Breaking Point Part XVI

[Robbie C.]

Trudy was waiting for him when he stepped off the elevator. “I got a hit for you on that Sissy. She’s a got rap sheet about a quarter of a mile long. Mostly prostitution, but a hit here and there for possession to seal the deal. There’s a note that she’s often seen in the company of Pancho Mendoza. If she’s got a pimp he’s not in her file.”

“Thanks, darlin’.” Sonny grinned. “Looks like that punk Carrera might have been doing something out of character. Telling the truth.”

“Maybe she’s keeping tabs on him.”

“Now that could be. I just wish I would have gotten a better look at the guy in the stairwell. He could have been Carrera’s rent-a-gun, but I can’t say for sure. So we assume he isn’t and someone’s keeping tabs on him and knows there’s a deal going down involving Burnett and Cooper.”

Trudy nodded. “That seems fair.” She was about to walk into the office when he touched her arm.

“Do you ever think about hanging it up?”

“Marty and I were talking about that last night.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Yeah. I do, anyhow. Getting shot kind of takes the shine off the job.”

“Tell me about it.”

She smiled. “And it takes a lot out of him. People here don’t know.”

“Jenny and I talked about it this morning.” He shook his head. “She gets it. And now…it just doesn’t have the same thing it did even five years ago.”

“You lost Caitlin to it, Sonny. I can understand why you’d not want to have that kind of loss again.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s a big part of it. Hell, it IS a big part of it. That, and Jenny walked away from her gig for me. I should do the same for her. But first we gotta wrap up this Unit 8.”

“You didn’t hear it from me, but Marty’s calling in some old favors. We need more intel, and it’s the only way he can get it.”

Rico was sitting at the conference table when they walked in, talking over the contents of a file with Mindy. “We just got the work-up on that Sissy, but I expect Trudy told you that.”

“Yeah, partner. For now we treat her as a spotter for Unit 8 and assume they know we’re in contact with Carrera.”

“And there might be more to that.” Stan came out of the Tech Room, a frown on his face. “Lester and I were going back through the tapes from the night Dave was shot, and some moron on Metro-Dade put out a call about a Task Force man down. With emphasis on Task Force. Only a moron would mistake it for anything other than a unit name.”

“And you can bet Unit 8 picked that up.”

Stan nodded. “If they’re half as good as we hear they are, they could have heard it with a kid’s walkie talkie.” Then his frown turned to a grin. “But you’re gonna love what Lester and I cooked up.”

“How’s that?” Sonny sat down with a cup of coffee, waiting for the explanation.

“Remember those fake tapes we did for Menton? Well, we can use that trick again. Make it should like there are more of us than we are. Try to draw them out so we can get a look at who we’re up against. And maybe get them spreading their resources all over hell and back while we drill through to where they live.” He chuckled. “We’ve got some beauties cooked up, and more to come.”

“Make as many as you can.” Castillo appeared at the head of the table. “I hope to have more intel on at least the officers of Unit 8 by the end of the day.”

Rico chuckled. “Call in more favors?”

“Yes.” The clipped answer told Sonny not to ask further. “But not all. We may need more before this is done.”

Mindy shook her head. “Why can’t we just ask them officially?”

Castillo smiled, and Sonny understood. She hadn’t been with them long enough to know. “This is something the Company won’t admit to knowing about, let alone helped with. Most of the people I talk to are out of that business now, sometimes for years. But they still have their files and their memories. And some of them are disgusted by what was done in this country’s name. Sometimes it’s that disgust that leads them to help me. Not all of them were, or are, my friends.”

Randy walked over to pour another cup of coffee. “If Dave was here he’d start a rant about the FBI, and he wouldn’t be far wrong. Those alphabet agencies, it’s all about protecting their asses and their reputations. Don’t matter who gets hurt in the process so long’s the good name of the Outfit is intact.”

Sonny looked Castillo in the eye. “You think this guy will help?”

“I should know soon enough. I left the mark in the usual spot.” Castillo’s smile was thin. “He’s traditional.”

“Is there any way to push Carrera? Speed it up a bit?”

Sonny shook his head. “No, Mindy. Not really. Not without looking like cops. These guys like to take their time when they can, but I think he’ll move fast enough. Unit 8 scares him, but so does Burnett. And in the end he’s like the rest of ‘em. Greedy to a fault.”

Rico nodded. “But we can use today to plan. Maybe see if we can get into the heads of these cats a bit.”

“Yeah.” Sonny looked at the map. “If they were trained by spooks, they’ll go to ground in safe houses. Someplace they won’t attract much notice, but at the same time is safe enough they don’t have to worry about getting into it with the local gang bangers. That pretty much rules out Overton.”

“And quite a bit of Little Haiti. But at the same time they can’t hide out in the ‘burbs. Wrong color for that crowd. They’d be calling Immigration or trying to hire them to cut their grass and clean their pools.” Rico gave a disgusted snort. “Lie-styles of the rich and shameless right there.”

Castillo spoke from the head of the table. “They’ll look for apartments. Maybe student places. Areas where younger men living together won’t draw attention. They’ll try to keep units together. Clusters of three or four. They might own the buildings outright through shell companies like Menton did.”

Sonny nodded. “That’s how I’d do it if I had the time to plan a move this big. They’ve got the resources for sure. Hell, they might had some of the cartels sign stuff over to them or be using their properties instead of collecting the tax. You can get creative when you’re in the position this Unit 8 is.”

“So how do we crack them?” Frustration was plain in Mindy’s voice.

“Same way they’re trying to pin us down. Get a fix on one of their guys and let them lead you to the rest.”

Randy shook his head. “Ain’t no one been trying to follow me.”

“They won’t. They don’t know that we know about them. Ten to one they’ve got at least one or two guys watching the hospital, but they won’t tip their hand yet. Not while they can go through newspapers and listen to morons on patrol sending out radio calls.”

Rico looked around the table. “How much time do you think we have?”

“As much as they’ll give us. But if they decide to send another message the clock will be ticking. Homicide’s still got their pants around their ankles because of the first message, and they’ll be wanting to share the pain if anything else goes down.”

 

“You’re certain they have no real security?”

Hidalgo nodded. “Si, sir. A bouncer and a camera that may or may not be hooked up to anything. I think they count on their patrons to keep order.”

Salazar smiled. “And how well does that work?”

“For street gangs? Fairly well I would think. Los Tech 9s have some kind of local reputation. But against El Unidad? They are less than nothing.”

“You say there is a front and back door?”

“Yes. The back door opens onto an alley clogged with trash and broken dumpsters. Anyone fleeing there would be an easy target. The front door is narrow, and like most bars in the area the front window has been boarded up. There’s a small back room and a cooler for the cervesas and other drinks. The building has a second floor, but I didn’t see any way to it from inside the bar. There is a stairwell outside, though. And mailboxes.”

“Collateral damage?”

“The door up was padlocked and gated from the outside. I don’t think anyone lives up there. And if they do…they are not the kind of collateral damage anyone notices.”

“Good work, corporal. The lieutenant will be here soon, so you’d best leave.” He paused. “How was his conduct?”

“Good, sir. He kept a low profile and didn’t accompany me into the bar. I can pass as a local, while he still has difficulty.”

Salazar nodded, waiting until Hidalgo left to let out a long sigh. The corporal hadn’t spelled out his plan because it was the obvious, and only, one: block the back, go in the front, single out Los Tech 9s, and cut them down. Simple yet difficult in some ways. He was curious to see how Orozco framed the situation.

The lieutenant came in exactly on time, his hair combed into place and secured with too much hair spray. Still, he showed the proper respect, remaining standing until Salazar waved him to a chair. “Your report, lieutenant?”

“I’m sure you already know the particulars of the physical layout. I saw no real security, and blocking escape through the back door should only take one or two men. The rest of my team and myself will go through the front door. One of my men slipped in after Corporal Hidalgo left and remained for almost an hour. I have a sketch map of the bar, the area around the door to the cooler and the back room, and some conversation indicating Los Tech 9s don’t usually come in until after 2100 and stay until closing. Usually anywhere from four to six of them, and my man heard the bartender complain that everyone else leaves within an hour of their arrival.”

“Good work, Victor.” Salazar almost smiled at the irony of the lieutenant having the same first name as the man they’d assassinated as a message. “So what is your plan for the operation?”

“I have my full team on hand, so six shooters and myself. Two will watch the back door and be near the vehicles for our escape, leaving five of us to secure the bar. I want to go in around 2300 hours, but I will have a team in position to watch the bar around 2000. They can let us know when Los Tech 9s arrive, their strength, and when the others leave. I assume we are to minimize collateral damage, so I’m planning accordingly.”

“And the message?”

“We don’t have time for anything fancy, so I will ensure there are as many Los Tech 9 bodies as possible with eight bullets in each of them. My team will use the MP-5SDs, so we’ll have both the firepower and stealth necessary for mission success. Once the message is delivered, we’ll exfiltrate the area and scatter before returning to safe houses. We will also wear masks and gloves, and I don’t plan on anyone speaking.”

“I approve. When do you execute?”

“Tonight if possible, tomorrow if not. My men are rested and ready, and I’d only abort if Los Tech 9s don’t show. With your approval, of course.”

Salazar nodded. It was a thin plan, but it should work as a first outing. It would also be a fine show of El Unidad’s strength and capability, one the local gangsters should understand. “Execute the plan, lieutenant.”

Once Orozco left, all smiles and platitudes, Salazar sat for a time with his thoughts. It was moving quicker than he’d like, but it was something that needed doing. And it might impress on the colonel that he could move with haste as well as deliberation. But the question of this Task Force also hung heavy in the back of his mind. Sergeant Velendez should be making his first report soon. He’d be curious to see what treasures the bright young NCO had unearthed in the library. It always amazed him how much information one could find openly if one knew where to look.

 

Martin Castillo’s phone rang partway through the afternoon, forwarded by Stan’s magic from the number he’d originally given Kiki. Of course that wasn’t the man’s real name. Castillo wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the man’s real name. But Kiki had been with the Company for almost thirty years when he finally walked away. As a Latin American specialist, if anyone knew about Unit 8 it would be Kiki.

“I was wondering when you’d call in that favor, Martin.” The man’s voice was old and tired, a far cry from the exuberance he remembered. But that many years with that much dirt had a way of breaking a man.

“I wasn’t planning on it, Kiki. But events leave me no choice.”

“This about those heads?” The chuckle echoed dryly over the phone. “I saw that on the news. Nasty piece of work, but familiar. Like one of them dreams you can’t remember but can’t forget, either.”

“We think it was the work of a group called Unit 8.”

“I heard of them. Peru, isn’t it?”

“Was. I heard they started out on their own.”

“Being declared war criminals does that do some fellers. Not that they ain’t war criminals, mind. But it’s never an easy pill to take when you’ve been telling yourself you’ve been following orders for years.” The bitterness in Kiki’s voice was almost a physical thing.

“They will not come to Miami.”

“Marty, they’re already here. That’s what the heads are about.”

“They will…”

“I heard you the first time. And I know that tone in your voice. Ain’t no way to shift your gears.” The older man sighed. “I can tell you I didn’t train ‘em. Wrote some strong memos opposing that training. Not that it mattered. What do you need?”

“As much as you can give me about the men involved. Especially the officers. They’ve gone into business for themselves, but the men don’t really change. Their habits. Fears.”

“I might have some stuff. But we do this, we’re even. Understand?”

“Of course.”

“We don’t meet, either. Can’t be sure who’s following either of us. You and me got enemies, Marty, though I hear you finally planted that scumbag Menton six feet under. About damend time if you ask me. Anyhow, I’ll leave a drop mark at the same place. Let you know where to pick up the goods.” There was a pause. “Take care, Marty. These are some seriously bad assholes. But judging from the trail you’ve been leaving you’ve got some bad assholes of your own. But don’t underestimate Unidad Ocho. They got the best training Bragg and Quantico had to offer.”

“You think the Company…”

“Hell, no. They want these guys gone, too. You ain’t the only one who reached out. In fact, they might lend a hand if you need it. But only deal with Hendricks. He’s still seeing straight.” There was a click, and the line went dead.

Castillo hung up with a thin smile. He remembered Kiki going back before Vietnam and then after. Shadow-shrouded missions to the island of his birth and other places nearby. The man was a legend, in enough demand he’d avoided Vietnam completely. Kiki was too essential to running operations against Cuba and later Nicaragua and even South America.

Stan stuck his head in the office. “You want a trace, captain?”

“No. Clear it, please.”

“You got it.” Stan paused. “Are we gonna take these guys down for real?”

“Yes.” Once Stan left, he turned his chair and looked out the window at the dark clouds hanging in the air. All I can do is hope they sit still long enough for us to act. If they don’t, the politicians will start getting involved and it might be out of our hands. He wondered how long it would take Kiki to assemble his files. Not long, probably. It sounded like he was expecting me to reach out.

Sonny’s voice broke into his thoughts. “That the call you were waiting for, Marty?”

“Yes. If anyone has information on the officers in Unit 8, it will be him.”

“Old spook?”

“One of the best. I suspect he still is.”

Sonny sat down. “We gotta draw these guys out. At least some of them so we can get a fix on the rest. I also think it might be time to put Cooper on ice for a bit.”

“You want to work without Tubbs?”

“No. Nothing that crazy. But he’s got this old cover from New York he hasn’t used down here at all. Marcus Jefferson. He’s backstopped as a wheelman, and I can work him in as Burnett’s northern contact man with no trouble at all. It won’t work for Carrera since he’s seen Cooper, but it might give us a good in with the Unit 8 guys. They might shoot a buyer, but they’d think twice about another transportation guy. Especially if he gave them entry to a new market.”

“Go with it. Let Trudy or Mindy know if Marcus needs his backstop updated. I don’t think Unit 8 is able to check that kind of thing, but I also won’t underestimate them.” He looked out the window. “With their money and connections it’s not inconceivable that they have a source in the DEA.”

“You think so?”

“Anything’s possible. As you know.” Castillo didn’t shy away from mentioning Scotty Wheeler. It kept them sharp to remember their mistakes.

“Yeah. Scotty. And Calderone got him cheap.”

“But it’s more likely their source is local. Someone DEA has stationed in Columbia or maybe Peru or Bolivia. And they wouldn’t have heard of the Task Force.”

Nodding, Sonny sat back in his chair. “You ever think you’ve done enough.”

“Yes. Then I remember…” He stopped, not wanting to bring his Laos team into his mind just yet. “Then I remember there’s more to do.”

“Yeah. But maybe once this is over it’s time to walk away. I never thought I’d say that, but now that I’m with Jenny…”

“You have things to lose. I understand. I feel that way now, too.” Castillo pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “But that’s a discussion for later. Once we’ve finished Unit 8. Maybe at The Sanctuary with Robbie. He knows quite a bit about walking away to better things.”

“Yeah, he does.” Sonny smiled and got to his feet. “I’ll get them working on planning for the second meet with Carrera. I want to be ready when that damned phone rings.”

 

Victor Orozco looked at his assembled team and smiled. He knew them all, had fought with them in high mountains, jungles, and the concrete sprawl of city slums. And, just as important, they knew him.

Packed in the back of an old slab-sided van, they waited for the go signal. He pulled on his ski mask, annoyed it would ruin his hair, and worked the bolt on his silenced sub-machine gun. The MP-5SD left something to be desired in terms of durability, but it was accurate and quiet. Qualities he needed for this mission. The corporal watched him and nodded, and the rest of the team mimicked his moves. Smiling under the mask, he leaned forward so the man in the driver’s seat could hear him. “Any word?”

“No, sir. Nothing since the scum went in.” He motioned toward the small radio on the passenger seat. “But they’ll let us know as soon as the others leave.”

“Of course.” If they were anyplace else, he’d go in now and not give two shits about collateral damage. As far as he was concerned it made the message more effective. But he knew he had to obey orders. And there was a small corner of his mind that was still trying to come to terms with El Notre. What kind of place was it where you couldn’t buy off the corner cop with a small stack of bills? While he might not have liked it, he understood the operational necessity.

Minutes passed, and then the radio hissed. The driver held it to his head and nodded. “We have the signal.”

Orozco nodded, crossing himself more for show than belief. He knew it made one or two of the men happy. “Flaco, take the back door. Silence anyone who comes through. The rest of you, with me as soon as we’re in position.” He slapped the driver on the shoulder. “Go.”

The air inside the bar was thick with cigarette smoke and an overload of cologne. Orozco was first through the door, taking five steps in so his men could fan to the left and right. It wasn’t perfect tactics, but for a message it had the desired impact. The four men at the bar stopped talking when they saw the bartender duck, and they turned almost as one.

“Ocho brings its compliments. You disrespected us by ignoring out message.” Orozco shook his head. “That just won’t do.”

“And who the hell are you, you little faggot? Coming into our bar with your…”

Orozco nodded, and the man on his left and the one on his right opened fire, their MP-5SDs filling the air with muted thumps as spent casings arced through the bad air. Two of the Columbians crumpled like crushed cans, their blood mingling on the dirty floor. Eight bullet holes decorated their chests. “Now you see the price that comes from disrespect. Perhaps others can learn from your mistakes.” He lowered his own weapon and put eight rounds into the chest of the one who’d spoken, knowing the corporal next to him had done the same to the last man.

Orozco watched the smoke trickling from the silencers of their weapons. Then he called out, “Stand! Ocho has no quarrel with you! But let others know this is what happens to those who do not respect their obligations. Eight bullets for each man. Or eight heads. Or eight family members. You will learn respect for Ocho.” Turning, not caring if the man stood or just huddled on the floor pissing himself, he gave the signal to depart. His team returned to the van as quietly as they’d come, and in seconds had been swallowed up by darkness.

 

Stan Switek spotting the flashing red lights well before he turned the corner and entered the circle of squad cars. He frowned when he saw the bar’s name proclaimed in a rough neon scrawl. “The Rooster? Shit.”

Lester Franz chuckled. “Ya can’t expect miracles, partner.”

“Yeah, but I can wonder why the hell we got called down.”

“Castillo sent us just in case this is tied into that Unit 8 thing, I’ll bet. Or maybe Baker’s just lonely.” Leaning over the door, he flashed his badge to the patrolman on perimeter duty. “Sergeant Franz. What’s the score?”

“Four bodies, sergeant. Shot a bunch of times.” The kid’s eyes were wide. “A bartender that both pissed and shit himself. And a Homicide guy who’s looking like his career flashed before his eyes.” He swallowed and grinned. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Course we didn’t. Not a word.” Lester smiled and turned to Stan. “Sounds like a gang war.”

“Maybe. But that don’t explain the call.” Stan parked the Ford they’d drawn from the ones in the basement garage between a squad car and an ambulance. Better to look like just another unmarked than something special if anyone happened to be watching.

Baker appeared out of the shadows by the bar, a cigarette glowing in his mouth. “Got one for you guys.”

“Since when are we on gangs, Baker?”

“None of us are, Switek.” He turned and started for the door, sending his words back to them. “These guys were shot eight times each. Center chest groups. And the bartender keeps whimpering about it being a message from Ocho, whatever the hell that means. It was the eight that got my attention.”

Stan grabbed Baker’s shoulder. “Those were his exact words?”

“Yeah. He’s over in the ambulance high as a kite from whatever the docs gave him to calm him down.”

Lester turned away. “I’ll go talk to him. You check out the scene.”

“Thanks loads, partner,” Stan muttered as he kept following Baker. “And I got pulled out of my nice soft bed with Gina for this. How many vics are there?”

“Four. And we think from the casings at least that many shooters. Your partner might get more from the bartender. When I got here he was blubbering and still trying to piss himself.”

The open door had cleared the air a bit, but the thick stench of voided bowels and blood still rammed itself up Stan’s nose as soon as he stepped inside. Flashes popped as the crime scene gnomes clicked away, but he could see the four bodies lined up in front of the bar plain enough. Baker’s voice cut through the crime scene babble. “I think they were at the bar. Our shooters come in, tell ‘em to turn around. Maybe there was some talk and maybe not. But all the dead guys are Los Tech 9s. Tatted full members. I’ve got a call in to Gangs to see if they have anything on beefs or feuds.”

“Have them see if anyone has tried to tax Los Tech 9s lately. And if the Tech 9 morons said no.” Stan stepped around one of the photographers, looking at the wound pattern on one of the bodies. “That’s some serious shooting. Almost cover the group with your palm.”

“That was the other reason I called your captain.” Baker leaned closer. “There’s gonna be some fur flying over this one.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.” Stan felt for the guy. It sucked having dead bodies pile up, and even more when there was politics involved. “Look, I can’t tell you much, but the shooters are some nasty dudes. If you get a whiff, call the captain or Crockett and Tubbs and let us know. And don’t go near them without a full SWAT team.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Baker looked down at the bodies. “These were some rough dudes. Whoever lit them up must have surprised them. Or scared them enough they didn’t want to move.”

“Or both. Who called it in?”

“The bartender. Sort of. He was blubbering into the phone when we got here.”

“So automatic weapons and no one calls it in?” Stan looked at the piles of expended casings. “9mm. I’ll bet they used silencers.”

“Street punks with silencers?”

“That’s what I’m saying, Baker. These aren’t street punks.” Stan looked around, letting a picture form in his mind. “They ain’t anything like street punks.”

“Your boys after them?”

“Might be. You know how it is, man.”

“You got any info you can share?”

Stan saw the desperation in Baker’s eyes and motioned him away from the crime scene techs. “The shooters are ex-military. South American military. That’s really all I can say without getting myself or Lester in a jam. But they’re trained and ruthless. Trust me when I say you wanna give these guys a pass.”

“After seeing this and that damned boat I agree. You boys are welcome to ‘em, and I’ll let you know if we turn up anything. But that boat’s been a dead end in more ways that one. It belonged to one of the guys who had his head in the front seat, and we’ve dug up one or two more names. But they’re all small time. No more than a handful of drug deals between them.”

“They were a message. A way these dudes let people know they’re in town.”

“Shit.” Baker let the lone word hiss between his lips. “And this?”

“Another message.”

“We’ll get the files to you guys as soon as we have the bodies IDd. I’ve got an idea who one of ‘em is, but we’ll send over the whole package.”

“Thanks, man.” Stan shook the Homicide detective’s hand.

“No problem.” Baker looked over toward the ambulance and chuckled. “You let Lester carry now?”

“Yeah. He’s a damned good shot, too. We aren’t lab rats anymore, Baker.”

The other cop looked Stan up and down and nodded. “No, no you aren’t, Stan. Not by a long shot. Now if you’ll excuse me I gotta get back to stickin’ my hands in the pockets of dead guys. Poke around as long as you need to.”

Stan nodded, a warm feeling shooting down his spine as he thought back to the compliment. Not too long back Baker would have just mocked him. But not now. And Lester was somebody, too. He knew there was no way he could ever go back to Metro-Dade.

Lester turned away from the ambulance, his face going alternate shades of red and white as the lights rotated. “That guy’s useless. All I got out of him was guys in masks did it. Maybe six. And only one talked.”

“And let me guess…the camera’s just for decoration.”

“I didn’t bother to check. Didn’t seem worth it with the cable just hanging down like that. And if it worked, our boys would have shot it out and pulled the tape.”

“Or just not cared if we found it or not. All we’d see is guys in masks gunning down other guys.” Stan looked at his watch and yawned. “I don’t know about you, but I doubt I’m gettin’ back to sleep. Wanna grab some breakfast and head back to the office? Baker’s gonna get us the files as soon as they have IDs on the vics.”

Stan was hauling the last piece of bacon out of his styrofoam “to-go” container when Martin and Trudy Castillo came in. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and he and Lester were on their third cups of coffee. “It was them, captain,” Stan said, filling Castillo in as he smiled a greeting to Trudy. “No question. Eight bullets in each vic. Baker thinks the bosses are gonna get involved.”

“They will. And it will do no good.” Castillo’s eyes were dark and cold. “I’m calling the chief deputy in the next hour or so. He needs to be brought up to speed.” It was then Stan noticed the canvas bag in Castillo’s hand. “There will be a full intelligence briefing this afternoon. Let the others know when they get in.”

Lester waited until Castillo’s office door shut. “What do we do ‘till then?”

“Work on more diversion plans. What else? I want these asshole so confused they won’t know if their own mom’s calling them in for supper. That and I want to comb back through the tapes from the night Dave was shot. We got traffic from them. I want to see if I can make out anything from it. And keep listening in on that frequency. They used it once, they’ll likely go back to it. I don’t think they know we’re hunting them.”

[Matt5]

On 11/22/2019 at 3:44 AM, Robbie C. said:

Trudy was waiting for him when he stepped off the elevator. “I got a hit for you on that Sissy. She’s a got rap sheet about a quarter of a mile long. Mostly prostitution, but a hit here and there for possession to seal the deal. There’s a note that she’s often seen in the company of Pancho Mendoza. If she’s got a pimp he’s not in her file.”

“Thanks, darlin’.” Sonny grinned. “Looks like that punk Carrera might have been doing something out of character. Telling the truth.”

“Maybe she’s keeping tabs on him.”

“Now that could be. I just wish I would have gotten a better look at the guy in the stairwell. He could have been Carrera’s rent-a-gun, but I can’t say for sure. So we assume he isn’t and someone’s keeping tabs on him and knows there’s a deal going down involving Burnett and Cooper.”

Trudy nodded. “That seems fair.” She was about to walk into the office when he touched her arm.

“Do you ever think about hanging it up?”

“Marty and I were talking about that last night.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Yeah. I do, anyhow. Getting shot kind of takes the shine off the job.”

“Tell me about it.”

She smiled. “And it takes a lot out of him. People here don’t know.”

“Jenny and I talked about it this morning.” He shook his head. “She gets it. And now…it just doesn’t have the same thing it did even five years ago.”

“You lost Caitlin to it, Sonny. I can understand why you’d not want to have that kind of loss again.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s a big part of it. Hell, it IS a big part of it. That, and Jenny walked away from her gig for me. I should do the same for her. But first we gotta wrap up this Unit 8.”

“You didn’t hear it from me, but Marty’s calling in some old favors. We need more intel, and it’s the only way he can get it.”

Rico was sitting at the conference table when they walked in, talking over the contents of a file with Mindy. “We just got the work-up on that Sissy, but I expect Trudy told you that.”

“Yeah, partner. For now we treat her as a spotter for Unit 8 and assume they know we’re in contact with Carrera.”

“And there might be more to that.” Stan came out of the Tech Room, a frown on his face. “Lester and I were going back through the tapes from the night Dave was shot, and some moron on Metro-Dade put out a call about a Task Force man down. With emphasis on Task Force. Only a moron would mistake it for anything other than a unit name.”

“And you can bet Unit 8 picked that up.”

Stan nodded. “If they’re half as good as we hear they are, they could have heard it with a kid’s walkie talkie.” Then his frown turned to a grin. “But you’re gonna love what Lester and I cooked up.”

“How’s that?” Sonny sat down with a cup of coffee, waiting for the explanation.

“Remember those fake tapes we did for Menton? Well, we can use that trick again. Make it should like there are more of us than we are. Try to draw them out so we can get a look at who we’re up against. And maybe get them spreading their resources all over hell and back while we drill through to where they live.” He chuckled. “We’ve got some beauties cooked up, and more to come.”

“Make as many as you can.” Castillo appeared at the head of the table. “I hope to have more intel on at least the officers of Unit 8 by the end of the day.”

Rico chuckled. “Call in more favors?”

“Yes.” The clipped answer told Sonny not to ask further. “But not all. We may need more before this is done.”

Mindy shook her head. “Why can’t we just ask them officially?”

Castillo smiled, and Sonny understood. She hadn’t been with them long enough to know. “This is something the Company won’t admit to knowing about, let alone helped with. Most of the people I talk to are out of that business now, sometimes for years. But they still have their files and their memories. And some of them are disgusted by what was done in this country’s name. Sometimes it’s that disgust that leads them to help me. Not all of them were, or are, my friends.”

Randy walked over to pour another cup of coffee. “If Dave was here he’d start a rant about the FBI, and he wouldn’t be far wrong. Those alphabet agencies, it’s all about protecting their asses and their reputations. Don’t matter who gets hurt in the process so long’s the good name of the Outfit is intact.”

Sonny looked Castillo in the eye. “You think this guy will help?”

“I should know soon enough. I left the mark in the usual spot.” Castillo’s smile was thin. “He’s traditional.”

“Is there any way to push Carrera? Speed it up a bit?”

Sonny shook his head. “No, Mindy. Not really. Not without looking like cops. These guys like to take their time when they can, but I think he’ll move fast enough. Unit 8 scares him, but so does Burnett. And in the end he’s like the rest of ‘em. Greedy to a fault.”

Rico nodded. “But we can use today to plan. Maybe see if we can get into the heads of these cats a bit.”

“Yeah.” Sonny looked at the map. “If they were trained by spooks, they’ll go to ground in safe houses. Someplace they won’t attract much notice, but at the same time is safe enough they don’t have to worry about getting into it with the local gang bangers. That pretty much rules out Overton.”

“And quite a bit of Little Haiti. But at the same time they can’t hide out in the ‘burbs. Wrong color for that crowd. They’d be calling Immigration or trying to hire them to cut their grass and clean their pools.” Rico gave a disgusted snort. “Lie-styles of the rich and shameless right there.”

Castillo spoke from the head of the table. “They’ll look for apartments. Maybe student places. Areas where younger men living together won’t draw attention. They’ll try to keep units together. Clusters of three or four. They might own the buildings outright through shell companies like Menton did.”

Sonny nodded. “That’s how I’d do it if I had the time to plan a move this big. They’ve got the resources for sure. Hell, they might had some of the cartels sign stuff over to them or be using their properties instead of collecting the tax. You can get creative when you’re in the position this Unit 8 is.”

“So how do we crack them?” Frustration was plain in Mindy’s voice.

“Same way they’re trying to pin us down. Get a fix on one of their guys and let them lead you to the rest.”

Randy shook his head. “Ain’t no one been trying to follow me.”

“They won’t. They don’t know that we know about them. Ten to one they’ve got at least one or two guys watching the hospital, but they won’t tip their hand yet. Not while they can go through newspapers and listen to morons on patrol sending out radio calls.”

Rico looked around the table. “How much time do you think we have?”

“As much as they’ll give us. But if they decide to send another message the clock will be ticking. Homicide’s still got their pants around their ankles because of the first message, and they’ll be wanting to share the pain if anything else goes down.”

 

“You’re certain they have no real security?”

Hidalgo nodded. “Si, sir. A bouncer and a camera that may or may not be hooked up to anything. I think they count on their patrons to keep order.”

Salazar smiled. “And how well does that work?”

“For street gangs? Fairly well I would think. Los Tech 9s have some kind of local reputation. But against El Unidad? They are less than nothing.”

“You say there is a front and back door?”

“Yes. The back door opens onto an alley clogged with trash and broken dumpsters. Anyone fleeing there would be an easy target. The front door is narrow, and like most bars in the area the front window has been boarded up. There’s a small back room and a cooler for the cervesas and other drinks. The building has a second floor, but I didn’t see any way to it from inside the bar. There is a stairwell outside, though. And mailboxes.”

“Collateral damage?”

“The door up was padlocked and gated from the outside. I don’t think anyone lives up there. And if they do…they are not the kind of collateral damage anyone notices.”

“Good work, corporal. The lieutenant will be here soon, so you’d best leave.” He paused. “How was his conduct?”

“Good, sir. He kept a low profile and didn’t accompany me into the bar. I can pass as a local, while he still has difficulty.”

Salazar nodded, waiting until Hidalgo left to let out a long sigh. The corporal hadn’t spelled out his plan because it was the obvious, and only, one: block the back, go in the front, single out Los Tech 9s, and cut them down. Simple yet difficult in some ways. He was curious to see how Orozco framed the situation.

The lieutenant came in exactly on time, his hair combed into place and secured with too much hair spray. Still, he showed the proper respect, remaining standing until Salazar waved him to a chair. “Your report, lieutenant?”

“I’m sure you already know the particulars of the physical layout. I saw no real security, and blocking escape through the back door should only take one or two men. The rest of my team and myself will go through the front door. One of my men slipped in after Corporal Hidalgo left and remained for almost an hour. I have a sketch map of the bar, the area around the door to the cooler and the back room, and some conversation indicating Los Tech 9s don’t usually come in until after 2100 and stay until closing. Usually anywhere from four to six of them, and my man heard the bartender complain that everyone else leaves within an hour of their arrival.”

“Good work, Victor.” Salazar almost smiled at the irony of the lieutenant having the same first name as the man they’d assassinated as a message. “So what is your plan for the operation?”

“I have my full team on hand, so six shooters and myself. Two will watch the back door and be near the vehicles for our escape, leaving five of us to secure the bar. I want to go in around 2300 hours, but I will have a team in position to watch the bar around 2000. They can let us know when Los Tech 9s arrive, their strength, and when the others leave. I assume we are to minimize collateral damage, so I’m planning accordingly.”

“And the message?”

“We don’t have time for anything fancy, so I will ensure there are as many Los Tech 9 bodies as possible with eight bullets in each of them. My team will use the MP-5SDs, so we’ll have both the firepower and stealth necessary for mission success. Once the message is delivered, we’ll exfiltrate the area and scatter before returning to safe houses. We will also wear masks and gloves, and I don’t plan on anyone speaking.”

“I approve. When do you execute?”

“Tonight if possible, tomorrow if not. My men are rested and ready, and I’d only abort if Los Tech 9s don’t show. With your approval, of course.”

Salazar nodded. It was a thin plan, but it should work as a first outing. It would also be a fine show of El Unidad’s strength and capability, one the local gangsters should understand. “Execute the plan, lieutenant.”

Once Orozco left, all smiles and platitudes, Salazar sat for a time with his thoughts. It was moving quicker than he’d like, but it was something that needed doing. And it might impress on the colonel that he could move with haste as well as deliberation. But the question of this Task Force also hung heavy in the back of his mind. Sergeant Velendez should be making his first report soon. He’d be curious to see what treasures the bright young NCO had unearthed in the library. It always amazed him how much information one could find openly if one knew where to look.

 

Martin Castillo’s phone rang partway through the afternoon, forwarded by Stan’s magic from the number he’d originally given Kiki. Of course that wasn’t the man’s real name. Castillo wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the man’s real name. But Kiki had been with the Company for almost thirty years when he finally walked away. As a Latin American specialist, if anyone knew about Unit 8 it would be Kiki.

“I was wondering when you’d call in that favor, Martin.” The man’s voice was old and tired, a far cry from the exuberance he remembered. But that many years with that much dirt had a way of breaking a man.

“I wasn’t planning on it, Kiki. But events leave me no choice.”

“This about those heads?” The chuckle echoed dryly over the phone. “I saw that on the news. Nasty piece of work, but familiar. Like one of them dreams you can’t remember but can’t forget, either.”

“We think it was the work of a group called Unit 8.”

“I heard of them. Peru, isn’t it?”

“Was. I heard they started out on their own.”

“Being declared war criminals does that do some fellers. Not that they ain’t war criminals, mind. But it’s never an easy pill to take when you’ve been telling yourself you’ve been following orders for years.” The bitterness in Kiki’s voice was almost a physical thing.

“They will not come to Miami.”

“Marty, they’re already here. That’s what the heads are about.”

“They will…”

“I heard you the first time. And I know that tone in your voice. Ain’t no way to shift your gears.” The older man sighed. “I can tell you I didn’t train ‘em. Wrote some strong memos opposing that training. Not that it mattered. What do you need?”

“As much as you can give me about the men involved. Especially the officers. They’ve gone into business for themselves, but the men don’t really change. Their habits. Fears.”

“I might have some stuff. But we do this, we’re even. Understand?”

“Of course.”

“We don’t meet, either. Can’t be sure who’s following either of us. You and me got enemies, Marty, though I hear you finally planted that scumbag Menton six feet under. About damend time if you ask me. Anyhow, I’ll leave a drop mark at the same place. Let you know where to pick up the goods.” There was a pause. “Take care, Marty. These are some seriously bad assholes. But judging from the trail you’ve been leaving you’ve got some bad assholes of your own. But don’t underestimate Unidad Ocho. They got the best training Bragg and Quantico had to offer.”

“You think the Company…”

“Hell, no. They want these guys gone, too. You ain’t the only one who reached out. In fact, they might lend a hand if you need it. But only deal with Hendricks. He’s still seeing straight.” There was a click, and the line went dead.

Castillo hung up with a thin smile. He remembered Kiki going back before Vietnam and then after. Shadow-shrouded missions to the island of his birth and other places nearby. The man was a legend, in enough demand he’d avoided Vietnam completely. Kiki was too essential to running operations against Cuba and later Nicaragua and even South America.

Stan stuck his head in the office. “You want a trace, captain?”

“No. Clear it, please.”

“You got it.” Stan paused. “Are we gonna take these guys down for real?”

“Yes.” Once Stan left, he turned his chair and looked out the window at the dark clouds hanging in the air. All I can do is hope they sit still long enough for us to act. If they don’t, the politicians will start getting involved and it might be out of our hands. He wondered how long it would take Kiki to assemble his files. Not long, probably. It sounded like he was expecting me to reach out.

Sonny’s voice broke into his thoughts. “That the call you were waiting for, Marty?”

“Yes. If anyone has information on the officers in Unit 8, it will be him.”

“Old spook?”

“One of the best. I suspect he still is.”

Sonny sat down. “We gotta draw these guys out. At least some of them so we can get a fix on the rest. I also think it might be time to put Cooper on ice for a bit.”

“You want to work without Tubbs?”

“No. Nothing that crazy. But he’s got this old cover from New York he hasn’t used down here at all. Marcus Jefferson. He’s backstopped as a wheelman, and I can work him in as Burnett’s northern contact man with no trouble at all. It won’t work for Carrera since he’s seen Cooper, but it might give us a good in with the Unit 8 guys. They might shoot a buyer, but they’d think twice about another transportation guy. Especially if he gave them entry to a new market.”

“Go with it. Let Trudy or Mindy know if Marcus needs his backstop updated. I don’t think Unit 8 is able to check that kind of thing, but I also won’t underestimate them.” He looked out the window. “With their money and connections it’s not inconceivable that they have a source in the DEA.”

“You think so?”

“Anything’s possible. As you know.” Castillo didn’t shy away from mentioning Scotty Wheeler. It kept them sharp to remember their mistakes.

“Yeah. Scotty. And Calderone got him cheap.”

“But it’s more likely their source is local. Someone DEA has stationed in Columbia or maybe Peru or Bolivia. And they wouldn’t have heard of the Task Force.”

Nodding, Sonny sat back in his chair. “You ever think you’ve done enough.”

“Yes. Then I remember…” He stopped, not wanting to bring his Laos team into his mind just yet. “Then I remember there’s more to do.”

“Yeah. But maybe once this is over it’s time to walk away. I never thought I’d say that, but now that I’m with Jenny…”

“You have things to lose. I understand. I feel that way now, too.” Castillo pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “But that’s a discussion for later. Once we’ve finished Unit 8. Maybe at The Sanctuary with Robbie. He knows quite a bit about walking away to better things.”

“Yeah, he does.” Sonny smiled and got to his feet. “I’ll get them working on planning for the second meet with Carrera. I want to be ready when that damned phone rings.”

 

Victor Orozco looked at his assembled team and smiled. He knew them all, had fought with them in high mountains, jungles, and the concrete sprawl of city slums. And, just as important, they knew him.

Packed in the back of an old slab-sided van, they waited for the go signal. He pulled on his ski mask, annoyed it would ruin his hair, and worked the bolt on his silenced sub-machine gun. The MP-5SD left something to be desired in terms of durability, but it was accurate and quiet. Qualities he needed for this mission. The corporal watched him and nodded, and the rest of the team mimicked his moves. Smiling under the mask, he leaned forward so the man in the driver’s seat could hear him. “Any word?”

“No, sir. Nothing since the scum went in.” He motioned toward the small radio on the passenger seat. “But they’ll let us know as soon as the others leave.”

“Of course.” If they were anyplace else, he’d go in now and not give two shits about collateral damage. As far as he was concerned it made the message more effective. But he knew he had to obey orders. And there was a small corner of his mind that was still trying to come to terms with El Notre. What kind of place was it where you couldn’t buy off the corner cop with a small stack of bills? While he might not have liked it, he understood the operational necessity.

Minutes passed, and then the radio hissed. The driver held it to his head and nodded. “We have the signal.”

Orozco nodded, crossing himself more for show than belief. He knew it made one or two of the men happy. “Flaco, take the back door. Silence anyone who comes through. The rest of you, with me as soon as we’re in position.” He slapped the driver on the shoulder. “Go.”

The air inside the bar was thick with cigarette smoke and an overload of cologne. Orozco was first through the door, taking five steps in so his men could fan to the left and right. It wasn’t perfect tactics, but for a message it had the desired impact. The four men at the bar stopped talking when they saw the bartender duck, and they turned almost as one.

“Ocho brings its compliments. You disrespected us by ignoring out message.” Orozco shook his head. “That just won’t do.”

“And who the hell are you, you little faggot? Coming into our bar with your…”

Orozco nodded, and the man on his left and the one on his right opened fire, their MP-5SDs filling the air with muted thumps as spent casings arced through the bad air. Two of the Columbians crumpled like crushed cans, their blood mingling on the dirty floor. Eight bullet holes decorated their chests. “Now you see the price that comes from disrespect. Perhaps others can learn from your mistakes.” He lowered his own weapon and put eight rounds into the chest of the one who’d spoken, knowing the corporal next to him had done the same to the last man.

Orozco watched the smoke trickling from the silencers of their weapons. Then he called out, “Stand! Ocho has no quarrel with you! But let others know this is what happens to those who do not respect their obligations. Eight bullets for each man. Or eight heads. Or eight family members. You will learn respect for Ocho.” Turning, not caring if the man stood or just huddled on the floor pissing himself, he gave the signal to depart. His team returned to the van as quietly as they’d come, and in seconds had been swallowed up by darkness.

 

Stan Switek spotting the flashing red lights well before he turned the corner and entered the circle of squad cars. He frowned when he saw the bar’s name proclaimed in a rough neon scrawl. “The Rooster? Shit.”

Lester Franz chuckled. “Ya can’t expect miracles, partner.”

“Yeah, but I can wonder why the hell we got called down.”

“Castillo sent us just in case this is tied into that Unit 8 thing, I’ll bet. Or maybe Baker’s just lonely.” Leaning over the door, he flashed his badge to the patrolman on perimeter duty. “Sergeant Franz. What’s the score?”

“Four bodies, sergeant. Shot a bunch of times.” The kid’s eyes were wide. “A bartender that both pissed and shit himself. And a Homicide guy who’s looking like his career flashed before his eyes.” He swallowed and grinned. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Course we didn’t. Not a word.” Lester smiled and turned to Stan. “Sounds like a gang war.”

“Maybe. But that don’t explain the call.” Stan parked the Ford they’d drawn from the ones in the basement garage between a squad car and an ambulance. Better to look like just another unmarked than something special if anyone happened to be watching.

Baker appeared out of the shadows by the bar, a cigarette glowing in his mouth. “Got one for you guys.”

“Since when are we on gangs, Baker?”

“None of us are, Switek.” He turned and started for the door, sending his words back to them. “These guys were shot eight times each. Center chest groups. And the bartender keeps whimpering about it being a message from Ocho, whatever the hell that means. It was the eight that got my attention.”

Stan grabbed Baker’s shoulder. “Those were his exact words?”

“Yeah. He’s over in the ambulance high as a kite from whatever the docs gave him to calm him down.”

Lester turned away. “I’ll go talk to him. You check out the scene.”

“Thanks loads, partner,” Stan muttered as he kept following Baker. “And I got pulled out of my nice soft bed with Gina for this. How many vics are there?”

“Four. And we think from the casings at least that many shooters. Your partner might get more from the bartender. When I got here he was blubbering and still trying to piss himself.”

The open door had cleared the air a bit, but the thick stench of voided bowels and blood still rammed itself up Stan’s nose as soon as he stepped inside. Flashes popped as the crime scene gnomes clicked away, but he could see the four bodies lined up in front of the bar plain enough. Baker’s voice cut through the crime scene babble. “I think they were at the bar. Our shooters come in, tell ‘em to turn around. Maybe there was some talk and maybe not. But all the dead guys are Los Tech 9s. Tatted full members. I’ve got a call in to Gangs to see if they have anything on beefs or feuds.”

“Have them see if anyone has tried to tax Los Tech 9s lately. And if the Tech 9 morons said no.” Stan stepped around one of the photographers, looking at the wound pattern on one of the bodies. “That’s some serious shooting. Almost cover the group with your palm.”

“That was the other reason I called your captain.” Baker leaned closer. “There’s gonna be some fur flying over this one.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.” Stan felt for the guy. It sucked having dead bodies pile up, and even more when there was politics involved. “Look, I can’t tell you much, but the shooters are some nasty dudes. If you get a whiff, call the captain or Crockett and Tubbs and let us know. And don’t go near them without a full SWAT team.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Baker looked down at the bodies. “These were some rough dudes. Whoever lit them up must have surprised them. Or scared them enough they didn’t want to move.”

“Or both. Who called it in?”

“The bartender. Sort of. He was blubbering into the phone when we got here.”

“So automatic weapons and no one calls it in?” Stan looked at the piles of expended casings. “9mm. I’ll bet they used silencers.”

“Street punks with silencers?”

“That’s what I’m saying, Baker. These aren’t street punks.” Stan looked around, letting a picture form in his mind. “They ain’t anything like street punks.”

“Your boys after them?”

“Might be. You know how it is, man.”

“You got any info you can share?”

Stan saw the desperation in Baker’s eyes and motioned him away from the crime scene techs. “The shooters are ex-military. South American military. That’s really all I can say without getting myself or Lester in a jam. But they’re trained and ruthless. Trust me when I say you wanna give these guys a pass.”

“After seeing this and that damned boat I agree. You boys are welcome to ‘em, and I’ll let you know if we turn up anything. But that boat’s been a dead end in more ways that one. It belonged to one of the guys who had his head in the front seat, and we’ve dug up one or two more names. But they’re all small time. No more than a handful of drug deals between them.”

“They were a message. A way these dudes let people know they’re in town.”

“Shit.” Baker let the lone word hiss between his lips. “And this?”

“Another message.”

“We’ll get the files to you guys as soon as we have the bodies IDd. I’ve got an idea who one of ‘em is, but we’ll send over the whole package.”

“Thanks, man.” Stan shook the Homicide detective’s hand.

“No problem.” Baker looked over toward the ambulance and chuckled. “You let Lester carry now?”

“Yeah. He’s a damned good shot, too. We aren’t lab rats anymore, Baker.”

The other cop looked Stan up and down and nodded. “No, no you aren’t, Stan. Not by a long shot. Now if you’ll excuse me I gotta get back to stickin’ my hands in the pockets of dead guys. Poke around as long as you need to.”

Stan nodded, a warm feeling shooting down his spine as he thought back to the compliment. Not too long back Baker would have just mocked him. But not now. And Lester was somebody, too. He knew there was no way he could ever go back to Metro-Dade.

Lester turned away from the ambulance, his face going alternate shades of red and white as the lights rotated. “That guy’s useless. All I got out of him was guys in masks did it. Maybe six. And only one talked.”

“And let me guess…the camera’s just for decoration.”

“I didn’t bother to check. Didn’t seem worth it with the cable just hanging down like that. And if it worked, our boys would have shot it out and pulled the tape.”

“Or just not cared if we found it or not. All we’d see is guys in masks gunning down other guys.” Stan looked at his watch and yawned. “I don’t know about you, but I doubt I’m gettin’ back to sleep. Wanna grab some breakfast and head back to the office? Baker’s gonna get us the files as soon as they have IDs on the vics.”

Stan was hauling the last piece of bacon out of his styrofoam “to-go” container when Martin and Trudy Castillo came in. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and he and Lester were on their third cups of coffee. “It was them, captain,” Stan said, filling Castillo in as he smiled a greeting to Trudy. “No question. Eight bullets in each vic. Baker thinks the bosses are gonna get involved.”

“They will. And it will do no good.” Castillo’s eyes were dark and cold. “I’m calling the chief deputy in the next hour or so. He needs to be brought up to speed.” It was then Stan noticed the canvas bag in Castillo’s hand. “There will be a full intelligence briefing this afternoon. Let the others know when they get in.”

Lester waited until Castillo’s office door shut. “What do we do ‘till then?”

“Work on more diversion plans. What else? I want these asshole so confused they won’t know if their own mom’s calling them in for supper. That and I want to comb back through the tapes from the night Dave was shot. We got traffic from them. I want to see if I can make out anything from it. And keep listening in on that frequency. They used it once, they’ll likely go back to it. I don’t think they know we’re hunting them.”

Thankyou for sharing - nicely done.

[Robbie C.]

Thanks! Hope you’re enjoying the whole thing.