Echoes - Part XV

[Robbie C.]

Sonny looked over at Rico as his partner wheeled the big Caddy into Rizzo's parking lot. “You ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be.” He snorted. “I had to make noise about leaving 'your guys' behind, but it works out. Then they won't miss Randy and Dave.”

“Did he say why Hernan wasn't going to be there?” Something about that made Sonny's stomach shift just a bit, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

“Just that he had other business. Nicky sounded all jacked up still about his big moment. He did say there'd be a couple of Kings along to seal the deal and check the weapons over.” Rico chuckled. “And I'm sure he'll bring that date of his.”

“Gonna try for Mikko's number this time?”

“Naw.” Tubbs shut the car off. “I...I got other things on my mind.”

“Don't blame you there, pal.” Sonny pulled on his Ray-Bans and opened the car door. “Now let's go to work.”

He barely had time to activate the watch microphone when Nicky came busting through the doors. Jimmy trailed along behind, looking confused, and in his wake were four Dominicans wearing the bandanas marking them 8-Ball Kings. Nicky's arms were up over his head, and Sonny actually thought he might have washed that damned shirt. “My man Cooper! Burnett! High noon, baby! Let's get this party started!”

The taller of the Dominicans pushed his way past Jimmy. “”You follow us, ok? No fancy moves or the introduction doesn't happen.” He pointed at Sonny. “You. Burnett. You ride with me and my boys. Nicky, you and that moron go with Cooper.”

Rico sneered. “Tell you what, chump. YOU ride with me. I just made you all about a million dollars richer. And there's the little matter of the finder's fee and percentage.”

The tall one screwed up his face, and Sonny thought for a moment Rico might have gone too far. Then his expression changed. “Sure. Why not? We go first, and they follow. That way nothing happens.”

“And you trust Nicky so much you didn't tell him where the meet was?” Sonny laughed. “Looks like you ain't as made as you thought you were, pal.”

“It...it ain't like that.”

“Shut up.” Sonny locked eyes with the leader. “Let's get this done. Time's money in my line of work.”

“In ours also, friend.” He turned to a thickset Dominican sporting a mustache hanging down both sides of his face past his chin. “Zopo here will drive. It's the town car. Vaca, you're with me and Cooper.”

“Let's do it, then.” Rico looked at Sonny and chuckled. “They get too fresh, which one you gonna shoot first?”

“Jimmy, then Zopo or Zappa or whatever his name is. Nicky will just shit all over the car, and I think that short one will, too. What about you?”

“The one with the mouth.”

“Call me Ricky.” The lead Dominican laughed. “You know, I like you two. You got balls like watermelons. Hernan was right. We gonna do a lot of business. Eddie thinks so, too.”

Rico waved toward the car. “Then let's get down to it and stop wasting time. You sure your boy can keep up?”

“He'd better if he don't want Burnett to shoot him.” Ricky smiled. “You got that finder's fee?”

“Five grand.” Rico grinned back, pulling a wad of hundreds out and stuffing them back into his jacket pocket. “You get it as soon as we meet the man with the guns and see some of his goods.”

“Where is this little sideshow? I got a meeting later this afternoon.”

“Take us about an hour.”

“Fantastic. Swamp air does wonders for my complexion.”

“It's worth the ride, Burnett. You'll see.” Ricky looked at his men and nodded. Zopo headed right for a dark town car and started it up. “Now let's roll. I don't want to keep out friends waiting.”

All Sonny could do was hope Rico had found a way to turn on his mic. He climbed in the town car, almost choking as a wave of cologne poured out the open door. “There is such a thing as showers. You guys know that, right? And you don't use the whole bottle at once. Just wanna make that clear, too.”

Zopo just looked at him and threw the car into gear. The other Dominican climbed in back, pinning Nicky between him and a sullen Jimmy. The big guy started to whine. “You didn't say we were goin' into the swamp, Nicky.”

“Shut your damned mouth. I don't pay you to talk.”

“Just like your women, right Nicky?” Sonny grinned when he heard Zopo and the other Dominican chuckle. Good. They know more English than they're letting on. “I'd be careful back there, Jimmy. Nicky might get confused and think you're his date.”

“Keep it up, Burnett, and I'll...”

“You'll what? Try anything and your brain's scattered all over the back of this car. And I don't think Zopo here wants to mop that up afterwards.” Sonny turned and glared at Nicky until the little punk looked away. “Just because you hire a big man doesn't make you a big man. Keep that in mind.”

Looking forward, he started counting on ramps. Looking for a way to drop details into a conversation just in case Rico wasn't transmitting. He needed a way to keep the Roach Coach clued into their location. Even with the transponders Stan had added that morning.

Zopo wasn't much of a talker, but it turned out the other Dominican was. Sonny was able to keep a good running travelogue going, based mainly on bars they passed or an occasional strip club. It was harder once they left the city behind, but by then he guessed it didn't matter. There were only so many places they could go, and between Stan and Castillo they should be able to place Dave and Randy close enough to lend a long arm if needed. Still...he didn't like not knowing.

Nicky continued to sulk. “None of this would be happening without me.”

“Sure, Nicky. Sure. You got your big boy pants and everything. Couldn't make it with the Mendozas, so I guess it's good the Kings are working out.”

“Screw you, Burnett. I got plans, and they got plans. It's gonna work out great.”

Sonny smiled and looked back out the window, watching the swamps roll by. They were out far enough the sub-divisions hadn't taken root, and only a scattering of old houses and even cabins showed people lived here at all. He remembered this kind of country from his childhood. Dark, rich land steeped in stories and traditions. Some good, and some downright evil. Looking through the windshield he saw Rico kick on the Caddy's left turn signal and start to pull onto one of the dirt roads running away from the pavement like weak veins from a dark artery. “That's a hell of a name to see out here,” he said when he caught sight of a sagging road sign. “Freinburg Road. Hell, I thought they all moved to Lauderdale.”

“Shows what you know.” Nicky puffed up a bit, providing a perfect smokescreen for Sonny's little line, “There's Feinburgs all up and down this part of the county. Hell, I used to date one.” He laughed. “And let me tell you, she could...”

“We're almost there.” Zopo had a higher voice than Sonny would have thought, but his face remained expressionless.

“Man! The old Rhinegold place! We used to come out here...”

“Nicky. Shut up.” Zopo turned after parking behind Rico. “You're an annoying little punk, you know that?”

But you told them exactly where we are. I might even buy you a beer later, you little punk. Sonny opened the door and stepped out, smelling the stink of rotting vegetation and decay he'd hated both here and in Vietnam. “Let's get this shit done.”

Ricky stepped out of the Caddy, a smile on this thin face. “I see Nicky survived the ride. There may be hope for him yet.”

“I was a close thing.” Sonny smiled, feeling Nicky's glare on his back.

Rico looked around. “I don't see any guns. Just some damned old shack straight out of Uncle Tom's Cabin. And I ain't fond of that image.”

“They're back that way.” Ricky pointed to where the road continued. “Seems these fools tried farming back that way, too. There's a barn and some other shit. That's where the deal goes down.”

Looking down, Sonny could make out at least three sets of truck tire tracks heading into the trees. He didn't like it, but there wasn't any choice. Ricky had already started walking, Zeppo close behind. Shooting Rico a look, he shrugged and started walking. At least the grass beside the road wasn't torn up. He didn't want to think of what the mud would do to his shoes.

 

Earl Lester Holmes sat in the back of his Goddamn authentic American Jeep and waited. The lookouts reported back seeing two cars, and they'd picked out the Dominicans right away. And they also got a good look at black dude dressed like a high-end pimp and two white guys; one dressed like a jailhouse punk and the other all in black with sunglasses. That must be Burnett. Matches what I heard of him. And Cooper's said to be a fancy dresser.

In the front seat Benny shifted. “You want to talk to them first, boss?”

“Cooper and Burnett? You bet I do. All I want from them damned Dominicans is their money. After that they can shit all over each other for all I care. We're done with them. It's these other two that got my interest.” He looked around. “Everyone know their places?”

“Yes, boss. Waitin' on your say-so before they do anything. We got the Tech 9s over yonder just where you wanted 'em, and that smaller case with things to show Cooper if you feel the need.”

“Good man.” Holmes smiled, then leaned forward. “I see 'em comin' down the road now. Let's go say hello.” He started to climb out of the jeep when the roar of a powerful truck engine filled his ears. A black step van rolled out of the undergrowth that had been hiding it, and a loudspeaker blared from somewhere in the shadows. “ATF! This is a warrant raid! Throw down your weapons!”

Holmes froze, then reached back in the Jeep for his Thompson sub-machinegun. “Federals! He screamed the word twice. “Say hello to 'em boys!”

 

In the Roach Coach, Castillo sat bolt upright, his expression frozen in something Stan didn't want to see again. “Give me the ATF regional office. Now. And drive.”

 

Sonny froze as soon as he heard the engine. Shit! He knew what was coming. The damned ATF had their own little show on, and jumped the gun as usual. He heard someone yelling up by the barn, but he couldn't make out the words. Looking at Rico, he was about to shout, but the words died on his lips. As he watched, the hayloft door on the ramshackle barn burst open and he saw a long, familiar barrel traverse out. “Rico! Cover! They've got a Ma Duce!”

“What?”

“A fucking .50! Cover!” Sonny turned and sprinted for the nearest solid thing he could remember seeing as the heavy machine gun opened fire. The booms were deafening, and the muzzle flash lanced out like gouts of flame.

Crashing down behind a rise in the ground, Sonny had to admit whoever was on the gun knew his business. He was firing short, measured bursts, and from the screams and rending metal he could just make out over the big gun he knew the gunner was focusing on the van. Or what was left of the van. Looking down, he saw the watch and his brain fought through the panic. “Dave! Take out the Ma Duce!”

 

Down behind the Jeep, Holmes felt a big old smile spreading across his face. Let the damned Federals try to break up his little deal! From the screams and shouts he figured they were learning a new tune now, one that didn't line up with their little 'hands up' routine.

Peeking up, he saw the shattered windshield of the van, blood splattering around the frame and seat where the big rounds had butchered the driver. Sparks flew as rounds tore into the engine, cracking the engine block and turning the once-proud symbol of Federal might into so much scrap metal. “Always wanted to do that,” he muttered, almost losing himself in the show. Then the slugs, every fourth round a tracer, tracked up and over the rear of the van. Torn metal and screams filled the air, and he turned back toward the barn and pumped his fist in the air. “You're hittin' 'em right on! Keep up the fire!” He looked over at his other men. “You boys quit starin' and start puttin' out some lead. There's enough Federals out there for everyone!” And that reminded him...

Looking around, he tried to find the spot where he'd last seen the colored boy and his white sidekick. Cooper and Burnett. He just hoped the damned Federals hadn't hit them yet, or worse managed to arrest them. Raising the old Thompson he sent a burst of .45 slugs after an ATF agent who looked to be trying to get around their position. “Hot damn! Got me one! Get to shootin', Benny!” He leaned back, looking at the men by the trucks. “Carter! Take your boys an' flank them bastards. Ian, put down a base of fire. Keep 'em pinned so they can't move. We got the bastards right where we want 'em!”

 

Sonny heard someone shouting over the roar of gunfire. He thought it was Holmes, but there was no way to look. He didn't want to so much as raise a hair. The gunner in the hay loft didn't have to move that big gun more than a whisker and he could take them all out.

Looking over, he saw Tubbs, Walther in hand. His eyes were wide, and when Sonny made eye contact Rico just shook his head. “We're pinned down!” he shouted.

“We can't stay here. If we do, we're dead.” Sonny tried to block the roar of the .50 out of his mind, but it wasn't working. How could they move without drawing fire from that beast? Some scattered pops came from where he thought the remaining ATF agents had gone to ground, but there was no focus to their fire. A random shot or two from an M-16, immediately chased by a blast from the big .50. By now he knew Holmes would be trying to send men around the flanks. He and Tubbs might have a chance, if they hadn't been blown, but the ATF would be butchered. Gathering what was left of his courage, he touched the ring under his shirt and took a better grip on his own .45. Maybe he could distract them enough for Tubbs to make a run for it. And then everything changed.

 

There wasn't much high ground in the rolling swampland around the farm Sonny had indicated, but Dave and Randy managed to find a spot where they could just look down on the property. They'd seen the trucks by the barn and set up to cover it, guessing the deal would happen there. But they hadn't seen the big gun go into position. And once it opened up they had to shift so they could get a view of the hayloft door.

Randy was on the spotting scope. “He's tearin' the shit out of that van. Hit the driver first, and then he's just workin' up and down the thing. Our boys must be pinned. Can't see the boss or Tubbs.”

“Range?” Dave snugged the M-21 into his shoulder, adjusting the scope.

“Three twenty five. Wind about five miles from east to west.”

Going to maximum zoom, Dave found the gunner. Or his shadow back in the loft. Flame blasted from the muzzle of the .50, chased a second later by the chained booms of the shots. He shifted the dots in the scope, compensating for range and distance. “I make it three thirty.”

“No. Three twenty five.”

“Roger three twenty five.”

“Shoot.”

Dave took a breath, then exhaled partway, letting the air flow loose in his nose and throat. The scope picture was perfect, He thought he could see the man now, tattoos and a bad mohawk. His finger found the trigger. Then the rifle recoiled. “Hit.”

“Hit. Just below the head. Throat shot. He's done.” Randy shifted his head. He had the earpiece in. “Boss says hit the gun. Put it out of commission.”

“Roger. Range three twenty two.” He fired three times in rapid succession, calling “hit” each time and seeing sparks jumping from the metal of the gun's feed cover.

“Three hits confirmed. It looks like a tank ran over it. That gun's out.” Randy shifted. “New target. Redneck with a Mini-14 in the tree just past the west corner of the barn.”

“Range four hundred.”

“Confirm. Range four hundred. He's looking for us.”

Dave felt the air flow into his lungs and then ease back out. The dots shifted again, and the rifle pushed back into his shoulder. “Hit. He ain't lookin' no more.”

“Hit. Head shot. He's done. New target. Ten yards in front of the big barn door. Partly covered by the truck. Redneck with an M-16.”

“Range three hundred.”

“Confirm.”

Again the air hissed in and trickled out. “Hit.”

“Confirm. He's down. New target...”

 

Down on the ground, Rico looked at Sonny. “What the hell?”

“Dave. They got here in time!” Sonny steadied out his 4506 and put two rounds into Zopo, who seemed to be putting things together and had his pistol out and pointed at Rico. Ricky started to shout and haul out his own Beretta, and Rico shot him three times with the Walther. The big rifle continued to boom off in the distance, each shot chased by a scream. Sonny could hear the rednecks shouting about a sniper in the high ground. Losing their focus. This was his chance. Maybe his only one before they got their shit together.

“Rico! Cover me!” He knew what he had to do. Holmes and his men still had numbers, and the ATF SWAT team was combat ineffective at best. One a scattered pop or two was still coming from the undergrowth near the smoking van, and he couldn't really tell if it was men actually shooting or ammunition cooking off in the van. With the Dominicans down, he and Rico had to make their move. When Holmes got his men back under control it would only be a matter of time before raw numbers told out.

Rico nodded, popping up and sending six quick shots in the direction of one of the big trucks. It wasn't enough to hit any of Holmes' men, but it was enough to make them duck and hold their positions while they tried to identify a new threat.

Gathering himself, Sonny scrambled to his feet and sprinted for a pile of deadfall in front of the barn. It wasn't great cover, but with the the big gun silenced he figured it was enough. Something tugged in his knee, but he ignored it and kept moving. No time for fancy moves...they just got you killed. Diving, he saw a skinny, pockmarked man was already behind the wood pile. The man started to bring up what looked to be a sawed-off shotgun, and Sonny put two rounds through his face. Rolling to avoid the mess of blood and brains, he used his elbows to haul himself into cover.

Someone had seen him move. Bullets started knocking chips off the dry, old wood, the volume of fire rising as Holmes' men started finding their nerve. Taking a firm grip on the Smith & Wesson, he got his feet under him and sucked in a lungful of air, getting ready to shout for Rico to move. Another shot boomed from behind him, and he watched as one of the rednecks clutched at himself and spun away in almost slow motion, body and spray of blood in one direction, a Mini-14 dropped by nerveless fingers going the other. Dave was still at work.

 

Rico kept low, reloading after sending a few more rounds in the direction of the truck. He didn't think he'd hit anyone, but if it kept their heads down it all good. He guessed Sonny was about to should for him to move, and he took a deep breath, making sure his footing was solid the muddy soil. Then a new voice boomed over the babble. “Goddamned Federals! You ain't takin' me today!” Earl Lester Holmes charged around the corner of one of the trucks, his Thompson blazing. One of the ATF agents who'd decided to make a one-man charge folded like a jackknife and died, catching the bulk of the burst in his midsection. Rico came to his feet in what felt to him like slow motion, the Walther locked in both hands. “Drop it! U.S. Marshals!”

Holmes turned, his mouth open in a scream. “Screw you, Federals! Screw...”

Rico fired four times, the pops from the 9mm merging into one shot it was so fast. Sonny was a heartbeat behind, the Smith & Wesson's booms coming even faster. Earl Lester Holmes fell with a total of eight bullets in his body. The Thomson tumbled to the mud, steaming as its hot barrel touched the damp ground.

Once they saw their leader die, the fight went out of the rest of Holmes' men. Even Benny dropped his Colt and threw up his hands the second Holmes hit the muddy ground. Rico looked around, sighing when he caught sight of Nicky's riddled body. He'd tried to run, and ran right into some of Holmes' men. Jimmy looked to have gone down in the same blast of bullets. But then it hit him. The ATF had been cut to pieces. By their own damned stupidity. The old rage boiled up in a heartbeat and overflowed. He holstered his Walther and set off toward the smoking van. “What the hell were you assholes thinking? Raiding this guy? You're lucky you all weren't killed!”

A skinny man in a black ATF windbreaker got up from behind some deadfall. Rico noticed he didn't look to have fired his weapon at all. “And who the hell are you, cowboy? Messing up my operation! I...”

Sonny stepped forward. Normally he'd be shouting with Rico, but something changed. Rico didn't recognize his partner. When he spoke his voice was a hiss, and it cut through everything like a whip. “Shut up. This was our operation. We tried to coordinate with you, but your office wouldn't budge. My 'cowboys' saved your men.”

“Bullshit. I don't care how fancy your damned badge is. You're going down for this.”

“He didn't kill your men.” Martin Castillo's voice brought the entire scene to a halt. The surviving ATF agents moved to arrest Holmes' men, see to their wounded, anything to get them away from the owner of that voice. Rico hadn't seen or heard him arrive. He just appeared, the black suit and white shirt stark against the green of the farmland. “You killed your men. You sent them into an unknown situation without proper planning or backup. My report already reflects that. And your superior knows that. He killed your men by extension. And you both knew what that man was capable of.” Castillo's dark eyes blazed, and the ATF agent fell to the ground like he'd been struck. “We didn't know this was Earl Holmes. Your people did. And they lied about it.”

Sonny looked back at the barn. His voice was still low. Deadly low. “The man sold LAWs, you idiot. Why wouldn't you think he'd have a machine gun of some kind on hand?”

Castillo looked at the broken man in the mud, and Rico remembered the way he'd looked at Joe Dalva. This was worse. “Your career is over. If you're lucky someone will hire you as a crossing guard. Now see to your people. It's the least you can do.” He turned and stalked back toward the Roach Coach, and for the first time Rico noticed the big .44 in his hand. His own anger started to fade when he realized that if the ATF lead agent had tried anything there was a good chance Castillo would have shot him.

 

It was quiet in the conference room. More like a funeral than a debriefing, Sonny decided as he looked around the room.

Mindy looked up from her notes. “What was the count again?”

“Five ATF agents killed, another six wounded.” Sonny could still hear the fight in his mind. “Four of them were all in the van. Before Dave took out that .50. Holmes got the last one.”

“With you and Rico running your mics it was easy for Stan to vector us into position. It was a near thing, though.” Randy looked at his field notes. “A few yards to the east and we couldn't have relocated.”

Castillo looked up. “Let me be very clear on one thing. This is all on ATF. They lied to us about not having an operation. They underestimated Holmes, even with all the intel we'd given them after Maynard was killed.” He turned to Sonny. “What did Benny say?”

“He said this was supposed to a simple handoff to the Dominicans and a meet and greet with me and Rico. Holmes was paranoid as hell, but he'd checked us out and we looked solid. He had the big gun on hand just in case we tried something, but he wasn't looking to take us out. In fact, Benny said he was hoping Rico would take the place of Maynard as the man with deep pockets.”

“Until that chump the ATF put in charge set off his little party.” Rico's eyes narrowed. “Where does that leave us?”

“And where does that leave the Kings?” Trudy spoke for the first time, looking not at her notes but at the map. “Their big deal's a bust. But they might have gotten some help from Metro-Dade, of all people.”

“How's that?” Sonny looked at her in confusion.

“While ATF was busy screwing things up, a couple of unis in Metro-Dade made a routine traffic stop. Turns out the guy behind the wheel of the stolen car was none other than the head of Los Tech 9s. He started shooting, the unis returned fire, and now the Tech 9s are without a boss.”

“And if they learned anything from the Mendozas they'll start fighting amongst themselves for control in about...” Sonny looked at his watch. “Now. That'll take the pressure off the Kings.”

“And maybe start some with the Blancos. They're gonna see the Tech 9s as weak now. Easier to take a bite out of them than the Treys.” Rico chuckled.

Sonny nodded. “Yeah, but I want to say thanks to Dave. We'd all be puddles of goo if you hadn't have taken out that gun.”

“Randy talked me onto the target. I just pulled the trigger.”

“Either way, you two took the wind right out of the sails of Holmes' boys. Likely saved the ATF boys. They were so shook up they could have been overrun by a troop of Girl Scouts.”

“We need to focus on Doc.” Castillo's voice was firm. “Taking Holmes out was a nice bonus, but it's not what the chief deputy tasked us with doing.”

“We still have Teddy Prentiss in play. Cooper would be laying low after that mess in the swamp, so I can focus on Teddy full-time. I also heard from a little bird that someone's been looking into Teddy's background.” Rico smiled. “I still know a cop or two in Jamaica, and one of them backstops Teddy for me. Got a call from him last night. Someone from Miami is nosing around and hearing the right things.”

“You think it's Doc's men?”

“It has to be, mon. No other man be lookin' for me.” Rico smiled. “It's possible someone else got a whiff, but Doc's the only one I can think of who'd be that thorough. Who else is gonna call the islands to check on someone who moves a bit of reefer now and again?”

“Stay with it.” Castillo looked around the table. “What happened today was tragic, but it wasn't of our making. I know it's hard, but we have to stay focused on our operation and what went right today. If they hadn't have been there, we would have made contact. The plan worked. Everyone was where they needed to be and made the right moves and calls. Take pride in that.”

Back in their office, Rico let out a long sigh. “Man, I can still hear the big gun. It turned that damned armored van into Swiss cheese.”

“I head fifties back Nam, but never had one fired at me like that. And it's an experience I do not want to repeat.” Sonny sat down, crossing his arms over his chest. “How are we gonna work this Prentiss angle?”

“Teddy needs transportation, so I can get you in that way. Assuming Doc wants to move product that way. He's got all the cards right now, Sonny, and I don't like it.”

“Neither do I.” He was about to go on, when Trudy stuck her head through the open doorway.

“Guys, you need to hear this. I just got a call from a source over in Homicide. They just found Hernan Soldado's body right on the edge of Kings turf. He'd been shot in the back of the head.”

“That's Doc's message. Or at least that's what Vallencio thinks.”

“I think he's right, Rico. And I think this is about to get damned interesting.” He turned to Trudy. “Thanks. Tell Stan and Lester they might be looking at overtime. I think our taps are about to explode.” It was better to think about that than what had happened to the ATF agents. All because their boss was a glory-hungry moron.

 

“Excellent work today, Leo.”

“Thanks, boss. Did him just how you wanted and left him right where you said.” Leo chuckled. “Damn shame about that redneck bastard and his boys, though.”

“He got greedy.” Carlos looked down at the desktop. “And he must have gotten careless, too. How else would the ATF have found him?”

“Nicky, maybe?”

“We can't ask him, though.” Carlos peered at Leo through his John Lennon glasses. “And I heard a rumor than Cooper might have been there, too.”

“I can check.”

“Don't bother. He's not dead, or we would have heard. But he might have decided to leave town. Not that it matters. That cat was too flash for what we need.”

“Whatever, boss.” Leo shifted from one foot to the other.

“What's eatin' you, man?”

“Metro-Dade took out the head of the Tech 9s today.”

“I heard.”

“And now the Kings don't have their gats.”

“So? The Columbians will start fighting amongst themselves. It's what those cats do when a leader dies. Look at the Mendozas. The Calderones. It's the way of things with them.”

“What if this time they go after the Kings instead?”

“They won't. The Blancos got their noses bloodied by the Treys. They'll want to get their balls back. They'll do that by whacking the Tech 9s and then maybe trying to finish the Kings. And we win any way it goes. That's the beauty of it Leo.” Reaching into the desk, Carlos pulled out a stack of bills. “Your bonus for a job well done.”

Once Leo was gone, Carlos lit up one of his special Camels and held the smoke in for longer than usual. It had been a long day, and one full of surprises. He wasn't surprised that Earl Holmes had gone down in a blaze of gunfire. He was surprised at how it had happened. Holmes was as paranoid as they came, but he had a big organization. One that could easily leak. Maybe one of them whispered in the ear of the wrong coked-up whore and it got back to the ATF. Another reason to stay small and content.

He did wonder how the Kings and Treys would respond to his latest message. Hernan had been getting too greedy, making deals with people who should be left alone and whispering in the wrong ears. It also took out one of the few leaders Eddie had left in the disorganized mob that had once been the 8-Ball Kings. That made Eddie even more vulnerable. And he'd antagonized the Columbians to begin with, dangling Red Cross in front of their greedy noses when he tried to expand his business past the normal borders.

Smiling, Carlos reached down and patted the Colt tucked in his waistband. First a meeting with Teddy Prentiss. And then, if that met his expectations, maybe he'd send his own personal message with Eddie.

Taking another drag, he inhaled the smells from the kitchen. If he closed his eyes he could almost believe he was back in Cholon. When they started rebuilding after the Tet offensive in '69 he'd found a place almost exactly like this. Restaurant in front, whorehouse upstairs, and his little operation tucked away in a back room. He didn't have the whores here, but the restaurant was almost enough. Some nights he almost missed Saigon. Almost.

 

Jenny was waiting for him in the stern of the Dance. “I'd have you over, but Vellamo still smells of paint and varnish.” Her hair was actually brushed, and he noticed she was wearing a simple white strapless dress. “I wanted to show you I have more than two shirts,” she said with a giggle when she noticed his raised eyebrow.

“It's really pretty. And you look beautiful.” He sighed, opening the companionway doors. “Sorry, I'm not good company tonight. You don't have to leave, but I likely won't talk much.”

“I could tell watching you walk down the dock. You looked like the weight of a thousands suns was on your shoulders.” She smiled. “I read that somewhere, I think.”

“It's about how I feel.” He sank back in the familiar settee cushions, and she slipped in beside him. “Lots of bad things happened today. Things that didn't have to happen.”

“But not to you?”

“No. I was lucky, I guess.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit up, drawing the smoke into his lungs. “I don't know, darlin'.”

“We never do. That's what makes life interesting.” She smiled and touched his leg. “I made you dinner. It's not much, but I had a feeling you'd be tired.”

“That's putting it lightly.” He smiled, reaching down and squeezing her hand. He liked this side of her, and he wondered how much of it was an act. Or if any of it was an act.

She pulled a bowl out of the small refrigerator. “I hope you like salad. I got too busy restoring the Vellamo and let most of my provisions go bad.” She shook her head and looked down. “I really wanted to do more for the first real dinner I made for you.”

“It's fine.” He smiled, touching her shoulder. “After today anything's fine.”

“Good. Well, not good because of the day but good because it still worked out.”

She poured wine and they sat and ate and talked about nothing in particular until it was dark in the saloon. Sonny felt the day drain away, replaced by something warm and calm he couldn't quite identify. She'd cleared the plates and the big bowl, pouring more wine as they talked. Then she leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you.”

“For what? You made dinner.”

“For giving me a chance. I know I almost made a mess of things.”

“No. It's nothing like that.” He smiled, searching for words that wouldn't quite come. “You were just so different it was hard to take in.”

“Hard to believe?” She smiled. “I”m not always like that, Sonny. But I want to be like that when I'm with you. You're the first man who ever made me feel that way. Safe enough to just be myself.”

“I meant it when I said you were beautiful in that dress, But don't change because of me.”

“I like dresses. I just don't get to wear them much.” She smiled, lowering her eyes. “But I do want to take it off now.”

He reached behind her, unzipping it. “Let me help.”

She smiled, then held up her hand. “Don't you want to know what I was going to tell out? Out on Vellamo the other night?”

“Sure.” Sonny smiled, enjoying the humor dancing in her eyes.

“I was going to say I handle her like you handle me.” She let the dress fall from her body. “And I just cast off the ropes.”

[vicegirl85]

44 minutes ago, Robbie C. said:

Safe enough to just be myself.

Just what Sonny is always looking for!  Even though I had to close my eyes for a lot of this, it was good to see our guys come out OK.

[mjcmmv]

All I can say is, that was good....no, great!

Loved the gun battle, and the dialogue between Sonny, Rico and the "bad guys" is perfect!! 

Sonny and Jenny....hope that keeps going. I like them together!

Edited July 19, 2019 by mjcmmv

[Kladdagh]

I can't get enough 

[mjcmmv]

1 hour ago, Kladdagh said:

I can't get enough 

Agreed! I feel like I'm watching Season 6!

[Robbie C.]

It’s missing the music. And I don’t know if it’s that good. Glad you’re all enjoying it, though.