this first drop. Then get Corky to bite on you as a buyer. Then we gotta let him set up something with the Columbian. It’ll take time. Maybe a couple of weeks. Longer if Corky talks as much with them as he did with me.” They were about to leave when Gina and Trudy came into the squad room, their high heels clicking on the tile floor. “What are you two hotshots still doing here?” Gina’s voice was heavy with fatigue, but her smile was genuine and teasing. “Just wanted to get a look at two hotties before we headed home.” Sonny grinned, but had to admit Gina did look good in her tight dress that left almost nothing to the imagination. “Long night on the street?” “You could say that.” She dropped her handbag on the desk, the heavy thud telling him her Smith & Wesson revolver had been keeping her company all night. “And still nothing on that pimp the lieutenant has us looking for.” Trudy shook her head. “You ask me it’s a wild goose chase. I’m gonna get out of this stuff, into my sweats, and go home and take a long bath. See you all in the morning.” She smiled. “Make that later this morning.” Gina giggled. “I’ll be out of here soon, too. I just want to get some of the report started.” Sonny nodded. “Yeah, I need to write down at least part of what that kid said before I block it as a bad memory. Say hello to Maria for me, Eddie.” “You got it, partner. See you later.” Sonny scribbled down the rough outline of what Corky had told him about the deal, but he kept looking over at Gina. He got the feeling she’d stayed behind for a reason, and but didn’t know if she knew exactly what that reason was. All he knew is the way she looked down at the pad she was taking notes on reminded him of Barbara back in high school when she’d taken notes in class. He’d turned back to his own notes when she finally spoke. “Stan said Caroline called earlier and that she was mad.” “Yeah. Nothing new there. I guess I forgot to call and tell her I wouldn’t be by to see Billy tonight.” He waved his hand to take in the clutter on his desk. “But with three active cases…” “Who’s got time?” She finished the sentence for him. “I get it.” “But she doesn’t.” He shook his head. “And it’s just gonna get worse now that it looks like I have a solid lead in one of those cases. But she still thinks I can be home for dinner every night at five.” He paused, looking off at something only he could see. “If we were still in the same house at least.” “That’s right. You’re separated.” There was something in her voice that gave him pause. But not a bad pause. Unless he’d been imagining things there was a soft invitation there. “Yeah. Soon to be divorced most likely.” He forced himself to chuckle. “Another cop marriage vanishing in life’s rear view mirror. And no, I didn’t come up with that one. I think it was Parks over in Robbery. He was on this third marriage when I was coming up there, and that’s how he explained the other two.” “Doesn’t that worry Eddie?” “Maria’s father was a cop, I think. Or someone in her family was. Don’t quite remember who. But she knows the drill.” “I never understood how Scotty managed.” “Easy. He changed sides. Jumped to the DEA with better pay and more predictable hours. That and Donna’s a saint.” He dropped his pencil with a sigh. “I’m gonna lock these notes up and get the hell out of here. If I’m lucky Elvis won’t have destroyed the foredeck of the Dance.” “You still have that walking handbag?” “Yeah. Can’t quite bring myself to cut loose of him. Anyhow, I’ll see you later, darlin’. Got a deal to close out as part of this case tomorrow or the next day, and then something tells me I’m gonna be trading shots of tequila with a little bozo into the wee hours of the morning.” He grinned. “Hell of a life we lead, ain’t it?”

Hey guys !!! Curious to see what your favorite music montage scene is.... Mine is the "Brothers in Arms" followed closely by "You Belong to the City." But right up there is one I feel gets looked over.....

thank you Robbie! A very good story and now we know where the Bren Ten came from -J

One another GREAT work from @Robbie C. ... Thanks pal

This hint had me thinking French Twist, but I see now it was about “the final twist” on a tight lid. I was also thinking your other clues were pointing to Schroeder/Reydolfo. Good one!

Glad you enjoyed it!

I love it @Robbie C.

The exhibit ended in 2019, but some of the photos can be seen here: https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-6365927/Enchanting-exhibition-looks-Florida-1980s-including-Mar-Lago-Trump.html https://www.sun-sentinel.com/entertainment/events/sf-florida-peculiar-paradise-historymiami-museum-20181107-story.html Two short videos here: https://www.historymiami.org/exhibition/a-peculiar-paradise-florida-photographs-by-nathan-benn/

I always lol when Sonny's bullets match the beat of the song