Echoes - Part VI

[Robbie C.]

Mindy smiled as Rico walked into the outer office. “Sonny wanted me to see if you needed help with anything,” he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“I think I'm good, Rico. Trudy just called and said she'd be in this afternoon.”

“Good deal. Hey, if Sonny asks I'm gonna go run down a couple of old sources. See if they have anything that can help us with this operation.” The lie slid easily off his tongue and Mindy didn't even blink.

Riding the elevator down to the garage, Rico wondered why he'd lied. He could have just said he was going out to clear his head and Sonny would have understood. But then he might have wanted to help, and Rico knew why he'd lied. He didn't want help right now, except for finding out if his boy was dead or alive. Everything else rested squarely on his shoulders.

Even though it wasn't quite ten, Rico could see the midday heat rising in waves from the blacktop outside the garage. So he left the top up and turned the A/C on full before rolling out into the sun. He paused before turning onto the street, deciding which way he wanted to play things. Sonny, he knew, always headed out of town when he wanted to think. For Rico it wasn't that easy. Seeing headlights in the rear view mirror, he made his choice and pulled into traffic.

Che Marcos was one of the new rooftop restaurants springing up across Miami, funded by mystery money and usually the flagship of a new office building. Calculated to lure the office workers up to keep their money 'in house,' they usually featured some take on 'Island' or 'Coastal' cuisine and a full bar. New York habits died hard, if at all, and sometimes when Rico wanted to think he needed to be around people. This was one of those times.

The matre'd took one look at his Armani suit and showed him to a secluded corner table with a wide synthetic smile. “Will anyone be joining you, sir?” he asked, pulling out the chair.

Better than you have tried to work me, chump. But he just grinned. “No, mon. Just me today. But if things work out, I'll be back with the ladies.”

“I see.” The punk in the tailored tux looked like a shark scenting blood in the water. “Might I suggest today's special?”

“Let me check the menu, mon. I'm a bit particular in my tastes.”

“Of course. And a drink while you decide?”

“Righteous, mon. Scotch. Jonny Walker Blue Label.”

A synthetic nod accompanied the smile. “Excellent choice. Jessica will be back with your drink. She's your hostess this afternoon.”

Tubbs nodded, having already dismissed the drone in his mind. He didn't care much about the menu, either. He'd seen it all before, just with different names and accent marks to try to make it look 'new' or 'different.' He was more interested in the movement around him. The people. And sorting out where his head was. Maybe then he could get his heart in order.

Jessica turned out to be a twenty-something with dark black hair and bright blue eyes reminding him of Mindy's. She was slender in the right places and filled out in the same right places, and wore her short skirt like she'd had it tailored. Setting his drink down she smiled. “Are you ready to order or did you need a few minutes yet?”

“I tink I'm ready.” He regretted having started the Prentiss gig after seeing her, but there was no turning back. He ordered a Caesar salad and pointed to one of the sandwich choices. “Is the sauce really Jamaican?”

She looked around and lowered her voice. “No. I wouldn't want you to be disappointed. It is good, though.”

He grinned. “I don't tink you could ever disappoint me, Jessica.” She blushed, turning her cheeks a pretty shade of pink. “But if you say it's good I will try. And I won't tell them you told me about the sauce. Never rat on a pretty lady. It's part of the Prentiss code.”

“Thanks.” She smiled again, scribbling notes on her pad, and turned back to the kitchen. He admired her walk as she went, wishing again he'd not started the whole Island routine. But maybe it was for the best. A lady in his life now would only complicate what was already a mess.

The scotch was smooth, and he let it warm a path down to his stomach while he watched people in rumpled suits wolf down “working lunches” or linger by the bar over a third martini before heading back downstairs to one dead-end job or another. He wondered if any of them knew where the money came from that funded these buildings, and if they cared if they did. In the dimmer corners he saw bosses and their secretaries eating furtive lunches, their eyes doing what they wished their hands could do before going back to work. He knew most of them would look down on what he did, consider it lying, when they lied more than he did in course of a normal day.

“Here's your salad, Mr. Prentiss.”

Jessica shocked him out of his daydream, and he favored her with a smile. “Tank you, pretty lady. It looks great.” And he wasn't lying. Che Marcos might have a terrible name, but they looked to have a decent chef.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” She smiled again before walking away, and he swore she put a little extra into the walk.

As he ate, he felt himself returning to center. It wasn't an intentional thing; it just happened as he watched all the other 'normal' people lying to each other and happily munching on food in a building paid for with drug money. If his life was a constant cycle, theirs weren't any different. At least he could put on a new face once in a while and get paid to pretend to be someone he wasn't.

When Jessica came back with the sandwich he favored her with an authentic smile. “That was fabulous, pretty lady. Fabulous! Can I get another drink? And then I'll stop bothering you.”

“You're no bother, Mr. Prentiss.” She smiled again. “Not a bit of one.”

“Call me Teddy, pretty lady. All my friends do.”

“Mine call me Jessie. And I'll be right back with that Blue Label.” This time he was sure she put a little extra into the walk.

The sandwich wasn't up to the level of the salad, but it wasn't bad. As Rico ate he kept watching the dim corner booths, hiding a smile behind his food as one of the secretary-looking women jumped up and slapped the man she'd been eating with seconds before. “Looks like someone's cover's blown,” he muttered, chuckling as he took another bite of the sandwich.

Jessie came back with his drink, smiling as she set it down. “Let me know if you need anything else. I'm on shift for a while yet and this is my section.”

“I'll do that, pretty lady.” He looked at the glass. “If you see that empty, bring me one more. Three's my limit when I'm workin', you see.”

She smiled again and moved away. He could tell she'd wanted to stay, but the narrow eyes of the matre'd were on her. Tubbs found himself liking the chump less and less. I wonder how much of their tips he tries to keep for himself? Maybe Teddy should channel a little bit of Marcus on the way out. The thought felt good, and he turned it around with the ice cubes in his drink and chewed the last bites of his sandwich. There were still fries on the plate to chase ketchup, and he could nurse a drink for a good hour if necessary. Send one more look this way and we'll see how long these ice cubes can last.

He was partway through the third scotch on the rocks when Rico realized he was almost back to normal. Watching other people and their lies was a big part of it, but it also felt good just to sit somewhere as someone else and consider what his life would be like if he had to work one of those jobs. Where all he had to look forward to was lunch at the top floor restaurant and another long, painful afternoon before he could go home and wait to do it again the next day. That crowd was mostly gone by now, replaced by the mid-afternoon drunks who were maybe halfway through their rotation of bars before hailing a cab home to keep drinking until whatever pain they were nursing went away. He could see his father's face in some of them, and turned his attention back to the bar before his mind went too far down that path. Too far back to New York.

Jessie came by as soon as he set down his glass. “Here's your check, Teddy. I hope you come back and see us again.” She gave him a quick wink and turned back to the bar.

Rico looked down and understood. Under the total she'd written her name and number in precise cursive. “Call me” was under it. Just as he looked up she turned, and he smiled and gave her a subtle nod. Maybe I will at that. But first I need to set up a hotel suite for Teddy. I can't bring her to Casa Cooper if it gets that far, and I might need a crash pad if I have to use Teddy for the op. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a fifty dollar bill and left it on the check. Getting up, he walked by the bar. “And I don't need no change, pretty lady,” he said as he passed her.

His expression changed when he reached the matre'd stand. He could feel his eyes go hard, cold. It was a look he'd mastered for Marcus, and it felt good adding it to Teddy's profile. “The tip is all hers, mon. I hear you took any, we'll be havin' this talk again. An' I promise you won't like it. Dealing with Teddy Prentiss personally is too much for you. Cool?”

“Uh...yes. I understand.” The punk's eyes went wide and Rico could see his hand start to shake.

“Solid. You remember what I say now.” He held his smile until he was out the door and taking the elevator back to the street.

 

Rico was just pulling out of the parking garage at the task force office building when Trudy Joplin poured Martin Castillo his first cup of coffee. “Sleep well?” she asked, kneeling down beside the sleeping mat and handing him the steaming mug.

“Much better.” His eyes were clearer today, free of the painkiller clouds that had masked them yesterday. He looked around. “I like what you've done.”

“I didn't do much. Just added a thing or two.”

“You've made it ours. Not just mine. I like that.” He smiled at her, and she felt part of her heart melt.

“I've moved most of my stuff out of my old place.” She paused, not quite knowing how to continue. There was really only one thing left. “Once it's clear the landlord can put it on the market.”

He smiled again. “The piano.”

“How did you know?” She knew better than to ask. Marty always knew everything. Maybe it was those spirts he'd talked about last night. At first she'd thought it was just the drugs talking, but the more she let the thought settle in her heart the more she knew it must be true. At least for them.

“I'd like you to bring it here. It's a big part of who you are. I have no right to take those things from you.” He sipped the coffee. “And I'd like to hear you play.”

“I don't know...it's been years.” The thought made her cry a little inside. It had been years, and she wanted to play well for Marty. Then it hit her. I don't even know what kind of music he likes. Does he like music? There's so much I don't know yet. “But if you're sure...” Her voice trailed off.

“I'm sure. We have room, and it would go well over by the door. So we can open it and hear your music with the waves.” He shifted on the mat and winced as something pulled. “Damn. They said it would take time.”

“You just rest. I'll call and see about having someone move the piano.” Trudy smiled, having a hard time concealing her happiness and then wondering why she was trying at all. “Thank you, Marty. I was afraid I'd have to sell it.”

“Never. I could never expect that.” He smiled and sat up, reaching back to arrange pillows. “I can make the call if you like. I think I can manage that without tearing anything.” He smiled. “You should go in. Let the team know you're still with them. And let Sonny know he's doing a good job. He'll need reassurance right now.”

“He seems confident enough.”

“That's his act, Trudy. Crockett isn't used to being responsible. For having to carry that weight at the end of the day. He can do it, but he doesn't know it yet. His confidence will slip, and you just need to remind him.” Marty took another sip. “I'll be back as soon as I can. Even if it's just office duty.”

Trudy nodded, not quite trusting herself to answer. Sonny had always been a good friend, supporting her every chance he got, but he'd always been a difficult team player. But Marty was right. He was trying, and getting better every day. She owed it to him to support that change. It can't be easy for him, after all. She smiled again, leaning forward and kissing Marty, tasing coffee on his lips. “I'd better get going if I want to miss the traffic. Call if you need anything.”

“I will. Be careful with this operation. There's more going on than we know.”

 

It was late afternoon, and the light streaming through the slatted blinds made golden bars on the rough mat rug covering the room's floor. Carlos Delgado watched as the setting sun changed the patterns as it sank low in the sky. In some ways the light reminded him of Saigon and how darkness claimed that bustling city. It was quieter here. Less gunfire and no Hueys thumping overhead every few minutes. But the heat and the humidity, barely disturbed by the rotating ceiling fan, brought him back every time.

The handful of people who made it to the back room were surprised he used it as his office. They expected something bigger, something bold and bright. That was one of the first things he'd learned. Low profile was better. Less was always more when you were trying to avoid attention.

Growing up in Detroit, he'd learned to avoid attention early in his gang days. His father was no one knew where, and his mother most days was lucky if she could remember her own name. So he ran the streets, one of the few of his set with no serious record. That proved to be a liability when he got the 'greetings' letter one fall morning in 1968. A few months later he was filing off the chartered 707 with about a hundred other scared kids bound for the 90^th Replacement Battalion at Long Binh, Republic of Vietnam. Unlike most of them, Carlos wasn't headed for a line unit. He'd somehow pulled an MP MOS, and within a week was on his way to Bear Cat, the headquarters of the 9^th Infantry Division and the 9^th Military Police Company.

A knock on the door interrupted his little trip down memory lane. Pushing his John Lennon glassed up on his nose, he waited a three count before saying “Enter” in his low, modulated voice.

It was Leo, one of his few remaining friends from Detroit. One of the few still alive. “Doc,” he said, using the nickname Carlos had picked up in Saigon and kept ever since, “we gotta problem.”

“There are no problems, Leo. Just solutions waiting for a home. What's cookin', amigo?”

“Whatever, man.” Leo shrugged. “Anyhow, those damned Columbians are makin' noise again over by the corner of Flagler and 12^th.”

“So? That's the concern of our Dominican brothers. Not ours.”

“Don't gimme that hippie crap, Doc. I get we don't get our hands dirty, but this is gettin' outa control.”

“They can handle their own business.” Carlos smiled and looked down at the ledger in front of him. “At least they'd better be able to considering how much money we've made them.”

“That's parta the problem, Doc. They ain't got as gooda guns as the Columbians.” Leo snorted. “You know those psychos left over from the Mendoza brothers always had good hardware.”

“I do. But we don't touch guns. Too much attention. The wrong kind of attention.” Carlos smiled, feeling his thin face stretch with the effort. He'd always been a slight man, which helped him disappear into crowds and blend in when he had to. His shortness also helped him avoid more than a few MP sweeps when he went AWOL and joined the Saigon underground scene. In a pinch he could pass as Vietnamese, and he learned enough of the language to do so when it suited him.

“Yeah. I know. We stick to our operation and let them take care of their own business. But you hear things, man. You gotta know someone I can point 'em to who might be able to help.”

Carlos nodded, turning his thoughts inward. It was true he'd rather deal with the Dominicans than the Columbians. The Columbians were crazy and greedy, a terrible combination if you wanted to survive in this game. And he knew more than a few of them used their own product. Which explained to him why they ended up stacked like so much firewood in the morgues. The Dominicans still had some honor left, and they were more interested in protecting their turf and their business than they were in expanding. It made for a better partnership. One that had worked for over ten years now. He didn't want to waste that. But he had to be sure he was still insulated. “I might know of someone,” he said finally, weighing the options in his head.

“Who?”

“He's a pain in the ass to deal with, and might not sell much to them at all. But word on the street is he lost a big customer not too long back and is having cashflow issues.” Carlos chuckled at the thought. Normally nothing would please him more, but these weren't normal times. Reaching out, he picked up a pad and pen, scribbling something down. “Have Double G call this number. It's a start. Have him say Doc referred him.”

“Gotcha boss.” Leo took the paper. “What about Eddie?”

“Copy it and give him the same instructions. And tell them both they need to be careful about how they deal with this guy. But if things go well, he'll solve their firepower problem. No question.”

Once Leo left, Carlos took off his glasses and sighed. Things had been good for so long he supposed it was only natural something should go wrong now. He'd been lucky going all the way back to Saigon, and his chance meeting with a chubby white dude calling himself Menton in one of the bars favored by other deserters near Cholon. That connection coincided with an explosion of heroin use among rear-area troops, and he'd been positioned to make a killing. But he listened to his instincts and Menton's advice and went slow. Small and slow. While others had been busted by CID or fragged by rivals, he'd prospered. But not overnight. He sold only to people he knew, and always used someone else to make the delivery. It was then he got the idea of branding his product with the red cross and been tagged Doc by one of his regular wholesale customers in the 25^th Infantry Division's headquarters company.

But all good things had to come to an end. He understood that, and used Menton to buy false papers and get out of South Vietnam during the last wave of troop withdrawls in '72. A hop from Saigon to Thailand and he was home free and still in possession of his Vietnamese contacts in-country. The fall of Saigon set him back a bit, but Menton reappeared like some kind of demented Santa Claus and helped him reconnect with a good source of China White. He'd tied in with the Dominicans in '80 and run been on autopilot ever since.

Until now. Oh, he'd smoked a few dealers in his day, or had Leo or his other Detroit pal do the dirty work for him. Usually small-time punks who tried to push it too far or stepped on the product. He'd been gearing up to smoke that fool Tio when someone did him a favor. Reno, too. Dealing with those two had been a mistake, even though Eddie had vouched for them. It made Carlos wonder if Eddie was losing his edge, or if he was starting to let greed cloud his judgement. Double G, on the other hand, was still solid. Him and his Double Treys stuck to the old ways, the old methods that worked and kept them out of jail and comfortable. And off the radar.

Maybe there was a way he could swing this so Eddie's 8-Ball Kings went down in the fight, leaving the Double Treys to pick up the pieces. He'd learned years ago, back on the frozen streets of Detroit, it was pointless to fight the Street. But you could nudge it in the direction you wanted with the right touch. And Doc knew he had that touch.

 

Sonny was still hunched over Castillo's desk when Rico got back to task force headquarters. He looked up and grinned. “You get any numbers while you were out clearing your head, I mean looking up old sources, partner?”

“Mindy gave me up.”

“Naw, Tubbs. She just said you were looking up old sources. I've been your partner long enough to know what that means.” He smiled again, waving Rico to a chair. “You get figured out what you needed to figure out?”

“I think so. For now, anyhow. And yeah, I did get a number. Or Teddy Prentiss got a number.”

“Nice. But we'll need to set you up somewhere else if you're going to be using Prentiss as an actual cover and not just a dating service.”

Rico laughed, and Sonny could almost see the tension leaving his partner's body. “Great minds think alike. I was gonna ask about that. Cooper's good for dealing with Nicky, but once we bring him in it might be good to change it up.”

“Book a week in the Hilton or something downtown. A suite. Mindy can get you a card number.” Sonny chuckled. “Hell, I might have to get one just so I can meet buyers without having Jenny show up unannounced.”

“I see Trudy's in. She ok?”

“Yeah. Says Castillo says hi to all of us. He seems better now that he's home. And she seemed...” He grasped for a word. “Contented. Yeah, that's the word. Contented. I've never seen Trudy like that, Rico.”

“We ain't exactly contented types, Sonny.”

“True enough, partner. And I'm even less contented dealing with this crap.” He waved his hand to encompass everything on the desk. “I'd rather be out getting...what's her name?”

“Jessie.”

“Getting Jessie's phone number as Burnett than see another damned fax spit out of that machine.” As if on cue the machine beeped and sputtered to life. “I can't take it! Let's go see if our intel experts have anything new for us.”

At some point in the afternoon Trudy had moved the big street map from the table to a bare spot on the wall, rigging a drape to cover it in case they had visitors. New circles appeared, marking the overwatch arcs of Randy and Dave, and other assorted colored dots showed where Stan and Lester were working their magic. Trudy stood back, her hair loose again around her shoulders and her firm body showcasing a tight green dress with almost no skirt, admiring their work.

“Now that's easy to read.” Crockett walked over, tracing turf lines with his finger. “Maybe we should send a copy over to John in Narcotics when we're done. He could use something like this.”

“I'll do that, Sonny.” Trudy scribbled a quick line in her notebook. “I remember him from my uniform days. He's a good cop.”

“Yeah. And stuck between the bosses and OCB. The fall guy if anything goes wrong.”

“He did us a solid with those files. It's the least we can do.” Sonny turned back to Trudy. “Anything new on this Doc character?”

“No. We're hoping the taps might help. Stan radioed in and said they're almost done with the first set and will be back before dark.” Trudy smiled, her eyes bright. “I'd swear if it wasn't for Gina he'd marry that stupid Roach Coach. All he's been doing today is whining about he has to drive a phone repair truck.”

“Well tell him to deal or we'll give it back to the chief deputy.” Sonny smiled to let Trudy know he was joking. More or less.

“I think he'd cry for a week. And then Gina would kill you.” Trudy stood in front of the map, and Sonny could tell by the lines on her face she was thinking hard about something. Then she turned to him. “Marty told me to move my piano today.”

“That's great news, Trudy. I know how much that piano means to you.”

Rico nodded. “And I get it. It's his space, and he wants you to bring that in. That's huge.”

“Yeah. Good huge and scary huge at the same time.”

“I'm gonna tell you what Tubbs told me about Jenny. Just roll with it. Now I don't know if that's good advice with Jenny yet.” He shot a look at Tubbs, who just grinned. “But it is with Marty. We've all known him for years. Hell, he's been our boss longer than Lou was. He wants you in his life, Trudy. And I know you want to be in his. Just let it happen, darlin'. That's what I did with Caitlin.”

“And you can start playin' again, too.” Tubbs grinned. “You know much jazz?”

“Some. My mother used to sing. Not much, but she tried. Pops didn't like it so much, though.”

“Mine never did either.” Rico's face took on that distant quality again, but it cleared before Sonny could speak. “But you can play him some tunes. I'll bet his place has great acoustics.”

“You know, I bet it does. I never thought of that.” She smiled and hugged Rico. “Great idea!”

“Can we get back to work now?” Sonny grinned to show he was joking and turned to the map. “Still nothing from that punk Nicky?”

“No. And I'm gonna kick his junk into next week next time we see him.”

“Give him until tomorrow and then we're going looking for the little worm. I don't want to let that trail go cold. Especially since he's dumb enough to trot his pink tux-wearing ass into one of those kill zones and get it shot off.”

“A pink tux?”

“I think it was white once, Trudy. Lord knows what his mother washed it with, but it's a light pink now. Not sure why the little bozo keeps wearing it.”

“Maybe it's his good luck tux?” Rico chuckled. “Maybe he was wearin' it the only time he got some without havin' to pay for it.”

“Can we focus, boys?” Trudy was smiling. “I think we've established this kid is a loser.”

“Another relic of the Mendozas, although he was never anything more than a bottom-rung errand boy. He likely knows at least some of the Columbians, but I don't know who his in is with the Dominicans. If they're the gatekeepers for Doc and his Red Cross, Nicky's gotta know someone who can vouch for him.” Sonny stared at the map, running through every name he could remember and coming up empty.

“I can't think of any, either, Sonny. And I've done deals with the Dominicans before.” Rico shrugged. “I'll go through my notes again, but last time I busted out.”

“Maybe John has something we can use. He's the only one I know of who's been keeping an eye on the Dominicans and their weed concession. With this new crack thing starting to hit the streets OCB's got Columbians on the brain.”

Rico snorted. “That's only because that Homicide chump has no brain. You think Vallencio's still in the office?”

“I'll hit him up in the morning. Right now we need to get your Prentiss suite set up and I need to figure something out for Burnett.” He looked at Trudy and gave her a sheepish grin. “Jenny's gotten too good at breaking into the boat and getting past Elvis.”

“You need to do something about that girl, Sonny. And fast. Before she moves in or hauls you off to some deserted island and parts you out like an old car.” Trudy smiled. “And I'm only half joking.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me go see what kind of horrors shot out of the fax machine. Rico, check with Mindy and get that hotel settled. Trudy, let me know if Stan or Lester check in. I want to ask them a couple of questions.”

The fax Sonny wanted was three down from the top, headed by a generic DEA symbol. He scanned it and let out a soft whistle. But he'd done the easy part; reading the fax. The hard part was knowing what to do next.

The DEA report was short and pointed. When the Calderone clan evacuated their estate, they'd taken a baby with them. It was last seen entering one of the family's highland villas in the care of what looked to be a nanny. Then the team had been pulled off by orders of the CIA, who claimed they now had jurisdiction. The report ended with the terse sentence – 'no updates ever provided by said agency.' That was it. The trail ended in the Columbian mountains behind a wall of CIA bullshit. Or did it?

Sonny knew he needed to tell Rico. But there was something he wanted to know first. Leaning out, he saw Trudy was still by the map. “Trudy? You got a second?” Once she was in the office he lowered his voice. “Does Marty still have any pull with the Company?”

“You'd know as much as I do, Sonny. I'm guessing so, considering we just cleaned up one of their messes.”

“I'm gonna need him to work his magic.” He showed her the fax. “If there's anything else out there, they have it. They shut DEA down back in '87 and haven't let them in since. That's what? Five, six years with no word. He told Tubbs we'd find out one way or the other if his son was still alive. If anyone knows, it's those bastards.”

“I'll ask him tonight.” She looked out toward the outer office. “You gonna tell Rico?”

“I have to. I gave him my word.” Sonny shook his head. “It's not much, but at least now we know who's sitting on everything.”

“What if Rico Junior is alive?”

Sonny looked through the door and shook his head. “I don't think he's gotten that far yet. He hasn't gotten past just wanting to know.”

“It's all good to go.” Rico beamed when he came through the door. “She got me a suite on the top floor of the Hilton.” He stopped when he looked at their faces. “What? Did I forget my cologne again?”

“Rico, the DEA tracked Ricardo Junior to a villa in the Columbian highlands in '87. Then the Company stepped in and shut them down.”

“What?” Tubbs slumped into one of the chairs in front of the desk like he'd been slugged in the solar plexus. “But he was alive then?”

“They think so. Surveillance saw a baby in the care of what looked like a nanny. Then the CIA shut them down.”

“So that's it.”

“No. We're going to check with Marty. If anyone can reach out and rattle their cage, it's him.” Sonny gripped his friend's shoulder. “And they owe us big time for cleaning up their little Maynard/Moncado mess. How would that have looked on the Channel 2 news?”

“You're saying there's a chance.”

“No. I'm saying we know who knows more about what happened after '87.” Sonny nodded to Trudy. “She's gonna talk to Marty and see what strings we need to pull. There's no guarantee those bastards will have anything, or if we can shake it loose if they do, but at least we know where to look.”

“And he was alive in '87?”

“The DEA report suggests it was. They weren't looking for kids, remember. They were tracking the family cartel or what was left of it.” He handed Rico the fax. “This is what I got.”

Rico looked at the streaked paper and smiled. “Thanks, Sonny. And Trudy, thanks for taking this to Marty. It's a start, and it's more than I knew an hour ago. That means something.” He stared at the paper and then Sonny saw him force a smile. “And I got the last suite on the top floor of the Hilton. Room service here I come!”

“Go easy on the charges, pal. We still gotta account for all that.” Sonny smiled, glad his friend could still dig some humor out of the situation. When he worried about Rico was when he stopped laughing.

Stan's booming voice filled the conference room. “Lucy! We're home!”

Sonny chuckled. “Hey, Stan! In here! Got a couple of questions for you.” He looked down at Rico and gave his shoulder another squeeze. “You want to talk, partner, give me a shout.”

 

Even without opening his eyes Martin Castillo knew it was night. The air told him with its temperature and taste in his nose and mouth. But that wasn't what woke him. It was the notes floating through the night air, drifting on the cooling air into his ears from somewhere in the house.

He didn't know the song but he knew the tune. Jazz. Notes connected by scales and pure emotion, brought from unfeeling wires and cold ivory by skilled fingers. He felt a smile working its way onto his face and opened his eyes, seeing long shadows falling across the bedroom floor. They flickered with a pattern only candles could create. He eased himself off the sleeping mat, wincing as muscles tensed across stitches and forming scar tissue, but still managed to make no sound as he got to his feet and stepped into the living room.

When the men came he had them position the piano in a corner by the wide patio door, allowing an easy view of the ocean and the movements of the sun. Trudy sat playing, her eyes closed and head tipped just a bit back. Lost in her improvisation. He was halfway across the room before he realized he'd been his old quiet. Too quiet. He didn't want to startle her, so he cleared his throat. “That's beautiful.”

She missed a note, and he saw her start just a bit. But then the music flowed again. “Thank you. It's been months since I played that. Played anything, actually.” She turned to smile at him. “Maybe over a year if I think about it.”

“Now you have no excuse.” He walked over and touched her shoulder, feeling her smooth skin and the warmth of her. He never tired of either feeling, especially after almost losing them. “And if we open the door you can play with the waves.”

“I never thought of that.” Her smile grew and her eyes almost glowed. “They do have a tune of their own, don't they?”

“Jess always claimed they did. He said he could tell when it was good to surf because the waves told him it was.” Castillo shrugged. He still wasn't comfortable talking about Jess with anyone. But it was getting there. “I didn't believe him until we had R&R in Australia. The Company put us up in a place right on the beach. One morning he got up, opened the window, listened without opening his eyes, and said the waves would be perfect. Six foot swells, good breaks. Surfer language. We got down to the beach and they were. I never doubted him again after that.”

She drew the tune out to a natural conclusion and smiled. Then he kissed him. “Thank you for letting me...”

“No. Thank you for bringing it here.”

She smiled again and then paused. “Sonny wanted me to ask you something. Before I forget. It's about Rico and his son.”

“They found something.” It wasn't a question. Castillo knew they would, and he also had a good idea where it was headed.

“The DEA had the Calderone family, or what was left of it, under surveillance in '87. They got a picture of a baby being taken into one of their mountain villas.” She paused. “And then the CIA shut them down. No explanation. Just told them to pull their people off the location. And there's been nothing since then.”

Castillo nodded. “I figured as much. The Company was very active in Columbia at that time.” He paused. “And they make their mistakes disappear.”

“But they owe us.”

“They do. And they hate being reminded that they owe someone.” The pain medication was starting to wear off again, and Castillo winced as a spike of pain shot through his lower body. But it also helped him think, cleared the mush from his brain the drugs left behind. “I'll make some calls. Remind them of the mess we cleaned up.”

“I'm sure Rico will be grateful.”

“Maybe. He might also learn things he doesn't want to know.” Castillo smiled, thinking back to those missions in the highlands so many years gone now. “Sometimes not knowing is better, but we never learn that until we know.”

She kissed him, her lips teasing his before she pulled away. “And sometimes knowing is the greatest gift of all. You taught me that.”

“I'll ride in with you in the morning. I need to make those calls from the office.” He smiled again, pushing pain back down inside. “I'm sure Sonny will be excited seeing me back.”

“I just hope he doesn't shoot the fax machine before tomorrow morning!” Trudy laughed, and then Castillo saw her eyes change. “He's doing well, Marty. I know I said it before, but it surprises me. He was always such a hot dog, and now he's actually thinking before he goes through the door.”

Castillo nodded. It was something he'd always seen in Crockett, and he was just glad the man finally seemed to be seeing it in himself. “I must be feeling better. I'm hungry.” He smiled. “Why don't you play that piano and I'll make us some Thai food.” He raised his hand when he saw the flash of worry in her eyes. “I'll go slow and let you know if I need any help. But I do love hearing you play.”