No Good Deed...Part XIX

[Robbie C.]

It was two minutes before eleven when Sonny Crockett walked out the side door of Caitlin’s House and headed for the makeshift podium. Staff cars had been moved to make room for the assembled press, and he counted at least ten reporters and an equal number of bozos with both video and still cameras. A respectable turnout for something arranged so quickly, and he smiled in silent appreciation of Gina’s skill with the media. Then his face froze into the fixed Burnett stare as he reached the podium. He knew Steve Blair was behind him somewhere, settling in so he could watch the crowd behind his sunglasses.

He let them chatter for the last minute, ignoring questions hurled at him from one or two of the newspaper scribblers in the front row. He was aware of Gina off to his right, and heard her whisper that the Post’s chief editor had shown up. “Jake Renfro,” she said. “He’s the greaseball in the third row back by the tall guy with the video cameral from Channel 8.” Sonny barely moved his head, looking down at the empty podium. He didn’t need a script - he knew what he was going to say.

As soon as the second hand on his watch swept past the twelve he raised his right hand. “Thank you all for coming. I’ll take a few questions at the end, so don’t interrupt me now.” His voice was flat. Empty. Burnett empty. “There was a story, and I use the term loosely, on the front page of one of our lesser papers this morning. Our legal team is reviewing it now for possible action in the courts. Under the headline ‘Rehab Dealer?’ it claimed that one of our senior staff not only had a record for dealing dangerous drugs but continued to do so here.” He looked around, letting his cold stare touch every person in the crowd. “The only thing this so-called paper got right was our staffer’s name.

“Angie was arrested once for drug possession. Fifteen years ago. There was no conviction, no felony record. Nothing.” He let the word settle into their brains. “Angie was born and raised in Overtown, and for those of you whose silver spoons got in the way, it’s not a vacation destination. Fifteen years ago she tried to get out the one way she knew how. And was caught. Soon after that, she was hired by my late wife as her personal assistant. And her life started to turn around.”

He let the silence linger for five seconds. Then ten. “Caitlin’s House is about second chances. About helping people turn their lives around. And Caitlin was like that when she was alive. Angie is a valuable member of our staff. She can talk to the girls because she’s been where they are. And they can look at her and see there’s hope. That there are second chances.” He paused again. “For those of you who might be a bit slow, I’ll repeat: Angie has NO convictions, drug-related or otherwise. She made a mistake fifteen years ago. That’s it. And as I said, our legal team is reviewing every line, every word, of that so-called article. Caitlin’s House was, is, and will be a place for second chances. Anyone who doubts that, or lies about that, can expect to have their ass kicked.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant thing. “I’ll take questions now.”

A blonde spark in the front row backed by a cameraman from Channel 4 raised her index finger. “So she has no convictions?”

“Not a one. Call Miami-Dade if you doubt it.”

An older guy who looked like he and his battered fedora had been seconded from the sports desk was next. “Why isn’t she out here answering questions?”

“Why should she be? She works for me. It’s my call.” Sonny held his gaze until he looked away. “We run background checks on all employees. Every damned one. If Angie had any kind of record it would have shown up. An arrest isn’t a conviction. Ask any cop and they’ll tell you the same thing. A pattern of arrests is something else, but Angie hasn’t gotten so much as a speeding ticket in fifteen years. If someone’s paper had done their homework they would have known that. And to save some of you a question, nothing is going to happen to Angie. She’s a trusted and valued member of Caitlin’s House, and will remain one. She was also my late wife’s best friend, so yeah, I take accusations like this personally. That’s why I had our head of security review her case, and he agrees with my decision. As does our medical director and head of housing.” He looked around the crowd. “Any more questions?”

There were a few, but he answered them with one or two words and then nodded to Gina. “Mrs. Switek will provide more information if you need it.” Then he turned and headed back inside, the cold of Burnett starting to fade from his veins.

Rico was waiting just inside the door. “You really let ‘em have it, partner.” He chuckled. “I thought that dude from the sports desk was gonna piss his pants.”

“Was it that rough?”

“Maybe not quite, but it’s what they needed to hear.” Rico clapped him on the shoulder as they walked back to the security office. He was vaguely aware of Steve Blair lurking on the edges of his vision. Kid knows his business. No question. “And did you notice that chump from the Post didn’t say a word?”

“Yeah, I did. Surprised me in a way, but I don’t think he expected me to come out like I did. I think he did piss his pants when I mentioned lawyers, though.”

“Was that hot air?”

“No way, pal. I called Gary before the thing kicked off and told him to have some of his sparks take a read through the thing. If there’s anything close to libel they’ll find it.”

“Good. Angie’s damned good people. I don’t care what she did before. Like you said, it was a long time back.”

“Yeah.” Sonny forced his head back to business. “How’d check-in go?”

“Good, all things considered. We got ‘em in with no problem. Having those clowns in the side lot was a stroke of genius. They were so busy over there they didn’t notice the van come in the main gate.”

“How do the girls look?”

Rico shook his head. “Like they always do. Scared, but throwing a tough front. Young, even though this group’s average age is seventeen. But Catalina’s got them in hand. They’re in their rooms now, and then Nichole will give ‘em the standard orientation drill.”

“We got enough security?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it, Sonny. We got it covered. Lester’s got that new swipe system online and it’s working great. We’ll know where everyone goes inside the House if they have to enter one of the secure areas.”

“Good.” Sonny paused while Rico swiped his ID to open the security office door. “Your people are doing a great job. No question.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to put order to the thoughts bouncing around in his head. “It’s the why of it I still can’t get a handle on, Rico. Why did they take a run at Angie like that? Hell…it’s the House they’re after. But why?”

“You still think it’s the lawyers?”

“They gotta be part of it, but…”

His thoughts were interrupted by the Hawaiian-print shrouded bulk of Stan Switek bursting into the security office. “Guys! You gotta hear this! Sorry to bust in, Sonny, but I just heard back from my contact in the Federal prison system. Talk about a blast from the past. Name didn’t mean anything to me at first, but then I put the blue suede thinking cap on an’ the King himself whispered in my ear.”

“Are you drunk, Stan? What the hell…”

“Sonny…it’s a blast from the past, all right. Serious past.” Stan took a couple of deep breaths, trying to settle his nerves enough so he could talk.

“What?”

“Does the name Gordon Wiggins ring a bell?”

Sonny felt like someone had slugged him in the gut. “I thought he was never getting out.”

“Good behavior?” Stan gave his joke a weak smile. “Yeah, I know. Not very funny. My guy didn’t know why he got out, but it was a clean release. No parole requirements or anything. He took his one-way ticket to LA and then disappeared.”

Sonny nodded, not really listening as a fog enveloped his brain. Wiggins and his late and unlamented partner had tried to kill Cait. More than once. Fremont was dead and buried, but Sonny was damned sure Wiggins blamed Caitlin for everything that happened. And what better way…

“You think he’s behind this, partner?”

“Makes sense, don’t it? The first shot was at the integrity of the House, not me.”

“Wiggins was the big one, right? Sorry…I was kinda out of it then.”

“Yeah, Stan. He was the big one with the goofy accent. Sounded like a Brit, but I was never sure if he was one or just watched too much Masterpiece Theater as a kid.”

“Right. So, what do we do now?”

“Not much we can do.” Sonny sat, his body limp in the chair as the reality of Gordon Wiggins being alive and free washed through his body. “Maybe see if you can find some pictures of him for Rico’s people. I don’t want him wandering in here with a fake press pass or something.”

Stan nodded, then his expression changed. “I’ll do that. And I gotta run. I’m…I’m sorry, Sonny. Sorry that jackwad got released.”

When they were alone, Rico leaned forward across his desk. “You cool, partner?”

“Cool as I can be, Rico. Hell, he didn’t kill Cait. But after all these years it’s a shock, you know?”

Rico nodded. “You really think he’s behind this?”

“Yeah, at least part of it. Wiggins never had ties to Miami, so he’d have to find local help to do his dirty work for him. And some of them might have other plans. There’s plenty of guys in this town who’d like to see either of us go down. Or both of us for that matter.”

“Yeah. It sucks being popular.” Rico reached for the phone. “Hey, pretty lady. Yeah, it’s me. Look, can you run a search on a chump named Wiggins? Gordon Wiggins. Yeah, Trudy should know the name. I wanna know if he’s got any ties to Miami. Any cats he’d go to for help.” He grinned and hung up. “We should know in a few if he’s got any irons in the fire in Greater Miami.”

Sonny nodded, forcing the fog away from his brain. “Yeah, but we still got a job to do. Once that damned podium is out of the way, let people move their cars back and let’s get those new girls settled in.”

 

Stanly Switek was still cursing as he fast-walked down the hall toward his small office annex. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself, or frighten the staff, by running, but he had places to go and things to do. Once through the door, he closed it behind him and grinned at a surprised Lester. “Let Castillo an’ Randy know Renfro was at the conference and should be leaving now.” He wiped at the beads of sweat dotting his forehead below his curly hair. “And tell Castillo Gordon Wiggins is back in play.”

Lester nodded and switched on a radio. “Elvis to Hound Dog. Grease Stain is the visitor of the day. And be advised Gordon Wiggins is in play. Over.”

There was an extended pause, and Stan could feel Castillo’s stare even at this distance. “Confirmed Wiggins, Elvis. Hound Dog out.”

“You gonna tell me what the hell that means?”

Stan filled his partner in quickly as he started running through a checklist in his mind and comparing it to the mental inventory he kept of the Roach Coach. More Roach Coach Lite honestly. Damn, but I wish we could have kept the original rig. Still…she’ll get the job done and then some. “So he’s probably a player but not the only one.”

“We gotta know more, man. We just gotta.”

Stan sighed. “Look, Lester. I already kinda committed myself to Castillo, but…”

“But what?”

“Our guys are out there deaf and blind. Randy and the captain are good, but they ain’t that good. Not when they don’t know who to swing at. I told Castillo I’d do whatever it took. But I ain’t dragging you into that.”

“Screw that.” Lester looked up at Stan and grinned. “You know how damned dull it is sweeping for bugs day after day? And don’t give me the ‘it’s not legal’ line. I already know that. But we need to know who these assholes are and what they have in mind. Running something like they did about Angie just pisses me off. Whatever you got in mind, man? I’m in. All the way.”

Stan nodded and swallowed to hide his emotions. “If we get caught…”

“And who the hell is gonna catch us, Stan? We’re the best at what we do. Maybe the NSA could catch us, but there ain’t no one in Miami who can even come close. Old Steve Duddy was a damned amateur compared to us on a bad day.”

Stan could feel the old fire building in his belly. “Then let’s get to planning, Lester ol’ pal. This one’s gotta be both fast and air tight. I’d say we’ve got two targets. That greaseball with the paper and old Haskell himself.”

“I’ll start building some taps. You wanna build the tap grid for me?”

“Ten-four, good buddy. I’ll pick out some prime real estate for your little friends.” Turning, Stan opened one of the drawers in his desk and pulled out one of their old grid maps of Miami. “And Gina laughed at me when I kept these things.”

“Naw, man. She told you it was a good idea. I was there, remember?”

“Don’t go messin’ up my good story.” Stan chuckled and unfolded the map. “We gotta figure the Post will be sweeping, if for no other reason than they got narco money behind them. Haskell might, but there we gotta watch for Feeb bugs tucked in the wires.”

“I forgot about the tan suit, tan Ford crowd. You think those guys are listening to him?”

“His partner went up on Federal time for mob connections, so it’s possible. We gotta play it like they are, though.”

“No big thing, Stan. And I got ways to hit them even if they use those new cell phones. Satellite’s the only thing that might slow me down, but…”

“I don’t think they’re using those. Too much green. The guys behind the Post’s money might be using ‘em, but I don’t think they’d trust greaseball with one.”

“Yeah. He’d probably drop the damned thing or throw it at that Jimmy moron.”

“Thanks for reminding me. Let’s toss something on him, too. Kid seems to be out in left field. Maybe he’s got someone out there with him.” Stan started marking points on the map. “I’d say we start with Jimmy and the paper. Haskell can wait a day. Hope you didn’t have plans tonight.”

“Naw. Nikki’s visiting her folks over in Daytona. You think Gina will let you out without a leash?”

“Just this once? Yeah, I think so.” He grinned. “And it wouldn’t be a big deal if you would have told us that one gig was actually a stripper tryout. Come on, man!”

“You really get in trouble for that?”

“Only because I wouldn’t let her try out with them.” Stan flashed his lopsided grin. “Get a couple of drinks in her, and Gina goes crazy.”

Lester was about to reply when the radio beeped for attention. “Hound Dog to Elvis.” Randy’s twang filled the room.

“This is Elvis. Send it.”

“Greaseball went straight to the fry basket. Over.”

“Copy that. Elvis is in business. Over.”

“Outstanding. Hound Dog out.”

Lester put the radio back in standby mode and grinned. “You don’t know how good it felt to say that.”

“Oh, yeah, I do, Lester ol’ pal. You bet I do. Now let’s get this planned so we can get unplug our team’s ears. These morons are about to find out just what Team Elvis can do when it gets pissed off.”

Packed into the Roach Coach, granted a less-capable version of their old Task Force ride, Stan felt almost at home. No, that wasn’t it. More like a piece that had been missing had fallen back into place. Lester was in the back slipping on phone company coveralls and checking over the new bugs he was going to put into place as soon as the sun sank a bit. “The more shadows there are, the less likely we are to be made,” he announced as Stan threaded his way through the back streets to the Post’s main offices.

Stan nodded, the fingers of his right hand drumming on the jumper box. It was a smaller version of the device they’d used with huge success with the Task Force, and it would mask the number he’d use to find Jake Renfro’s internal extension. They’d talked it over before leaving the House, and decided they’d get Jimmy’s number by reverse dialing; reading the numbers Renfro called and making the connection that way. One random call the paper was enough, and he’d rather hit the higher-profile target first.

“You playin’ Jail House Rock up there?”

“Sorry. Guess I was.” Stan grinned and put both hands on the wheel. “If I didn’t get us lost, we should be there in about ten.”

“I’m ready to rock and roll. Just park in an alley close to the pole and watch the magic happen.”

Stan rolled the Roach Coach into an alley between two older buildings somewhere between renovations and falling down. He put it in park, but left the motor running. “This good enough?” He looked out at the long shadows and spreading gloom. It was that awkward point between quitting time and serious overtime; when you’d find the guys still working who needed overtime for whatever reason but didn’t want to draw too much attention from the boss. A perfect time for a lineman to check relays and generally tend to the magic keeping the phones working. At least it would look that way to anyone who happened to wander by.

Lester didn’t answer. Instead he hefted his belt of goodies and slipped out the side door of the Roach Coach, letting it roll back on its own weight without latching. His coveralls were a dirty shade of gray or clean shade of black, and melted into the shadows with no effort. Soon Stan could see him scrambling up the pole using his boot spikes and then the handholds. Reaching over he switched on his hand radio and threw some switches on the jumper box.

The radio crackled once, and Stan activated the mobile phone. It ran through the jumper box and came out showing a number out by the airport Holiday Inn, complete with air traffic noises. He dialed the number and waited.

Renfro’s voice matched his wardrobe choices. “Editor. What you want?”

“Jake Renfro?”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Stan grinned, but his eyes glittered mean. “Very funny, asshole. You want a story or not?”

“Who’s this?”

“Someone who knows when a certain ex-governor’s daughter likes to meet her boyfriend. And then her girlfriend. That’s the kind of thing you boys run, right? And pay for?”

Renfro’s voice changed. Stan could almost hear the greed dripping on the floor like hair tonic. “Could be. If the info checks out. Lots of assholes like to try to scam us.”

“But I bet most of those assholes don’t drive for the ex-governor. I gotta get moving. You think it over, and I’ll call back at this time tomorrow. You don’t pick up, I take my business elsewhere.”

Stan held his sharp laugh until he’d hung up the phone. That should have given Lester enough time to pick out the line and get his tap in place. Peering through the shadows he saw a dark shape move at the top of the pole and start back down. Soon the door slid open and Lester ducked in, a grin almost splitting his face. “Man, I don’t know what you told that asshole but he started lighting things up as soon as you hung up! It was easy as hell to find his line, and I got three numbers we can check in the bargain.”

“I just told him a little tale about an ex-governor’s daughter, her boyfriend, and her girlfriend. Didn’t have the heart to tell him that was the plot line of Affairs of State, a little classic that took best picture honors in the Lauderdale Golden Bedpost awards back in ’88.”

“How the hell…”

“Larry Zito used to track all that stuff. He told me about that movie ten times at least.” I still miss him, too.

“I shoulda known. Larry knew his porn. No question. He was freakin’ famous in the lab for that.”

“We gonna need to set up a repeater?”

“Naw. This new one’s got enough range to hit the House without too much trouble. Unless we get sunspots. But I’ve got one picked out just in case.” He settled in as Stan threw the van in gear and pulled out into traffic. “We should probably test it, though. Just to make sure.”

“Lester old pal, let’s run it from the Roach Coach. That way if things go South…”

“…Sonny and Rico are clear. I got ya, sarge. Probably get better reception out here, too. Less building in the way.”

They ran the check from the van’s usual parking spot, and Stan grinned. “Five-by, Lester. We’re golden. And with the cop wiring this thing can run all night and not drain the battery.”

Lester nodded. “You head on home, Stan. Gina’s gonna be pissed that you’re late as it is. Nikki’s gone for a few more days, so I’ll get things settled in here.”

“Thanks, partner.” He slapped Lester on the shoulder, knowing he was right about Gina. She’d forgive him, though, once he explained what was going on. And what they were doing.

Gina didn’t say anything until he was done explaining. “…so with this Wiggins back in play, we gotta know what’s going on. And that won’t happen unless Lester and I give the team some ears.” He sat down on the worn couch, a relic of his bachelor days. “I hope you’re not pissed.”

“No, Stan. How could I be? Sonny and Rico have their hands full with the new girls and the renovations and all that, and this Wiggins thing has to be tearing Sonny apart.” She touched Stan’s arm. “Does he know?”

“No, but Marty does. He’s kinda how we got involved in it. Him and Randy and Dave’s nephew are running something. And I don’t think he wants Rico or Sonny to know.”

“They won’t hear it from me.” Gina smiled. “It’ll be our little secret. I can even let you know what they’re up to if that will help.”

“I think it might. Trudy will be doing the same thing, but they don’t tell her everything.” Stan pulled her down on his lap and kissed her neck. “You, on the other hand…”

“Stanley Switek! Put your hands on me this instant!” She giggled, the giggle turning into a long sigh as he followed her orders. “I promise I don’t have any contraband, officer.”

“Now, ma’am, there’s only one way to be sure of that. I mean really sure. You’d best get them clothes off this instant unless you want to be in even bigger trouble than you are now.” He put on his best surly Southern sheriff look as she jumped to her feet and started unbuttoning her blouse. “And I know you ladies is good at hiding stuff, so I’ll be checking everywhere. And I do mean everywhere…”

Edited August 27, 2020 by Robbie C.
fixed numbering goof