Breaking Point Part IX

[Robbie C.]

Rico managed to sit on his anger until they dropped Sonny back at the Ferrari. Then he let go. “What the hell was that shit all about? He’s lucky he didn’t break Garcia’s thumb or the damned deal.”

Mindy laid her hand on his arm. “He’s in character, Rico.”

“Yeah, but I think sometimes he enjoys it too much. And Garcia wasn’t screwing us around. He wants the deal as much as we do.”

“Sure, but Sonny’s got a part to play.” She signed and looked out at the passing traffic. “Look, I don’t know if it was the right move or not. And I know there’s history there. But so far he’s made the right calls with Burnett. Maybe closer to the line than I’d like to go, but it’s his cover. And maybe…if the trade’s changing Burnett needs to change with it.”

Rico nodded in spite of himself, letting her words sink in. She was right; there was history with him and Burnett. Most of the time he could separate that…keep it in check and remember it was his friend and partner playing a role. But sometimes…sometimes Sonny seemed to slip too deep into that role, going back to what he’d been when he’d tried to kill Rico in the old lighthouse. And she was right about things changing. Hell, the boat was proof of that. “Yeah. And he was right about the boat.”

“So what do you think eight means?”

“I don’t know, baby.” He looked over at her as he eased up to a stoplight. “But I do know that dress looks damned good on you.”

She smiled, shifting so it rode down a bit more. “You think so? I almost think it doesn’t show enough.”

“Keep that up and you won’t be wearing it much longer.” The light changed, and Rico forced his attention back to the street. “Do you think you can root around in those databases and see if there’s anything about the number eight? Especially from Columbia and maybe Peru.”

“Sure.” She gave him the soft, teasing smile he’d learned to recognize as a promise of a wild night ahead. “But now I think you’d better take me home before I do something that might get us both arrested.”

The next morning found Rico nursing a cup of Stan’s coffee and staring at the report form spooled in his typewriter. One more line and it was done, and then on to the buy money request. Looking at his watch, he frowned. It was almost ten and still no Sonny. It wasn’t like him to be late these days, at least not without a good reason.

He was just putting the finishing touches on the buy money request when Sonny strolled into the office. He nodded to Rico and flopped down in his chair with a sigh. “Sorry. Had some stuff to take care of with Caitlin’s House.”

“It’s cool. You shoulda said something last night.” Rico shook his head. He could see Sonny’s bloodshot eyes from where he sat and also noticed he was wearing the same clothes from the night before. “I got my report done an’ the buy money paperwork’s almost done, too.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Sonny shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “Rough night’s all.”

“Trouble with Jenny?”

“Naw. It’s all good there.” He shook his head again. “Just got a bit closer to Burnett than I wanted to last night.”

“I wondered about that, partner.” Rico looked up from the form. “You cool?”

“Yeah. I think so, anyhow.” He shook his head. “Slept on deck last night. Once I got to sleep. Took a bit of Black Jack to do it, though. Jenny understood. At least she said she did.” He smiled. “She said something about knowing my demons.”

“Yeah.” Rico wasn’t quite sure what to say. He knew how he felt about that side of Sonny’s character, but he also had seen how damned useful it could be. The focused viciousness had helped them take down Menton when he’d come after Castillo and played no small role in many of their other big cases. But he’d never really thought about the toll it must take on Sonny. Digging up old memories and things he’d rather forget. Maybe if he hadn’t had that break and the whole Manolo thing it would be different. But it ain’t. I have to remember that. “You ever need to talk…”

“Yeah. I know. It’s cool now, Rico. Just something about this case. And those damned heads. Who the hell sends a message like that? I get it, and it’s effective as hell, but how can you do that?” He grinned. “Even Burnett ain’t that cold-blooded.”

“Or crazy. I asked Trudy to run another search. See if there’s anything buried in DEA stuff about this. I know they’re starting to see heads in Mexico, but…”

“Miami ain’t Mexico.” Sonny ran his fingers through his hair, straightening it down a bit. “I’m gonna grab a shower and change. I should have done that before I came in.” He started to get up and stopped. “Did they get anything on the numbers from those M-16s?”

“Not yet. Mindy’s expecting to hear back this afternoon.”

“Let me know when she does. And I’m thinking we should see if we can run down that Carrera punk again. And maybe Pancho. And we gotta work up a plan for Garcia tonight.”

Alone in the office again, Rico signed by the buy request and put it with the rest of his paperwork. He’d walk it over to Castillo in a minute, but right now he needed to get his head straight. Looking out the window at the murky blue sky promising another day of heat and humidity, he let his mind sort through everything.

First on the list was Garcia’s meeting. That was damned clear. Had Sonny forgotten or was he just distracted by the Burnett fallout? Rico guessed distracted, but they’d need to put together a good plan. Something to deal with any number of variables. And they didn’t have much time. Maybe he’d have Sonny work up a plan while he checked with Stan to see what support Team Elvis could provide. Carrera and Pancho would have to wait.

After that…well…he wasn’t sure what came after that. Things with Mindy were great, better than he deserved if he was honest with himself. He wasn’t sure what kept tugging at the back of his mind, but he’d learned long ago to trust that particular tug. Like Sonny and Dave and their spiders. Something big was coming, and he didn’t like not knowing what it was.

 

The heat rose in shimmering waves through the eye of the telescopic sight. Dave Blair closed his eyes for a moment then refocused on the target far downrange. “Range 950.”

Beside him Randy Mather looked through a powerful spotter’s scope. “Confirmed. Range 950.”

The slim trigger of the Remington 700 felt familiar under his index finger, and the composite stock pressed tight against his cheek. It was all comforting, reassuring. An environment under his complete control. The rifle recoiled back into the pocket of his shoulder, the boom of the shot muffled by earplugs. “Hit.”

“Confirm. Center ring.” Randy made a note in their range log. “Gonna go for more?”

“Naw. I think it’s your turn.” Dave eased out from behind the rifle. He’d fired his ten and was happy enough with the results. “I need to get some spotter time.” He watched as Randy shrugged and got to his knees.

They were shooting at one of the Metro-Dade ranges, using the longest lane available. He could see a cluster of Metro snipers at the next station over, trying not to look like they were watching and failing. He knew they usually ranged at maybe two hundred yards, and a few of them might be good out to four hundred. As far as they were concerned the two former Marines were shooting at the moon.

Once they switched places, Dave noted the change on the range log and made some small adjustments to the spotting scope. “You going for the full range?”

“Yeah.” Randy fed five rounds into the internal magazine of the rifle, leaving the bolt open until he was in position. “Might as well impress those shitheads over there.”

Dave nodded, knowing what Randy meant. They’d be expecting Randy to be a worse shot because he was the spotter. They had no way of knowing the two men followed Marine Corps doctrine; Randy was the spotter because HE was the better shot.

Peering through the scope at the range flags, Dave thought back to their time in Vietnam. It was hard not to when you were shooting in the same damned heat and humidity. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d longed for the dry, clear air of Montana. “Wind is about five from the west.”

“Copy.” Randy settled in behind the rifle.

Dave nodded, noting the wind on the log. He knew Randy was a better shot, but he also knew why his partner was almost never behind the rifle when they were in the field. It had been an impossible shot in dim light, and they both were sure the man had been carrying an RPG. Hell, even the grunts had sworn it was. But it turned out to be a hoe. The grunts’ LT had shit all over them, claiming he’d told them the man was unarmed. In the end it came to nothing after the company gunnery sergeant contradicted the LT’s testimony, but Randy had never taken another shot in the field again.

Dave got it. Hell, he’d taken a bad shot or two in his time. But he’d always pushed through it. For some reason Randy couldn’t. But it didn’t make him think any less of his partner. It was after that incident he’d started working with the corpsmen, learning as much medic stuff as he could. And Dave had seen him run into situations other Marines wouldn’t go near. No, he understood Randy’s decision. And if anything it made him a better spotter. He was always sure of a target before he let Dave shoot.

“Range me.”

“Second target. Range 1000 on the nose.”

“Confirm. One thousand yards.”

They’d tacked a target onto a fifty gallon drum out at the very edge of the range’s far berm. No one knew quite why it was out there, but it made a good target stand. Dave adjusted the focus on the scope again and tried to peer through the shimmering heat waves. He could just pick it out, and he knew for Randy it wouldn’t be much more than a speck about the size of a postage stamp. “Target is confirmed.”

There was a pause, and then the big rifle boomed. “Hit.”

“Hit confirmed.” He couldn’t tell where, but from the way the barrel shuddered he knew there’d been a hit.

A second shot echoed across the range. “Hit.”

“Confirm.” Risking a look, Dave saw the knot of uniforms had grown next to them, and binoculars were trained downrange.

A third shot. “Hit.”

“Confirm.” He said it twice more and then paused. “Going for more?”

“Naw. I think that did it.” Randy was still behind the rifle, the bolt back and thin smoke trailing from the open breech.

“Clear!” Dave’s voice boomed out. “Don’t want those assholes shooting us while we get the targets.”

“Yeah, but let’s take the pogue buggy.”

They climbed into one of the range’s modified golf carts and chugged out to the far targets. Dave gathered his first, nodding at the ragged cluster of holes around the center ring. “Not bad.” Then they headed for Randy’s.

He could see the police snipers moving to their spot as the cart made its way back across the range. One of them, a tall, rangy bastard wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses and an attitude, pointed as they came to a halt. “Let me guess. One hit each.”

“Guess again, asshole.” Dave held up his target.

“Must have been lucky. But I’ll bet you didn’t get one on the barrel. Spotters can’t shoot for shit.”

Randy turned away, but Dave didn’t. He’d always been the quicker of the two to anger, and didn’t hold back this time. Dropping his target, he held up Randy’s, covering the five bullet holes with the palm of his hand. “Wrong again, asshole. You want me to set ‘em up again so you can show us how good you are? I bet you can’t hit the broad side of your wife’s fat ass at four hundred, let alone a grand.”

He felt Randy’s hand on his shoulder. “Come on, man. He ain’t worth the trouble.”

“You hotshots think you’re bad, don’t you?” Attitude man kept pushing it, coming closer. “One good range day and you’re the shit.”

One of the other Metro snipers spoke up. “Ease off, Carter. These are Castillo’s shooters.”

“And that means what? I don’t give a shit if they’re working for that damned greaser…”

Whatever Carter had been about to say died as a squawk as Dave’s hand flashed out and closed around his throat. “That’s Captain Castillo to you, asshole. Disrespect him again and you’ll be answering to us.” Releasing his grip, he let the spluttering man fall to the hard ground.

“He didn’t mean…”

“Look. You boys go do your shooting and we’ll go about our business. We got no gripe with you.” Dave turned to glare at Carter as the man tried to get to his feet. “But this asshole best stay clear.”

As they walked back to the truck, Dave heard Randy chuckle. “Not your day to make new friends, is it?”

“Not with assholes. I ain’t never been good with assholes.”

“Yeah.” They loaded the rifle and ammunition behind the front seats, and then Randy climbed into the driver’s seat. “I heard about that Carter back when we were working with the Metro SWAT unit before the Task Force. You were off covering a warrant team or some shit so I talked to some of their boys. Just to get a feel for ‘em in case we had to roll with them one day.” He cranked the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. “Anyhow, even they don’t like him. Ex-Army of some kind who sheds partners like a Husky in Arizona sheds fur.”

“He’s just lucky I didn’t drop his ass right there.”

“And I expect the others are explaining that to him now. Still, we’d better watch our step next time we hit the range. He’s a petty bastard.”

Dave nodded, looking out the window and willing his anger to fade away. But it was hard. He hated assholes like Carter. Always had. They reminded him too much of the FBI pukes who’d refused to investigate his brother’s murder. One of their own, no less. He smiled at his reflection in the truck window. That had been one of the great ironies: Dave Blair, the guy with authority issues, joining the Marine Corps.

The buzzing of the phone interrupted his thoughts. One of Stan’s new toys, the car phone let them stay in touch with the office…a blessing or a curse depending on your point of view and the time of day. Dave picked it up and hit the activation button. “Dave here.”

Stan’s voice filled his ear. “You guys on your way back to the house?”

“Yeah. Just got done at the range. What’s up?”

“Sonny and Rico are meeting with that guy Garcia’s dealer tonight. They’re gonna need some overwatch, I think, but we don’t know where the meet’s going down. I’d like to have you two here to give some feedback.”

“Roger that, sarge. We’ll be there in fifteen or so.” Dave hung up and repeated the conversation to Randy.

“Well, shit. What does he expect us to do?”

“Provide options I’d guess. I can see the boss and Rico wanting overwatch if we can provide it, but that’ll depend on where the meet goes down. Maybe if we pre-position somewhere and then shift once we know where the meeting’s going down…”

“That’s an idea.” The two tossed ideas back and forth until they rolled into the cool shade of the underground garage.

 

Captain Salazar waited until Hidalgo was done talking before he nodded. “So you feel they need another lesson?”

“Si, captain. I do. But a focused one.” Hidalgo sat stiffly in his chair, almost like he was trying to remain at attention even while seated. “Those who know of us from Columbia and Peru have paid what was asked, but the others…they don’t understand how things will work.”

“Moncado didn’t tax, did he?”

“No, jefe. He did not. He ran his trade with his people and simply ignored others so long as they stayed away from his territory.” The man shifted in his chair. “One man in particular told us he wouldn’t pay no matter what and we should go fuck ourselves.”

“Did he?” Salazar scratched at the stubble on his cheek. It took some getting used to, but if he wanted to fit in he needed to look the part. And apparently razors were rarely used in this part of the world. “Then we should show him what happens when you disrespect El Unidad.”

“We have him under surveillance now. Cruces is keeping a loose tail on him and checking back with the boys for instructions.” He gestured toward the other room and the comms operators.

“Outstanding.” Salazar sat for a time, sorting ideas in his head. “We’ve shown them we deliver a big message. Now we should show them we can be precise as well. Speak with Valderama. I’d like this to happen during the man’s next deal if we can determine when that is.”

“Cruces thinks he’s working on one now. He’s been moving from pay phone to pay phone, and that’s what these people do when they’re coordinating a buy.”

“Good. Stand by with Valderama and take him out. If we can do that during his deal I think the message will have more impact.”

Hidalgo nodded several times. “Si, jefe. It will be so if we can do it. I just hope I can see their faces when Philipe delivers the message.”

Salazar nodded, worried he’d been forced to tip his hand too soon. But a challenge like that to El Unidad’s authority could not go unanswered. Not if they wanted to replicate their success here. Especially with Lieutenant Orozco and more men due in next week. He didn’t much care for Orozco, but better the young hothead than Sergeant Major Pascal.

 

Rodrigo Delacruz smiled and set down his coffee cup. “Come in, lieutenant. I trust you’re ready for your trip north?”

“Of course, sir.” Victor Orozco was one of the newer breed of officers turned out by the national academy and the Gringos’ training programs: ambitious, ruthless, and willing to obey any order given to him by his superiors. Rodrigo didn’t quite trust him, but he counted on Salazar to keep an eye on the man in El Notre.

“You’ve read Captain Salazar’s report, but I want to be sure you understand what you’re walking into. Miami is a different environment than you’re used to. It’s not as, how did the Gringos put it, as permissive as we’re used to. A certain discretion is required.”

“With respect, sir, the captain might not have the best view…”

“Oh, but he does, lieutenant. The Gringos trained him before the exchange freeze. He’s operated in their land before. You do not buy the police there like you do here. Your big displays must be limited and precise.” He paused, taking a sip of coffee. “And we need to find that damned special unit. If they took out Moncado they are a threat to us.”

Orozco’s face twisted into a confused smile. “What do we do when we find them, sir?”

“Eliminate them. Another message.” Rodrigo smiled at the confusion on the lieutenant’s face. “One thing I have learned over the years is the value of an effective message. And if this unit exists, eliminating it will send a powerful message to both dealers and the Gringo law enforcement people.”

“But won’t the Gringos come after us with all their power?”

“No. The other thing I have learned is the value of misdirection. If we eliminate them, but make it seem like someone else did…”

“Ah. I see.”

No. You likely do not. But it’s of no concern to me. So long as you follow orders. “Good. Pick your team well. Our time will be limited. I suspect we’ll need the captain and his specialists back here soon enough.” That part was true. Salazar was his best analyst, and he’d taken his top signals people with him to El Notre. Things were running well enough with his backup team, but Rodrigo understood keeping his rear areas secure.

Once Orozco left, he pushed a button on the intercom on his desk. “Send in the sergeant major.”

Sergeant Major Gordo Pascal was a different kind of solider entirely from the polished Orozco. Thick and peasant-mean, Pascal had clawed his way up through the ranks to become Unit 8’s senior enlisted man and chief interrogator. The man who did the hard things, without question or remorse. As he snapped to attention in front of the desk, dark eyes fixed at a point somewhere beyond the bulletproof glass of the window, Rodrigo knew he needed him, or someone like him, to keep things rolling. But that didn’t mean he had to like him. “At ease, sergeant major.”

“Does the colonel have a question?”

Rodrigo fought back a smile. Pascal was of the old school. “Report, Gordo.”

“As the colonel requested, we are letting cargo move through our zone of control again. The men continue to collect as ordered, with examples being made as needed. So far there has been little need. The peasants know their place, sir.”

“What examples have been set?”

“A boat crew in Santa Rosa refused to pay the tax. They were burned alive and propped in their boat with placards warning about disobeying Ocho.” Pascal recited the acts as if he were reading a menu. “The staff at one of Ordonez’s labs refused to make their payment. The lab was destroyed by one of Sergeant Jemenez’s teams and the heads arranged in a figure eight.” The stocky man grinned. “Ordonez sent a message along with his payment claiming it was a misunderstanding.”

“I’m sure he did. Watch that one closely, sergeant major. Maybe remind him he has a family he should be worried about.”

“As the colonel wishes.”

“Thank you, Gordo. Dismissed.” Once the sergeant major left the room, Rodrigo allowed himself an indulgent smile. Things were going well. The money was rolling in, faster now that he’d allowed traffic through their zones of control to begin again in earnest. It was all about supply and demand. So long as demand showed no sign of dropping he could charge more or less what he liked for supply.

Competition was always a threat. But he didn’t worry too much about that. One or two smaller groups had tried, only to end up as messages laid out in village squares, warehouse floors, or occasionally on docks. Whatever it took to get El Unidad’s point across. He’d even adopted the peasant Ocho as their own, although personally he hated the shorthand. It make for good marketing, as Orozco liked to point out in his more intelligent moments.

Finishing his coffee, Rodrigo got to his feet and walked to the wide window. They’d come so far since those dark days in the high mountains and jungles. And now they were on the verge of taking control of one of the richest trade routes the world had ever known. At one point he’d almost mourned the loss of the Bolivian contract, but now he was grateful. Why settle for a piss-ant country when you could have something so much bigger?

 

Sonny Crockett shook his head. “I’m still not sure about this.”

Rico nodded. “That makes two of us. But we ain’t got much of a choice. Until we know where this damned deal’s going down we have to stay loose.”

Sonny stared at the street map, placing all their known overwatch positions in his head. “And we got no idea where he’ll send us?”

“I’ve only done a couple of small deals with Garcia. And since he’s a middleman it’s never his stash.”

Stan cleared his throat. “I’ve got Dave and Randy in the Roach Coach with Lester. He can drop them just about anywhere once we have a location. The number Rico gave him traces back to a hotel near the airport. That’ll give us at least fifteen minutes in just about any direction if he tries to spring a fast deal.”

“Yeah. I know.” Sonny kept staring at the map, feeling the spiders shifting up and down the back of his neck. Something was off, and not knowing what it was made the whole damned thing worse. He was about to bitch some more when the phone rang.

Rico snatched it up on the third ring. “Hello? Speaking, mon. Righteous! I get Burnett and we’ll be there.”

“So what’s the deal?”

“His guy’s ready to deal. Still don’t know who the hell he is, though. But that’s how Garcia played it the other two times. It’s his insurance.”

“Where?” Castillo came out of his office almost on cue.

“West end of Overton. There’s an old auto parts store this guy uses as a drop spot. It’ll be by land, so we’ll take the Caddy.” Rico grinned. “Forty keys ain’t gonna fit easy into the Ferrari.”

“No, but then you don’t need Burnett.”

Castillo nodded. “Take the blue Mercedes down in the garage. Mindy has the keys. It’s been fitted out with compartments and a phone.”

Sonny nodded. “Good thinking, Marty.” He grinned. “Trudy, you feel like playing Peaches tonight?”

Trudy stuck her head out of her office. “Sure. Let me guess, you need a driver.”

“Somethin’ like that.” Sonny nodded, still feeling the tickle on his neck. “And another set of eyes.”

“Gotcha.” She came out and looked at the map. “That’s a nasty spot he picked out. Just on the edge of a lot of bad stuff. Plenty can go wrong there.”

“Stan, get the location to Lester and have him get in position. Randy and Dave can go overwatch if they want or they can stay with the van. Their call.”

Stan nodded. “They’ve got at least two spots in that grid.” Turning, he headed for the Tech Room’s radio.

“The buy money is ready.” Castillo looked from Sonny to Rico and back. “Are you sure about this?”

“Something doesn’t feel right, captain. I gotta say it. But like Rico said, we don’t have much choice. This guy’s our only in until we can find Pancho or maybe Carrera.” He looked at the map. “But something…”

Trudy walked over and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, but what can we do?”

“Not much. And speaking of that, did you ever hear back on the numbers from the M-16s?”

“Not yet, but I did notice something going through the paperwork. They’re awful close to the ones we recovered from those two John Does at the warehouse.”

“Maybe they shop at the same corner market.”

Rico chuckled. “You been in the sun too long, partner? That cracker Hector wouldn’t sell to them. No way.”

“Unless they got them from Holmes before he got checked into the dirt motel.” Sonny let the information rattle around in his head. It was odd, finding M-16A1s in that close of a serial number sequence.

Trudy nodded. “I’m gonna go change and get into bad-ass chick character. Let me know when you’re ready to roll.”

Sonny just nodded, still staring at the map.

“We can call off the buy.” Castillo’s voice was matter-of-fact. “We don’t need the case. Hand it off to Metro-Dade Narcotics and give their lieutenant to score points on OCB.”

“No. Hell, it’s our case. I just wish I could put my finger on what was bugging me about it.”

Rico nodded. “Part of it’s that crap with the heads and the eight. Garcia knows more than he let on. Hell, that chump always knows more than he lets on. But it’s an unknown, and a nasty unknown.”

Castillo nodded. “I’ve asked some people questions. So far I don’t know much more than you do. Some new group down south started taxing transportation routes. There’s talk they started as a security force for one of the major producers in Peru and ended up taking over his business. There must be more to it, because some of the information is slow in coming. I’ll keep asking, and the chief deputy is doing the same.”

“Hell, we’re run into security forces before. Moncado had damned near a private army going.”

“Yes, but this feels different. Some of it is very familiar.”

Sonny nodded. “Nam.”

“Yes. In some ways. There’s a method here for sure, not random viciousness and not something tied to religion or ritual.” Castillo looked down, then locked eyes with them both. “Be careful tonight.”

“We will, captain.” Sonny felt his mind shifting gears, sliding back into the darkness of Burnett. And he didn’t fight it. He needed that edge tonight. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted it close to hand.

[mjcmmv]

This one was a real cliffhanger. When Sonny has those premonitions, it can get pretty nerve-racking. Can't wait for the next one!