King's Pawn

[Robbie C.]

Just a quick little thing I wrote. Interesting to see Crockett and Tubbs from a different perspective. This is set sometime in the second season.

 

Stan Switek looked up from the assignment sheet. “Aw, come on, lieutenant. Not another pawn shop sting operation!”

Larry Zito nodded in agreement. “Yeah, lieutenant. Stan only just got the puke cleaned off his Hawaiian shirts from the last one.

Martin Castillo shook his head. “The mayor's starting his annual campaign against car stereo thefts. Those usually end up in pawn shops.”

Across the table, Sonny Crockett laughed. “Sorry, girls. Looks like you get the detail again.”

“Screw you, Crockett. Just because you can't count past ten with your shoes on...”

Castillo looked up. “Enough. Both of you. Crockett, you and Tubbs are up in the rotation next. If it wasn't for that double homicide and the cocaine connection, you'd be pulling the detail. Hope I don't find another one.”

Sonny stood up, slipping on his sunglasses. “Enjoy standing behind the counter, girls. Come on, Tubbs. We don't want to be late for the meeting with that punk from the Mendoza operation.”

Stan waited until the room was clear. “I get tired of those assholes. Think they're special because they get to chase the powder brigade.”

Larry laughed and slapped his partner on the shoulder. “Don't let 'em get you down, buddy. At least we get to stay inside where it's air conditioned and watch old movies on the big screen. Someone's always pawning one of those big screen TVs so they can buy weed.”

Stan felt his mood jump, and he grinned. “You know, Larry, you're right about that. Let's go enjoy the cool air and plan us a sting.”

Stanley Switek had been a member of the Metro-Dade police force for close to seven years now, two in a uniform right out of the academy and the rest in Vice. He and Larry met the academy and had partnered ever since, first in the ugly green and whites and later working plainclothes. Even though he packed a few extra pounds and Larry was skinny as an undernourished rail, they were both just enough off center that no one else would ride with them.

Larry slid into the passenger seat of the plain white panel van. “It's a shame we can't use the bug van for these operations. Get those fly wings flapping and lure them in that way.”

“Yeah, but the lieutenant complained last time we tried that.” Stan turned the key and was rewarded by a grinding belch as the old wreck came to life. “I'd rather use it just because it runs better than old Bertha here. When are we gonna get the pick of the seized vehicle lot is what I wanna know.”

“Maybe we should strike.” Larry's voice was deadpan, and Stan couldn't always tell when he was joking.

“Maybe, and then we'd end up on the street sharing a cardboard box and mugging winos for their pocket change.” He pulled on his favorite pair of oversized aviator sunglasses and wheeled the van into traffic. “Let's just get this damned party started and see if we can haul in enough punks to get back in the action.”

Larry snorted. “If you mean following along behind Crockett and Tubbs with a pushbroom, I'll stick with the pawn shops. At least some of those dudes bring in good pornos. We get something to watch. With those two it's just 'Stan and Larry, sit in the van and sweat your asses off while we hit on all the hot chicks.' Makes them look good and we end up smelling like a dead wino's armpit.”

“You got a point, Larry ol' pal. And like you said, at least this way we get air conditioning.”

The pawn shop was right on the edge of one of the rougher parts of Miami, straddling the line between respectability and crime. Just the kind of place Stan liked using for a sting. Over the years he'd learned you hauled in the most bad guys by looking just this side of respectable while letting them know you also wanted to make a buck. They parked in the back and unlocked the rear door, Stan seeing to the lights and sign while Larry hauled in suitcases with camera and sound equipment. Before long they were ready to run tests, the whole thing made easier by years of practice.

Larry leaned through from the back room, catching Stan's eye while the bigger man was hanging a couple of beat-up Fender Stratocasters on wall hooks. “You remember the first time we ran one of these stings?”

Stan shifted the guitar a hair. “Yeah. They stuck us in the back of some old warehouse and Tubbs had to try to be all cool and tell us how to do our job.” He grinned. “The only thing we caught that day was Noogie.”

“Naw, that wasn't the first time. That was like the fourth. The first time was when Eddie Rivera was still alive. You know, down by the water.”

“Oh, yeah. The one with that crazy guy who kept coming in with a rotting swordfish or something wanting to know how much we'd give him for it.” Stan shuddered, walking back behind the counter. “Those were the days, right? So, you got a good view of the register and everything?”

Larry shouted from his monitors in the back. “Yep. Sound's good, too. I think we're ready to bait the hook and see what bites.”

Stan nodded. “Yeah, but if that guy shows up again I am gonna shoot him this time. Don't try to stop me.” He counted the cash in the register one last time. “Did you call the bait?”

“It's your turn.”

“No way. I did it last time.”

Larry came out of the back, the smile on his face making Stan nervous. “I think I did, Stan. Tell ya what, though. I'm sure a nice guy I'll flip you for it.”

“Heads!” Stan watched the glittering arc the quarter made as it spun through the air. Larry swatted it like a bug on the back of his hand and looked down. “Tails. Sorry about that.”

“Like hell you are. Anyhow, get the twerps' numbers out and I'll make the damned call. But that means we get to listen to Elvis all afternoon.”

“You didn't...”

“Sorry, pal. That's the rules. Loser has to call but gets to pick the music. You can play your show tunes tomorrow.” Stan laughed and headed for the back, leaving Larry muttering about show tunes and baseball bats.

Stan wasn't sure which snitch he hated working with more. On the whole he didn't like working with snitches period. They always reminded him of the kid in school who pretended to be your friend while he was setting you up for the football team to de-pants or otherwise humiliate in some public manner. They were an essential part of the job, especially when you were working Vice, but that didn't mean he had to like them. At least he didn't have to spend much time on the phone with either one; just tell them to show up if they wanted to make some money.

They opened the door at eleven, and Noogie Lamonte came bopping in five minutes later. Stan swore he'd been waiting just around the corner. He wore a hideous pair of oversized pink sunglasses studded with fake diamonds, red leather pants, a black t-shit with some kind of faded logo splashed across the front, and a pink and white leather jacket, all set off by dark blue high-top sneakers. Lowering the glasses on his nose, he spun around as soon as he cleared the doorway and did a sort of dancing shuffle to the counter, beaming at Larry and Stan as he came.

“My main men! My two favorite hep cats! Great to see you fellas again! The Noog-man is back in the saddle. Tonto to your Lone Ranger. Righting the wrongs and...”

“Easy there, Noogie.” Larry chuckled, and Stan remembered he'd always had a soft spot for the fast-talking street hustler. “Don't go saddling up Scout just yet.”

Noogie's face fell. “What you mean scout? The Noog-man ain't into no Boy Scouts. Not Cub Scouts, either. But you could point me in the direction of some Girl Scouts. And their moms.”

“Scout was the name of Tonto's horse, you idiot.” Stan looked at Larry and shrugged as if to say what can you do? “The job's simple. Someone around here has been tossing bricks through car windows and running off with stereos that don't belong to them. We want you to rattle some cages and see what falls out.”

“The Noog-man can shake, rattle, and roll, and do it all night long!” Noogie snapped his long, almost unnatural fingers and grinned again. “And you suckas better believe it when I tell you.”

“Good, but you won't be working alone.” Stan looked up and grinned. “You'll have help.”

Izzy Moreno strolled in, wearing a leisure suit that might have been happening at a high school prom. In 1977. It was an odd off-light blue, or it hadn't been dry-cleaned for so long it had picked up the color somewhere on the street before Izzy found it and gave it a home. His sunglasses were smaller than Noogie's, but could have come from the same shipment of knock-offs intended for hookers. “Switek! Zito!” He stopped short when he saw Noogie. “Joo din't tell me this was a double gig. I fly solo, meng.”

“In that suit I can see why.” Stan chuckled. “No, you two get to make nice with each other if you want the payday.” He told Izzy the same thing he'd just told Noogie.

“So, joo wan' us to go find these vandalizations, these thieves of musicalist devices? An' what makes joo think a man like me knows such personages?”

“Simple. You feed from the bottom of the same shallow pool.” Stan leaned across the counter, using his size to his advantage. He'd always been big, but lately he'd been converting some of the mass to muscle. And in any case he was pretty sure Larry could kick both their asses with one hand tied behind his skinny back. “Anyhow, here's the deal. You find some of 'em and bring 'em here to sell stolen good and we make a few busts.”

Larry grinned from his perch by the register. “And make sure it's stuff they stole, not things you stole and gave to them. That didn't work so well the last time you tried that.”

“That was all a misunderstanding.” Noogie flashed his teeth again in a wide smile. “The Noog-man was just havin' that fool hold some things for him. How was I to know the maroon was gonna come in here and try to sell the stuff?”

“Joo wound me to the core, that joo would think such a thing. I...”

“I think you both need to stop talking and get to work.” Stan looked at one of the four clocks on the wall. This one happened to have Elvis' arm as the minute hand and the neck of his guitar showing the hour. One of these days I'm just gonna break down and buy that damned thing. “You don't have all day, fellas.”

Once the two con men left, Larry turned to Stan. “You really think it's a good idea sending Heckle and Jeckel out in the wild like that?”

“Not really, but what choice to we have? If we just wait for the thieves to come to us we'll be here all month. The whole detail's a waste of time.”

“Yeah, but it's all politics, Stan. The mayor leans on the commissioner, the commissioner yells at someone else in headquarters, and sooner or later it lands on Castillo's desk. You know he's not gonna put the pretty boys in a pawn shop, and Gina and Trudy have street-corners to hang out on. So that leaves us.”

“I know, I know. It's just one time I'd like to make a good score. Just the two of us. Something that would make those two cowboys stand up and take notice.”

“Ya gotta relax, Stan. What would the King say?”

“He'd do a song, punch them both in the jaw, and take their ladies.” Stan laughed. “Maybe this time we'll get lucky.”

“Don't look now but that old lady's back.”

“Crap. The one who smells like poodle piss and always wants to pawn that fake gold she claims was her husband's?” Stan looked out the big plate glass window and shuddered. “It is. Get the Lysol and keep it handy, Larry.” Then he dressed his face in his best fake smile. “Missus Abramson! Good to see you again! And no, we still don't want Morty's gold. It's not real.”

“Well screw both of you.” Agnes Abramson could have been the stunt double for the Wicked Witch of the West, and Stan figured she could play the part without any makeup or costume work. “Here I try to do you boys a favor...”

“Why don't you try the Pirate's Chest down the street? I hear they like dealing in gold.”

“I did. They sent me here.”

“Then maybe you should go explain to them why Morty's gold is special. Like you did for us two years ago.”

“Maybe I will. They weren't as nice as you boys.”

Larry waited until she tottered out of the store to let the air out of his lungs in one huge whoosh. “I can't believe she fell for that.”

Stan raised his finger to his lips. “Not a word for five minutes, Larry. You don't want to summon her.”

The afternoon crawled by like paint drying on a humid day. Stan managed to sell one of the Stratocasters to a zit-faced kid in a Van Halen t-shirt, while Larry took in a couple of decent-looking rings from women who were either feeding a habit or needed the cash to trade up to the next chest size. It was that kind of neighborhood. Still, they passed the time by guessing who was going to come in next.

Larry kept a sort of score. “That's two junkies, a kid who wants to be Eddie, a dude with skin bad enough to be the other Eddie, the Wicked Witch of the West, and a stripper looking to move from afternoon shift to a Thursday night spot.”

“Why not Friday?”

“Stan? Really? With that face?”

“Yeah, I guess you're right. And if the choice is between the guns or the face, I guess a girl has to have priorities.” Stan felt sorry for the girl. She wasn't bad looking, and she'd had really nice eyes. But once the life got its talons into them it was hard to get out again. You could either laugh or cry about it, and Stan made his choice years ago. But it didn't always work. He still looked at some of them and wondered. One or two bad choices and he would have ended up just like them. Larry, too. Well, maybe not Larry. His family kept him centered even though they were nuttier than a case of fruitcakes. Stan shook his head. His own family? Not worth thinking about.

Larry cleared his throat. “Well, well. Looks like Noogie gets the prize for first out of the gate.”

“Get ready with that camera. Let's see if this is the real deal or Noogie running a scam.”

“Don't get so flustrated, Chaz. These is the dudes the Noog-man was tellin' you about. They're the real deal and flash the cash for the stash, if you dig what I'm sayin'.”

Chaz looked as confused as Stan, but he walked up to the counter with a bag in his hand and a big, fake grin plastered across his skinny face. Stan put him at about twenty-three. And stupid. “I got this top of the line stereo,” he said, dumping the contents of the bag on the counter.

Stan looked down and sneered. “Top of the line in 1974, maybe. It's an eight-track, you bozo. I can't give these things away. And then you ripped it out of some junker car with a crowbar. That you stuck where the tape goes. I'll bet the damned radio don't even work anymore.” He turned to Noogie. “What are you insulting me for, bringing this moron in here? He's lucky I don't make him pay me to clean up the mess.”

Noogie looked at the mess of wires and bent metal and slapped Chaz upside the head with a speed Stan didn't know the goofball possessed. “Now why you go and embarrass the Noog-man with that crap sandwich, Chaz? You told me you had good stuff you needed to sell...”

“Not me, man! My brother! Estoban's got the good stuff. Kenwood. Alpine.”

“So send your brother in and maybe we'll talk.” Stan glared down from his pawnbroker's platform. “And get that crap off my counter.”

Once Chaz swept the broken 8-track back into the bag and scurried off, Noogie shrugged at Stan. “He told me HE had the good stuff, Stan. The Noog-man ain't lyin' or he's dyin'.”

“He'll be dyin' if this other dude doesn't show his face soon.” Stan softened his voice. “I mean come ON, Noogie. An 8-track for God's sake? I'll bet he stole it from his sister's El Camino.”

“How'd you know Rosalita had an El Camino? She gonna beat his narrow ass for sure now.” Noogie was about to go on when the door opened and a kid with some of the same facial lines and way meaner eyes came in.

“I hear you in the market for high-end audio gear.”

“If that's another beat to shit 8-track, just turn your ass around and head for the door.”

“Oh, it ain't that. I don't know what that fool kid brother of mine tried to sell you, but I got the real deal right here.”

Noogie piped up. “See? I told you the real deal was comin' in like Magic Johnson for a layup. The Noog-man don't lie.”

Estoban looked at Noogie and his face curled like he'd just smelled something he stepped in. “Why don't you go play with the keyboards or something? The man and I got business.”

Noogie started to puff up, then deflated like a beach ball shot by a .45. “There's one over in the corner I had my eye on anyhow.”

Once Noogie was occupied, Estoban set a yellow and purple Lakers gym bag on the counter and unzipped it. Stan kept his hand close to the butt of his Browning Hi-Power until he saw the black metal cases and flashy plastic face panels inside. “Now this here's worth your time, my man. Kenwood. Alpine. Even got a Bose in here. And they weren't pried out by no damned crowbar. Stereo ain't worth shit if you can't put it in your ride. And these were all professionally, uh...”

“Uninstalled is the word you want.” Stan grinned.

“Yeah, man. Totally professionally uninstalled. They go straight into your ride like they just came outa the box.”

“Except they didn't, did they?' Stan raised his hand. “Now that might be a problem for some of my competitors, but here at King's Pawn we respect the entrepreneur.” He saw Estoban's blank expression. “Independent businessman. The little guy going toe-to-toe with the malls and chain stores. Problem is, I can't give you full price for 'em. I have to rebox and all that, and that cuts into my profits.”

“Yeah, I get it. See, thing is I don't want to sit on inventory too long.”

“Sure, sure. You can only fit so many stereos in that bag before it starts getting heavy and making clanking noises and attracting cops. I feel your pain.” Stan looked at the selection of five car stereos. Whoever actually pulled them both knew their bands and how to get them out of a car without cutting too many wires. He doubted it was Estoban. “But this might be your lucky day. I know a guy upstate who's looking for more of these. If I sell to him, we make a bit more. Problem is he wants more than this.”

Estoban looked from Stan to the stereos and back again. “How much more?”

“I gotta call and see. Thing is, if we don't go through him you're looking at about a hundred bucks less. Per stereo.” He shrugged. “Economy's bad around here. And the cops been sniffing around. Resale market ain't what it used to be.”

“When will you know?”

“Tomorrow. Brands and quantities.” Stan grinned. “And so you don't walk outa here empty handed, I'll give you three hundred for the Bose.” He was about to go on when the door swung open and things got more complicated.

“Joo mus' see this man. He is the master of entreprenurial reallocations. The selling of things that, shall we say, joo jus' happened to find on jore way home.”

“Izzy, man, I told you I stole the shit.” The kid with Izzy couldn't have been more than sixteen. Wiry and dark-skinned, his eyes darted from one corner of the store to the other. “Right outa this dude's Beemer, man.”

“Joo mean joo found it on the sidewalk next to some car joo never seen before in jore life. An' being a good sanitatrian, joo brought it to King's Pawn.” Izzy grinned up at Stan, his sunglasses glittering almost as much as his teeth.

Estoban glared. “I was here first, you little fruit.”

“Hey! Joo don' say that. The ladies love Izzy Moreno. I am the 'Emingway of lower Miami, my friend.”

“Guys, relax. I think I can work with both of you.” Stan looked at the stereo the kid held up, seeing it had been removed with the same care and attention to detail as Estoban's had been. Different guys, but the same supplier. I'd bet my limited edition blue suede shoes on it. “You both got good stuff.” He looked down at the kid. “This all you got?”

“Naw, man. Izzy said a sample first.”

“Then I'll tell you what I just told him. I got a guy upstate who can move volume. Your cut's better that way. See, I can only get you two-fifty for this now. Let me know about quantity and I talk to my buddy and that can go up to three.” He paused, sizing the kid up. “If you need cash now it's two-fifty. But you can still go bulk if you come back with more.” He raised his hand. “Same goes for you, Estoban. The King don't play favorites.”

“How soon you gonna know?”

“Tomorrow. Next day at the latest.” Reaching into the cash drawer, Stan counted out the bills. “There you go, gentlemen. Two more satisfied customers.” He swept the car stereos under the counter before they could do something stupid like grab for them. It wouldn't have been the first time.

The second they left, Izzy turned to Noogie. “Joo sneak! Where did joo find that...that walking greasetrap? That blot on the backside of humanity. That...”

“Aw cut the crap, Izzy. You got no class, so the Noog-man beat your ass!” Noogie grinned and snapped his overlong fingers in Izzy's face. The little Cuban started puffing up like a rooster, and Stan could barely keep from doubling over in laughter.

But he still had a job to do. “You two bozos knock it off. Now I wanna know where you found those two. Hold out on me and the deal's off.”

Larry came out of the back room, smiling from ear to ear. “We got enough to get 'em both, Stan. No question.”

“Yeah, but did you see those stereos? The same guy pulled 'em. I'd bet my 'Heartbreak Hotel' single on it. Same cuts, same attention to detail. Yet they come in with two different scumbags. Being led by our scumbags. So out with it, boys. Where did you find them?”

Noogie looked like a five year old caught stealing cookies. His eyes were downcast and he shuffled from foot to foot. “That kid came up to me, man. I swear! Most of these boys know the Noog-man as a mover and a shaker. I seen Estoban a time or two around the way, but I didn't know that kid was his brother. He musta wanted to make sure you were cool before showin' his face, you dig?”

Izzy was defiant. “Joo t'ink I go around getting kids to steal stereos? Switek, I'm disappointed in joo, meng. I am a devotee of the entrepenurialist spirit.”

“Izzy, you moron, the same person stole those stereos and gave 'em to those kids to fence. Well, maybe not the 8-track. I think that idiot did that on his own. Estoban didn't steal those stereos, and that Michael Jackson wannabe you brought in didn't steal his, either.”

Larry nodded, giving the slow blink he used when Stan knew his brain was working overtime. “How did you find those kids? Stick up a sign in the corner store that said 'losers wanted – no experience necessary'?”

“Naw, man. The one came up to the Noog-man when I was purchasing some liquid refreshment.”

“So he found you in a liquor store. Sounds about right.” Larry grinned. “Now what's your excuse, Izzy?”

“I was sitting on a bench, pondering the meaning of life an' how to get ahead, when that kid comes up an' asks if I knew a good pawn shop.” Izzy slapped his chest, a look of outrage on his face. “Do joo think I'd know where a good pawn shop was?”

“No. A bad one, yes. But not a good one.” Larry shook his head. “Someone sent those kids to these goofballs. Meaning...”

“Meaning our bait's working just fine. Now we just gotta move up the food chain to whoever's doing the pointing.”

“I think we already did. At least one of them.”

“Yeah. That punk Estoban. We'll probably see the other one tomorrow.” Stan looked at Izzy and Noogie as if seeing them for the first time. “What are you two waiting around for? We start up again tomorrow.” Dipping into the drawer, he handed them both twenty dollar bills. “A bonus for brining something in the first day. And you didn't even get shot at.”

Once the two informants left, Stan locked the front door and turned off the main lights. “I think we're onto something here, Larry.”

“Shouldn't we just give what we have to the lieutenant?”

“Why? So we can go back to pushbroom duty?” Stan flashed his best winning smile. Usually it fell short, but it was what he had. “Come on, Lar. Why settle for crumbs when we got a shot at the whole loaf this time? But if it gets too big I promise we'll tell the lieutenant.” He slapped Larry's shoulder. “Now let's get this place locked up and go have us a beer or two.”

 

Sonny Crockett finished giving their case update with a smirk plastered on his face. “So six shots of Jack later we got the little worm spinning on the bar stool. Got a good lead on where the Mendozas are bringing their next shipment in, but we still gotta run it down.”

Tubbs nodded, backing up the story. “It's good stuff, lieutenant. We just need to play it out a little bit.”

Stan looked at Larry and winked. Yeah...play out a few more drinks and then come up empty and claim the bad guys must have changed the location. Try playing a different tune, Crockett! He looked down at his notes to hide the look he knew was building on his face. If he couldn't hide his feelings, Stan was damned good at deflecting attention from them.

Gina stopped making doe-eyes at Sonny and gave her update. “Things are pretty quiet around 54^th and Second, lieutenant. Trudy and I were wanting to shift south a bit. There's been talk of a new pimp starting to work the area.”

Castillo looked up from his own notes. “Do it. Coordinate with Patrol and Gorman so you have back-up on hand. Switek and Zito are still on the pawn shop.”

Sonny laughed. “And how's that going, girls?”

“Well, your mom tried to pawn her wedding ring again, but we had to turn her down. Again.” Stan grinned. “We keep telling her it's not a real diamond but she won't listen.” He turned to Castillo. “We put two CIs out to shake the trees, and we had a couple of bites. We'd like to keep playing it, lieutenant.”

“Explain.”

Larry nodded. “Both these punks were sent to our CIs by someone. Different kids, totally different looks, but the stereos were all pulled the same way. Professionally. Someone took the time to pull them so they could be reused, not just pawned to the first moron for drug money.”

“We told them we had an upstate buyer who could deal in bulk, but we'd need more than the one or two they brought in. Their eyes got all big and they said they'd be back tomorrow.” Stan leaned back in his chair. “I think we might be onto a ring.”

Tubbs winked. “Better make sure it's not fake, then.”

Castillo shot one of his stares down the table. “It makes sense. This latest wave of thefts has been too coordinated. Always going after high-end gear and with very little destruction of property. Stay on it. And nice work.”

Larry slapped Stan on the back hard enough to make the bigger man wince as they left the briefing room. “Nice work, Stan! Did you see the look on their faces?”

“Yeah. Now we just gotta come through. They'd love to rub our noses in it if the whole thing goes south.”

“We won't, buddy. You got a feeling about this, and your feelings ain't often wrong.”

Stan thought about it, feeling the warmth of the sun through his polyester pants as they headed out to Bertha. “You know, I think you're right, Lar. Now all I gotta do is invent some dude from upstate in case they want to meet him.”

“What about Lester? He's always wanting to get out of the lab, and he hates running the broom as much as we do.”

“Great minds think alike! I'll put in a request tomorrow.” Bertha fired up with a reluctant backfire and they lurched into traffic. “First I want to make sure these bozos actually show up again.”

King's Pawn hadn't been open five minutes before Izzy Moreno put in an appearance. Larry shrugged and handed over his five. “I was sure it would be Noogie.”

“Izzy ain't got Anne to wear him out.” Stan chuckled and stuffed the bill into the breast pocket of his Hawaiian shirt. He'd gone with the pink and purple parrots today, just to draw attention away from the blue pants and bowling shoes. Maybe some day they'll let us raid the clothes that weren't recovered from a '70s porno set. “Hey, Izzy! What the hell you doing in here soaking up our AC?”

“Switek! Joo of all people mus' know art takes time, meng! Joo know, the pearls of art dripping from my brow...”

“That's just sweat. And it's getting on the guitars. If you're gonna drip like a wet dog, do it over by the clothes rack. Hell, you might even find a new suit over there.”

“Joo pain me! Thees suit is the heart of style! The very soul of fashion!”

“Maybe for a disco king in 1976. Seriously, man, you gotta update your look.”

“Joo shouldn't talk, Switek. Joo look like jore bowling league just got canceled.”

“You got a point. Hell, we can't all be pretty boys, can we?” Stan chuckled. “Still, don't sweat on the guitars. They at least sell.”

Larry came out from behind the counter. “And you still haven't said why you're here. They kick you out of the canasta tournament down at the Flamingo again?”

“Vicious rumors spread by those with lesser skills an' no flair for drama.”

“The way I hear it they caught you using a mirror. I mean come on, Izzy. Some of those old guys probably worked casino security in Havana before Castro. You've lucky they didn't just kill you.”

“Maybe they tried. But like the bulls of Pamploma I am swift on my footsies. No old man's gonna catch Izzy Moreno!” He rubbed his knuckles across the front of his jacket, then looked down as if just realizing how dirty it was. “Anyhow, joo have me here because I got word on more vandalizations going down. High end car audiomatics ending up in the wrong hands, if joo get my meaning.”

“Not really.” Stan looked at Larry. “You think he's feeding us a line about how he knows where there are more stolen stereos?”

Larry scratched his head as if deep in thought and nodded. “Seems like it to me. But that means Noogie should be here any moment with the same story.”

Not five minutes later Noogie Lamonte sauntered in, glaring when he saw Izzy pawing through the jackets on the clothes racks. “Aw man! The Noog-man shows up with news you can use and you got this cat drippin' his sweat all over the fine threads. Makes me wanna shed a tear.”

“Let me guess.” Stan looked up from a ring he'd been peering at through a jeweler's lobe. He didn't know anything about them, but he figured he should try to look the part just in case a real customer came in. “You got a line on some more stolen stereos.”

“Not only the goods, if you can dig what the Noog-man's sayin', but the man who be liftin' the goods. It takes an artiste to make those moves, and I know a cat like that. Met him at Radford back when I had that little misunderstanding about how old a sweet young thang was.”

“Don't jerk us around, Noogie. It's too damned hot and Izzy smells too bad.”

“That is the sweat from the testiculars of a Pomploma bull, Switek! Disenfranchised by hand, I might add.”

“What you do with livestock in your off time is your problem. I just don't wanna smell it.” Stan looked hard at Noogie, trying to see his eyes behind the damned pink sunglasses. “And take those hooker glasses off. I wanna see if you're lying or not.”

“If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'. And the Noog-man is pretty upright, but not uptight.”

“This figment of your imagination got a name? Something we can run to see if you're telling the truth?”

“Cat goes by the street name of Slick, but his real name's some strange Mexican thing. Gustavo something. Let me think...Mendoza. That's it. Gustavo Mendoza.”

Larry came out of the back room like he'd been shot from a cannon. “This Gustavo got any relatives?”

“Now that you mention it, I think he does. Cousins or some such. Not that the Noog-man goes pryin' into other cat's family affairs.”

Larry shot Stan a look. “Don't worry about it. Is this Slick looking to get in on the bulk deal?” He raised his hand. “And don't say a damned word, Izzy. Not one.”

“Maybe. I don't know what the cat knows. I just heard he was out an' about, and there's only one line of work that keeps him occupied. I did hear he was steppin' up his game a bit, though.”

“That might account for the two punks with stereos.” Stan looked long and hard at Larry before turning back to Izzy and Noogie. “You two get back out there. See what you can hear without drawing any attention to yourselves. I know you can do that when you want to, and you'd damned well better want to right now. Your bonus is doubled if you get what we need.”

Once the two headed out to the street, getting stuck in the door as they both tried to run out at the same time, Stan chuckled. “I know there's like a ton of Mendozas running around, but didn't the pair the pretty boys are after have a cousin named Gustavo?”

“I think so. Heard he was small time wanting to be big time, but the brothers didn't trust him enough to let him in the family business. Maybe he wants to show them he can run his own thing and turn a profit doing it.”

“Not a word about this back at the shop until we're sure, Larry. But we gotta get Lester now. I might have him come from out of state. Georgia or something. Then we can add conspiracy to transport stolen property across state lines to his dance card.”

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Maybe so, partner. They've always wanted someone in the Mendoza organization. We might have just found that someone.”

Castillo balked a bit at first, but Stan was persistent. He'd learned long ago that he had a knack for wearing people down if he just kept at it, using facts and common sense instead of temper tantrums like Crockett and Tubbs. “If we get the guy on tape wanting to ship these stereos to Georgia, we can tack a few other charges on. Larry's checking his record now, but if Noogie's right and he's already done a stretch in Radford he'd be looking at Federal time. I can't see him wanting to do Federal time.”

“And you want Lester to pose as the buyer?”

“Yeah, I mean yes, lieutenant. He'd just have to stand there and look stubborn until the price was right. No real undercover stuff at all. I think he can handle it. And Larry and I will be there, too. We'll have the meet in King's Pawn, in front of the cameras and everything.”

“And if he doesn't bite?”

“He will.” Stan put more confidence in his voice than he actually had about the plan. “If we're right and he's trying to impress his cousins he'll have to make a big score. Dealing in stolen merch isn't like drugs. He has to come to us, and deal on our terms. No one else in town is going to touch the kind of quantity he's sitting on, so he's got no leverage. It's all our game.”

Castillo looked down at the top of his desk. Stan hated it when he did that. It reminded him of those teachers who wanted to write him up for defending himself. But with Castillo you never knew what he was going to do. Lou you could read. The man wore his emotions on his sleeve, but he wasn't always fair. Castillo was impossible to read, but Stan had tremendous faith in his fairness. Whatever he decided, he'd make that decision based on what was best for the squad or the mission as a whole, not just who he happened to like more than day. Even so, his eyes were unreadable when he looked up. “Do it. You'll have Lester as long as you need him. And we won't mention the operation until it's concluded, Switek. You and Zito have total control.”

Stan felt his face going red, and he stammered out a reply. “Thanks...thanks a lot, lieutenant. We won't let you down.”

Larry was pacing in the empty briefing room outside the office. “Out with it! What did he...”

“We got Lester. And total control. He's not going to brief it until we're done!” Stan grinned, pumping Larry's hand. “We got our own operation. Now we just have to not screw it up.”

“We'd better get back down there and open up again. Just in case those damned kids show up.”

“Larry! YOU were supposed to stay there while I came back here! Shit!” Stan turned and headed for the door. “If anyone asks the john backed up and we had to fix it.”

It was close to dusk when the skinny kid and Estoban made it back to King's Pawn. Stan was taking his turn in the back room, letting Larry run the counter while he flipped through back issues of Newsweek and Penthouse. Sitting up straight, he turned on the video camera and let the tape roll.

Larry didn't miss a beat when they got to the counter. “So you wanna move bulk, do you?”

“Where's the other guy?” Estoban looked around, his eyes narrowing.

“Fixing the john. Damned thing backed up earlier and his sister's a plumber. Anyhow, what you got to deal with?”

“He said...”

“I know what he said. We're partners, right?” Larry looked at the kid who was shifting from one foot to the other like he had to piss. “Bathroom's for staff only, pal. So if you gotta drain the lizard you'd better go down the street.”

“Naw, man. I just wanna know if your dude upstate is into bulk like the cat yesterday said.”

“He is. And he's got some other places he can sell.” Larry leaned forward like he was about to tell them a secret. “The thing is, he don't like too many faces at a meeting. He wants to meet with your boss.”

The kid looked at Estoban. “I don' know, G. Slick ain't into that sit-down shit.”

“He might haveta be if he wants to move those stereos.” Estoban gave Larry a knowing look. “So this friend's big time, then?”

“He moves merch from here to Atlanta and back whenever he wants. Good markets in Georgia for this kind of stuff, if you know the right people. And he knows the right people.”

“You know men do these deals face to face, right?”

“That's why he's gonna be in town tomorrow. Not for long, though. He's got business up the coast.” In the back Stan sat transfixed, magazines forgotten. Don't screw this up, Larry he shouted in his head at the monitor. We only get one shot! Don't... “He'll be here about this time, I'd say. Daylight's not his thing. Get your boss to come in with more samples and we'll see what we can work out. He liked the sound of it over the phone, but like you said...men do their business face-to-face.”

Stan could barely contain himself once the two punks headed back out to the street. He almost skipped out of the back room, then caught himself and slowed to a more measured jog. “Nicely done, Larry! Couldn't have done it better myself.”

“I learned from the best, Stan.” Larry grinned and slapped him on the back. “Looks like those two knuckleheads earned their pay this time out, though.”

“Yeah. Who'd have thought Heckle and Jeckel could reel in the cousin of the Mendoza brothers? You did pull his file, right?”

“Who do you think you're talking to? Of course I did! He's their cousin on the mother's side. It's always been the weaker side of the family, or so street lore has it. Old Gustavo's been trying to impress his cousins for years. Did his first stretch inside after he tried to rob a liquor store and tripped over his own bag of loot trying to get away. But it turns out his is a bit of an artist when it comes to break-ins and burglary. He's got a string of 'maybe he did this' notes in the file but they could never make anything stick.”

“Malone's no slouch over there, either, so it ain't sloppy police work. The punk's just good at what he does,” Stan said with a grin. “Too bad for him we're better at what we do.”

“Now we just gotta hope the lieutenant keeps his word about Lester.”

“He will. He's not Lou. Crockett can't butter him up.” Stan shook his head. “I don't think anyone can butter Martin Castillo up.”

 

The morning bidding conference went as usual until Sonny and Rico tried to get Lester. “We need someone to run the tapes on this meet,” Sonny said with a whine in his voice. “Since those two,” he waved a dismissive hand at Stan and Larry, “are busy that means Lester.”

“You'll work with Ernie. Lester's on assignment.”

“Ernie? Come on, lieutenant. He usually smells of ass and last week's chili. No way we can work with him.”

“It's not open for discussion. If you want tapes, you work with Ernie.” Castillo looked at his notes. “Next.”

Rico tried his luck next. “This could be an important meet, lieutenant.”

“Or another dry hole. Ernie needs more experience, and he's not getting that in the lab. That's all. Get to work.”

“You were right.” Larry handed Stan another five. “I gotta stop doing this.”

“Never bet against the master, Larry.” Stan tucked the money in his pants pocket. Now if my luck was only this good with the dogs. Damned mutts anyhow. “So I talked to Lester earlier, and he'll meet us at the shop around three to go over the plan and check equipment. So we got some time to watch Viva Las Vegas on the big screen and make sure Izzy and Noogie don't ruin everything for us.”

“How you gonna work that miracle?”

“Easy.” Stan chuckled and eased Bertha into the mid-morning traffic. “I'll give 'em each a fifty and tell them their work is done.”

 

Noogie looked from Stan to the cash in his hand and back again. “All this for workin' the Noog-man's magic? Damn.”

“You'll get the rest tomorrow. That's a bonus. Don't spend it all at Rizzo's, Noogie.”

“Aw, Stan. I don't go there so much after Annie caught me checkin' make sure one of the girls wasn't stuffin' her top.” Noogie grinned and slipped on his sunglasses. The pink ones had been replaced by a pair in baby blue, and his leather pants were black with red stripes down the sides.

Izzy stuffed the fifty into the pocket of his tux jacket. “Joo know I work hard for joo guys, right? Izzy Moreno don't slack off on no jobs for his buddies Switek and Zito.”

“Right, right. Now beat it. I'll see you both tomorrow.” Stan waved his hand like he was shooing away flies. Lester was due in soon, and he didn't want them hanging around asking annoying questions and generally getting in the way.”

They milled around in front of the counter for a couple more minutes then hit the streets, realizing Stan was serious about waiting until tomorrow. Behind him, Larry let out a long sigh. “I wasn't sure if those two goofballs were going to get the hint.”

“Neither was I.” Stan shook his head. They were annoying as hell, but he couldn't be too mad at them. Not this time at least. They'd brought him and Larry a Mendoza cousin on a platter. Or at least they'd baited the hook. Now they just had to land him.

Lester rolled in just after three, his eyes wide even behind his sunglasses. “Wow! You guys get to work in here all day?”

“Yeah. It ain't all it's cracked up to be, though. Wait till the first time some wino reeking of last week's piss comes in wanting to pawn some crap he lifted out of a trash can.” Stan shook his head. “But you'd be amazed how many cases start in pawn shops like this.”

Larry nodded. “Stan's not bullshitting you, Lester. Bad guys have to offload what they steal somewhere, and that's where we come in.”

“Now we gotta get you ready. You're gonna be Lester, so you won't get confused about your name.” Stan smiled. “Trust me, it's easier that way. Anyhow, you're down here from Atlanta where you got a string of car stereo shops. And friends further north with the same thing. You also got a stake in a shop in Lauderdale. All you gotta do is mention Atlanta or Lauderdale a time or two and you'll be fine.”

“OK...” Lester nodded, and Stan could see the growing panic in his eyes as he slipped off the sunglasses.

“No, Lester.” Larry's voice was low. “Leave the glasses on. It's better if they can't see your eyes. Anyhow, just relax and follow Stan's lead. I'll be in the back on the equipment, and we've got a unit on backup not too far out if we need one.”

“All you gotta do is be cool like the King and act like you got tons of money to spend on inventory and you don't care where it comes from. This guy's trying to impress his cousins, so he'll talk bigger than he is. Threaten to walk out once or twice. He'll cave.”

They ran through it a few times, Stan taking the role of Gustavo and pushing Lester. To his surprise, Lester gave as good as he got, settling into the role by the second run through. On the fourth take Stan knew he was ready.

Larry nodded. “You got this guy down, Lester. Now we just hang out and wait for them to show. Hope you like Elvis.” He shook his head. “I lost a bet. It's hard to explain.”

“There should be two punk kids with him. Maybe one or two more, but I'll send them packing. As soon as he comes in, Larry will radio the backup to stand ready. That means about two minutes out. If it gets hairy, I'll use the line 'blue suede shoes' somewhere. That means Larry will tell them to come running.”

“What do I do? I don't have a gun.”

“Act like you're being arrested if it comes to that. That way Gustavo won't know you're working with us. Odds are you won't have to do this again, but I don't see any point in burning what might be a decent cover down the line.”

Streetlights were just starting to flicker on when the bell over the door clanged, announcing the arrival of Gustavo Mendoza. He wasn't much to look at, Stan thought. A skinny kid with longish hair and a thin mustache that looked like he glued it in place every morning. His jeans were too tight and his shirt too long, and he looked like a kid who thought he was quite a bit tougher than he really was. Estoban came with him, but the other kid wasn't there. In his place was another skinny Hispanic kid Gustavo must have thought passed for muscle. Estoban carried a duffle bag that looked almost full.

“Hey, Estoban. This must be the guy you told us about. Welcome to King's Pawn, the land of dreams coming true. This is my pal, Lester. I told him you might have some merchandise he'd be interested it.”

Lester leaned against the counter. “Don't waste my time, Stan. There's at least one lady I want to look up in town before I have to run up to Lauderdale.”

Stan looked at Gustavo. “You heard the man. What do you got?”

“Hold on here. I set the rules.”

“No. You don't. It's my shop, and Lester's my friend. Not yours. We all want to do business, to make some money, right? Then don't play games.”

Lester shook his head. “I don't think this kid has the stones to make a deal like this work, Stan. Too small time.”

Gustavo's eyes flashed anger. He snatched the duffle bag from Estoban and dumped at least thirty car stereos on the counter. “Does that look small time to you, big man?”

Lester looked at Stan and smiled. Stan could have hugged him. “Yeah, it kinda does. But it's ok for starters. I can move those in Lauderdale no problem. Atlanta's gonna take more than that, kid.”

“How much more?”

“Three times that many. I pay three hundred each. So long as they're top of the line. You don't like it, we can stop wasting time.”

Gustavo shook his head. “I dunno. That's a lot a cars.”

“Too small time.” Lester shook his head. “I'm outa here.”

“Wait! What I meant is that's a lotta cars for a small-time punk.” He tapped himself on the chest with his thumb. “I can do it, though. Gustavo Mendoza can do this no problem.” He waved his hand as Estoban started to protest. “Don't be small time, amigo. This is our break. Our way to the top.” He looked at the stereos on the counter. “So three hundred each?”

“Yeah.” Lester reached into his bag and pulled out the buy money. Stan snickered as Gustavo's eyes went wide taking in the fifties and hundreds on display. “How many he got there, Stan?”

“Twenty seven that are good. Four some moron busted up too much for them to have resale.” Stan shot a glare at Estoban just for show. “So that's...”

“Tell you what. Good faith money.” Lester peeled off a thick stack of hundreds. “Nine grand even. I'll expect the next delivery in a week's time. Don't be late.”

“Yeah. Lester's very into punctual.” Stan watched as Gustavo counted the money, or pretended to, before stuffing the thick wad into his jacket. “Buy a lot of blue suede shoes with that bread.”

“I don't care about shoes. I ain't that damned crazy Cuban always trying to scam the old folks.” Gustavo puffed up his chest. “It's about respect. About making my name and earning my way into the family business. It's about...”

“Metro-Dade police! You're all under arrest for conspiracy to sell stolen goods.” The officer in the doorway covered them with his service revolver until his parter came in with the regulation shotgun. “Our tip paid off,” he said with a smirk. “Get the cuffs on 'em and keep them quiet until reinforcements get here.”

The cop with the shotgun nodded, swinging it to cover Gustavo. “Don't get any wild ideas, kid.”

Lester turned on Stan with a rage that could have been real. “You dumb bastard! Why'd you set me up with a snitch?”

“Snitch? I ain't no snitch! Who you...”

The metallic sound of the shotgun being racked cut through all voices and brought silence to the room. “Good choice. Now everyone just stay quiet and calm until we get you transported.”

 

Larry Zito shook his head and handed Stan another five. “There you go. Under ten minutes. I would have thought Gustavo could have held out longer.”

“Thank you very much.” Stan pocketed the money with a grin. “He might have against anyone else. But not against Lieutenant Castillo and with a Federal beef in the bargain. Guess he'd rather be a live snitch than someone's bitch in prison.”

The door to the observation room opened and Sonny Crockett burst in, his blazer unbuttoned. “What the hell is this I hear about a Mendoza snitch?” He looked around, glaring at both Stan and Larry. “If this is your idea of some damned joke I'll turn you into gator chow.”

Stan just smiled and pointed to the window. “Meet Gustavo Mendoza. Cousin to your elusive prom dates. He's facing Federal charges for conspiracy to transport stolen goods over state lines. The lieutenant just signed him on as a CI.”

“What? You two bozos managed to turn a Mendoza? I don't believe it.”

“They did.” Castillo came out of the interrogation room with a signed CI contract. “Gustavo Mendoza is ours now.” He turned to Stand and Larry. “Outstanding work. Switek, Zito, you're both to be commended. Lester, too.”

“Come on, Larry. Let's go buy Lester a lap dance. I think he's ready for one.” Stan brushed by Crockett, ignoring the detective's angry glare. “And try not to burn our informant for once, ok? He's a punk but he's our punk.” It was petty, but it felt damned good after all the crap he'd taken from Crockett over the years. For once Bluto and Lee Harvey Oswald had come out on top.

[Matt5]

Great post - Thankyou for all effort here - a great read.

[mjcmmv]

Loved it! You had Noogie and Izzy's dialogue down pat!

Like Matt said, this was a great read!

[Matt5]

1 hour ago, mjcmmv said:

Loved it! You had Noogie and Izzy's dialogue down pat!

Like Matt said, this was a great read!

Thankyou yes definately - the Noog man dialogue was great.

[Robbie C.]

Thanks all. Noogie and Izzy are both fun to write, but for different reasons. 

[vicegirl85]

I really loved this one!  I think you got each character just right, and the pace was great.  I also enjoyed the humor.  Even though I am a Crockett fan, it was great to see him from the POV of Stan and Larry.  Great story!

[Robbie C.]

I thought it would be interesting to see how Crockett and Tubbs look from the outside. Turns out they can be real jerks... And I'm a Crockett fan as well.

One thing that's been interesting about this whole thing is getting into the motivations of each character and seeing what makes them tick and filling in holes more often than not. Not sure what I'm gonna do next, or if there will be a next. Still a bit drained from the whole TMTC/Echoes thing.

[Matt5]

7 hours ago, Robbie C. said:

I thought it would be interesting to see how Crockett and Tubbs look from the outside. Turns out they can be real jerks... And I'm a Crockett fan as well.

One thing that's been interesting about this whole thing is getting into the motivations of each character and seeing what makes them tick and filling in holes more often than not. Not sure what I'm gonna do next, or if there will be a next. Still a bit drained from the whole TMTC/Echoes thing.

Interesting perspective - and great work!