The More Things Change...(Part XI)

[Robbie C.]

It was the second day after the big deal when Sonny's pager finally went off. He was sitting topside, watching Elvis crunch down a late breakfast and wondering when Jenny would be back from wherever she went when he heard the damned thing buzz down on the saloon table. “No rest for the wicked. Ain't that right, Elvis?” The gator just snorted and turned back to his mangled tuna.

Once below, Sonny picked up the phone. “Rico? Pedrosa finally shit and got off the pot. He just paged me from the usual number. Yeah, I'll meet you there.” Clicking off, he pulled on a shirt and shrugged into his shoulder rig before grabbing his white blazer and slipping on shoes. “Gotta run,” he told Elvis. “Don't eat anyone while I'm gone.”

The familiar drive to the office building was short, and soon Sonny was sitting at the conference table. Stan stuck his head out of the tech room, his hair looking more wild than usual. “The lieutenant will be be here in five, Sonny. He had business over at the Federal Building. Trudy's going over the latest intercepts, and I finally got something from that worm Moreno.”

“Something other than lice, I hope.” Sonny sipped at the coffee with appreciation. “One of these days you'll have to show me how you make this stuff, Stan.”

“Sure. And then I'd have to kill you to keep the secret safe.” Stan chuckled. “And the first thing I did was make Izzy shower for an hour. But between ripping off the old people and losing his CI pay to them playing gin he managed to worm his way back into whatever sleezeball network he had before he went into hiding. We can't track it on the taps because it sounds like most of it's happening face to face, but he says someone's trying to hire up a lot of guns. They're not having much luck because of that little tussle between the Columbians and the Dominicans down around South Beach, but it's out there.”

“He heard anything about new Peruvian flake showing up on the street?”

“No, but he says that fight's putting a bit of a damper on trade.”

“No surprise there.” Rico's voice cut through the air as he walked in. “But at least Moreno's finally earning his pay.”

Stan nodded. “You learn anything more about that girl you wanted us to run, Sonny?”

“No. Haven't been able to talk to her since then.”

“A new lady?” Rico grinned as he sat down with a cup of coffee. “Is this one as messed up as Mikko?”

“I don't know yet, Rico.” He told his partner about what had happened. “I can't get a read on this one.”

“I can. Crockett crazy. You lure one out about once every four months.”

“I guess I do at that.” He shook his head. “I don't know, though, man. Something's just off about her. Can't put my finger on it.”

“Off as in off in the head.” Rico shook his head. “We sure can pick 'em, can't we, partner?”

“I guess we can at that.” Sonny finished his coffee. “So are you going to call Little Carlos or just bust my chops all morning?”

“The tape's ready to roll, Rico,” Stan announced from his doorway. “You don't need to wait for the lieutenant.”

“Let's do it. Don't want to look too eager, you know.” Rico reached out and hit the right buttons before picking up the phone and dialing the familiar number. “It's a little early in the morning for games, Carlos,” he said without preamble. “What's on your mind?”

The conversation went back and forth, Tubbs alternately assuring Pedrosa his people in New York were happy with the deal and then pressing for more. “They're gonna want a sit-down with all the major players,” he said, his voice dropping. “And sooner rather than later.” He listened for a time. “Well, I don't know what good us meeting again will do, but if that's what it takes to get your people to the bigger table I'm game. You've seen how much we can handle on short notice, but I need to know how much your people can provide on short notice. Yeah, I'll bring Burnett. He needs to know about quantity so he can adjust his end.” Finally he hung up, an annoyed look on his face.

“What bug's up Pedrosa's ass?”

“His own head.” Rico shook his head. “He wants another meeting. Tonight.”

“Where?”

“I didn't agree to a place. He thinks I need to get ahold of Burnett and see if he's available. But the little chump is set on tonight.”

“Why tonight?” Castillo's voice made them start. Once again no one had heard him enter the room.

“I don't know, lieutenant. He was pretty evasive about that. Seemed like he had a new shipment coming in or something, though. He wanted to know about capacity.” Rico gestured to the phone. “But if that's what it takes to bring Moncado to the table, I say go with it.”

“Switek?”

“Chatter isn't up at all, lieutenant. There's been some noise about more coke coming in, but more like it's on the normal schedule. This isabout the time they'd expect a new shipment, though.” 

“Do you think this is connected to the chatter Moreno heard?”

“Honestly, I don't know.” Stan scratched at the stubble on his chin. “He didn't know whowas trying to hire muscle, only that someone was. It could be the Dominicans for all we know. They don't have as many local people as the Columbians, and they're falling behind.”

Trudy came out of her office. “Stan's right, lieutenant. There's no way to tell who's trying to hire more guns. Metro-Dade's in a full press to stop the turf war, but they're not having much luck. OCB missed it, and the Gang unit doesn't have any intel on either the Columbians or Dominicans.” She shook her head. “So far they've piled up ten bodies in less than two weeks and the mayor's breathing down Metro's neck.”

Sonny chuckled. “I'm damned glad we get to sit that circus out.”

“Yes, but it makes our job harder. With that much action it's hard to pick our players out of the crowd.” Castillo rubbed his forehead with two fingers. “Proceed with the meet if you think it's justified. But be sure you have back-up. I just spoke with the chief deputy. Dave and Randy are ours without exception until at least the end of this operation. They've been notified and are waiting for your call.”

“Outstanding!” Tubbs slammed his hand down on the table.

“I second that.” Sonny leaned back in his chair. “Having two more people in the field means we can let Stan and Lester focus on what they're doing. Trudy, too. Without them Rico and I would be flailing in the water still trying to set up that first deal.”

His face split in a wide grin, Tubbs reached for the phone. “Let's see if we can sweat Little Carlos for a change.”

 

Sonny wasn't surprised when Dave picked up on the first ring. “Go.”

“We've got a meet with Pedrosa tonight. Some club down near Little Havana called Toreador. He wants to talk more deals, and it wouldn't seem right for Burnett to show up without muscle.”

Dave chuckled. “You got that right. And our boss says we're a team until he says we ain't. Any particulars on weapons?”

“The .45s should do nicely. Why don't we meet for dinner about seven? The meet's at 2100, so that will give us time for some chow and planning. I don't know about you, but I hate going to these things on an empty stomach. You guys pick the place.”

“There's a cafe called Key Largo down close to us. You know it?”

“Yeah. They make a damned good Cuban sandwich.”

“Cool. Meet us there.”

“Key Largo?” Rico snorted when Sonny explained the plan. “Didn't they get busted by the health department last month?”

Stan spoke up. “Naw. That was Key Rudolfo. And they got shut down. Key Largo's usually rating three stars out of four in the Herald's restaurant ratings.” He shrugged. “What can I say? I didn't develop this figure on chips and salsa, you know.”

“It is on the edge of the turf being contested by the Columbians and Dominicans. Watch yourselves.” Castillo looked from one man to the other. “And that goes double at that club. It's right in the middle of the battleground.”

“I wonder if Pedrosa knows that?” Trudy looked worried.

“I'd be surprised if he didn't. But who knows with that chump? Maybe he just wants to show us his balls are big enough to hold a meet in the middle of a turf war.”

“Or he's a moron who just likes the club.” Sonny flashed a thin smile. “Either way we've got solid back-up and this isn't much more than an advanced meet and greet. Some show and tell before the big meeting goes down.” Still, he couldn't shake the little spider feet dancing their way up the back of his neck. I'd better clean the artillery before this one goes downhe thought, looking down at his fingernails. Just in case we wander into some part of that turf war.

“I know that look.” Tubbs chuckled. “Get out the rags, Stan. We're having us a gun-cleaning party.”

Castillo turned on his way to his office. “Change your ammunition, too. We're switching to hollowpoints. As of now. That goes for everyone in this office. Dave and Randy know and have already changed over. I don't want a situation where a civilian is killed or injured because one of our rounds over-penetrated.”

“Does Metro-Dade know?” Sonny asked, reaching down to pull out his Detonics.

“No. And they don't need to. We're not in the chain of command.”

“Can't say I'm sorry.” Tubbs slipped out his revolver. “When I have to shoot some chump I want him DOWN, not dripping from some damned through-and-through. We had enough of that when I was NYPD.”

“Turn your ball ammunition in to Stan. We still use it on the range. But from now on when you leave this office it will be with hollowpoints.” Castillo turned and headed into his office, closing the door behind him.

“Couldn't come at a better time.” Sonny looked at his two pistols on the table. “Stan, could you bring out some boxes of those hollowpoints? I'm going to change them all out now, including my extra mags.” He shook his head. “Never mind. I'm being a lazy ass. I need the cleaning gear, too. Hang tight and I'll grab it. You want me to bring some 9mm for you?”

Stan nodded, his eyes wide. “Thanks, Sonny.”

“No problem. I'll grab some .38s for you, Rico. And Trudy, I'll bet you could use some of that .45 ACP, too. I'll be right back.”

The armory smelled of gun oil, and Sonny took a moment to breathe in the familiar tangy fragrance. It had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember, moving from his father and uncles cleaning shotguns in the kitchen to Marine Corps boot camp and the deadly fields and jungles of Vietnam to his time as a cop. It always grounded him. Searching the shelves, he gathered cleaning gear and boxes of rounds in the required calibers before returning to the table, his arms full. Stan had laid out old towels to soak up any excess oil, along with strips of sheets torn into cleaning patches.

“You ever think of switching out that Browning, Stan?”

Switek looked across the table at Rico. “I'll do that about the time you trade in your snubbie, Tubbs.”

“Point taken, my man.” Rico chuckled, loading each .38 hollowpoint into the chambers of his Smith & Wesson. “Although I see someone talked Trudy out of hers.”

“While you guys were gone we had a shootout with a couple of dealers on the edge of Little Haiti.” She looked up from the disassembled pieces of her Safari Arms .45. “I hit one of them four times and he just kept coming.” She shuddered at the memory. “Stan finally dropped him with two slugs from the Browning. After that...I had to try something different.” She smiled at Sonny before turning back to her pistol. “I remembered Sonny swore by the .45 of his so I figured I'd give one a try.”

“It puts an end to most arguments,” Sonny agreed, running an oiled patch along the slide grooves in the frame of his 4506. “And it's easier to get ammo for. After the Feebs screwed up with 10mm, it pretty much vanished.”

Rico looked up again. “How bad is this gang war you were talkin' about, Trudy? First I'd really heard of it aside from the newscasts.”

“It's bad enough. Luckily we don't get involved now, but I hear OCB is getting pulled in more and more because of the narcotics angle.” Trudy looked down, collecting her thoughts and sliding the recoil spring over its retaining rod at the same time. “It's more about the Columbians trying to muscle in on what's been traditionally Dominican turf. Some say it started over the pot trade, but I've also read reports claiming it's over who controls hookers. We've been at this long enough to know it's probably both, and some personal heat on top of that.”

“Yeah.” Tubbs wiped excess oil from the frame of his revolver. “Columbians and Dominicans don't mix. We saw that in New York off and on. All it takes is one of them insulting the other's mother or girlfriend and an entire neighborhood would catch fire.”

“Sounds like small-time Columbians, then.” Sonny worked the slide of his pistol, testing the action.

“As far as we can tell it is.” Trudy nodded. “No big names involved. In fact, they're taking a strictly hands-off approach.”

“Maybe they think it's bad for business.”

“It is, Stan.” Sonny nodded. “For their business at least. When people are shooting they aren't buying the product. And dead bodies tend to keep tourists and buyers away from the best markets. No, they don't like these things much unless they're starting them or finishing them.”

“So far it's pretty contained. Metro-Dade's worried the Cubans might get involved if it spills too far into Little Havana, so they're mostly doing containment and damage control. How long that will work is anyone's guess.”

“Do you think it will impact our operation?”

She thought for a minute and then shook her head. “I don't think so. Not as long as it stays how it is now. Pedrosa's got ties to the Columbian side, but Moncado's playing at a much higher level. He'd see those gangs as peasants, not brothers in arms. He'll keep Pedrosa on the sidelines, I think. There's always the danger of stray bullets, but I haven't seen any direct links between Moncado's network and the Columbians down around Little Havana. He's been careful to keep his people out of local affairs aside from being a supplier.”

“That's Maynard at work.” Sonny recognized the technique. “He'll try all he can to stay out of the small, local stuff. Like you said, it's bad for business. He'd rather be the supplier from on high. That way he also doesn't owe anyone.” He inserted a reloaded magazine in the butt of the Smith & Wesson and chambered a round, watching with satisfaction as the slide slammed forward and the hammer dropped on the rotating safety. Dumping the magazine, he fed another round in before locking it back into place. Then he turned to the Detonics, except he didn't chamber a round. It wasn't that he didn't trust the safety, but there was something about having a cocked and locked pistol positioned to blow his foot off that always gave him pause.

Tubbs looked at his Rolex, confiscated from the wrist of a dead Panamanian money man six years before. “Looks like we'd better get moving, partner. Your ride or mine?”

“Why not go in style, Tubbs?”

“The Caddy it is.” Tubbs grinned and got up from the table. “We'll call if anything goes south.”

It was a short drive to Key Largo, and Sonny sat back, content to enjoy the ride for a change. With the top down he could smell the city in all its glory, reminding him again why he lived on a boat. Once they were there Tubbs steered the Caddy into a tight parallel parking spot and hopped out. “I'm starving, partner. This place better be good.”

“Not as good as that parking job.” Sonny whistled in admiration.

“It's New York City. Had to try to park many a squad car in my rookie days, and unmarked units later for Armed Robbery. You learn to parallel park almost as soon as you learn to breathe.” Tubbs chuckled. “How much do you want to bet those two are already here?”

“Either here or watching somewhere close by.” Sonny adjusted his sunglasses and unbuttoned his blazer, careful to keep it closed to hide the big Smith & Wesson. “They train those guys to be scary thorough.”

“I noticed.” Tubbs pointed up at the pastel neon tubes flickering on and off. “Looks like we're here.”

Key Largo might have been a terrible choice for a name, Sonny decided as they walked in, but the food always smelled fantastic. Even Tubbs had to agree, looking over and raising his eyebrows in approval. Looking down the row of booths by the big front windows, they spotted Dave and Randy at a table near the back. “Of course,” Tubbs muttered, leading the way. “They would sit in the back where they could see the door.”

“And with their backs to the wall,” Crockett replied. “It's like watchingGunsmokealmost.”

Dave nodded as they got near. “Coffee's on the way and we got menus for you, too.”

“Solid.” Tubbs sat down and picked up the laminated pages. “Damn! How many sandwiches does this place have?”

“At least twenty-five.” Randy slapped his partner on the shoulder. “And I think Dave's eaten at least of of each the entire time we've been in Miami.”

“What can I say? I like sandwiches.” Dave grinned, and then his eyes went all business. “What's the plan for tonight?”

“We're meeting Carlos at Toreador at 2100 like I said.” Sonny nodded to Tubbs. “It's his show. We're just decoration. I'm along in case they need to talk transportation, and you're there because Burnett never goes anywhere without his guns.”

“Sounds good. We got the brief on that little gang spat going down in that area, too. Never hurts to have extra firepower along.”

“Joo got it, mang.” Tubbs laughed. “Sorry. That makes more sense if you ever meet one of our CIs. Cat named Izzy. He mangles the English language in ways you just can't understand.”

Dave laughed. “We don't deal much with CIs these days. Had our share back in Butte, though. You get some real winners.”

“Izzy's not bad as far as they go.” Sonny spoke up, surprised at himself for defending Moreno. “He's mostly a con artist. Sells fake shoes and shit like that. But you'd be amazed at the stuff he hears. He's been wrong before, but he's mostly right.”

Coffee came, and then they ordered. It was just after eight thirty when the last dishes were cleared and they drained their last cups of coffee. “Toreador isn't too far from here,” Tubbs said, counting out bills to leave on the table. “You want to just take the Caddy?”

“Sure.” Randy didn't hesitate. “Looks more natural if we arrive together anyhow. In case someone's watching.”

The little spider was back tiptoeing up and down the back of Sonny's neck. “Something just doesn't feel right about this. I don't know what the hell it is, but it's off.”

“We got your six.” Dave kept his voice low as they piled into the big car. “I hate it when those little fingers start tappin' on your spine.”

“You get those, too?”

“Yeah, he does.” Randy answered for his partner. “And I don't think they've ever been wrong.”

They parked in a lot next to the club; a low brick building with a garish slash of red neon screaming 'Toreador' proclaiming its existence among the rest of Miami's lower-rent clubs. Tubbs filled them in as they walked to the door. “Place is mostly Latins inside. We'll stick out, but not enough to draw major notice. I've been here a few times as Cooper, so the door guys know me.”

Dave chuckled. “We both speak Spanish pretty well. Did a tour in the Canal Zone before we punched out.”

“But we also know how to pretend we don't.” Randy's smile was wide. “That comes in damned handy, let me tell you.”

Sonny hung back, letting Tubbs lead to the door. The bouncer, a big man who looked more Samoan than Latin, gave him a quick glance and nodded. “Good to see you again, Senior Cooper. These gentlemen with you?”

“You got it, Jaimie. This here's Sonny Burnett and his two associates.”

The big man nodded, his face losing its challenging aspect. “I've heard of you, Senior Burnett. I hope you enjoy Toreador.” He unclipped the rope and held the door, ushering them past a growing line of people waiting to get in.

Inside it was like most clubs trying to make the jump to the next level, although Sonny wondered if they'd somehow been conned into letting Izzy decorate the place. Bullfighting dominated the décor, ranging from red capes on the walls to an ornate set of bull horns above the bar. The place was crowded, men and women alike jammed elbow to elbow at the bar or on the dance floor moving to some variety of salsa music piped over the sound system.

“He said he'd have a table at the back,” Tubbs shouted over the music and babble of voices. “I think that's him over there.”

“I'm liking this less and less, partner.” Sonny unbuttoned his blazer as they moved through the crowd. His Spanish was good enough to pick up some of the crowd's talk, but it centered mostly who was going to get laid tonight and how they were going to do it. Pretty standard for a clubhe thought, trying to both tune it out and banish thoughts of Jenny. Instead he looked around, trying to spot anyone familiar from their first meeting with Pedrosa. He couldn't see the little coward coming without his goons to watch his back.

Dave seemed to have the same idea. “Not seein' any familiar faces,” he muttered to Sonny as they neared the table. “Course in this light I don't know's I'd recognize my mother.”

Pedrosa's whiney voice cut through the club's static like a dull razor. “Cooper! Over here!” When they reached the table, he waved them to chairs. “Sit. I'm afraid your men will have to stand, Burnett. Not enough room at the table.”

Sonny lifted a finger and Dave and Randy shifted to cover all avenues of approach. “I don't see your buddies, Carlos. They out getting dry-cleaned?”

Pedrosa's laugh was sharp. “This is my house. I don't need them here.” He turned back to Tubbs. “But we need to talk, yes? How do you say...face-to-face. I know you want to meet the man above me, but he will want assurances. How much you can move. How often you can move it. Those things he must have.”

Tubbs steepled his fingers. “I can move as much as you can bring in, and as often as you can deliver. I told you: my people have networks all through the east coast and as far west as Detroit. Maybe Chicago soon. That's lots of product. Maybe more than you have.”

Pedrosa waved his hand. “I hear talk.”

Sonny leaned over the table. “Look, pal. I moved four hundred keys the other night with no notice, and Mr. Cooper paid the same way. I'm thinking we're hearing more talk that you are.” He turned to Tubbs. “Maybe what I heard is true, Mr. Cooper. Maybe Pedrosa is all hot air.”

“Who says this?”

Sonny smiled, knowing he'd hit a nerve. “Oh, you know. The usual suspects. What's left of the Mendoza family business. Guellero Ortiz and his boys. People with supplies Mr. Cooper can depend on.”

Tubbs raised his hand. “Let him run his mouth, Burnett. All my people care about are results. We've had two reasonable deals and one that almost got us killed. I take that back. We've had one reasonable deal. The first time the product was sub-par. My people will want assurances you can bring in consistent amounts and good quality. And for that we'd need to talk to your supplier.”

Pedrosa started to speak, then clamped his mouth shut. Sonny could see furrows appear on his forehead as he tried to control his temper. Then he laughed. “Very good, Mr. Cooper. I like a man who is all business. Burnett, you'll need another boat like that for our next deal. And my boss would like to speak with you, Cooper. My car is outside with the phone. You can set up your meeting with him now if you'd like.”

“Solid.” Tubbs got to his feet. “Lead the way, Carlos.”

The spiders were dancing again, and Sonny took his time standing, waiting for Dave and Randy to get in position. He locked eyes with Dave and gave a slight nod, one the former Marine returned. He's got the same feeling. Something's going down, and if it's here it's going to be messy with all these people. But I don't see any of his men.Sonny's eyes darted from one shadow to the next, looking for a glint of metal, movement, motioned commands. Anything indicating the start of an ambush. But he saw nothing except Pedrosa forcing his way through the crowd and Tubbs trailing along in his wake.

The club's bold neon dyed the sidewalk the color of blood as they stepped out into the night. Pedrosa nodded to the doorman and turned right, heading for the parking lot. Tubbs followed, and Sonny was about to when he noticed the doorman moving fast in the opposite direction. Taking cover. Hauling out his 4506, the stainless steel turning red in the neon light, Sonny started moving himself. “Rico!” he yelled, trying to get away from the club door and the line of people looking in shock at what was unfolding in front of them. “It's a trap!”

Dave and Randy reacted like a single, well-oiled machine, their .45s coming at as they shouted for people to get down or get out of the way. Tubbs turned at Crockett's shout, his own Chief's Special filling his hand. Pedrosa turned, a big Beretta coming out from under his jacket. “You and I, Burnett! We don't need Cooper! This isn't your fight.”

Sonny looked past Pedrosa, seeing a flash of interior dome light as four men came out of a dark Lincoln parked just out of the cone of light cast by a light pole. He hadn't noticed it before, and knew where Pedrosa had been hiding his men. They must have moved the second they saw their boss pull his piece. “I don't think so, Pedrosa! I only work with people I trust.”

“Then you die with him!” Pedrosa brought up the 9mm, its muzzle moving as he tried to track Tubbs' movements as he ran for the cover of a car parked along the street. He got off one shot, blasting chunks from the concrete just behind Tubbs' feet, and then slugs from three big .45s blasted him off his feet as Sonny, Dave, and Randy all fired at almost the same instant, the boom of their pistols blending into one roar. Blood misted the air, and Sonny imagined he could see it soaking Pedrosa's suit and the grass under his body.

“Boss!” One of Pedrosa's goons shouted as the rest raised their guns. Rocking up from behind a Ford, Sonny saw flashes of light off handguns as they ran toward the fallen man. Thank God they left the automatic weapons at homehe thought, taking a solid two-handed grip on the big Smith & Wesson. Shots rang out, and he heard the sickening thud of bullets ripping into metal. The same voice rang out over the echoes of the shots. “Kill them all!”

Off to his left Sonny heard two pops as Rico announced he was still alive and kicking. One of the men screamed, a sharp noise over the shots. “I'm hit! Son of a bitch caught me in the...” No one would ever learn where he'd been hit. A shot boomed from the side of the club sheltering the two marshals and the first man shouted again. “They got Enrique! The bastards got Enrique!” More shots boomed out and he felt the car lurch on its shocks as it absorbed more lead meant for him.

Gathering himself, Sonny came to his feet, years of training and experience kicking in as one smooth motion. We have to drop them before they start spraying and hitting innocentshe thought, very aware of people running from the club and away from the gunfire. Orienting on sound, he saw the leader waving his arms and still shouting about evening the score. The light wasn't great, but he could see his front sight float in on the man and then he squeezed the trigger twice; once the long double-action pull of a first shot and the second the shorter single-action follow-on he'd practiced so many times on the range and used in the field. There was enough light for him to see a distinctive spray as the man was knocked back to the pavement, his pistol falling from lifeless fingers.

The last two men didn't like the odds they were facing. One of them sent four rounds booming into parked cars near Sonny and Tubbs, catching a bullet in the chest from Randy for his trouble. The last just jumped through the still-open door of the Lincoln and slammed the big car into gear. He almost rammed three cars and clipped the side of the club in his haste to get away, tires screaming on the warm asphalt and the engine straining as he slammed his foot to the floor.

Sonny stood, smoke curling from the wide muzzle of his pistol, and looked down at Pedrosa's body. Time started flowing normally again, and he felt the usual sag as his body purged its adrenalin. Randy and Dave still had their pistols out, and he could hear shouts and screams through the ringing in his ears.

Tubbs clapped a hand on his shoulder. “We'd better get gone before the cavalry arrives.” He moved his head, and Sonny could hear screaming sirens in the distance.

“Yeah. Load up, guys! We need to make tracks.”

“Copy that.” In seconds they were in the big Caddy and racing away from the shootout. It had been no more than five minutes since Sonny saw the doorman running for cover.

 

“And that's how you knew?” Castillo sat in his normal spot at the head of the table, his eyes downcast.”

“That's right, lieutenant. We'd just exited the club when I saw Pedrosa nod to the doorman. Next thing I know he's making tracks for greener pastures and I shouted at Tubbs.”

Dave nodded. “I saw the big guy making tracks, too. I though the same thing Crockett did; that shit was about to go down. No other reason a doorman leaves his post.”

“Thank you for your input, deputy.” Castillo didn't look up. “Did you notice anything else?”

“Sure.” Dave pressed on, seeming unimpressed by Castillo's studied silences. “He had his guys waitin' in a car running in the parking lot. That means he intended to lead us out there and kill Detective Tubbs. I don't know if he was planning to kill Detective Crockett or not, but the fact that the car was runnin' leads me to conclude he had his own ass covered. At least. And since he only brought four men, I don't think he expected me and Randy to be there. That he tried it anyhow makes me think he was under more pressure than we thought.”

“Or more greedy than we thought.” Tubbs jumped in now. “He offered Sonny the transportation for the deals. He must have figured you knew Cooper's New York contacts and figured the two of you could just cut me out.”

“It makes sense.” Sonny nodded, seeing the narco-logic in the idea. “Except he didn't really do his homework.”

“Maybe he did. Don't forget, Burnett took out the Manolo cartel from inside by brokering their deals and working transportation.” Tubbs chuckled. “Maybe he thought he could make history repeat itself.”

Trudy came out of the intel office. “Good news. No one else was hit in the whole incident. A few cars have significant bullet damage, and I hear the doorman wet his pants. But other than that only the bad guys went down.” She smiled. “Metro-Dade has an alert out for five gunman of Cuban origin, so I think your covers are still intact.”

Castillo nodded. “Good. Keep an eye on it. If things start developing, let me know and I'll have the chief deputy reach out with some story about a Federal operation.”

Randy nodded. “He'll enjoy the hell out of that. Any word on where the leak in Metro-Dade might be, sir?”

“Not yet. They still want to dismiss it as rumors. I don't.” He finally looked up. “Not the outcome we'd intended, but good job tonight. The right people ended up dead and no one else was injured.”

“Lieutenant, I'm going to call Pedrosa's old number in thirty seconds or so and leave a message.” Tubbs leaned in, his eyes intense. “I don't think Moncado knew about this, and I want to sound pissed off but still willing to work something out. If he's checking, we'll hear back.”

“Do it.” Castillo rose from his chair. “Keep me posted on any developments. Excellent work again, gentlemen. We'll meet again once we understand the fallout from Pedrosa's stunt tonight.”

Dave waited until Castillo left the room. “Is he always like that?”

Tubbs shook his head. “Naw. That was relaxed Castillo. You should see him when he's serious.”

Sonny chuckled. “He's an intense guy. No mistake. But he's also the best commander I've ever had. And you'd better get busy on that phone, Rico. We need to know if Moncado's still in the game or if we're going to have to find a new hook for him.” He looked around. “What happened to Lester and Stan? You lock 'em in that clubhouse of theirs?”

Trudy looked up from her notes and shook her head. “No. They're out changing some of the bugs. I guess the batteries die or some such.” She shrugged. “You know how it is when those two talk.”

“Yeah. Just strange when one of 'em isn't here.” He looked over as Tubbs worked the phone, building into a rage about almost being killed by that damned fool Carlos and then ramping back down to announce he was still open to a deal, but only for the next twenty-four hours. “After that my happy ass is in a plane back to New York and you're shit out of luck. And don't even try coming up the East Coast on your own if you don't reach out. My associates have long memories, and they won't like one of your people trying to whack me.”

Randy smiled. “That was a damned hard sell. You think it'll work?”

“Don't know.” Tubbs adjusted his red tie. “But it's how Cooper rolls so I gotta stay in character. I gave him my pager number this time so he'll know I'm serious.”

“I noticed. Don't worry, pal, I'm not trying to steal your prom date.” Sonny was about to get up when he stopped. A pager was going off, and it wasn't his.

Rico looked down at his waistband and grinned. “Showtime, boys and girls.”

Trudy was up like someone had shocked her. “I'll get the lieutenant.”

“So what number's he using?”

“Not Pedrosa's.” Tubbs looked around. “Where's a surveillance tech when you need one?”

“Make the call.” Castillo stood in his office doorway. “Switek set it up to record automatically when you use one of his routed lines before they went out to check the bugs.”

“Solid. I'll use a line close to a club, but far away from Toreador just in case he's got eyes on the dump.” Rico hit two buttons and then dialed, reading the number off the small LED pager screen. “This is Cooper. Who's paging me?” He gave a quick thumbs up and then settled into his best negotiating Cooper routine. “I never said you ordered a hit, Mr. Moncado, but I'm sure you understand my position. My associates won't be happy that your people tried to have me killed and wanted to cut me out of the deal.” Sonny watched as Rico's brow furrowed. “That's exactly what Pedrosa said before one of Burnett's associates was forced to kill him. So that's not your position? I see. I can try to smooth things over, but as I said my associates have long memories and don't easily forgive insults. No, Burnett was not involved. In fact he and his men saved my life and your end of the deal.” He listened for a time. “That was Pedrosa's assumption. A wrong one. Burnett doesn't know my New York connections and doesn't want to know them. Just like I don't know his people in the pipeline and don't want to know them. It works for us. We each need each other and have an interest in protecting each other. As your organization should have learned tonight.” He smiled but kept his voice hard. “Of course my people know. Like I said, I can talk to them and try to smooth things over. There might be a price adjustment until things return to normal. Can I call you at this number? Solid. I'll let you know.”

Castillo didn't blink. “How did he sound?”

“Pissed and scared in equal measure.” Rico chuckled. “I think it's a good thing Pedrosa's dead, at least for his sake. I don't know how long that last man of his is going to live, though. I think Moncado's men already scooped him up.”

“Play him for a day, then set up a meeting. We want to move while he's still off-balance.” Castillo looked up, holding each of them with a stare. “Make no mistake. Moncado is dangerous. Very dangerous. He's our path to Maynard, but he's no lightweight like Pedrosa. Never underestimate him or his capacity for violence.” He turned to Trudy. “Bring Switek and Lester up to speed as soon as they're back. I want to know everything they've picked up in the last six hours. Intelligence is our biggest edge here and I don't want any of it slipping through the cracks.”

Randy got to his feet. “Dave and I will update the chief deputy, boss. Anything else for us?”

“Stay in contact with Crockett and Tubbs. When this moves it will move fast and we'll need all the help we can get.” Once the two deputies were gone, Castillo turned to Sonny. “How did they do?”

“Fantastic. I'm hoping no one in their office gets a wild hair and pulls them back.”

“They won't.”

“Good.” Sonny leaned back in his chair, the adrenalin from the shootout finally purged from his entire body. “You know, lieutenant, this whole thing's gonna change as soon as Maynard sees a picture of Burnett.”

“I know.”

“He'll come after me. Hard. But that's good. He'll start making real mistakes then.” Sonny smiled. It was a thin thing that didn't touch his eyes. “I don't think he knows we're actually after him. He probably thinks we're targeting Moncado, or just following a drug network up the ladder.”

“Let him keep thinking that. When you meet Moncado, convince him you don't know there's anyone behind him. That might make them both careless.” Castillo rubbed his eyes. “Now both of you should go home. Get some rest. You might need it.”