The More Things Change...

[Robbie C.]

First part/chapter of my next Vice tale. This one's post-Freefall, and is my take on where the team could go. 

“You got balls, Burnett. I gotta give you that.”

Sonny smiled under his sunglasses. “You don't know the half of it, pal.” The smoking Smith & Wesson 4506 was still in his right hand, the echoes of the shot chasing each other out over the clear blue water. “Now clean up this trash and we can get down to business. My money man, Mr. Cooper, doesn't like talkin' business with trash underfoot.”

 

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

 

Martin Castillo sat in his usual spot at the head of the table. He looked up at the three men and one woman seated two to a side in front of him. “Welcome to the Task Force, detectives. We are all officially seconded from Metro Dade OCB for this assignment. You report directly to me, take orders from me, and answer questions from no one but me.”

Sonny Crockett looked over at his old partner, Ricardo Tubbs. “Aren't Tubbs and I off the force, lieutenant?”

“No. Paperwork was never turned in. Officially you've both been on leave.” Castillo gave one of his thin smiles that didn't touch his eyes. He slid two badges across the gray laminate table. “You'll need these.”

“Solid.” Tubbs grinned at Crockett. “Looks like my career in Southern law enforcement ain't done yet.”

Crockett looked at the gold badge sitting in front of him. Weighing the memories in the hunk of metal. But the time away had also shown him how much of his life was tied up in that damned badge. And how empty he was without it. He felt the cool metal under his palm before he even realized he'd reached out for it.

Trudy's voice broke the silence. “What about Gina, lieutenant?”

“She declined the invitation.” Castillo shifted his gaze to the backs of his hands on the table. “She's officially transferring to victim services. I'm leaving the option open if she changes her mind later.”

Trudy shook her head. “I...I didn't know.”

Stan Switek cleared his throat, his bright Hawaiian print shirt adding a shock of color to the room. “I talked to her right before this all went down. I'd thought about moving over to Technical Services full-time. It was where I thought I could do the most good. Gina's in a bad place, and working with those girls felt like the best thing for her. She thought it through damned well. Almost convinced me to go with her. Then I heard about this and knew it was where I belonged.”

Crockett chuckled in spite of himself. “You gonna blind dealers with that shirt, Stan?”

Switek looked up, his normally warm brown eyes dark and hard. “Don't be a dick, Crockett. You're the one who quit, remember? I stayed. Even after you got Larry killed, I stayed. So don't talk to me about shit.”

Sonny flinched. The words hit home. Every one of them. He hadquit. Tossed down his badge like a pouting six year old and walked away. And he hadgotten Larry Zito killed. Or his pushing had. It was the same thing either way. He'd told himself the same thing many nights over, usually when the Jack Daniel's in the bottle was below the label. But no one else had ever... He looked down. “You're right, Stan. I'm sorry. Especially for Larry. I deserved that. And more.”

“We both quit, Stan.” Tubbs shook his head. “I figure I got to square that with you and Trudy.”

Castillo looked up. “The past is something we all carry with us. Something we live with. But we can't change it. We can change how it effects the present. This Task Force closes the door on the past. Any detective who can't deal with that can walk away now and return to normal duties. No questions asked.” He pushed back his chair. “I'll give you five minutes to discuss it.”

“No, lieutenant.” Crockett raised his hand. “Stan was right to call me out. Larry's death is on me. I can't change that. But I can promise him I won't push anyone but myself like that ever again. I've lost buddies because of someone else's bad decisions, so I think I understand how he feels. I always said I'd never be that guy, but I was. I have to own that.” Getting up, he walked around the table. “You want to slug me, Stan, I'll give you a free shot. But I'd rather shake your hand and try to start over. Hell, I'll shake your hand and start over even if you knock me flat.”

Switek looked at him for a moment, then stood and offered his own hand. “Don't think I wasn't tempted, Sonny. But if I put you in the hospital that means I have to look after that damned alligator of yours.”

As they shook hands, Sonny wrapped his free arm around Stan's shoulder. “I really am sorry, Stan. But you're one of the best tech guys I've ever seen. If this is as big as it sounds, we need you more than the team needs me. It might not mean much coming from me, but I miss Zito every day.”

Switek's voice started to break. “It does mean something, Sonny.”

Breaking free, Sonny slapped Stan on the shoulder before heading back to his chair. “Let's get this dog and pony show on the road.”

Castillo nodded. “The Task Force covers multiple jurisdictions. All the way to Federal. We're an independent unit. We work cases as we see fit once they land on our desk.”

“These cases. Where do they come from?” Tubbs leaned forward.

“Anywhere. We get the ones other agencies can't solve or don't want because they cross jurisdictional lines.”

Crockett chuckled. “We get other agencies' garbage.”

“No. We can also kick cases back. We work the ones we think we can handle with our resources. The team decides.”

Trudy nodded. “It makes sense. What are our resources?”

Castillo gestured to take in the table. “Locally? What you see here. Beyond that, we can request technical support from a number of agencies, and the money comes from the Federal level so there's no real limit.”

“So it's just us?” She shook her head. “Seems like a stretch.”

Crockett tapped his fingers on the table for a moment, then looked up. “Not really. Think about it. We don't have pinch hitters. No FBI clowns coming in to mess up our operation or take our case. Just us taking down bad guys.”

“So who's got the juice behind all this?”

“A Federal agency. A big one.”

Tubbs shook his head. “So a bunch of no-name Feds possibly hanging us out to dry? What could go wrong?”

“Nothing. We are covered. You have my word.”

Crockett nodded. “Your word's good enough for me, lieutenant. I'm in.”

“So am I.” Stan thumped his chest with a clenched fist. “No way I'm gonna let Sonny fend off all those girls by himself.”

Trudy smiled. “If you say it's the real deal, lieutenant, I'm in.”

“So am I.” Tubbs turned loose one of his jaw-splitting laughs as punctuation. “Can't let you girls have all the fun.”

“Good.” Castillo opened the folder in front of him. “You'll need to review and sign these oaths. Once you do, you're special deputies of the U.S. Marshal's Service in addition to your Metro Dade rank. There is additional pay involved, but it's the access we need most.”

“Do we have a case yet?” Trudy signed hers with a flourish and slid the form back down the table.

“Yes.” Castillo opened the slim briefcase next to his chair and pulled out file folders. “We're closing down a smuggling operation that's been a thorn in the side of several agencies for years now.”

Crockett opened his folder and froze. “Isn't that Maynard?”

“Yes.”

“He knows me and Tubbs. We can't work against him undercover.”

“No. But you can shut down one side of his operation. The side that makes money. Once he's in the open, Switek can bring him into range for us.”

“Then what?”

“We neutralize his operation.”

“You mean arrest him?”

“No. We stop his operation. All methods are on the table.” Castillo stood. “Crockett. My office.”

Castillo's office in the nondescript suite was almost exactly like his old one at OCB, except it was on the tenth floor and had a view of the Miami skyline. Crockett stepped through the connecting door from the conference room, his heart pumping with a mix of excitement and worry. He'd wanted to go after Maynard for years, but any time Castillo wanted to talk to someone alone it always sparked worry.

“Sit down.” Castillo waited until Crockett slumped in the chair across from him. “I need to know. Are you ready to go operational as Burnett?”

“Work deep cover? Yes, Marty. I am.”

“I had to extend myself to get you on the Task Force. There was concern. Both about the Manolo incident and what happened in Costa Morada. I need to know your head's in the game.”

“It is.” Crockett leaned forward, trying to muster his thoughts. “Marty, I had time to think while I was gone. Just driving for part of it, but there was also plenty of time on the boat catching fish for Elvis. Time for a good, hard look. That's why I apologized to Stan. I know I screwed up and got Larry killed. By all rights you should just kick me out the door. But this is all I know, Marty. All I'm really good at.”

“I know about Hackman.”

“I...”

“That tells me you have what it takes to do what needs doing. What hasto be done.” Castillo folded his hands, looking at a point somewhere above Crockett's shoulder. “I had my doubts when they came to me about this. I've been fighting this war a long time, Sonny. A verylong time. I had to sort out my own feelings about Lao Li, Menton, and other things. Part of why I came back to Miami was to have an impact here. Locally. To fix things. But we never had the tools. No one ever let us. Until now.”

“What does that mean?”

“We are a deep-cover unit. No one knows we're here. But we can tap resources up to and including the CIA or NSA. Working with the Marshals gives us international access and authority if we have to arrest someone overseas. DEA is providing intelligence and targeting. The rest is on us.”

“Who does the arrests?”

“If one is required, either DEA or the Marshals depending on the target. They may bring us in as well to preserve our cover.” Castillo looked up, freezing Crockett with his stare. “I need to know you're in this all the way.”

“Of course, Marty.” Crockett nodded again, understanding finally what Castillo meant. “All the way. And the others?”

“They are for their own reasons. Tubbs has his brother, Switek has Zito.” Castillo paused. “And Joplin has her little sister. Someone addicted her to heroin and turned her out. She died six months ago. From bad heroin.” He looked down, then fixed Crockett with his stare. “Understand this, though. If you slip you are out. Come to me if you need help, but don't try to play me. I will know, and you'll be through.”

 

Back in the conference room Crockett felt their eyes on him as soon as the door closed. “It's ok. I'm in. Do the files have anything new?”

“Plenty.” Tubbs flipped through pages. “Maynard's sitting at the top of a two-prong organization. On one side there's a Columbian chump named Tico Moncado who's running drugs in to earn the big bucks. The good colonel seems to keep clear of Tico's business unless he needs cash.”

Stan chuckled then. “Which he needs lots of to pay for the other part of his little empire. Guns and mercs. Mostly guns, though. Man he deals with goes by the name Lester Holmes, though there's reason to think it ain't the name his mother gave him. Good ol' Lester runs a network of straw buyers up and down the coast and into Louisiana, but from time to time he gets military hardware from somewhere. My guess is Fort Polk or one of the Air Force bases, but no hard evidence yet.”

Trudy took up the narrative, flipping toward the back of her file. “Tico does the transportation both in and out of the country. As near as our sources can determine, the guns end up in places like Nicaragua and El Salvador. Contras in the former, death squads in the latter. That's the business Maynard watches most.”

“Isn't that the CIA's stomping grounds?” Crockett sat down hard, letting the reality of what he'd heard sink in. “Why would they want us to take out their guy?”

“Maybe he's gone off the reservation again.” Tubbs grinned. “Wouldn't be the first time that fool decided to write his own rules. Besides, even if we don't get him...taking out this Moncado chump would screw up a lot of players. And I mean a lot.”

 

TODAY

 

Sonny watched without expression as two of Reno's men hauled the body away, leaving a smear of darkening blood on the plank boardwalk. He'd done what he had to do. The punk had stepped up on him, and Sonny Burnett would never take that sitting down. Never. It wasn't much of a loss. Crockett knew the punk from the files: a three-bit killer with at least ten narco hits to his credit and likely more random killings that never connected anywhere. It hurt, but not as much as he thought it might. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

But this deep under a man couldn't complain or back out. Not with the deal on the line and Tubbs about to step on stage. He made a show of checking his watch. “Good timing, gents. Mr. Cooper should be here in under five minutes. The man does like to run on time.”

Almost on cue, the big Caddy turned into a parking spot at the top of the pier. Even at this distance he recognized Tubbs by the sharp cut of his suit and the rings glittering on his fingers. Stuffing the big pistol into his shoulder rig, Crockett turned back to Reno. “The man is here. Better get ready to deal.”

Tubbs came down the boardwalk at a fast strut, a black leather briefcase swinging in time from his left hand. He wasn't playing Island money this time, not in a tailored blue silk suit. He raised his hand, his voice rich with New York. “Mr. Burnett! My man! Tell me this isn't a waste of my time.”

“Mr. Cooper, meet Reno. He's the one with the merchandise we discussed.”

Tubbs turned slowly, letting distain flood into his voice. “We eat fish like this in the Bronx, Burnett. We don't talk to them.”

Reno's face went red, a sharp contrast to his light hair and eyes. “I can assure you I ain't wastin' your time, Mr. Cooper.”

“Can you? Really?” Tubbs looked him up and down, and Crockett fought to keep a straight face. “I don't see much from where I'm standing. Burnett here tells me you can get product that's eighty percent pure for five gs a kilo under the going rate. Is that fact, or did you lie to him?”

“I hope you didn't lie for your sake, Reno. I don't like lies.” Crockett allowed himself a thin, lopsided smile. “I like them less than I do punks who come up on me. And I just shot one of them.”

“No lies. We can get eighty percent pure no problem. As much as you need. That's our problem. We got too much. Market here can only handle so much Bolivian flake an' we...”

“You got no connections outside of Miami. Solid. I got the Bronx and ties to the rest of New York City and points north and west.”

“I know. We checked.”

“Sure you did. Just like my people checked you.” Tubbs grinned again.

“How do you know Burnett here?”

“He's handled transportation for me many times. Always reliable and doesn't need someone to hold his hand.”

“Same reason you need me, Reno. Your boys can't move squat outside of the Metro Dade area. Too slow and too many known faces. Me? I keep it quiet and discrete. Land, air, or sea. I may not reach to New York City, but I can get it close enough for Cooper's people to take over.”

Reno motioned them to a table shaded by a cloth umbrella that flapped like a woman's skirt with each breath of breeze. “How much weight can your people handle, Cooper?”

“How much can you get in?”

“I like a man who thinks big.”

“This is startin' to sound like you jerking me around, chump.” Tubbs gave a darker version of his grin. “I don't like bein' jerked around.”

“Ok. Ok. Jeeze...you New Yorkers are always in a hurry, ain't you? We can move at least three hundred Ks a week on top of what we distribute down here. Maybe up to six if it moves quick. We can't sit on it for long.”

Tubbs turned to Sonny. “Can you move that much weight, Burnett?”

“In my sleep. As many routes as you need. Air will cost more, but trucks and boats are no problem.” He turned to look at Reno through his Wayfarers. “Details are not your problem. My people can make the pick up any time and any place that works. After that it's not your problem.”

“Security?” Reno waved his hand toward the knot of men by the boat shed. “I can get twice that many if you need them.”

Crockett snorted. “Security's your problem until I take possession. After that it's on me.” He looked pointedly at the dark smear on the boards. “I think I got that part down, don't you?”

“One of my people will be there for the first couple of loads. Just to make sure things are solid.” Tubbs sat the briefcase down on the cafe table with a thud. Made from alligator skin, it cost more than he made in a week. The locks snapped open under his thumbs. “Good faith money. For that sample you provided. Twenty-five grand. That's what we pay for each kilo. Wire transfers to the offshore business establishment of your choice.” He snapped the case shut just as Reno reached over. “Next time I want to meet your boss.”

“This is my...”

“No. It isn't. The people I'm fronting would feel better if I laid eyes on the prize. We do one shipment to see how things go. Then I meet the main man.” Tubbs opened the case again, letting the man stare at the money like a kid seeing his first stripper before dropping the stacks of bills into a gym bag one of the goons brought over. “And for this kind of transaction we should have a drink to celebrate the solution to both our problems.”

Crockett shifted. “If you two ladies are done dancing I'll be on my way. Got some arrangements to sort out before the first shipment. Get me the time and place at this number.” He handed Reno a card with a number written on it. “Hits my pager and I call you back. Can't be too careful after what happened to the Mendozas last year.”

 

They met in a dark club on the edge of Miami; a place where the music was loud, the lights dim, and no one asked questions about anything. Crockett sat at a back table, a glass of Black Jack resting in the tight pool of light thrown by a hanging lamp. He wasn't worried. If anyone followed him or Tubbs it wouldn't seem unusual for a big buyer to be meeting with his transportation and security contractor. The politics of contraband demanded it. The familiar phrase brought a smile to his eyes as he thought it. I wonder what Jimmy ever got up to?

“Figured I'd find you in the back working on your tan.” Tubbs slid into the open chair, a tall drink topped with a plastic sword impaling mixed fruit in his hand. “What's your take on Reno? Aside from the fact the chump drinks bad tequila.”

“Lightweight. He almost pissed himself when I dropped his guard.” Crockett found his own thin smile. “Guess that's what the lieutenant wondered when he asked if I was ready to go back in as Burnett.”

“Just keep it real, partner. That's all I ask.”

“I'm solid.” Sonny looked down at the dark amber liquid in his glass. “Burnett's part of me. Guess he always has been. But I know where the line is.” He took a drink, feeling the bourbon trace its warm line down his throat. “Guess I always envied how you could switch from Brooklyn badass to island man like someone flipping a damned switch.”

“Cooper's closer to home. The New York Cooper at least.” Tubbs sipped his own drink and winced. “You think they'd get the vodka from something other than an unwashed bathtub at least once.”

“Yeah. How many runs do you think it will take to draw Tico out?”

“Two. Maybe three. That talk about next time was for show. Depends on how hard we push. You think the buy money will hold out?”

“Controlled wire transfers? I'd say so. And then the Feds will storm in and take the banks down for money laundering.” Crockett smiled. “Everybody wins.”

“Until they don't.” Tubbs took another drink. “Feels strange working for the Feds, though.”

“I'd say with the Feds, not for them. Marty made it pretty damned clear we only answered to him.” Crockett leaned forward and lowered his voice even more, even though it would take a small miracle for anyone to eavesdrop with the way “Bad to the Bone” was vibrating the bar's walls and foundation. “What I want to know is how he set it up.”

“Castillo knows where ALL the bodies are buried, my man.” Tubbs laughed. “Hell, he probably helped them bury Hoffa and spotted for the guy on the grassy knoll. I know while we were gone something changed with him, though. Stan said he got colder. Harder.”

“I didn't think that was possible.”

“Neither did I. But Stan said it was big. And bad. Said he almost put an FBI goof in a pine box. 'Like he did to Menton, but worse' is what Stan said.”

“Damn. I would have paid to see that. I still wonder what the hell happened.”

“Does it matter? We've got a green light now. I'd say we have another drink and celebrate.”

“Good plan, partner. That way if anyone's watching you're just closing the deal with your transportation and security man.”

“Sonny, I gotta ask. How does it feel being Burnett again?”

Crockett sighed, taking a deep drink of Jack. “I don't know. Good in some ways. There's an edge to the guy that takes me back to Nam. But in others...it's something I didn't know was in me until the job brought it out. Like I said before, he's part of me.”

“I had a cover like that once. Back in New York when I was with Armed Robbery. We had a crew workin' the Bronx and couldn't buy a break. So I went under as Marcus Jefferson.” Tubbs laughed. “Yeah, our name guys were a bunch of peckerwoods. Best they could do. Anyhow, ol' Marcus was a bad-ass from way back. Rap sheet longer than...well..you get the idea. I got in with the crew by beating the crap out of one of their opposition's wheel men. And his minder.”

“So they wrote you up as a bad ass right out of 'Shaft' or something?”

Tubbs laughed again. “More or less. But it brought out something in me. I could look at those cats and just see which one would break and which one wouldn't. And the anger...as a cop you have to turn it off. Marcus didn't have to.”

“Yeah.” Crockett stared down into his empty glass. “Let me tell you, Rico. The trick is being able to turn that cover off again. After Caitlin and the explosion...Burnett got stuck in 'on'. And I mean full on. I still don't remember much of it, but reading back through those files... He was someone I wouldn't want to have taken on.”

“But you were still in there. I knew that when you didn't take that shot at me. Your cracker ass still scared the hell out of me, but that's when I knew what was up.”

Nodding, Crockett gathered up the empty glasses. “It's time for another round, Rico.”

 

It was dark in the office except for dancing beams of neon and moonlight making their way through the window glass. Martin Castillo sat in his chair, looking out the window and letting his thoughts carry him. Still, he noticed when the door opened. “Yes?”

Trudy Joplin's voice was low. “Sonny took out one of Reno's guards at the meeting. I think they got the message.” She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “Stan got part of it on the parabolic, but there was too much wind.”

“That's not a problem. We don't need Reno. We need Tico. But both our men are in. Have Stan pull his net back.”

“Will do.” Still, Castillo could sense her standing there in the darkness. The scent of her perfume filled his nose. “Lieutenant. I...”

“I know about your sister. And I'm sorry. That's why I asked you to join the Task Force. To give you a chance.”

“A chance?”

“To make things right.” Castillo turned away from the window, seeing her slender form etched gold from the moonlight. “I came to Miami to make a difference. Too many things, too many agencies, got in the way. Now we don't have to worry about that. After Costa Morada I knew there had to be another way. So I found one. A pure way. The drugs that killed your sister were part of a shipment Tico Moncado's group brought in. We won't just arrest that group. We will smash it.”

He could see tears shining like diamonds in the corners of her eyes. “Why me?”

“Because you're a tough cop who wants to make a difference. And now you can.” He stopped, then spoke again, lower this time. “You're not alone anymore. I've always known you could do more than bust pimps and follow hookers, and now you get that chance. You're one of the smartest detectives I've ever known, and your heart won't let you quit.” Just like mine doesn't let me walk away.

She walked over to the desk. Martin knew what was coming. Every cell of his rational mind told him to stop. To have her leave. Remembering what had happened in Thailand and followed him here. But his heart said no. And years gone now, in those high Cuban mountains between the towering green trees, he'd learned to follow his heart. And Trudy was no May Ying. She was strong. Maybe stronger than he was. “I've been alone since I ended it with David. The first time, not when we arrested him. The team became my family, and then it fell apart, too. But you were always there. I don't know what I'd do without you. Or where I'd be without you. You're not alone anymore either, Martin. So long as I'm alive you never will be alone.”

“We shouldn't do this.”

“What is it you always told me? Follow your heart. Is that your heart's answer?”

“No.” With that single, clipped word Martin Castillo sealed his fate. No, he thought as he stood and took Trudy in his arms, feeling her press warm against him. Ended a chapter. And started a better one. For both of us. Her hair tickled his nose and chin, and the only thing he could smell was her perfume. When they finally kissed his soul slid in line with his heart and joined with hers, bathed and almost consecrated in the gold Miami moon.

 

It was dark out by the big docks, towering shadows cast by container ships blocking most of the light. Here and there warehouse lights burned as crews shifted rusting steel containers, forklifts and curses doing the job in equal measure. No one noticed the battered old van parked among an assortment of panel trucks and step vans in one of the many parking lots that circled the docks like rusty necklaces.

Stan Switek could feel the sweat trickling down his sides and soaking the back of his red and blue Hawaiian shirt. The surveillance gear heated the back of the van better than a fireplace, but there was no way he could run any air conditioning. He'd need to shut some of it down soon just to keep it from burning itself up, but the job was almost done for the night anyhow. A few minutes more and he'd be on his way.

Adjusting the frequency dial a hair, he punched the recorder as soon as the voices came through clear. Moncado's men didn't spend much time on the line, but when they did it was pure gold. And the more he could gather, the better the Task Force could target. It was important work, and Stan was damned glad he was able to be a part of it.

He knew better than the others how lucky he was to be here. Only Crockett had dodged a bigger bullet, and the apology in the conference room had done much to bury Stan's anger. He wasn't sure if he fully trusted his fellow detective yet, but he was starting to forgive him. That, he decided as the tape rolled silently from one reel to the other, was something.

But it wasn't just that. Castillo had taken him into the office before Crockett and Tubbs returned, asking if his gambling was well and truly finished. The man just sat there, a master of silence and shadow, before speaking. “If it isn't, you will be off this task force and working as a crossing guard.”

“It's over, lieutenant. I've been going to meetings, and a friend is helping, too.” He didn't mention the friend was Gina, though he figured Castillo already knew. Somehow the man knew everything about his people.

“Good. If you start to slip, come to me. I will help so long as you're honest. The second you aren't, you're finished.” He fixed Stan with the famous stare for almost a minute before looking down at the folder on his desk. “Now get to work.”

Getting to work was something Stan understood, even if sometimes the rest of the team didn't seem to grasp what he did. He could run the streets with them when needed, but he was best right in the back of the Bug Van, spinning the dials and gathering the intel they needed to be effective. Castillo had helped him understand that, and gave him the time and space to become unmatched in his trade. Classes at Quantico, time with the NSA and CIA. Anything. Even Lester was in awe of what he could do now.

The conversation ended with a click, and Stan shut off the tape. Checking a small monitor he could see a car pulling away from one of the unlit warehouses and knew his night was over. Tico's lieutenant was done with his checks. All that was left was to change the tapes in some of the voice-activated taps he had in place and Stan could punch out for the day. Gathering a handful of cassettes, he systematically powered down all the gear in the back of the van before opening the door and stepping out into the relatively cool Miami night. Pulling on a set of lineman's coveralls he started on what he called his rounds. Ten minutes later he was back, full tapes in a bag, and drove the van off into the night.

Unlike Crockett and his boat or Tubbs with his new rooftop condo, Stan Switek had a simple but comfortable apartment in one of the newer complexes clinging to the edges of the city. Also unlike them, he didn't live alone. Not anymore, at least. He locked the Bug Van, setting the alarms out of habit, then trudged up the stairs to his second floor walk-up.

Gina was still awake. Waiting for him. She sat on the couch, a glass of red wine on the low table in front of her. Turning, she smiled when he walked through the door. “How did it go?”

“They never knew I was there.” Cracking his own grin, Stan pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and sat down next to Gina. “I'll have to wash those damned coveralls again, and maybe wire a fan in the back of the van. It's like a sweat house in there.” He pulled the tab on the beer and drank, feeling the cold liquid loosen the back of his throat. “How was your day?”

“Good. I think we finally convinced Tina to get off the streets for good.” She smiled, and Stan loved how her smile always lit up her eyes like matching chocolate diamonds. “I got her a spot in Rita's halfway house. And a nice line on a job.” She sighed. “Hopefully it's enough.”

“So do I.” Stan rested his hand on her shoulder, knowing she'd spent two months trying to convince the girl to leave the life. “And in news you won't believe, Crockett actually apologized about Larry today.”

“He did? Really?”

“Yeah. And he meant it.” Stan smiled. “I mean he really meant it, not Castillo told him to mean it.”

“So you two can...”

“Yeah. I can work with him now. Like we used to.” Stan took another sip of beer. “He looks...different now. Same guy, but something's changed.”

“It's about time.” Gina took a sip of her wine, and then grabbed Stan's free hand. “I'm over him, Stan. Reallyover him. It was a nice dream for a girl, I guess, but that's all it was. A dream. I think I always knew that, but when he and Rico left I was sure. It helped me see what's important, and who I really care about. I don't ever want to go back to that. Any of it.”

“Have you talked to Trudy lately?”

“I tried. She's not returning my calls.” Gina drained her glass and refilled it from the bottle on the table. “Can't say I blame her, since I'm the one who told her about her sister.”

“She'll call. I know it.” Stan pulled Gina close, feeling her press against him. “Sorry...the shirt's still sweaty from the van.”

“It's fine, Stan. It's you I want to be next to, not the shirt.”

Stan drank more beer, turning his next words over in his head. “She asked about you at the task force meeting today. Didn't know you'd moved to victim services. I think you'll hear from her soon.” He thought back to finding Larry in that shower, the needle still hanging out of his arm. “Those things take time to work through.” He drank again, draining the beer. “Lots of time,” he repeated, his voice trailing off.

“I'm sorry.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I miss Larry, too. I shouldn't have...”

“It's ok. It's just...” He struggled for words. Things always sounded so much better before he actually said them. “I know how she feels. She doesn't blame you, but it's still too close for her. Once it fades a bit she'll reach out.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him then, and he tasted the tart red wine on her lips and tongue. “How did I miss you were so sweet?”

“It's the shirts. They blind people to my better side.” Stan still wasn't sure how it had happened. How things had fallen into place like this. But he wasn't about to question it.

“We've both lost so much. At least we won't lose each other.” She kissed him again. “I have to get up in the morning. Maybe you'd better put me to bed.”

 

One thing Sonny Crockett appreciated about the St. Vitus Dancewas it never changed. In all the years he'd worked undercover it always waited for him, quiet and without judgement. “It's just me, boy,” he whispered to Elvis as he stepped on deck, knowing the alligator was snuffling around somewhere. It was never a good idea to sneak up on Elvis, as more than a few would-be burglars had learned to their regret.

Once belowdecks he turned on a single light in the saloon and shrugged off his suit coat. Burnett's look was dark, which also made it hot about any time of the year in Miami. He thought about pouring another Black Jack, but changed his mind. The four at the club were plenty, especially since he wanted to think.

He and Tubbs were moving like they always had, playing off each other's cover and making waves in any organization they got near. It felt strange not seeing Gina around, but from what he could tell Trudy and Stan worked damned well together. Besides, he knew deep down he had nothing left to say to Gina. Nothing left to give. He hadn't been kidding when he told Castillo the job was his life. That was one thing the whole Burnett episode had taught him. With Caitlin gone, both sides of the Job were all he had left.

Taking out a wooden case, Crockett went about cleaning the Smith & Wesson, ejecting the magazine and the live round in the chamber first. The ritual was familiar, grounding him in this time and place better than anything else he could do. What was it he'd heard years gone? “A craftsman's only as good as his tools,” he whispered into the night, answering his own question. And those tools had to be maintained. Once he finished he reloaded the big pistol, jacking a round into the chamber and flicking down the safety to drop the hammer. A few hours sleep, he figured, would do him good before the next act in the task force's drama. Before turning off the light he reached up and touched the ring he wore on a chain around his neck. The wedding ring Caitlin had given him. His only remaining connection to a world now closed to him.

 

Ricardo Tubbs stood on the penthouse's balcony, looking out over the yellow and neon landscape that was Miami. “Sure as hell ain't New York City,” he muttered, looking down at the melting ice cubes in his glass of scotch. “But it'll do.”

Some nights he missed the city of his birth. The honking cars, brilliant lights, and hulking skeletons of urban life. The glare of Times Square or Broadway set against empty brownstones back in the Bronx given over to decay and drug houses. There was a speed, an energy to it he'd never found down among the neon and extravagant dreams making Miami. But there was nothing in New York for him now. Hadn't been for several years if he was being honest about it. Even Valerie had turned out to be a lie.

The scotch burned a familiar trail down his throat. He had to give Castillo credit. The man had put something together stronger than he'd ever imagined possible. So long as the brass didn't screw them, Tubbs figured this task force could take down damn near anything it was sent after. And this time he didn't think anyone would try to screw them...there was an edge to Castillo he'd never seen before. Like the man had been pushed far enough and said “no mas.” It was the same look he'd seen when Menton tried to threaten Castillo, only deeper and stronger.

Even though he knew the penthouse was part of Cooper's cover, Tubbs was glad to get out of another in a string of crappy apartments. It was nice to have room to breathe, to sit without hearing someone else's music or fight bleeding through paper-thin walls. Like the home he'd never had but always saw on TV when he wasn't out playing stickball or football with his older brother Raphael. “Finally got that deluxe apartment in the sky,” he muttered, echoing the old show theme. “Not the way I'd planned it, but it'll do.”

He shifted, feeling the familiar weight of his revolver on his hip. It had been good to get the badge back, too. Being a cop defined him in ways he hadn't understood or realized until he dropped that badge in front of Castillo and tried to walk away. Rafael had warned him about that, too. “You marry that badge when you put it on, little brother,” he'd said when Ricardo signed up for the academy. “Not right away. But in five, ten years you won't know what to do without it.”

But that wasn't what bothered him. Not what brought him out to stare at the neon fading into the distant ocean. It was Sonny. Tubbs worried about his partner more than he cared to admit, and since the whole Burnett episode he'd been extra-careful. He'd known about Sonny's identification with his cover since Artie Rollins, and had only seen it grow stronger over the years. Sonny said he knew the difference; said he was positive he could keep the two apart. But Tubbs wasn't sure. Not as sure as he wanted to be.

Ice cubes clinked against glass as he sipped more scotch, listening to the sounds of the city below. That was one of the joys of playing the money man: Rico Cooper just had to strut on stage, wave his money around, and strut off again. It would be different now with this task force. Tubbs would be under longer, setting up deals on his own and bringing Sonny in as support instead of how they'd done it back with OCB. The danger was getting too used to Cooper's money, his flash. Cooper wasn't scripted to be a violent man...that's what he brought Burnett in for. But lurking in the back was good old Marcus. Waiting for Tubbs to tap him in if needed.

Castillo had called him in, too. Right after he'd gotten back to Miami. “I need to know if you still have that anger,” the lieutenant had asked, sitting behind his desk in the dark office. “The anger you had when your brother was murdered, when you lost Angelina.”

“Yes. I do. Is that a problem?”

“No. It would be if you didn't have that anger.” Castillo looked down then, his eyes partly closed. “This task force will make you use that anger. You'll need it to get things done. But you also need to control it. If you start having problems, come to me. If you hide anything, I'll know. And you'll be off the task force.”

“Copy that, lieutenant. You don't have to worry about me.”

“I know. And Rico...help your partner, too.”

Help Sonny...now that's a trick. Tubbs knew Sonny was Southern white proud, too stubborn to say anything was wrong even if his feel were nailed to the floor with railroad spikes. At least he'd finally apologized to Switek. That was something, and a move long overdue.

The scotch was gone, so Rico sucked an ice cube and turned toward the door. “The Job is what it is,” he muttered, leaving the empty glass on a low table before heading for his bedroom. “More wisdom from Raphael. Something else he was right about. Damn. I miss you, brother.”

 

“What have we got?”

“We're in with Reno.” Crockett nursed a styrofoam cup of coffee, looking down at the briefing materials Stan had passed out. “Tubbs laid it out there about meeting the boss, and Reno's anxious enough to move the weight he bought it. Now I'm just waiting for my pager to buzz.”

Stan nodded. “I got part of that on one of the taps. Reno sounded like he'd done half a key of his own product he was talking so fast.”

“Who was on the other end?” Castillo shifted his own papers, finding a sheet with a line diagram of what DEA thought was the Moncado network. Already the task force had corrected one layer.

“Not Tico. Reno kept lapsing into bad speed Spanish and didn't use names. For my money he was talking to Carlos Pedrosa.”

“Pedrosa?” Trudy leaned in, her thin dress top pulling tight across her breasts. “Who's he?”

Stan flipped through the papers, and Crockett noticed Castillo looking at Trudy with what almost looked like a knowing smile. It died one second after it was born, but the memory lingered. What the hell did I just see?With effort he focused on what Stan was saying. “...and he's just come up on the radar. DEA didn't even have him as part of the Moncado group. Not much traffic on him, but I'd say he's insulation.”

“What?” Tubbs asked the question around his own cup of coffee.

“He keeps Tico from having to deal with local issues. They go to Carlos and then he takes it to Tico if it seems big enough.” Stan chuckled, flipping through his notes. “We ain't quite big enough yet.”

“But Carlos is a way in?” Trudy leaned back, looking from Stan to Castillo and ignoring the other two detectives.

“That's above my pay grade. I just listen to 'em though the walls and peek in the windows.”

“Yes.” Castillo spoke with authority. “He is. There's no one between Carlos Pedrosa and Tico Moncado. Detective Switek's analysis is correct. Personally I think Pedrosa is responsible for South Florida, and there's another one or two people like him dealing with other territories, but we don't know for sure. Or care. DEA can connect those dots. Pedrosa is our way in.”

“I'll work with Stan, lieutenant. See if we can figure out who the other bosses are.” Trudy smiled. “That's what you sent me to Quantico and Langley to learn to do. Analysis.”

“Thank you. For now that's our best bet. Joplin and Switek, I want a better map of the Moncado organization. Tubbs, you and Crockett keep working Reno. We've got the money set so it can be used to take down the banks they want it sent to, and any drugs you run will be seized further up the pipeline.”

“Yeah. Moncado don't care where it goes or what happens to it once it's paid for.” Tubbs flipped through the papers, pausing once or twice to quickly read some of the notes.

Crockett nodded, his gaze flicking from Trudy to the lieutenant and back again. They had that look about them. He remembered seeing it in himself when he looked at Caitlin. I'll be damned. Hell, they both deserve it. Trudy's had a hard life and Marty...he never seems to catch a break.Gathering up the papers, he stuffed them back into the folder and closed it with a snap. “We'd best get moving, Rico. Maybe we can shake some word loose on the street about Reno and this Carlos character.”

Neither man spoke until they were in the elevator riding down to the building's underground garage. Tubbs turned to Crockett and almost giggled. “Did you see the way the lieutenant and Trudy were lookin' at each other?”

“Yeah. Good for them I say.” Crockett slid on his Wayfarers to hide the memories building in his eyes. “Trudy's a damned good lady, and Marty...”

“Man's been through three lifetimes of hurt, you ask me. I'm right there with you, partner. Good for them.”

“Speaking of which, when are you gonna find a lady, Rico? And don't feed me crap about Valerie.”

“No. That one's done and buried.” Tubbs chuckled, then his face hardened. “After Angelina...”

“Sorry, man. Didn't mean to bring up bad memories.”

“It's all good, Sonny. All good.” Tubbs smiled. “I need a lady, I find a lady. That's how this cat prowls.”

Sonny laughed with him. “Yeah, I hear you.”

“What about you?”

“Me? Hell, I had my shots. Two of 'em. One not so good, and the other...well...who knows where it would have gone. Now it's me and drinks under the stars with Elvis.”

Before Tubbs could reply the elevator lurched to a halt and the doors rattled open. “Our ride awaits. Yours or mine?”

“The Ferrari. Better air conditioning. It's too damned hot out there already.”

“Who you want to work over?”

“No one in particular. Maybe shake a few trees and see what falls out. We gotta be careful, though.” Crockett paused as he slid into the low-slung Testarosa and started it up, smiling at the engine's familiar growl. “We already got a buy lined up with Reno. We shake the wrong tree, we wreck the deal. Then the whole thing goes south.”

“I hate to say this, but why don't we try Noogie or Izzy? Those two fools hear plenty, and they're not going to wreck any deal. Hell, neither of 'em move product themselves.”

“Great minds think alike, Tubbs. I was thinkin' the same thing. Let's start with Noogie. I don't feel like beating the pavement looking under rocks for Izzy. Ten to one Noogie's still working that strip club.”

 

The doorman at Rizzo's looked from Crockett to Tubbs and back again, his face screwed up in a question. “Ain't you two heard?”

“Heard what, my man?” Tubbs shook his head.

“We've been out of town. Business.”

“Noogie ain't here no more.”

“Where'd he move to?”

“You don't get it, man. He ain't here no more. He's dead.”

“What?” Crockett felt like someone had punched him in the kidneys. Noogie was annoying as hell, but he'd always seemed indestructible. “How?”

“He and his woman had some kinda fight. Hear he caught her goin' ten rounds on her back with Brutus the mid-shift bouncer. He took it hard. Way I heard it he tried some smack to take the edge off. It killed him dead.” The doorman sniffled, rubbing at his nose with a stubby finger. “Just dead. Music ain't been the same since. No one could spin that wax like the Noog-man.”

“When?”

“Six weeks yesterday. Club gave him a damned fine funeral. An' if you're lookin' for that wife you won't find her here. Six of the girls jumped her and kicked the job out of her boobs before they sent her packin'.”

“Thanks.” Crockett reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill. “Buy the girls some drinks for us in Noogie's name, ok?”

Walking back to the car, Tubbs shook his head. “That's about the same time Stan said Trudy's sister ODd. Sounds like someone moved a bad batch.”

“Or unloaded it on purpose.” Crockett started the car, still working through it all.

“The little chump annoyed the hell out of me, but it just doesn't seem right he's gone. He was like a rash that never cleared up, but he did have his uses.”

“That was while we were gone.” Crockett eased the Ferrari into gear and shot into a gap in the traffic. “Maybe Stan will have a line on Izzy. I'd wager that little pest went right underground as soon as he heard Noogie died.”

“I'll reach out and touch.” Tubbs activated the car phone as Crockett navigated the early morning traffic, taking them deeper into Miami. “Stan! You got a line on Izzy? Yeah, we just learned Noogie's dead. Got taken out by that same brown that killed Trudy's sister. Really? Solid. Let me know.”

“Now that was a whole lot of nothing. What did he say?”

Tubbs slotted the phone back in its case with a snort. “He hasn't seen Izzy for a couple of weeks. Last he heard the little chump was still working the cons down in those old beachfront hotels, but he didn't seem last time he went through. I think you were right, partner. The little chump's gone into hiding.”

Crockett snarled, whipping the Ferrari around a taxi. “Move it! Well, if we can't find him, maybe we can get a line on that heroin. We know of two people it's killed so far. Maybe there's more. And where did it come from? Castillo said something about it coming in with Moncado's stuff, but Maynard swore off heroin as far as I know after that whole body bag thing. Maybe Moncado's playing the field.”

“Or someone in his cartel is. Maybe Reno or this Carlos cat.” Grinning, Tubbs pulled out the phone again. “I'll let the lieutenant know what we're thinking.”

 

It was late afternoon before Sonny Crockett eased the Ferrari into its spot in the cool shadows of the underground garage. There'd been no trace of Izzy in his usual haunts, and the doorman back at Rizzo's hadn't seen him since Noogie's wake. “We put his ashes in the pole, you know,” the big man had said with a sad smile. “It's what he wanted.”

Tubbs was still talking about it. “Man, just think. If that pole comes loose, some girl's gonna be wearing Noogie. And I mean WEARING Noogie. He'll be going places no man has gone before and places a lot of men have gone before.”

“Maybe that's what the little freak wanted.” Crockett hooked his sunglasses in the collar of his sea green shirt and stepped out of the car. “Now let's get upstairs and see if anything's dropped. And my damned pager hasn't gone off yet. Maybe Reno got cold feet.”

“That chump better not have.” Tubbs tugged at the lapels of his pinstripe suit coat. “I'd hate to slap him upside his fool head if he did.”
The tenth floor was quiet and almost empty as the other offices emptied for the day. In a bland building with bland businesses, Crockett wondered how many were like theirs – fronting something else. 'RG Consulting' could be anything: a collective of engineers, ad people, drug runners, a low-key escort agency. Anything. He was sure Castillo had checked everyone on their floor, the floor above, and the one below. But he still wondered.

Tubbs lead the way, opening the door with his key and heading through the reception area to the conference room. Stan sat at the table, his habitual Hawaiian shirt open four buttons down from the collar, his attention focused on an array of pictures fanned out in front of him. Trudy was nowhere to be seen, and the door to Castillo's office was open.

“Got anything new for us?” Crockett helped himself to coffee from the pot in the corner and sat down, bringing a cup for Tubbs.

“Trudy's out chasing down a lead on Izzy. Or more like someone who might know where Izzy is. That freak cousin of his. Manny something or another.” Stan swept the photos into a single pile. “Still trying to put faces with names. Or faces with voices, depending. Anyone ever tell these clowns they need nametags?”

“I think you've got something with that heroin.” Castillo walked out of his office, his face grimmer than usual. “Metro-Dade has traced at least fifteen OD deaths to that batch, starting six weeks ago and ending two weeks later.”

“Sounds like someone pulled it off the street once they realized it was too bad to unload.” Crockett sipped at the coffee. It was strong and hot, clearing the cobwebs from his head.

“That's what they think, but it's nothing they can prove.”

“Do they have any idea about the source?”

“No, but DEA does. One of their informants says it's someone new to the heroin trade. Someone greedy who doesn't know how to cut properly. It was what they cut it with that caused the deaths.”

“DEA have a name to go with this little whisper?”

“No.” Castillo sat down, folding his hands in front of him. “But Naval Intelligence picked up some chatter while they were monitoring Cuban naval frequencies. The same night the heroin came in. A name came up more than once. Reno.”

Crockett slammed his hand down on the table. “I knew it! And Maynard would feel him his balls for breakfast if he knew about it. He swore off heroin after that little fiasco with Stone.”

“More likely the Company warned him off.” Castillo drummed his index finger on the table. “Their new clients prefer to move cocaine. Either way he's not going to want them angry with him.”

Tubbs shook his head. “Same old show, then. Only the names on the program change.”

“But it gives us a weakness to exploit.” Crockett leaned back, thoughts swirling and combining in his head. “We need to find out if this Pedrosa knows anything about Reno's little side trade. If he does, it's good money that Moncado doesn't. If Pedrosa ain't in on it, Reno might be out of career options like yesterday.”

Castillo nodded. “Run it down. But stay low. Stan, keep your ears open for chatter from Reno about any side deals. If's he's moved heroin once on his own, chances are he's moved something else. We weren't looking for it before. Look for it now.”

“Got it, lieutenant. I'll listen for Izzy, too.”

“Let's hit the streets, Rico. Mr. Cooper might be looking to diversify his operations.”

They'd been gone for almost eight months, but not much had changed in the drug game. Some of the names, maybe, but not the game itself. But some of the names that changed... “I still can't believe that little freakazoid is gone.” Crockett changed lanes, heading downtown. “He'd been around since we took down that psycho Desmond Maxwell. Hard to believe he lived through that and everything else only to go down because of some bad dope.”

“Yeah. Like I said before...he grew on you. Like a rash or some kind of fungus.” Tubbs looked out the window at the cars they passed. “You ever wonder if these fools appreciate what we do for them?”

“No. Not anymore.” Crockett downshifted and powered past a purple Corvette decked out like some dentist's midlife crisis antidote gone horribly wrong. “I learned in Nam most people don't pay attention to what you're doing for them. Oh, back when I was uniform I hoped they'd notice. But once you go under, that dream dies.”

“Yeah.” Tubbs was silent for a few more minutes. “When did you know you'd come back?”

“Probably the same time you did. It was great at first. Hell, just sit back and watch the girls in bikinis walk by. Then I got bored. And then I started thinking.”

“I hear you, partner.” Tubbs laughed. “I was on my third run up the coast when I knew I couldn't stay away. And that's when Castillo called. Like he knew or something.”

“Hell, he did know.” Crockett grinned, turning off the wide avenue onto one of Miami's side arteries. “Martin Castillo knows everything. He's tried to walk away more times that we've thought about it, I'd guess.” He swung the Ferrari to the curb. “We'll start here and work our way up the food chain.”

It was dark and cool inside the club, the music just loud enough to mess with surveillance gear but low enough to allow easy talk of business. Each table had a clear view of the door, and the bar mirror allowed the same. Most of the tables were empty, and only a handful of men clustered at the far end of the bar. “We must be early for the party,” Crockett muttered as they stepped to the bar.

“Don't be too sure. That chump in the pink tux shirt is Nicky Fuentes. About two rungs above a street corner dealer last time I saw him.”

“Black Jack, neat.” Crockett snarled his order at the greasy bartender. “Mr. Cooper will have scotch on the rocks.” Once the man turned away he sidelined a glance down the bar. “Don't know him, but the one in the Sears jacket used to break legs for Little Mike Torres.”

“Didn't we send him up three years ago?”

“Yep. Guess ol' Freddy there had to find new work. How well do you know Nicky?”

“I don't. He was on the edges of the Mendozas before we took them out. He's heard of Cooper, but we never met. I saw him at one or two of the buy meets.”

Crockett nodded, examining his bourbon with an experienced eye. “They sure as hell started lookin' us over. Let's see if they take the bait.”

Five minutes later Nicky sauntered up the bar, looking like a junior high punk trying to look tough. “Cooper, ain't it?” His voice had a high whine, and Crockett wanted to punch him in the throat just to make it stop.

Tubbs made a show of turning slowly, looking Nicky up and down like something he'd found on the sole of his shoe and couldn't identify. “Any reason I should tell you?”

“Hey, man! It's me! Nicky! I used to work for the Mendoza brothers.”

“Guess even they needed pool boys.”

The man in the Sears jacket started to move when Crockett leaned back from the bar. “Better tell your boy there to stay put, pal. Unless he wants to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.”

Nicky looked at Crockett, seeing only Burnett in his eyes. Then he raised his hand. “Take it easy, Freddy. Can't blame a man for bein' careful. It's only professional. And from what I hear, you don't want to make Mr. Burnett angry.”

Freddy stopped, and even in the weak light Crockett could see the color draining from the big man's face. “No sir, Mr. Burnett. Sorry to bother you. I'll have a seat until you gents are done.”

Tubbs grinned. “Now that we all know each other, maybe you can tell me why you interrupted my drink.”

“Business, my man. Only reason anyone comes to the dump. It sure ain't for his company.” Nicky tried to glare tough at the bartender and failed.

“Do tell. I'm heading back to New York soon. What business do you have I can't do there?”

“I like a man who gets right to the point. Quality is the name of the game, my man. I can set you up with quality like you can't believe.”

“What are we talking?” Tubbs leaned over, fixing Nicky with his best Cooper dark stare.

“Coke, H, high-end Jamaican weed. Crack if you want it, but the money ain't there.”

“I've been hearing bad things about heroin in Miami. Calling that quality is like bottling sewer water and selling it as Perrier.”

“No, Cooper! It ain't like that. That was one shipment, and the seller got it off the market as fast as he could. His new batch is primo. Southeast Asia's finest, not that Mex crap.”

“I don't want to see your sample case, Nicky. My people will want volume.”

“But it's try before you buy, Cooper. Confirm the quality and then we up quantity.”

Sonny slammed his empty glass down on the bar. “What part of this don't you understand, Nicky boy? Mr. Cooper here ain't some nickle-and-dime weekend hustler from Boca. His time is big money, and unless you've moved up from errand boy you ain't got that kind of money, pal.”

That pulled Freddy off his chair. “You can't talk to Mr. Fuentes that...”

Crockett turned, feeling himself slide effortlessly into Burnett's skin. He swung low, his fist connecting with the full force of his shoulder behind it. Grabbing a gasping Freddy by the shoulder, he guided him back to a chair. “I said sit down, Freddy. And stay this time.” Freddy groaned, then gagged, doubling over and clutching his midsection. Turning, Crockett swept his cold Burnett gaze over the club. “Anyone else feeling squirrely? Didn't think so.” Leaning over, he pulled a cocked and locked .45 out of Freddy's waistband. “I'll just hang onto this so you don't hurt yourself.”

“Burnett doesn't waste any time getting down to it.” Tubbs chuckled. “And what he says is true. My time ismoney. And the more of one you waste, the less of the other you get.”

“Ok...Ok...I get it.” Nicky raised his hands, fighting to avoid looking at either Crockett or Freddy. “Thing is, I don't carry the high-grade on me. Not to a dump like this. And weight's another...how much weight are we talking?”

“I don't need your blow. Or the weed. Or the whole damned back aisle of Walgreen's. H, on the other hand, is something my partners might be interested in. How much weight can you handle?”

“That depends...”

Crockett fought back a grin as Tubbs slammed his hand on the bar. “Don't play games with me, chump! Your price just dropped.”

“No, really, Mr. Cooper. I ain't playin' games.” Nicky raised his arms, palms open wide. “Please. No games. Normally I move small stuff. A few ounces, no more than a kilo at a time. I can get more, sure, but it takes time.”

Tubbs patted the man's sweat-dappled cheek like he was dealing with a petulant child. “Sure, Nicky. But a kilo works fine for starters. For quality testing. But if my partners agree, we'd need a hundred more.”

Nicky's face was as white as high-grade Peruvian flake. “A...a hundred keys?”

“If it's as good as you say.”

Crockett leaned back against the bar, taking it all in while watching for any reinforcements in case Nicky had more than one gun at his back. He enjoyed watching Tubbs deal. He could switch from hard to soft and back again in the blink of an eye, and knew just when and where to push to be convincing and seal the deal. It was what made them so effective as partners. Tubbs was the businessman...and he was Burnett. Crockett knew he could deal if he needed to, and had proved that during his time as Burnett, but Tubbs was better at it.

In the end Tubbs grinned. “We'll see you back here tomorrow night, Nicky. You'd better be sure the product is as advertised. My people will run their checks, and if it's all cool you'll see us again. If not...”

“No harm, no foul.” Crockett unleashed his own grin. “We just disappear and you go back to being a nickle-and-dime street boy.” He hefted Freddy's pistol and ejected the magazine. Flicking off the safety, he worked the slide and let the live round clatter to the bar top. “Give the kid his toy back once we're gone, pal. I'll keep the magazine so he doesn't hurt himself.”

Back on the street, Tubbs exhaled and slapped Crockett on the shoulder. “You think he took the bait?”

“Hell, I think he pissed his pants.” Crockett unlocked the Ferrari and got in. “The question is will whoever's above him bite?”

“For a hundred key deal I'd think so. He might piss his pants, too.” Tubbs was still grinning as they pulled away from the curb. “Where to now, partner?”

“I don't know. Maybe troll a few clubs. See what faces are still in the game and who's up and coming. Eight months is a long damn time to be on the bench. And maybe we'll catch wind of Izzy while we're doing it.” Shifting gears, Crockett shot past a Mustang convertible loaded with college girls. “I just hope the little dork's ok.”

“Yeah...” Tubbs nodded. “He's a pain in the ass, but he's ourpain in the ass. If anyone's gonna kill that Cuban chump it's gonna be me.”

“Izzy's a survivor. I'll give him that.”

“Yeah, but we thought Noogie was, too. The game's changing, Crockett.”

“True enough. But so are we.” Crockett caught a glimpse of his reflection in the Ferrari's driver side window as he downshifted and shot past another car of gawking tourists. “So are we,” he repeated almost to himself.

 

Moonlight and stars turned the sand a silver gold a few yards from Martin Castillo's plank porch. From where he sat, drinking tea, he could pick out silver-tipped waves as they broke and slid up the beach. The hissing water calmed him, letting his nerves melt into the darkness and peace he always found here. He could almost see Jess out there, riding one of the waves he always talked about deep in the Laotian highlands.

“I've...never been here on a night like this.” Trudy walked through the open glass door onto the porch. The moon shone off her hair and highlighted her body through the thin silk robe.

“It's a special place. One I've never shared.” Martin stood up, reaching out and taking her hand. “Not until now.” He looked into Trudy's eyes, seeing himself reflected in her happiness. Now I understand what Crockett found with Caitlin. And what he lost.“I don't think I could ever leave here.”

“I can see why. It's beautiful, Marty. So peaceful.” She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I never thought anyplace could be so peaceful.”

“Places become what we are. They reflect us, for good or bad.”

She kissed him softly on the cheek. “I suppose they do. It's not something I thought about much, really. We see so much bad it's easy to miss the good.”

Castillo nodded, looking up at the diamond-dotted sky. “That's why I keep this place as it is. It reminds me of Cuba, of Thailand, of Laos, and now Miami. All things come together for me here. And now you are part of that.”

“And the Task Force...”

“We keep working. I won't hold you back, Trudy. Not because of this. I will worry. I can't lie about that. But you trusted me, and I have to trust you. Nothing at work changes because we have changed.”

She hugged him, and he could feel the strength in her arms and hear the determination in her voice. “We will make this work, Marty. I've never felt so...whole...so complete as I do now. I won't risk that.”

“Neither will I.” He kissed her then, feeling the softness of her lips against his.

“I almost forgot. Stan called just before I left the office. He said he picked up a call from some street dealer to Reno. He was asking about heroin.”

“Sounds like Crockett and Tubbs found their first crack in the machine.” Castillo filed the information away in a corner of his mind. Letting it sort itself in with everything else to be pulled out in the morning. “We should hear from them in the morning.”

She nodded, then yawned. “I don't know about you, but it's about this girl's bed time.”

Martin nodded, kissing her again and feeling her press herself against him. “Morning will come soon enough. We should savor the night while we have it.”

 

“I forgot how good your coffee is, Stan.” Sonny took another sip from his mug and grinned across the table. “And how much I missed it.”

“He's not lying. Crockett brews coffee that could stand in for motor oil.”

“Old habits, Rico. The Marine Corps doesn't run on decaff. But I ain't gonna lie...I'd rather drink Stan's than my own.”

Stan laughed. “Flattery ain't gonna get you a ride in the Bug Van, Sonny. But it might get you the latest tapes from our good friend Reno. Seems someone put a bug up his ass last night about heroin. A low-level punk calling himself Nicky.”

“Good old Nicky.” Tubbs got up and poured himself more coffee from the pot. “I wonder if the punk changed his shorts before he made the call?”

“That was quick.” Crockett looked over at the thickset detective. “Good work, Stan. They say anything interesting?”

“Reno asked about the buyer. When this Nicky mentioned Cooper he got all shook up.” Stan lapsed into his Elvis voice for the last few words.

“Did he now?” Tubbs chuckled. “Guess he thinks he should be Cooper's one stop shop.”

“I wonder if he stuffed that pager number in some hooker's panties? We should have heard something by now.”

“I agree.” As usual no one heard Castillo enter the room. Trudy came in just behind him, her smooth, dark skin accented by a short black dress. “Give him until the end of the day and then reach out.”

“Copy that, lieutenant.” Tubbs nodded. “Cooper's a busy man with places to go and deals to make. Completely in cover for him to push back.”

“And Burnett doesn't like being jerked around. Yeah, we'll put a bug up his ass, lieutenant.”

“Good. Those wires turn up anything else?”

“Not yet. Usual chatter about security and warehouse space.”

“I took a look at it, too.” Trudy slid into a chair next to Stan, sipping at her own cup of coffee between words. “I think they're getting close to critical mass.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning if they don't move some serious weight soon they'll either have to shut down the pipeline or up their local sales. At least for a couple of weeks. When Broward rolled up the Los Pepes gang last month it put a big crimp in Reno's local sales. They were punks, but they were good for close to fifty keys a week. With that gone...”

“And I'll bet Reno doesn't want either Moncado or this new guy to know he's not moving his normal weight. Explains why he didn't hesitate when Tubbs upped the quantity.”

“Any chatter about that chump Moreno?”

Stan shook his head. “Izzy? Not a word. I've got feelers out, though.”

“I got a line on that cousin of his late yesterday.” Trudy spoke quickly. “Manny. He's working at the dog track again, or so some of the girls down on the line say. He's sweet on one of them. Carmello or something like that.”

“Isn't that a candy bar?”

“Very funny, Rico. Not all the girls are original with their names.”

Stan cleared his throat. “Lieutenant, I can have a friend check her out for us. Find out if she's good for the intel.”

Castillo nodded. “Do it. If she comes back good, Joplin and Switek will check out the track. Crockett, you and Tubbs turn up the heat on Reno. I'll be in my office if you need anything.”

Once Castillo left the room, Crockett turned to Stan. “This friend of yours got good intel on the working girls?”

“Sure does. She works with them. Tries to help them get off the street.”

Crockett nodded. He knew who Stan meant. “Tell her I said hello and that I understand.” Then he saw the quick flash of pain in Stan's eyes and really did understand. “It's nothing like that, Stan. I know you two will take care of each other. As far as I'm concerned I can't think of anyone else I'd rather see her with.”

Stan's cheeks turned red and he looked down at the table. “Thanks, Sonny. I'll tell Gina you said hello.”

They were back in the elevator before Tubbs spoke. “Damn, man! Look what happens when we leave! We must be the biggest third wheels in the history of the world.”

“Maybe so, Rico. Hell, I don't know. I am glad Gina found somebody who will treat her right.”

“That's no lie. Switek might be one pair of blue suede shoes away from the nut house but he's a solid guy.”

Crockett nodded, fighting down memories of Caitlin. She always swirled in front of his eyes at moments like this. She was it. My last chance at a life beyond this. And this life killed her. And our child.“Yeah, but we need to figure out how we're going to press Reno.”

“Give him until five. If he doesn't page by then, we go looking.”

It was four forty-five when the pager in Crockett's linen blazer pocket buzzed its warning. He was sitting alone at the bar in the Breakwater Hotel, one of the newer places down by the beach. Tubbs was off checking another dead-end lead about Izzy, and he'd figured a Black Jack was in order before he picked his partner up and they headed back to Task Force headquarters. He looked at the digital readout on the pager and sighed. “You got a phone in this dump, pal?” he asked the bartender, looking in the direction of the man's gesturing thumb. “Thanks. Keep the change.”

Reno picked up on the second ring. “What the hell, Burnett? Your customer branching out on me?”

“Hold on, pal. You two ain't married, and I didn't see any exclusive contract on the table. If the man wants to diversify his holdings, who are you to tell him no?” He could hear Reno's breathing quicken and decided to take a chance. “Push him too hard and he might take all his business elsewhere. I've seen him do it before, man. More than once. Cooper's not a man you want to push.”

“Who's pushing? Look...all I meant is I might be able to save him a commission. The broker he talked to sources from me.”

“Do tell? I'll pass it along.”

“Better yet, I can talk to him about it when we meet up. Tomorrow at noon. Same place as before. Tell him to be ready to close the deal.”

Crockett found Tubbs two blocks down the street near one of the hotels favored by Miami's blue-haired set. “No sign of the little chump. Clerk at the Bay's Edge says he hasn't seen him in three weeks.”

“That'll have to wait.” Crockett barely waited for Rico to shut his door before sending the Ferrari shooting into traffic. “I got the call from Reno.”

[mjcmmv]

This story really has my attention!! Great job!! Can't wait for the next installment! 

[vicegirl85]

1 hour ago, mjcmmv said:

This story really has my attention!! Great job!! Can't wait for the next installment! 

What she said!  Loving the character development

[Robbie C.]

Glad you’re enjoying it. Part two should be ready soon. 

[vicegirl85]

On 6/3/2019 at 10:41 PM, Robbie C. said:

Tubbs worried about his partner more than he cared to admit, and since the whole Burnett episode he'd been extra-careful. He'd known about Sonny's identification with his cover since Artie Rollins, and had only seen it grow stronger over the years. Sonny said he knew the difference; said he was positive he could keep the two apart. But Tubbs wasn't sure. Not as sure as he wanted to be.

We haven't yet (speaking of your latest) seen Sonny fall too deep into Burnett.  But after rereading this chapter, I'm wondering how much longer it'll take. 

[Robbie C.]

He did in The Line, at least in terms of the methodical planning side of Burnett. He hasn't gone vicious yet, but there's still time...

[sdiegolo78]

I can picture Crockett's long hair reaching way down his back at that stage!