B-U-R-N-E-Double T

[Robbie C.]

Just a quick little stab at how Burnett might have started making the jump from another fun guy with a fast boat to the cartel-smashing machine we see in the Burnett Arc. It's set between Season 2 and Season 3 with a bit of foreshadowing thrown in.

 

“Aw, come on, Burnett! You gotta do better than that.”

Sonny Crockett looked the man up and down, his eyes invisible behind the dark RayBans. Reaching into his gray blazer he pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes and a battered old Zippo. Drawing the smoke in deep, he kept looking at the man, his body language giving away nothing of his thoughts.

It had been a risk coming out here without Tubbs, but he felt comfortable taking that risk. He’d been working this bozo for weeks, normally on his own after hours. A hunch at first, but it was starting to look like it might pay off. Taking a last drag, he sent the cigarette spinning into the canal. “I think you’d best reconsider your position, Roscoe.”

“Reconsider, hell! We had a deal.”

“Until you changed the rules.” Sonny brought his hands together and then flung them open like an explosion. “Poof! Deal’s gone. It’s that damned simple.”

“You need this run.”

“No, man. I don’t. I got guys waitin’ in line for that Cigarette boat of mine, and they don’t dick me around when it comes to the load or the pay. Your load goes up, so does my commission. Simple, pal.” Before he would have smiled to make his point, but lately he’d just been stonewalling them. Freezing on what he’d come to think of as his Burnett face. No expression except for maybe a sneer of disdain. It was a new approach for him, and so far it had paid off. But Roscoe would be the first big test.

“Simple for you, maybe.”

That’s it. Something whispered in his head, and Sonny listened. Turning, he started back toward the parking lot. “We’re done here, pal.”

He heard shoes thudding on the concrete behind him, and Roscoe grabbed his arm. “You can’t, man!”

Something tripped then. Sonny wasn’t sure what, couldn’t put a name to it, but then he realized the Bren 10 was in his hand, the barrel jammed under Roscoe’s chin. “Don’t ever come up on me like that again. You know the terms. Do we have a deal or not?”

Roscoe’s eyes went wide, and his legs sagged at the knees. “Sure, man, sure! You can put the cannon away. I just wanted to make sure you was serious is all. The commission’s fair. No question. Especially since I hear you always deliver.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.” Sonny waited five seconds before stuffing the big stainless steel pistol back in his shoulder rig. “Or maybe not. I’ll hold your spot for twenty-four hours. Call me when you’re ready to move.”

“You…you got it, man.” Roscoe stiff-legged it back down toward the water, and Sonny got a whiff of something that might have crawled out of an outhouse. He wanted to chuckle but didn’t. Sonny Burnett wouldn’t laugh. Not the new Sonny Burnett.

 

Ricardo Tubbs threw his head back and laughed. “You mean the chump actually shit himself?”

Sonny nodded. “That or a big ol’ clump of raw sewage just happened to float by in the canal. Switek and Zito might have it on tape if the wire didn’t crap out like ol’ Roscoe did.”

Larry looked up from his report. “Yeah, we got it, Sonny. Quality ain’t too good ‘cause you were too close to the water. All that marine band chatter.”

“So long as it’s good enough for court.” Sonny nodded his thanks. Larry and Stan were strange rangers, no question, but their gadgets were a big help in court and with getting warrants. “Stan have any luck setting up the boat?”

“Stan sure as hell did.” Stan Switek came through the squad room door, tool kit in one hand and a sandwich in the other. “You can record everything within fifty feet clear as a bell. Goes down when you got those two monster engines run-in’, but if you’re in the boat it should be fine.”

Sonny nodded, leaning back and thinking about the day’s work. The meet was supposed to have been the final arrangements for the run, but then Roscoe pulled his little stunt. And that was when something snapped.

Ever since his run-in with Callie and her thug Charlie, Sonny had been looking to beef up Burnett a bit. He’d been able to handle Charlie, but the thought that they considered Burnett an easy mark bothered him. He smiled, thinking back to the comment Leon had made about him upping his status a bit. Maybe it was time he did. So he’d started playing Burnett tougher. Colder. Sneering when he might have snickered before. And he found it was starting to tap into something he kept buried in himself. A feeling…

“Sonny?”

“Yeah? Sorry, Rico. I was thinking about how to move his product.”

“You’re gonna go through with it?”

“Sure. Can’t have the guy fill his shorts for nothing, can we?” That and Sonny knew he just couldn’t have Burnett disappear. Not after that kind of display. He knew Roscoe would talk, and word of Burnett’s new status would be spreading even now.

“It’s not much of a buy, Sonny.”

“That’s not the point, Rico. I…I mean Burnett came on strong out there today. I gotta follow it up if I want to sustain the cover.”

“Yeah, I get it.” But Sonny could see doubt in his partner’s eyes. But he didn’t care. This was about making a name for Burnett and using it as a springboard to bigger things. Maybe the Mendoza brothers. They’d never look twice at the old Burnett, just another jokin’ and smokin’ redneck with a fast boat and a faster mouth. But the new Burnett…that was a different breed of a cat entirely. One that might just have a way in to the Mendozas. “I’m looking at the long game now. The Mendozas.”

“And you think this nickle-and-dime deal is a way in?” Rico folded his arms across his Armani-clad chest and leaned back in his chair.

From the corner of his eye Sonny could see Stan and Larry watching the discussion. “Not all at once, no. But if I can get Burnett into the next league, they might start taking notice. “

“What’s your plan for securing the cocaine?” As always Martin Castillo seemed to appear out of thin air, even though Sonny knew he was just in his office.

“We have the State Police conduct surveillance of the second transfer point. They can grab it at any point after that and Roscoe will point the finger at the next link in the chain. With some help from Burnett, of course. I’ve already got a call in with Sergeant Gunnerson of their Narcotics squad. We get them the location and just sit back.”

“Where’s Tubbs during all this?”

“On the bench.” Rico snorted. “The Lone Ranger here’s goin’ it alone.”

Sonny felt the weight of Castillo’s stare. “I don’t like it. But play it out. Remember - those narcotics must not hit the streets. That’s my priority.”

Once Castillo turned back to his office, Sonny looked over at Rico. “Look, partner. Once I get this locked in with Roscoe I can set you up as a big buyer from New York. Get Cooper in the game. If Roscoe can’t get what you need, and I know he can’t, he’ll have to reach out to someone else. And that means the Mendozas or one of their competitors. This bozo just landed in my lap, and I gotta play it out.”

Rico shook his head, and Sonny wondered how much his partner knew. Roscoe hadn’t just landed in his lap. Sonny had been sniffing around the guy for a couple of weeks, getting a bit closer each time. He’d ended up with this load because he’d stuck the Bren 10 in another runner’s face and told him it was time for his yearly vacation to anywhere but here. “I’m no fool, Sonny. I know there’s more goin’ on here than you’re telling the lieutenant or me. But that’s ok. For now.”

“I’ll keep you in the loop, Rico. Burnett can’t carry the whole thing alone. Not once we hit that second load.”

“Thanks, partner. Anyhow, my plan’s to get him on tape when I pick up that first load, and then some of the chatter when I hand it off to the next guy. That’s when Gunnerson’s squad will take over and it’s out of our hair.”

“How big’s this load?”

“Ten keys. Maybe a bit more.”

Rico snorted. “Chump change.”

“Yeah, but it gets us in the door. Roscoe wants to move up, and to do that he’ll need Burnett and Cooper. No question.”

 

Driving back to the St. Vitus Dance, Sonny ran the plan back again in his mind. Downshifting the black Daytona, he slid in behind a gray station wagon and let the options float through his head. Roscoe wasn’t the only game in town when it came to building Burnett’s reputation, and he’d have to play the field a bit to get the image he wanted for his cover. That meant taking some chances.

The light changed, and he cut around the slower traffic. It still bothered him that Callie and Charlie had marked Burnett as weak enough to fall for their little con, but he wasn’t quite sure why. Still, it was a problem that needed to be fixed, especially if he was going to use Burnett against targets like the Mendozas. Rico had it easy…all he had to do was flash the cash and the more he had the more serious he looked.

Burnett…Burnett was a different proposition. He had to be built up as someone who could get the job done, and someone who needed to be feared. Being a small-time boat guy was one thing, but to move the kind of weight the Mendoza brothers dealt took a different kind of transportation guy. One with the brains and the connections to get the product moved, as well as the backbone to see the job through. Burnett couldn’t afford to be seen as a pushover, or even a guy who was willing to back down from time to time. No, he had to have a different kind of reputation.

Swinging into his parking place at the marina, Sonny turned it over in his head. He had to do this on his own, but also stay within department policy as much as he could. Castillo, he knew, would forgive much if the results were solid and he didn’t cut the wrong corners. For Burnett to have a chance with the Mendozas he had to build the cover up to the point that if Callie and Charlie came by again, they’d take one look and head the other way. But it also had to be gradual. If he moved too fast it would attract the wrong kind of attention.

Sinking into one of the saloon bench seats, Sonny poured himself a generous measure of Black Jack and looked at the world through the swirling amber liquid. Yeah, I know where this one has to go. And how it has to go down. The bourbon bit on the way down, and he poured another without thinking about it. Tomorrow was going to be a hell of a day.

Sonny was up with the sun, giving the Scarab’s motors a good going-over. Satisfied everything was in order, he closed the engine compartment and jumped over to the Dance. Fifteen minutes later he was showered and ready for the day.

He gave himself one last look in the mirror, making sure he was happy with the changes. Instead of his white or bright blazer he’d pulled on one in dark gray with a matching dark shirt. If Burnett was going to be his dark side he needed to dress the part. Reaching up, he buttoned the top button on the shirt. Precise. That was the look he wanted. To go with the mindset he’d worked out for Burnett after his fourth drink the night before. To move up, Burnett would be cold, precise, ruthless. But also confident.

He’d taken quite a bit of the idea from Castillo, honestly. The man was almost inhumanly precise and could be ruthless as hell when required. But he had a powerful moral compass to keep him in check. Sonny decided Burnett was going to be Castillo without the compass. It also appealed to a side of him that had faded during his football years, briefly rekindled during Boot Camp and his tours in Vietnam, and then slipped away as his life alternately bloomed and fell apart. He didn’t remember who’d said it now, but he liked to think it was one of his DIs, maybe even Gunnery Sergeant Thomas. A man always sees things through. That was the line. Sonny Crockett didn’t, not often at least, but Sonny Burnett sure as hell would.

Sliding on the RayBans, Sonny checked the fit of his Bren 10 one last time and headed topside. It wasn’t much of a walk to the Daytona, and he tried out a more confident swagger as he walked. Halfway to the car he shook his head. “Keep it simple,” he muttered. Rico’s the one who’s good with walks and voices. Me? I just do tough. Focus on that.

Roscoe called the car phone when he was halfway to OCB. “Hey, man. I thought about it. I need your boat, man.”

“Don’t know if my boat needs you. Same deal?”

“Yeah. No changes. Pick up at the spot we mentioned and then drop fifty miles up the coast. There’s an old marina around Lauderdale those people use.”

“Coordinates, Roscoe. I gotta plan for fuel. You don’t want to run out halfway back and have to hail the Coast Guard.”

Roscoe rattled off coordinates that Sonny scribbled on the back of his hand with a black Government Skillcraft pen. “Pick up’s at six. Half down, half when those boys take possession.”

“Fair enough. You called just in time, Roscoe. Had another offer come in last night, but I might want to talk to you about that one.” Sonny hung up before the man could say anything, a grin spreading over his face. Slowing down, he punched a number into the phone. “Stan? Yeah, it’s me. Look, can you get these coordinates to Sergeant Gunnerson?” He peered at the back of his hand and read them off. “We should be there sometime after seven tonight, but it could be earlier.”

Hanging up the phone he let the ‘new’ Burnett slide over him. Letting his face go cold and hard while his mind started puzzling through any number of scenarios for the meeting. Who he’d shoot first if Roscoe tried some kind of rip job. The same question turned to the people they were supposed to meet up around Lauderdale. He felt his mind slide without effort into the planning process, and it surprised him. But what also surprised him was the ruthlessness of what he was considering.

It all centered around getting the attention of the Mendoza brothers. One way or another. He knew they respected strength. Anything else was something to be exploited. And he didn’t want them looking at Sonny Burnett as something to be exploited. Pulling into his parking spot at OCB, he sat for a minute listening to the engine tick and feeling the heat building through his dark blazer. The whole thing would take time, but in the end it would be worth it.

Inside Rico was already at his desk banging away on the typewriter. He looked up with a thin grin. “Bout damned time you showed up, partner. Your half of the Galloway bust is waitin’ right overt there.” He waved toward Sonny’s desk and another typewriter.

“Ok, ok. I’m on it.” Sonny slouched in his chair, picking away at the keys while he flipped through his notes on the case. “I don’t see what the big…”

“Asset seizure.” Castillo’s voice cut through the squad room chatter like a bullhorn, even though he wasn’t speaking much above a whisper. “We need completed paperwork to seize the boat, the car, and the house he used to front the deal.”

“Sorry, lieutenant. You’ll have it before I leave for the Roscoe deal.” Once Castillo was back in his office Sonny shot Rico a glare. “You could have warned me.”

“You could have paid damned attention. You think I just got a wild hair and started typing?” Rico grinned, then narrowed his eyes. “Those are some seriously dark threads for you, partner. Trying to impress a new lady?”

“Something like that. I’m trying to toughen Burnett up a bit, and they say clothes make the man.”

Rico nodded, turning in his chair and striking a pose. “Ain’t it the truth?”

From across the room Larry Zito cut loose with an old-fashioned wolf whistle. “Lookin’ good, Rico!”

“That’s what your old lady said this morning when I was leaving, Larry.” Rico grinned and winked to show he was joking. “Only the best threads by way of some chump who got busted running Bolivian marching dust.”

Stan chuckled. “Too bad we only get to draw from the stuff they seized from the Friends of Castro bowling league back in ’64. And I made that call for you, Crockett. Gunnerson says they’ll be in position and you’ll never know they’re there.”

“Thanks.” Sonny hadn’t even heard most of what had been said. His attention was divided between trying not to make too many mistakes on the report form and planning his moves for tonight. Normally he’d just make sure he had a round in the chamber of the Bren, two full magazines in the right-hand pouches, and go for it. But this was different. Somehow thinking about it as Burnett had unlocked something deep in his mind…something he hadn’t used for years. And he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

He finished the Galloway report just after three, and spent the rest of the afternoon going over nautical charts of the coast. Plotting his route and looking for possible ambush sites. Gina and Trudy were out on some assignment or another, and Stan and Larry headed out soon after to bug some mob guy’s girlfriend’s apartment. Or something. He couldn’t follow their conversation even if he’d wanted to. Still he looked at the charts, seeing the sections of coastline in his mind’s eye. Thinking about where he’d hide a go-fast boat if he wanted to get the drop on someone.

“Is there a test on that later?”

Sonny looked up, the irritation in his eyes vanishing like cigarette smoke in a stiff offshore breeze. “No, Rico. Just…just trying to think this one through is all.”

“Who are you and what the hell did you do with Sonny Crockett?” Rico reached over and felt his forehead. “No fever. Damn.”

“Yeah, I know. I know. It’s just…I don’t know. But if I want Burnett to be taken more seriously he has to be more serious. The days of making it as a redneck with a fast boat are over, my friend. This new bunch coming in wants professionals running their product, and I gotta make Burnett professional.”

“Yeah. I just didn’t think you had it in you.”

“My methods are unorthodox to the untrained eye.” Sonny chuckled as he reused the old line from one of their first meetings. “But I gotta go the extra mile now. Hell, with Cooper you can just flash the cash. Even that Rasta character of yours can get by on green and a good grin. Not me.”

“So what then?”

“I…I don’t know. Not yet.” It wasn’t quite true. An idea was forming in his head. Taking root in the combination of Castillo and his old self that had popped out of the Jack Daniel’s bottle the night before. And it was growing damned fast. The maps were proof of that. “But thanks to Stan’s little gadget I’ll have the whole deal on tape and Gunnerson knows my boat. He won’t go too soon. That way I’ll be clear with Roscoe and an enhanced reputation.”

“Solid. But don’t forget you said you’d work me in.”

“Oh, I will.”

It was just before six that evening when Sonny pulled back on the throttles and let the big Scarab idle into position beside the old dock. Not unlike dozens of other abandoned fishing docks scattered along the waterways around Miami, this was the spot Roscoe had chosen for his pickup. In the orange twilight he could see two cars down by the end of the dock. Reaching under his blazer, he unsnapped the strap over the Bren 10’s slide. Just in case.

Roscoe was hard to miss. “Sonny! Damned glad you could make it! My boys will load…”

He reacted without thinking, and in a way the old Burnett never would have. The big autoloader filled his hand, and he aimed it straight at Roscoe’s head as he cut the throttles to idle. “You I know.” The pistol tracked from the first of Roscoe’s men to the second. “Them I don’t. People I don’t know don’t get on the boat.”

“Oh…uh…”

“It’s not much weight. You can carry it, Roscoe. Then I’m gonna look it over. If it’s clean we’ll stow it and get underway.” He looked at the two other men though his RayBans. “You boys can go. He’s not gonna need you any more tonight.”

Roscoe laughed, trying to make a show of being in control. “Yeah. Like he said. I got this. Bring the stuff to the dock and get outa here. Me and Sonny got this.”

Sonny kept his thumb on the Bren’s safety until the coke was by the dock and the two hired hands rolled off in a cloud of dust and hurt feelings. Roscoe just stood by the two gym bags holding the dope. “You mind if I bring this on board? Damned bugs are eating me alive.”

Sonny jumped over the side and met him just before he got to the boat. The pistol still filled his hand, aimed at a spot not quite on Roscoe’s midsection but not quite into empty air. “Let’s see…” He dumped out the plastic-wrapped packages and tossed the two bags into the water. “We won’t be needing those. Just in case someone got the bright idea of hiding a tracking device in them. Now grab the party favors and get on board. We got some water to cover.”

“You gettin’ all paranoid on me, Burnett?” Roscoe’s voice was a thin whine as he dropped the coke into a compartment Sonny opened in the deck of the Scarab.

Sonny chuckled. He’d turned on the recorder just before Roscoe came on board. “No. Just being careful. A man doesn’t get old in this game if he isn’t careful, and I plan to retire on my own terms.” Reaching down, he pushed the throttles forward and brought the boat away from the dock and pointed it toward the open water. “And we gotta move if we’re gonna make your meeting. Next time let me do the time and distance calculations, Roscoe.”

“What makes you think there will be a next time?”

“Because I’m the best. That’s B-u-r-n-e-double t. Before it was just playtime. But now I’m taking it professional.”

“Well, hell. I heard you was good before. But this…”

Sonny jammed the throttles full forward, and the boat leaped through the water like it had been shot from a cannon. “This is a new day, Roscoe. And you better have my first half in that damned jacket or we’re gonna have problems.”

They made the drop location just before seven. Roscoe blinked a flashlight a few times and then Sonny heard the low thump of another go-fast boat moving toward them from one of the inlets close to shore. He let the Bren settle into his hand, keeping it down below the console so they couldn’t see it. “You do the exchange,” he muttered to Roscoe. “They know you. I don’t know them, and they don’t know me. Best to keep it friendly.”

Roscoe nodded, shouting across the water, “Hey, amigo! That you?”

“You know it is, Roscoe. Looks like you got a new boat.”

“Hired the best. My old guy ran aground while he was banging his girlfriend.” Roscoe laughed. “I got the merchandise you requested.”

The other boat eased in close, and Sonny shook his head in admiration. Whoever was behind the wheel knew his stuff. Damned shame he’d be laid up in dry dock in Radford prison soon enough. The man next to the driver lifted a bag. “We got the payment.”

Roscoe grinned and pulled the packages out of the compartment. “Let’s get this done.”

Bags and plastic-wrapped bricks of cocaine passed each other in the cooling night air, and Sonny held the boat in position while the other men checked the cocaine and Roscoe did the same with the cash. The man in the other boat finished first. “Good stuff, man!”

“And you can count, amigo!” Roscoe laughed. “Pleasure doing business with you. Adios!” He slapped Sonny on the shoulder. “Take us back to Miami.”

Sonny turned, his temper flaring behind the dark glasses. “Do that again and I’ll put a bullet through you.” He jammed the throttles forward and spun the wheel, banking the boat away from the other one and pointing the nose south toward Miami. “You can count out the rest of my fee while we’re moving.”

“Relax, man.”

“I’ll relax when I’m drinking a Black Jack back in Miami. Coast Guard and DEA love to jump guys right after they close a deal. They get lazy and careless. Not me. Not anymore.”

He dropped Roscoe back at the dock where they’d started. It was almost pitch black now, the sun a faint red glow on the distant horizon. “Here’s the rest,” Roscoe said with a grin, handing him a stack of bills. “I’ll call you in the next couple of days.”

“I might call you first. Got a line one someone you might be interested in.”

“How so? I thought you just drove.”

“That was yesterday. Sonny Burnett does more than drive today. I might be able to put you in touch with a guy in need of some serious weight. At least twice what we did tonight.”

“That’s big weight, Sonny.”

“Yeah. And big profits. But think about it. I gotta meet with the guy anyhow. Just to see how serious he is.” Nodding, he eased the throttles back on and pulled away from the dock. In seconds the shoreline melted into the blackness and he was alone with the water.

He took the ride back to the marina slow, letting what he’d conjured with Burnett bleed away into the clean ocean air. Or he tried to. This time Burnett didn’t want to let go right away. Instead he thought back through every move he’d made that night. Dissecting it. Looking for mistakes and figuring out how to avoid them next time. And noting every one of Roscoe’s weaknesses for later attack.

By the time the lights of the marina came into view Burnett was gone, pushed back into whatever part of Sonny he hid in. The sunglasses were tucked in the breast pocket of his blazer, and a smile kept his face company. It had been a good bust, even if he had no real hand in it. Gunnerson was a pro, as were the rest of his squad. Whoever Roscoe’s ‘amigo’ was he wouldn’t get far.

He was shutting down the boat when it hit him. Burnett had already prepared the alibi for the bust with his comment about some runners getting lazy after the deal. He hadn’t planned it; it had just happened. Shaking his head, he went over the Scarab one last time before tying it up and jumping over to the sailboat’s deck. He went through the cooler, hauling out the last tuna for Elvis. “You’ll be on kibble for a couple of days, big guy. Got a case so I can’t go fishing.” The gator grumbled before snapping its jaws down on the tuna and crunching away at its dinner.

Below decks in the saloon he poured himself a Jack Daniel’s and sat, watching the last of the light die in the small window of the porthole. There was leftover pizza in the small refrigerator, and maybe he’d haul it out and chew on a slice or two. But for now he just wanted a drink. And to try and figure out where this new idea of Burnett had sprung from.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he started awake in the aft stateroom, eyes wide and hand reaching for the gun under his pillow. The dream still gripped half of his mind, and it didn’t want to let go. It was still dark out, and he didn’t want to look at his watch.

Sitting up in bed, feeling the sweat gluing the sheet to his chest and legs, Sonny waded back through the dream. It was about Vietnam, of course, but not one his standard ones. It wasn’t unusual for him to dream about his first tour, especially the ambush that killed one of friends and wounded another. No, that one cycled through like a slide stuck in the projector. Dreams from his second tour were new.

Like many Marines, Sonny had come back from Vietnam thinking he’d enjoy Stateside duty. But he’d been wrong. For MPs in particular Stateside garrison duty meant hours in the guard shack by the post gates, running down speeders, and occasionally busting the random underage drinking party in the barracks or post housing. Endless chickenshit. He hated it. Six months later he signed the reenlistment paperwork, with a guaranteed return to Vietnam.

The shooting war might have been over for the big American units, but the Embassy and consulates still needed guard details. So he’d ended up back in Da Nang on a security detail, running escort duty throughout the region, sometimes getting as far south as Pleiku. It was there he’d met both Danny Alred and Maynard, and also where he’d gotten his first taste of undercover work courtesy of NCIS.

Rubbing his eyes, Sonny tried to track back through the dream. But he couldn’t see much past the fog of time and distance. The Naval Criminal Investigative Service had trained him pretty well when it came to gathering intel and building target profiles. One of the regular convoy routes kept coming up short on ammunition, and they’d sent him along on a few trips as a strap-hanging Marine who missed the action a bit too much. Maybe that was where Burnett was born, on those scary missions where the other guards looked at him like a leper and he worried about taking a bullet in the back of the head as soon as they rolled out of Da Nang.

In the end he’d been caught in the middle of a gunfight between NCIS people and three of the guards who’d been making a nice profit selling C-4 explosives to the NVA. He still went down to Pleiku on occasion, filling in for one courier or another or just as a strap hanging escort. But the memories of that fight, and his fear every time another convoy rolled out, lingered in the back of his mind somewhere and only now peeked out to look around.

Closing his eyes, he couldn’t remember the shootout, or even really the faces of any of the men who’d been stealing the explosives. But he could see the NCIS guys like it was yesterday, and almost hear their voices in the quite stateroom going over what they called the principles of collection. The same things he was doing as Burnett.

Finally he gave up and lit a Lucky Strike from the pack beside the bed. A quick look at his watch told him it was almost four-thirty. Soon enough it would be light, and the heat would start filtering through the deck and into the stateroom. Better to get up now and have some coffee and shower before it got too nasty to think. And Sonny knew he needed to think. Roscoe was hooked, but he still needed to be landed.

 

Rico had beaten him to the office again, and his partner grinned up from behind his desk. “Had a message waiting from that Gunnerson cat. Says they grabbed the chumps as soon as they linked up with their ground transport. Nothing will come back to us. Turns out they’d been watching the guys on shore for some time, so it’s just another day at the office as far as Roscoe and his boys are concerned.”

“I hope so.” Sonny shrugged off his light blue blazer and poured coffee from the office pot. He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “Did Gorman put his damned stogie out in this again?”

“You got me, partner. Why? It smell better than usual?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He took a sip. “Don’t taste half bad, though. Maybe we should just leave the damned stogie in the pot.”

Rico nodded. “So. What’s the plan?”

“Roscoe said he’d call in a couple of days, but I upped the bet and said I might call him first.” Sonny grinned. “Something about a buyer I needed to check out who was looking for serious weight. At least twice what he moved last night. You should have seen his eyes pop.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’s his weakness, Rico. I’ve been around Roscoe for weeks now. He’s a greedy little bastard who always wants more. Problem for him is he doesn’t have the skills to back his plays. But that gives Burnett a nice way in, especially with moneybags Cooper waiting in the wings.”

“How’d the tapes turn out?”

“Good, I guess. Stan’s got ‘em now. I dropped them off before I came here.” Sonny sat down, but he was too keyed up to stay sitting for long. But then that other voice floated up from the back of his head. Stay cool. This punk expects you to go fast. Don’t. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but it echoed back to the dream so he had to take notice.

“Earth to Sonny! Hey, partner? You still wasted from last night?”

“Naw, no man. I was just thinking is all.” He raised his hand “Yeah, yeah, I know. Novel concept. But Roscoe’s gonna expect me to move fast so I’m gonna go nice and slow. Throw him off what little game he has.”

“This must be that new Burnett thing.” Rico grinned. “Interesting change.”

“Yeah. But I gotta do just what this guy doesn’t think I’ll do. Plus if he thinks I spent a couple of days checking you out he’s gonna be more ready to buy what you’re selling.” Putting down his empty cup, Sonny leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “And now I’m gonna do something even more out of character; I’m gonna write up the report from last night.”

“What’s that I see?” Gina’s voice carried over the babble of the squad room. “Sonny Crockett actually writing a report on time?”

“Laugh it up, darlin’. Laugh it up.” Sonny looked up and smiled, careful to keep the light away from his eyes. He’d been having a run of terrible luck in the lady department, and didn’t want to encourage Gina again. Luckily this was one of the easy days. She was on a case and he had other things on his mind. It only got dangerous when they were both free and he was bored.

Trudy gave Sonny a muted evil eye. “At least he’s doing some work instead of sitting there with his feet up on the desk smoking cigarettes.”

“I love you, too, Trudy. But I gotta say I didn’t expect to see you two in so early.”

“That’s because we’re clocking out, Sonny.” Gina smiled, trying hide a jaw-breaking yawn with the back of her hand. “Been out all night trying to get a fix on this pimp.”

Trudy nodded. “And my damned feet are killing me.” She shot a glare at Rico when he chuckled. “I’d like to see you spend six hours on your feel in three inch heels, tough guy.”

“I would, but they don’t come in my size.”

“Don’t be too sure about that.” She have him a nasty smile. “I can find you a pair if you’d like to try it out.”

“No, thanks. They’d clash with my eyes.”

“You two better get some rest.” Shaking his head, Sonny focused back on his report. He wanted to get just enough in there to convince Castillo to let him keep playing Roscoe. If the clown was a path to the Mendoza brothers he couldn’t afford to let him off the hook. And he had to be; he was the only real lead Sonny had.

The Mendozas ran a tight ship. Short them on a deal, you died. Hold out on their commission, you died. Do anything to annoy them, you died. They’d been circling them for months now, trying to find a way in. And every lead either dried up or ended in a body. Roscoe was a long shot, but by now Sonny wanted them badly enough he was going to go for the long shots.

Hitting return one last time, Sonny spooled the report out of the typewriter and dropped it in his “out” basket. “One down,” he muttered with a pleased look on his face. “Hopefully the next one will be a CI agreement or arrest report on one of the Mendozas.”

“You don’t give up, do you partner?”

“No, Rico. I do not. And those ass clowns have been making fools of us for months.”

“Yeah, and how do you expect a two-bit chump like Roscoe to get near them?”

“Like I said before, if he wants your cash he’ll have to go to them. They’re the only ones running that kind of weight right now. That and Intel says he’s done some work for them in the past. Mostly small two key deals back in the days when they were coming up in the trade. He might not be family, but he’s at least a kissing cousin twice-removed.”

“You hillbillies actually keep track like that?”

“Naw. We just do that for you Northern folk. We call ‘em all kin to keep it simple.” Sonny chuckled. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. What say we go grab a burger or something and then get back to it?”

Sonny liked the Five Star Burgers truck for two reasons: they had great burgers and Hector usually parked down by the beach so they could watch the girls in bikinis strut their stuff while they ate. And he was doing both right now, chowing down on a cheeseburger with all the trimmings and admiring a tall brunette almost wearing a blue bikini. He looked over at Tubbs, who was picking at his salad. “I ever tell you how much I love this job?”

“Would it kill Hector to get rid of the lettuce with rust on it? Or at least stick it on those burgers where no one would notice?” Rico forked a few dark leaves onto the lid of his salad container. “And I saw her first, partner. Obviously too classy for you.”

Chuckling, Sonny turned his attention back to his food. No reason for Rico to know he’d sworn off dating. Again. But after what had happened to Sara and the mess that had been Danielle he figured taking himself out of the pool was the best option for now. The way things had been going the brunette would turn out to be an assassin working for the Mendoza brothers. But being out of the pool didn’t mean he couldn’t look at the water. Maybe even test it a bit.

“So now that we’re out of the office maybe you can tell me your real plan for Roscoe.”

“You know me too damned well, Rico.” Sonny dabbed a bit of excess ketchup from the corner of his mouth. “I want to use Cooper and his cash to push him right to the Mendozas like I said. Then show them how Burnett gets the job done. Maybe we can turn Roscoe, or just push him out of the picture. Either way I want to use him to get a meet with one of the Mendozas.”

“Just like that?”

“No, I don’t think it will be that fast. Hell, we might have to run a couple of deals to get their attention. I’ve got Roscoe figured right down to boxers or briefs, but I don’t have a feel for any of the Mendozas or their upper level guys yet. But if I can convince them Burnett’s the man they need for high-risk loads it’s a start into that circle.”

“So Cooper just grins and flashes the cash?”

“Naw.” Crumpling his burger wrapper, Sonny gave the brunette a last, lingering glance before tossing the wrapper in the trash. “The Mendozas are gonna want to expand. Why wouldn’t they? Hell, it’s all they’ve been doing since they started moving major weight. And Cooper IS New York City as far as they’ll know. No one’s really come up to replace the Revillas since we took them out, and that’s a line of profit the Mendozas can’t ignore.”

“Yeah. That’s true enough. Everyone’s been too busy settling scores and trying to get their share of the local markets to look much past that. And the Revillas were damned efficient at taking out competition. Left the field empty once they went down.”

“Enter Rico Cooper. Talent scout from up north taking a look at spring training prospects.” Sonny chuckled again. “I don’t see how they can pass that up.”

“And that’s why you want to up Burnett’s status?”

“Partly.” Sonny looked out over the water, imagining he could see the police helicopter coming in again to pick up Callie. “If Cooper’s such a bad ass he wouldn’t be hanging with a two-bit redneck runner with a fast boat. That and the whole Callie thing got me thinking. They targeted me…I mean Burnett…because he looked like a pushover. Someone they could con, rip off, and then bury in that sand pit of theirs. I want to get him past that, so people like Callie will look and think ‘no, I shouldn’t fuck with him.’ That’s what we need if we’re going to get close to people like the Mendozas.”

Rico nodded, finishing the last bits of his salad. “You got that right. Like you said, it don’t make sense for a big money man like Cooper to be rollin’ with some two-bit cat with a boat. It makes people question us both. That don’t work for undercover.”

“No.” Turning, Sonny started back to the parking lot. “Let’s get back and see what’s happening.”

They were almost to the car when Sonny heard someone behind them. “Burnett! Man, I gotta…”

Turning, Sonny took two quick steps and grabbed the skinny man by the collar of his Kiss t-shirt and pulled him close. “I’m taking a meeting, Charlie. What the hell do you want?”

Charlie’s hands shot up, and his eyes went wide. “Cool, man. Cool. I just wanted…”

“What you want doesn’t mean a damned thing to me. You might have just cost me ten grand. Hope I don’t come around to collect. Next time call ahead.” Sneering, he shoved the man away, watching as he stumbled, turned, and hurried away muttering under his breath.

“Who the hell was that?”

“Some dude named Charlie who has a boat he thinks is fast. Runs pot in from up the coast usually. I did a few trips with him back before you got down here.”

“And that was…”

“The new Burnett. Charlie’s better than taking out an ad. Word’s likely started spreading already.” Sonny smiled, still feeling the rush from the action surging through his veins. “He’ll be quick to let them know not to fuck with me. I mean Burnett.”

“Who’s them?”

“The small-time runners we used to deal with. Guys with a boat or a plane and no brains or future. The kind of guys a dealer like Cooper wouldn’t give the time of day to.” Smiling, he straightened his blazer and unlocked the Daytona. “We gotta up our status a bit.”

It was quiet back at OCB. Gina and Trudy had left for the day, and Stan and Larry were off working on some surveillance project or another. Though the door was closed, Sonny could see movement through the frosted glass and knew Castillo was in his office. He thought about calling Roscoe but decided against it. Better to let word of his encounter with Charlie spread a bit before playing that card.

Rico seemed to be reading his mind. “Yeah, I’d give it some time. That Charlie cat might blab about who you were meeting with, too. Give us both a nudge.” He looked at his own stack of reports. “Gives me some time to get caught up on this stuff. Don’t want to end up on the lieutenant’s list and get loaned out to Traffic.”

“Yeah, I’ve got one or two I need to finish.” Sonny sighed, his mind flashing back to the brunette. No. It’s been a bad year for me and the ladies. Stay focused on Roscoe and the prize past that. Feeding a report form into the typewriter, he started banging away.

 

Roscoe’s voice was thin when Sonny made the call the next day. “Man, I thought you’d cut out. Did you hear about that load we dropped off? The guys got picked up. And then I hear you’re taking meetings and scaring the hell out of Charlie.”

“I don’t care what happens to the load after I drop it off. And last time I checked I don’t answer to you, Roscoe. Charlie’s small time. And careless. He almost messed up that deal I’m working on for you.” Sonny looked over at Rico and winked. “How’d you like to get a shot at the New York market?”

Roscoe’s voice jumped almost an octave. “Hell, man! Who wouldn’t? But after those two Indians went down it’s been a closed door.”

“Not any more. I just pried it open. That meeting Charlie almost screwed up was with a guy I’ve done business with before. A guy with major New York connections. He’s looking to expand, but only does business with the best. And that’s not Charlie.”

“I get it, man.” Sonny could picture the gleam in Roscoe’s eyes as he pictured New York money. “And you thought of good ol’ Roscoe?”

“He likes people who can keep their heads down and get business done. And people who can access the best flake.” Sonny knew Roscoe met neither criteria, but he also knew the dealer thought he did. That was part of Burnett’s game now…lure them in and then use them as a stepping stone up the food chain. It also didn’t hurt to paint himself as a broker. Someone who could help make deals in addition to moving product.

“I can do both, man. That last shipment went south because, like you said, those guys were bozos. The way I hear it they got grabbed because their drivers were bein’ watched by the cops.”

“And my guy doesn’t tolerate that kind of shit. That’s why he’s working with me.”

“So when do I get to meet this cat?”

“Tonight. Say nine at the Overton? And dress nice, Roscoe. It’s one of the new clubs.”

“Gotcha, Sonny. I’ll be there.”

Rico nodded his approval as Sonny hung up. “The Overton? Solid. They got the hottest waitresses wearing cocktail napkins for dresses. At least if this chump flakes I’ll have some good scenery.” Then his voice got serious. “You think he’ll show?”

“You could almost hear him drooling into the phone. He’ll be there, and might hump your leg like a dog. It’s his shot at the big time.”

“We gonna need backup?”

“Bluto and Lee Harvey Oswald? We’d never get them past the door. Gina and Trudy might be good arm candy, but they’ve got their case. Naw, I think we’re better flying solo this time out.”

“The lieutenant might not like that.”

“I’ll sell it if he asks. But we can’t bring an entire army to the meet. Roscoe might be an idiot, but he’s a reasonably careful idiot. It’s how he’s stayed in the game as long as he has.” Sonny looked at the phone, thinking. “We should show up separately. I’ll hit a bit before the meet and you can aim for fashionably late. Show him you’re in charge. I’ll keep him there until you make your big entrance.”

“Solid. And no buy money. Strictly a meet and greet.”

“Yeah. I know for a fact he can’t handle anything over fifteen keys with his own resources. And I can push the line about not risking my boat for a small load. Risk versus reward and all that.” Sonny chuckled. “Makes me feel kinda like Izzy spouting that crap, but the new Burnett would be all about it.”

 

The Overton was one of the newer high-end clubs popping up around Maimi, built with cocaine money and fueled by the same white powder. They all tended to be similar; pretty waitresses in transparent, low-cut dresses serving overpriced drinks, lights kept low to avoid awkward meetings, dance music boomed over sound systems that cost more than his Ferrari might have new, and neon everywhere. The Overton favored pink and blue in its neon, and the clientele were on the rise.

Sonny had been here a few times before as Burnett, so he walked up to the rope at the door like he owned the place. “How’s it going, Jamie?”

The big Latino nodded. “Burnett. Ju can see the line, man. It’s busy.”

“Look, I got a meeting in a few minutes. That punk Roscoe and a guy named Cooper.” He handed the big man a fifty. “Do me a solid and let them in.”

The fifty disappeared faster than a line of blow up a rich girl’s nose. “You got it, Burnett.” He looked around, ignoring the mostly silicone cleavage a bottle blonde kept trying to wave in his face. “I hear you’re moving up in the world. Ju need any extra help…”

“I’ll call you first, Jamie.” Sonny nodded, glad his RayBans hid the excitement he was sure blazed in his eyes. “But Charlie needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.”

Inside the circle bar dominated the center of the club, lit by pink and blue lines of neon running along the top and bottom edges of the bar. Ignoring the couples groping at each other by the door, he made his way to the bar. He was wearing a black blazer and matching shirt, with gray linen slacks and black shoes, all picked with the idea of the new Burnett in mind. The sunglasses stayed on for the same reason, and he noticed with satisfaction people moving aside to let him pass. In the back of his mind he heard the instructor from his NCIS class he’d taken in Da Nang. “Think the mood, then feel the mood, then BE the mood. It’s how you survive undercover.” Before Burnett had been an extension of himself. Now he was a different animal entirely, but still a part of him. The shift came without a conscious thought on his part, and had started as soon as he stepped out of the car and slid on the sunglasses.

The bartender was a thin man with the shakes of a bad coke habit. “What can I get ya?”

“Black Jack. Neat.” Sonny looked around, scanning the crowd and looking for a spot where Burnett would take a meeting. His eyes found a table near the back about the time the bartender returned with his drink. Leaving a five on the dark Formica bar, he took the glass and headed for the table.

Just before he got there a skinny two-bit hustler and his rental date slid into the booth. The guy looked up, his eyes red from too much of something that was guaranteed illegal. “Hey, man. We got here…”

“You don’t understand. This table’s reserved. Name’s Burnett.” Still staring through the glasses, Sonny leaned in, letting Burnett flow through his voice. Before it might have been light, but now it was cold and distant. “You got a problem with that?” He let his jacket slip just a hair. Enough for the man to catch a glimpse of stainless steel under his arm.

The man looked from his sunglasses to the gun and back again. He started to say something, then swallowed heavy. “No…no, man. Sorry. I just didn’t notice the card. Come on, baby. Let’s find us another table. Sorry to bother you, sir.”

Sonny waited for them to move off into the crowd before sliding into the booth, sitting so he could see the main doors and as much of the crowd as possible. The bass from the speakers boomed in his ears, competing with the satisfaction he felt at Burnett’s second successful test. He didn’t know who the kid was or who he fronted for, but it was another chance to get the word out. And if he didn’t talk, Sonny knew the girl with him would. No question.

Roscoe came through the doors a bit after nine, and made his way toward the back after a quick word with the bartender. “So, Sonny! Where’s this contact of yours?”

“He’ll be here any time now. He’s a busy guy.” Flagging down a waitress, Sonny ordered another Black Jack. “And tequila for my associate here,” he said, nodding toward Roscoe. She nodded and was about to move on when he saw Rico come in. “And a scotch, please. Our third just came in.”

Rico took the same route as Roscoe, standing out in the crowd with his tailored Armani suit and New York ‘get the hell out of my way’ attitude. When he got to the booth he smiled and slid in on Sonny’s left. “Mr. Burnett. A pleasure as always.” He looked over at Roscoe. “This must be the local contact you were telling me about?”

“Yeah. Roscoe, this is Cooper. Cooper, Roscoe. Cooper’s down from New York to conduct some business and I thought you two might be able to help each other.”

Roscoe nodded, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Burnett’s said good things about you, Mr. Cooper.”

Rico nodded, looking at Roscoe like something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe that might smell bad. “I don’t know you, Roscoe. But if Burnett knows you I’ll take a chance. Just one. Disappoint and my business goes elsewhere. And you don’t want that.”

“I don’t, either.” Sonny leaned in, letting Roscoe see himself sweating in the reflection from the RayBans. “This is a great opportunity for us all. Be a damned shame if someone screwed it up.”

“That won’t be me.” Roscoe waited until the waitress left their drinks and moved on to the next booth before continuing. “I’ve got connections in South Florida. Mostly Miami, but some up in Lauderdale, too.”

“My business was…disturbed…by the unexpected departure of the Revilla brothers. I hear things have calmed down a bit here.”

“Yeah. It was rough for a bit but everything’s back to normal, Mr. Cooper.”

Sonny found himself tuning out of the conversation and forced himself to pay attention. Burnett would have to be able to broker deals on his own at some point, and Rico was matchless in that ability. Anything he could learn now would pay off in spades later. “I’ll second that. I’ve been busy as hell the last few weeks, and not just with your business, Cooper.”

“No doubt. But my associates are looking for volume. And not just a few keys. Burnett assures me you’re the man to talk to. But I’m not convinced.”

“Oh, I can do it, Mr. Cooper. Maybe not from my own stocks, but I can get it no problem. No problem at all.”

“Talk is cheap, Roscoe. But the failure of talk is damned expensive where I come from.”

“How much do you need, Mr. Cooper? A good faith deal. Just to show I can come through.”

“I can move anything up to about eighty keys with no notice.” Sonny looked at Rico and grinned. “Anything over that just takes a day or so to line up a second boat.”

Rico looked at his watch and finished his scotch. “I’ve got an appointment in ten minutes with someone who won’t appreciate me being late. Forty keys is my idea of an icebreaker. Just to see what you can do. Burnett has my number. If I don’t hear within twenty-four hours I’ll assume you can’t deliver, Roscoe, and I’ll be on my way.” With a final smile he slid out of the booth and headed back through the crowd.

“That’s an intense cat.”

“You don’t get where he is in the New York scene by playing nice. And I don’t get where I want to go by being nice, either. Can you make the deal, Roscoe?”

Roscoe scratched his head, sweat beading heavy on his forehead now. “Yeah. I gotta make a call or two, and I ain’t gonna like making one of ‘em. But it shouldn’t be a problem. It’ll cut into our take, though.”

“Take it out of your end. I set this up and I’m running the risks.”

“You don’t know who I gotta call to make it happen, Sonny.”

“No, but your ass ain’t gonna be out on the water with the Coast Guard on the prowl. And without me you’d never have this chance. Think of it as my finder’s fee.”

“Ok…ok…that’s fair. Look, I’ll know by noon tomorrow if it’s a go or not. I’ll call you and you can let Mister Personality know. I got another deal to take care of first and then I’ll get right on this. It might even be something Mister Personality would want a piece of.”

“Yeah.” Sonny leaned over, his face expressionless. “Don’t fuck this up, Roscoe. I’d take it out of your worthless hide, and there isn’t much there to take.” He knocked back the rest of the Jack Daniel’s, feeling the bourbon bite at the back of his throat. “I’ll expect to hear from you before noon.”

It took most of the drive to the marina for Burnett to ease out of his system, and it wasn’t until he set foot on the gangplank that Sonny felt the empty expression finally slide off his face. It wasn’t something he could explain, and he didn’t understand it, either. But he’d gotten further with Roscoe tonight than he had in the three months before. Part of that had been Rico, no question, but the rest came from the new Burnett.

He sat for a time in the darkness of the saloon belowdecks, listening to Elvis crunching on his kibble on the foredeck and thinking about the Overton. Jamie wanting a job had come as a complete surprise, but it showed his plan was if anything ahead of schedule. Jamie had a rap sheet and wasn’t the kind of guy to impress or scare easily. He’d lit a cigarette, and was on his third deep drag before he realized it. His mind was so sunk into the idea of Burnett and what the next move should be.

 

“So what’s our next move, partner?” Rico grimaced as he took a sip of office coffee and set the cup down again.

“We wrangle up some buy money just in case Roscoe comes through.”

“He didn’t agree to a price.”

“No, but neither did you. I’d say we take the going rate and plan from there.” Sonny reached for a form. “I’ll start the buy money paperwork. Then if Roscoe calls we’re one step ahead.”

Stan looked up from his desk. “You don’t mean Roscoe Santolli, do you?”

“Yeah. I think that’s his last name. Why?”

“One of the uniform patrols found a body over by the river early this morning. It ID’d as him. Shot twice in the back of the head.”

“What the hell!” Sonny jumped to his feet. “Did they have any more information?”

“No. Just that and the ID.”

“You think the Mendozas shut him down for hitting above his weight?”

Sonny shook his head, his mind racing. “No. That’s not their style. The Mendozas are more the ‘blast ‘em with a shotgun and leave ‘em in the trunk of a car’ types. This doesn’t make sense. Did patrol forward anything else?”

“No. I only heard it because I was on the scanner on my way in.” Stan shrugged. “Sorry, guys.”

Rico reached for the phone. “I’ll put in a call. See if we can get anything.”

An hour later they were in one of the bland offices favored by Metro-Dade’s Homicide division. Sonny recognized the sergeant who’d been handed the case from earlier work and grinned as they walked in. “How’s it going, Doug? Guess you caught this one.”

“Yeah. And what brings the Vice boys over to poke around in our mess?”

“We were working the guy is all. Trying to set up a controlled buy of coke so we could turn him.”

“Coke, eh?” Doug’s round face twisted into a strange grin. “You ever know him to deal in anything else?”

Sonny shook his head. “Pot occasionally. And I think he might have started moving some smack. But not enough for us to reel him in on. Coke was his main game.”

“Well someone reeled him in, and I’m guessing it’s over the smack.” Doug pulled out a Polaroid and laid it on the desk. “Ever seen those before?”

Rico leaned in. “A baggie with a red cross? No. Don’t ring any bells here.”

Sonny agreed. “Nothing I’ve come across. But we’re neck-deep in Bolivian marching dust most of the time.”

“We see one every few months. I’ve been working Homicide for five years and this is the third. Every time they’re on some guy who took two to the back of the head. Always large caliber. We think a .45. No clue what’s going on with it. And it ain’t the Mendoza brothers in case you had that delusion. They like a twelve gauge at close range. The more public and messy the better.”

“It’s news to us, too.” Sonny shook his head. “Shit. Now we gotta start over somewhere else. Thanks for your time, Doug.”

“No sweat. This one will be in the cold case file cabinet by the end of the week, I think. They always end up there.”

Back on the street, Rico looked at Sonny and chuckled. “At least it saved us some paperwork.”

“Yeah, but we’re no closer to the Mendoza brothers.”

“Maybe not, Sonny. You said it yourself…we needed to up Burnett’s street credit a bit. I think this did some of that.”

“Yeah. I can’t deny that. Still…” He shook his head. “Let’s go get a drink and plan our next move. See who we know who might get us closer to those bastards.” Still, the new Burnett part of him didn’t stop turning over. What the hell had Roscoe blundered into? Now Sonny wished he’d asked him about that ‘other deal’ he’d mentioned. That was a mistake Burnett wouldn’t make twice. And why now, of all damned times? But like Doug said, they always ended up in the cold case files. Odds were they’d never know who killed Roscoe or why.

[mjcmmv]

This cold-hearted side of Sonny has always been tough for me to take. You captured the beginning of the Burnett transformation so well. And the reasons he turns to this other identity, really made sense. 

 I could hear DJ's voice when I read the dialogue and see him wearing the dark clothes with that cold, impassive expression on his face. 

Good character-background story. Hope there's more. 

 

[vicegirl85]

Very interesting and explains a lot!  Great story, and hope there's more.

[Robbie C.]

More will appear eventually. Just not quite sure what or when. One of my little games has always been to try to find reasons for what happened on the show, since they often did a poor job of explaining things. Burnett was always one of the big ones, even though they hinted at changes in his 'personality' as far back as where I set this story. I just decided that the whole Callie-Charlie thing would have been a bit of a wake-up call for Sonny about his cover, especially if he was aiming at bigger fish. A cover's no good if people think you can be pushed around, after all...especially in the framework of the Vice universe. I also used it to tie in some ideas I have about Sonny's second tour in Vietnam, which is shrouded in large amounts of mystery and is actually pretty hard to reconcile with the historical timeline.