Breaking Point Part III

[Robbie C.]

Rico sauntered in just before nine, his usually immaculate suit a bit rumpled. He raised his hand as soon as Sonny took a breath. “Not a word. I know the threads are out of shape, but it’s for a good cause.”

“Trying to get another trip to the seized property locker?”

“Now that you mention it, I am a bit overdue for some new wardrobe.” Rico chuckled. “But that ain’t it. I had duties to attend to before I came in.”

“So that’s what you fancy people are calling it now? Hell, I’d just say Jenny wanted a quickie and let it go at that. But us hicks do lead simple lives.”

“Speaking of late nights, that reminds me. I did see Izzy on some damned TV commercial.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“No. He’s the pitch man for some dump called Pappa’s Porsches.”

A loud bark of laughter echoed in from the conference room. “You’ve seen ‘em, too? Gina and I damned near fell out of bed when we saw the first one.” Stan came in, still chuckling. “You gotta see one sometime, Sonny. He’s all ‘Joo need thees car. Pappa has thees car. Women love ‘Emingway.’ And he’s wearing that damned white tux of his.”

“Guess that explains why we haven’t heard from him. And if I ever needed a sign the apocalypse was near, this has to be it. Izzy on TV and it’s not one of those daytime scream shows.” Sonny leaned back in his chair. “But I guess I actually feel happy for the little moron.”

“Yeah. He’s paid his dues for sure.” Rico chuckled, settling in behind his desk. “You got that intel finally?”

“Yeah.” Stan went over it again for Rico’s benefit.

Sonny checked out for most of their conversation. He was still chewing on what first Jenny and then Stan had said. He knew Burnett had a reputation. Hell, how could the guy not have one? He’d always thought to use it as leverage in a deal, but never about using it as bait. And Jenny would know. She’d smuggled enough art into the country to know the power of that kind of reputation.

But something else about last night kept nagging, too. What Carrera had said about problems at the point of supply. He knew Moncado’s demise had thrown Miami’s narcotics scene into chaos, but could it have done the same in Columbia and elsewhere? And maybe there’d been some blowback from their shutting down the plans of Hoffmann and Jankow. The families had their own closed network for supply, but if they started selling on the open market it would disrupt established relationships.

But there was no way to know for sure. Carrera might have been blowing smoke to make up for his own lack of supply. That was one of the problems Moncado’s old people faced; the man had never released his hold on the keys to the supply kingdom. All his relationships died with him, and the underlings were left scrambling to replace both supply and means of transport. Moncado used his own ships to move the drugs in close, and with the entire family business tied up in forfeiture proceedings nothing was moving. The had customers in Miami and South Florida, but nothing to sell them and no good way to get anything to market.

Sonny let a small smile play across his face. It had been genius on Moncado’s part, but it also gave Burnett a way in. He was guaranteed transport to most of the people who knew his reputation. Jenny and Stan were right. Rico, once they knew what he was, would bring out the people who actually had product.

“Sonny? You ready to go see the captain now?”

“What? Oh, sorry, Stan. I was thinking about supply and demand.” Sonny got to his feet. “Let’s go brief this thing.”

Castillo listened in silence, asking a question or two toward the end. “So you plan to reach out to Skaggs and establish contact first?”

“Yeah. He likes to drink at a dive called Oscar’s. Or he did about six months ago. Most of the regulars there will know him.”

“And he’s not locked up?”

“No. That was the first thing I checked.”

“Good. I want you and Deputy Mather to work together as much as possible on this one.”

“That’s the plan, captain.”

Sonny nodded as Castillo looked up. “I’m not correcting you, Stan. Just restating your plan. I know you know how to deal with bikers. And I don’t want either of you going into their territory alone.”

“Not gonna happen.” Stan shook his head. “I’m not gonna lose a partner.”

Castillo nodded, motioning for Sonny to remain behind. “I understand you got one bite last night.”

“Yeah. Some leftover from Moncado’s organization named Carrera.”

“Keep at it. We’re losing sight of what’s happening on the streets. I don’t like that.”

“I’m with you, Marty. This guy was saying something about local dealers having trouble getting product form the source. It’s the first I’d heard of it.”

“But that would explain the violence we’ve been seeing around some of the warehouses and cutting operations. If product is slow coming in…”

“Go steal someone else’s. I was thinking about that. Moncado set his whole operation up so it wouldn’t run without him. He did supply and transport. All his lackies did was sales. Without him they’re scrambling to get product and transport. I’m gonna part Burnett in a couple of clubs and see who bites. Hell, he’s known for transportation.”

“Keep Tubbs with you. Something’s going on out there, and I don’t want my people operating alone.”

“I hear ya, Marty.” Sonny started to get up, then turned. “Did Trudy brief you on those tattoos?”

“Yes.”

“And…”

“We know what DEA says. I see nothing to make me think they’re wrong.”

“Copy that.” Sonny sighed. At least that was one thing he could quit chewing on.

 

It took Stan almost two days to set up the first part of his operation. The delay wasn’t for lack of trying on his part. Skaggs just didn’t want to be found.

Stan looked at Randy and shrugged. “I doubt the moron planned it that way. He’s too stupid. I’m thinking he passed out in some hooker’s hotel room and she ripped him off and left him there.”

Randy chuckled. “Sounds like your pal’s a real damned winner.”

“Sad thing is he’s smart compared to some of the winners he rides with. Anyhow, I had a friend in Patrol do some checking. No sign of him at Oscar’s but they spotted his bike down by Bomber’s.”

“That’s no biker watering hole.”

“No, it ain’t. Maybe he’s looking for the hooker who ripped him off or he’s lying low until the brothers forget a hooker ripped him off. I don’t try to figure these idiots out…I just follow ‘em to what I need.”

Randy nodded, looking down at his jacket and faded jeans. “We ready to do this?”

Stan nodded, shooting a look at Lester. “The comms reading strong?”

“Five-by, sarge.” Lester gave a quick thumbs-up. “And with the booster on the bikes I’ll be able to pick you up from a few miles out. I’ll head down to the Roach Coach and leave just after you do. We’re starting at Bombers?”

“Yeah. I’ll cue you in when we move. Assuming he ain’t dead in the alley or something.”

Lester’s eyes went wide. “You think there’s a chance?”

“We should be so lucky, but knowing Skaggs I’d say yeah, there is a chance.” Stan chuckled and slapped Randy on the shoulder. “Let’s ride, partner.”

The two Harleys were waiting in the underground garage, locked in a cage away from the other cars where prying eyes wouldn’t see them without a great deal of effort and tripping two alarms and showing up on four cameras. Stan believed in protecting the unmarked fleet. They rumbled to life with minimal prompting, and soon the two were booming through the late afternoon traffic.

Shifting on the big bike’s seat, Stan thought back to the last time he’d rolled out as Biggs. Gina had been with him then, a tight leather miniskirt not quite covering her assets as they rode. Now it was him and Randy. Better this way I guess he thought as he downshifted for a light. But I do miss feeling her back there. Still, he knew meetings at The Outlaw were one thing, tracking down Skaggs another altogether.

He’d only used Skaggs a time or two, keeping his distance because the man was unstable in addition to being a moron. Too much speed had baked his brain years gone, and you never quite knew what he was going to do when he got stressed out. And it didn’t take much to stress Skaggs. But he was their way in if the ATF report was solid.

He kicked on the turn signal, more for Randy’s benefit than anything else, and eased off the main drag and into the web of side streets leading them to Bomber’s.

No one knew who Bomber was, or might have been, but the place had blacked-out windows and announced itself in a scrawl of flickering neon. It was the kind of place he might have gone with Larry in the old days, mostly to have a beer or two and maybe watch some boxing but occasionally to meet an informant. Not the high-end powder monkeys Crockett and Tubbs chased, but the guys trying to climb the bars to the powder monkeys. The ones who knew how things really worked and what you needed to do to get things done. Back with OCB he’d made more than a couple cases here.

Randy looked at the exterior and grinned. “Seen more than a few dives like this back in San Diego after Basic. I’d lay odds we find your pal Skaggs back by the pinball machine. And don’t tell me they ain’t got pinball machines. All these dives have pinball machines.”

Inside it was dark, just cool enough thanks to a laboring air conditioner, and thick with stale cigarette smoke, sweat, and spilled beer. Stan shot a quick look at the TV, tuned to what could have been baseball or water polo for all he cared, and pushed his way to the bar. “Skaggs been in? I been tryin’ to find that moron all day.”

The bartender looked up, taking both men in with a quick glance and adjusting his tone. “He’s in the back jackin’ off with the pinball machine. Who’s lookin’?”

“Biggs. Me an’ Patch need a word.”

“Just don’t break nothin’, ok? Those machines are hell to fix these days.”

Stan glared over at Randy, who winked and headed for the back. The closer they got to the back door the more the smell of piss started to crowd everything else out, and Stan didn’t even want to think about what terrors lurked behind the two doors marked ‘ladies’ and ‘gents.’ But the bartender hadn’t been lying. Skaggs was hunched over an old Ghostbusters pinball machine, cussing for all he was worth.

Skaggs was a big man, easily over six feet, but most of his bulk was fat and not muscle. A shaggy mustache drooped along both sides of his mouth, and greasy brown hair just touched the shoulders of his sleeveless demin jacket. He looked up, and his eyes glowed with dim recognition. “Biggs, ain’t it? Yeah, Biggs! My man! What the hell you doin’ down here? Ain’t this outa your turf?”

“Lookin’ for you, dog meat.” Stan gripped Skaggs’ outstretched hand, careful to exert more force than the big moron might have expected. “This here’s Patch. He’s my bro from way back.”

“Any bro of Biggs is a bro of mine.” Then his eyes narrowed. “But what the hell you lookin’ for me for? I don’t owe you no money.”

“No, man. But word on the street is you got connections.” Stan leaned in close, mostly so Lester could pick up anything Skaggs muttered. The big man had breath like a dead rhino, and he figured getting closer should qualify for hazardous duty pay and might even be dangerous to his health. “Patch and me been busy up in the Panhandle.”

Skaggs nodded. “I heard some talk,” he admitted. “Said you was movin’ flake.”

Randy grabbed a handful of Skaggs’ jacket before Stan could blink. “Keep your damned voice down, moron! Biggs, this dude’s not what we need.”

“Hey, man! Wait! My bad. My bad. Let’s get some beers an’ talk. Your business is yours. I get it. What I meant to say is you two been doin’ some heavy work.”

Stan looked at Randy, arcing his eyebrows. “You think we should give ol’ Skaggs here a second chance?”

Randy snorted. “Fine.”

“Cool. Get the beer an’ come on back, Skaggs.”

Once the big man bulled his way to the bar, Randy leaned over. “Hope I didn’t play that too hard.”

Stan shook his head. “Naw, man. It was perfect. Skaggs is one of those ‘law of the jungle’ meatheads, and you just showed him you’re boss.” He chuckled. “After I saved him from those Bandidos I kicked his ass be being pussy enough to get jumped in the first place.”

Randy shook his head. “Just when you think they don’t get any dumber…”

“You meet Skaggs. And he’s back.” Stan took the cool bottle of Bud and clinked glass with Randy. “Here’s to a good ride.”

Skaggs looked from one man to the other. “So...”

“Your connections. Yeah.” Stan nodded. “See, Patch and I got some work planned. But we need some hardware for that. And I heard from Paco that he heard from Gramps that you’re the dude to see if you need serious hardware.”

“I can get you some hog legs.”

“Not pistols, man. Hell, we can get those from the ten year old beaner down the street. Not that I would. I’d rather keep my green with my own, if you know what I mean.”

Skaggs nodded, his mustache bobbing. “I do, brother. We gotta look after our own.”

“So that’s why Patch and I came lookin’ for you and not some spook in a Caddy. We need good hardware. American-made if you got it.”

Randy nodded. “You figure you can handle full auto orders?”

“Shit, yes. I know last time you was in this neck of the woods, Biggs, it was harder’n hell to get full auto. Not now. Been a change in management, if you get what I mean.”

“Yeah. I heard the Feds scattered ol’ Earl’s fat guts all over some old swamp farm.” Stan chuckled. “He always was an asshole.”

“And now he’s a dead asshole. Some of the brothers been pickin’ up his slack, and they only sell to the right people. Whatever you need, they can get.”

“Military grade?”

“Hell, yes. Not bulk, but they can deliver some.” Skaggs took a long swing of beer. “They don’t like new faces, but I can vouch for you two bros.” He looked around. “But this ain’t the best place to talk business.”

“No, it ain’t.” Stan finished his beer. “You got a spot in mind?”

“There’s an old gas station out on the Intercostal. Just past mile market three. Meet me there tomorrow night at nine. I’ll bring one or two of ‘em with me and we can make introductions. They like you, they’ll deal.”

Stan grinned, then grabbed Skaggs by his ratty mustache. “See that they do.” Pushing the spluttering man away, he turned to Randy. “Let’s go find us some ladies, Patch. Been a long ride.”

 

Castillo waited until Stan was finished before he spoke. “You think Skaggs will come through?”

“He’ll try his damndest, captain. Helps him up his status with them and us.”

Randy nodded. “He’s a piece of work, but he’s also too damned dumb to lie.”

“Go with it. Use your team to cover the meet. If you need more bodies, let me know.” He looked up, favoring the two men with a thin smile. “Good work.”

Once they left he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It was almost time to leave, and he was thankful for that. It was one thing when they were going full speed into an operation, but another when they were sweeping up crumbs like they were now. They’d barely broken a sweat taking down Orgato and his little crew, and this looked to be more of the same.

Still, there was something about the Orgato bust that kept gnawing at the back of his mind. The two men with the tattoos. What had they been doing there, and why were Orgato and Falcone afraid to talk about them? It was a little thing, barely worth a mention in the report, but Castillo had survived as long as he had by worrying about the little things. Going all the way back to his time in Cuba.

Reaching out, he picked up the note Trudy had typed. DEA had come back with next to nothing. Just some talk about a possible Central American gang connection. It was all about the little things. That and what Crockett had said about there being problems on the supply end of the cocaine trade. What if the two were somehow connected?

He spun the chair so he could look out the window at the setting sun. Or maybe he was trying to make something out of nothing. Crack had thrown everything off, and maybe it was effecting the supply side, too. If profits were down, production might drop to force the price back up. He needed to focus on the two operations they had going now, not some tattoo that might mean something but likely meant nothing.

“Still thinking about those tattoos?”

Trudy’s throaty voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Yes, my love. I’m afraid I am. But we’re done for the day. Anything new to report?”

“Stan and Randy are working on their plan for the meet tomorrow. They’ve got Dave and Lester in there, too, and I think they ordered pizza.” She smiled, pushing a strand of thick black hair away from her face. “They’ll be here for a bit. Crockett and Tubbs headed out about half an hour ago. Something about being seen.” She shrugged. “I figured you’d know what they meant. And Mindy’s just leaving.”

“Which means it’s our turn.”

Down in the parking garage Castillo watched with silent satisfaction as Trudy smiled when the Challenger roared to life. He’d bought her the car before they were married; a red ’71 R/T with a 440 V-8 that had been tuned within an inch of its life. Only later did he find out that had been her dead brother’s dream car.

She looked over at him and cocked her head just a bit. He smiled. “Light it up, my love.”

Even though he’d spent most of his life avoiding the spotlight, being invisible while others got the attention, Castillo found he enjoyed riding with Trudy. She drove with a ferocious skill, muscling the car through traffic like there was no one else on the road. And the thump of the engine had a soothing quality he’d not appreciated before. The car drew looks and sometimes challenges from young men with more testosterone than common sense, and Trudy would take on any comer so long as he nodded his approval. He almost always gave it, knowing how much she enjoyed doing what her brother couldn’t do. He knew the value of connections to the past, and what it felt like to lose them. All that was left of his was his first name and scattered memories he held close.

They were almost to the house when she killed the headlights and idled the car down the gravel road, the V-8 thumping low and the big tires crunching over the fine rocks. It was one of Castillo’s old habits she’d picked up. It let their eyes adjust to the darkness and also preserved the tranquility of his little slice of Asia outside Miami.

As soon as they were in the house, Trudy wiggled out of her tight blue dress and slipped on an almost sheer silk robe, tying it loosely around her narrow waist. Castillo smiled, hanging his jacket and tie on the hooks near the door before changing into his own robe and joining her on the wooden deck looking out toward the water. Later he’d make tea and a light dinner, but for now they let the sound of the waves wash the day away from their hearts.

In the time they’d been together, and the months since they’d been married, Trudy had slipped so totally into his routines Castillo felt like he couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been there. Later maybe she’d play a bit on her piano, the first thing he’d insisted she move in when they started living together. And he knew he’d joined her routines, too. Like the piano and her rediscovered interest in painting. Together it was like they formed a complete, single person.

She looked over at him, letting the robe slip open. “You look like you’re having serious thoughts, my love.”

“How could I not, looking at you?” He smiled, reaching over and taking her hand. “Just putting the last of day behind me. I’ll go start tea.”

“Maybe I’d rather you started something else.” She tugged on his hand with a strength he knew too well.

“That can be arranged.” He smiled again, leaning over and kissing her. Tea would have to wait.

Later he sat on the floor in the living room, watching and listening to her pick out the start of a new composition on the piano. It was another of their shared routines. They’d make love and then he’d watch and listen to her play. The act seemed to bring jazz out of her heart and into her fingertips, the notes flowing through the heavy night air like liquid diamonds.

She stopped and turned, smiling at him. “What do you think?”

“I could watch you play all night. And the song is beautiful. You know I love how you play the minor keys.” He smiled again. “Does it have a name?”

“Not yet. That was only the intro.” She stood up and walked over to him, her body outlined in gold by the moonlight streaming through the wide windows. “But it’s getting there.”

“It is.” He took her hand. “We have an early morning.”

She giggled and pulled her hand from his, running it lower on his body. “I’m not ready to sleep yet.”

“Neither am I.” He took her hand again and led her to the bedroom. “Neither am I.”

 

Walking into Topper was like stepping back in time, Sonny decided as he followed Rico past the coked-out doorman. 1985 to be exact. The neon was pastel, the music strictly Hall and Oates with some Duran Duran thrown in for good measure, and the crowd mainly coke trade wanna-bes and some who’d made it but felt like slumming. In other words, a perfect place for men like Burnett and Cooper to see and be seen. At least that was the plan.

The bar was glass and chrome, with a string of pink LED lights running along the top rail like an open scrape. Elbowing past two girls in skintight jeans, Sonny ordered a Black Jack and a scotch and turned away as soon as he had the glasses. “Let’s grab a table and see what bites,” he said as he handed Rico his scotch.

“Solid.” His partner tugged his Versaci coat a bit straighter over his shoulders. “But would it kill these chumps to at least play some Kool and the Gang?”

“That’s later. After the kids go to bed.” Sonny nodded toward a knot of what looked like frat boys chugging cheap beer from plastic pitchers. “So in another ten minutes.”

They found their spot and sat, Sonny in his basic Burnett black and Rico rocking Versaci’s latest pinstripes. Sonny had to smile under his sunglasses. Nothing perked Rico up like a trip to the property room after a bust.

“How many of them do you think know about Burnett?”

“I’d say the two cowboys by the bar do.” Sonny nodded toward two thin Hispanic guys of indeterminate age wearing tooled leather cowboy boots. “They look like small-time boat guys to me.” He chuckled. “Any of Cooper’s friends in the house?”

“Maybe one or two of the ladies back in the powder line.” Rico grinned. “But I’m retired from that game.”

“Yeah. Mindy would rip your guys off if you got close to any of them.”

“Or they might fall off. Wonder how many of them have had their shots?” Rico chuckled. “But you can’t deny we were both due.”

“No, Rico. That I can’t do.” Sonny let a quick image of Jenny flash through his mind, then locked down to Burnett serious. “Looks like the cowboys grew some friends. Two of ‘em to be exact.”

“Yeah, and from the way they’re puttin’ down the tequila they’re working up their nerve for something.” Rico shifted, making sure he had a clear path to his Walther. “You piss any Mexicans off lately?”

“Just that goofball colonel Cliff was trying to go into business with. But these guys don’t look like that.” Still, he watched the four. Rico was right. They were working up their liquid courage for something.

Finally one of them worked up enough nerve to saunter over to the table. “Sonny Burnett?”

“Depends on who’s askin’.” Sonny raised his head just enough for his sunglasses to reflect the punk’s face.

“They call me Pancho. You know, like Pancho Villa.”

“And I call you gone. Like gone now.”

“Wait! I understand you run transport, si? And you’re very good at it?”

“Maybe. But you’re boring as hell. You got ten seconds to be not boring.”

“Maybe you hear of my uncles? The Mendoza brothers?”

“Old news, pal. Like you’re about to be.”

“I understand it is a dry time in Miami, yes? My compadres and I can fix that, but we do not run product. We supply but do not deliver. You can deliver.”

“But I don’t know you. For all I know you could be a damned cop.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps not.” He looked back at the bar, and Sonny could see them nodding. “I have, how do you say, references? Yes, references. A wise man only does business with those he knows or can check out. Your reputation precedes you, but you need to learn mine.” He pulled a card from the front pocket of his tight jeans. “These are four men you might know. Ask them about Pancho.”

Sonny looked down at the card. “I might do that. Then again, I might not.”

“My compadres and I are here every night about this time. We will look for you. If I don’t see you after a week I’ll have to assume Burnett is not the man they say he is.”

Sonny’s face was without expression. “Insult me again and you’ll be the late, unlamented Pancho.” He left his blazer fall open just enough for the stainless steel frame of his 4506-1 to say hello. “And I don’t mess with nickel and dime deals. Neither does my associate Mr. Cooper. So you’d better keep that in mind, pal.”

Rico leaned over, and Sonny almost smiled as the kid flinched. “In New York we feed minnows like you to the sharks. But I’m all about supply. Sometimes minnows can deliver.”

“You check those names. Pancho can deliver. Me and my compadres.” The kid gave what he thought was a fierce grin and stumbled back to the bar.

Sonny let out a slow breath, trying to keep Burnett under control. “Now what the hell was that shit?”

“Minnows hitting the bait.” Rico grinned. “But if he really is related to the Mendozas we might have a break.”

“Yeah. We’ll run the alias and then maybe chase these bozos down. I’ll have Trudy and Mindy run the names first, though. Gotta know what kind of scumbags he’s sending us to.”

Rico kept watching the four at the bar. “They almost make Carrera and that chump Garcia look good. And the one either just crapped his pants or he’s got a pistol shoved down the back of his jeans.”

“Yeah. I’d read some intel that the Mexican traffickers were going heavy for the cowboy look, but I guess you have to see it to believe it. But I’d rather I hadn’t.” Sonny looked at the dregs of bourbon in the bottom of his glass. “You want another one and then call it a night? I think we might have trolled this particular fishing hole dry.”

[mjcmmv]

I can't help but feel Burnett and Cooper are being set up. Especially when "little things" are bothering Castillo.

Enjoying this a lot!

Edited October 25, 2019 by mjcmmv

[Matt5]

Enjoying this- thankyou !