Vengeance is Mine

[Robbie C.]

“Do you think this will work?” The man spoke without moving his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the fishing line dangling over the canal bridge.

“Of course it will. He's a trusting fool.”

“But he's a cop.”

“So what? They're as stupid as everyone else. You just have to find their weak spots.”

“You seem very sure of yourself.”

“My job is to be sure. Yours is to do what I tell you. I thought the colonel made that clear.”

“Of course.” The man nodded, fighting to hide his resentment at having to take orders from one so young.

“Good. I need to get going. Make sure you're ready when the time comes.”

Again he nodded, not looking at the other person. It wasn't natural, him taking orders from someone who was both younger and female. But he was a good solider. That was why the colonel trusted him. And there was no need for her to know the other part of his orders. That was also why the colonel trusted him. And why he trusted the other.

 

“Damn!” The single word shattered the silence in the white Ferrari. “Why can't these fools ever meet in the shade? Or some nice, air-conditioned bar?”

Detective James “Sonny” Crockett made a dry sound that passed for a chuckle. “Why, Rico. How else would they work on their tans?”

Ricardo Tubbs snorted. “It's fine for you cracker fools. But sweat stains my suits. I lose a week's take home on dry cleaning alone.”

“Ya gotta go with the flow, Rico.” Crockett smiled, then let the expression die on his face. “Go with the flow,” he repeated softly, remembering he'd said the same thing to his murdered wife only two weeks before Hackman gunned her down. Hackman. Bastard's dead now. One good .45 took care of that. Should have done it sooner. He played me for a fool.

Tubbs nodded. “Sure. But that flow doesn't have to be my sweat.” He turned, looking his partner in the eyes. “You sure you're ok, Sonny?”

“Yeah.” The word came out short, and Crockett sighed. “I didn't mean it like that, Rico. I'm fine. Really. I just need to get back to work. Get my head back in the game.”

“I understand, partner.” Tubbs squeezed Crockett's shoulder, then turned his attention back to watching the knot of Hispanic males Switek said were setting up a twenty kilo deal.

Slipping on his Ray-Bans, Crockett tried to watch the group, even though he'd gotten Stan to admit before the arrest briefing his source was actually Izzy and the deal might be nothing more than street hot air. Izzy was wrong more than he was right, but when the Cuban hustler was right it was usually a big bust. So they'd put their time in and see where this led.

It was easy to pick out the players, even through the shimmering heat waves rising off the baking pavement. The muscle on both sides hung back, wearing unseasonable jackets and keeping a hand close to whatever hardware they favored. The players stood in the center of the circle of men, alternately talking with their heads close together and then one or the other making a show of waving his arms and starting to turn, pretending to walk away in order to squeeze a better deal. Both Crockett and Tubbs had played the same game enough times to know every move, and the longer Crockett watched the more the disgust welled in his gut.

“Amateurs.” The single word sounded like a curse. “Just do the damned deal already.”

The steady voice of Martin Castillo came through his earpiece. “Hold positions. Don't take them until the drugs change hands.”

“Man's got style.” Tubbs smiled, having heard the same words. “He must sweat ice.”

“Yeah. If he sweats at all.” Crockett kept his eyes fixed on the shorter of the two arguing men. According to Izzy the short one had the money. The bigger one had the drugs. There was always the chance this was a rip off, and from years of experience Crockett knew it would come once the other group had verified the money was actually there.

“Who is this chump?”

“According to Switek he's Manny Ortega. A small time dealer looking to move up in the world. The man with the money is Antonio Vargas. Usually brokers mid-size deals for a number of other players. I don't know who he's representing this time out, but he's done deals for both the Boroscos and the Hermanos brothers before.”

“And how did Izzy find out about it?”

Crockett laughed. “Switek said Izzy claims he overhead the deal going down when he was trying to sell Ortega a new pair of shoes. My guess is he heard one of Ortega's guns running his mouth and decided to turn a quick buck.” It was the same old Miami story, playing out again in front of the Ferrari's windshield. And no matter how hard he tried, Crockett kept seeing Caitlin's face and the light fading from her eyes after Hackman shot her. He blinked, driving the image to the back of his mind, and forced himself to focus on the deal.

Even without audio, Crockett could tell things seemed to be going Ortega's way. The short man made an expansive gesture toward a briefcase one of his gunmen was holding like a serving tray, sunlight glinting off a gold tooth as he spoke. Vargas said something in reply, and Ortega threw his head back and laughed. Then his head exploded in a spray of red and gray.

“What the...” Crockett reacted without thinking, cranking the Ferrari's engine and slamming the car into gear. Gravel flew as the white Testarosa accelerated out of its hiding place.

Castillo's voice came over the radio, tone unchanged. “All units move in. SWAT, there's a sniper in play. Cover your sectors.”

“Who rips off a low-level dealer with a sniper?” Tubbs braced himself as Crockett threw the car into a tight turn and accelerated toward the scattering gunmen. His stubby pump Mossberg sat ready in his hands.

“I don't know, Rico. But Vargas is going to tell us.” Peering through the dust, Crockett picked out the dealer's bright red shirt. “You get him with the door. Ain't no way he's outrunning these ponies.” The engine whined as he worked the clutch and shifted. “And there he is.”

“Bam!” Tubbs shifted his shotgun to his left hand and opened the passenger door.

As soon as Crockett heard the thud he slammed on the breaks, cranking the wheel so the Ferrari's back end spun left. Over the squeal of rubber he heard Tubbs yelling “Freeze, chump! Miami Vice!” Then he was out his own door, big Smith & Wesson 645-1 in hand and adding his voice to the chorus. “Freeze! Don't even blink, pal! Miami Vice!” Across the hood of the car he could see Vargas climbing to his feet, dust covering his shirt and blood dripping red from his hands where they'd scraped the pavement.

 

“I'm telling you I don't know who did Ortega!” The stark white of the interrogation room contrasted with Vargas' red shirt and the dried blood crusting on his hands and arms. “It wasn't me!”

“Come on, pal. We read ahead.” Crockett planted his palms on the table and leaned forward. “You're strictly small time. When Ortega showed up with a suitcase of blow, you decided to get something for nothing. We didn't find your boy with the rifle, but we will.”

Tubbs grinned. “What my partner's trying to say is we know you planned a rip off. Ortega had no one behind him, so if you kill him you show the Hermanos you mean business.”

“No!” Vargas had a narrow, pinched face that reminded Crockett of a crow, except his nose wasn't long enough to be a beak. “I'm telling you it ain't like that! This was a good faith deal. A little taste that might lead to something bigger.”

“Come on, Tony. Manny Ortega was small time. Smaller than you, if that's possible.” Crockett laughed, but the gears in his head started turning. What if Vargas is telling the truth? Who else would want to hit a punk like Ortega?“No way he was on to something bigger.”

Vargas looked up, his eyes wild. “Shows how much you cops know. Ortega wassmall time, but he said he had a line on a new supplier. Some guy with a once-in-a-lifetime stash. Said he was looking to unload the whole shipment, but wanted to see if I could handle the load. Me? I wanted to see if the stuff was as good as Manny said it was. So we did this little deal. Everything's good until Manny's head explodes and your partner hits me with a car door. I should sue.”

“Be glad it wasn't your head that exploded, pal.”

Crockett was about to continue when the door opened and a uniform stuck his head in. “Detective? The lieutenant wants a word.”

“Be right there. Rico, keep our new friend company.” Crockett pushed himself out of the chair, spinning it so Tubbs could sit with his arms resting on the back. He knew his partner preferred that position when dealing with a suspect.

It was dark in the room on the other side of the one-way window looking into OCB's main interrogation room. Castillo stood there with his arms crossed, his hawkish profile outlined by light from the room where Tubbs continued bantering with Vargas. Crockett shut the door and nodded. “Rico's got him talking some more.”

“We heard back from the lab. That cocaine is 99% pure. Almost pharmaceutical grade. No one's stepped on it.”

“So you think Vargas is telling the truth about this shipment?”

“Possibly.” Castillo pinched the bridge of his nose with his long fingers. “I don't think he had anything to do with Ortega's murder. It's not his style.”

“I think you're right. Tony's more a knife in the ribs kind of guy. A sniper's too sophisticated for him.” Crockett shook his head. “But if it's not him, then who?”

“Start with Ortega. What do we know about him?”

“Not much. Small timer. Izzy tipped Stan off about the deal, so we'll start with that little weasel.”

“Ortega's jacket is thin. He's been arrested seven times, mostly for small deals. Nothing approaching trafficking, at least before this.” Castillo turned to face Crockett. “There were five kilos of cocaine in that suitcase. I want to know how a small time dealer who's never moved more than a few ounces suddenly has five kilos of high-grade cocaine.”

“Did they get a line on the shooter?”

“No.” Castillo sighed. “There were too many positions the shot could have come from, and the shooter was careful. No shell casings. Forensics thinks it was military, though. 7.62 NATO. And SWAT's lead marksman thinks the shot came from at least 300 yards out. They had containment out to 200, and the shot came from outside their ring. They'll do some checking, but for now it's a dead end.”

Crockett nodded, looking through the glass and watching Rico jump to his feet and lean in on a sweating Vargas. He could almost hear his partner launching into his 'you want to someone's cell date for ten years, chump?' routine. “You want us to keep working on Vargas?”

“No.” Castillo turned away from the window. “Work Ortega. I'll have Switek and Gina keep at Vargas. Someone wanted Ortega dead, and I want to know who and why.”

“You got it, lieutenant.” Crockett forced a grin before heading back to the interrogation room. “Come on, Rico. We've got important things to do. The lieutenant wants Tony here to meet a new friend. Good old Boogaloo Jones has a vacancy in his cell again.”

 

“Did you see the sweat rolling off that chump?” Rico shook his head as Crockett eased the Ferrari into gear and pulled out of the OCB parking lot. “He was ready to give me his mother's phone number. And his sister's as a bonus.”

“Yeah, but the lieutenant thinks the key is Ortega. Hell, maybe he's right. Someone might have set Vargas up with that money to get Ortega into the open. That coke is just too damned pure. I don't blame him for wanting to find it.” Crockett eyed the traffic through his Ray-Bans and sent the white Testarosa surging into an opening, the exhaust growling as he accelerated.

“Yeah. How does a two-bit street clown get his hands on 99% pure flake?”

“Speaking of two-bit, how does Izzy get a line on a deal like that? I think we need to pay a visit to Cuba's little gift to Miami's social scene.”

“Man, do we have to? Last time we ran down that little punk he had those damned dogs with him. Mutts almost pissed on my shoes.”

Crockett laughed, his first real laugh in what felt like days. “I'll let you shoot them, Rico. But last I heard his uncle took the greyhounds away after the little weasel tried to sell one of them. Izzy's back to peddling counterfeit Gucci shoes.” He forced himself to focus on driving, and even was looking forward to dealing with Izzy Moreno again. Anything to keep his mind on the job and off Caitlin. There's never enough time. Damn it. We never had enough time.

“Earth to Sonny. You reading me, partner?”

“Sorry, Rico. I was thinking about Ortega.”

Tubbs shook his head. “You're allowed, man. Caitlin was a special lady. No doubt about it.”

“Hell. Sorry, Tubbs. Yeah, I was thinking about her. What did you ask?”

“Did the lieutenant say anything about the shooter?”

“Not much. Sounds like he's got SWAT looking into it, although there was something...” Crockett let his voice fade, forcing his mind to go back over the conversation in the observation room. “There was something,” he repeated, trying to convince himself otherwise and failing. “It was like the lieutenant didn't expect them to find anything. Like he knew something they didn't.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. But Marty had that look about him.”

“The one where he's chasing ghosts?”

“That's the one, partner.”

“This day just goes from bad to worse. Castillo's ghosts are always nightmares.” Tubbs grimaced. “And we still haven't talked to that chump Moreno.”

“Just think of him as local color on the tour, Rico. Sometimes it helps.”

 

A small crowd gathered outside the veranda of the Tropical Hotel, some sitting in rusty chairs on the cracked concrete pad while others leaned against a metal picket fence that still clung to scattered chips of pink paint. Not one was under the age of sixty, and their loud floral shirts and baggy sundresses contrasted with bald heads and white and blue permed hair. Most mornings they gathered to talk about grandchildren or play cards, but today they were watching the Izzy Moreno show.

Izzy turned with a flourish, his thin frame hidden under a tuxedo that might once have been white but was now a dingy shade of ivory tinged with pink. In one hand he held a shoe. His dark eyes glittered and the sun flashed on his white teeth as he spoke. “As ju can see,” he said, his voice cracking partway through the last word, “these choos are hand-crafted of the finest Italian leather. From pure-blood bulls from the streets of Pamplona. Richard Grere wore them in The American Yigalo. An' ju know Gucci means luxury in Italian. These mold to jur feet like a glove.” He ran his long fingers along the side of the shoe, careful not to smear the paint he'd applied earlier. “Like a glove,” he repeated, raising the shoe higher and pivoting so the whole crowd could see.

“Bravo.” Crockett clapped slowly, stepping away from the Ferrari.

“Yeah. Sign me up.” Tubbs slammed the car door and buttoned his dark suit coat. “Is this part of that shipment you got from Belize, Izzy?”

“Wait a minute! You said they was from I-taly.” One of the old men who'd been looking at the shoe stepped back. “What's this other place?”

“It's a small town on the Italian coast. Famous for footwear.” Izzy brought the shoe down and shot a quick glare at Tubbs. “Now if ju good people will excuse me for a moment I need to talk with these fine gentlemen.” Turning, he darted over to the two. “What are ju trying to do, man? I almost have a sale.”

Crockett laughed. “Cut the small talk, Izzy. You can scam old-timers any day. Although I suspect you didn't clear this business deal with your parole officer.”

“What do ju want, Crockett?” Izzy shook his head, sweat beading on his high forehead. “This is legitimate business.”

“Sure it is, chump. Just like your photography studio. And your interior decorating business. And...”

Izzy raised his hands. “I unnerstand, Tubbs. But since my uncle takes away the dogs I have to make a living somehow.”

“We want to know about Ortega, Izzy.”

“Oh, I heard about that. Very messy.”

“Yeah. The question is why. Who'd want to hit Ortega like that?” Crockett leaned closer to Izzy, getting a nose-full of the informant's cheap cologne. “And how did you hear about the deal?”

“Ju know I move in rare circles, Crockett.” Izzy flinched as Tubbs moved toward him. “Ok! I heard one of his men bragging about it at a club. Ju know. Bomber's. I was talking to the bartender about an investment opportunity an' I heard him bragging about a big score. He says his boss got a deal on some pure flake an' they were moving up in the world. So I called Switek.”

“And not us?”

“Come on, Crockett. Ju know I owe Switek. It's nothing personal.”

“Just like it's nothing personal when I call your parole officer. Where did Ortega get this stash?”

“The man didn't say. Just that his boss had scored big.”

“Find out. At least one of Ortega's men got away. I want to know where that coke came from, Izzy. Find out, or your parole officer finds out where those shoes came from.”

“Ok! Jeeze, man. I'd do it for you guys anyhow. You know that.”

“Just do it, Moreno.” Tubbs jabbed a finger in Izzy's direction. “It's too damned hot to listen to you anymore.”

Back in the Ferrari Tubbs leaned back in the bucket seat. “Do you think that chump actually knows anything?”

“Hard to tell with Moreno.” Crockett rubbed his eyes, thinking back over the years of dealings they'd had with the Cuban refugee turned con-man. “I think he knows more than he's admitting, but I don't know how much use it would be. But if he's scared, he'll dig deeper.”

“Unless he's more afraid of them than he is of us.”

“You got that right, partner. But that tells us something, too.” Crockett eased the Ferrari into the stream of traffic. “And it might be time for Burnett and Cooper to start trolling.”

“I dig. The rich cat from New York with a briefcase of cash looking for a home and the transport man ready with a fast boat.”

“You got it, man. If someone's looking to unload that coke in a hurry, they'll need a ready buyer. And if it was just a trap for Ortega...”

“No one will take the bait.” Tubbs laughed. “Let's start at the Overton. At least then I won't sweat through this suit.”

 

The Overton was one of a dozen high-end clubs that had popped up across Miami in the wake of the cocaine boom. To Crockett they all looked more or less the same: girls in low-cut transparent dresses serving overpriced drinks, lights turned down low enough to allow the patrons to scan any newcomers for the telltale cop look, and booming dance music blasted through a sound system costing more than his Ferrari had new. Usually the only real difference was in the color of the neon lights accenting the bar and the sleaziness of the patrons. The Overton favored pink and blue lights and the clientele tended to be on the rise.

Tubbs went in first, squinting before he opened the heavy glass door to force his eyes to adjust to the gloom inside. Crockett just left his sunglasses on, in keeping with the persona he'd developed over the years for his cover as Sonny Burnett. Some days he envied his partner's ability to flex 'Rico Cooper' from New York hustler to Caribbean 'investor,' but he'd grown comfortable with Burnett. Maybe too comfortable, as his ex-wife Caroline was fond of pointing out.

Tubbs spotted him first. “Isn't that our old compadre Eddie Flores over in the back?”

Crockett squinted through the gloom, making out a skinny Latino surrounded by three of the Overton's girls at one of the semi-circle booths toward the back. “Looks like. And I'd say he's come into some money. Only way girls hang out with Eddie is if he pays them. Think we should go say hi?”

“Of course, mon.” Tubbs chuckled. “I'm sure he's dying to see his old friends Cooper and Burnett.”

Eddie Flores was a two-bit dealer looking to move up to four bits. Normally the Overton was out of his league, but today he looked to be celebrating. An empty champagne bottle sat cockeyed in a silver ice bucket, and glasses covered the table. Eddie's white shirt was unbuttoned almost to his waist, and two gold chains glittered from a forest of sweaty chest hair. He had an arm around one girl and clutched a glass of what looked to be whiskey with his free hand. He looked up as he sensed the two men approaching, and his eyes strained to focus. Crockett could almost hear the gears in the man's brain chattering as he tried to put names with faces. Then it clicked. “Ricardo! Sonny! Sit! Have a drink! Shit, have a girl! I didn't know you two was back in town!”

Tubbs smiled at one of the girls, a slender brunette with an Asian cast to her eyes and sleek hair. “Could you get me a drink? A martini, I think.”

Crockett slipped easily into Burnett. “Black Jack for me, darlin'. On the rocks.”

“Always with the Jack Daniel's, Sonny! Live a little, man! It's on me.”

“What's the occasion, mon?” Tubbs slid into the seat across from Eddie, leaving Crockett to take one with a good view of both the dealer and the door. “Last I heard you were scrambling to post bond for that little mishap in the Everglades.”

“Old news, Ricardo. Old news.” Eddie waved his hand, knocking over an empty champagne glass. “My lawyer, she's got a brain to go with her nice rack. She got the whole thing dropped on a frickin' techni...technicolor...” His eyes narrowed as he groped for the word.

“Technicality, Eddie,” Crockett finished the sentence in Burnett's best bored tone. “A dealer's best friend. And I'm sure your lawyer's got a great rack. You probably paid for it.”

“No, man. Hers are real.” Eddie shook his head. “Anyhow, that's not important. What's important is celebrating.” He turned to Tubbs, his tone changing in an instant. “Ricardo, my man. You still have those Yonkers connections?”

“The Bronx, Eddie. And yeah, I do. But they only get interested in big numbers.”

“Then get them on speed dial, my man.” The girl standing next to Eddie winced as he slapped her on the ass. “Because I've got some big numbers for them.”

Crockett took his drink from the returning girl with a nod and sipped the bourbon, feeling it burn its familiar path down his throat. “Thanks, darlin'. Maybe you should keep the bartender company for a bit.”

Eddie laughed. “Always thinking, Burnett. I like it.” He smacked his girl again. “You head down there, too. I'll wave if we need more drinks.”

“Thinking's how I stay ahead of the heat.” Crockett took another sip and decided to press a bit. “Speaking of which, I heard some heat caught up with Manny Ortega this morning. Or at least it caught up with his head.”

Eddie laughed again. He had a cackle Crockett always wanted to stop with a .45. “I heard that, too. Good news travels fast in our world, don't it? Ortega was yesterday's news and didn't know it. We're tomorrow's news, my friends.”

“You said something about big numbers.” Tubbs leaned in, and Crockett winked at his partner's attempt to get the conversation back on track. “My resources might be unlimited, but my time isn't.”

“Always business, Ricardo. I always liked that about you. How does 99% pure sound for a start?”

“Like a pipe dream. No one has marching dust that pure in this town.”

“Until now, my friend. Until now. You're looking at the man who does.”

“Bullshit.” Crockett knocked back his drink and waved for another. “How does a nickle-and-dime dealer like you get that kind of blow?”

“Maybe I'm moving up in the world, Burnett.”

“That's still one number, Eddie. I want more. Keep talking or my Guccis start walking.”

“How does thirty five strike you? As in 35 kilos.”

“Does that include the five that Ortega had in his little case? My sources down at Metro Dade say that was what the chump was peddling when someone air-conditioned his penthouse suite.”

“Air-conditioned...” Eddie let out a sharp bark of laughter and slammed his palm on the table hard enough to make the glasses jump. “I like that, Ricardo. Air-conditioned his penthouse suite,” he repeated, laughing again. “I gotta remember that.”

“Answer the question, Eddie,” Crocket said, leaning in and fixing the dealer with his best Burnett glare. “Yes or no?”

“No. I didn't even know Ortega had five k's on him when he got hit, I mean had his penthouse suite air-conditioned.”

Now Crockett's eyes narrowed in concentration. “So you've got 35 kilos of prime marching dust? Pharmaceutical grade? Just sitting around?”

“Not sitting around. Ready to move. And move fast. I know you can move that much weight, Burnett. The question is can Cooper here meet my asking price?”

While Tubbs bantered back and forth with Eddie Flores, Crockett let his mind process what they'd heard. Eddie seemed genuinely surprised about Ortega having five kilos. Coke that pure didn't just fall from the sky, either. If the same person who sold Ortega his five had brokered thirty-five to Eddie, how much was actually in play? And of equal interest, why Eddie? Flores was a bigger fish than Ortega, but not by much. Not 35 kilos worth of bigger fish. Something didn't quite add up.

When he tuned back in on the conversation, Tubbs was making his move. “This is such short notice, Eddie. Thirty-five a key isn't reasonable, mon. Especially for a one-time deal. Now if you could get more of this quality, I'd consider it.”

“This is a one-time stash, Ricardo. And for blow this good, it's a steal at 35 per.”

“How hot is the stash? I don't care to get hit over someone else's bad karma.”

“It's ice cold, my man. Ice cold.” Eddie grinned and knocked back his drink. “Just like the cubes in this glass.”

Crockett leaned in, taking his cue from Tubbs. “If it's so cold, why did Ortega catch a bullet when he had five keys of the same stuff?”

“Lots of people didn't like Ortega, Burnett. You know that. He had a bad habit of showing up with cut merch and claiming it hadn't been stepped on. I heard he tried that with some Columbians a week or so back. Maybe it finally caught up with him.”

“I don't know, Eddie. Seems too damned coincidental to me. And Mr. Cooper doesn't like coincidences any more than I do.”

“Less.” Tubbs' voice was flat and cold. “I'm not convinced, mon. I'll give you twenty-five a key. Not a penny more.”

Crockett watched the dealer's body language as Eddie came back with another offer. He's not sweating enough, even for a lying weasel like he is. He knows somethingabout this stash.Leaning back in his chair, Crockett cast a glance over the rest of the club, admiring the girls in their tight dresses. It was more reflex than heartfelt, though; every other girl did something that reminded him of Caitlin. A random gesture. The color of her hair. Something.

Even with that, he noticed the girl the second she came in. Taller than most of the others, with legs that seemed to end just below her shoulders. But it was her hair that caught his eye first. It was a delicate shade of auburn, reminding him of autumn leaves in Vermont or some other ritzy enclave in New England. Like most redheads her skin was pale, the color of ivory statues, and she brought it out with accents of red on her high cheekbones. Her short dress was made of light blue silk, and it clung to her body like the morning fog. The thought of morning fog chased up an old memory, and Crockett shook his head to send it back to the darker corners of his mind.

Tubbs noticed the slight motion and followed his partner's gaze. “Nice,” he muttered, ignoring Eddie.

“Hey! We're talking business here!” Eddie downed his drink in a quick gulp and waved for another. “Pussy can wait.”

“No, Eddie. You're talking shit.” Crockett took another sip of his Jack, watching the redhead almost glide to the bar. There was something familiar about her, and he struggled to place it. It was in the lines of her face. Her cheekbones. And that hair.

Tubbs nodded, but remained focused on the deal. “I don't like taking on heat that rightly belongs with someone else. And you need someone who can move it out of Florida, so that tells me it's hot. That means we're talking discount on your end, mon.”

Crockett nodded, but his brain continued to race. The hair... Then he had it. She looked toward the table, and he saw her eyes light up in recognition. Shit! “I'll be right back. You girls see what you can work out. But remember, Eddie, I like my boat. I'm not risking it on a hot load unless there's a good payoff for me and Mr. Cooper here.” Without another word he pushed himself up and headed for the bar.

He was almost to the girl when he came up with her full name. “Pardon me, but isn't your name Angel Conner?”

She nodded, her bright blue eyes glittering in the dim light. “You're Sonny, aren't you? Sonny...”

He held up his hand. “Yeah. I'm Sonny, darlin'. Let's not worry about last names right now. Can we sit down and talk?”

They found a table near the back of the place, and Crockett made sure she was comfortable before making his first excuse. “Let me go tell those two I'll catch up with them. I'll be right back.”

The second excuse was harder. “I'll let you work out the details with Cooper, Eddie. He's the one who pays my shipping fee in any case. I've got some old business to take care of, and it won't wait. Cooper, you know how to reach me. Let me know the time and place if you get things sorted out.”

Tubbs nodded, but Crockett could see the confusion and an accusation lurking in his eyes. “I'll do that, mon. This chump needs to start dealing, though, or me and my money are out of here.”

Angel was still sitting in the gloom when Crockett made his way back. “I remember now. Sonny Crockett. You were a friend of my father's. I met you...”

“When you were ten years old.” Crockett finished for her, knocking back his drink in one swallow and waving for another. “At least that was the last time I saw you.”

“You came to dad's funeral.” Her voice was flat, but he could see tears glittering in the corners of her eyes. “Mom liked that, you know, Mr. Crockett.”

“Just call me Sonny.” Crockett blinked, taking his Jack from the waitress and barely tasting the sharp bourbon. He was having a hard time thinking of this beautiful woman as the daughter of David Conner.David...he died in my arms in that damned LZ in Cambodia. Why the hell did he volunteer us both for that combat assault? We were MPs, for Christ's sake. Not grunts.“I meant to call...”

“It's ok, Sonny.” She smiled, showing white teeth and bringing light into those clear blue eyes. “We didn't expect you to. Mom married again a few years later.”

“Good.”

“Not really. He's an asshole.” Her smile faded a bit. “But they live in Saratoga now.”

“And you're in Miami?”

“Yes.” She leaned forward, and Crockett tried not to look down the low front of her dress. The gangly ten year old he remembered from the funeral had grown into a stunningly beautiful woman. And one who didn't believe in wearing bras with dresses. He could see her high, firm breasts crowned with pale pink nipples, and noticed that she didn't seem to care. “For now, anyhow.”

“Do you have a job?”

“Of course, silly.” She laughed, and he could almost see the little girl again. Until the fabric of her dress rubbed across those nipples, bringing them to sharp points. “I graduated from the University of Miami with a marketing degree.”

While she was talking about her job prospects, Crockett tore his gaze away from her dress and snuck a look toward Tubbs and Eddie. The two men were shaking hands, and Tubbs inclined his head when he managed to catch Crockett's attention. Looks like the deal's going down.Crockett shook his head slightly before turning back to Angel. “I hate to do this, but I have to get back to work. My partner over there doesn't like to be kept waiting. Can I call you later?”

“I'd like that.” She smiled again, reaching into her small clutch and giving him another look down the low front of her dress. “Here's my card. The second number's my apartment. I get off work at five most days.”

 

The sun dazzled Sonny Crockett as he stepped out of the club and onto the baking concrete sidewalk. Reflexively he pulled out his Ray-Bans and slid into Burnett mode. Shades in place, he spotted Tubbs standing in the shade near the Ferrari. “You get a date with our friend Eddie?”

“Yeah, mon. He was hot and ready once he thought me cash be walkin' away.” Tubbs chuckled, sliding into the passenger seat. “I could have used a catcher for my pitches, though.”

The Ferrari's engine caught with a sharp roar. “Nothing like that, Tubbs. The girl's someone I...I used to know. Daughter of a friend of mine from Nam. She doesn't know me as Burnett, and I wanted to head her off before she called me Crockett.”

“Damn. And here I told Eddie it was an old girlfriend.”

“Good to know.” Crockett eased the sleek white car into traffic, imagining he could feel the weight of the card in his jacket pocket. In his mind it grew into the weight of David Conner, dragging him down into the soft Cambodian dirt. His blood was warm on Crockett's exposed arms. On his hands. The whip-crack of AK rounds snapping overhead...

“Sonny!”

Crockett snapped out of the dream, wrenching the wheel and just missing a battered Pontiac full of blue-haired old women. Heart pounding, he pulled to the curb and slammed the Ferrari into neutral. Fighting to force the heavy, humid air into his lungs.

“You damned near killed us, partner!” Tubbs' own breathing was ragged, and Crockett could see the lingering traces of fear in his eyes.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry? That's it?”

“Look, Rico...” Crockett let his voice trail off and then shut off the car. Something in his head snapped, and he started talking again. His voice was flat. “The girl's name is Angel. Her father was David Conner, another MP in my unit. The 4^thID was going into Cambodia and some of the grunt units were short people. David, Robbie and I volunteered to go along, 'cause we had buddies in one of the companies that was short bodies. The LZ was hot. Birds got shot down, grunts hit. David...well, you had to know him. Crazy bastard. Anyhow, he thought he saw NVA in the trees and was trying to put fire on them. He got hit, and I ran out and dragged him to cover. He...he died in my arms. Medic couldn't do a thing. He was shot up too bad. My CO detailed me to escort his body home, and I met Angel at the funeral. She was ten.”

“I'm...sorry, Sonny. I didn't know.”

“No reason for you to know. Nam's not exactly my main dinner conversation.”

“Sounds like it was a hell of a fight.”

“It was a shit show. Robbie got hit in the same ambush. He said I got him to cover, but I honestly don't remember much past David. Our division hadn't been in heavy contact for months before that. Some of the line companies were seriously flakey. I'd gone out a time or two with K-9 details, but nothing serious. Not like that.” Crockett shook his head, fighting to both block and sort out memories he'd been avoiding for years. “Not like that,” he repeated in close to a whisper. He started the Ferrari and pulled out into the swirling Miami traffic.

“If you don't want to talk...”

“No. Better I did. You were right about that back with Evan. Anyhow, damned Army hung a medal on me for running into the LZ after him. I always figured it should have gone to him. He was the one out in the open.”

“Medals never go to the right cat, Sonny. My brother always hated his. Said his partner should've gotten it. But the captain didn't like his partner, so Raphael got the decoration.” Tubbs chuckled as he turned to look out the Ferrari window. “Glad I never had to worry about that shit.”

“You got that right.” Crockett slammed the Ferrari's transmission down through the gears and swerved around a doddering station wagon. “Still...it's a shock seeing her again.”

“It never helps when they're hot, partner.”

“No. It does not.” With effort he forced his mind away from Cambodia, and the view down the front of Angel's dress. “What do we tell the lieutenant about Eddie?”

“He's ready to deal. And he's scared. Behind that front, Eddie's scared of something. I can feel it.”

“Yeah. He was damned cagey about dealing, though. And he wasn't sweating enough.”

“And even worse about where the stash came from. Couldn't even get a hint about that. Just that he wanted to move it fast if my money was right.”

 

Castillo sat with his chair placed exactly on the center of his gray metal desk. Crockett could count the number of times that hadn't been the case on one hand, and none of those times had been good. He listened without speaking to Tubbs and Crockett, then let the silence hang in the air until it almost became a physical thing. Finally he looked up, not raising his head. “And you think this is a good deal?”

“As good as we're going to get, lieutenant.” Tubbs tried to put feeling into his voice. “Eddie's on edge and knows more than he's telling. But if we want to get that dope before it hits the street this is our best chance.”

“Crockett?”

“Tubbs is right. Eddie's a jumped-up little shit on the best days, but somehow this stash ended up in his lap and it's making him pants-wetting nervous. Seems like it's our civic duty to put his mind at ease. But I can't shake the feeling he knows something else about it.” He smiled, wishing he felt as confident as his voice sounded. “Any word on that shooter?”

“No.” The single word was clipped, even for Castillo. “SWAT is sure now it came from at least four hundred yards out. The lab confirms a 7.62 NATO slug was used.”

Crockett whistled. “Four hundred's a hell of a shot.”

“Not for some.” Castillo looked back down at the papers on his desk. “And the head shot. It's...familiar. I'm looking into it. Stay on Eddie. The buy money will be ready for pickup by the end of the day.”

 

Back in the squad room, Tubbs turned to Crockett. “The lieutenant's on edge. Worse than Eddie.”

“Yeah. There's something about this shooter that has him worried.”

 

As soon as the office door clicked shut, Lieutenant Martin Castillo pinched the bridge of his nose with the long fingers of his right hand. It was a gesture of frustration; one he didn't like making in front of his two best detectives. Crockett in particular would understand the meaning and start asking questions Castillo didn't want to answer. Not yet, at least.

Looking around his plain, Spartan-cop functional office, Castillo imagined he could hear the helicopters again. Feel the thick Delta humidity wrapping itself around him like a wet woolen blanket. He'd been a Company man back then, not moving to the DEA until it formed in the early 1970s. After Thailand and Laos they'd moved him back to South Vietnam, moving between Saigon and the Delta region with Project Phoenix. Not part of Phoenix, though. They hadn't trusted him enough after Laos to let him in that deep. But they couldn't ignore his years of blood-bought experience, so they kept him on a leash as a sort of free-lance advisor and trouble shooter. He'd work with the Saigon police on a case or two and then chopper out to the Delta for a week of chasing Viet Cong ghosts in the swamps near Cambodia.

Years of ingrained discipline kept Castillo from pounding his fist on the desk. Project Phoenix had been very active in the Delta, a mix of settling old scores and taking out VC agents with lethal precision. The balance between old scores and agents depended entirely on the personality of the team and its Company leaders/advisors. He'd stand in a hotel shower for what felt like hours after flying back to Saigon, trying to rinse and scrub the imaginary blood from his skin. Especially if he'd been working with one of the teams in the 9^thInfantry Division's Area of Operations. Driven by commanders obsessed with the body count as a measure of success, the 9^thhad quickly become a killing machine, chewing through villages and spitting out bodies with only a handful of broken weapons. It was a blood fever in the Delta, one that ate through men's skin and into their very souls.

Some of the men from the 9^thhad come over to the Company, either on detached service or as contractors once their enlistments ended. The snipers were especially recruited. Castillo looked down at his hand, lip curling when he saw a slight tremor in his thumb and index finger. He remembered one man in particular; a rail-thin boy with reddish hair and flat china blue eyes who sat near the back in any PRU briefing session and never seemed to speak. Even the PRUs – tough former VC, convicts, thugs, and other assorted nasty customers – gave the skinny man his space. Intrigued, Castillo asked a few discrete questions and quickly learned more than he wanted about the shooter.

Rick McMaster had been a sergeant in one of the infantry battalions of the 9^th, and one of the division's top snipers. He'd also been broken down to private and investigated twice for allegedly shooting farmers in the stomach and watching them die in the paddies. But he'd made his name making 800 yard headshots on VC couriers and cadre, so division command made the charges disappear. Still, he'd been shuffled to the rear and was languishing in a supply camp when he was 'spotted' by a Company headhunter. Within a week he was back in the field, on detached service with the PRUs.

If the PRUs needed a prisoner, Rick would shatter his knee or hip at 400 yards and wait for them to bring him in. If they didn't, he'd either go for his signature headshot or put a wicked bullet lower down and let the man bleed out screaming on a trail or in the swamps as a warning. Sometimes he'd do the same to a farmer or village woman out collecting firewood...just to show them he was there and watching. The former VC among the PRUs spoke of him in hushed, almost admiring tones. The thugs just stayed away, especially after he blew the guts out of one with his service .45 when the man tried to touch his rifle.

Castillo had only worked with Rick, who soon earned the nickname “The Angel” (short for Angel of Death), twice, and each time came away shaken. He'd worked with men who were aroused by the pain they inflicted on others, and men who did it because someone had done it to them. The Angel just did it. Methodically and purposefully, with no remorse or regret. The total lack of feeling shook Castillo because he couldn't understand it. The sadists, those who'd been hurt themselves, he could at least follow motive. But The Angel was a blank. He was still in country when Castillo finally left, although there'd heard rumors through the Company grapevine that The Angel had been killed in Laos in '73. He hadn't thought of the man again. Until the SWAT lieutenant mentioned a 400 yard head shot and how difficult that was. Maybe for himCastillo thought, rubbing his eyes. But I know at least one man who could make those at will.

The phone receiver felt cool under his fingers, and Castillo realized with a start that he'd been sweating. He punched in the remembered numbers quickly, and waited for a moment before someone on the other end answered. “We need to talk. Yes, the usual place.”

 

Sitting in the Ferrari in the OCB parking lot, Sonny Crockett looked at the business card for what felt like the hundredth time. He knew he wanted to call her. The problem was he wasn't sure about his reasons.

He'd chuckled about it when Tubbs razzed him good-naturedly before driving off in that boat of a convertible Caddy. “You owe yourself some R&R, partner,” the New York detective had said with a grin. “She ain't ten anymore.”

“No,” Crockett whispered, looking down at the card again. “She sure as hell isn't. But she's still David's little girl. How the hell do I get past that?” Then he remembered her in that damned dress and knew exactly how he'd get past that.

Caitlin, or the memory of her, was harder to ignore. They hadn't had much time together, the odd couple of the Vice detective and rebounding pop star, but she'd gotten to him in ways no woman ever had. Not even Caroline. Some nights he'd still start awake, sure he'd seen her slender form coming through the bedroom door and hoping to see her look up at him with those soft brown eyes so full of love and longing. Then the tears would come, followed by a shot or two of black Jack and a stretch on the deck of the St. Vitus' Dancewith Elvis and the stars for company. Waiting, hoping the mood would pass. Some nights it did, but mostly it didn't. Especially if he thought of the baby.

The drive back to the marina was familiar, comforting in its own way. To the surprise of many, Crockett had moved back to the boat soon after the funeral. Caitlin had left him the big house in her will, along with the bulk of her music royalties, but he'd rented the house to her companion/bodyguard for a dollar a year. It wasn't that he didn't like the house. He just couldn't stand being reminded of her every time he turned around. A shadow. A smell. Some random sound. All meant Caitlin to him in that house, and he couldn't take it. And then there was the room he figured she'd been preparing as a nursery. It was too much a reminder of the real world, and that she'd been his last real line to that world.

The boat, on the other hand, had always been a sanctuary of sorts. When he and Caroline started having problems he'd just stay there. Seized drug property, it was neutral in a way no house could be. In an odd way over the years it had become his, even though he knew it wasn't. It was Burnett's. And there was Elvis.

No landlord, no property owners' association would ever agree to someone keeping an alligator. But on the marina it was just part of his fast-running, more than slightly crazy cover. And like the boat, Elvis over time had grown from something of a college prank into a friend in his own surly way. A man couldn't ask for a better watchdog, provided he didn't mind losing a few towels and dealing with frightened screams the first time girls saw Elvis.

Reaching into the cooler just behind the wheelhouse, Crockett hauled out a mid-sized tuna and tossed it to the gator. “Eat up, you old bastard,” he said with a smile. “Don't let it rot like you did last time. A guy can't bring a date home when the deck smells like rotting fish.” Getting the expected hiss in reply, he smiled again before ducking belowdeck.

The big Smith & Wesson 456-1 hung heavy under his left arm as Crockett poured his second Jack over ice and sank back on the cushioned bench across from the boat's dining table. The weak gold light streaming through the ports told him night was falling, and the air on deck would be cool and fresh with the sea. With a sigh he shrugged off his shoulder rig, letting the big .45 and the two full magazines in the right hand pouch thud to the cushions. If anyone came calling he still had the Detonics in its ankle holster. Still, it felt good to get rid of the weight under his arms.

Seeing the card on the table, he blinked and let the whiskey slide over his tongue. How close had she come to blurting out his real name? And how would he explain his job to her if he called her? Like Caitlin, she knew him by his real name. But unlike Caitlin she had no idea what he did for a living. How deep he lived in shadow, or lies. He knew he shouldn't call. But he also knew, sooner or later, he would. Maybe after the third or fourth drink. Maybe not until tomorrow. But he would.

A sliver of moon peeked out from around scudding clouds when Crockett finally reached for the phone. A soft, cool breeze floated over the boat's deck, and his fifth drink sat on the rail close at hand. Somewhere back by the wheel Elvis snuffled in his sleep. By the light of the stars he punched in numbers and waited.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft.

“Sorry if I woke you. It's Sonny.”

“I wasn't sleeping, Sonny. And I'm glad you called.”

“So am I.” He took a drink, ice rattling against the sides of the glass. “To tell the truth I wasn't sure if I would.”

“I know. I was afraid you wouldn't.”

Crockett nodded in the darkness, knowing she couldn't see the motion but not caring. “Now that I have, I don't know what the hell to say.”

Her laugh was soft like her voice, cracking a bit over the phone lines. “We could talk about my dad. I...I don't really know that much about him. I remember some before he went to Vietnam, but mom never talked about him after that.”

“He was a hell of a guy.” Crockett smiled, taking another drink. “I'd already been in-country a few months when he joined the company. We were MPs, Army cops, and spent most of our time back in base areas breaking up fights and searching for drugs. David was new and full of fire, so our sergeant stuck him with me and my buddy Robbie so we could show him the ropes.” As he talked his voice grew stronger and words came faster. Soon he was telling the girl about their trips to Pleiku and other firebases. “He was a damned good MP, but he always said he'd wanted to be infantry. It was like he had something to prove. To show an older guy could keep up. I don't know. He never explained it to me.”

“Did he ever tell you he volunteered?”

“No. It didn't really come up.” I never told him I volunteered, either. Damned fools both of us.

“He did. My mother had been seeing someone, I think. I was too young to know for sure, but he told me before he left that he wanted to show us both he was a real man.”

Jesus.“No one over there ever doubted that, Angel. He never had to prove a damned thing to us.”

“How did he die? Really?”

Taking a deep breath, Crockett poured another drink and told her about the LZ in Cambodia. “I never should have let him talk me and Robbie into going. Maybe I could have kept him from going.”

“No. I know my dad. Once he made up his mind to do something, he did it. At least...” Her voice broke. “At least he had a friend there. At the end.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you.”

“No. I asked. I neededto know. And you were honest with me.”

Crockett sighed, finishing his drink. “I still think about him, if that's worth anything. He was my buddy.”

“It is, Sonny.” The line was silent for a time. “I'd like to keep talking, but I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Maybe we can meet for dinner?” He regretted the words as soon as they came out, but there was no going back.

“I'd really like that. Call me about six?”

“You got it. And Angel...I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I'll see you tomorrow, Sonny.”

Crockett wasn't sure how long he stayed on deck, the cordless phone buzzing at his feet. The girl's words echoed in his head, but the fire-swept LZ kept replying in front of his eyes. And each time it did, he saw the bright blood spray from David's chest where the AK rounds caught him, saw his eyes go wide in shock and sudden pain before the impact threw him to the dry Cambodian dirt. That same three seconds over and over until the bottle was empty and he staggered belowdeck.

 

Two hours before Crockett passed out on the saloon couch on the St. Vitus' Dance, Martin Castillo locked his unmarked tan sedan and surveyed his surroundings with a practiced eye. Miami's many small docks and boatyards provided any number of sheltered meeting points, and Castillo was making sure he was alone before starting toward one of them. Satisfied, he shifted the weight of his Smith & Wesson Model 29 under his jacket and moved into the shadows with the grace of an accomplished martial artist.

He hated meetings like this. They always made him want to take a two-hour shower at the end, but he also knew they were sometimes necessary. This was one of those times. Still...he'd always hoped he'd left the black life behind when he left DEA and joined the Miami police force. Hoped he'd left the shadows for a more black and white law enforcement, even as he knew the hope was naive. It wasn't possible in today's world to be a simple policeman, no matter how much you wanted to be one.

The man he was looking for waited by a red speedboat tied carelessly to a worn dock. “Thought you weren't going to show,” he said by way of introduction.

“I like to be careful. You should remember that.”

“Oh, I do, Marty. I do. You were always one of the careful ones.” The man chuckled, shifting his big form from one foot to the other. “Always admired that, I did. Still do.”

“I'll be quick. The Angel. Is he still alive?”

The man sucked breath through his teeth. “Now that's a name I never wanted to hear again. Scary fucker that one is.”

“Is. Not was. So he is still alive?”

“You didn't hear it from me. But as far as we know he is.”

“So he's not Company?”

“Not as far as I know. But there's operations not on any books, Marty. They don't let me near those after Thailand.” This time the laugh had a bitter edge. “Officially he's not ours. Officially he died in Laos in '73, too. But I hear things. He's come up a time or two since then. Always on the edges. Never near the center. You know they kicked his controller out in '77? He's always on the edges now, too.”

“I think he's operating in Miami. If he is, I'll stop him.”

“Good.” The man nodded, shifting back into shadows. “He's rogue, Marty. Him and his old controller both. Least that's what I hear. The last time he surfaced they sent a team after him. Heard he shot them all in the head, except for one. The last one he shot through both knees, and left with a note warning us off.”

“That sounds like him.” Castillo sighed, looking off over the water. “Thank you.”

“You be careful, Marty. There's other players in the national security game these days, and they might have The Angel on retainer.”

“I'm always careful. But I won't tolerate this in my city.” Turning, Castillo merged into the shadows along the dock wall, disappearing as if he'd never been there at all.

 

“You look like hell, partner.”

“I feel like it.” Crockett accepted the offered cup of coffee with a squinting nod as he walked into the OCB squad room. He found his way to his desk more from memory than visual direction, not trusting his eyes to focus correctly.

“Rough night?”

“Yeah. Old memories.”

“Never the best ones.” Tubbs chuckled.

“Any word from the lieutenant?”

“No, but he's got that look about him. The 'I've been talking to spooks' look. Maybe he'll say during the briefing.”

“Crap. I forgot about that. You dig up anything new on our dead friend or the money man?”

“No, but Eddie tried calling me six times last night. Six! That little weasel wants to deal.”

“Good. How much longer do you want to string him along?” The coffee tasted bitter on the back of Crockett's tongue, but it cut through the residue of Jack Daniels' and regret like a blowtorch.

“Until this afternoon. Then we need to move.”

“I've got to call Angel about six.”

“Be careful, partner. That girl's trouble in a tight dress. At least she is if your head's not right.”

“My head's fine, Rico. Don't worry.” Crockett smiled, mostly to convince himself.

The conference room door clicked open. “Five minutes.” Castillo's whisper cut through the noise of the squad room like a flamethrower burning through toilet paper.

“You heard the man, people. Five minutes.” Tubbs looked across the room at Switek. “That means you're up, Stan.”

“Funny. That's the same thing your old lady said last night, Rico.” Switek grinned his usual lopsided smile before turning back to his desk and gathering up a mass of file folders.

Martin Castillo sat at his usual place at the head of the long metal table, hands folded in front of him and eyes on his hands. Gina and Trudy went in first, followed by Switek. Even thought it had been over a year since the death of Zito, Crockett still looked for Switek's skinny partner at the start of almost every briefing. He could tell from the pain in his eyes that Switek did the same thing. The last one in, Tubbs closed the door and sat down across from Crockett. “What's the good word, lieutenant?” he asked, settling into the metal frame chair with a grunt.

Castillo looked at his hands for another few seconds and then looked up. “You tell me, detective. I want updates.”

Switek shook his head. “My source has gone quiet, lieutenant. He hasn't heard a thing on the street since the shooting.”

Trudy nodded. “We're not hearing anything, either, lieutenant. If there's more of that coke out there, it's not hitting the street level yet.”

“That's because Tubbs and I have a line on it.” Crockett rubbed his eyes with a forefinger. “Eddie Flores has been burning up the line to Rico. He wants to close a deal on it, and fast. More than we thought yesterday.”

“That's no lie, lieutenant. I never seen a man so in a hurry to unload top-quality flake as Eddie.”

Castillo didn't so much as blink before looking back down at his folded hands. “Something's not right.”

“Tell me about it, lieutenant. Flores is strictly small time. A five kilo man at best. How did he score a stash like this?”

“There's more to it.” Castillo let the silence hang in the air. “I've got a line on the shooter. Ex-Army, ex-Company. One of the best there is.”

“Maybe Flores ripped off the wrong cats.” Crockett shook his head. “Pissed-off Panamanians wouldn't have much trouble finding an ex-Company shooter. Or some of those brokers from the Andes.”

“No. South American dealers would send a hit squad. They'd want to send a different message.” When Castillo finally looked up there was a heat in his eyes the detectives recognized. “This is something else.” He turned to Switek. “When did Izzy hear about the first deal?”

“About a week ago, lieutenant.” Switek dug through one of his folders until he came up with a crumpled piece of paper. “He says he called me right after he heard, and for once I believe the little jerk.”

Tubbs's eyebrows shot up. “That's about how long Eddie says he's had his stash, lieutenant.”

“Someone's using the drugs as bait. Dangling a little, then using the hit to put the second stash into play.”

“Bait for who?” Crockett looked around the room. “As far as I know Eddie's got no ties to Ortega. Hell, I don't think the two ever crossed paths before.”

Tubbs leaned over the table. “We've got Izzy looking for Ortega's boy who got away. Maybe the little punk will come through. And if anyone can find out where Ortega scored that blow, it's Izzy. If nothing else he'll talk to the chump until he spills his guts just to get Izzy to shut up.”

“Stay on it.” Castillo looked down at his hands again. “But be careful. The man with the rifle is extremely dangerous. I want him off the streets.”

 

They were back out in the Miami sunshine before Tubbs said what was on both men's minds. “The lieutenant's worried, Sonny.”

“Damn right he is. And if he's worried, we should be, too.” Crockett nodded toward Tubbs's Cadillac. “Think we should take your ride to meet with Eddie?”

“Yeah, mon. Play the part.” Tubbs laughed as they climbed into the convertible. “How much do you think he knows about the shooter?”

“More than he's telling us, Rico. If the guy's ex-Company, I'll bet Marty knows him from Vietnam. Somehow.” Crockett slipped his sunglasses on and settled into the Caddy's leather seat. “Damn place never lets go.”

“We need to put a scare into Izzy again, too. Keep his mind on his job.”

“Joo got it, main.” Crockett's laugh was real this time. “He said he met Ortega's man at Bomber's? So let's pay a visit to this dump and see what's shaking. Eddie probably won't be up until after two anyhow.”

 

Bomber's announced its existence with a smear of flickering neon and blacked-out windows. Crockett knew the place before they even walked in, and he found a certain amount of comfort in its battered bar and floors smelling of stale beer. A few low-level players hung out in the shadows away from the door and the Dolphins game on the TV above the bar, mostly nickle and dime chumps hoping for a score big enough to lift them out of Bomber's.

“Any sign of Izzy?”

Crockett looked around, pushing his Ray-Bans up on his forehead. “I think I see the little worm back by the pinball machines. There's a back door there, too, so keep your eyes open. It's too damned hot to chase the little punk.”

“You got that right.” Tubbs nodded to the bartender. “Two beers.”

The bottles started to sweat as soon as they hit the bar top. “Two-fifty.”

Tubbs tossed out a ten. “Keep the change. These suckers don't look like they'd tip their own grandmothers.”

“You got that right, pal.” The bartender pocketed the change without missing a beat as he wiped down the bar. “You watch those boys back by the pissers, hear? They're mean drunk and think they're special.”

“Thanks.” Tubbs' voice dropped to a hiss. “I'll watch our friends back there if you go corner Izzy.”

Crockett took a deep swig of his beer and sighed. “Let's get this over with.”

Izzy was doing his level best to be a pinball wizard, thrusting his hips each time a flipper made contact with the ball. “That's right! Ju take it! Give me the points! Listen to jore master!” Lights flashed and bells clanged on the old Kiss machine, and Crockett could hear the rubber bumpers slap and slam as they shot the ball back into play. “Little shit's got a good score,” he muttered, looking at the jumping numbers. “Seems a damned shame to ruin it for him.”

It was then he noticed the men the bartender had been talking about. White trash for the most part, with Budweiser mesh trucker hats and stained tank tops, their arms decorated with bad jailhouse tattoos. They'd been talking moments before, but Izzy's hip-shaking display got their attention. Two were short, but one looked to stand over six feet in his socks and had narrow, mean eyes. He was the one who spoke first. “Look at that little beaner fruit, boys. Looks like he thinks he's makin' love to that damned machine.”

“Hell, Zeke, he looks like that little fairy you had back in county.”

“I didn't have me no fairy, Gus. I shanked me a fairy. Looks like this one could use the same.”

“Shit.” The word hissed through Crockett's pursed lips. He'd hoped to do this easy, but idiots had a way of ruining plans and making easy things difficult. Squaring his shoulders, he started talking as he moved. “Izzy! We got to talk!”

Izzy turned, his expression running from annoyed to nervous as he saw the three men. “Burnett! Ju are just in time to see magic happen.”

“What the fuck you want, pretty boy?” The big one took Crockett in with a dismissive glance. “We got dibs on this beaner fruit. You wait your turn.”

Crockett narrowed his eyes. “Step off, jack.”

“Fuck you!” One of the smaller ones let out the words like a bark, and then his eyes went wide.

“That puts a new spin on things, doesn't it?” Crockett smiled now, the big Smith & Wesson moving from one man to the next. “I said I've got business.”

“We both do.” Tubbs put in his words to accent the metallic snap of his Mossberg's action. A cut-down shotgun was something any redneck understoood.

“So why don't you three go fuck your sisters or each other or the family sheep or whatever it is you redneck fucks do for fun?” Crockett locked eyes with each man in turn. “Move!”

Sweat poured down Izzy's face as the three men almost trampled each other heading out the back door. “That was a close one, man. Ju two saved me from some serious anal violations.”

“So now you owe us.” Crockett kept the 645 at his side just in case. If he knew his white trash, they were outside now deciding if it was worth trying to sneak back in to even things out. “More than you did before, at least.”

“Ju yust say the word.”

“What else did you hear Ortega's man say? And where is he hiding?” Tubbs came over to the pinball machine, setting his scattergun on the glass top. “We want the whole thing, not the Izzy Moreno condensed version.”

“Ju...ju got it. The whole enchilada. I don't know where he's hiding, but he's got a lady who dances down at Rizzo's. Noogie said she didn't come to work last night.”

“What's her name?”

“Tiki.”

Tubbs sighed. “Don't tell me. Tiki Torch?”

“How did ju know?” Izzy's brows furrowed. “Noogie says she never missed a shift before.”

“And just how the hell does Noogie figure in all this?” Now it was Crockett's turn to sigh. “No, don't tell me. He's her manager.”

“No. He spins wax at Rizzo's. She's too high class a lady for Noogie.”

“So you're her manager?”

“I'm trying to convince her of the merits of artistical managerials, yes.”

“You mean you're trying to convince your way into her panties. But the boyfriend gets it the way.”

“He does object to my managerial entrepreneurialization, yes.” Izzy shifted, leaning against the pinball machine and then jumping when it beeped. “But if anyone knows where he is, Tiki will.”

Tubbs looked at his watch. “We gotta roll, Sonny. That other meeting...”

“Yeah.” Crockett flipped his sunglasses down off his forehead. “Not good enough, Moreno, but we'll let it slide this time.”

Out in the car Crockett let out a long sigh. “If it wasn't bad enough dealing with Moreno now we have Noogie Lamont in the mix.”

“You can say that again.” Tubbs eased the big car into traffic. “Izzy gives me a headache, but Noogie is a whole other galaxy of strange.” Looking in the rearview mirror, he backed off the gas. “Looks like those crackers are headed back in to Bomber's. Think we should hang back?”

“Naw. Izzy ducked out as soon as our backs were turned. And with those chumps we'd have to shoot at least one of them before they got the message.” Sinking back into the Caddy's passenger seat, Crockett rubbed his eyes behind the sunglasses with a finger. “We meeting Eddie at the Overton?”

“Yeah. Seems he likes the bartender.” Tubbs cut across traffic, making the turn with the practiced aggression of a New York cabbie. “The buy money's in the trunk. I signed it out before we left.”

“How do you want to play it? You're the big buyer after all, and I'm the hired help.”

“I'll play impatient. Act like you're talking me down if Eddie starts to squirm.” Tubbs stole a glance at his partner. “You think it's a trap?”

“Hell, Rico, I don't know. I know we're fools if we think it's not, but I really don't know. All we've got is a blank scorecard, dead bodies, and impossibly pure coke that someone is using as bait.”

“Maybe that's the key. The coke.” Tubbs scratched at his nose as he cut off a newer Porsche. “Who would they be baiting with the coke?”

“Dealers? But why start with Ortega? The guy was a lightweight. Same for Eddie. Strictly bush league with no shot at the majors. And no one would have been after Vargas. He was too damned useful to too many people.”

“And no one's been sniffing after Burnett or Cooper.” Tubbs shook his head. “It doesn't make any sense.”

“No, it doesn't, partner. And that's why we're driving to a shitty club to meet a bush league dealer who's hoping to move up in the batting order. Maybe for once in his damned life Eddie will have something worth listening to.”

 

Eddie didn't. “Cooper! My man! And Burnett! Grim as ever. Have a drink!” Eddie shouted from the bar as soon as the two walked in, waving his arm as if there was a chance they'd miss the only man in the club.

Tubbs got right to the point. “Don't waste my time, mon. I've got places to be and money to spend, and the clock is ticking.”

Crockett was quick to get in on the act. “Same here, Eddie. My boat's in high demand.”

“You don't need your boat for my deal, Burnett. Just your gun arm.” Eddie grinned, swilling at his drink. “I love sayin' that, man. Makes me feel like John Wayne or some shit.”

“Time is money, mon.” Tubbs tapped his watch. “And the more of my time you waste, the less likely you are to see my money.”

“Let's see what the chump has to say first.” Crockett turned and looked hard at Eddie. “So what do you have to say, chump?”

“Let's head out to my ride, guys. I got the party favors there if you've got the green to make it grow.” Eddie drained his drink in one gulp. “Got her out back away from prying eyes. You know, man.”

“Sure, Eddie. Lead the way.” Crockett stepped away from the bar, feeling the comforting weight of his Smith & Wesson under the white linen jacket. He knew Tubbs would be doing the same with the snubnose Smith he favored. They'd worked together for so long they knew each other's moves by heart.

Tubbs nodded, going full Cooper. “Lead the way, mon. And this product had better be all you say it is.”

“It is, my man. It is.” Eddie pushed through the door, then paused. “I should tell you, though, we got a problem.”

“No. You got a problem, mon.”

“Soon to be two problems.” Crockett stopped, his hand moving inside his jacket. It was more for effect than anything else; he didn't expect Eddie to try anything that stupid.

Eddie's hands came up, palms open. “It ain't like that, Cooper! Believe me, I ain't jerking you two around. But you know how the business is. I don't carry my good stash with me. It's like hidden away, right?”

“Get to the point, mon.”

“Right. Right!” Eddie still stood in the doorway, not quite willing to go through into the alley. “So I was going to check it this morning and I saw these dudes hanging around. You know...Latin-type dudes. Made me think of some of Ortega's boys. So I ducked out. I'm a lover, man...”

“Not a fighter,” Crockett finished, moving his hand away from his jacket. “Don't we know it, Eddie. So these dudes scared the piss right out of you.”

“That doesn't help my clients in the Bronx, Eddie. Not one bit.”

“I know! So I got to thinking. I got another stash in the car. It ain't the primo product, but maybe they'd look at it as...”

“A deposit.” Tubbs locked eyes with Crockett and gave a slight nod. “Good faith blow, mon. On the house, right?”

Eddie's eyes went wide as he stepped out of the club. “You ain't gonna...”

“I gave guarantees to my associates in the Bronx. My word is gold, mon.”

“Right.” Eddie walked toward his car, waving for the two to follow him. “Look, I'll do it, but only for you, Cooper. It ain't much...just a key.”

“How bad's it stepped on?” Crockett kept his head moving as they walked, checking the shadows near parked cars for any movement or the faintest glint of sunlight on metal. The whole thing stunk, and he felt like he was walking into an ambush.

“Burnett! Would I do that?”

“Hell yes you would.”

Eddie's chuckle was almost lost in the growl of a passing car's rusted out exhaust. “I forgot you know me too damned well. It's cut a bit, but it's from the primo batch. Maybe 85% pure now.”

 

Four hundred yards away, tucked deep in the shadows of air conditioning ductwork on top of run down hotel, a man peered intently through a spotter's scope. The rifle wasn't with him today; he knew he wouldn't be shooting and didn't want to run the risk of being seen. Even at this distance he could pick out the dealer's bright red Corvette and the three men walking toward the trunk. Cranking the magnification to maximum, he shifted from the dealer to the black cop and then to the cop in the white sport coat. He stared while they opened the trunk and looked inside, then reached down and keyed a small radio.

“Target acquired. It's him. Secondary is there as well.”

A harsh click filled the single earphone tucked into his left ear. “So they're on the hook?” It wasn't his normal controller's voice. This man's tones were nasal and clipped, but he still recognized the officer's air of command.

“Roger that.”

“And you're sure it's them?”

Annoyance filled the man's voice. “I studied the target folders. It's them. Primary and secondary.”

“Of course. Out.”

The man keyed off the radio. “And fuck you, too,” he muttered to the empty air as he started breaking down the spotter's scope. Stage one was complete. He'd had eyes on the target.

 

Tubbs looked down at the test kit's vial as it turned bright blue and smiled. “I'll take this as good faith blow, mon.”

Crockett kept watching the shadows, not letting his eyes settle on any one thing for more than a couple of seconds. “How soon do we get the full stash, Eddie?”

“As soon as those goons find someplace else to hang out.” He raised his hands. “I want to move it as much as you do, Burnett. But those boys make me nervous.”

“Do you think they know it's there?”

“Naw. They don't look like the kind who'd wait if they knew that, if you get what I mean.”

“Sure.” Things weren't adding up, but Crockett also knew Eddie did enough of his own product that he'd see spiders on the walls for days and think the FBI had a camera in his shower head.

“I'll call you, Cooper, as soon as it's clear.”

Tubbs just nodded, tucking the black plastic wrapped cocaine brick into his suit coat. “Don't be late, mon. I don't like people who are late.”

Back in the car Crockett let out a long sigh. “I wonder how much blow that little weasel did before he saw Ortega's men all around him?”

“Damned if I know, partner. But we need to get this back to evidence and I want to lock the buy money up again.” Tubbs chuckled. “And how the hell are we going to explain this to Castillo?”

“We don't. Not until we've checked out Rizzo's.”

“And that means...”

 

Music boomed through the dark interior of Rizzo's. On stage a skinny girl in need of a new blonde dye job spun around the pole, not quite in time to the music. The DJ's voice grated through the rock beat. “Hey! Give it up for Lucy! The Noogster's gonna take a quick break, then come back with more wax an' more wax, if you get what I'm sayin'.”

Tubbs groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Dear God. Make him stop.”

Crockett grinned and peered through the haze of cigarette smoke toward the DJ booth. “And here he comes. Miami's contribution to the galaxy of strange.”

Noogie Lamont kept his afro cut short, and big teeth glittered in the strobing lights over the bar. He pushed his oversized purple sunglasses back on his sweaty forehead and laughed. “Rico and Sonny! My two main cats! How's it hanging, boys? You need help with that, just let the Noog-man know an' I can hook you up with Lucy. The cans ain't much, but she can suck a golf ball...”

“Maybe later.” Crockett took Noogie's arm and guided him to a corner booth. With Noogie you could never be sure if he was high or just being himself. “Right now we're looking for Tiki Torch.”

“Oh, Tiki.” Noogie's voice was a low growl now. “Yeah. Tiki. Now that girl has some cans. Fake of course, but let me tell you what they do for her tip margin...”

“Where. Is. She.” Tubbs enunciated each word long and clear, leaning close to Noogie.

“Oh. You cats want to find her.” Noogie scrunched up his eyes. “She's missed work two days in a row now, and that ain't natural for Tiki. So the Noog-man goes by her place to see if she's ok and finds the place in a pile in the hall. Like turned inside out, man. She ain't there, and the Noog-man ain't there for long either if you get what I'm sayin'.”

“Yeah. We get it. Do you know where she went?”

“No. But she left before them dudes got there. Unless they got a thang for ladies' clothes.”

“So she took her clothes?”

“That's what I said, ain't it?” Noogie grinned. “Now if you boys will excuse me, the Noog-man's got a job to do. Spinnin' the wax that makes the panties and the dollars drop, if you get what I'm sayin'.”

Back in the car, Rico let out a long sigh. “Can we get back to the office now?”

“Yeah. But it sounds like the girl's still out there somewhere.”

“Maybe Gina and Trudy can scare up something. Most of Rizzo's girls worked the streets at one time or another.”

“True enough, partner. And at least Izzy didn't lead us astray. Someone's looking for that girl, too, and I'll bet it ties back to Ortega's man. She doesn't sound like the kind who'd have enemies like that.”

Back at OCB it didn't take long for Crockett to find Trudy. “So it looks like this girl knows something, or someone thinks she knows something,” he finished explaining, watching Tubbs go through files out of the corner of his eye.

“Tiki Torch? Now that's original.” Trudy rolled her eyes. “And I'll bet she's a dyed blonde with fake boobs to match.”

“That's what Noogie says. If she's smart she'll change her hair, but I'll bet she worked the streets at some point.”

“Rizzo's girls do that.” Trudy nodded. “We'll see what we can find, Sonny.”

“Any luck with Vargas?”

“You'd think he was the one who was shot. He's gone quiet but hasn't asked for his lawyer yet either.”

“That's strange. Those punks usually lawyer up first thing.”

“Stan's still sweating him, and I think Gina may try again, too.”

“I might look in. Thanks, Trudy. I owe you one.”

“Between you and your partner you owe me about a million.” Trudy smiled. “We'll keep working it.”

Chuckling, Crockett turned back to Tubbs. “Any luck with the files?”

“Not so's you'd notice. Rizzo's managed to stay clean the last few months. Or at least not get caught.” Tubbs flipped the folder shut. “Only list of the club's girls we have is yesterday's news. Like eight months' yesterday's news. And none of them went by Tiki.”

“Damn. Let's get that blow and the buy money locked up and go give the lieutenant our good news.”

 

“Do you think it's from the high-grade stash?” Castillo never looked up from the dull green blotter on his desk.

“Lab will tell us for sure, but my gut tells me yes, lieutenant.”

“Tubbs?”

“He was too fried to lie, lieutenant. And he wants this deal so bad even I can taste it.”

“No word on the girl?”

“No. Trudy's going to see if they can shake anything loose from other girls at Rizzo's. And she says Stan and Gina are still working Vargas.”

“He's a dead end. Sweat him anyhow. Maybe he can point us to who's being baited with the coke. Then we'll know who the man with the rifle was brought here to deal with.”

“Lieutenant...” Crockett looked at the battered desk top and then locked eyes with Castillo. “What do you know about this guy? The one with the rifle. He's not just some contract hitter, is he?”

“We understand if you can't say, Lieutenant.” Tubbs tried to find some middle ground. “But Crockett's right. This guy don't feel like no normal shooter.”

“That's because he isn't.” Castillo looked down at his desk for what felt like an eternity, the wheezing air conditioner the only sound in the office. “He's a trained sniper. One of the very best. Worked for the CIA in Project Phoenix and was with the 9^thInfantry Division before that. His trademark was a 800 yard headshot. If he's here, he's hunting someone.”

“For the Company?”

“No. He's freelance now.”

“Or they say he is.”

“No. I'm sure.”

“If you say so, Lieutenant.” Crockett cleared his throat to cut off more words from Tubbs. “But who brings in someone like that? What's his game? And his target?”

“Find that coke and you'll know. It's the bait. Stay after the girl, if she's not already dead.”

 

Back in the squad room Tubbs turned to Crockett. “So we stay on the coke?”

“Both, I'd say. Assuming someone hasn't put out Tiki Torch by now.”

“It still doesn't make sense. Who'd bring in a hitter like that? And who's the target? He already got Ortega. Maybe he's gone.”

“Maybe, partner. Maybe. But that coke's still out there. Not like a good fisherman to leave his bait in the water.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crockett said, looking around. “Where's Stan? I want to know if he got anything out of Vargas.”

Switek's garish Hawaiian shirt swayed as he walked. “He hasn't said squat to me or Gina, Sonny. He just sits there and whines. Still hasn't asked for a lawyer. Gina thinks he's afraid we're going to cut him loose.”

“I can't imagine why. Especially after he saw Ortega's brains on the sidewalk.” Crockett waited for Stan to sit down. “But I wanted to know more about that tip you got from Izzy. Do you think he got it from the guard or the girl?”

“Izzy? The girl. I think she heard her man bragging about it and told Izzy.”

“But why Izzy? That's what I keep coming back to. Who in their right mind would tell Izzy anything?”

“Maybe so it would get back to us?” Stan shook his head. “Or maybe to Burnett or Cooper? What I want to know is what he promised her. Never met a stripper who gave anything away for free. Except your mom.”

“She learned that trick from your mom, Stan.” Crockett let himself relax for a moment and then spoke again. “Do you think he's hiding her?”

“I wouldn't put it past the little weasel. You want me to run him down?”

“Sure.” Crockett looked at his watch, remembering his late-night promise. “I've got a lead to look into.”

Tubbs looked up from his desk. “Got a lead?”

“No, but I need to follow up on that thing from yesterday. I'll check in later.”

“You do that, partner. I don't think Eddie will call, but with that fool you never know.” Tubbs grinned, and then his eyes went serious. “Be carefully, Sonny.”

“I will,” Crockett said, not knowing if it was a lie or not.

He called Angel as he was driving back through the Miami traffic toward the boat. She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“It's Sonny. Were you still up for dinner?”

“Of course. I've been looking forward to it.” Something in her voice hit him low in the gut. “Did you mind if we went to one of my favorites?”

“I was going to let you pick.”

She laughed then. “You're sweet. Meet me at Rudolfo's in an hour?”

“You got it.” Snapping the receiver back into the mobile phone unit, Crockett let out a low sigh and slammed the Ferrari into a higher gear. Rudolfo's was one of those places with two candles for light and nothing on the menu under a US Grant. Not the kind of place he'd expected to meet the daughter of his dead friend. But then he remembered the dress and wasn't sure. “She's not ten anymore,” he muttered, threading the car into an open spot in the next lane. “Tubbs sure as hell was right about that.” He also had to keep reminding himself it was just dinner with the daughter of an old friend.

 

It always felt strange going out without the big Smith & Wesson under his arm. But the Detonics was secure at his ankle, and Crockett gave himself the once-over in the Ferrari's rear-view mirror before opening the car door. He saw a tired face, with eyes still looking for his murdered wife. The ring was safe back on the boat. The last thing he needed was questions from the girl about anything other than David. He'd let her into that part of his life, but nothing more. At least that's what he told himself as he climbed out of the car and into the warm Miami night.

Rudolfo's had a discrete neon sign flashing the name in light blue script. The way it flickered across the Testarosa's hood reminded Sonny of beat car rollers, and brought a faint smile to his lips. The windows were heavily tinted, and the door made from stout, dark wood. Inside a man standing behind an oak pulpit gave him the once-over. “Did you have a reservation?”

“I'm here with Angel.”

“Of course.” There was a sneer in the voice that vanished as soon as Crockett made eye contact.

“I didn't ask for your opinion, pal. Or your fucking attitude. Now be a good boy and show me to her table.” It was pure Burnett, and it came out without thinking. But it worked. The man bowed his head and waved Crockett on.

She'd picked a table near the back, a small candle flickering right in the center. A golden orb in the middle of blackness. She got up as he came closer, her red hair set off by a black dress that looked to have been made from a silk napkin. It only just covered the tops of her breasts, and went to just below her curving ass. Crockett swallowed, fighting back urges. She's David's kid, for fuck's sake.But it only worked halfway.

Angel smiled. It was a knowing, soft smile hinting the dress choice was very intentional. Her way of slapping him in the face with her body and the reminder that she wasn't ten anymore. “I hope you don't mind the restaurant choice, Sonny.”

“Never been here before, actually.” He sat down. “Burgers and fries are my normal thing. Don't have time for much else most days.”

“You know, you never told me what you do.”

“No, I didn't. It's dull stuff mostly, but it eats up time.”

“I can't see anything you do as being dull.” She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Let's get drinks.”

She ordered something bright, while he got his usual Black Jack. The bourbon bit at the back of his throat as he watched her flip through the menu, talking about food choices with an ease that reminded him of Tubbs. In the end she ordered for them both, some kind of fancy appetizer that might have been scallops and a steak dish he couldn't even begin to pronounce and would set him back a week's take-home. Still, he didn't mind. It was worth it just to be able to watch her laugh and smile. By the third drink he even forgot she was David's daughter. He didn't even realize until later that they never talked about her father. And by the fifth drink he'd pushed Caitlin way back in his mind.

“I see why you like the place,” he said as the waiter took his plate away. “Dark and quiet.”

“It's nice after a day under bright lights.” She smiled over the rim of her glass, and he felt her foot rubbing his thigh under the table. “And no one can see things like this.”

“Angel, I...”

“Relax, Sonny. You really think I wanted to talk about my dad in a place like this? I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I saw you in the Overton.” The pressure of her foot became more insistent, and he swore he could feel her stockings through the thin fabric of his slacks.

“I've been thinking about you, too.” Maybe it was the Jack talking, but it also wasn't a lie. He hadbeen thinking about her, and not as David's daughter. And he'd forgotten about Caitlin.

She smiled. “Good. Now I don't feel silly. Let's get out of here. You'll love the view from my apartment.” Reaching across the table, she touched his cheek with long, slender fingers. “I took a cab here. Do we need to call one?”

“No. I'll drive.” Crockett started reaching into his jacket when she shook her head.

“They know me here, Sonny. It's covered.”

Something's off. Damn it. Only players do that.But he could still feel her foot on his thigh, and the light in her eyes held promises he knew her slender body was more than capable of keeping. Besides, she's in marketing. Those punks are almost as dirty as dealers. Maybe she's charging it to her boss.

She'd slipped her shoe back on by the time he got to his feet and came around to help her out of her chair. She giggled, sliding her arm though his and leaning in close, letting him feel every firm curve of her body. “I hope you like stockings,” she whispered as they stepped into the thick Miami night. “And garters. I do, but I can't wear panties with them. They get tangled.”

“I like everything about you.” The Ferrari started with a growl, and Crockett eased the car into traffic.

“I like your car, too. I guessed you'd drive something like this. Or an old Mustang.”

“That one's in the shop, darlin',” He tried to keep his attention on the road. The last thing he wanted was to plow into a light pole because he was staring at her legs. Or her hair.

She had an apartment in one of the new towers going up just back from the water. Not a cheap development, but also not one of the high-end ones favored by dealers. Somehow that made him feel a little bit better as he parked the car and helped her out. The dress felt like liquid gold under his fingers, rich and smooth and heated by her soft skin. She didn't bother to pull the hem down, and he could see the tops of her stockings and the garters peeking out at him. “I told you,” she said just before she kissed him. “Let's get upstairs.”

Her apartment was just below the top floor, and Crockett saw she hadn't been kidding about the view. Big picture windows framed a balcony with a commanding view of the ocean, and silver moonlight flooded the room. The décor surprised him. He'd expected something almost girlie but instead found metal and leather dominating a sleek, modern look. It fit her, but also didn't. He turned to ask, but stopped. She'd slipped out of the dress and stood in the moonlight wearing only the garters and stockings, her pale skin highlighted by her cascading red hair. Her smile was soft and somehow distant. “I hope you like it,” she said, turning slowly so he could see every inch of her, every curve of her firm body.

“You're beautiful,” he said. And she was. Part of his mind was scrambling to find a way out of what he knew was coming, but the rest of him knew there was no way.

“And you're wearing too many clothes.”

He managed to hide the Detonics as he undressed, touching and caressing her body to keep her distracted so she didn't notice the gun. She was an impatient, demanding lover, reminding him of Caitlin. And that drove him on. They started on the living room floor and finally made it to the bedroom. Eventually she rolled off him with a contented sigh. “You're amazing, Sonny.”

“So are you, darlin',” he whispered, stroking her hair and noticing it matched the color of the morning sky. “So are you.” Rolling over, he kissed her one last time and ran a finger along her forehead. Then he waited until her breathing eased into the deep rhythm of sleep before getting out of bed and dressing, securing the Detonics back on his ankle before heading out into the blackness that came before morning. He'd catch a nap on the boat before heading in. And try to forget he'd just fucked David's daughter. No...she came after me.

It was still dark when he reached the boat. “Elvis. It's me, buddy.” Fumbling in the cooler, he found another tuna and tossed it to the hulking shadow he figured was the gator and grinned at the hiss and chomp. “Eat up, pal.” He thought about staying above deck, but knew he wouldn't get any sleep that way. And an hour or two would do him good.

The dream took him sometime before dawn. It started with the thumping of Huey rotors, that distinctive “thump-thump” that sent any Vietnam vet's heart racing. Then the tang of aviation gas filled his nostrils, and he saw tracers floating toward them like slow-motion bumblebees. David was there, screaming as big rounds tore chunks from his body, and he could see Robbie going down, too, each impact jerking his body to the earth. But Crockett couldn't move, held back by slender fingers and a whispering voice telling him she needed him one more time. He snapped awake drenched in sweat, eyes wide, heart racing. Five seconds later he realized the big Smith & Wesson was in his hand.

Knowing he'd never get back to sleep, Crockett tried to shower away the dream before driving to OCB. If he couldn't sleep, he could at least work. And that would get him some space from the realization that the first woman he'd been with since the murder of his wife was the daughter of his Vietnam buddy. Trudy was already in the squad room, her drawn face hinting at an all-nighter. “Any word, Sonny?”

“Nothing. But Rico's dealing with Eddie. Stan was going to see if he could smoke out Izzy. No word from him yet. That's about all I know.”

She nodded. “Stan hasn't checked in here, either. Gina tried working on Vargas some more, but I don't think he knows anything. The lieutenant sent her home a couple of hours ago. I think Vargas just wants to stay where it's safe.”

“And right now that's with us.” Crockett nodded. “Whatever this is it went through Ortega to Eddie and then to us. Burnett and Cooper, I mean. But did we just stumble onto something? Eddie didn't come looking for us, after all.”

“I don't know.” Trudy closed her eyes for a second and then looked up. “Sonny, I'm scared. I've never seen the lieutenant as worried as he is about this sniper. He's not saying anything, but...”

“I know. It's when he doesn't say things that I get worried.” Reaching out, he squeezed her arm. “But we've got this. What I wonder about is who's paying for this guy? Someone that good ain't going to be cheap. Who do we know that's worth that much to kill? Sure ain't Ortega.”

“Maybe one of the Hermanos brothers? I could see the Boroscos paying to get one of them out of the picture.”

“Could be, but this seems too subtle for them. They're more the UZI and machete crowd. Maybe it's the Hermanos going after them? I could see Enrique using a sniper.”

“But why the coke?”

“I don't know, Trudy. This whole thing's got my head spinnin'. Maybe Tubbs finally heard from Eddie. He's had time to come down from his last binge. Maybe if he ain't seeing Ortega's goons in every shadow we can get something useful from him.” Sighing, Crockett sat down behind his desk, grimacing as the metal frame of the chair squeaked in protest. “I'll try calling and see if he's up yet. Why don't you try to get some sleep? You look like it's been a week.”

Tubbs answered on the third ring. “This better be that hot lady from the club the other night.”

“Sorry, Tubbs. Just me.” Crockett smiled. “Any news from our friend?”

“Just got done takin' to him. Says he's ready to meet again. He didn't sound as fried this time.”

“Yeah, but no guarantee he won't do some Peruvian marching dust on the way to the meet. What's his plan?”

“I laid it on thick. His last chance and all that.” Tubbs paused. “You ok, partner?”

“I...we'll talk when you get here. Do I need to work more buy money?”

“No. We're good with what we got. You might want to brief Castillo, though.”

The office was dark, and at first Crockett wasn't sure Castillo was even there. But he could sense someone behind the desk. “Lieutenant? Tubbs has a line on Eddie. He says he's ready to deal this time.”

 

He was sitting alone in the dark hotel room when the call came. “It's today. AO Charlie. Primary target on signal.”

“Roger.” Rick picked up a slight Vietnamese accent, but knew enough not to say anything. Still, it wasn't the same without his old handler on the other end of the line. “Time?”

“Be in position by 1300.”

“That's it?”

“AO Charlie. 1300. Primary only.”

“Roger.” Rick slammed the phone down, knowing he wouldn't get any more out of whatever flunkie was on the other end. Still, he wondered. The man's English was damned good. Maybe another relic of Phoenix brought back for the job. He'd always wondered what happened to some of the PRUs he'd worked with back in the Delta. Some of them had been damned good, and he'd trained a couple on the rifle just before the program spun down in those last dark days.

Leaning back on the bed, Rick turned his mind to the plan. And the changes he'd make knowing at least one Vietnamese was in play. He'd still shoot at AO Charlie, but from the secondary spot he'd scouted days before. Not the one in the original plan. That way if they tried to screw him they'd have to work for it.

As usual he never wondered what the target had done to deserve his attention. It didn't really matter. Just another 800 yard headshot and on to the next one. Some days he did miss the Delta, when he could drop whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. Send a message with a gutshot farmer. Drop another team's PRU because he was threatening to turn on someone. Or a 1200 yard headshot because he was bored. There were no rules, no limits.

Right now it was the exfil that had him worried. As soon as he found out his normal handler was cut out of things he'd made his own arrangements. He'd nodded and smiled right enough when the voice over the phone read out drop locations, and even gone and picked up the envelopes with tickets and maps. But he wouldn't use them. Instead he bought his own tickets, used one of his stock of passports, and made his own plans. Just like he'd been trained.

His eyes closed, he let his brain play through the slides of the shot. How it would look through the scope. Any projected wind and his compensations. Heat waves rising off hot asphalt and how he'd deal with that at range. It was all easy. Only the second part of the mission gave him pause. Not because of the target, but because of the parameters of the shot. That one would be special.

 

Across town another man dialed a number and waited for someone to pick up. He didn't like talking to the shooter, mostly because he remembered him from the Delta and still didn't trust him. Still, orders were orders.

“Yes?” The voice of his commander was clipped, demanding instant, instinctive obedience.

“They are in play, sir.”

“Good. Does our man have his orders?”

“Yes.”

“Can he execute?”

“I am certain.”

“Good. You will leave once arrangements are ready.”

“Yes.” In truth he would be glad to be free of the woman. Taking orders from her had been a burden. Now it would all happen without him being present.

“You've done well.” The phone went dead.

 

“You sure he was good to meet?” Crockett hooked his sunglasses through the neck of his shirt and squinted at Tubbs.

“Good as he'll ever be.” Tubbs yawned. “We played phone tag all damned night before he calmed down. Said he had one thing to arrange and then he'd call with the meet details.” He narrowed his eyes. “How was last night?”

“You're right, Rico. She isn't ten anymore.” Crockett sighed and leaned against his desk. “She's got a place over in those new high-rises on the east side. And runs comp at Rudolfo's. Says she works in marketing or some shit.”

“So you made your move? You're entitled, my friend.”

“No, that's the funny part. She was all over me. Hell, I was lucky to keep up.” Crockett rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I had to go back to the boat to get my head right.”

“You think something's off with her?”

Crockett was about to reply when the squad room doors crashed open and Stan ran in, sweat streaming from his face. “Izzy found the girl! We gotta go now!”

Tubbs slammed the Caddy into gear and left a trail of rubber from the OCB lot to the street. Stan was in the back seat, a crumpled pile of sweat and Hawaiian shirt. Crockett felt the weight of his 456 before sliding on his Ray Bans and turned in the seat. “Did you find Izzy?”

“Yeah. Down near the Marco Polo. Little punk claimed he was looking for me! But he sang as soon as I laid hands on him.” Stan puffed air into his lungs, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. “Says he's got her hidden in a room at the Bay Shore Motel.”

“And you believe the chump?” Tubbs yanked at the wheel and cursed out a taxi with best New York profanity.

“Yeah. He damned near pissed his pants. That counts as Izzy telling the truth as far as I'm concerned.” Reaching under his shirt, Stan pulled out his stainless steel Browning Hi-Power and worked the slide.

“But what if he moves her?”

“Oh, he won't.” Stan's grin bared white teeth. “Trust me on that one.”

 

“Ju...ju...bastardo! Ju slinking son of a diseased cucaracha!” Izzy Moreno stood where Stan had left him. Handcuffed to a light post in an alley two blocks from the Bay Shore. “I work my fingers to the bone for ju an what do I get? Handcuffed like a common criminal! Worse!”

“Shut it, Moreno.” Tubbs shut off the Caddy and stepped out, contemplating Izzy with a narrow stare. “Be glad Stan didn't tie a couple of rats to your little cocktail peanuts to keep you entertained.”

“Turn him loose, Stan.” Crockett kept his voice low. “And if you try anything, Izzy, I'll let Tubbs shoot you. Or better yet, Stan. You made him sweat, you know. Stan hates to sweat.”

Izzy glared as Stan unlocked the cuffs. “Sweat? I show ju sweat! My material artisan skills will...”

“You mean martial arts, chump.”

“No, Tubbs. The woman has not been born who can tame the wild Moreno.”

“Thank God.” Crockett grabbed a handful of skinny arm and cheap suit jacket. “Now take us to the girl. And don't try to weasel out. Or we'll call your parole officer and maybe he can arrange for someone else to tame the wild Moreno. Boogaloo Jones, maybe.”

The Bay Shore had the bright neon and chipping paint of a spot that had seen better days over a decade ago. The clerk barely looked up when Izzy came in, and quickly found something else to do when he saw the three men with the Cuban con artist. The stairs smelled of stale piss and shattered dreams, and Crockett was glad when Izzy stopped just past the landing. “Thees is it, genlemen. Room 212. Jore suite awaits.”

Switek grimaced. “Just cut the shit and open the door, greaseball. And Tiki had better still be here, or I'll use you as a toothpick.”

The girl was scared. Crockett could see in it her eyes before she even opened her mouth. Bad tits and a worse dye job did nothing to improve her looks, and from the way her pupils were dilated he figured she was on the down side of a buzz. “Izzy? Who the hell are these guys?”

“We're here to help.” The words sounded hollow as soon as Crockett said them. “But we need to know everything you know about what happened to Manny Ortega.”

She looked from Izzy to the OCB cops, and Crockett didn't dare to breathe. Finally Moreno nodded and she started talking. “My man, he met this dude over at the club. The dude tells him that anything he says near Izzy will make it where it needs to go, so they start talking loud about the deal Ortega had with Vargas.”

“Ju set me up! Ju...ju...harlot!” Izzy lunged, only to be hauled back by Stan.

“It wasn't me, Izzy! I swear! It was the dude my man met! He wanted you to know! Paid my man nice, he did, to do that.”

Crockett leaned in. “Who was this dude?”

“I never seen him before! I swear! He was small, smaller than Izzy. Asian I think.”

“Chinese?”

“No...different somehow. I don't date Asians so I can't tell 'em apart too good.” Tiki looked down at her red-painted fingernails. “I ain't seen Juan in over a day now.”

“He was a loose end.” Crockett's voice was flat now. “Did this Asian know you heard them?”

“No! Don't see how he could. He was too busy making Juan repeat everything he was supposed to say before Izzy came in.”

“Stan, get them both to a safe house and have someone sit on them until this is done.” Crockett turned away from the bed and locked eyes with Tubbs. “We need to tell the lieutenant.”

 

“So they are after us.” Castillo's office was still dark, even though it was almost mid-morning outside.

“Looks that way, lieutenant.” Tubbs leaned back in his chair. “She was pretty clear that this Asian guy wanted her man to be sure Izzy heard all about the deal. And that letting Izzy know would make sure the news got where it was supposed to go.”

“But is that us? Burnett? Cooper? Who?” Crockett could feel the weight behind his eyes, lack of sleep building on nerves and something else he couldn't pin down. “Maybe fucking Eddie for all we know.”

“No.” Castillo's voice was firm. “Eddie's another messenger. The first was to get our attention. The second is to sink the hook.” He looked up from his desk blotter. “We need to find out who's on the other end of the line. And why they're there.”

“What about bringing him in? Squeezing him. Maybe...”

“He won't know where the coke came from. He probably bought it from the same Asian who used Izzy.”

“So what do we do?” Crockett knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Castillo say it.

“Take the bait. Tubbs, set up the deal. I'll have the rest of the team on back-up. We move as soon as you know the meet location.”

Tubbs shook his head. “What about SWAT? Air units?”

“The shooter would spot them. He's the one we want.”

“What are the chances the chump would know who hired him?”

“Not good. But he'll know something. They'll have an escape plan for him, even if he won't use it. He's the only link back to whoever planned this whole thing.”

Back in the squad room Tubbs shook his head. “I don't like it, Sonny. Not one bit.”

“I know, Rico. Marty's too close to this. But he's right about the shooter. A guy like that would smell SWAT ten miles off. What I really don't like is not knowing who this guy's after.”

“Maybe it's Castillo. If they know we're cops, they might know who we report to. Whoever set Izzy up knew damned well who he works for.”

Before Crockett could reply, one of Rico's outside lines started ringing. “Looks like we got a bite, partner. Better get that before Eddie wets himself.”

Tubbs shot a middle finger at Crockett as he headed to his desk. “Ya, mon. Course it's me....No, you look...Time is money, and I've got more money than time....Mon, that ship sailed...Are you sure? We'll be there. You be there with the merchandise.” Tubbs slammed the phone down and did a little dance. “We got him! Says he wants to meet in two hours in the parking lot by the Overton.”

Castillo appeared by Crockett's desk. Neither man had seen him leave his office. “Isn't that where you met him before?”

“Yeah, lieutenant. Both times. Sonny says he likes the bartender.”

“Something's off.” Castillo looked around. “Trudy, get Gina and get to the Overton at least an hour before the meet. Switek, I want you to leave now. Circle with the van and get as many pictures as you can of elevated areas about 800 yards from the parking lot. I want to see them before Gina and Trudy leave. Once that's done, find a spot and sit on the Overton. I want to know when Flores arrives. Check communications before the meet. I want Crockett and Tubbs covered.”

“Where will you be, lieutenant?” Crockett felt he had to ask, even though he was sure of the answer.

“Hunting.” Castillo met his gaze and then looked to Stan. “Get moving, Switek. I want those photos.”

Tubbs watched Castillo disappear back into his office. “He's going after the shooter, isn't he?”

“You got it.” Crockett shook his head. “It's personal.”

“Personal means messy, partner.”

“Yeah. You should know.”

Tubbs flared, then grinned. “Point taken, Sonny. I don't like running this light, though.”

“I don't either, but we've got no other play. We need to get that coke off the street, and if it's bait we need to see who's on the other end of the line. Marty's right about that. Now let's get the buy money and get ready to roll.” He looked over at Trudy. “You get ahold of Gina, darlin'?”

Trudy nodded, hanging up her phone. “I'm picking her up on the way. We'll try to set up so we can see the parking lot. Not that our .38s will do much good against a rifle.”

“No. My .45 won't, either.” Crockett nodded toward the closed office door. “But I'll put money on the lieutenant any day.”

“I'll have an M-16 in the bug van just in case.” Stan hefted an assault rifle out of the weapons rack as he headed for the doors. “Good luck, girls.”

 

They took the Ferrari, Crockett guiding it in and out of traffic while Tubbs worked the phone between counting buy money. “Everything's ready,” he said, hanging up the car phone. “Switek's in place, and Gina and Trudy say they have a good spot. Switek said the lieutenant laid out all those photos, stared at them, and then took off without a word.”

“He's trying to find the shooter.” Crockett narrowed his eyes behind his dark Ray Bans, threading the needle between a yellow cab and a sedan full of old ladies. “If he knows the guy from Vietnam he'll know how he thinks.”

“We hope.” Tubbs reached down between the seats and pulled out his short Mossberg. “I know it won't do much to a sniper, but at least I can get Eddie if he double-crosses us.”

“Hell, Tubbs. He might not know the score. Someone might have pointed him at us just like someone pointed Ortega's man at Izzy.”

“And that's why he hit Vargas. Both to get our attention and to make sure the deal didn't go down. Let us get that coke and want to find the rest. This is chess, partner. Grand-master chess.”

“But who's moving the pieces? That's the question.” Downshifting, Crockett made the turn into the Overton's parking lot. “That's the damned question.”

A handful of cars dotted the asphalt lot, and Crockett could see Trudy's convertible parked near the door. Keying the microphone in his sleeve, he raised his hand and pretended to scratch his nose. “Showtime, kids. Everyone in position?”

“Eddie's been at the bar for the last ten minutes.” Trudy's voice was low and almost swallowed by the canned music flooding the Overton. “He's taken a liking to Gina, I think. Just checked his watch, so he should be coming to you soon.”

“Bug van's in place.” Stan's cackle cut through the growing tension. “Got a good view of the street and rooftops from where I docked her.”

For the first time Castillo's voice came up on the radio. “Everyone stay calm. Crockett, you and Tubbs go radio silent. You might be searched. I'm in position.”

“Now where the hell do you think that is?” Tubbs held his comment until both detectives had ditched their radios and earpieces. “He's right about Eddie, but I'd love to know where he is.”

“He's like the damned invisible man. I just hope he picked the right rooftop to climb.” Crockett checked his glasses one last time before opening the Ferrari door and letting the morning heat blast into the car. “If that shooter's as good as he says we're sitting ducks out there.” He was about to step out when he felt Tubbs grab his wrist. “What? We need to go.”

“That look familiar?” Tubbs nodded toward a Mustang convertible that had just eased into a spot near the door.

“I don't...” Then Crockett saw the hair and legs. “Shit. What the hell's she doing here?”

“Coincidence, partner?”

“She works close by and the bartender knew her.” Crockett shook his head. “We can't drop the deal just because Angel showed up. I'll try to keep her clear.” He nodded toward the Overton's black-tinted doors. “Looks like Eddie's on his way.”

Crockett could feel the heat burning through his white linen blazer as soon as he stepped out of the Ferrari. The weight of his big 645-1 was a comfort, and he could feel his pulse starting to climb like it always did when the adrenalin of a meet starting filtering through his veins. The rush started slow, gathering steam as they came closer to making the bust. Looking over, he saw Tubbs going through the same process. Gathering himself for the work. He knew his partner handled it differently, though they'd never talked about it. Junkies who shared the same habit but never talked about where they got their fixes.

Splitting his time between Eddie and Angel, Crockett knew when she saw him. She'd been about to turn toward the club when she stopped and raised her hand “Sonny!”

“I got this.” Turning, he moved behind Tubbs to get between her and Eddie. The dealer turned at the sound of her voice, but seemed to recognize her and kept walking. “Didn't expect to see you here, darlin',” Crockett said in his best Burnett drawl. “I'm in the middle of business right now but was gonna call you tonight.”

She started walking toward him. “I can wait.” Her thin white dress set off her hair perfectly against pale cloth and skin, and he could see her nipples clearly outlined.

“Why don't you go get us a table in the back? I'll be right in.” He could see Tubbs shaking Eddie's hand now, the dealer grinning wide under big sunglasses and gesturing toward a big Caddy parked in scant shade thrown by a battered palm tree.

“I'll wait.”

Something changed in her voice, and warnings started screaming in Crockett's head. Tubbs and Eddie were almost to the car, parked just so someone perched in one of the buildings back from the water would have a clear line of sight. No wind disturbed the palm fronds, and his blood went cold when he realized those were perfect wind socks. Was she in on it? Why the hell is she here?Pivoting, he turned his back to Angel and started running for the car. He was on his third step when asphalt exploded just behind him and the boom of the shot echoed in afterwards. He kept running. Dodging only slowed you down and made you a better target. At the distance the shooter was working from, speed was his only friend. That and the bulk of the Caddy if he could make it.

 

“Fucker.” Rick's eye didn't leave the scope as he worked the bolt and sent a smoking cartridge case spinning away from the Remington's breech. Why had he moved? For a second he thought about shifting to the secondary target, but remembered his orders. But now it was a professional challenge. A standing target at 800 yards was no challenge, but a moving one was interesting. He shifted the rifle, his mind flowing through calculations for bullet drop, target movement, and a dozen different things, when everything changed. “Step away from the rifle.” The voice came from behind him. But it wasn't possible. He'd picked this spot. They couldn't know. But he'd still finish the contract. He could feel the trigger under his finger. The math was done. And then a shot boomed out from behind him and Rick never thought again.

Martin Castillo lowered his smoking Smith & Wesson 29 and stared at the crumpled body. His shoulders sagged for a moment as his mind traveled back to humid rice fields and other bodies crumpled by the man dead in front of him. Then he raised his radio. “Take Eddie and the girl.”

 

Down in the parking lot, Crockett and Tubbs covered a sweating Eddie, both pretending not to notice the dark stain on the front of his pants. Looking over, Crockett saw Gina and Trudy take Angel, the girl screaming incoherently after dropping a small semi-auto she'd pulled out of her purse. Tubbs chuckled. “You sure know how to pick 'em, partner.”

“No. She picked me. This whole damned thing was about trying to get me. That second shot had to have been Castillo. How the hell...”

“I don't even ask anymore. Castillo just does what he does.”

 

“So I was the target.” Crockett looked down at the conference room table, a half-finished cup of coffee in front of him. The rest of the team sat around the table, with Castillo at the head. The lieutenant had said fewer than ten words since they'd rounded up Eddie and the girl.

“That's what she said.” Trudy looked at her notebook. “We couldn't shut the little bitch up on the ride back here. All she could do was scream about how you got her father killed and how she was going to make you pay.”

“Eddie didn't know a thing.” Stan spoke up. “All he knew is some guy who looked Vietnamese gave him the coke and told him how to deal it. And it's gonna take a week to get the smell of piss out of the bug van, thank you very much.”

“How did the girl find the shooter?”

“That's where it gets strange, lieutenant. She claims a Vietnamese guy found her, too. Told her he had a friend who could help. A colonel.”

“Maynard.” Crockett spat the name like a curse. “It has to be Maynard. He's got the contacts with both the Vietnamese and the Agency.”

“And he's been after you ever since that fiasco with Stone.” Castillo's voice was flat. “But you did good work today. Getting that coke off the street was huge, and with the shooter dead that's another problem solved.”

“How did you know where he was, lieutenant?” Gina asked.

“I found the most obvious spot and knew he wouldn't shoot from there. Once I saw Eddie park his car I knew where he'd be. Eight hundred yards out, with a clear line of sight to the car with no shadows and where he could see the fronds if the wind was blowing.”

“And he wouldn't shoot from the obvious spot because someone like that never trusts who he's been hired by.” Crockett took a sip of cold coffee. “No matter who they are. He makes his own plan, does things his own way. It's how he stays alive.”

“But why does the girl hate you so much, Sonny?” Gina shook her head. “I can't figure it out.”

“I served with her father in Nam. He, Robbie, and I were in an ambush in Cambodia, and he was killed. Robbie was seriously wounded. I drew the duty of escorting the body home and met her at the funeral. I guess...” His voice trailed off. “I guess she wondered why I made it and he didn't. She found me at the Overton when we first met Eddie. Must have been her way of making sure I was the right target. Then they delay until the shooter's ready and execute.”

Tubbs nodded. “That would explain that first meet. I'll bet Eddie was just drawing us out so the shooter could get a look at you.”

Crockett looked up. “Marty...I'd like to see the girl.”

“No.” Castillo looked up with his flat, dark eyes. “That won't do you any good, Sonny.”

“But...”

“He's right, Sonny.” Tubbs gripped his arm. “Let's go back to the boat and have a few drinks. Maybe fish some.”

“You hate fishing, Rico.”

“Yeah, but I do like drinking. Sail out a ways and have a few”

“I'd...I'd like that, Tubbs.” Sonny Crockett smiled, trying to forget Angel's eyes and the feel of her body, and especially trying to forget how he'd tried to turn her into Caitlin in his mind.

[mjcmmv]

This is awesome! I'm so impressed! And you included some of the issues and topics that we all recently discussed! Fantastic!!! It's a rare talent to capture the personalities we all know and love the way you did! 

MJ

[Robbie C.]

Glad you enjoyed it. I've been working on this one for a bit and just figured it was time to send it out there.

[mjcmmv]

2 minutes ago, Robbie C. said:

Glad you enjoyed it. I've been working on this one for a bit and just figured it was time to send it out there.

I'm so glad you did! Is this the first one you wrote?

[Robbie C.]

Fan fiction? Yeah.

[mjcmmv]

5 minutes ago, Robbie C. said:

Fan fiction? Yeah.

Is it on this site? Never mind, I'm checking it out!

[Robbie C.]

No...this is the first one I've written. Sorry to get your hopes up... I might write some more Vice stuff in the future, though.

[mjcmmv]

Just now, Robbie C. said:

No...this is the first one I've written. Sorry to get your hopes up... I might write some more Vice stuff in the future, though.

YES! Please do!

MJ

 

[vicegirl85]

This was really good!  All of the characters from the show were on-point, and your original characters were very believable also.  I especially liked how you brought Col. Maynard back (albeit unseen).  It felt like it could have been an episode from the show (better than some!).

[Bren10]

It was a nice touch mentioning the Evan thing. This story does beg the question of where does Elvis do number 2 and how does Sonny deal with that?

[Robbie C.]

34 minutes ago, Bren10 said:

It was a nice touch mentioning the Evan thing. This story does beg the question of where does Elvis do number 2 and how does Sonny deal with that?

Shovels. Lots of shovels....

[Bren10]

Yeah but right on the deck repeatedly? Ugh!  Lots of hoses too then I suppose.

[Robbie C.]

Just now, Bren10 said:

Yeah but right on the deck repeatedly? Ugh!  Lots of hoses too then I suppose.

Yep. Hose down the decks! You have a gator, there's going to be gator waste. Goes with the territory....