No Good Deed... Part IX

[Robbie C.]

Martin Castillo sat straight up in bed, the dream still clinging to him like a mist. Beside him Trudy still slept, snoring a bit from the tequila shots she’d done with Pete Washington at Rico and Mindy’s party. Though the bamboo blinds he could see the red glow of the rising sun. It matched the colors of his dream.

The wood floor was cool under his feet as he left the bed and pulled his silk robe tight around him. Pausing, he listened to Trudy’s breathing. He didn’t want to wake her. His movements were those of a shadow, shifting from spot to spot with no disturbance in his wake. Once he was outside he stopped. Feeling his own heartbeat and the rhythm of his breathing. Letting to dream work its way out.

He’d had many dreams over the years. Visits from Jess, Jack, and thin forms that might have been his parents or his namesake grandfather. Even Father Lupe, killed by his brother-in-law, stopped by on occasion. Those visits he’d come to accept, even welcome. But this was different. Ti Ti had never visited before.

Looking out through the undergrowth stirred by the early morning breeze, Castillo felt himself drawn back to Laos. The dank cool of the highlands gripping his bones, and the smell of rotting vegetation filling his nose. When he’d first been posted there by the CIA, Ti Ti had been his teacher and later his friend. The old Nung warrior had been fighting other men’s wars since the early 1950s, if not before, and he’d forgotten more about those rugged mountains and snaking trails than most men would ever know. Any family he might have had was long dead, and he never spoke of his homeland. Much like Castillo, the war was all he had.

It was also Ti Ti who’d introduced him to the Hmong and Montagnard shamans, easing his path to acceptance and understanding of their world. They’d fought side by side for over six years, until Ti Ti gave his life to save Castillo…throwing himself on a grenade during the ambush wiping out Castillo’s team. But even after all that, he’d never appeared in a dream. Until four nights ago and again tonight.

If Jess was his best American friend on the team, Ti Ti was something more. A warrior personified. The Nung didn’t move through the jungle as much as he flowed through it, knowing every plant and tree like he’d planted them himself. He hated Vietnamese, no matter which side, and refused to work with them under any circumstances. And he had a sense…something tapping into whatever the shaman talked to. Castillo always trusted his instincts.

Stepping down from the deck, he felt gravel and then grass under his feet. Both nights the dream had been the same. He was walking one of those narrow, twisting Laotian trails made by small animals thirty years before and repurposed by the NVA for moving men south. Never a main part of the Ho Chi Minh Trail, but used when airstrikes or SOG raids blocked a main route. The Pathet Lao used them from time to time, but they were amateurs in a professional’s game.

He was alone. Moving each foot every five minutes, his CAR-15 warm and slick with sweat in his hands. Listening to the jungle. Feeling its pulse through his skin. The trail seemed to go nowhere, almost circling back on itself before taking a different route. The map was no good, and the thick triple canopy rainforest blocked the sun.

Ti Ti usually appeared just as he was making a turn in the trail, coming out of the surrounding jungle without a sound. He raised his hand, making the gesture he used to signify trouble ahead, and took the lead in total silence. They rounded the bend and found his team in heavy contact, red and green tracers dancing though the brush. But it wasn’t his team. Not exactly. Instead of Jess he saw Sonny Crockett, and Ricardo Tubbs took Gus’s place.

He could see them returning fire, but in the wrong direction. Red flames sprung from the ground and raced around them, trapping them as the enemy fire drew closer and closer. He tried to shout, but nothing came from his throat. It was then Ti Ti always tapped him on the arm and said in his quiet warrior voice, “You know what you must do,” and pointed to the source of the incoming fire. He could always sense but not see someone else standing next to him in green jungle fatigues, but he woke up every time he turned to see who else had joined them.

He stopped, feeling the grass changing to sand as he neared the beach. A thin smile touched his face as he felt his heart rate climbing. Now it was time to stop. To let his heart sort out the dream as the old Hmong wizard had taught him. The head would be of no help here.

Ti Ti’s coming meant the trouble was real, and serious. And that it would mean bloodshed. The Hmong always said the visiting spirt was an indication of the trouble ahead, and Ti Ti was the greatest warrior Castillo had ever known. Even greater than Jack Gretzky.

The waves were closer now, and he listened to them while his heart went to work. The trouble would come from an unexpected direction, aimed squarely at his two friends. They couldn’t escape it, and they had no real way to fight back. Only Castillo could do that, but he would need help. Ti Ti made that clear enough. Another warrior who he’d know when he found him.

He could hear Jess in waves as he stood, letting the reality of the dream slide away. And he smiled again, but this time it was real. I always understood Jenny better than I let Crockett understand. We share the same connections, although hers are natural and mine were learned. And if Caitlin is warning her, and now Ti Ti is warning me this is bad.

Since the enemy fire was coming from behind them, Castillo figured it was the past catching up with Crockett and Tubbs. There was no surprise in that; both men had been outstanding cops, and good cops made enemies. Lots of enemies. He’d certainly made his share, although most of them were dead now or buried so deep in the Federal prison system they might as well be dead. And with Crockett it could also be enemies from his time as Burnett. Maybe that was the meaning of the winding trail…there was no point in trying to figure out where the threat was, but just to be ready for it and deal with it when it came.

He stood for a few minutes more at the point where the land changed from shore to beach before turning and heading back to the house. It would be coffee this morning instead of tea, following the teachings of old Loang Koa, the Hmong highland shaman. Tea was preferred after such a visit, but lacking the proper herbs the old man used coffee in a pinch. Ti Ti had grinned as he’d translated. “He says the tea is better, but it tastes like sloppy buffalo dung. Coffee works as well and tastes much better. One of the few good things the French brought us.”

Trudy was still asleep, so he used the hand grinder and boiled water on the stove as he readied the coffee press. He’d make enough for two cups; it was light enough now she wouldn’t throw it at him and he knew after last night she’d need a cup. He poured the ground Jamaican coffee into the press, following it with boiling water and letting it sit before depressing the plunger to complete the process. It wasn’t his usual way, but it was how the shaman had done it and there was something to be said for tradition. Leaning over, he inhaled the rich steam from the coffee, flushing the last of the dream from his soul. At least until it came again.

Trudy groaned as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Is that coffee I smell?”

“Yes, my love. Along with a chaser of aspirin.”

She smiled, then winced. “Do me a favor and don’t say chaser. How did we…”

“Some of us were good to drive, and Robbie took care of the rest.” Castillo smiled. “He’s a good man.”

“Just do me a favor and remind me never to trade shots with Pete again. That old fart…”

“Is an old school lawman. And I have yet to meet an old-school lawman who couldn’t hold his liquor if he drank at all.” He smiled as she sipped the coffee. “There’s another cup in the press if you want more.”

“I think I will. And am I glad it’s Saturday.” Her eyes went wide. “It is Saturday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my love.” His smile was deep this time. “We have the weekend for you to recover.”

“Good. At least I think it’s good.” She sipped coffee again and then swallowed the white pills. “Mindy was so happy last night.”

“Yes.” He’d decided not to mention the dream. Not yet, at least. “And so was Ricardo.”

“After that whole mess with Angelina I’m not surprised. I can’t imagine seeing the son you didn’t know you had one time and then…”

Castillo just nodded. And it has to be worse knowing that pig Maynard was the one who got revenge for the boy’s killing. At least it was Ti Ti’s people who did the killing. Nungs would make sure none of the Calderone family survived. “Mindy hasn’t had an easy time, either. But they’ll be good parents.”

“Yeah. Stan was talking to me about that. He said between the two of them they know exactly what not to do.” She smiled. “I think he and Gina are trying, too.”

He felt a quick stab. “Does that mean…”

“No.” She took another drink and looked down into the cup. “If it happens, I suppose it happens, but I don’t really want kids. Gina’s the mothering type. So’s Stan, really. Me? I like working with the girls at the House, but that’s as far as it goes. We…we complete each other, Marty. I don’t think we need anything else.”

The stab went away. “I agree, my love. Some people need children. As something saying they were here, I think. I’m not one of them.” Not since I was taken from Cuba, at least. “And let me get you more coffee.”

“No. I should get up. We can get it together.” She sat up, winced, and swung her feet out of bed. “You think Pete’s this hung over?”

“Maybe. He is older now.” Castillo got up and walked to her side of the bed, offering her his arm. “We’ll walk together.”

 

It was the third time Hector Rendozo had listened to the tape, and he shut the player off with the same annoyed grimace he’d had the first time through. He’d hoped he’d missed something about why those two lawyers were so hot to ruin the reputation of some rehab center, but there was nothing. No word he’d missed. It wasn’t that he cared about ruining the rep of some halfway house for hookers. He just didn’t like walking blind into something that could bite him in the ass. Especially when Sonny Burnett was involved.

Even though he’d been locked up, Hector had heard about what Burnett had done with the Manolo and Carrera organizations. A guy like that wasn’t someone you just walked up to and poked with a stick, unless you wanted that stick shoved up your ass and set on fire. You had to be Goddamned sure your shit was squared away before you made a single move. Just because it looked like he’d stepped away from the game doesn’t mean he had, and with those two suits offering a cool million for the job there had to be something big in play. And Hector wanted to know what the hell it was.

The morning news had given way to mindless talk shows on the hotel room TV, and he clicked it off. It had been background noise to cover the tape in any case, and he didn’t need that now. Walking over to the window, he looked out, then glared over at the room phone. Jangles should have gotten ahold of that punk Ramon by now. Much as he didn’t like the little cabrón, he knew he might be useful for this little project. At least as a source of information.

It was close to noon before the phone finally rang. Hector snatched it up on the second ring. “Tell me you got something.”

Jangles’ voice echoed back through the line. “Hey, Hector. Yeah, I found that thing for you. Same time and place as before.”

Hector grinned. Leave it to Jangles to remember prison phone drill. Never say anything the guards could use. “Got it, mano. See you then.”

The only problem with the arrangement was time. The day crawled by in a series of old TV shows and bad movies, jumping as Hector moved from channel to channel looking for anything that wasn’t a talk show or soap opera. He thought about going out or ordering a girl, but discarded both thoughts almost as soon as he had them. He was on the job now, and that meant attracting no attention before it was time. Patience was something else he’d been forced to learn in prison.

The drive downtown was slow in the early evening traffic, but it wasn’t hard to find a parking place with enough light to make sure the car would still be here when he got back. It was that kind of neighborhood. It took effort to ignore the splashy neon of the strip club, and even more to go into the damned cheap hole Ramon seemed to prefer. Hector stood just inside, working his toes inside the damned cowboy boots. The damned things still hurt his feet after ten minutes. How the fucking Mexicans could stand them he had no idea. And if they hate Texans so much, why do they want to look like them? I’ll never understand… Then he smiled. He could see Jangles and the punk Ramon toward the back.

Ramon had the same sneer on his face, but at least he was dressing more like a man this time. “Jangles says you wanted to see me.”

“Yeah.” Hector sat down, waving the waitress away. “Come back in ten minutes, baby.” Then he leaned across the table, fixing Ramon with his best prison stare. “This time I got a job for you.”

“I ain’t polishing those damned boots if that’s…”

The crack of Hector’s slap was audible over the thumping music of the club. “Don’t get cute with me, bitch. I ain’t in the mood. I ain’t got time for your attitude. You want the job or not? If not, crawl back to your small-time deals.” He grinned at the shocked expression on Jangles’ face. “Hey, mano. Just like old times, no?”

Ramon rubbed the spreading red spot on his right cheek where Hector’s backhand slap had hit. “I was wondering when the Hector I’d heard about would show his face.”

“Don’t try kissing my ass. Just answer the question. You want the job or not?”

“What’s the catch?”

“You have to use your brain.” Hector’s grin was thin and mean. “Which means it won’t take long.”

“Why me? You an’ me don’t like each other much.”

“No, but that ain’t what this is about. I been out of the scene for a bit, and I need information. Some dump called Caitlin’s House.”

“The hooker hotel? Yeah, I heard of it. One of those clinics they go to get better or some shit.” Ramon grinned, still rubbing his cheek. “Like you can get the hooker out of the girl.”

“What do you know about it?”

“Not much. I know the pimps hate the place. It’s about the only one around here they can’t get to. Security’s unreal, or so they say.”

“You think you can find out more?”

“Let me make a few calls. I got a cousin who works a string of girls over by Overtown.” Ramon’s eyes narrowed. “You lookin’ for one in particular?”

“No. Just the place. Who runs it, who handles the security. That kind of shit.” Reaching into his pocket, Hector pulled out three hundreds and dropped them on the table. “Get in touch with Jangles when you get something. That’s a down payment. Screw me, and it gets repaid out of your miserable hide. A hundred a finger. Oh, and be careful. A little bird told me Sonny Burnett runs the place, but I want that confirmed.” He looked over at Jangles, still savoring the look of terror on Ramon’s face at the mention of Burnett. “Let’s go.”

At least Jangles waited until they were outside before he had his meltdown. “Hector! What the hell, man? You don’t just slap a dude like Ramon! He’s…”

“He’s a little bitch who don’t know his place. So I had to remind him.” Hector grimaced. “You know what the only difference is between these damned boots and high heels?”

“No. What?”

“Coupla hundred bucks and a bit more leather. I’m gettin’ rid of them first thing. You know, I bet Burnett and Cooper, whoever the hell he really is, don’t wear these damned things. Ramon don’t need to cause he’s probably already got a pair or three of high heels in his damned closet.”

“Still, man…you don’t slap Ramon.”

“Well I did, mano. And he took it like the little bitch he is. Hell, he might even have enjoyed it.” Hector showed his teeth. “Do I trust the little puta? Hell no. Do I need him for now? Yeah. Until he shows me he don’t know anything.”

Jangles nodded, a smile spreading over his face. “Now this is the old Hector. I was starting to wonder if prison…”

“Naw. Take more than that summer camp to break me. But we gotta be sharp, man. Those lawyers? I trust ‘em less than I do Ramon. That’s why I got him sniffin’ around. And you, too. Anything those two snakes tell us I want verified. Twice. But that bit about security Ramon said feels right. Burnett was always a careful cat…”

“Yeah. And you missed him with the Carreras. Word on the street was you looked sideways at him, he’d do you himself and make the body disappear. He was runnin’ Manolo’s security before that, after he damned near got blown up on some boat.” He chuckled. “And you saw the look on Ramon’s face when you mentioned his name.”

Hector nodded, his eyes focused on the neon smear making the strip club. “I think I’m gonna go see the sights. You coming?”

“Sure.” There was a pause. “Hector, what do you think those two suits really want with that clinic?”

“Truth is, Jangles, I don’t give two shits what they want. I want Cooper or whatever his name really is, and that means I gotta find Burnett first.” He stopped just outside the door. “Look, we’ll do their job so long as it don’t get in the way of that. Even I ain’t gonna sneeze at a million dollars. But I also ain’t convinced the million’s there. Those two? They think we’re dumb wetbacks. Hired help. But that also means they ain’t gonna think we’re using them.”

“I get it. I think.”

“There’s gonna be money, Jangles. No matter what we do. Only question is who’s.” He smiled again. “Now let’s go have a look at Miami’s cheapest tit jobs.”

 

Sonny Crockett had hated Sundays as long as he could remember. Growing up they meant getting up early and being bundled off to church where some sweaty man behind the pulpit was screaming about someone’s eternal soul, not to mention the car ride to and from wedged in the back seat with his grandmother who always smelled of old lady perfume and mothballs. In school it signaled the inevitable hangover and regrets from Saturday night, and in the Corps, at least in garrison, it was the weekly inspection. In Nam it was just another day ending in Y. And one day closer to the end of his thirteen month tour.

They’d sailed Tranquility about twenty miles out the day before, leaving once their hangovers faded into memory; along with Jenny’s clothes as soon as they left the outer edge of the marina. Sonny sipped his coffee and smiled at the memory. She’d stayed under the cockpit awning, handling the wheel while he tended to the rigging. The trip had been her idea, something about clearing their heads. But he suspected there was something else. She’d been quiet since the party for Rico and Mindy, but he’d learned long ago Jenny would bring up what was bothering her when she was ready.

“You’re up early.” Her tousled blonde hair appeared first through the companionway, and then he saw her bright blue eyes.

“Yeah. Seemed like a shame to waste the sunrise.” He grinned. “That and old habits. I kept hearing my grandma calling it was time for church. Old lady had a voice like a damned seagull.”

She smiled and sat down beside him, the thin t-shirt more highlighting than concealing her body. “They’d given that up by the time I came along. The Walkers weren’t a church-going family.”

“It’s ok if you like fat guys screaming at you about eternal damnation.” Shifting closer, he slipped his arm around her. “Otherwise you ain’t missing much. But it still means I usually wake up too early on Sundays.”

She rubbed her head against his shoulder and sighed. “It’s nice out here.”

“Yeah. We didn’t drift far with the sea anchor, and the gulls look to have been drawn off by a freighter I picked up on the radar.” He chuckled. “Likely dumping their galley trash.”

She slipped her arms around him and squeezed. Hard. “You know I’m happy for them, right?”

“Of course I do, darlin’.” He gave her a squeeze and finished his coffee.

“And Gina and Stan. It’s their turn next.”

“Sure.” He looked out over the water again, not sure where the conversation was headed.

“Then what do we do? I’ve seen it. People have kids and they forget their friends.”

“We have each other. And there’s Marty and Trudy. They’re like us, darlin’. Happy with each other.” He turned to look at her. “Like I said before, I messed up with Billy. Hell, I might have done better with Will, but we’ll never know. And the way I see it, I can do a hell of a lot more running the House right than I could raising one kid. Rico’s one of those guys who needs to be a dad. And that’s cool. Stan? He’ll be a fantastic dad. I’m not.”

“Sonny…I…”

“No, it’s ok. I made my peace with that years ago. Before we even met. And now? We can help thirty kids with the House, not just raise one. I found out the hard way I liked the idea of being a dad more than I liked being one. I’m not gonna make that mistake again.”

She smiled. “I…it just feels strange. Hearing Mindy talk about kids. Diapers. All that stuff. And…she’s been warning me again.”

“Cait?” He kept any doubt out of his voice and his eyes.

“Yes. Whatever it is, it’s close now. I wish I knew more, but…”

“It’s ok, darlin’. We got this. I’ve got Rico upping security all over the place. And we’re looking into that paper and the punk reporter who keeps sniffing around. He’s got a restraining order now, and if he shows up again I’m having his ass arrested.” He could feel her smooth skin under his fingers. “Now let’s just toss all that and enjoy the sunrise. Out here with no one else around.”

She giggled and slipped out of the shirt. “I always loved watching the sun come up on Vellamo when I was still smuggling. Out on the water or at anchor just off some little island. It was like things were starting over. No matter how bad the day before had been.”

He nodded. He’d felt the same way many times over the years, mainly when he’d been alone. Elvis didn’t count. “Yeah. I’d get that some days, too. And of course in Nam each sunrise was a gift. Meant you’d lived through the night.” He shook his head. “It was the same both tours.”

She nodded, resting her head in his lap. “It felt like that some days out there, too. Not as bad, but you never knew. And now I want to say good morning to you.”

Later, Sonny stood over the galley’s propane stove putting the finishing touches on scrambled eggs. Jenny sat naked at the salon table, watching him work through the opening above the sink with a smile on her face. “Don’t forget I like hot sauce in my eggs.”

“You and me both, darlin’.” He added an extra splash of Tabasco to the eggs, giving them a final turn with the spatula before hefting equal portions onto plates already loaded with bacon. “Now if you could just pour me some more coffee we’re all set. Breakfast is served.” Shutting off the stove, he walked past the stainless steel double-basin galley sink and into the salon. Jenny’s remodel had opened the space up a bit, but there was only so much you could do without compromising hull integrity. Besides, he liked having the galley at least partly separate from the salon.

She took her time pouring the coffee, letting him admire her body. “It’s sad we have to go back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but if we don’t I’m not sure those yahoos will get started on time. This is a tight timeline, and after the way they dragged their feet last time…”

“Even with the penalties in the contract?”

“Yeah, there is that. But I’m also worried about that nutjob from the Post.” He munched on a slice of bacon and chased the smokey meat with coffee. “I know Mindy and Trudy are digging into it, but we don’t have the resources we used to. There’s just something about that guy…he’s too damned persistent.”

“The whole paper’s like that.” She chewed a mouthful of eggs, lines appearing on the part of her smooth forehead just visible through her thick hair. “Why are they so set on ruining the lives of the girls? Haven’t they been hurt enough?”

“That’s what’s bugging me. We know where the money’s coming from now, so that’s where they get the means to be assholes. It’s the why I can’t get to.” He sighed and ate more bacon. “If it was the old days I’d get a warrant and have Stan and Lester hit all their communications. Put Ramdy and Dave on high ground and box them good. We’d know everything about them in under a week. Now…hell…they probably know more about us than we do about them.”

“Stan and Lester still could…”

“Yeah, but that would be breaking the law. Illegal wiretapping. I can’t ask them to do something that would get them in serious trouble. No matter how important it is.” He looked down at his coffee. “All we can do is what we’re doing, and it doesn’t feel like enough. What I need is a way to draw them out. Find out just what the hell their game is. Is it me, Burnett, Caitlin somehow, or just the girls? Or something we don’t have any clue about?”

“I wish I could tell you…”

“I know, Jenny. I’m just running my mouth. Sometimes it helps me think, but it usually annoys the hell out of everyone else around me. Just ask Tubbs. He’ll tell you all about it.” He grinned. “Poor guy had to put up with more than a couple of my rants.” He shook his head. “Funny thing is I never did that as Burnett.”

“No. He processes things inside. With focus.” She reached out and touched his hand. “He’s the part of you that works like a computer. No emotion unless it’s finding weaknesses in others. But he’s still part of you, Sonny. You can’t forget that.”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ve been looking at this the wrong way. Or at least partway wrong.” He turned his hand over and squeezed hers. “But it’s not Monday yet. And you over there in all your glory is makin’ me process a whole other kind of activity.”

Monday, like it always did, came too soon. Sonny Crockett gave himself one final look in the big mirror in Tranquility’s master cabin before kissing Jenny goodbye and heading down to the Daytona. “Just call if you decide to come in and we’ll send a car,” he said with a smile. “I don’t know if Tubbs could stand the shock of you naked.”

“He’d be fine. He gets to stare at Mindy, you know.”

He chuckled at the memory of her voice and started the car. It felt different, wearing Burnett black after his more relaxed phase with blazers and t-shirts, but somehow it also felt right. If he was going to think the part he needed to dress the part. The big Smith & Wesson under his left arm served as a second reminder, and as he slipped on the RayBans he felt the cold expression slide over his face.

Ricardo Tubbs was waiting for him in his office, and Sonny smiled behind his sunglasses as he saw his partner’s eyes go wide. “Come on now, Sonny. I didn’t plan for everyone to get that drunk Friday night…”

“I know, man. It was a great time. And congratulations again. If you and Mindy need any time off for anything, just let me know. Same goes for help.” He grinned visibly. “I know how hard it is to raise a kid on a cop’s take home.” Then he let the mask slide into place again. “No, this isn’t about that. It’s about the Post and that reporter of theirs. Jenny got me thinking about it, and maybe it’s time to look at it from a different angle. Burnett’s angle.”

Rico nodded, but only halfway. “And that’s different how?”

“Logically. What do they get out of this? We know they’ve got the means, thanks to that narco buyout. And we know their methods pretty damned well. But what’s the motive? And where’s the motive coming from? Is the editor pushing the reporter, or is it the other way around? Right now we don’t know. And I can’t just have Stan and Lester wire their offices for sound like the old days.”

“Yeah. Never thought I’d miss that Metro-Dade hardware.”

Sonny’s smile was thin. “So we find a different way. But I gotta balance that around the renovations. Figured it might do those contractors some good to meet Burnett up close and personal. More or less, at least.”

“Yeah.” He could tell Rico wasn’t convinced, but he also found he didn’t care. He knew all about Rico’s reservations about this side of his character, and he couldn’t blame him for having them. But the part of him he’d come to consider Burnett was also very useful.

“Good. Let’s go meet the foreman.” Turning, Sonny kept his sunglasses on and checked the lines of his black suit in the reflection from the glass door to his office. Burnett was about precision, and he had to look the part. From the way his hair was pulled back in the tight, short ponytail to how his trousers touched the tops of his black shoes. Precise like a well-honed knife blade. It all flowed from there.

[Matt5]

Great Robbie lovin’ this.

[Robbie C.]

Glad you're still enjoying it!