No Good Deed...Part X

[Robbie C.]

Trudy Castillo looked up from her temporary desk and saw Sonny striding by in the hall, with Rico trailing a bit behind. Looking back at her computer screen she clicked her tongue to get Mindy’s attention. “Shit just got real, girlfriend. Sonny Burnett’s in the house.”

“Any idea why?”

“I’d guess a combination of things. That paper. The renovations. You and Rico.” She smiled as Mindy started to protest. “It’s nothing bad, Mindy. But I’ve known Sonny a long time. Longer than anyone here expect maybe Gina. He’s gonna want to protect the two of you now. He can’t help himself. Along with the House and everything you all have built here. And when you get that many things going…”

“Out comes Burnett.” She could feel Mindy nodding. “I saw that with the Task Force. As soon as shit got real, he went into that place…”

“And that means we’d better get to work. Can you think of anything we haven’t looked at with the paper or that punk reporter?”

“I can have a contact run him in NCIC. See if there’s any hits there.”

“You do that, and I’ll hit up some of my old CIs. See if our little punk has any bad habits his bosses might not know about.”

“Looking for leverage?”

“Something like that.” Trudy rubbed her eyes, pushing thoughts about her afternoon painting therapy class a bit further back. At least for now. “We’re not cops any more. We don’t have the same tools we did. But that also means we can use some tools we weren’t able to before. It was Marty’s idea, actually. He said we needed to find new ways to do the same things.”

“Speaking of tools, aren’t Randy and Dave flying in today?”

She giggled. “Late tonight, I think. Their conference starts on Tuesday.I think it lasts about a week, but I don’t know for sure. They were gonna call when they got into town.”

“It’ll be good to see them again. They don’t know yet, and I’d like to tell them.”

“Of course. Ain’t my place. You all go a back a bit, don’t you?”

“Not as far as you guys, but yes, we do. They sort of took me under their wings when I showed up in Miami after…”

“Yeah. I get it. They’re good guys. I always figured that was why Pete sent them our way.”

Mindy nodded and turned back to her own work. “How’s Marty? It just struck me I hadn’t seen him much before Friday night.”

“He’s good.” Trudy smiled at her own half-truth. “As good as you could expect, I mean.”

“It can’t be easy for him. Retiring, I mean.”

“It’s tough. He’s…” She groped for a word and then used his own. “He’s been a warrior all his life. As far back as he can remember, I think. And now they tell him he’s not. It’s not something you just turn on and off with men like him.”

“But you and him…”

“Oh, we’re fantastic, Mindy.” Her smile was real this time. “Not a thing wrong there.” She didn’t know how to explain it better, at least not to Mindy. If it had been Jenny she’d know exactly what to say. “He was glad to see me start teaching here. Said it would let me keep doing good. And he’s right.”

“I could talk to Rico. See if there’s anything…”

“Not yet.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I just…I don’t think he’s ready yet. He’d still want to be in charge. Push too hard. That’s been his life for over thirty years. It’ll take more than a couple for him to come down from that.” With effort she pulled herself back to the immediate problem. “I’m gonna call a couple of people. See if there’s any dirty laundry in old Jimmy’s basket.”

It took three calls, but the last one was solid gold. Marco had been a part-time pimp until the competition decided he needed an attitude adjustment and shattered his left knee with a pipe wrench. He and Trudy had grown up within four blocks of each other, and he stayed in touch with the street through his Overtown liquor store, which he had curtesy of Trudy ‘losing’ the files with his record. Marco had never beaten his girls, and kicked them to the curb if they got into hard drugs. “I’m just a sex worker manager,” he always said with his lopsided grin when she ran into him on the street. And she never let him forget he owed her.

“Trudy! All them birds on the street say you’s out of the game now.”

“No more than you are, Marco.” She smiled in spite of herself. The cat had a voice that made you want to laugh.

“Fair enough. But I know this ain’t no social call. An’ you sure as hell ain’t orderin’ booze for some fancy party.”

“No, but I wish I was. I’d have had better luck.”

“Who’d you call first? I’d be hurt, but I know you like to save the best for last.”

“Trixie. And then Sugarloaf.”

“Those fools don’t know shit. I take that back. They know each other, so they know shit.” His laugh echoed down the line. “But they ain’t got the word, lady. I got the word. Marco always has the word.”

“Yeah. Like you said, the best for last. I need a line on a guy. Any dirt that might not have made the files.”

“Who? Cat’s gotta be someone if you don’t have dirt on him.”

“Jimmy Campbell. A…”

Marco interrupted her with a low whistle. “I know that asshole. Calls himself a reporter these days but he ain’t nothin’ more than bottom-feedin’ white trash. Was a time when he claimed to be a PI, and before that he was rejected by damned near every police force in South Florida.” There was a pause. “I ain’t got no dirt on him close to hand, but I know there’s some out there. His is a name you don’t hear down here without some cussin’ attached.”

“You willing to look into it?”

There was another pause. “Yeah. An’ I’ll do it for free. He did a number on a girl I used to manage. Never could prove it to a cop’s satisfaction, but I know it was him. Give me a couple a days and call back.”

Trudy hung up the phone, looking up to see Mindy watching her. “That sounded interesting.”

“A pimp I could have busted but helped out. He’s not a bad cat at the end of the day. He says there’s dirt on Campbell and he’s going to get it for us.”

“That can’t come cheap.”

“Sounds like it will. Says he owes the guy for something he did to one of his girls.” Trudy thought back to the venom in Marco’s voice. “Yeah, I’d say he really hates Jimmy.”

“You think he might…”

“No. Marco’s not gonna do anything to him. Not physically anyhow. But if there’s anything out there, he’ll find it for us. And if he says there’s something out there, it’s out there. He’s stone cold reliable. One of the best CIs I ever had.” She smiled. “We grew up within a couple of streets of each other.”

“I had CIs like that in Boston. They were always solid. It was the ones who weren’t from the neighborhood you had to watch. The others? They knew the score. Cut them a little slack, and they returned the favor.” She sighed. “Not like that much these days from what I hear.”

“Yeah. Now we sound like those old-timers who used to carry on about how they had to run patrol in a horse-drawn buggy and do crowd control with a blunderbuss.” Trudy chuckled. “But you’re right. All you gotta do is remember those Ocho crazies.”

Mindy shuddered. “No way I could forget them. Still…”

“I hear you.” Trudy nodded, knowing what her friend had been about to say. I’m still proud as hell of taking those bastards down. No matter how many rules we broke. It bought this city some time. “And now I gotta think about this afternoon’s class. I don’t want to take those girls too far, you know.”

“I think that group’s ready to look at the darker part of their lives.” Mindy looked out the window, and Trudy could feel her slipping into her own thoughts. “But you could check with Nichole to be sure.”

“I think I’ll do that. I don’t want to set some of them back by accident.” Locking her computer, she got to her feet and headed for the door. “This won’t take long. Then we can grab some lunch.”

Dr. Nichole Jessup’s office was at the far end of the administration wing, right where it butted into the treatment side of the operation. Trudy could hear her high heels clicking in the silence of the corridor as she headed for the office, thinking back to what she’d heard about Jessup. A product of one of the fancy Eastern medical schools, Jessup could have gone anywhere. Worked the inner city out of guilt, suburban rehab centers just because, even listened to the ramblings of neurotic, drugged-up Hollywood types for the big bucks. Instead she’d come here; captivated by Sonny’s vision for Caitlin’s House and Jenny’s enthusiastic sales pitch. Trudy smiled. Jenny did have a hell of a sales pitch. And Sonny’s enthusiasm and dedication to the House and the idea of using Caitlin’s image and legacy to give back to girls she could easily have been like was hard to miss and even harder to resist.

Jessup was at her desk, flipping through a psychology journal and marking passages with a red pen. “You caught me at a good time,” she said when she heard Trudy come in. “I was about to toss this through the window. What can I do for you, Mrs. Castillo?”

“Trudy’s fine.” She smiled, reminding herself this wasn’t an interrogation. “I had a couple of questions about today’s class. With the group I have…I was wondering if you think they’re ready for some darker stuff.”

Jessup paused, her light eyes sizing up Trudy like a practiced detective would. “Why do you ask?”

“I want then to paint a trauma in their lives. Something dark, you know. They can use whatever colors they want. Any style. Just so it shows how they felt coming through that. Or what it represented to them.”

“That’s advanced.”

“Yeah. I’m not just another pretty face.” Trudy felt her anger rising at the tone in Jessup’s voice. “I was a cop for over fifteen years. I’ve seen dark. And I grew up in Overtown, so trust me, lady, I know dark.”

Those light eyes flashed and then mellowed. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget. Mrs…I mean Trudy. Let’s start over.”

“Ok. I wanted your opinion. Do you think this class is ready for darker subjects? They’ve all held it together so far. And some of them have real talent. But I don’t want to move too fast and set some of them back.”

Nodding, Jessup flipped through her class lists. “This is the afternoon group, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Which one do you think’s the strongest? Which do you worry about the most?”

“Antonia’s the strongest one. No question. I’ve had to hold her back on subjects a time or two. I’d say Jessie’s the weakest, but she’s also the one who got turned out earliest.”

“We agree.” Jessup looked up and smiled. “Different methods, but the same outcome.” She looked back at the class list, and Trudy could see a photo of each girl next to her name on the roster. “If you think they’re ready, go ahead.”

“I do worry about Jessie.” Trudy played the conversation back in her head and decided to offer the doctor a way in. “Why don’t you come in halfway through? See how things are going. Then if Jessie looks bad, you can pull her out for a talk or something. Let her save face without getting too upset.”

Jessup gave a slow nod. “I’ll do that, Trudy. That’s good thinking.”

“A girl like Jessie, growing up where she did, pride might be all she has left. And not much of it by now. Last thing I want to do is take that away from her.” Nodding her thanks, Trudy turned to go. “Class starts right about one. If you stop in about two that should hit us halfway. First hour’s gonna be technique and some talk about what they can try to paint. I want to start them with something that scares them from their lives before they came here. Maybe a car with the lights off, burned-out street lights. Little things. No big stuff yet. Even for Antonia.”

 

Gordon Wiggins adjusted his sunglasses and looked around the seating area in front of the trendy café. He hated these places, even back in LA. But Arthur had insisted so here he sat feeling the sweat soaking the back of his shirt playing the fool. “And he promised you he’d show up?”

“Don’t be a ninny, Gordon. He’s right on time. For him at least.” Haskell waved to a short man in a cheap blue polyester suit. “Jake! Over here!”

It took Wiggins all of two seconds to see through the cheap suit and cigar chomping act. Renfro had darting brown eyes under his heavy brows, and they missed nothing. “Been a while now, Arthur,” he said in a scratchy voice, sitting down through a thick cloud of cheap cigar smoke. “Course we ain’t been sued under the new owners.”

“Cut the crap, Jake. You’ve been sued four times in the last two months alone. All settled quickly and quietly.”

“Yeah. The new owners retain some hotshot foreign law firm.” Renfro leaned back in his chair eyeballing Wiggins, who returned the look with interest. “Who’s your pal?”

Haskell answered quickly. “Gordon’s an old friend. But that’s neither here nor there. You owe me, Jake.”

“Yeah. I guess I do. More than a couple of times, really.” Renfro sighed. “What do you and friend Gordon need?”

“Information.” Wiggins spoke now, drilling Renfro with a look. “I hear your paper’s good at digging up dirt.”

“I prefer to think of it as investigative reporting.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night. I don’t care what you call it. But we have need of information on a local business. Caitlin’s House.”

Renfro whistled low in his throat. “That place has been a thorn in my side since the day it opened. You know most rehab sheds in this town only take rich kids? Not that place. No, they take junkies and hookers. All wrapped up in the mystique of that damned pop bitch.”

“Sounds like you hate the place.”

“Naw, not really hate it. More like I don’t understand it. There’s gotta be an angle. There always is. Insurance fraud. Sex. Drugs. You name it. But not there. Damned place is clean as a whistle.” He turned to Haskell. “You should know, Arthur. You represented her damned estate. Oh, yeah. Until the grieving husband fired your ass.”

“And that’s why we need your information. Friend Arthur left the scene before the House started operations.”

“Then you know about Burnett. There’s more rumors around that dude than flies around a fresh pile of shit.”

Wiggins nodded, keeping what he suspected to himself. “So what do you have on the place?”

“Look, it’ll take me a couple of days to put it together. One of my reporters has a serious hard-on for the place. I got no idea why, but it’s starting to cost us legal fees. But that also means we got lots of information. I’ll let you have it all in exchange for an exclusive if you break anything open on that operation.”

Wiggins nodded. “That sounds fair, Jake. Very fair, indeed.” He suppressed a shudder as the man launched another cloud of cheap smoke their way. “You can get that to friend Arthur here. And I don’t know about you two, but I’d rather take my lunch inside.”

Later, once Renfro was a smoke-scented memory, Arthur Haskell exploded. “What the hell do you mean promising him an exclusive? That reptile will…”

“Do exactly nothing, Arthur. We get his information, string him along, and then go our own way. I have no retirement plans in Miami, and I suspect you don’t, either.” Wiggins smiled and picked at bits of his club sandwich lodged between his teeth with a toothpick. “And he’s only half the question, isn’t he? There’s also Hector to contend with.”

“We need him.”

“We need both of them, Arthur. Just for different things. Friend Renfro’s motivations are clear enough, but Hector’s are not. It’s not just Burnett he’s interested in. You could see it in his eyes. So it’s good to use Renfro to double-check anything Hector brings in. That and I suspect Hector’s idea of being discrete is to shoot someone four times instead of six.” He raised his hand to forestall Arthur’s whine. “I know that’s why we hired him. We need a blunt instrument. But a scalpel can be as useful as a sledgehammer, don’t you think?”

“Of course. Sorry, Gordon. It’s just Watkins again.”

“Ah, yes. The boy wonder.” Wiggins nodded, setting the toothpick in the center of his plate. “Maybe Hector will solve that problem for us, too.”

 

Sonny Crockett stood just outside the baggage claim area holding a cardboard sign in front of his face. Written in block letters with a black magic marker was the name Matt Dillon. He knew it worked when he heard cursing from the other side of the ropes. “Goddamn you, Sonny. Quit hidin’ behind that thing and help me with this rifle case!”

Dave Blair and Randy Mather hadn’t changed a bit in the year or so since he’d last seen them. Dave still had his short light hair and brown eyes, while Randy’s dark black hair was shot through with some streaks of gray. His odd light blue eyes dominated his face, and Sonny had seen them both full of happiness and cold and empty like he imagined death could be. Both men wore jeans and cowboy boots, and he grinned. “You two go full native back home in Montana?”

“Hell, yes.” Randy crossed the distance in two quick steps and almost crushed Sonny’s hand. “It’s good to see you again, boss.”

Dave tried to destroy his hand as well. “Likewise, boss. Can’t say I missed the damned humidity one bit, but we did miss the company.”

Picking up the bright orange rifle case, Sonny led the way to one of Caitlin’s House’s fleet cars. “I’ll show you what Jenny got me later,” he said with a grin as he popped the trunk and started loading bags. “But the work car’s more comfortable unless one of you wanted to ride in the trunk with all this crap.”

“Think I’ll pass. Being cooped up in the seat next to this jarhead for six hours was damned bad enough.” Dave grinned and tossed his own suitcase in the trunk before laying claim to the front seat.

“So where you guys staying?”

“The Hilton downtown. Good ol’ Butte-Silver Bow’s footin’ the bill so we figured we’d live a little.” Randy spoke from the back seat, settling in as Sonny put the car in gear and pulled out into the flow of traffic escaping the airport for the alternate prison of downtown Miami.

“How is life out there?”

“Good.” Randy chuckled. “Dave’s all domesticated now. Got him a hours uptown and everything.”

“Up yours.” Dave glared at his partner in the rear view mirror. “You’re just jealous cause that tramp in Dispatch gave you your walkin’ papers.”

“Naw. I booted her. Caught her goin’ down on one of the SWAT guys.” Randy chuckled, but Sonny could see the flash of pain in the sniper’s eyes.

“Angie’s still on the market.” Sonny laughed at Randy’s reaction. “No, man. I’m serious. Hard to believe she’s still single I know, but she’s always had a thing for you.”

They bantered back and forth as Sonny negotiated the traffic, lapsing into the casual talk of men who’d known each other for years and walked many of the same paths. The Marine Corps. Vietnam. Career law enforcement. And the hot years of the Task Force. After ten minutes it was like they’d never been apart.

Randy was putting the finishing touches on the story. “…so after we wrapped up that meth ring, the sheriff asks if we want to represent the department at some hot-shot conference the DEA was putting on. We said what the hell. Some of those guys we worked with are still in the office here, and it was a damned good excuse to get some of Pete’s ribs. Are they…”

“Better than you could imagine.” Sonny chuckled. “That old bastard has a touch with the barbecue. Never would have guessed back with the Task Force. His place is doin’ well. Can’t say he’s got the most original name, but what the hell, right?”

Dave grinned. “Marshal’s Ribs. Bet he uses a star in the sign, too.”

“Give that man a nickel.” Sonny kicked on the blinker. “Looks like we’re almost here, gents. I’d ask if you wanted to hit up Sanctuary, but after that flight I’ll bet room service and sleep looks damned good about now.”

“Tomorrow night for sure. You got our cell phone numbers?”

“Yep.” Sonny pulled into the unloading zone and hit the flashers. “I’ll make sure as many of the gang as I can find are there. You know Tiny works for me now, right?”

“Yeah. I heard about that entry. It wasn’t our guys, was it?”

“No.” Sonny’s eyes went flat at the memory. “They’d gotten loaned out to the FBI for a warrant raid.”

“Cocksuckers.” Randy’s voice was even flatter than Sonny’s eyes. “Anyhow, thanks for the lift, boss. We’ll call as soon as we can get away from the dog and pony show. Might be sooner rather than later if those FBI morons show up.”

“Don’t get too carried away, man. I don’t want to have to explain to everyone you can’t hang out because you’re in jail.”

“Yeah. I forgot you’re off the force now.” Randy hung back as Dave started unloading bags. “How’s it feel on the outside?”

“Gotta be honest…not too great. I can see why people are worried now.” Sonny chuckled and changed the subject. He didn’t want to get too far into that yet. “You two bring hats for the cowboy lawmen act?”

“Naw. Well, Dave might have. I can’t answer for his fashion sense. Debbie’s gone all cowgirl and he shows up in boots and such from time to time.” They shook hands again. “Good to see you again, boss. Lookin’ forward to seein’ the rest of the team again.”

Sonny waited until they were in the hotel with all their luggage before killing the flashers and pulling away from the hotel. It had been good to see them again, but it also stirred up things Sonny had thought he’d put behind him. Memories of good times and bad times. The rush of going through the door knowing you had the best team in the world at your back. And the finally that moment on the island where he almost froze and knew it was time to call it a day. With effort he pulled his focus back to the road and out of the dark corners of his head. There would be, he knew, time for that later.

He took the fleet car to the marina. Jenny had a meeting in the morning, earlier than he’d be going in, so she’d need a vehicle. Parking next to the Daytona he sat for a time with the engine off, listening to the sounds drifting from the various boats. Raised voices and clinking glassware here, a thin refrain from Sinatra there. The frat guys on dad’s boat at the far end of the dock looked to be having yet another party, which was bound to generate another complaint from Mrs. Gruberman. Walking down the dock, Sonny nodded to old man Baker, sitting on deck with a glass of scotch and the Rat Pack on his small CD player. The old guy was there almost every night…same drink, same CD. It hadn’t made sense until he’d run him on a whim a few years back and found out he was retired Las Vegas PD. Homicide division. Then it made sense. Frank was the one that got away.

Jenny was waiting for him topside, her eyes bright and her shirt thick enough to hide her nipples for once. “How are the boys?”

“Good, but tired. Can’t say’s a I blame them. That’s a long flight. I dropped them at the Hilton and they’re going call when they’re done tomorrow.” He took her in his arms. “How was your day?”

“Good. I helped Trudy with her class this afternoon.” Jenny leaned against him. “She’s doing so well with them. There was a girl she was worried about in the class. Even had Nichole look in partway through. But she did fine. The painting she did…it gave me chills, Sonny. There was so much fear in her, but you could see it move from her to the canvas. And she was so proud.”

“That’s really good to hear. I know you and Nichole were both worried about how that might go.” Sonny kissed the top of her head. “But Trudy gets those girls. She worked with ‘em, and could have been one of them if a few things had turned out different. She can talk to them in a way you and Nichole can’t. And the painting…” He let his voice trail off. “I don’t get it myself, but for some people it’s easier to talk with a brush.”

“She wanted me to tell you she has one of her old informants looking into that reporter. She said he’s sure there’s dirt on the guy.”

“Good.” He pulled her closer, feeling her body through his Henley. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s go below and see what we can whip up, even if it’s just a burger.” He shook his head. “I shoulda grabbed something on the way back, but those two…”

“Memories.” She smiled up at him. “I understand, Sonny.” She looked around his chest and giggled. “Looks like that old battle-ax made her call.”

Sonny turned and saw the Miami-Dade patrol car pulling into an open spot near the dock. “Yeah. Guess the frat boys are gonna lose again. I’d love to stay and watch, but if I don’t eat something soon I’m gonna drop. Let’s go below.”