Echoes - Part III

[Robbie C.]

After the heat of the street the task force office was an oasis of cool. Sonny and Rico headed for Castillo's office, Rico taking a detour to look in on Stan in the tech room. He came back smiling. “Stan's damned near glowing,” he reported as he sat down across from Sonny. “He's busy putting a plan together so we can start applying for warrants.”

“Good. How are Trudy and Mindy doing?”

“I stuck my head in and saw a stack of folders and decided it was better if I didn't bother them. But I'd guess they're doing good. Stan said they've only been out for donuts and coffee, so they're working hard.”

Sonny nodded. “Seems odd, don't it? A gang war over drug turf neither one of them can actually identify. And little Nicky Fuentes running around with a big ol' target on his back. Bet he wishes he would have stayed a runner for Garcia or whoever now.”

“Most likely. That little chump never had the stones for that work, let alone the big time.”

“Maybe that's it. You think we could bring him in and turn him?”

Tubbs shook his head. “Not yet. I doubt if he's scared enough. So far no one's taken a run at him. Just the Dominicans and Columbians shooting each other and their dealers.”

“Maybe it's time someone did take a run at him. Like say Burnett.” Sonny leaned back, scratching the stubble on his chin. “He's already scared of Burnett, and I don't want to risk blowing a potential walk-on for Cooper from the islands later in the game.”

“You think Burnett's still viable after the Keys?”

“Yeah, I do. Maynard wasn't one to air dirty laundry, so no one's gonna know what he was planning. Anyone who did is dead. No,” he repeated, fishing his cigarettes out of the pocket of his white linen blazer, “I think Burnett's still viable. And he'd be looking for another score after that slick bastard Cooper zipped on back to New York City.”

“It could work.” Rico nodded slowly, rubbing his eyes. “And Burnett sniffing around would make Nicky nervous as hell.”

“We'll need to prep the ground first. Find out where he's doing his deals. And I want a better grip on those gangs.” Sonny sighed. “This damned boss thing is hard work, Rico.”

“No doubt, partner.” Rico grinned. “Maybe you'll get lucky and Jenny will be back in town.”

“Don't know if that's luck or not.” Sonny raised his hands. “I know...just roll with it. But I'm starting to wonder just where the hell it's rolling.” It bothered him more than he cared to admit. There was something about Jenny that drew him in, but he also knew that wasn't always a good thing. He'd been wrong more than he'd been right with those kind of attractions in the past, and he wasn't sure where this one was going. “I'd feel a hell of a lot better if I knew what she was up to.”

“I made some calls, and I'm waitin' on folks to get back to me.” Rico picked at a loose thread on his suit. “At least you know she's not moving drugs or anything like that.”

“Yeah, there is that. I just can't tell which one of us is the moth and which one's the candle.”

“Maybe she can't, either. You aren't exactly an open book, you know.”

“You got that right, Rico. That's the danger with dating outside the Job. You never know if they're falling for you or your cover.” Sonny shook his head. Hell, sometimes I don't know if I'm myself or my cover. Burnett is hard to turn off sometimes.

“Yeah. That's the trouble with Debbie. I like her, but she's more Cooper's kind of girl if you know what I mean.”

“I do. Sucks, don't it?” Sonny sent smoke trailing toward the window, looking just past the glowing tip of the cigarette. Maybe Jenny's more Burnett's kind of girl. Then what the hell do I do?

“At least I figured that out before it was too late. I don't want to hurt her, Sonny, and if that means I gotta be alone, then that's what it takes.”

“Yeah.” He took another drag on the cigarette, feeling the nicotine rush and focusing his thoughts. “I'm gonna do a little more work on these requisitions and then call it a day. You want me to put in for one of those Walthers for you, or do you just want to go buy one and get paid back?”

“Ill go down tonight and see if there's one in town. Better it comes in that way.”

“True enough, partner. Let me know when you find one and we'll hit the range. You'll need to get it shot in and I can always stand the practice.” And the therapy.

“Don't forget to give Gina a call.”

“Damn!” Reaching for a pen, Sonny scribbled himself a note. “Thanks for reminding me. It might be too late today, but I'll try and hit her up in the morning if I miss her.” Shaking his head, he reached for the phone.

Someone picked up on the third ring. “Detective Calabrese.”

“Gina? It's Sonny.”

Her voice was guarded. “How's it going, Sonny?”

“Good. Look, I need a favor. Nothing big. You know a girl who works at Rizzo's named Trixie? I hear she's got blue hair.”

There was a pause. “Yes, I think so. She moonlights on the street and has an on-again, off-again heroin problem. I think she was in here a couple of weeks ago talking about pressing charges against her 'boyfriend,' but then she disappeared again.”

“You got any solid intel on her? We're working one of the heroin sources and her name came up.”

“Doesn't surprise me. She runs with a bad crowd. After Noogie I'm surprised Rizzo's hasn't fired her yet.” Her laugh echoed down the line. “Seems it took Noogie ODing to wake that bunch up, but when they did it was serious.”

“A little bird told me she's only part-time there now, anyhow. But you think she's dealing?”

“I'd be surprised if she wasn't.” Sonny could almost see Gina's sad smile when he heard her voice. “If she's down to part-time she's got to make her money somewhere.”

“What kind of heroin did they bust her with?”

“China White.”

“That means she's involved somehow. This guy's the only one bringing that in as far as Narcotics knows.” Sonny felt his pulse increase. “Look, can you do me a favor? Let me know if any of the girls you work with mentions a dealer called Doc. Don't move on it, though. Just let me know.”

“I'll keep my ears open.” There was a pause, and her voice was serious when she spoke again. “Is it important, Sonny?”

“Yeah, and this Doc's bad news. Don't let them know you're interested.” Sonny paused himself, trying to put what he sensed into words. “To Narcotics he's a ghost. You remember Haskins? He was chasing the guy before Vallencio took over, and John could never get a lead on him, either. Just the street name and the fact he's ruthless as hell. So if you hear anything, please just let me know and we'll connect the dots.” He paused. “It's not that I think you can't handle it. It's just dangerous as hell and I don't want to risk anyone but myself chasing it down. And that includes Stan. We got him a new toy today, so he'll be busy for days with it.”

Her laugh was genuine. “Thank you, Sonny. For looking after him, I mean. He's...”

“I know, darlin'. I know. Let me know if you hear anything.” He hung up before either of them could say anything more. There wasn't any need.

 

Ricardo Tubbs could feel the beat of the club's sound system before he got within ten feet of the door. He smiled, flashing white teeth and a twenty to the guy at the door and getting past the rope with no questions and no hassle. Just how he liked making an entrance.

He'd picked the place because it wasn't one of his usual haunts; because here no one would know him as Cooper from New York. This operation might call for a different touch, and he needed to get Islands Cooper out and try him on for size again. It had been over a year since he'd used that cover, and like doors and guns covers rusted if you didn't use them or take care of them regularly.

The bartender looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and Rico smiled again. “Rum, mon. Dark as night.” When the glass appeared he sipped it with appreciation. “Righteous, mon. Righteous!” He laid another twenty on the bar. “Let me know when I drink this up, mon. Ok?”

“You got it, pal.” The bartender gave him a bored nod and headed down to a knot of what looked like frat guys out on the town.

Leaning against the bar, Rico took in the scene. The place was thick with girls and guys looking to score, their eyes sparkling in light thrown by refugee disco balls suspended from the unfinished ceiling. The place looked to have been some kind of warehouse no more than two years ago, but now it pulsed with sound, light, and cheap chrome fixtures. At least the air conditioning was solid. The last thing Rico wanted was a nose-full of stale sweat and bathroom stink.

Part of him wanted to hit the dance floor. To grind up against some lovelies and see what he could see. But he remembered Mikko and kept looking things over. That and if things headed for their natural conclusion he didn't want to take just anyone up to Casa Cooper. No, he had reasons to be discrete now.

Even though the light was dim, he could see deals being made in the corner booths. Men who slipped in, didn't stay long, and left with their hands in their pockets while the skinny guy already there stayed put and waited for the next customer. It wasn't very subtle, so he figured the amounts were correspondingly small. The more weight changing hands the more careful people tended to be about who saw them closing the deal. That and he didn't see enough big guys in unseasonable jackets. Big deals demanded security, and that called for firepower. None of these chumps had the right kind of weight close at hand.

Still, it was good to stay in practice. He motioned for a fresh drink and waited until the bartender got close. “Any action to be had here, mon?” he asked in a low voice. “Any special party favors?”

That eyebrow shot up again. “There's usually some flake around. Bolivian now that the Peruvian's gotten rare.” He snickered. “Weed, but I expect you get better than any of these fools sell.”

“You got that right, mon. Righteous weed is my bread and butter.”

“Yeah. That's about all she wrote, though. This crowd's more about being jacked up and maybe mellowing a bit.”

“Solid.” Rico dropped another twenty on the bar. “For your trouble, mon.”

“Thanks.” Now it was the bartender who leaned in. “You wouldn't happen to be looking to lose any weight, would you?”

“Not tonight, mon. But maybe in a few days my friends an' I might have some extra.” Rico wasn't looking for any kind of bust, but he never ignored an opportunity. The chump might lead to bigger things. “I'll be looking you up, first thing.”

“Cool. I'm Turk.”

“Prentiss is my name, mon. An' I'll be back in a couple days. Hook you up maybe with some prime ganja.” Rico grinned. “But now business calls. Cool runnin', mon.”

Damn. That was rusty as hell. Maybe the Island act ain't ready for prime time just yet. Good thing I ain't ever been in this dive before. And might never come back. Rico took his drink and wandered the edges of the dance floor. Now and then a girl caught his eye, but he just gave them a smile or a wink and kept moving. Tonight was about knocking off the rust and getting his street instincts back where they needed to be and not about trying to score.

It wasn't long before the club lost whatever charm it had, and Rico headed back out into the sticky night air. Checking his Rolex he saw it was too early to go home. Hell, more like the dead Panamanian's seized Rolex he reminded himself, his lips twitching into a thin smile at the thought. Too early to go home, but nowhere else I really want to go. Unless...

It was dark in the task force offices. Everyone else had gone home for the day, and the place sat quiet and empty. Letting himself in, Rico ignored the conference room and headed for the small office he'd shared with Sonny until his partner's temporary promotion. Unlocking his desk, he reached into one of the big hanging files and pulled out a small manila envelope. Breaking the seal, he dumped the contents into the small golden pool formed by his desk lamp.

The first picture was of Angelina. Angelina Calderone. The woman he'd thought was a simple schoolteacher until he learned the truth. The woman he'd fallen instantly in love with, even after he found out the identity of her father. And the woman he'd unknowingly gotten pregnant with his son.

“I never really knew you,” he whispered to the picture, setting it in the exact center of the desk. “But I did know you. What would our lives have been like if we could have gotten away from it all?”

Next came a fuzzy surveillance photo, taken from a distance by some unknown team of watchers. It was the only picture he had of Ricardo Junior. She'd named the boy after him, maybe so someday he'd know who his father was. It was another thing they never got to talk about, thanks to her crazy half brother Orlando.

“At least I got to kill that bastard,” he muttered. “That and his idiot cousin Xavier.” It had put an end to the Calderone family, at least the part concerned with drugs. He knew Angelina was dead, blown up by Orlando. But the boy...he never knew for sure. There had been no trace in the remains of the car, but Orlando had used enough explosives to blow up a building. They'd been lucky there was enough of Angelina to identify and bury. But that was also one of the reasons he hadn't batted an eye when Sonny went after Hackman. He understood completely. And in his shoes he'd have done the same thing.

For a long moment Rico stared at the pictures. And the dolphin necklace. He could feel the tears forming, and didn't try to stop them until they splattered on the envelope like falling rain. Then he slid each artifact back into the envelope, sealed it with tape, and locked it back in the desk. Maybe now he'd get some answers. Metro-Dade might not know, but there had to be one of the alphabet soup agencies they worked with now that had something. Castillo had asked, and his questions didn't tend to go unanswered.

Sighing, Rico turned off the desk lamp and got to his feet. He'd almost forgotten about the gun case sitting by his feet. If he was going to take the Walther to the range he'd need to clean it and get used to how it operated first. Picking it up, he headed for the armory, punching the six digit key into the lock pad and waiting for the heavy click. Better to do the cleaning here and pay for dry cleaning than have Casa Cooper reeking of gun oil for days. Snapping open the case, Rico went about the business of field-stripping the sleek West German pistol and wiping it clean of any factory grease before applying a thin coat of Hoppe's to the metal surfaces. It was all new to him, so he took his time. Revolvers didn't need this level of care.

But he understood the point. The Walther had a fifteen-round magazine, and with two spares he'd be carrying forty-five rounds. At most he'd had fifteen with his Smith & Wesson. And reloading it was a process compared to just hitting a button, having the empty magazine fall away, slamming in a new one, and hitting the slide release. He'd seen Mindy in action with her auto-loader, and remembered how much covering fire Sonny had been able to lay down at the Keys house. “No,” he muttered, locking the barrel back into place, “I get it. Time for a change. 'Course the Smith still makes a nice backup gun. She won't be put down just yet.” The game had changed, and he needed to change with it.

 

“And you're sure you ain't heard nothin'?” Earl Lester Holmes took a swig of his Bud before setting the bottle down and glaring at Benny. The sun was finally down, and the ground around the bar was starting to cool. Maybe outdoors would be fit for human habitation before too long.

“Sure, boss. An' we did some diggin', you bet. Me an' Verne both. That colonel's dead sure as shit. Someone shot his face clean off the way I heard it. But there ain't nothin' out there about who did it.” Benny looked at his own beer, and Holmes could see the thirst in his eyes. But he also knew Benny wouldn't dare reach for it yet. “My buddy over in Metro-Dade just said it was some Federal outfit that did it. He don't know who. State police came in quicker 'n spit an' locked down the whole scene before the fancy boys in helicopters showed up.”

“Drink your damned beer before you pass out, Benny.” Holmes grinned, finishing his own and pulling another from the cooler behind the bar. They were down at the far end, away from the TVs and the knot of men in stained shirts watching whatever damned ball game was on. The more he watched, the more Holmes was convinced baseball was some kind of Commie plot to sap the willpower of the American male. “And you said they got Moncado, too, these Federal command types?”

“That's what my pal said.” Benny gulped at his beer, wiping sweat from his wide brow. “They gunned down the colonel, his Columbian buddy, an' a whole bunch of his hired guns besides.”

Holmes stared into space for a moment, fighting to control his temper. “An' no one knows who these boys are?”

“Nosir. We're still checkin', mind, but we're also bein' careful like you said.”

“Well shit.” Holmes took a deep drink of beer. He'd expected something to turn up by now. Benny might not be smart, but he was as persistent as a tic once you gave him something to latch onto. But he could only climb so high, and if the locals didn't know that pretty much used up Benny's contacts. “Best let it go for now, Benny. You and Verne did good, hear? But we don't want no Federal eyes lookin' at us. Those fools from ATF are bad enough with their cheap suits an' unmarked sedans. Guess I should be glad they're still usin' Fords instead of some cheap import shit, though.” He forced his thoughts away from the bloodbath in the Keys. “Best start tryin' to make some inroads with those spics shootin' each other in Miami.”

“Why's that, boss?”

“Like I said before, they're gonna need guns sooner or later. Might as well make some money off 'em before they wipe each other out.” Although he didn't say it in front of Benny, Holmes also hoped the feud would eventually draw out this mysterious Federal force. He couldn't hit what he couldn't see, but Earl Lester Holmes was totally confident in his ability to hit, and kill, what he could see.

From up the bar one of his men whistled. “Boss! We got company.”

Pushing himself off his stool, Holmes ambled up the bar. He could feel the comforting weight of his cocked and locked M1911-A1 tucked into the back of his Levi's. “What the hell is it, Mikey?”

“Them bikers again, boss. They're wantin' to buy some product.”

Holmes looked over, seeing the big man in the sleeveless denim jacket blocking the light in the doorway. “I told you we're closed, you dumb son of a bitch! It's still too hot out there to do business.”

The big man, nicknamed Tiny in reference to something Holmes didn't want to think about, let out a bark that might pass for a laugh. “Ain't no one closed when we want to do business, fat man.”

“Guess again.” Holmes raised a finger and Tiny stopped moving, suddenly aware of the number of pistols and sawed-off shotguns pointed at his head and chest by the men watching the game and the regulars at the bar. Snickering, he pulled out his own .45. “I ain't gonna insult your lack of intelligence by tellin' you how many guns are on you right now. We'll keep it simple and say a shitload.” The click as he flipped off the safety on his pistol was echoed by a number of clicks as the others did the same. “Now you can just back outa here right now and chalk this up to you learnin' something, or you can go down right now. You and those inbreds you got outside. And the gators get fed. Choice is yours, but don't take too long or I'll consider that a no.”

Tiny's eyes went wide, and he made a show of raising his hands. “Ok, Lester. Ok. I get it. Too hot. Right. We'll come back another time.”

“No. I'll tell you when to come back.”

“Right. We'll wait to hear from you.” A dark stain was spreading across the front of Tiny's stained jeans, and he turned and stiff-legged it out of the bar as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

Holmes waited until the ragged thunder of Harleys starting up filled his ears. Then he put his Colt on safe and stuffed in back in his pants. Shooting a glace at Mikey he said, “Make sure them sons of bitches is gone, then the house gets a round. Hear?” In a way he was disappointed Tiny hadn't pushed it. The bikers were more of a nuisance than good customers. They bought his guns, did stupid shit with them, and then wanted to give him up to the cops when they got pulled in for their stupid shit. Getting rid of them would have made his life easier. “Maybe next time,” he muttered as he settled back onto his stool and reached for his beer.

 

Stan Switek leaned across the car and kissed Gina goodbye. “It's no trouble,” he repeated, smiling just to see her smile back. “Your car's in the shop, mine runs, and with this face and no Lester I'm on normal duty for the time being. So I can drop you off and pick you up.”

“Thanks, Stan.” Gina reached over and ran her fingers over his cheek. “It'll take some time to get used to that beard, and I'll bet as soon as I do you'll be able to shave again.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I'll decide I like the rugged, he-man look.” Stan grinned. “See you tonight, baby.”

He spent the rest of the drive to Task Force headquarters with a smile on his face. Aside from almost getting blown up, he'd never felt better. His only regret was Larry not being there to see it. But Lester was turning into a damned good buddy, as well as a great technician. And then there was Gina. He sighed, turning into the garage. He couldn't imagine living without her now.

The hospital stay had given him time to think after weeks of having no time to think about anything other than phone taps and receiver ranges. Gina had been by every day, and she'd told him of the promise she'd extracted from Sonny Crockett and how he'd told her he'd made good on it. But he didn't care about that as much as he did seeing her every day. The sound of her voice as she told him about her day, knowing he didn't really understand most of it but cared because she did. Every time he opened his eyes she'd been there, or he knew she was coming soon.

As the doors opened on the tenth floor, Stan realized he understood now why Sonny had killed Hackman. What had seemed so out of character for the man now made total sense. Sometimes you had to have everything to realize what losing it could do to someone. Then he shuddered, considering what would be unleashed if anyone ever hurt Trudy. Then his hand touched the office door and it was showtime.

Stan always tried to make an entrance of some kind. It was a habit he'd learned to deflect bullies; being the funny fat kid was often safer than being a target. Today it was...”Have no fear! Stan is here!”

Mindy looked up from her desk and giggled. “So far it's just you and me, big guy, so the only thing we have to fear...”

“Is fear itself. See? I didn't sleep through American History. Ok, maybe once. But once they hit the '50s and the King I never looked back.” Stan grinned, making a mock bow in her direction. “Of course I never moved forward either. Means I missed disco completely. Any idea when they'll be in?”

“Should be soon. Sonny's been coming in earlier since he got dropped in the boss's chair, and Rico does it just to show he can.” She smiled. “Dave and Randy...well...they do their own thing most of the time. Sonny did want me to ask, though...do you know when Lester's coming back?”

“Could be today. Tomorrow for sure. I talked to him last night and one of the doctors was still worried about his arm. If he's in today it will be this afternoon.” Stan sighed. “You know, it's good to be back. I like being fussed over by a beautiful woman as much as the next guy, but sooner or later ya gotta get back in the saddle.”

She nodded. “I'd like to meet Gina someday. She sounds special. You guys talk about her so much.”

“Yeah. All of us worked together for years. It's kinda like one big family.” Then his thoughts turned to Larry and he changed the subject. “Did you and Trudy get anywhere with that intel? If you've got something I'll start planning the surveillance.”

“Some,” she said, and Stan was glad she'd sensed his reluctance to talk more about the old OCB team. “We've got it narrowed down to about six gangs, split evenly between the Columbians and the Dominicans. I'll give you what we've got, but I don't know how much use it'll be to you right now. It's more for Dave and Randy and their recon.”

“Well, I won't be staying at Heartbreak Hotel in any case.” He smiled. “Just show me to the papers and I'll get to it. No, you don't need to get up. Having a bum ankle sucks.”

“There's a stack on Trudy's desk. The top file's what you need.” Mindy smiled. “They say I should be off these in a couple of days and using a splint instead. Damned high heels.”

“I know. I always break mine, though.” Stan laughed and headed through to the main office area.

 

Sonny Crockett shut off the Ferrari and sat for a moment in the artificial cool of the garage, listening to the powerful engine tick as it cooled. Jenny's spot at the marina had been empty, and he'd had a long night with his memories. “I need to find a lady who doesn't disappear to sea for days at a time,” he told the empty car. Then he chuckled and got out. This letting it roll business takes something out of a man.

Mindy greeted him with a smile. “Stan's already here, boss. Going through the files and trying to work up a surveillance profile. He said Lester should be later today or tomorrow for sure. No sign of anyone else yet.”

“Thanks, darlin'. Did Trudy say if she'd be in or not?”

“It depended. If the doctors let him go today, she'll be out. If not, she said she'll be in before noon.” Mindy let her eyes show her disapproval. “I told her not to worry and she told me...”

“Yeah. I've got a pretty good idea what Trudy said.” Sonny smiled. “She's a tough one. No two ways about it. And she can't stand the idea of other people doing her work for her. Don't worry. I'll send her home early if she shows. It's not all hands on deck yet, so she needs to take her time. Marty needs her right now.”

“No word from Detective Tubbs yet. Should I call?”

“Naw. Rico'll show when he shows. He's got nothing pressing right now, but if he doesn't roll in by ten try his car and apartment phones. Just to keep him on his toes.”

“What's this about my toes?” Rico came through the outer door, doing a series of quick dance moves as soon as he heard their voices. “I got dance in my soul and rhythm in my feet.”

“And water on the damned brain.” Sonny laughed. “I just told Mindy you'd show when you showed, and here you are. Now if you're done auditioning for Soul Train we've got work to do.”

“Ain't my fault I was born to dance.” Rico winked at Mindy and followed Sonny into the conference room. Then he stopped his little dance. “Long night?”

“Is it that obvious?” Sonny shook his head. “Not long so much as...not restful. Anyhow, we got Stan hard at work in the tech room, leaving you and me to start looking through the gang stuff Trudy and Mindy sorted down. I figure we gotta do something to earn our keep around here.”

“I look pretty. Ain't that enough?”

“Only if you're Boogaloo Jones.” Stan leaned out the tech room door and gave them one of his wide grins. “Otherwise I gotta pass, Rico.”

“Let's get to it. I'd like to be somewhere other than nowhere when Dave and Randy come in.” And I sure don't want to be spinning my wheels when Marty finally gets back. We need to have something solid to give him. “So grab some coffee. We got a morning ahead of us.”

Two hours later Sonny looked at the folders spread out on the big table and compared them to the notes Mindy and Trudy had typed up. They'd done a hell of a job breaking it all down, and the street map of Miami they'd used to block off territories and color-code them to files and notes was some of the best intel work he'd ever seen.

Tubbs was equally impressed. “Damn. You're the boss, give them a raise.”

“Wish I could, Rico. This is first class work.” He looked down again, matching the words with the lines on the map. “I'm gonna run through this because I'm slow. Looks like we got six gangs fighting over the same few blocks of drug market. Two Columbian, and four Dominican.”

“Yeah. The Dominicans are smaller outfits. Mostly centered around a family. The Columbians might not have raw numbers, but they're better organized and have more firepower.”

“And they'd done this before.” Sonny pointed at the names. “These guys were small-time back when the Mendoza brothers were making things happen. Guess they got shut down after we left, and things fell apart.”

“Drug dealers are like roaches. They see an empty space and they move in.” Rico pointed to the map. “Most of that turf used to be solid Mendoza territory. Now you got three gangs squabbling over it.”

“The Dominicans go way back in this, but they're strictly family and territorial. They just want to hold what they have, and until now no one seemed to care what they had.” Sonny scratched his chin. “I wonder what tripped the balance?”

“China White. Pure and simple. You know these Columbians. They want to have it all, not just the blow trade. They even took a run at the Jamaicans for the weed concession. They got slapped down for that, but they keep comin' back.”

“They learned that from the Mendozas. Those two were determined little bastards.” The words triggered a memory, and Sonny got up from the table. “Let me go check the damned fax machine. I keep forgetting it's there.”

Once in the office he looked down at the empty print tray and shook his head. He'd sent out a reminder to some agencies last night, requesting information on Ricardo Calderone or Tubbs junior. Or anything on a baby being moved by the remnants of the Calderone clan. Nothing had come in yet, but he owed it to Tubbs to keep checking.

He found Tubbs looking through the Dominican gang folders. “So we got two old-timers here,” he announced, looking up when Sonny came back. “Edmundo Salazar and Gustavo Gutierrez. Eddie and Double G to the men on the street. They've been in the game since the '70s. Eddie heads up the 8-Ball Kings, and good old Double G fronts the Double Treys.” He shrugged. “Don't know what cereal box they got those names from, though. The other two gangs are strictly small time, feeders for the 8-Balls and the Treys. They sorted out their turf back when disco was king, so they don't scrap any more.” He chuckled. “In fact, Eddie and Double G might be cousins on their mothers' sides. So we got la Familia rolling over there.”

Sonny nodded, paging through the intel on the Columbians. “Lots of familiar faces in here. Looks like the Blancos rolled up most of the Mendoza dealers and some of their enforcers. What was left trickled into a bunch calling themselves Los Tech 9s.” He chuckled. “Takes real imagination to name your gang after your favorite gat. Anyhow, they're both nasty as they come. Probably no more than ten or fifteen active members each, but they're veterans of the Mendoza turf wars. The guys in charge of each gang used to be underbosses for the Mendozas, so they know each other. It'll be a bloodbath if they get past the Dominicans and decide to see who's got the bigger dick in the drug contest.”

“Ok. We got the players. What's the game they're fighting over?”

Sonny shook his head. “That's the bitch of it, Rico. We don't know. Gangs hadn't developed anything new, and we know Narcotics has squat.” He looked up and smiled as Mindy brought in the mail. “That thick folder goes to you and Trudy first. It's got everything Narcotics has on this heroin connection. See if you can find any connection to the stuff Gangs sent over.”

She nodded. “Trudy just came in, so if you lugs will get out of our way we'll get down to the real work.”

Sonny looked past her to Trudy. Her face showed her exhaustion and worry, but the determination in her eyes made him smile. “We'll leave you to it. Say hello to Marty for me when you see him today, Trudy.”

She smiled. “I will, Sonny. He might be coming home tomorrow. I've got my fingers crossed.”

“I'll cross mine for you both.” Sonny gave her hand a quick squeeze and then turned to Tubbs. “You have any luck tracking down a new hogleg?”

“Matter of fact I did. The receipt's in your basket, Mindy.” Tubbs grinned. “I was hoping to hit the range later.”

“Why put off until later what we can do now? Grab some ammo and we'll head out that way.” Sonny smiled to cover his own uneasy feelings. “I could use some range therapy myself.”