Echoes - Part XI

[Robbie C.]

The ceiling fan labored against the building heat of the day. Carlos watched the shadows it cast swirl on the floor in front of him, sending a stream of smoke into the air. They were normal cigarettes this time. He wanted his head clear.

So far things were going according to plan. Double G and his Treys were about to close on more guns, and word on the street had it Eddie and his Kings were close to their mark as well. The time lag suited him perfectly. Eddie was proving unreliable and greedy besides. Two cardinal sins as far as Carlos was concerned.

Leo pushed aside the curtain and walked in, mopping his brow. “Man, you gotta get a window unit in here at least. This place is like a damned sweatbox.”

If you think this is bad, you should have been in Saigon instead of dodging the draft in Detroit. But Carlos never said that. He just smiled at his trusted right hand. “What's the word, Leo?”

“I just got a call from Hernan. That Nicky's been busting his balls all morning about a twenty-five key deal with Cooper. Seems Cooper's threatening to take his black ass back to New York in two days if the deal don't go down.” Leo grinned, showing a gold tooth. “Nicky was also whining about how Cooper threatened to send this Burnett after him if the deal didn't go down.”

“And this is our problem how?”

“Don't play burnout hippie with me, Doc. You know why it's our problem. The Kings can't afford those Tech 9s without this deal. Hell, that idiot Eddie's losin' men faster than he can replace them. And with the Treys pushing back, the Columbians are concentrating on the weak spot.”

“Of course they are. They might be animals, but they ain't stupid animals.” Carlos leaned forward, his eyes glittering in the light. “And don't call me a hippie again, dig?”

“Sure...sure. Sorry, Doc.”

“Can we swing that much weight?”

“Yeah, I think so. It'll mean cutting down on what goes to Double G until the next shipment comes in, but...”

“That's a small price to pay. If we can get rid of those damned Columbians it's worth it.” He sat, watching the shadows rotate in time with the fan's blades. Thinking. “Do it. But make Hernan wait for the answer. At least a day. I want them both to suffer a bit. Feel some fear.”

“I'm glad I ain't payin' for Nicky's dry cleaning.” Leo chuckled. “Of course, having seen the little punk I don't think he knows what dry cleaning IS, let alone uses it. Hernan, though. He was really pushing for that fifty deal. Even after I told him it was a no-go.”

Carlos nodded. “And Leo? When this is done I might need you to take care of Hernan. He's getting greedy, and that's not good for our long-term business.”

“Gotcha, Doc. Say the word and it's done.”

Once Leo left, Carlos leaned back and finished his cigarette. Between Leo and Juan, the man who ran his transport, he had two men he really trusted. Both from the old days in Detroit. Before Saigon and all the rest. Anyone else was expendable. At least as far as he was concerned. What mattered was keeping the supply lines secure and the product safe. Another lesson from Saigon. A man could always find dealers. But good supply was another matter.

He'd heard things about this Burnett. How he'd gone through the Manolo cartel like a blowtorch, only to disappear and then reappear months later with his own network of transport. His services were always solid, and anyone who crossed him had a habit of disappearing or getting shot during a meeting. Carlos could appreciate that kind of efficiency. Cooper he'd heard of time and again, always coming down from New York with deep pockets and using Burnett to move the product. But Cooper always wanted too much. No, he could work with Burnett but not Cooper.

But this deal had to happen. Had to if his plans were to work out. The Kings were too damned stupid to hold onto their own neighborhood without the guns. He wasn't as worried about the Treys. Double G ran a solid organization, built on trust and loyalty. Eddie had grabbed more than he could hold, and brought in people he couldn't trust. And now he was paying for it.

Crushing out his cigarette, Carlos reached for his direct line to Juan. He'd run the lines himself, old Army stuff connecting the two field phones and untappable because they weren't on the grid. A similar phone linked him to Leo if he needed him. Some nights, late, he'd go out himself and check the wires. Making sure they were intact and untouched. Another of his Saigon lessons. But Juan needed to know the size of the pending deal so he could bring it together, tapping the reserve if he had to.

 

Sonny's head finally started behaving itself after six more aspirin and four hours of sitting in the air conditioned office staring at the map tacked to the wall. Dave and Randy's reports had been converted to circles and dots and added to the webbing already in place, giving him a clear picture of the entire gang war. He could see where the Columbians had made deep inroads into the Kings' turf, and where they'd lost a bit of ground up north against the Treys. And the running body count told the same story. The Blancos were losing men fast again the Treys, while Los Tech 9s were bleeding the Kings out slowly but surely. It was partly firepower, but also organization.

Rico had finally taken off his sunglasses. “Paints a damned nice picture, don't it?”

“Yeah, it does. I'd bet you hear back from Nicky soon, given the way the Kings are bleeding out.”

Stan stuck his head out the Tech Room door. “Guys, the wires are blowing up. I finally got Hernan on tape. That fleabrain Nicky's using Rizzo's payphone. Like we wouldn't think to bug that.” Stan snorted. “Amateurs. Anyhow, Hernan says he's making inroads and Nicky just needs to wait a few more hours. But Nicky might stroke out in a few more hours. You got him plenty scared, Rico.”

“But Hernan's working the deal?”

“Sounds like. He keeps insisting he's almost there, and that he needs the deal as much as Nicky does.” Stan grinned. “Sounds like you hit right with them needing money for guns.”

“Speaking of which, any tape on that?”

“Not yet. I'm guessing the bozos want to have cash in hand before they go calling that dealer again.” He paused. “I've got Lester scanning the Treys taps, and they're all pretty quiet. Just some chatter about upping security on the dealers again. Pretty normal for them.”

“Keep at it, Stan. Great work, both of you.” Sonny looked at Rico and smiled. “We might have finally gotten somewhere.”

“When do you want to bust them?”

“Not yet. We gotta let Hernan and the cash lead us to that arms dealer. We take him out, the Treys can't upgun any more and Doc will have to come up with something else.”

“You think they're using the same guy?”

“Can't see how they aren't, Rico. It just lines up too damned perfectly.” Sonny looked at the map, wishing the dots could talk. “The Kings need cash, and Hernan's our way in. Hell, maybe I can pitch Burnett in as needing more firepower for his guys.”

“Or Cooper needs more gats for New York.” Rico nodded. “It could work. We'll play it by ear.”

“I just hate sitting on my damned hands waiting for the phone to ring. Or pager to buzz in this case.” Sonny shrugged. “But if it's what we gotta do...”

“It's how many more have to die that eats at me. Every night we can't move means another couple of kids get shot.”

“Yeah. I hear Metro-Dade's upping patrols, but it's all reactive. They move in after someone's been shot. The Columbians are smart enough to stay ahead of that. And patrol doesn't have the manpower to saturate both neighborhoods. Not without pulling units out of the rich areas.”

“And you know they'd scream to high heaven if they did that.” Rico snorted. “Same thing, different day.”

Stan stuck his head out again. “You guys might wanna know. Hernan just called someone on the Treys' side of the fence.”

“He's got a cousin or something over there, I think.” Sonny looked up. “What did he say?”

“Just 'it's happening.' No more than that.”

“Sounds like he's tipping someone off.” Rico turned back to Sonny. “A trap?”

“More like professional courtesy I'd guess. Maybe letting them know the Kings are about to upgun. They've got the same enemy, so who knows?” He turned back to Stan. “Let me know if anything else like that pops up.”

“You got it.” Stan disappeared, reminding Sonny of a gopher ducking back in its hole. A pudgy gopher, of course, but the motion was similar.

Night was starting to slide over Miami when Sonny Crockett pulled up outside the cemetery. Parking the Ferrari, he made the familiar walk to their gravestones. Pulling out the necklace, he touched the cooling granite. “We're turning the house into a center,” he whispered. “Angie and me. Well, mostly her with lots of help. It'll be named after you, baby.” He looked out at the red sunset and sighed, feeling all the old emotions welling up like they always did here. “I told her to reach out to Gina. Maybe she'll help. It feels bad, cutting the house loose like that, but it's something you'd want. At least I think it is. Hell, I don't know.” He looked at the engraved words. “There's so damned much I don't know.” He told her, or at least the stone, about Rico. “At least he knows. He's got that. Us? I'll never really know. But the center will help your name live on. You can still touch people through more than your music. That's gotta mean something, right? Your music's great, but this way you can help kids who are going through a rough time in their lives.”

He looked out over the water. “It still feels strange. Giving up the house. I guess I always hoped if it was there, you'd somehow come back. You and Will. Crazy, I know. But I held onto it. Now, that's gone.” He gave the stone one final touch and turned away, feeling tears welling in his eyes. “I'll see you two next time. Let you know how it's going. I miss you, baby, and I wish I could have known you, son.” Then the mask slipped over his face, hard and cold. A little bit of Burnett peeking through. What he needed, maybe, to get through the rest of the night.

 

“You're sure that's what he said, now?” Earl Lester Holmes gave Benny a once-over as they walked to the bar. Looking for any trace of exaggeration.

Benny nodded. “Sure as hell, boss. That greaser said they'd have the money tomorrow, the next day at the latest. He sounded excited as hell, so I figure he's tellin' the truth.”

“I do hope so.” Holmes ducked under the walkthrough and settled into his usual spot behind the bar. “I hate sittin' on those Tech 9s. Cheap crap, but it's all they deserve. You told him cash up front, right?”

“Yeah. You can bet on that, boss. But he said they'd meet the price.” Benny chuckled. “I didn't even have to come down.”

“Good man.” Holmes slid Benny a beer, twisting the cap off his own with a practiced motion of the wrist. “You got a plan for the sale?”

“I think so, boss. We meet 'em down by the old Tucker place. The one with that damn barn. We can keep the guns and the boys in there until we know it's good to deal. That way if they try anything funny we can take 'em out.”

“Good plan.” Holmes took a drink and watched Benny grin. It was always good to build the help up now and again. A little praise went a long way with Benny. “But I think we can do a bit more.”

“What did I miss, boss?”

“Nothin, Benny. Your plan's perfect if all we're meetin' is a bunch of spics buyin' guns. But I'm hoping for bigger game.” Holmes leaned forward. “You ever stop to wonder how they came up with that money that fast, when just the other day they didn't have two dimes to rub together?”

“Someone bought their dope?”

“Yeah.” Holmes took another deep drink. “Someone likely did. Or is going to. Now that someone could be one of two things: a big spender who might just need some guns to go with his dope; or Federals pretending to be big spenders. And if it's Federals, I'm gussin' it's our Federals. The ones we been lookin' for.”

“You want me to call it off?”

“No. I want you to keep goin' like nothing's wrong. At least as far as they can see.” Holmes looked to the front of the bar, at the men drinking and playing cards at the tables there. “Be sure the boys are ready.”

“How many?”

“As many as can be spared. Is that deal still goin' down tonight for the other six MAC-10s?” He waited for Benny's nod. “Good. Send a couple extra boys for security on that one, but off where they can't be seen. Once it's done get everyone ready to move. And everything.”

“You mean...”

“Yep. That's what I mean. If this is a bigger deal, we can just go on ahead an' see what their big spender wants. If it's that Burnett an' Cooper we keep hearin' so much about they might just replace the colonel as big spenders. I hear it's hard to get good hardware in New York City these days.” Holmes chuckled. “And if it's them Federals, we'll send 'em on their way pretty as you please.” He drained his beer. “We got no other deals pending. Have the boys get some practice in and wait for the call. If this works out, we'll be set either way.”

“What about the Columbians?”

“Seems like they're doin' a good job of gettin' themselves killed off, if the damned TV's anything t' go by. Those Ingrams are makin' a nice difference with the bunch Doc favors, and the others are just doin' God's work for him. But it's just junkies fightin' over product as far as the cops know. Dumb bastards. The colonel was right about them.”

“I'll go have a word with the boys, boss. Make sure they're ready.”

Holmes watched as Benny headed for the tables. Then he opened another beer and turned his thoughts to other things. His military sources were starting to dry up as men were transferred or retired. So many of the old guys were gone, off trading lies on the beaches or in those damned fishing boats so many of them seemed to buy. And they moved on without so much as a 'howdy' to their old buddy Earl. Only one or two had bothered to put him in touch with like-minded individuals with armory duty or access to what he needed. The thought made him snort. He'd bought most of their damned boats! Without his money they'd be working as security guards or some other shitty job on the low end of the scale.

“What else can you expect from lifers?” he muttered as he took a drink of cold Bud. Bastards were always looking to screw someone. He'd learned that quick in Saigon, but at least there he'd had access to a grenade or two. Roll a smoker under their cot to give them a warning, and then follow up with a frag if they were stupid. And it was so damned easy to pin it on the spooks or the junkies clogging up the rear areas. He'd never even been looked at by the MPs or CID. But he was also more careful than most. It wasn't hard to get a lifer to go yell at the wrong person and then follow through himself. He could think of at least three people who'd ended up in good old LBJ – Long Binh Jail – for a frag he'd tossed. And with the colonel flying top cover it was even easier. He kept the man in ammunition and whatever else he needed, and he made sure people never looked at Sergeant Holmes and his little arms room kingdom.

He sighed. Those days were over and gone now. Now he'd have to look out for himself, and screw the rest. That was the one thing of value he'd learned from the lifers: always have a plan to save your ass and screw the next guy. And he'd made sure he was as well-insulated as he could. Benny was set to take a good chunk of the fall if anything went south. Nothing personal, but business was business. A man had to look after what was his, because no one else would do it for him.

Still, closing the deal for those Ingrams would be good. A few more grand in the ol' war chest would keep the natives happy. Or at least drunk enough to think they were happy. He'd rather have unloaded the M-16s he'd been sitting on since before the colonel's death, but there was no way he was giving that kind of firepower to those drug-slinging apes. Maybe the Cubans. They at least hated Commies, maybe even more than he did. But so far both sides had the sense to keep their feud away from Little Havana. No, the Tech 9s were as far as he'd go with the ones Doc wasn't backing.

 

Ricardo Tubbs sauntered up to the bar, a grin plastered on his face. “Double scotch, mon. And charge it to my room. Teddy Prentiss.”

The bartender nodded, recognizing a big tipper. “You got it, Mr. Prentiss.”

“Call me Teddy, mon. We be great friends before long.” Rico's stomach lurched in protest at the smell of the scotch, and he promised himself it would be a light night. He just wanted to get Teddy out there in case anyone was sniffing around.

That was the thing with a cover: you had to air it out from time to time or it got stale. Just like clothes you left in the closet for too long. And he knew Teddy was close to stale. He hadn't really used him since those small pot stings with the Dominicans, and that was almost five years ago. If he was going to be viable, he had to be on stage more than just once in a throwaway club. When the bartender returned, he smiled that big smile everyone thought was Jamaican from watching too many bad movies. “I got a few days in town, mon. Anyt'ing excitin' going on?”

“Depends on what you mean by excitement.” The bartender, likely a kid working his way through school, leaned over. “I'd stay away from the riverfront, though. There's a nasty gang thing goin' on over there. Not a friendly place to be.”

“Solid, mon.” Tubbs slid a twenty over the bar. “Teddy always appreciates news, good an' bad, if you know what I mean, mon.”

“Sure I do. You looking for more relaxed excitement or something a little stronger?”

“I been down the strong road, mon. It don't pay in the end.” He grinned again. “It's more the herb trade I be doin' now. Back to me roots if you know what I mean.”

“Sure, sure.” The kid grinned like someone had let him in on a joke. “You looking for excitement or bringing it?”

“A little of both, mon. A little of both.” Another twenty found its way across the bar.

“Look. I'll make a couple of calls. It's not really my scene, but I know some dudes who are seriously into herbal supplements.” The kid grinned again. “Sorry I can't be of more help.”

“You been righteous, mon. Just righteous.” Rico sipped at the scotch, begging his stomach to cooperate just a bit longer. “You know where to find me, mon. Now I think I might sit an' watch the ladies. Teddy Prentiss is a fan of beauty in all her forms.”

Away from the bar, he found a table in the corner and set his drink down. He'd make it last the rest of the night just to keep his stomach agreeable. The bar had a bit of a dance floor, and a gangly refugee from the '70s hunkered behind a platform spinning disks. The mix wasn't much, but it was enough to draw some ladies out and not loud enough to make his head explode. After last night a club just wasn't in the cards.

Rico wasn't going to hit the dance floor. He shuddered, thinking back on the two who had almost gotten him last time. Women with dyed blonde hair, bad boob jobs, and clothes that even hookers stopped wearing five years ago. They weren't there tonight, but he figured their sisters would be showing up later. Hoping to snare guys too drunk to notice until it was too late. Now it was just the daughters of old, rich white guys trying to warm up before sneaking away from daddy and hitting the real clubs. Or the mistresses and trophy wives of the same old rich guys shaking what they had in an effort to get a rise out of their sugar daddies. Fun to watch, maybe, but not something to get in the middle of.

He could still hear the voices on the tape when he closed his eyes, even through the Bee Gees the DJ was pumping out from his little perch. The woman's, with all her compressed hate and range. And then Maynard, sounding like someone telling a servant to swat an annoying fly. He wondered how that had felt in the few seconds they had left to them; those women who'd been used to ordering others around, even having them killed, reduced to insects by a man who cared nothing for their family or what it had done. A smile formed on his face as he thought about it. I hope the bitches were actually terrified for the first time in their lives. The thought felt good, and he held onto it for a few moments before letting it slide away. Before he'd left the office, he'd added that tape to the envelope in his desk.

It had been good seeing Robbie, too. The man was a reminder you could salvage a normal life from this crap, and it was good to see that from time to time. If he could climb out from under a mob family and run a business and have a family, it meant there was hope for others. Maybe Sonny's right. Maybe it isn't too late. Rico looked out at the bar, his gaze touching each lady on the dance floor and sizing up who they were with. If those chumps can land ladies like that...but they've got cash. Hell...I've got Rico charm! They can't touch that. He smiled, feeling his old self starting to crawl out of the hole he'd dug after his last talk with Valerie.

Leaning back in the chair, he grinned and laughed loud enough that some of the old dudes turned around to look. “It's a great night, mon!” he announced, raising his glass to them. Some turned away, but one or two raised their own glasses with knowing smiles. Guys who've been there, too. He laughed again and finished his drink. Maybe one more wouldn't hurt before he headed upstairs and ordered room service. Drinking down here was one thing, eating was something else again. At least tonight.

The next morning Rico ordered room service breakfast and sat on his balcony looking out over the water until it arrived. For the first time in weeks he'd had no dreams, and he was trying to make sense of it. Maybe it had to do with questions being answered. Or paths closed off for good. He wasn't sure. But he also couldn't say he missed them. Rafael would always be there. He knew that much. But maybe now the dream of Rico Jr. could finally rest.

He took his time driving in, enjoying the drive with the top down and detouring along the strip just to get a whiff of the breeze coming in off the ocean. Pretending for a minute he was Teddy Prentiss, rockin' the suit and the sunglasses and watching the girls go by in their bikinis and teasing smiles. Once or twice he even returned their waves with a bright “Lookin' good, pretty lady!” or some other canned Teddyism, pleased he could remember most of them. It felt good, easing back into the laid back Teddy after months as more serious Cooper.

Still, he knew he had to keep Cooper at the ready. That little punk Nicky should be paging any time now, and who knew what kind of crazy crap he'd try to toss at them. The only thing worse than a punk was a scared punk, and Nicky was all of that now. Couple that with Dominicans hard up for cash and it screamed rip-off to Rico. He'd mention it when he got in, but he was sure Sonny was already thinking of it and had a plan. Sonny was always damned good at that stuff. His time as Burnett proved that ten times over.

Mindy smiled when he came bopping through the door. “You're looking better today.”

“And you're lovely as ever.” He grinned. “It's amazing what sorting a few things out can do for you.” He looked at the inner office door. “Anyone else here?”

“Sonny. He still wants to shoot the fax machine.” She smiled. “Another three down last night. All in Kings territory. I think the Blancos are trying to figure out where the Ingrams came from.”

“At least we finally have something in common.” He smiled again. “Good to see you're finally off those crutches.”

She nodded. “So's Lester. More or less, anyhow. I think Stan's trying to talk him into a cane. They're out playing in the Roach Coach so it's hard to say.”

Nodding, he headed through into the conference room. Pouring coffee, he listened to a flood of curses coming through the open door to Castillo's office. Finally he had to laugh. “Just shoot the damned thing already.”

“Don't tempt me! Just don't...” Sonny stuck his head out and laughed. “How'd your night go?”

“Righteous, mon! Righteous.” Rico smiled. “Got Teddy out and planted a seed with the hotel bartender. Word should start spreading soon enough. He's just another dumb kid trying to pay for college.”

“Good. So nothing from Nicky?”

“Not yet. But it's still early.” He looked at the big Rolex. “He might not have even come down from last night yet.”

“Yeah. Or he's at the clinic getting shots for whatever Trixie gave him.” Sonny chuckled. “Funny, since the doorman said he was hot for some other girl.”

“You really think Nicky's the kind to pass up a freebie?”

“No, I think Nicky's the kind of pond scum who takes whatever he can get, because it doesn't happen very much.”

Mindy had already updated the map to reflect last night's body count, and Rico traced the line with a finger. “The Kings have lost almost three square blocks. That's a nice chunk of change gone. Even if they're just moving pot through it. That's what, four or five dealers per block?”

“At least. And that doesn't count protection payoff from the liquor stores and the one bodega still open.” Sonny shook his head. “It's not lookin' good for them, so I can see Hernan working his ass off to make this deal happen.”

“But will Doc play along?” Rico kept staring at the map, converting the lines into crumbling buildings and dim corners. Alleys that reeked of rotting garbage and piss. It was the same as what he'd seen growing up. It was just hotter.

“He might not have a choice if he wants to keep both gangs viable. If he's running through Treys territory he loses his flank if the Kings collapse. And he's smart enough to see that and to want to avoid it.”

“Sounds like you got him down.”

Sonny sighed. “No. I just think like Burnett. What would he do to tighten up his position? This Doc's one smart son of a bitch, so I go after him that way. The Kings are random. The Columbians are just doing what they do. What they learned from the Mendozas. This Doc...he's different.”

“You think he's got control of the Treys?”

Sonny thought for a few minutes, then shook his head. “No, I don't think so. They were there before Red Cross started showing up. Hell, if Gangs is right they've been in that neighborhood for over two decades. I don't think he runs them, but he's got some kind of understanding with them.”

“So how do we play Nicky?”

“I'm just gonna stand there and make him shit himself. That's what Burnett does.” Sonny chuckled. “What's your plan?”

“Depends. If it's just him again, I'm gonna push until we get him and this Hernan. See if we can get one step closer to Doc or whoever fronts for him. Hell, I might even drop word I'm lookin' for some guns. Maybe we can get Hernan to give that up, too.”

“You really wanna piss off ATF?” Sonny pretended to think about it. “Ok. Fine by me. They keep faxing me about those damned taps. So anything that pisses in their Cheerios makes me happy.”

“Solid.” Rico leaned back in the chair, letting his eyes unfocus. He'd stared at the map enough he could almost see it tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. “You think there's any point in rattling Moreno's cage again?”

“Naw. Let the little cretin rip off old people in peace. This whole thing's way above his pay grade now.” Rico saw a look pass over Sonny's face. “I'd actually feel kinda bad if he went and got himself killed sniffing around this. It's too hot for him now.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right. He does kinda grow on you. And we've been working with him for how long now?”

“About seven years with you, and Eddie and I ran him for a couple of years before that. How he's lasted that long is a mystery to me.” Sonny grinned. “Maybe God does watch over fools and idiots.”

Rico felt a familiar buzz at his hip. “Speaking of both, Nicky just paged. I'm gonna let the chump stew for a couple of minutes.” He shifted in the chair, feeling the now-familiar weight of the Walther P-88. “By the way, that holster showed up. Thanks for the tip. It looks like it's gonna work damned well.”

“Good.” Sonny had gone back to staring at the map like he was waiting for it to tell him something.

“I think I'll call the chump from outside Rumour again.” Rico keyed up the right soundtrack and punched in Nicky's number. “Make it quick. I got a hot blonde inside who doesn't want to wait.”

Nicky's voice was thin, strained. Like a string pulled too tight. “I can get you twenty-five, Cooper. That's all there is in the city right now.”

“You or the guy above you?”

“The guy above me. He...he wants to be at the exchange.”

“Seems fair. I'll have Burnett with me. Maybe one or two of his partners, too.” Rico laughed. “I'm learning you can't be too careful in this shithole you people call a city.”

“You know the Venice Ballroom?”

“Well enough to know they ain't gonna let a chump like you in.”

“Very funny. We're not going in, smartass. There's a park right down the street from there. Little place with lots of privacy. We'll meet there. Tomorrow night at ten. He likes your look, we make the deal.”

“And if you think I'm gonna waltz into some dark park with that much cash you're a bigger idiot than I thought.”

He heard rustling as Nicky covered the receiver. If they were lucky Stan could pick words out of the muffled noise leaking past his fingers. “Ok. We'll bring a sample, you bring two grand. If the sample checks out, and it will, we'll call for the rest of the goods and you can call for the cash.”

“Don't try to play me, asshole. We'll do it your way. Once. If anything seems off, or you even think about a rip, my ass is on a plane before you can spit and you're left explaining to Burnett why you screwed up his end of what could be a million dollar deal. Tomorrow night at ten. The park down from the Venice Ballroom. We'll be there. If you're five minutes late we walk and the deal dies.” Nicky was sputtering into the receiver when Tubbs slammed down the phone. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he looked at Sonny and grinned. “You think I pushed him too hard?”

“No, partner. That was just the right amount of force. He's not sure who he's more scared of now, and that's right where we want him.”

“He said his boss was gonna be there. That must be Hernan.”

“They must be more pressed for cash than we thought. I figured it would take at least two deals to smoke him out.” Sonny got up. “I'll start the expedited buy paperwork now. We should have it by noon tomorrow if what Castillo left in his notes is right. How much do you need?”

“We never talked price. But if he's got twenty-five keys let's say forty a key. So a million even. Maybe a touch extra for parking.”

“I'll write it up.” Sonny paused on his way to the office. “You think it'll go for forty?”

“I might be able to talk them down, but plan on the worst case. We'll have Dave and Randy bring only what we need once the deal's done.”

“They can buy a lot of firepower with that much cash.”

“They need bodies, too, Sonny. And with the numbers they've been loosing people ain't gonna come cheap.”

“You got that right.”

Sitting alone in the big room, Rico let his mind wander. At least the case was starting to move again, and maybe now they could pin something on Nicky other than having no sense of style. The kid was punching way above his weight, and was about due to be smacked down hard. He did wish they had more on Hernan, though. Somehow the man had avoided the system, even though he'd been a mid-level solider in the 8-Ball Kings for almost a decade. That alone made him dangerous, and staying under the radar that long meant he was capable, too. But he also had ties to the Treys. It wasn't a good combination from what Rico knew of gang politics, and it likely made him extra-careful and paranoid. With any luck he was clean, but if he was coked out it would be the trifecta of stupid and dangerous. Reaching down, Rico patted the butt of his Walther. At least he'd have fifteen chances to shut the fool up, sixteen if he carried one in the chamber.

He was still mulling things over when the door opened and Castillo and Trudy came in. “Any word?”

“Just got off the phone with Nicky, lieutenant.” Tubbs filled him in on the details. “I'm not crazy about meeting Hernan cold like this,” he finished, “but we don't have much of a choice if we want to get him in the open.”

“No, but I want you covered. Either Dave or Randy from high ground. You'll need one of them with the money, but the other one needs to be on overwatch.” Castillo turned to Trudy. “Have Mindy check with the chief deputy and see if we can get two M-21s.” He turned back to Rico. “Semi-automatic sniper rifles. They'll need firepower if they're operating solo. The bolt-actions are more accurate, but they're slower and have smaller magazines.”

“Whatever you say, lieutenant. That long gun stuff's all Greek to me. I just know I want them on my side and not the other side.”

“Lieutenant Rodriguez was killed by a sniper. Never take their presence for granted when you're planning. More and more of these gangs are starting to use them. They're not very good. Yet. But we have to be ahead of the curve.”

“You got that right.” Rico leaned forward. “My plan is to push this Hernan a bit. See what he'll give up. I might drop a line about guns just to see if he's biting.”

“Be careful. They're all on edge right now. Especially the Kings.”

“And that's why I'd pitch it as him earning a finder's fee for helping me out.” Rico paused. “I ain't gonna push it too far, lieutenant. Just dangle the line and see if we get a nibble. If not, I reel in and head home.”

Trudy looked at the map again. “You ever think we might be buying up all the Red Cross Doc has on hand right now?”

“Explain.” Castillo sank into a chair with a groan Tubbs heard but knew he was supposed to ignore.

“Nicky balked at fifty, right? I mean said no way, no how. But then he comes up with twenty-five. Maybe that's all Doc has on hand to sell. That means the pipeline dries up until his next load gets in. Mindy and I are still working on the ships, but there's a lot of them.”

“And his cut of the sale ain't gonna be pennies.” Rico nodded, following Trudy's line of thinking. “I'll bet out of that million the Kings only walk away with ten percent. Maybe twenty. So any finder's fee is gonna look damned good to them. They can't bargain with Doc because they got no leverage.”

“You think his cut's that high?”

“If Trudy's right and he's setting his own trade back possibly weeks, count on it.” Rico nodded. “It makes sense. He's not worried because he thinks it's going out of state. No blowback on him if something goes south. But if he's as sharp as we think he is, he's gonna want to maximize what he gets off this one to make up for what he's losing in longer-range sales. He must be getting something he thinks is worth it, though, because he's losing money on this.”

“How much?”

Trudy looked at the ceiling. “If he can sell a gram on the street for one twenty, that's one hundred twenty-five a kilo. So he's losing about two million on that load. At least.”

Rico whistled. “I guess we know what his security's worth to him, then.”

Castillo nodded. “It also confirms how dangerous he is. How many dealers could take that kind of long-term view?” He paused, then locked eyes with Rico. “Make the deal happen. Push as much as you need to if you think it will get us closer to whoever's selling the guns. This just shows how desperate Doc is right now. We have to add to that.”

 

Carlos could feel Lou's eyes on him, but he kept staring at the shadows from the fan.

“You're letting them take it with just that much down?” Lou's voice was sharp. “What if they back out?”

“They won't. They can't really. See, it's like this. They know we have them by the balls. If they screw me, they don't get any more Red Cross. Ever. They need that to survive. Eddie might be an idiot, but he's not a total fool. They don't want to see all the custom going to Double G and his Treys.”

“Still, Doc, I don't like it. Can I just...”

“No. I don't want you out where someone could see you. You never know if someone's following Cooper and Burnett. If Hernan goes down, so what? He just makes new friends in prison. But I can't lose you, Lou. You dig?”

“Whatever, boss. I dig. What I don't dig is the loss we're taking.”

“Only in the short term, Lou. You gotta think longer. Not weeks, but months. Not months, but years. We'll make that money back in four months, tops. Maybe less if we up the incoming load a bit. And if this Cooper thing is legit, we might have a new outside market. Push some of the risk further away from us.”

“You know...”

“Know what, Lou? You know I want your thoughts, man. You're my eyes out there.”

“Yeah. I don't trust Hernan. There's a stink coming off him I can't rinse off.”

“It's his cousin in the Treys. Hernan's got a foot in both camps, but one doesn't know about the other. It makes him a damned liability.” Carlos nodded almost to himself, reaching into a fatigue pocket and pulling out the special Camels. “A big damned liability. If Nicky shows he can pull his own with Cooper, I might have you do something about that liability. Manage the risk now rather than later.”

“You still want him getting those Tech 9s?”

“Why not? Let the redneck make his small change. Then he and his fat bubba buddies can jerk each other off and whistle Dixie for all I care.” Carlos drew the smoke in deep, holding it there, letting the calm flow through his veins. “Be sure Hernan and Nicky have the product. And be ready to move on Hernan when I give the word.”

“You got it, boss.” Lou actually smiled. “Never did like that greasy bastard. Him and his damned El Camino. Gives us all a bad name, rollin' around like some cut-rate cholo.”

Once Lou left, Carlos let himself wander in this thoughts, helped along by the good herb and the heat of the afternoon. So much had gone wrong since those damned Columbians had started their little campaign, but now so much was going right. Double G had reclaimed his turf, and was pushing the Columbians out of the sliver they'd managed to take. And now that idiot Eddie and the Kings had a chance to make their side right as well.

Getting to his feet, Carlos walked to the curtain and stepped through into the other room. He had his sources, too, and he knew the Blancos were about tapped out. Their best shooters were dead, fallen to the MAC-10s and the better organization of the Treys, and their more recent recruits were deserting the sinking ship. Los Tech9s were still riding the wave, but soon enough they'd crash and burn, too. Then the balance would be restored and business could carry on as usual.

Well, almost as usual. He had to admit the idea of a new market tempted him. Not from greed, but from security. Every additional layer he put between himself and the product hitting the street made him one level safer if things went to shit. Like when he recruited medevac pilots to fly his heroin up north from Saigon to the firebases in I Corps. If one of them got caught, all they could do was finger a crewchief, who in turn could only give up some punk in maintenance or a hospital orderly. And they in turn could only point to a box where they'd picked up their shit and left their cash. Insulation. It was how he survived.

“You hungry now, boss?” It was one of the girls from the front. Running a Vietnamese restaurant as a front hadn't been his original idea, but it worked well. If he ever missed the smells and sounds too much, he just opened the door and took it all in again. Going right back to the room in Cholon where he'd spent a year on the run. And Soul Alley. All gone now, but alive to him every time he inhaled.

“Yes, Mai. Whatever's handy would be nice.” They knew he wasn't picky. So long as it was hot and fresh Carlos was happy.

He took the steaming bowl back into the office, suddenly tired of the noise and ravenous at the smell of noodles and shrimp. All he needed was a little more patience and everything would be solved.