Power Play

[Robbie C.]

“I swear, man! The shipment came to me light! Ya gotta…”

Sonny Burnett looked down at the man cringing in the pilot’s cabin of the Cigarette boat. He could see the fear in the man’s eyes, but kept his face expressionless. “You know how many times I hear that, Dougie? And how many times it’s the same load of crap?”

“Naw, man! Not this time! I swear! I ain’t never shorted Mr. Carrera in my life! Never!”

Sonny leaned down, allowing himself a faint smile as Dougie flinched away from him. “You know, Dougie, I want to believe you. I really do. But that would make Carlos here a liar. You really want me to call Carlos a liar?”

The middleman grinned, his greased-back hair shining in the wan yellow light from the dock’s lone fixture. “An’ you know I ain’t one t’ lie, Burnett.”

Sonny was tired of the game. It was getting late, and he had better places to be. He’d known who was lying before he ever stepped out of his Mercedes parked by the small dock. It was what the Carreras paid him for. But there was the game to play. Both Miguel’s game and his own. “See, that’s the thing, Carlos. We both know you lie now and again.” The SIG tucked in his waistband was a comforting weight, but somehow not familiar. He shook his head. “Hell, it’s kinda what you do, isn’t it? Lie.”

“You got no call, Burnett…”

“Shut up!” Sonny’s voice was a flat hiss, the SIG’s black slide a stark contrast to the stainless steel lower frame glittering as it came into the light. “You’ve shorted your last load, Carlos.”

The two muzzle flashes lit up the boat’s control panel like twin exploding stars, and the echoes of the shots chased each other out over the open water. Carlos was dead before his body hit the stagnant canal water, two hollow points expanded in his chest. It was overkill with a .45 ACP, but Sonny wanted the message to be clear.

An acrid smell reached his nose, and even in the bad light he could see the dark stain spreading across the front of Dougie’s cut-offs. “Jesus tits, Sonny…what the hell?”

“Like you said, Dougie, you didn’t do it. Be glad I do my homework.” Sonny smiled and shoved the smoking pistol back into his waistband. “Sonny Burnett looks after his people. Never forget that.”

“I won’t Sonny! You can damned well bet on it.”

Oh, I am, you little cracker shit. You just don’t know it yet. Turning, Sonny walked back up the dock to his car, wanting to get away from the smell of Dougie and the bobbing wreckage of Carlos. Now he just had to explain it to Miguel and the old man.

Climbing into the Mercedes, Sonny paused and took a long look at himself in the rearview mirror. He still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here, but not for some mystic bullshit reason about life choices. He couldn’t remember a damned thing before the boat going up out on the water and waking up in some backroom clinic in Miami. He’d held a deep sea fishing rod in his hands. He could almost remember the feel of the grip under his palms. Then the blast, the heat, the booming explosion popping his eardrums like birthday balloons, and what felt like a giant hand backhanding him into the water. But everything before that instant was a closed book. Just a shadow here and there.

He still remembered the doctor’s voice like it was yesterday. “Do you know what you are?” He even asked himself the same question late at night, usually after about five drinks too many. Yeah, I think I do. This is all reflex…like riding a bike after you’ve been away from one for years. But he wondered where the reflexes came from. Why he shot the way he did. How he knew the first deal he went on when he got out of the clinic was a rip job. Yeah he thought as he started the car, I know what I am. It’s how I got that way I don’t know. But I know where I want to go. No question there. Especially after that idiot Manolo tried to hang the cop tag on me.

 

“You just shot the peckerhead? Right in the Goddamned chest?” Oscar Carrera clapped his hands together like a six year old seeing his favorite toy. “How’d you know he was skimming?”

“I took a look at his own sales. Bastard had been undercutting you with these half-kilo sales on the side for almost a year.” Sonny smiled. “It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

“You see?” Oscar looked over at the younger, taller man standing near the big desk. “This is why I hire him away from that puta Manolo.”

“But we need to look deeper, papa.” Miguel looked across the room at Sonny. “How many others like Carlos do we have?”

“Not many. And fewer after tonight. Dougie will go spreading the word while he changes his shorts and the smart ones will understand the old ways don’t go any more. The others…they’ll be easy to find then and easier to deal with. And then we get your business back on top.”

“Right where it should be!” Oscar drained his glass and poured another three fingers of bourbon in his glass. He waved the bottle in Sonny’s direction. “Have a drink, Sonny! Celebrate!”

Miguel spoke again. “Do you think Carlos was working for El Gato?”

“Naw. Too small-time.” And not pretty enough by half if the stories about El Gato are true. “But there’s other fish in that sea, Miguel. Too many.”

“All in good time!” Oscar’s voice was booming now. “Forget work, Sonny! My son! Let’s drink to celebrate the crushing of one cockroach!”

Sonny felt the bourbon bite at the back of his throat and let out a contented sigh. Sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, he only half-listened to Miguel and the old man going back and forth about some shit or another. He wondered how long it would be before Miguel would have to leave and take a powder. The kid’s habit was getting worse, and it didn’t do a thing for his judgement.

One of the ways Sonny had found to deal with his lack of a past was to focus almost totally on the present and future. And that’s what he was doing now, watching father and son argue about the merits of some five key deal. Carlos had been a bull in his day, but now he was losing his touch. Spending too much time doting on his much younger wife. And Miguel? Sonny almost snorted. The kid was too busy doting on the same younger wife and doing blow to know where he was half the time. But he was being groomed to take overt the family business.

Since returning to the land of the living, Sonny noticed he had a knack for finding weak points. In plans and organizations. And in people. Carrera’s organization was poised for big things, especially after taking out Manolo’s operation. Sonny had found the weakness there: Manolo trusted no one so if he fell the organization went with him. But here, the weakness was lack of ambition on one hand and lack of planning on the other. Oscar had the opportunity but seemed content with what he had, while Miguel had the ambition could couldn’t plan his way out of a wet paper bag. And they both shared the same weakness. Celeste.

“So Sonny! You think El Gato’s got any more rats in our supply chain?”

“Could be, Mr. Carrera. Small fish most likely.”

Miguel snorted. “Maybe you take a longer look at some of the new people?”

“That’s most of our drivers, Miguel.” Sonny pitched his voice low. The kid needed special handling some days. Especially if he’d been powdering his nose. “We use mostly independent drivers, remember? I’ll check ‘em, but I think it’s more likely he’ll try what he did with Carlos again. Slip in a seller and try to rip us that way. Or maybe hit a shipment or two.”

“You do your thing, Sonny! Meantime, Miguel and I need to talk about the Valdaharra business.”

It was almost cooler out by the pool, the heat of the day finally having left the thick air. There was something familiar about how it felt, but Sonny couldn’t nail it down. Something old, yet hovering just out of reach in his mind. Cursing, he threw the empty glass, hearing it shatter and watching the glittering shards jumping across the flagstone surface around the pool.

He’d lost track of the number of times he’d driven past the marina before he started working for the Carreras, wanting to turn in and look for the boat he’d seen listed on his license. But he also knew the cops were still looking for him, and only a total moron would walk into the one place they were bound to watch. But the air brought the thought back. It seemed like every time he thought he’d turned that page, something popped up and made him want to flip back.

“Enjoying the air, Mr. Burnett?”

“Just thought I needed the space, Mrs. Carrera.” He turned and looked at Celeste, her light hair turned gold by the lights around the pool. Her robe hung open, giving him a nice show of how little she had on under it. “The boys know you’re out here?”

“Do I look like I care if they do? If Oscar makes a scene I just have to do this” - she opened the robe a bit more - “and he forgets what he was saying. And Mikey?” She shuddered. “He doesn’t have the balls, and even if he did he makes my skin crawl.”

Sonny thought he knew where the conversation was going. He’d seen how she looked at him, felt the ‘accidental’ brushes more times than he could count. And he’d also seen the hot ambition in her eyes. “So you just wanted to come out and talk to the hired help?”

“That dumb game doesn’t work with me, Sonny.”

“Never thought it would.” He looked back toward the house. “They’re just fighting about the Valdaharra deal again.”

“And what do you think?”

He met her appraising glance with his own. “I think it’s a waste of time. Chump change. We’ve got bigger problems, but neither of them see it.”

“And you do.”

“So do you. We go through runners like shit through a goose.” Out of habit he buttoned the top button on his black shirt and tugged his dark blazer into line. Precision. “Makes it too easy for someone to slip in. Another organization’s man. Maybe even a cop. Miguel? He wants to take on this El Gato but we’re nowhere near ready for a war. Oscar? He wants to rest on laurels we don’t have yet.”

“You sound frustrated.” She reached out and ran her hand down his chest.

This was the tricky part. Scrambled brain and all, Sonny knew what came next. He knew exactly what the Carrera organization needed, and it wasn’t the Carreras. The memories floated by again. Him in a Scarab somewhere off the coast, picking up a midnight shipment. Laughing and joking with whoever was making the transfer. Then swamp, or maybe jungle. He couldn’t tell which. There was a blonde by a pool, and then some guy in sunglasses with a gun. And then the black suits and precise words. Burnett. That’s B-U-R-N-E-double T. “Yeah,” he said, looking out over the pool at the dark line of palms. “I guess I am.”

The robe fell completely open now, and he could see she wasn’t wearing a top. “So am I, Sonny.” She had both her hands on his shoulders now. “Having to pretend I love that sweaty old man. Letting his creepy son leer at me all day. And you just out of reach.”

He smiled. “Can’t say I’m out of reach any more, darlin’.”

“No. I guess I can’t.” Her lips were hot when she kissed him before tugging him into the deeper shadows away from the pool.

 

“You’re sure he didn’t kill Manolo?”

Martin Castillo looked up. “Yes.” The single word left no room for questions.

The Homicide lieutenant shook his head. “How can you be sure?”

“Too messy. If Crockett has gone over, he’d be more precise.” Castillo didn’t mention his own intelligence…word on the street had it that Manolo had thought Crockett was a cop. He wouldn’t have been able to get close enough to pull off a hit like that.

“But he did kill a cop.”

“A dirty cop. One who’d been working for Manolo’s organization for years.” Castillo looked up again, fixing the man from Homicide with a dark stare. “Right under the nose of Lauderdale’s IAD.”

The man shifted in his chair. “The State Police are looking into that. But we can’t ignore the possible connection.”

“We also can’t turn it into something it might not be just to make a case.” Castillo got up. “This interview is over.”

“You can’t cover for him forever, Castillo.”

“I’m not. I’m making sure you do your job.”

Back in his office, Castillo sank into his chair with a groan. He’d kept his face frozen coming through the squad room, knowing there’d be no questions if they saw that look. Luckily Tubbs was out, working with Gina on a mid-level bust, and he knew Stan wouldn’t ask. Stan… Maybe when there was time he’d call Switek in and have a talk. He didn’t like seeing one of his best detectives slipping away.

But the whole Crockett mess lingered. Tubbs was still out there shaking the streets for any lead, and he fielded at least two complains a week from Homicide about the man’s possible interference in their case. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He understood the New Yorker’s passion, but it had to be balanced with intelligence.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. “Yes?”

Trudy stepped in, her hair down and her eyes worried. “Are you ok, lieutenant?”

“Yes. Just another meeting with Homicide.”

“That’s what I figured. Are they still trying to pin the Manolo murder on him?”

“Among others.”

She took a few tentative steps and smiled when he nodded toward the chair. “I heard a rumor on the street last night. One of my CIs who works down around Bomber’s. The word is some dude named King pulled the hit.”

“On his own?”

“No. He’s a contract hitter. At least that’s what my CI said.” Trudy shifted in the chair, giving Castillo a look at her long legs. It was a shift she’d done a thousand times before, but ever since he’d seen her topless during the Midas bust he’d started noticing her more.

“Stay on it. I’d like to know who he contracted with for the hit. That might give us a lead on Crockett’s location.”

“I’ll do that.” She paused. “Has Sonny really gone over?”

“What do you think?”

“I…I don’t think so. But I don’t know what else it could be. He’d been under a tremendous amount of stress in the last year. Caitlin, Hackman, all that shit. And then the explosion. Maybe he just…broke.”

“Find out. But keep Tubbs out of it. He’s too involved.”

“Copy that, lieutenant.”

“Calabrese, too. I want you to work this alone.” After she left, Castillo sat alone in the dim office. Savoring the last hints of her perfume. And trying to sort out why he was breaking his own orders and looking into the Crockett case. It wasn’t the first time he’d violated protocol for the brash detective. Maybe it was because he felt some responsibility for what had happened.

Zito. Hackman. The death of his wife. Hackman again. All cases where Castillo could have intervened but didn’t, and each time Crockett had crossed a line. Maybe he saw too much of a dead friend in the former Marine, but Castillo kept excusing conduct he’d not tolerate from anyone else in the unit. Hoping Sonny would learn. But he never did. He’d gotten too far playing it his way, and only a firm hand would rein him in.

“I never should have let him get on that boat.” The whispered admission hung in the still air of the office.

 

Drinking coffee on the balcony outside his suite in the big Carrera house, Sonny smiled as he remembered Celeste’s raw need in the cabana back away from the pool. The smile faded as the memories became clouded with others…a different woman with dark hair and bright eyes. Then it faded and he saw Celeste again. Heard her cries muffled by his shoulder.

When they were done she’d smiled up at him. “That was exactly how I imagined it would be.”

“And how long have you been imagining that, darlin’?”

“Since you started working for Oscar.” That didn’t surprise him, but what came next did. “We could run this organization, you know. You and me.”

That memory brought another smile to his face. He’d been thinking the same thing, although more along the lines of he could run the organization with her help. Not quite the partnership she might be thinking of, but there was no reason for Celeste to know.

Now as he sat watching the sun tinting the palms red and orange, Sonny’s brain started forming the plan. Oscar and Miguel were already fighting almost constantly. All he needed to do was stir the pot a bit. And bring in Celeste to dangle in front of the kid as the prize at the end of the tunnel.

Memories of the guy with the boat floated through his mind like fog again, but this time he wasn’t angry. Instead it gave him an idea. The biggest weakness the Carrera organization had, aside from the two bozos at the top, was transportation. If he could win over the guys with the trucks, planes, and boats he’d have half the organization in his pocket from the get. And he thought he knew just how to do that.

But that was for later. The problem right now was the father and son. Oscar, he knew, was happy with how things were. He was also old school, picking his fights when he knew he could win them. Taking out Manolo must have been Miguel’s idea.

Good old Mikey. Sonny could still see the skinny punk leering at Celeste with barely concealed lust every time the two crossed paths. He was brash, ambitious, spoiled, and a junkie on top of it all. The perfect fall guy for the plan Sonny felt coming together in his head. The question was if Celeste would be willing to play her part.

The trick was not to move too fast. There was a part of him, lost somewhere in the fog in his head, pushing to move fast, but he knew that was the wrong answer. For this to work the way he wanted he had to appear blameless. The peacemaker, even as he was stoking the fires between father and son. Maybe he’d take another look at this El Gato situation to see if there was anything to Miguel’s fears.

The man had never come up when he was with Manolo, and even after he always seemed to hover just on the edge of Sonny’s vision. A stocky man with the fashion taste of a flamboyant drag queen, El Gato’s taste in partners was said to run to pretty boys and his viciousness toward those who crossed him was whispered in bar and clubs around Miami. There were just enough stories for Sonny to guess half of them were true. His organization was small and loyal, and hadn’t seemed to have much ambition until recently. What got the old queen out of his enchanted slumber? Finding that might be another piece of the puzzle.

Finishing his coffee, Sonny got to his feet. It was almost time to head down and show his face at the family breakfast table and get his marching orders for the day. Play the loyal advisor and concerned friend yet again while he sized them all up. A frown crossed his face. Thinking about Manolo brought up memories of the hitter who’d taken him down. Cliff King. Maybe it’s time I had a sit-down with this asshole. See what he’s about and if he could be of use. The man was pure country cracker with ties going deep into the swamps, which meant he might be connected with a good number of runners…people Sonny needed for transportation.

That was the key. Getting the drugs was easy. Moving them was not. The pieces fell into place in his head as he walked down the marble stairs to the dining room. Contracting out transport was a fool’s game. Better to have it in-house and control all your routes. Run it like a business and give the runners a share in the game. A cut of the profits from their loads, maybe even compensation if they lost their rig. It made sense. Give them ownership and they’d take more risks, and be harder to buy off if someone came knocking.

Oscar looked up from his eggs. “What’s going on, Sonny? You look like the cat who caught the canary.”

“Just thinking is all.” Sonny found his spot near the head of the table, nodding to Miguel and Celeste as he sat down.

“Hopefully about how to take out this El Gato.”

“No, Miguel. Nothing that fancy. I’ve got this crossword puzzle I’ve been working on and I finally figured out one of the words that’s been giving me trouble.”

“See, Miguel? Burnett’s always working on his brain.” Oscar laughed as he chewed a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Sonny smiled and picked up a slice of bacon. You don’t know the half of it, Oscar. “It’s what you pay me for, Mr. Carrera.”

“Speaking of which, I got a job for you today. You did so good with that Carlos thing I want you to take a look at another situation we got developing.” He slurped coffee. “That punk dealer down by Red Line’s trying to undercut our business. Miguel thinks we should send a message.”

“And you don’t?”

“No. My son is right. This time. We can’t tolerate punks moving in on our territory. Deal with this nuisance. He goes by the name Xavier.”

“What about the Valdaharra deal?”

“Miguel is handling that. It should be, how do you say, a piece of cake. But if he needs you he’ll call.”

Miguel nodded, but Sonny could see the anger in his eyes. “It should be ok, Sonny. It’s all about business.”

“You got it, boss.” He addressed the space between the two men, letting them figure out who he considered the boss. “I’ll do some checking and see what kind of message best fits this Xavier.”

“Nothing too flashy, Sonny. The people who need to know should understand it, but we don’t need any extra attention.”

Grunting, he turned his attention back to his breakfast. One look at Celeste told him he was better avoiding conversation right now. The lust in her eyes was thinly concealed, and he wasn’t sure if she could keep it out of her voice. Best to wait to talk to her until later. Besides, he had to figure out what line to feed her to make her think this was all her idea.

The coffee turned bitter in his mouth as he thought about her. He’d known girls like her before, or felt like he had through the fog. She wanted the good things in life, and was prepared to do pretty much anything to get them, but there was something else there, too. A scared little girl hiding behind the brash looks and bold words. He felt the tug, from some part of him still buried in the blackness that was his past. But the part that made him Burnett pushed those feelings back. He needed to stay focused on the end.

He became aware Miguel was talking to him. “…and some of my people have dealt with this Xavier before. You want to speak with them?”

“Naw. I’m gonna head down to Red Line in a bit and sniff around myself. No offense, but the fewer people who know I’m looking around the better.”

Oscar grinned. “See? This is the guy! After Carlos I understand.”

“It goes back to Manolo, Mr. Carrera. And before that. Work like this is best done alone until it’s not. And I want to see if Xavier’s in it alone or if he’s got helpers.”

 

The sun was tipping down behind the taller buildings by the time Sonny Burnett’s Mercedes rolled to a halt in the half-empty parking lot behind Red Line. He sat in the car for a moment, adjusting his sunglasses and snugging up the narrow black tie that almost disappeared against his black shirt and blazer. Enjoying the lingering cool from the air conditioning before stepping out into the late afternoon heat.

Red Line was a newer club catering to the dance crowd, and played a mid-sized role in the Carrera sales network. At least two dealers worked out of the club most nights, selling cut coke to the patrons and branching out to the surrounding neighborhood. Not a huge source of income, but enough to notice when the take dropped.

Sonny kept his sunglasses on as he nodded to the doorman and went into the club. The signature red neon flashed on and off, making some of the patrons look more like extras in a cheap horror movie, and he was glad he’d left the glasses on. Walking to the bar, he glanced at the slim blonde. “Black Jack. Neat. And is Teddy around?”

She nodded while pouring the drink. “Far end of the bar. You a customer?”

“More like quality control. Name’s Burnett.”

“I’ve heard of you.” There was a waver to her voice he found pleasing. “He’s been here since about four.”

“Thanks.” Leaving a twenty on the bar, Sonny took his drink and headed down to the end of the bar away from the red neon.

Teddy was hard to miss, all six four and three hundred pounds of him. At once time he’d been a lineman for one of the smaller colleges, but now he made his money dealing for the Carreras and occasionally breaking a leg or two. He smiled his recognition. “Burnett! Didn’t know the head office was sending someone by.”

“That’s the point, Teddy.” Sonny didn’t smile. “I hear you’ve been having trouble with some bozo called Xavier.”

“Not me, brother. More like Ricky and Lefty. That dude sticks his head in, sees me, and leaves.”

“Do tell.” Sonny wondered about that, but wasn’t in a position to know. Not yet.

“He’s a scrawny little bastard, though. Always wears this damn goofy flop hat. And I hear he does work the parking lot when I’m in the club.” He looked down at his own bulk and chuckled. “I ain’t so fast on my feet these days.”

“Yeah. So he plays outside while you’re in here?”

“So I hear. He ain’t there when I come out, but if he’s got dudes watchin’ he’s gonna know when I leave.”

“So he doesn’t work alone?”

“Don’t see how he could. Lefty said he’s good with a knife, but I ain’t seen that, neither.”

“How much does he undercut?”

“At least ten percent. Sometimes more. I hear his product’s been stepped on more than ours, but if it’s cheaper these punks don’t care.” He waved his hand to take in the entire crowd in Red Line. “They ain’t out for quality if you get my meaning.”

“Sure.” Sonny stopped paying attention to Teddy and started watching the door. Looking for anyone who wasn’t moving enough or seemed to be paying attention to their dark corner. He wasn’t sure where those skills came from, only that he had them and they were damned good. Another of those mysteries from whatever he’d been before the explosion.

It was a girl. One of those skinny club women who never wore quite enough clothes and never drank quite enough to be easy. If he’d seen her on his own, Sonny would have guessed she was bait for some big boyfriend who liked to beat up other guys. She was watching Teddy. She kept looking back their way, and the drink in her hand wasn’t disappearing fast enough for her to be out on the town. Again he was grateful for his black suit. Against Teddy’s gold get-up he knew he’d just disappear.

He left the bar without a word, sticking close to the back wall where the neon faded with the shadows to create a gloom more like a moonless, overcast night than the inside of the club in Miami. He slipped from shadow to shadow, old skills coming back again without any idea of where they’d been learned. She didn’t even know he was there until his hand closed on her arm like a vice. “Don’t make any wrong moves, lady. We need to talk.”

She gasped. “I don’t know who you are, but…”

“That makes two of us. But it don’t matter. You’re working with Xavier, right? Don’t lie. I already know you are.”

Her nod was like a bobblehead’s, and he suddenly had a flash of a bobblehead doll wearing a grass skirt on the dash of some kind of van. Then it was gone. “I know Xavier. Did you need some party favors?”

“No. Maybe he didn’t tell you, but Red Line has an exclusive contract with the Carrera organization. And we ain’t too keen on competition.”

“He just pays me to watch the big black guy. To tell him when he’s leaving. Honest. That’s all I do.” Her eyes were wide, and he could see her body shaking. Yeah…she’s too damned scared to be in on it.

“Do yourself a favor and find a new job. Starting now. Xavier’s about to be out of business permanently. Is he working the lot?”

“Yeah. He never sends me in until he’s ready to open shop.” She looked at him again. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“Nothing. If you go over to the bar and stay there like a good girl. If you don’t, you’ll be closed for business, too.”

He waited until she was over by the bar, close enough to Teddy for him to keep an eye on her, before stepping out into the night. Bugs circled in a thick cloud around the lot lights, and he stuck close to the building as he moved toward the back. Even though it was closing in on prime time the lot was still almost half empty, and it wasn’t hard to spot the convertible Mustang Xavier must be using as an office. It sat about as far back as you could park while still being in the Red Line lot, and three or four people milled around waiting their turn beside the driver’s door.

Sonny knew what he had to do. By this point it was more reflex than thought, controlled by who he’d become once the fog lifted. He wasn’t sure if he’d been like this before, and it didn’t matter. Not now. Reaching under his jacket he pulled the heavy SIG, keeping it close to his leg as he walked through the gloom. Locking eyes with each customer in turn and jerking his head in a motion away from the car. In each instance they took one look at his black suit, black glasses, and blank face and moved off like they’re been hit by a cattle prod.

Xavier looked up, annoyance plain on his narrow face. There wasn’t much to the chump, and Sonny could see why he kept clear of Teddy. It still didn’t explain why Ricky and Lefty had been so quick to give him their turf, and he made a note to have that talk with each of them later. “What you want, man? And why you scarin’ off my customers?”

“You’re dealing on Carrera real estate, pal.”

“Says who? You? Shit, man. Take more than a black suit to scare…”

The stainless steel frame of the SIG glittered as the light caught it. “How about now? This remind you of where you are?” His voice was flat.

“You ain’t gonna…”

“Wrong.” The one word seemed familiar, but the memory vanished in the bright muzzle flash as Sonny put a single .45 round through Xavier’s face. Flicking the safety on, he shoved the warm gun back in his shoulder rig and walked back to his Mercedes. The lot was clear, and he knew he’d have at least ten minutes to get clear. And the message should be plain as day to anyone looking.

 

Ricardo Tubbs swatted at a big, multi-colored bug with a grimace and turned his attention back to the car. Alternating red and blue light strobed over the back corner of the lot from the rollers on the top of the Metro-Dade cruisers, lending an almost surreal look to the scene. Behind him he heard Castillo’s voice. “What do we have?”

“Single shot to the head. Looks to be major caliber. Chump was a dealer. No question. We got baggies of coke all over the passenger seat. And cash to go with the party favors. Looks like he was into making change.”

“So it wasn’t a rip.”

“No.” Tubbs looked toward the club. “The Red Line’s strictly a Carrera organization show. Switek’s inside talking to one of their regular house dealers now. Big dude who used to play ball somewhere. And this chump ain’t one of their chumps. I’d say this was a message.” Rico smiled in spite of himself. “Sort of a no trespassing sign.”

“Do we know who the dead man works for?”

“Not yet. Hell, I ain’t even totally sure who the dead man is. Car came back to Francis X. Delmar, but it could be stolen. Forensics is gonna run the prints, and then we’ll know for sure.” Rico leaned across the body and pointed with his pen. “And we got a gun between the seat and the console. Looks like a 9mm of some kind. Maybe a Beretta. His hand’s close enough he might have been reaching for it.”

“Witnesses?”

“No one will admit to it. Even the doorman has a case of amnesia.” Rico grinned to cover his annoyance. “But if I had to guess I’d say it was one of the Carrera shooters. Is it a Vice case, or do we hand it over to Homicide?”

Castillo stared at the car, and for a moment Rico was stuck by how alone he looked in his dark suit. “We take it for now. See if there’s a drug connection. If not, hand it over. No longer than 48 hours. I’ll let Homicide know.”

“Got it, lieutenant.” Rico nodded and turned back to the car. Watching as the boys in white coats took pictures of  the scene and gathered fingerprints from the dead man.

“We got a casing over here.” One of the techs was squatting in deep shadow, pointing to a hole gauged out of the asphalt. A flashlight clicked on and he marked it with a numbered yellow triangle. “Looks like a .45.”

“I’d guess it’s the shooter’s.” Rico walked over and took a look, measuring distance and bounce possibilities with his eyes. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and pull a print from it.”

“If it’s the Carreras I wouldn’t hold your breath.” The tech waited for the flash to pop before picking up the casing with long tweezers and dropping it in an evidence bag. “They’re using pros now.”

“That ain’t no joke.” Rico nodded, thinking back to how cleanly they’d managed to take out Miguel Manolo. Right around then had been the last time they’d seen any trace of Sonny. Maybe he’d been caught in the crossfire. There was no way to tell. Manolo had just disappeared. Likely a pile of gator shit by now. But the word on the street was the Carreras had been behind the hit.

“That Teddy clown claims he don’t know a thing.” Stan Switek loomed out of the darkness, his bulk radiant in one of his many Hawaiian shirts.

“You believe the chump?”

“Not as far as I could throw him, and that ain’t very damned far.” Stan looked in the car and chuckled. “So someone finally caught up with old Xavier?”

“You know him?”

“Sure. He ain’t in your league, but I’ve rousted him a time or two.” Stan’s eyes got distant for a moment. “He was one of the last dealers Larry and I scooped up before that whole clusterfuck with the boxers.”

“Sorry, Stan.”

“Little late for that now.” Stan grimaced, then caught himself. “Xavier’s strictly small time. Small sales to small people.”

“He part of anyone’s crew?”

“Not back then. He might have upped his status a bit, given how that end of the market’s been shaken up since Manolo got whacked.” Stan turned away. “I’ll do some digging. Let you know as soon as I find anything.”

Rico watched him go, guilt gnawing at his stomach. He knew Stan still blamed him for not reining in Sonny during that whole gambling case. The one that cost Larry Zito his life. Sonny had pushed too hard, cut too many corners, and a good cop had died and almost been framed for drug use. Stan hadn’t been the same since that night. He only really talked to Trudy now, sometimes Gina. And Rico couldn’t blame him.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the car. Was this a simple message about trespassing on the wrong turf, or was something else going on?

 

“Xavier won’t be selling at the Red Line again.” Sonny looked down at Oscar sitting in a lounge chair by the pool, the last drink of the day in his hand. It was almost midnight.

“So I heard. One shot to the head. That’s style, Sonny. Sends a clear message.”

He nodded, not really caring if the old man approved or not. It sent the message he wanted, and that was what mattered. Don’t fuck with Sonny Burnett. Sparing the girl also sent the message he wanted. Work with Sonny Burnett and you’ll be ok.

Miguel shook his head. “I would have killed the girl, too.”

Sonny shook his head. “No need. She was strictly hired help. Now she’ll be keeping watch for Teddy and happy for the work.” He paused. “I do need to have a talk with Ricky and Lefty, though.”

Oscar nodded. “Have them brought to the house in the morning, Miguel.”

“No. Make it the boathouse.” Sonny’s smile wasn’t a smile at all. “Fewer prying eyes out there.” And fewer attentive ears. He wanted to talk to Miguel after they took care of business, and privacy was better. But first… “And on that note I’m gonna call it a night. Unless you have other orders, Mr. Carrera?”

“No. Go have a drink. Celebrate! You’ve earned it.”

He was halfway down the hall to his suite when he stopped and smiled. “You shouldn’t wear that perfume, darlin’. It’s like a neon sign saying you’re there.”

“But it’s all I’m wearing.” Celeste emerged from an alcove, and he saw she wasn’t kidding. “You deserve a reward for a job well done. Me.”

Later he looked down at her, kissing drops of sweat from her forehead. “Won’t he miss you?”

“No. They’re still out by the pool.” She smiled. “We have another hour at least.”

“Then we’ll need to put it to good use.” He ran his hand along her body, feeling the smoothness of her skin under his fingers. “I’ve been thinking, though. About what you said before.”

“That we could run this? You know we could.”

“How serious are you?”

“Very.” She looked into his eyes, and he could see that longing again. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you were the man for me. A real man, not an old windbag or a daddy’s boy. A man with unlimited potential.”

“Well, darlin’, I have a plan.” He kissed her again. “It’ll mean work for both of us, and you might not like some of it. Can you get close to Mikey?”

“How close?”

“As close as it takes.”

She looked away, and he thought for a moment he’d lost her. “I can, Sonny. But only for you. Only if you think it’s the only way.”

“I wish there was another way, darlin’. But there isn’t. Oscar, he doesn’t see the future. And Mikey? He’s too weak by half. But Oscar’s the family head. Mikey won’t go against him so long as he’s alive. But if Oscar’s out of the picture, we can run Mikey like a puppet.”

“But how…”

“Simple. We get Mikey to kill the old man. But that’s down the road a bit.” He touched her body again, smiling as he felt her respond. “For now just give the kid a wink and a peek at the goods now and then. It won’t take more than that to get his coke-addled brain spinning.”

“How do you know it will work?” She moved against his touch, a sigh escaping her lips.

“Simple. El Gato. He’s coming after us, you know. That punk dealer I took out tonight is one of his. He’ll try to hit us back. Oscar will want to wait, to measure things, and Mikey will want to hit back hard. We just fan the flames and wait for our chance.”

“And the rest?”

“Don’t you worry about that, either. I’m working on transportation, and sooner or later I’m gonna meet with this Cliff fellow. We get the foundation solid under us, there’s nothing the old man or Mikey can do.”

“And what then?” She was breathing hard now. Almost ready.

“Champagne and roses, darlin’.” He moved on top of her. “Champagne and roses.”

 

Castillo looked up when Tubbs knocked on the door. “Any news?”

Rico shook his head. “It was Xavier, lieutenant. Switek was right about that. No indication he was working for anyone, though. A hint here and there, but nothing we could track down. He looks to be a chump who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“And the shooter?”

“He’s a ghost. Nothing anywhere. Even the casing came back clean. No prints, no nothing.”

“Get your files in order and send them to Homicide. It’s their case now. And then report back here. There’s been a development in that sting Trudy and Gina are working.”

Nodding, Rico turned and left the office. It had been a long shot, and one that came up empty. But he was also glad nothing had turned up showing Sonny was involved. Rico was convinced his partner was still alive and out there somewhere. But in what shape he couldn’t say. And wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

[Dadrian]

Very cool. Welcome back. 

[Robbie C.]

Never really went anywhere. Just didn't have the urge to write anything Vice until yesterday. This was the result.

[Dadrian]

35 minutes ago, Robbie C. said:

Never really went anywhere.

I know. I meant welcome back to the fan fic. I should have been more specific.  

Edited March 17, 2020 by Dadrian

[Robbie C.]

No worries. Been writing other stuff and just didn't have the Vice mood going. Hopefully this one measures up to what's come before.

[Mr. Vigilante]

Nice work!!!

[Robbie C.]

Glad you enjoyed it! There's a few more up here if you like that kind of thing...

[Dadrian]

31 minutes ago, Mr. Vigilante said:

Nice work!!!

If you read his stories and hear the voices of the actors it’s really entertaining!

Edited March 18, 2020 by Dadrian

[Matt5]

20 hours ago, Robbie C. said:

“I swear, man! The shipment came to me light! Ya gotta…”

Sonny Burnett looked down at the man cringing in the pilot’s cabin of the Cigarette boat. He could see the fear in the man’s eyes, but kept his face expressionless. “You know how many times I hear that, Dougie? And how many times it’s the same load of crap?”

“Naw, man! Not this time! I swear! I ain’t never shorted Mr. Carrera in my life! Never!”

Sonny leaned down, allowing himself a faint smile as Dougie flinched away from him. “You know, Dougie, I want to believe you. I really do. But that would make Carlos here a liar. You really want me to call Carlos a liar?”

The middleman grinned, his greased-back hair shining in the wan yellow light from the dock’s lone fixture. “An’ you know I ain’t one t’ lie, Burnett.”

Sonny was tired of the game. It was getting late, and he had better places to be. He’d known who was lying before he ever stepped out of his Mercedes parked by the small dock. It was what the Carreras paid him for. But there was the game to play. Both Miguel’s game and his own. “See, that’s the thing, Carlos. We both know you lie now and again.” The SIG tucked in his waistband was a comforting weight, but somehow not familiar. He shook his head. “Hell, it’s kinda what you do, isn’t it? Lie.”

“You got no call, Burnett…”

“Shut up!” Sonny’s voice was a flat hiss, the SIG’s black slide a stark contrast to the stainless steel lower frame glittering as it came into the light. “You’ve shorted your last load, Carlos.”

The two muzzle flashes lit up the boat’s control panel like twin exploding stars, and the echoes of the shots chased each other out over the open water. Carlos was dead before his body hit the stagnant canal water, two hollow points expanded in his chest. It was overkill with a .45 ACP, but Sonny wanted the message to be clear.

An acrid smell reached his nose, and even in the bad light he could see the dark stain spreading across the front of Dougie’s cut-offs. “Jesus tits, Sonny…what the hell?”

“Like you said, Dougie, you didn’t do it. Be glad I do my homework.” Sonny smiled and shoved the smoking pistol back into his waistband. “Sonny Burnett looks after his people. Never forget that.”

“I won’t Sonny! You can damned well bet on it.”

Oh, I am, you little cracker shit. You just don’t know it yet. Turning, Sonny walked back up the dock to his car, wanting to get away from the smell of Dougie and the bobbing wreckage of Carlos. Now he just had to explain it to Miguel and the old man.

Climbing into the Mercedes, Sonny paused and took a long look at himself in the rearview mirror. He still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here, but not for some mystic bullshit reason about life choices. He couldn’t remember a damned thing before the boat going up out on the water and waking up in some backroom clinic in Miami. He’d held a deep sea fishing rod in his hands. He could almost remember the feel of the grip under his palms. Then the blast, the heat, the booming explosion popping his eardrums like birthday balloons, and what felt like a giant hand backhanding him into the water. But everything before that instant was a closed book. Just a shadow here and there.

He still remembered the doctor’s voice like it was yesterday. “Do you know what you are?” He even asked himself the same question late at night, usually after about five drinks too many. Yeah, I think I do. This is all reflex…like riding a bike after you’ve been away from one for years. But he wondered where the reflexes came from. Why he shot the way he did. How he knew the first deal he went on when he got out of the clinic was a rip job. Yeah he thought as he started the car, I know what I am. It’s how I got that way I don’t know. But I know where I want to go. No question there. Especially after that idiot Manolo tried to hang the cop tag on me.

 

“You just shot the peckerhead? Right in the Goddamned chest?” Oscar Carrera clapped his hands together like a six year old seeing his favorite toy. “How’d you know he was skimming?”

“I took a look at his own sales. Bastard had been undercutting you with these half-kilo sales on the side for almost a year.” Sonny smiled. “It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

“You see?” Oscar looked over at the younger, taller man standing near the big desk. “This is why I hire him away from that puta Manolo.”

“But we need to look deeper, papa.” Miguel looked across the room at Sonny. “How many others like Carlos do we have?”

“Not many. And fewer after tonight. Dougie will go spreading the word while he changes his shorts and the smart ones will understand the old ways don’t go any more. The others…they’ll be easy to find then and easier to deal with. And then we get your business back on top.”

“Right where it should be!” Oscar drained his glass and poured another three fingers of bourbon in his glass. He waved the bottle in Sonny’s direction. “Have a drink, Sonny! Celebrate!”

Miguel spoke again. “Do you think Carlos was working for El Gato?”

“Naw. Too small-time.” And not pretty enough by half if the stories about El Gato are true. “But there’s other fish in that sea, Miguel. Too many.”

“All in good time!” Oscar’s voice was booming now. “Forget work, Sonny! My son! Let’s drink to celebrate the crushing of one cockroach!”

Sonny felt the bourbon bite at the back of his throat and let out a contented sigh. Sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, he only half-listened to Miguel and the old man going back and forth about some shit or another. He wondered how long it would be before Miguel would have to leave and take a powder. The kid’s habit was getting worse, and it didn’t do a thing for his judgement.

One of the ways Sonny had found to deal with his lack of a past was to focus almost totally on the present and future. And that’s what he was doing now, watching father and son argue about the merits of some five key deal. Carlos had been a bull in his day, but now he was losing his touch. Spending too much time doting on his much younger wife. And Miguel? Sonny almost snorted. The kid was too busy doting on the same younger wife and doing blow to know where he was half the time. But he was being groomed to take overt the family business.

Since returning to the land of the living, Sonny noticed he had a knack for finding weak points. In plans and organizations. And in people. Carrera’s organization was poised for big things, especially after taking out Manolo’s operation. Sonny had found the weakness there: Manolo trusted no one so if he fell the organization went with him. But here, the weakness was lack of ambition on one hand and lack of planning on the other. Oscar had the opportunity but seemed content with what he had, while Miguel had the ambition could couldn’t plan his way out of a wet paper bag. And they both shared the same weakness. Celeste.

“So Sonny! You think El Gato’s got any more rats in our supply chain?”

“Could be, Mr. Carrera. Small fish most likely.”

Miguel snorted. “Maybe you take a longer look at some of the new people?”

“That’s most of our drivers, Miguel.” Sonny pitched his voice low. The kid needed special handling some days. Especially if he’d been powdering his nose. “We use mostly independent drivers, remember? I’ll check ‘em, but I think it’s more likely he’ll try what he did with Carlos again. Slip in a seller and try to rip us that way. Or maybe hit a shipment or two.”

“You do your thing, Sonny! Meantime, Miguel and I need to talk about the Valdaharra business.”

It was almost cooler out by the pool, the heat of the day finally having left the thick air. There was something familiar about how it felt, but Sonny couldn’t nail it down. Something old, yet hovering just out of reach in his mind. Cursing, he threw the empty glass, hearing it shatter and watching the glittering shards jumping across the flagstone surface around the pool.

He’d lost track of the number of times he’d driven past the marina before he started working for the Carreras, wanting to turn in and look for the boat he’d seen listed on his license. But he also knew the cops were still looking for him, and only a total moron would walk into the one place they were bound to watch. But the air brought the thought back. It seemed like every time he thought he’d turned that page, something popped up and made him want to flip back.

“Enjoying the air, Mr. Burnett?”

“Just thought I needed the space, Mrs. Carrera.” He turned and looked at Celeste, her light hair turned gold by the lights around the pool. Her robe hung open, giving him a nice show of how little she had on under it. “The boys know you’re out here?”

“Do I look like I care if they do? If Oscar makes a scene I just have to do this” - she opened the robe a bit more - “and he forgets what he was saying. And Mikey?” She shuddered. “He doesn’t have the balls, and even if he did he makes my skin crawl.”

Sonny thought he knew where the conversation was going. He’d seen how she looked at him, felt the ‘accidental’ brushes more times than he could count. And he’d also seen the hot ambition in her eyes. “So you just wanted to come out and talk to the hired help?”

“That dumb game doesn’t work with me, Sonny.”

“Never thought it would.” He looked back toward the house. “They’re just fighting about the Valdaharra deal again.”

“And what do you think?”

He met her appraising glance with his own. “I think it’s a waste of time. Chump change. We’ve got bigger problems, but neither of them see it.”

“And you do.”

“So do you. We go through runners like shit through a goose.” Out of habit he buttoned the top button on his black shirt and tugged his dark blazer into line. Precision. “Makes it too easy for someone to slip in. Another organization’s man. Maybe even a cop. Miguel? He wants to take on this El Gato but we’re nowhere near ready for a war. Oscar? He wants to rest on laurels we don’t have yet.”

“You sound frustrated.” She reached out and ran her hand down his chest.

This was the tricky part. Scrambled brain and all, Sonny knew what came next. He knew exactly what the Carrera organization needed, and it wasn’t the Carreras. The memories floated by again. Him in a Scarab somewhere off the coast, picking up a midnight shipment. Laughing and joking with whoever was making the transfer. Then swamp, or maybe jungle. He couldn’t tell which. There was a blonde by a pool, and then some guy in sunglasses with a gun. And then the black suits and precise words. Burnett. That’s B-U-R-N-E-double T. “Yeah,” he said, looking out over the pool at the dark line of palms. “I guess I am.”

The robe fell completely open now, and he could see she wasn’t wearing a top. “So am I, Sonny.” She had both her hands on his shoulders now. “Having to pretend I love that sweaty old man. Letting his creepy son leer at me all day. And you just out of reach.”

He smiled. “Can’t say I’m out of reach any more, darlin’.”

“No. I guess I can’t.” Her lips were hot when she kissed him before tugging him into the deeper shadows away from the pool.

 

“You’re sure he didn’t kill Manolo?”

Martin Castillo looked up. “Yes.” The single word left no room for questions.

The Homicide lieutenant shook his head. “How can you be sure?”

“Too messy. If Crockett has gone over, he’d be more precise.” Castillo didn’t mention his own intelligence…word on the street had it that Manolo had thought Crockett was a cop. He wouldn’t have been able to get close enough to pull off a hit like that.

“But he did kill a cop.”

“A dirty cop. One who’d been working for Manolo’s organization for years.” Castillo looked up again, fixing the man from Homicide with a dark stare. “Right under the nose of Lauderdale’s IAD.”

The man shifted in his chair. “The State Police are looking into that. But we can’t ignore the possible connection.”

“We also can’t turn it into something it might not be just to make a case.” Castillo got up. “This interview is over.”

“You can’t cover for him forever, Castillo.”

“I’m not. I’m making sure you do your job.”

Back in his office, Castillo sank into his chair with a groan. He’d kept his face frozen coming through the squad room, knowing there’d be no questions if they saw that look. Luckily Tubbs was out, working with Gina on a mid-level bust, and he knew Stan wouldn’t ask. Stan… Maybe when there was time he’d call Switek in and have a talk. He didn’t like seeing one of his best detectives slipping away.

But the whole Crockett mess lingered. Tubbs was still out there shaking the streets for any lead, and he fielded at least two complains a week from Homicide about the man’s possible interference in their case. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He understood the New Yorker’s passion, but it had to be balanced with intelligence.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. “Yes?”

Trudy stepped in, her hair down and her eyes worried. “Are you ok, lieutenant?”

“Yes. Just another meeting with Homicide.”

“That’s what I figured. Are they still trying to pin the Manolo murder on him?”

“Among others.”

She took a few tentative steps and smiled when he nodded toward the chair. “I heard a rumor on the street last night. One of my CIs who works down around Bomber’s. The word is some dude named King pulled the hit.”

“On his own?”

“No. He’s a contract hitter. At least that’s what my CI said.” Trudy shifted in the chair, giving Castillo a look at her long legs. It was a shift she’d done a thousand times before, but ever since he’d seen her topless during the Midas bust he’d started noticing her more.

“Stay on it. I’d like to know who he contracted with for the hit. That might give us a lead on Crockett’s location.”

“I’ll do that.” She paused. “Has Sonny really gone over?”

“What do you think?”

“I…I don’t think so. But I don’t know what else it could be. He’d been under a tremendous amount of stress in the last year. Caitlin, Hackman, all that shit. And then the explosion. Maybe he just…broke.”

“Find out. But keep Tubbs out of it. He’s too involved.”

“Copy that, lieutenant.”

“Calabrese, too. I want you to work this alone.” After she left, Castillo sat alone in the dim office. Savoring the last hints of her perfume. And trying to sort out why he was breaking his own orders and looking into the Crockett case. It wasn’t the first time he’d violated protocol for the brash detective. Maybe it was because he felt some responsibility for what had happened.

Zito. Hackman. The death of his wife. Hackman again. All cases where Castillo could have intervened but didn’t, and each time Crockett had crossed a line. Maybe he saw too much of a dead friend in the former Marine, but Castillo kept excusing conduct he’d not tolerate from anyone else in the unit. Hoping Sonny would learn. But he never did. He’d gotten too far playing it his way, and only a firm hand would rein him in.

“I never should have let him get on that boat.” The whispered admission hung in the still air of the office.

 

Drinking coffee on the balcony outside his suite in the big Carrera house, Sonny smiled as he remembered Celeste’s raw need in the cabana back away from the pool. The smile faded as the memories became clouded with others…a different woman with dark hair and bright eyes. Then it faded and he saw Celeste again. Heard her cries muffled by his shoulder.

When they were done she’d smiled up at him. “That was exactly how I imagined it would be.”

“And how long have you been imagining that, darlin’?”

“Since you started working for Oscar.” That didn’t surprise him, but what came next did. “We could run this organization, you know. You and me.”

That memory brought another smile to his face. He’d been thinking the same thing, although more along the lines of he could run the organization with her help. Not quite the partnership she might be thinking of, but there was no reason for Celeste to know.

Now as he sat watching the sun tinting the palms red and orange, Sonny’s brain started forming the plan. Oscar and Miguel were already fighting almost constantly. All he needed to do was stir the pot a bit. And bring in Celeste to dangle in front of the kid as the prize at the end of the tunnel.

Memories of the guy with the boat floated through his mind like fog again, but this time he wasn’t angry. Instead it gave him an idea. The biggest weakness the Carrera organization had, aside from the two bozos at the top, was transportation. If he could win over the guys with the trucks, planes, and boats he’d have half the organization in his pocket from the get. And he thought he knew just how to do that.

But that was for later. The problem right now was the father and son. Oscar, he knew, was happy with how things were. He was also old school, picking his fights when he knew he could win them. Taking out Manolo must have been Miguel’s idea.

Good old Mikey. Sonny could still see the skinny punk leering at Celeste with barely concealed lust every time the two crossed paths. He was brash, ambitious, spoiled, and a junkie on top of it all. The perfect fall guy for the plan Sonny felt coming together in his head. The question was if Celeste would be willing to play her part.

The trick was not to move too fast. There was a part of him, lost somewhere in the fog in his head, pushing to move fast, but he knew that was the wrong answer. For this to work the way he wanted he had to appear blameless. The peacemaker, even as he was stoking the fires between father and son. Maybe he’d take another look at this El Gato situation to see if there was anything to Miguel’s fears.

The man had never come up when he was with Manolo, and even after he always seemed to hover just on the edge of Sonny’s vision. A stocky man with the fashion taste of a flamboyant drag queen, El Gato’s taste in partners was said to run to pretty boys and his viciousness toward those who crossed him was whispered in bar and clubs around Miami. There were just enough stories for Sonny to guess half of them were true. His organization was small and loyal, and hadn’t seemed to have much ambition until recently. What got the old queen out of his enchanted slumber? Finding that might be another piece of the puzzle.

Finishing his coffee, Sonny got to his feet. It was almost time to head down and show his face at the family breakfast table and get his marching orders for the day. Play the loyal advisor and concerned friend yet again while he sized them all up. A frown crossed his face. Thinking about Manolo brought up memories of the hitter who’d taken him down. Cliff King. Maybe it’s time I had a sit-down with this asshole. See what he’s about and if he could be of use. The man was pure country cracker with ties going deep into the swamps, which meant he might be connected with a good number of runners…people Sonny needed for transportation.

That was the key. Getting the drugs was easy. Moving them was not. The pieces fell into place in his head as he walked down the marble stairs to the dining room. Contracting out transport was a fool’s game. Better to have it in-house and control all your routes. Run it like a business and give the runners a share in the game. A cut of the profits from their loads, maybe even compensation if they lost their rig. It made sense. Give them ownership and they’d take more risks, and be harder to buy off if someone came knocking.

Oscar looked up from his eggs. “What’s going on, Sonny? You look like the cat who caught the canary.”

“Just thinking is all.” Sonny found his spot near the head of the table, nodding to Miguel and Celeste as he sat down.

“Hopefully about how to take out this El Gato.”

“No, Miguel. Nothing that fancy. I’ve got this crossword puzzle I’ve been working on and I finally figured out one of the words that’s been giving me trouble.”

“See, Miguel? Burnett’s always working on his brain.” Oscar laughed as he chewed a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Sonny smiled and picked up a slice of bacon. You don’t know the half of it, Oscar. “It’s what you pay me for, Mr. Carrera.”

“Speaking of which, I got a job for you today. You did so good with that Carlos thing I want you to take a look at another situation we got developing.” He slurped coffee. “That punk dealer down by Red Line’s trying to undercut our business. Miguel thinks we should send a message.”

“And you don’t?”

“No. My son is right. This time. We can’t tolerate punks moving in on our territory. Deal with this nuisance. He goes by the name Xavier.”

“What about the Valdaharra deal?”

“Miguel is handling that. It should be, how do you say, a piece of cake. But if he needs you he’ll call.”

Miguel nodded, but Sonny could see the anger in his eyes. “It should be ok, Sonny. It’s all about business.”

“You got it, boss.” He addressed the space between the two men, letting them figure out who he considered the boss. “I’ll do some checking and see what kind of message best fits this Xavier.”

“Nothing too flashy, Sonny. The people who need to know should understand it, but we don’t need any extra attention.”

Grunting, he turned his attention back to his breakfast. One look at Celeste told him he was better avoiding conversation right now. The lust in her eyes was thinly concealed, and he wasn’t sure if she could keep it out of her voice. Best to wait to talk to her until later. Besides, he had to figure out what line to feed her to make her think this was all her idea.

The coffee turned bitter in his mouth as he thought about her. He’d known girls like her before, or felt like he had through the fog. She wanted the good things in life, and was prepared to do pretty much anything to get them, but there was something else there, too. A scared little girl hiding behind the brash looks and bold words. He felt the tug, from some part of him still buried in the blackness that was his past. But the part that made him Burnett pushed those feelings back. He needed to stay focused on the end.

He became aware Miguel was talking to him. “…and some of my people have dealt with this Xavier before. You want to speak with them?”

“Naw. I’m gonna head down to Red Line in a bit and sniff around myself. No offense, but the fewer people who know I’m looking around the better.”

Oscar grinned. “See? This is the guy! After Carlos I understand.”

“It goes back to Manolo, Mr. Carrera. And before that. Work like this is best done alone until it’s not. And I want to see if Xavier’s in it alone or if he’s got helpers.”

 

The sun was tipping down behind the taller buildings by the time Sonny Burnett’s Mercedes rolled to a halt in the half-empty parking lot behind Red Line. He sat in the car for a moment, adjusting his sunglasses and snugging up the narrow black tie that almost disappeared against his black shirt and blazer. Enjoying the lingering cool from the air conditioning before stepping out into the late afternoon heat.

Red Line was a newer club catering to the dance crowd, and played a mid-sized role in the Carrera sales network. At least two dealers worked out of the club most nights, selling cut coke to the patrons and branching out to the surrounding neighborhood. Not a huge source of income, but enough to notice when the take dropped.

Sonny kept his sunglasses on as he nodded to the doorman and went into the club. The signature red neon flashed on and off, making some of the patrons look more like extras in a cheap horror movie, and he was glad he’d left the glasses on. Walking to the bar, he glanced at the slim blonde. “Black Jack. Neat. And is Teddy around?”

She nodded while pouring the drink. “Far end of the bar. You a customer?”

“More like quality control. Name’s Burnett.”

“I’ve heard of you.” There was a waver to her voice he found pleasing. “He’s been here since about four.”

“Thanks.” Leaving a twenty on the bar, Sonny took his drink and headed down to the end of the bar away from the red neon.

Teddy was hard to miss, all six four and three hundred pounds of him. At once time he’d been a lineman for one of the smaller colleges, but now he made his money dealing for the Carreras and occasionally breaking a leg or two. He smiled his recognition. “Burnett! Didn’t know the head office was sending someone by.”

“That’s the point, Teddy.” Sonny didn’t smile. “I hear you’ve been having trouble with some bozo called Xavier.”

“Not me, brother. More like Ricky and Lefty. That dude sticks his head in, sees me, and leaves.”

“Do tell.” Sonny wondered about that, but wasn’t in a position to know. Not yet.

“He’s a scrawny little bastard, though. Always wears this damn goofy flop hat. And I hear he does work the parking lot when I’m in the club.” He looked down at his own bulk and chuckled. “I ain’t so fast on my feet these days.”

“Yeah. So he plays outside while you’re in here?”

“So I hear. He ain’t there when I come out, but if he’s got dudes watchin’ he’s gonna know when I leave.”

“So he doesn’t work alone?”

“Don’t see how he could. Lefty said he’s good with a knife, but I ain’t seen that, neither.”

“How much does he undercut?”

“At least ten percent. Sometimes more. I hear his product’s been stepped on more than ours, but if it’s cheaper these punks don’t care.” He waved his hand to take in the entire crowd in Red Line. “They ain’t out for quality if you get my meaning.”

“Sure.” Sonny stopped paying attention to Teddy and started watching the door. Looking for anyone who wasn’t moving enough or seemed to be paying attention to their dark corner. He wasn’t sure where those skills came from, only that he had them and they were damned good. Another of those mysteries from whatever he’d been before the explosion.

It was a girl. One of those skinny club women who never wore quite enough clothes and never drank quite enough to be easy. If he’d seen her on his own, Sonny would have guessed she was bait for some big boyfriend who liked to beat up other guys. She was watching Teddy. She kept looking back their way, and the drink in her hand wasn’t disappearing fast enough for her to be out on the town. Again he was grateful for his black suit. Against Teddy’s gold get-up he knew he’d just disappear.

He left the bar without a word, sticking close to the back wall where the neon faded with the shadows to create a gloom more like a moonless, overcast night than the inside of the club in Miami. He slipped from shadow to shadow, old skills coming back again without any idea of where they’d been learned. She didn’t even know he was there until his hand closed on her arm like a vice. “Don’t make any wrong moves, lady. We need to talk.”

She gasped. “I don’t know who you are, but…”

“That makes two of us. But it don’t matter. You’re working with Xavier, right? Don’t lie. I already know you are.”

Her nod was like a bobblehead’s, and he suddenly had a flash of a bobblehead doll wearing a grass skirt on the dash of some kind of van. Then it was gone. “I know Xavier. Did you need some party favors?”

“No. Maybe he didn’t tell you, but Red Line has an exclusive contract with the Carrera organization. And we ain’t too keen on competition.”

“He just pays me to watch the big black guy. To tell him when he’s leaving. Honest. That’s all I do.” Her eyes were wide, and he could see her body shaking. Yeah…she’s too damned scared to be in on it.

“Do yourself a favor and find a new job. Starting now. Xavier’s about to be out of business permanently. Is he working the lot?”

“Yeah. He never sends me in until he’s ready to open shop.” She looked at him again. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“Nothing. If you go over to the bar and stay there like a good girl. If you don’t, you’ll be closed for business, too.”

He waited until she was over by the bar, close enough to Teddy for him to keep an eye on her, before stepping out into the night. Bugs circled in a thick cloud around the lot lights, and he stuck close to the building as he moved toward the back. Even though it was closing in on prime time the lot was still almost half empty, and it wasn’t hard to spot the convertible Mustang Xavier must be using as an office. It sat about as far back as you could park while still being in the Red Line lot, and three or four people milled around waiting their turn beside the driver’s door.

Sonny knew what he had to do. By this point it was more reflex than thought, controlled by who he’d become once the fog lifted. He wasn’t sure if he’d been like this before, and it didn’t matter. Not now. Reaching under his jacket he pulled the heavy SIG, keeping it close to his leg as he walked through the gloom. Locking eyes with each customer in turn and jerking his head in a motion away from the car. In each instance they took one look at his black suit, black glasses, and blank face and moved off like they’re been hit by a cattle prod.

Xavier looked up, annoyance plain on his narrow face. There wasn’t much to the chump, and Sonny could see why he kept clear of Teddy. It still didn’t explain why Ricky and Lefty had been so quick to give him their turf, and he made a note to have that talk with each of them later. “What you want, man? And why you scarin’ off my customers?”

“You’re dealing on Carrera real estate, pal.”

“Says who? You? Shit, man. Take more than a black suit to scare…”

The stainless steel frame of the SIG glittered as the light caught it. “How about now? This remind you of where you are?” His voice was flat.

“You ain’t gonna…”

“Wrong.” The one word seemed familiar, but the memory vanished in the bright muzzle flash as Sonny put a single .45 round through Xavier’s face. Flicking the safety on, he shoved the warm gun back in his shoulder rig and walked back to his Mercedes. The lot was clear, and he knew he’d have at least ten minutes to get clear. And the message should be plain as day to anyone looking.

 

Ricardo Tubbs swatted at a big, multi-colored bug with a grimace and turned his attention back to the car. Alternating red and blue light strobed over the back corner of the lot from the rollers on the top of the Metro-Dade cruisers, lending an almost surreal look to the scene. Behind him he heard Castillo’s voice. “What do we have?”

“Single shot to the head. Looks to be major caliber. Chump was a dealer. No question. We got baggies of coke all over the passenger seat. And cash to go with the party favors. Looks like he was into making change.”

“So it wasn’t a rip.”

“No.” Tubbs looked toward the club. “The Red Line’s strictly a Carrera organization show. Switek’s inside talking to one of their regular house dealers now. Big dude who used to play ball somewhere. And this chump ain’t one of their chumps. I’d say this was a message.” Rico smiled in spite of himself. “Sort of a no trespassing sign.”

“Do we know who the dead man works for?”

“Not yet. Hell, I ain’t even totally sure who the dead man is. Car came back to Francis X. Delmar, but it could be stolen. Forensics is gonna run the prints, and then we’ll know for sure.” Rico leaned across the body and pointed with his pen. “And we got a gun between the seat and the console. Looks like a 9mm of some kind. Maybe a Beretta. His hand’s close enough he might have been reaching for it.”

“Witnesses?”

“No one will admit to it. Even the doorman has a case of amnesia.” Rico grinned to cover his annoyance. “But if I had to guess I’d say it was one of the Carrera shooters. Is it a Vice case, or do we hand it over to Homicide?”

Castillo stared at the car, and for a moment Rico was stuck by how alone he looked in his dark suit. “We take it for now. See if there’s a drug connection. If not, hand it over. No longer than 48 hours. I’ll let Homicide know.”

“Got it, lieutenant.” Rico nodded and turned back to the car. Watching as the boys in white coats took pictures of  the scene and gathered fingerprints from the dead man.

“We got a casing over here.” One of the techs was squatting in deep shadow, pointing to a hole gauged out of the asphalt. A flashlight clicked on and he marked it with a numbered yellow triangle. “Looks like a .45.”

“I’d guess it’s the shooter’s.” Rico walked over and took a look, measuring distance and bounce possibilities with his eyes. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and pull a print from it.”

“If it’s the Carreras I wouldn’t hold your breath.” The tech waited for the flash to pop before picking up the casing with long tweezers and dropping it in an evidence bag. “They’re using pros now.”

“That ain’t no joke.” Rico nodded, thinking back to how cleanly they’d managed to take out Miguel Manolo. Right around then had been the last time they’d seen any trace of Sonny. Maybe he’d been caught in the crossfire. There was no way to tell. Manolo had just disappeared. Likely a pile of gator shit by now. But the word on the street was the Carreras had been behind the hit.

“That Teddy clown claims he don’t know a thing.” Stan Switek loomed out of the darkness, his bulk radiant in one of his many Hawaiian shirts.

“You believe the chump?”

“Not as far as I could throw him, and that ain’t very damned far.” Stan looked in the car and chuckled. “So someone finally caught up with old Xavier?”

“You know him?”

“Sure. He ain’t in your league, but I’ve rousted him a time or two.” Stan’s eyes got distant for a moment. “He was one of the last dealers Larry and I scooped up before that whole clusterfuck with the boxers.”

“Sorry, Stan.”

“Little late for that now.” Stan grimaced, then caught himself. “Xavier’s strictly small time. Small sales to small people.”

“He part of anyone’s crew?”

“Not back then. He might have upped his status a bit, given how that end of the market’s been shaken up since Manolo got whacked.” Stan turned away. “I’ll do some digging. Let you know as soon as I find anything.”

Rico watched him go, guilt gnawing at his stomach. He knew Stan still blamed him for not reining in Sonny during that whole gambling case. The one that cost Larry Zito his life. Sonny had pushed too hard, cut too many corners, and a good cop had died and almost been framed for drug use. Stan hadn’t been the same since that night. He only really talked to Trudy now, sometimes Gina. And Rico couldn’t blame him.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the car. Was this a simple message about trespassing on the wrong turf, or was something else going on?

 

“Xavier won’t be selling at the Red Line again.” Sonny looked down at Oscar sitting in a lounge chair by the pool, the last drink of the day in his hand. It was almost midnight.

“So I heard. One shot to the head. That’s style, Sonny. Sends a clear message.”

He nodded, not really caring if the old man approved or not. It sent the message he wanted, and that was what mattered. Don’t fuck with Sonny Burnett. Sparing the girl also sent the message he wanted. Work with Sonny Burnett and you’ll be ok.

Miguel shook his head. “I would have killed the girl, too.”

Sonny shook his head. “No need. She was strictly hired help. Now she’ll be keeping watch for Teddy and happy for the work.” He paused. “I do need to have a talk with Ricky and Lefty, though.”

Oscar nodded. “Have them brought to the house in the morning, Miguel.”

“No. Make it the boathouse.” Sonny’s smile wasn’t a smile at all. “Fewer prying eyes out there.” And fewer attentive ears. He wanted to talk to Miguel after they took care of business, and privacy was better. But first… “And on that note I’m gonna call it a night. Unless you have other orders, Mr. Carrera?”

“No. Go have a drink. Celebrate! You’ve earned it.”

He was halfway down the hall to his suite when he stopped and smiled. “You shouldn’t wear that perfume, darlin’. It’s like a neon sign saying you’re there.”

“But it’s all I’m wearing.” Celeste emerged from an alcove, and he saw she wasn’t kidding. “You deserve a reward for a job well done. Me.”

Later he looked down at her, kissing drops of sweat from her forehead. “Won’t he miss you?”

“No. They’re still out by the pool.” She smiled. “We have another hour at least.”

“Then we’ll need to put it to good use.” He ran his hand along her body, feeling the smoothness of her skin under his fingers. “I’ve been thinking, though. About what you said before.”

“That we could run this? You know we could.”

“How serious are you?”

“Very.” She looked into his eyes, and he could see that longing again. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you were the man for me. A real man, not an old windbag or a daddy’s boy. A man with unlimited potential.”

“Well, darlin’, I have a plan.” He kissed her again. “It’ll mean work for both of us, and you might not like some of it. Can you get close to Mikey?”

“How close?”

“As close as it takes.”

She looked away, and he thought for a moment he’d lost her. “I can, Sonny. But only for you. Only if you think it’s the only way.”

“I wish there was another way, darlin’. But there isn’t. Oscar, he doesn’t see the future. And Mikey? He’s too weak by half. But Oscar’s the family head. Mikey won’t go against him so long as he’s alive. But if Oscar’s out of the picture, we can run Mikey like a puppet.”

“But how…”

“Simple. We get Mikey to kill the old man. But that’s down the road a bit.” He touched her body again, smiling as he felt her respond. “For now just give the kid a wink and a peek at the goods now and then. It won’t take more than that to get his coke-addled brain spinning.”

“How do you know it will work?” She moved against his touch, a sigh escaping her lips.

“Simple. El Gato. He’s coming after us, you know. That punk dealer I took out tonight is one of his. He’ll try to hit us back. Oscar will want to wait, to measure things, and Mikey will want to hit back hard. We just fan the flames and wait for our chance.”

“And the rest?”

“Don’t you worry about that, either. I’m working on transportation, and sooner or later I’m gonna meet with this Cliff fellow. We get the foundation solid under us, there’s nothing the old man or Mikey can do.”

“And what then?” She was breathing hard now. Almost ready.

“Champagne and roses, darlin’.” He moved on top of her. “Champagne and roses.”

 

Castillo looked up when Tubbs knocked on the door. “Any news?”

Rico shook his head. “It was Xavier, lieutenant. Switek was right about that. No indication he was working for anyone, though. A hint here and there, but nothing we could track down. He looks to be a chump who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“And the shooter?”

“He’s a ghost. Nothing anywhere. Even the casing came back clean. No prints, no nothing.”

“Get your files in order and send them to Homicide. It’s their case now. And then report back here. There’s been a development in that sting Trudy and Gina are working.”

Nodding, Rico turned and left the office. It had been a long shot, and one that came up empty. But he was also glad nothing had turned up showing Sonny was involved. Rico was convinced his partner was still alive and out there somewhere. But in what shape he couldn’t say. And wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Great work and detail - thankyou.

[mjcmmv]

This was terrific, Robbie. You captured the cold-hearted Burnett perfectly and made him come alive again. Thank you, thank you!

[Kladdagh]

Thanks @Robbie C. ... 

I enjoyed my gifts for my birthday ... 

[Robbie C.]

Glad you enjoyed them!