The More Things Change...(Part IV)

[Robbie C.]

Castillo was waiting for them when the elevator doors opened on the tenth floor. “The others are waiting.” His dark suit was slightly mussed, and Sonny alerted Rico with a slight incline of his head.

“Is that rouge on his shoulder?” Sonny whispered when Rico got close.

“I think so.” Tubbs grinned wide. “Marty be getting busy.”

“What was that, detective?”

“I said we got what we needed out of Manny, lieutenant.” Rico gave Sonny a wide-eyed 'we got busted' look and followed Castillo into the conference room. Trudy was already sitting at the table, her hair more than a bit out of place. The rouge on her cheeks was smudged, and Sonny and Rico exchanged fleeting glances. Stan sat at the far end of the table making a show of going through his notebooks, but his chubby cheeks were still a bright red.

“Where do we stand?”

“I've had a number I don't know page me four times today. I'm guessing it's Pedrosa or one of his main guys.”

“It's Pedrosa.” Stan looked up from his notes, the color leaving his cheeks faster as he focused on the case. “He's been lighting up switchboards all over town. Damn! I always wanted to say that. He doesn't spend much time on the phone himself, but after he calls his people go nuts.”

“We've been letting him stew all day.” Sonny flopped down in one of the comfortable chairs surrounding the table and sighed. “Sort of like someone weighing his options would do.”

“And Moreno?” Castillo wasn't giving anything away, although he was sitting closer to Trudy than normal.

“We picked up Manny just like Carmello said. Scared the dye out of her hair when we did, too.” Tubbs chuckled. “He started talking quick enough at OCB. As far as he knows, that chump Izzy is still alive. He's hiding out at some shack his uncle has the Keys. The uncle's name is Ferdinand Orosco.”

“That dog breeder?” Stan perked up. “Sorry, lieutenant. Back when I was betting dogs were one of my weaknesses. Orosco raises some serious champions. I never knew he was related to that punk Izzy.”

“Trudy, pull his property records when you get a chance.” Castillo looked down at his folded hands as if he was weighing something. “And tell us what you know about Pedrosa's organization now.”

Trudy smiled and straightened her black dress. There was a swagger to her voice Sonny hadn't noticed before. He liked it. “With Reno gone...and he is gone. He died on the operating table. Anyhow, with him gone Pedrosa's organization has a huge hole. The guys on the boat were Reno's heavy lifters. The ones who knew how to get things done and had connections. Basically, Pedrosa has no distributors now. I'm sure he's still got contacts from when he ran at Reno's level, but starting that up again takes time. And he doesn't have time. Stan's gotten some chatter from Moncado's people about another shipment. And they want to know what's happening.”

“So Pedrosa's under pressure.”

“Huge amounts of pressure. I've studied Stan's notes and listened to the tapes. Pedrosa's got about ten shooters, and he can call in another ten on short notice. But that doesn't help him clear the cocaine he's got on hand. And it needs to move before more can arrive.”

“I don't have the full picture yet.” Stan spoke up, nodding to Trudy. “But I think Moncado's being pressed for money. That's his job, after all. Turn the produce of Maynard's narco dictator pals into cash. I'm not dialed into the other side of Maynard's operation yet, but I'm guessing if he's putting the squeeze on Moncado for cash it's going to the other head of the snake.”

“Crockett. Tubbs. Make the call. Trudy, you and Switek might have to follow up on Moreno depending on how Pedrosa responds. I want to know why that con-artist went to ground for over a month.”

Sonny nodded. “You got that phone ready, Stan? Time to make a call.”

“Coming up. Where do you want to be calling from?”

“The airport. Time to make him sweat some more.” Sonny waited until Stan gave him a thumbs-up and dialed the number blinking on his pager. “This is Burnett. Who's wasting my time?...Carlos you say? Well that's fine, Carlos. How'd you get this number?..Mutual friend? Last I heard, pal, Reno got his innards scattered all over the bay by the Coast Guard. Me and my client almost got rolled up in that little fiasco...My client? I'm trying to convince him to stay here instead of going back to New York City...What's that, Mr. Cooper? I'll tell him...Cooper says you got two strikes already: one for that moron Tio and the other for the mess Reno made. He's afraid he'll get stuck in the third....Tell you what...I'll call you at this number if there's any deal to be done, pal.” Looking at the receiver, Sonny slammed down the phone and then laughed.

“What did Pedrosa say?”

“Stan can run the tape back, but I'd say he's worried, lieutenant. Really worried. He never used his last name, but he was damned anxious to know if Cooper was still willing to deal.”

“I'll call him next time.” Tubbs leaned back in his chair. “I'd say tomorrow sometime so I look good and doubtful.”

“We're not on a clock, detectives.” Castillo raised a hand. “I'm not saying slow down. But we don't need to hurry things because some DA wants to make a case. We do this at our own pace and hand off what we can't take down. Giving Reno to the Coast Guard generated good will for us, and it won't hurt to have more stockpiled. You two work Pedrosa. Make him wait as long as you think you need to in order to reel him in. Trudy, Switek, you get Moreno and the general surveillance. Check in tomorrow and we'll adjust as needed.”

Stan leaned forward. “I hate to say it, but I might need some help, lieutenant. With all those bugs running it's getting harder to keep things updated. And if you need me in the field...”

“I'll get Lester from OCB.” Castillo made a note on his pad. “Will that work?”

“You bet, lieutenant. Lester's good and he knows how we work. He'll be able to step right in.” Stan frowned. “Will it take much work?”

“No. He'll be here in a day. Maybe two if I have to make more than one call.” Castillo looked up, his face unreadable. “And if I have to make more than one call someone is not going to like the results of that second call. You'll have Lester.”

 

They were almost to the house on the beach when Trudy giggled. “I think they know.”

Castillo nodded. “And I don't care.”

“I know Sonny saw my make-up on your jacket. And I was sure Stan was going to die when he walked in on us kissing.” She smiled and rested her hand on his thigh while Castillo drove. “It feels so...”

“Right.” Castillo finished the sentence and allowed himself a smile. A realsmile, not one of the thin ones he occasionally used as praise. He'd hadn't smiled this way in years, and it felt good. But not as good as it felt being with Trudy. Just being in the car with her did something to him he'd not thought possible. He felt...content.

Oh, the edge was still there. It always would be. Martin Castillo wasn't a man who took things easy. But now, one part of his life had settled in a way he feared it never would. Again he thought back to Crockett and Caitlin, to the strength he'd seen growing between them before Hackman buried it, and part of Sonny, forever.

Turning off the headlights, he drove the last quarter mile in the dark. An old habit, but it allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness and didn't advertise his arrival to any uninvited guests. Tradecrafthis former Company colleagues called it. For Castillo it was just common sense. He eased the big sedan into its parking spot and shut off the engine, hearing it tick as it cooled in the fresh sea breeze.

Trudy sighed. “I still can't believe this place. The way you can hear the waves and the insects. You'd never think we were close to Miami.”

“Let's go in. I'll make us some tea and dinner.” He smiled, another of his real smiles. “There's a Vietnamese recipe I think you'll like.”

“I'll get changed while you do.” She touched his arm, waiting as he unlocked the door and entered the alarm code. Once they were inside she kissed him before heading for the back bedroom.

As he set water to boil on the stove and checked the refrigerator and cupboards for ingredients, Martin let his mind wander back over how this had come to pass. It had, he knew, been years in the making. Familiarity born from hours of working in close contact with no one else to turn to when things got difficult. He'd seen Trudy struggle with her first real shooting and watched her grow from a bait hooker into one of the finest detectives he'd ever known. Her instincts were even better than Crockett's; a man who ran almost totally on instinct. Yet she tempered the instinct with an intellect easily missed and an analytical approach worthy of Tubbs.

Filling a strainer with loose tea, he poured boiling water into a pot brought all the way from Japan and let the tang of tea fill the still air in the room. He could hear water running in the bathroom and smiled, thinking of Trudy in the shower. After spending years denying her beauty it felt good to admit it. He started rice cooking and assembled what was needed for the rest of the meal; a mix of vegetables, shrimp, and Nuc Mam. A little oil heated in the pan and the stir-fry would be ready to go. Which gave him time to shrug out of his coat and tie and let his soul breathe.

Trudy came out of the back wearing a short silk robe tied at her narrow waist. He couldn't tell in the dim light if she was wearing anything under it, and found himself hoping she wasn't. “That tea smells fantastic.”

“I already poured you a cup. The food will be ready soon, too.” Castillo turned a control near the small kitchen island, dimming the lights in the main room. “I don't have any candles so this will have to do.”

“It's perfect, Marty.” She sipped her tea and smiled. “You'll have to let me make dinner for you next time. My apartment isn't this nice, but...”

“It's yours, so it will be fine.” Martin dropped the shrimp into the hot pan, listening to it sizzle as it started to cook and smelling the familiar smells taking him right back to the small restaurants of Saigon a lifetime ago. The memory gave him pause, making him hold back what he'd been about to ask. Mind or heart?he asked himself. The answer wasn't coming. He added the pungent fish sauce to the pan, stirring to coat the shrimp and turning them so they'd cook evenly. A sprinkle of chopped herbs and it was ready. He spooned rice into bowls, adding the shrimp and sauce as he kept turning the question. Mind or heart?

Trudy was already sitting on her cushion at the low table, her long legs folded under her. She'd only towel-dried her hair, and it had a tousled look that took Martin's breath away. She smiled up at him as he set the bowl in front of her. “That smells fantastic. But you don't expect me to eat it with those two sticks, do you?”

“I'll teach you.” He smiled, sitting down beside her with his own bowl and tea. “It's easy once you practice. Just pinch them between your fingers here.” He reached out, taking her hand in his and positioning the chopsticks. “Then you just pick and lift. Eat over the bowl at first so if anything drops you don't waste it. When I was learning I just picked up the bowl and kept it under my chin. The shorter the distance the less likely you are to drop anything.” Reaching down, he picked some shrimp and rice out of her bowl with his chopsticks and raised it to her full lips.

She leaned forward and took the bite, smiling with satisfaction. “That's really good! I've never had Vietnamese food before. At least not real Vietnamese food.”

“I know some Thai recipes as well. We can have that tomorrow if you like.”

“We could eat Big Macs for all I care. So long as I'm with you.” She giggled. “I don't mean I'd rather have Big Macs. I...”

“I know what you mean.” He smiled and touched her hand. “We should finish before it gets cold. It's not bad that way, but it's better when it's hot.”

They were partway through when Trudy looked up. “I was talking to Stan the other day. Did you know he and Gina are living together?”

“Yes.”

“She hadn't told me. Stan is so happy, though. It's the best I've seen him since Zito was murdered.”

“I agree.” And he and Crockett made their peace without me having to get involved. “He's turned into a first-class detective.”

“And Gina...”

“I had them create that position for her.” Castillo raised a finger. “Don't tell her, though. She needed a change, and that section needed a real detective who could make arrests and help them process information they gathered. The current team also doesn't know the streets like Gina does. It's a perfect place for her. Until she's ready to move on.”

“You're right, as usual.” Trudy reached out and took his hand, kissing his finger. “How did you become so all-knowing?”

“Mistakes. Mine and those of others. Too many of them.” Martin set his chopsticks in the empty bowl and unbuttoned his white shirt, feeling the cool late evening air through his t-shirt. “There's more tea if you'd like some.”

“Please.” She stood, letting the robe slip open slightly. “Dinner was fantastic, Marty.”

“Thank you.” He took her cup and poured more green tea, adding the dregs to his own cup. When he took the dishes to the kitchen he dimmed the lights even more, leaving the room in a very soft golden glow casting memories more than shadows. He shrugged off his shirt, hanging it with his jacket, and turned back to the living room.

She was at the wide sliding windows when he returned, looking out toward the sea. Her cup was close to her mouth, and he could see the outline of her firm body through the robe. Coming up behind her he wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling her press back against him and his own response to her being so near. “I love this view,” she whispered, running her fingers over his hands.

“How long have we known each other, Trudy? Six years?”

“Something like that.” She leaned back into him, and he could feel her hair tickling his mustache.

“Almost to the day.” I knew May Ying for six months before we were married.He hugged her, feeling her heartbeat against his forearm.

“I can't believe it took this long.”

“We're both loners. Not necessarily lonely, but loners. Trust...is hard for us. At least for me. It has to be earned.”

“I agree.” She turned in his arms and kissed him, her need telegraphing itself to him. “I don't trust easy. Never have. But I trust you, Marty. With all my heart.”

His heart won. “Would you like to live out here with me? The view is all I have to offer, but...”

She kissed him again, her arms wrapped tight around his neck like she was afraid of falling. “I'd love that, Marty,” she said when she broke off the kiss. Her robe slipped completely open, and he saw she was wearing nothing underneath. Her dark skin shone almost bronze in the light from the moon and the dim bulbs in the room. “Just like I love you.”

The words formed without thought, coming not from his brain but somewhere deeper inside. A place he'd feared died long ago. “I love you, too, Trudy.”

 

Bass boomed through the club's closed doors, assaulting Sonny Crockett's ears as soon as they stepped out of the car. Ricardo Tubbs looked over the low roof of the Ferrari and grinned. The trip had been his idea. “Party time! Sounds like they got it rockin' and rollin' already!”

“Yeah.” Sonny looked at his partner, resplendent in Armani's finest suit and matching alligator shoes. He'd stuck with basic Burnett black for the evening. If any of Pedrosa's men happened to have eyes on the club, it was just Burnett entertaining his client Cooper. The club run had been Tubbs' idea. 'Get out where they can see us and have a good time, too' was his reasoning, and Sonny couldn't really fault it. Until he heard the music thundering its beat from the club.

“Come on, Sonny! Live a little! It's New Yawk party time!” Tubbs kept grinning as he did his little shuffle dance to the doorman and handed him a hundred. “Hope that counts as my ID. Me and my associate don't like lines.”

The doorman, who looked more like a starting lineman for the Dolphins and had the blank eyes of someone who'd taken too many blows to the head, looked from the money to the milling line waiting on the wrong side of the velvet rope and back again. “I don't know...”

Sonny walked up, using his slow Burnett stride. “Look, pal. Mr. Cooper just wants a Miami good time while he's in town from New York. You don't want to make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Burnett. I didn't see he was with you.” The wall of muscle swallowed the hundred in a massive hand and let them in, growling at a skinny punk who tried to complain.

“He used to work security on one of...Burnett's runs,” Sonny explained, raising his voice to compensate for the thundering speakers. I almost said 'my' runs. Keep it straight, Crockett.“Been a couple of years, but I guess my reputation's still solid.”

Tubbs nodded, looking around. “Let's get a drink and see the sights!”

The club was dark, lit mostly by strobing ceiling lights pulsing to the beat of the music and a garish swath of neon marking the big glass and steel bar running along the far wall. Booths hugged the edges of the wide dance floor, currently dominated by girls wearing as little clothing as possible moving like they'd stuck their fingers in low-voltage outlets. Making his way to the bar with maximum use of elbows, Sonny ordered a black Jack for himself and scotch for Rico. “Walker Black,” he shouted over the next wave of bass washing over them. “Not that red shit.”

Rico's eyes glittered in the strobes. “This is living! Look at that Asian hottie over there! My oh my!” He pointed to a slender girl with long black hair and a skintight silver cocktail dress shaking her finest assets just on the edge of the dance floor.

Sonny nodded. He scanned the floor, his eyes shying away from a tall redhead who looked too much like a memory he'd rather forget. The drinks came, and he tossed a twenty on the bar. “Keep it. And keep our drinks coming.”

“You up for some trolling, partner?”

“Naw. Not yet, anyhow. I want to size up the place. But you can knock yourself out, Rico.” He grinned. “Shower 'em with your New York charm.”

“The beast is unleashed!” Rico slapped Sonny on the shoulder. “Now you just sit your cracker ass back and watch how it's done!” Grinning, he sauntered toward the dance floor and the Asian girl in the silver dress. In seconds he was dancing with her, the scotch in his glass shimmering in the strobes as he twirled and sported his best dance moves.

Sonny allowed himself a thin smile. It was what Tubbs did best, along with making the deals. It was like he flipped a switch in his head, going from dark and moody to dancing fool in less time than it took the Ferrari to go from zero to sixty on the expressway. He'd seen it get Rico in trouble more than once, and each time he'd shrugged it off with that cocky New York grin.

Ever since high school Sonny hated dancing. Leaning with his back against the bar, he watched the crowd surge back and forth, strobes casting darting points off of jewelry or watches. He could fake it, so long as the music was slow and both he and the girl were drunk enough they didn't care how they looked, but this was beyond him. Two quick memories flashed by, a breakdancer doing his thing in front of a hotel just before Eddie Rivera got blown up followed by a faint shadow of a woman dancing by herself outside at night in front of a swimming pool, and Crockett chased them away with a deep slug of bourbon and signaled for another drink. “Maybe that's part of the reason I hate dancing so much,” he muttered, looking down at the dark liquid swirling in his glass. “Too many damned memories.”

Tubbs and his lady vanished into the swirling pool of dancers, so Sonny kept scanning the edges of the crowd and the people at the bar. Looking for familiar faces. Players. Old scores. Anything out of the ordinary signifying a threat. Out of habit he tapped a Lucky Strike out of the pack in his pocket and lit it, the battered Ronson flaring bright for a moment until he snapped the cover shut. The smoke felt good, though it always drew him back to the tight streets of Da Nang for a moment. Luckies had been the smoke of choice in C-rations, and he'd never totally kicked the habit. Or the preference.

Thinking of Vietnam pushed something out of the far corners of his memory.Robbie! I wonder if he's still got his club. That might be a good source for us. And I do owe him a visit. After all, I'm the godfather of his son.He'd tried to bury so much of his time in Vietnam, closing the door on it like it was a life belonging to another person. But it never worked. Not at night, when he'd snap awake from a firefight dream. Or now, when he realized he'd cut someone out of his life who had been important back then. Who was still important now. Castillo's right, as usual. The past is who we are, and how we deal with it defines us now. And by that standard I'm a major asshole.

A flash of silver showed him where Tubbs and his lady were in the sea of dancers, and he knew there was no way he'd pry Rico away now. Besides, he'd rather have Stan do a quick check first before showing up and looking like a bigger ass than he was already. After over four years that wasn't going to be easy. Especially since he'd promised to stay in touch just before the ambulance took Robbie away.

“No going back,” he muttered, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs and letting it hiss out his nose.

Tubbs boogied back from the floor, the girl trailing along behind him with a smile on her face. “Give me another scotch and whatever the lady wants!” he shouted at the bartender over the music. “Mikko, this is Sonny. My business associate while I'm in from New York.”

Sonny inclined his head in a slight nod. “Pleasure.”

“Rico's a crazy man!” Her voice was high and pitched to break glass in the right circumstances. “But I'm a crazy girl so it's super!” She looked at the bartender. “Long Island Ice Tea for me!”

Sonny handed over another twenty. “Keep the change. And keep them in drinks.”

The girl was even prettier up close, with a trim, athletic build and sparkling brown eyes. When Tubbs slipped his arm around her she giggled. “We dance more?”

“You got it, pretty lady. We dance all you want.” Tubbs shot Sonny a glance over her head and winked. “You from around here?”

“I'm a grad student.” She grabbed her drink from the bartender and took a healthy swallow. “Advertising.”

“Solid. I'm in marketing myself.” Tubbs grinned again. “International sales and distribution mostly.”

She turned to Sonny. “What do you do?”

“Labor relations, darlin'.”

“That sounds boring.” Her eyes changed as she marked Sonny dull and turned back to Rico. “Let's dance, Rico!”

The bartender had been circling close, and he came over as soon as Rico and Mikko moved away. “Word to the wise,” he said, barely audible over the crashing music, “she's got a boyfriend. Maybe pimp, I don't know. Big bastard. Sometimes he shows up, sometimes he don't.”

“Thanks.” Sonny left a hundred on the bar. “Get me another Black Jack and let me know when that dries up.” Shifting to get a better view of the dance floor, he settled in to wait. Waiting was always easier with a target in mind.

The music was starting to give him a low-level headache when he saw the guy come in. He wasn't hard to spot: like the bartender said he was a big bastard, bigger than the guy on the door, and had less fashion sense than Switek. His tux jacket was too small, his pants too big, and neither one matched his shirt or shoes. Even Larry Zito wouldn't have worn combat boots with tux pants, but this guy was. His dark hair was cut short, almost a buzz cut, and Sonny saw him checking out the dance floor as soon as he came in. Behind him he heard the bartender say “That's him” in a voice intended to carry no further than the front of the bar.

“No shit, pal. He is a big bastard. Looks dumber than a crate of anvils, too.” Sonny pushed away from the bar. “Don't hit that button I know you have behind the bar unless he starts hurting other people. I'll handle this.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Burnett. Benny at the door told me about you.”

Sonny just nodded, crushing out his cigarette in one of the ashtrays on the bar without taking his eyes off the big fellow. He must have spotted Rico and Mikko, because he left the rail with surprising speed for someone so big and started bulling his way across the dance floor. Plotting an intercept course, Sonny slid his hand under his black blazer and unfastened the snap over the big .45 with a practiced thumb. He hoped he didn't have to shoot the moron, but was prepared for anything.

Mongo was so focused on Tubbs and the girl he didn't notice Sonny moving up behind him. The 4506 filled his hand now, light from the strobes glinting off the dull stainless steel pistol. Jamming it into the big man's back right around his liver, Sonny spoke over the music. “Feel that, pal? That's a .45 that will blow a hole the size of a baseball through your body. We're turning around and going back outside. You try anything stupid and I will pull the trigger. Nod if you understand.”

The big head moved in something close to a nod, and he saw the body stiffen.

“Don't even think about it, pal. You'll be dead before you can move. She's not worth spending the rest of your miserable life in a wheelchair for, is she? Or dying for? Because those are your only options if you don't turn around right now.”

Benny met them at the door with another man almost his size. “This asshole giving you problems, Mr Burnett?”

“He was about to interrupt some business.”

Mongo started to open his mouth when Benny slapped him across the face. “You don't ever interrupt Mr. Burnett's business. You got that?” When the man nodded Benny looked over. “You want him gone?”

Sonny knew what Benny meant even if the big idiot didn't and shook his head. “Naw. Just remind him of his place in the world. He shows up here again I might change my mind about that, though.” Jamming the pistol back in its holster, he turned back toward the club. He was almost inside when he heard the thud of fists connecting with flesh and Benny saying in a voice you'd normally use to comment on the weather “You're lucky, asshole. I've seen Mr. Burnett kill for less.”

Back in the club he signaled for another drink, watching the door and content to let Tubbs grind on Mikko for as long as he wanted. Even though he didn't remember much of it, he knew Benny was telling the truth. As Burnett he hadkilled for less, and done so more than once. And he'd thought about it once they were outside, wondering how many men the big thug had hurt or even killed. Like Charlie, except he used his fists instead of a gunhe thought, remembering Charlie Barnett and the sociopath Callie who pulled his strings. Was Mikko the same kind of woman, or was it just some kind of thrill for her? Maybe it was time to rein Cooper in before Rico fell into the same kind of trap. Although by the time Benny and his twin were finished he doubted the big man would be a threat to anyone for some time.

The bartender could have been reading his mind. “Your associate's safe now, Mr. Burnett. I think the guy just likes to kick the shit out of people. He ain't too damned smart, and I know Benny's wanted to beat the crap out of him for some time now. Just never had a good enough reason until tonight.”

“Good.” Sonny laid three hundreds on the bar. “That's for the three of you. I pay well for good work.” He narrowed his eyes. “But don't think about keeping all three for yourself. I'll find out, and I don't like people who cheat me.”

“You...you can bet they'll get theirs, Mr. Burnett. You don't have to worry about that.” The bartender poured him another drink, and Sonny could see his hand shaking as some Jack Daniel's splashed on the bar. “This one's on the house.”

Nodding, he picked up the glass and turned back to his vigil. There were enough ghosts chasing themselves in his head now he didn't feel like meeting anyone tonight. But that didn't mean he had to rain to Tubbs' parade. Rubbing his eyes, he felt the edge of the bar against the small of his back and a pounding in his head from the non-stop bass pulsing through the club's sound system. From time to time he caught a flash of Mikko's silver dress and knew Tubbs was somewhere close by. His dark Armani suit made him vanish in the flickering strobes, but now and then Sonny caught a flash of Rolex or glitter from a ring letting him track his partner.

According to his own watch it was just after two when Tubbs lead a sweaty Mikko off the dance floor and back to bar. “I think I'm about boogied out,” he said with a laugh when they got closer. “Another drink and I'm ready to leave.”

“You sure can dance, Rico.” Mikko giggled again, but Sonny noticed her eyes darting from the door to the bar and back again. Like she was looking for someone.

“If you're looking for the big guy you might want to check out back.” Sonny nodded toward the door. “He got a bit rude so my two big friends sent him packing. I expect he's got a good headache going right now.”

Her eyes went wide. “Johnny! What did you do to him?”

“Nothing he wasn't going to do to Rico. You best be careful who you play games with, lady.”

Breaking away from the bar, the girl headed for the door. Tubbs watched her tight backside, his face twisting into a frown. “What the hell was that, Sonny?”

“Remember that Callie girl? Well, instead of a skinny guy with a gun she had some big goon with no neck. I don't know what her game was, but the bartender warned me about him and I sent him on his way. Benny and his buddy on the door kicked the crap out of him.”

“Damn. Why are all the fine ones crazy?”

“That, Rico, is the question for the ages, ain't it? Have another drink and see if she comes back. If not, let's blow this pop stand.”

 

The sun was well overhead and the summer heat had Miami firmly in its sweaty grip when Sonny eased the Ferrari up to the curb and waited for Tubbs to come down. If Tubbs had a hangover anything like his it would be a quiet drive to the Task Force office.

Tubbs climbed into the car, his sunglasses in place. “Damn! It's too hot and too bright and too early.”

“I see you did as well as I did last night.” Crockett eased the car into traffic, driving with more care than usual. Even the air conditioning seemed loud. “Maybe it's a good thing Mikko turned out to be crazy.”

“Yeah. Would have liked to find out just how crazy, though.” Tubbs laughed, then winced. “Shows I can still pick 'em, eh, partner?”

“You and me both, Tubbs. You and me both.”

The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence, Tubbs looking out the window and rubbing his temples and Sonny focused on the road and cars around them. It was a relief to roll into the shade of the underground garage, and they sat in the car for a few moments soaking up the last hint of air conditioning before making the walk to the elevator and heading upstairs.

Castillo was waiting for them, his face frozen in its usual mask of vague disapproval. “Any news?”

“Nothing new, lieutenant. Tubbs is going to call Pedrosa in the next hour or so, and I had something I wanted to see if Stan could run down if he was here.”

“He and Trudy are checking on some properties owned by Moreno's uncle. If they hit another dry hole I think they'll head back.” Castillo shook his head. “Who knew Orosco owned so many properties in the Keys?”

“Gotta launder that dog money somewhere.” Tubbs took off his sunglasses, winced, and put them back on. “I wouldn't expect him to be dumb enough to invest in Izzy's shoes.”

“I hope last night turned up something other than hangovers and expense account entries.” Castillo looked from one detective to the other.

Sonny shook his head. “Not enough. We hit a couple of clubs as Burnett and Cooper just to establish we're in town and looking to deal. Tubbs here almost got turned into hamburger by some meathead and his girl lure, but that turned out ok. It let me reestablish Burnett with a couple of guys who are on the margins but can spread the word.”

“We don't know if she was targeting Cooper specifically or if I just wandered into view.” Tubbs poured himself coffee from the pot and took a tentative sip. “Sonny talked to the bartender and he said he's seen them running this game before. She said her name was Mikko and she called the big guy Jimmy.”

“I never got his name,” Crockett confessed as he followed Tubbs to the coffee. “But the bartender and the door guy knew him well enough. I walked him outside and the door man and his partner took care of things. Doorman's named Benny and used to work one of Burnett's shipping runs. Strictly muscle but knows it and doesn't make waves.”

“I'll reach out to Metro-Dade and see if they have anything on them. And we should have Lester here by tomorrow morning.”

“Good.” Crockett nodded, feeling the effects of the coffee on his head and eyes. “That'll take a load off Stan.”

“We have new intel as well.” Castillo motioned for them to sit before taking his habitual spot at the head of the table. “Pedrosa's up to something. He's been calling in people from upstate and asking about carrying capacity. Detective Joplin thinks he's getting ready to move a large part of the cocaine they're sitting on, but she can't tell where. ATF also picked up some chatter from the other side of the pipeline. They can't tell what Holmes is up to because they don't have anyone in his organization, but the people they have on the edges say he's looking to set up some kind of big buy.”

“And that will put more pressure on Pedrosa to make some big sales and soon.” Tubbs nodded. “Makes sense.”

“It is critical that you hook him when you call him.” Castillo looked up, fixing Tubbs with his iron stare. “He cannot slip off the hook.”

“He won't, lieutenant. You have my word on that.”

Sonny just nodded, sipping his coffee and watching the exchange. He had no doubt Tubbs would hook Pedrosa. When he was playing Cooper he could deal like no other. Still, it was a game needing careful playing. “I'll be ready to lean in if needed.”

 

Stan Switek eased the Bug Van over another set of washboard and potholes and grimaced. “You'd think with all that money Izzy's damned uncle could take better care of the road.”

“Maybe it's to keep people out, Stan.” Trudy Joplin grimaced as she held onto the van's door handle as they rolled over another set of ridges and holes.

“Well it's not very nice of him and that's all I've got say about it.” Stan grinned, the smile going well with another of his bright Hawaiian shirts, this one mostly yellow and green splotched in some kind of leaf or pineapple pattern. Even Stan wasn't sure which.

Trudy just nodded. She'd skipped her usual dress and gone with tight jeans and a dark t-shirt in case they had to chase anyone. “All I know,” she'd announced as she climbed into the Bug Van, “is if I have to chase Izzy that fool is going to hope he never planned to have kids when I catch him.”

This was the last of three houses they planned to check today. The other two had been close to the paved road; simple vacation cabins looking to be rented out by oldsters from up north and not hiding anything other than stashes of adult diapers and maybe a case or two of hair dye. But this one really looked to be a fishing shack stuck out at the end of a winding, rutted dirt road. Stan couldn't see Izzy in a place like this, but maybe that was the point.

Trudy pointed through the dust-covered windshield. “There! I can see the cabin up there.”

“Manny wasn't kidding. That is a damned shack.” Tires grabbed and slid on gravel as Stan applied the brakes, bringing the Bug Van to a shuddering stop. His stainless steel Browning Hi-Power slapped his side in its shoulder holster as he clambered out. “Let's walk the last bit. Izzy won't be armed. He's more likely to shoot himself if he is, and even his uncle must know that.”

Trudy nodded, drawing her own weapon. In the past she'd carried a .38 revolver, but now Stan noticed she'd upgraded to a Safari Arms Matchmaster in .45 ACP. With the hammer back and the safety on, just like Stan's Browning her pistol was 'cocked and locked' and ready to go with a flip of the safety. Meeting Stan's gaze, she nodded. “You take the door. I'll cover the side and back in case the little bozo's there and tries to run.”

Stan nodded, looking again toward the structure. It really wasn't much more than a clapboard shack tucked in some scrub trees within walking distance of the surf and a rickety dock. It looked like the kind of place Hemingway would have drunk himself to oblivion in, all the while cursing about the fish and throwing empty bottles at seagulls. Picking his way over exposed roots and other debris, Stan made his way to the rough board porch. One look told him not to trust his bulk to it, so he stayed in the sand and settled for shouting. “Izzy! Get your skinny ass out here! It's Stan! Don't pretend you're not in there. I can smell your sweat from here!”

“Switek?” The reedy voice drew out the first two letters of his name into some kind of mutant syllable. “What are joo doing out here? I'm working on my literaraturary masterpiece.”

“I thought you ran out of coloring books! Now get your ass out here! And don't try going out the back. Trudy would be more than happy to shoot you.”

“How could ju implicate such a thing?” The door opened a crack, and a thin face framed by lank, greasy hair peered out into the sunlight. “Ju two are alone? No heet squads following you?”

“No, you moron. Now get out here before I lose my patience and make you run in front of the van.” Stan grinned as Trudy appeared around the side of the house.

“For ju of course I come out. Beesness is beesness. Iacoca.”

“I don't think he ever said that.” Trudy kept her .45 pointed somewhere between the ground and Izzy's midsection. “Now get out here so we can get back to some proper air conditioning. This heat is murder on my hair.”

“All right. All right. Don't get extracated. I'm coming.”

“You mean excited, you little...” Trudy sighed. “Just hurry up.”

Stan pulled a radio out of his back pocket. “We got the freak package, lieutenant. Bringing it home.” He waited for a reply and then tucked the radio away again. “Come on, Moreno! There's too many damned bugs out here for it to be healthy.”

Izzy Moreno stepped out on the porch, the weathered boards creaking under his slight weight. His once-white tuxedo had weathered like the boards to a disreputable gray tinged with pink, and the cheap knock-off black leather shoes on his feet had seen better days three years ago. In some kind of concession to the ocean he wore a captain's cap faded the same color as his tux, and he clutched a tattered leather briefcase of unknown origin in his right hand. “Ok. I am your prisoner. Take me to jore leader. I go to my politicalist detention knowing my constillational rights...”

“Oh, shut up and get in the damned van!” Stan grabbed Izzy by a skinny arm and almost tossed him in the general direction. “Trudy, you want to drive so I can keep this idiot quiet?”

“If it means not hearing him until we get back, yes.” Trudy holstered her pistol and took the keys from Stan's outstretched hand. “I can see why Tubbs always wants to shoot him.”

“We're taking him to OCB. Crockett and Tubbs will meet us there.” Stan lowered his voice. “The lieutenant doesn't want Izzy to see Task Force.”

She nodded. “It's also closer, meaning less time with Cuba's prime export to Miami.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don't think he's showered in a week.”

“Ju are correct.” Izzy caught up with them. “The water, she has flourides in her. Ju know what that does to jore manhood? Switek...ju must know.”

“Yeah. It means you don't smell like a ten month old jockstrap and women actually want to see 'jore manhood.' Come on, Izzy. Where do you get this garbage?”

“It's all true. I read it in the bes' paper in the world. The Weekly World News.”

“God help us.” Stan slapped his forehead. “Get in the damned van, Izzy. Now!”

Even with the windows down and the air conditioning on full blast, Stan and Trudy had to breathe through their mouths the entire way back to OCB. Trudy parked the van and shut off the engine. “I'm not going in there with him.”

“Fine. I'll take him in and leave him with Crockett and Tubbs. No way I'm staying in the room with him.” Stan opened the door and walked around to the back of the van. “Come on, Moreno. Some old pals want to talk to you.”

[vicegirl85]

On 6/13/2019 at 10:48 PM, Robbie C. said:

“Switek?” The reedy voice drew out the first two letters of his name into some kind of mutant syllable. “What are joo doing out here? I'm working on my literaraturary masterpiece.”

“I thought you ran out of coloring books! Now get your ass out here! And don't try going out the back. Trudy would be more than happy to shoot you.”

LOL you are really the master of Izzy dialog 

[Robbie C.]

9 minutes ago, vicegirl85 said:

LOL you are really the master of Izzy dialog 

Thanks! Doing some catch-up?

[vicegirl85]

LOL, yes!  My stupid scrolling control is messed up and I've had a terrible time all summer reading longer pieces on my laptop.  Then I decided to try to go back to the beginning of the Task Force series since I think there were parts I missed the first time around.

Hopefully will eventually be able to get caught up...

[Robbie C.]

43 minutes ago, vicegirl85 said:

LOL, yes!  My stupid scrolling control is messed up and I've had a terrible time all summer reading longer pieces on my laptop.  Then I decided to try to go back to the beginning of the Task Force series since I think there were parts I missed the first time around.

Hopefully will eventually be able to get caught up...

And sadly for your scrolling, the Task Force ones are long.