No Good Deed...Part XXI

[Robbie C.]

Just like old times. Stan let the thought roll around in his head as he sat in the back of the Roach Coach, headphones clamped on tight, letting the hum and click of the wiretaps move through him. It was like music; a strange kind of music only he could understand. The more he listened, the more he started to understand why Lester liked Techno so much.

He felt someone tap his shoulder and slipped off the left headphone. “You getting anything yet?”

“Just the usual Ma Bell chorus.” He grinned at Lester’s tired face. “You bring some coffee with you?”

They were parked about a mile away from the Post building in an underground garage to escape the heat. Just inside the limit of the tap’s transmission capabilities, it was the best thing he could think of to stay off anyone’s radar. But the asshat wasn’t cooperating. Aside from one call to a bagel joint to order breakfast, Renfro hadn’t made a single call. Hadn’t gotten one, either. “You know, Lester, we need those damned banks of recorders again. Running ten taps or more at the same time.” Stan sighed and leaned back in the small bench chair in front of the console. “Man…those were the days.”

Lester started to reply then pointed at one of the meters. “Don’t look now, but we got an incoming call.”

Stan kicked on the recorder. Renfro’s rasp filled his ears. “Yeah?”

The other voice was older. Cool. With a touch of accent he couldn’t place. “The same place as before. Twelve sharp. Be a good boy and don’t be late.”

“Shit.” The one word echoed through the van’s interior. “I didn’t get a number.”

“It’s cool, Lester. We got a time.” Shutting off the recorder, Stan handed off the headphones and traded places with his partner. “I gotta make a call.”

Castillo picked up on the second ring. “Yes?”

“It’s Elvis. Greaseball has a meeting at noon. We don’t have a location.”

“We’ll see to it. Keep the tape rolling.” There was a click, and the buzz of the car phone’s dial tone filled his ear.

“Castillo on the case?”

“Yeah, like BO on that greaseball.” Stan slipped the receiver back in its case and slid back into the rear compartment of the van, pulling the blackout shade closed behind him. “I bet…”

Lester raised his hand. “Outgoing.”

Stan nodded, moving over to the push button reader. It was one of their little gadgets that read the signature of pushbuttons or rotations of a phone dial to get the number being called. He watched the flickering display and logged the call. As he’d figured, it was to Jimmy Campbell.

Lester hit the record button and leaned back himself. “Renfro’s telling him to meet them at the same place, wherever the hell that is,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Jimmy’s whining and Renfro’s telling him to shut the fuck up and be there. Something about it not going wrong this time. The story’s airtight. He said that two or three times.”

“Got it.”

“You gonna call Castillo back?”

“Naw. Jimmy’s pad is across town. Better they tail Renfro. That and Jimmy’s a paranoid little bitch. He’d probably be looking for a tail. Renfro? He’s too damned sure of himself.”

Lester shook his head. “You’d better hope you’re right.”

“Yeah. It’s a gut feeling, but I think it’s a good one. We also know Renfro’s gonna stay at his desk until the last damned minute. Jimmy could go bouncin’ all over town before heading for the meeting. No guarantee Castillo and Randy could latch onto him beforehand.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll take the next hour if you wanna catch a quick nap.”

Nodding, Stan moved to the long bench seat on the other side of the van and laid back. But he knew he wouldn’t sleep. The other voice kept running back through his head, and he was pretty sure it had been Gordon Wiggins. It was the accent. Some weird combination of Brit and snotty New England. He’d only heard the man talk a few times, but it was the kind of thing that stuck with you like the aftermath of a bad convenience store burrito.

Only a few minutes had passed before Lester asked what Stan had been thinking about. “You gonna tell Sonny?”

“Not yet.” Stan sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Same thing I was thinkin’ about.”

“You think that’s the right move?”

“I don’t know. But he doesn’t know we’re running this op in the first place. He already knows Wiggins is out there somewhere. And if I know Sonny, the first thing he’d do is go runnin’ off trying to find the guy. Screw the House and all that.”

Lester nodded, the earphone cord slapping against one of the consoles with the movement. “Yeah. You’re right. He’d get that look in his eyes and just be gone.”

“He’ll be pissed when he finds out, but it was Castillo’s call, too.” Stan sank back on the improvised padding, making a note to himself for the twentieth time to get a better bench seat for the Roach Coach. “We’ll let those two duke it out while we hide on the sidelines.”

“Great plan, sarge.” Lester shifted, hitting the record button again. “Another outgoing. He’s canceling some lunch date or another. Whatever this meet is, it’s gotta be important. I can’t see that slug missing a free meal for anything less.”

“Neither can I, Lester ol’ pal. I just hope Castillo and Randy get into position in time.”

 

Randy stared at the camera and shook his head. “How the hell do you even use one of these damned things?”

“Point and hit the button on top once it’s focused.” Martin Castillo smiled as he eased the Mercedes into a parking space across from the Post’s open air lot. “I thought you snipers did surveillance.”

“Sure, but with them old cameras you set up a tripod for an’ get under the black drape before you take a picture.” Randy chuckled. “That an’ Dave was usually the shutterbug. I was mostly on the spotter’s scope.”

Castillo nodded and adjusted his Ray Bans before checking his watch. Eleven thirty. He’d take the chance and keep the car running, mostly so they could use the air conditioning. He didn’t want Randy to start whining about the humidity.

Beside him, Randy raised the camera and clicked off a couple of test shots. “Got the front and side doors from here,” he said without lowering the camera. “You figure the usual place is far enough out he’ll have to drive?”

“I think he’d drive if it was half a block.”

“Yeah. He don’t seem like the type to break a…” Four photos rattled through the shutter. “He’s comin’ out now. Side door. Headin’ for the maroon Monte Carlo with the t-tops. Boy must think he’s a player or something with that ride.”

“At least it’s easy to follow.” Castillo put the Mercedes in Drive and waited for the Monte Carlo to roll out of the lot. He waited until Renfro was at least half a block away before pulling into traffic himself.

Working a solo tail was always hard, and it forced him to stay closer that he’d like. The up side was the Mercedes pretty much disappeared into the normal flow of Miami traffic Randy kept low, chuckling as he ducked. “Yeah, I know the drill. Did more than a few of these back with the marshals. One guy in a car looks a hell of a lot less suspicious than two. That an’ we don’t need pictures of him drivin’ the damned car.”

Castillo nodded, making a right turn to keep the maroon car in sight. “Next time we’re getting you a car and some of Switek’s radios. I’d rather run a parallel than look like a rerun of Kojak.”

But Renfro seemed totally oblivious to his lurking shadow. He took a leisurely route, keeping at or under the speed limit like he didn’t have a care in the world. Then his turn signal came on for the last time and the Monte Carlo turned into the parking lot of the midtown Hilton. Castillo rolled past, finding an open spot along the street that had some shade but still allowed him to see Renfro’s car.

“We’re gonna lose him when he goes in.” Randy’s voice was flat. “They don’t know me from Adam, captain. I can go in and have a look-see.”

“I’m not a captain any more.”

“You are to me.” Randy grinned. “It don’t feel right callin’ you Marty without a drink in my hand.”

Castillo chuckled. “I suppose not. And yes, go have a look around. See if you can spot who he’s meeting. I’ll hold here.”

Left alone in the car, Castillo let his mind wander a bit. But it always circled back to the dream and what was happening now. Two of the tracer streams looked to be accounted for: Haskell and his connection with the Post and not Wiggins. Where was the third? Or were Haskell and Wiggins combined somehow, leaving two more individuals out there? He knew not to put too much trust in the dream…at least not how it looked literally.

The lawyers working together made sense to him. They’d both have more or less the same goal: ruining Crockett’s reputation by destroying the credibility of Caitlin’s House. It also made sense that they’d try to use the paper and the unbalanced reporter to do their dirty work for them. He knew Wiggins could be violent, but only as a last resort and always through other people.

He hadn’t seen which car he came out of, but Castillo’s lips twitched into a thin smile when he saw Jimmy Campbell speed walking to the front entrance of the Hilton. A quick glance at his watch showed it was just past noon. Leave it to him to be late. But what’s his significance? What are we missing about him? Castillo made a mental note to have Trudy dig a bit deeper into the skinny kid’s past. There had to be more there than a grudge because he lost his best lure for scandal photos. And if there wasn’t, the kid was crazier than they’d thought.

Fifteen minutes had crawled by before Randy came out of the Hilton and ambled back to the Mercedes. “Let’s get the hell to someplace with a bar,” he said with a grin, setting the camera down on the seat next to him. “And then someplace where Stan can work his magic on this film. Got a few you’re gonna want to see.”

They met up at Stan and Lester’s actual office, since the workspace in Caitlin’s House didn’t have a darkroom of any kind. Lester did the honors while Stan handed out cold cans of beer. “Sorry, Marty,” he said with a smile. “I don’t keep fancy stuff here. Lester an’ I are pretty basic Bud guys.”

“It’s cold. That’s what matters.” Castillo sipped the beer, feeling the cold rather than tasting the liquid.

It wasn’t long before Lester appeared with prints. “Nice job, Randy. You got some good ones here. Looks like Renfro and Jimmy clear enough. I’d guess the older dude is Haskell, but the big one…”

“Gordon Wiggins.” Castillo’s voice was firm. “Who’s the other one?”

“He looks kinda familiar.” Stan scratched his chin through his trimmed beard. “Hang on. That’s the guy Sonny had the pictures of from Robbie’s club. Hector Rendozo. He said he was lookin’ for Burnett and came in with another dude.”

“What’s his story?”

“Mid-level dealer tryin’ to move up in life. He got reeled in back in ’89, I think. I don’t think he got much time, and clearly is out now.”

“Crockett arrested him?”

“I don’t think so. But I don’t remember for sure.” Stan looked down. “I…I wasn’t at my best that year.”

Castillo nodded. “And that’s partly my fault, Switek.” The words jumbled in his throat, then came out in a rush. “I’m sorry about that. Sorry I didn’t slow Crockett down before Zito was murdered. And even more sorry I let you down afterwards.” It felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest as he finished speaking, and he really didn’t know what to do now.

Stan nodded. “Thanks, Marty. It’s behind me now, but I did blame you and Sonny both for a few years. Some days more him than you, other days the reverse.”

Randy cleared his throat. “If we’re done huggin’ this out, is there anything about this Rendozo we need to know?”

“He’ll be the shooter.” Castillo chuckled. Leave it to Randy to break a mood. “Out of that whole group he’s the only one who could be. But what’s his connection aside from wanting to find Burnett?”

“I know Sonny didn’t think he was a threat.” Stan drained his beer and pulled more cans from the small fridge at the back of the office. “He guessed Rendozo was more likely looking for a job. Maybe he found one.”

Lester looked at the prints. “But how did they find him?”

“Excellent question.” Castillo stared at the photos, wishing they could speak or at least replay what was being said each time the shutter clicked. “We’ll know more once Trudy digs a little bit. I also want to know who he knows. Any physical threat will come from his direction.”

“What about this Wiggins character?”

“He hires people to do his dirty work.” Castillo looked at the close-up of Hector again, trying see through his eyes. “But I think he might have underestimated this Hector. And maybe Jimmy.”

Randy nodded. “Yeah. You can’t see his body language in the pictures, but Jimmy was stressed. Twitchy. Even raised his voice a time or two at Wiggins while I was there. An’ Rendozo was watchin’ him close.”

“I’ll have Trudy dig deeper on both of them. I think we’re missing something with Campbell, and I want to know what it is.”

 

Hector Rendozo nursed his tequila and tried to conceal his disgust as Jimmy Campbell started talking again. “I gotta know the name of the girl…”

“No, Holmes, you don’t. Period. That’s how it is.”

Across the table Wiggins nodded. “He’s right, of course. None of us need to know who she is. It’s safer for her that way, you see. You do see, don’t you, Jimmy?”

“Well…yeah, I guess. But…”

Hector’s fist came down on the table. Hard. Glasses jumped, and at least four people turned to look from across the room. “There ain’t no but here, Holmes. Unless it’s the butt your head is rammed up into so deep you gotta open your mouth to wink. I ain’t tellin’ you the girl’s name and that’s all there is to it.”

Wiggins sighed. “It really is final, Jimmy. Even friend Jake agrees. Don’t you, Jake?”

Renfro nodded. It was grudging, but he nodded just the same. “Yeah. Look, Jimmy, I know things went bad for your girl. We gotta avoid that with this one. And after that cock-up with Angie we ain’t gonna get another shot.”

The other lawyer, Haskell, shook his head. “Don’t remind me. You were sure that would work, Jake.”

Hector chuckled. “You boys didn’t figure on Sonny Burnett.”

Wiggins surprised him. “Hank is right. We did not figure on Sonny Burnett. That won’t happen again.” He turned and fixed Hector with speculating eyes. “How do you think he’ll handle stories about the girl?”

“He’ll check his security people first. Make sure there ain’t nothin’ to the story. Then he’ll try to figure out if any of the girls are talkin’ out of turn.” Hector paused, trying to fit what he knew about Burnett into what they were about to do. “He’ll come out to the press again hard like he did this time. But all his checkin’ will buy us a couple of days to plan the next move.” He paused, looking from one man to the next. “We do have a next move, right?”

Wiggins’ eyes shifted, but his voice projected confidence. “All in due time, Hank. All in due time. Of course there’s a next move. But now is not the time to get into it.”

There ain’t no next move. Not from these pussies, anyhow. You can see it in their damned eyes. The lawyers think Burnett’s gonna fall from one blow. Not damned likely. But he grinned, playing the dumb Chico to Wiggins’ Man. “Yeah, I get it. Gotta stay focused on what we’re doin’ now.” Still, he watched Jimmy out of the corner of his eye. The kid had a major hard-on for Burnett, and he didn’t look happy with the waiting game.

“So we just lob in softballs and let Burnett hit ‘em out of the park? That’s the plan?”

“Jimmy. You gotta play it cool. We’ll need pictures of the compound for the follow-on story. I figure this girl’s good for at least three front page numbers. More if we find any kinda gap in what those perverts out at Caitlin’s House are saying.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way your girl can create some evidence?”

Hector shot Haskell a disgusted glare. “No more than you can create any kinda manhood in your pants. She’s gotta keep a low profile if she’s gonna be useful. Names. Dates. That kinda stuff.”

Wiggins took control again. “Then we’re in agreement, yes? Hank, you will let us know as soon as you hear from the girl with news. I’m sure Jake here has a story already written and ready to go. Don’t you, Jake? And Jimmy will hold his peace and be ready to take the pictures we might need. Yes? Good. Then I bid you all good day.”

Hector grinned, playing the stupid role until the others drifted away. After Wiggins and Haskell, Jimmy was the first to go, muttering under his breath as he went. Hector looked at Renfro and raised an eyebrow. “You better get that kid on a short leash, mano. He’s gonna make trouble for us.”

Renfro sighed. “Don’t I know it? He’s always been kinda off, but once he found out Sonny Burnett was in back of this Caitlin’s House he went off the deep end.”

“It ain’t good, mixin’ personal with business. He got something personal with Burnett?” It was a push, but he thought he’d read Renfro right.

He had. “I don’t know for sure. Got him out one night and fed him some whiskey. Turns out he had a sister. Or has a sister. Don’t know if she’s still kicking or not. Anyhow, this sister had somethin’ to do with Burnett. And it’s because of her he’s got his beef on Burnett.”

“I know Burnett from way back. From business.” Hector decided to unbend a bit. Just to clear the field. “That kid don’t want anything to do with him. Burnett would crush him like a bug. You might want to keep him clear until this is over.”

“Didn’t think you cared about Jimmy.”

“Don’t misunderstand. I don’t. But he’ll get in the way, and this is a big deal. I ain’t risking my commission because some damned kid got his undies in a bunch because Burnett banged his sister or whatever.” He let his eyes flash cold. “You get me?”

Renfro nodded four more times than was necessary. “Yeah…I get you. I’ll do what I can.”

Once the editor left Hector let a real smile spread over his face. He had the fools right where he wanted them. Nothing would happen without the girl. His girl. And he didn’t care about Wiggins and his next move. Hector had his own plans, and they didn’t include pussy lawyers, editors who smelled like a stale French fry, and definitely not little pussies with attitudes. He already had Ramon, and that was one too many. He just had to make sure the next big meeting was on his turf. When it all went down he wanted to make sure it went his way.

Finishing his drink, he tossed a twenty on the table and headed for the door. He had time to get back to his own room and change before taking in a night on the town. Unless, of course, Ramona happened to text Jangles. He didn’t like doing business this way, all remote with nothing face to face. But it was the only way. And probably his only way to get to Cooper or Tubbs or whatever his damned name was. Smiling, he hailed a cab just outside the hotel entryway. And there was the money. Even if he didn’t get the full million there was enough to do a couple of seed deals and get back in the action.

Grinning, he looked through the partition at the driver. “What would you say is the best strip club in Miami? Hell, who am I kidding. It don’t  matter right now.” He rattled off his hotel name. “That’ll do for now.”

 

Jimmy Campbell managed to keep it together until he got to his small walk-up apartment on the edges of Little Havana. But once he locked the door, he let out a strangled curse and kicked the battered couch. Hard. Hard enough to feel it through his toe and all the way up to his chest. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Now his damned foot hurt like hell in addition to everything else.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from the Angie story, but it sure hadn’t been Burnett coming out in front of those reporters and telling them to fuck themselves. Now the bastard was warned, and that made him more dangerous than ever. Celeste hadn’t told him much about Sonny Burnett, but what little she had and what he’d learned since convinced him Burnett wasn’t a man you gave a warning to. Or one you wanted to piss off. Greasy Jake Renfro had managed to do both.

Limping over to the fridge he pulled out a six-pack by the plastic holder and flopped back on the couch. He knew they didn’t take him seriously. Hank most of all. The man was little more than a two-bit street dealer, and he had the balls to look down his nose at him. But that didn’t matter, either.

The beer was cold and good, settling his nerves a bit and mellowing his mood. He drank the first can without really tasting it, then took the second slower. Staring at the far wall as he drank. The TV was a black box reflecting his face, but it was too much work to turn it on. So he looked at the pictures he’d stuck to the bland off-white wall on both sides of the box. Some were of Angel, others were of various topless celebs he’d managed to ambush. The good-looking ones anyhow. And the two special ones on the left side. One of his sister, and the other of Sonny Burnett.

By the third beer he was ready to go back to the problem. Now that Burnett knew they were coming, or that someone was, the whole picture changed. What Renfro wanted to do made little sense. How the hell do you embarrass a one-time drug lord who killed people for fun? They could play their games all damned year and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference to the man. It might annoy him enough to have them killed, but that would be it. And that wasn’t enough for Jimmy. Not by half.

He let his eyes lose focus. Hank had someone on the inside. It would have to be a girl, and probably someone who’d just gone into the program. Jimmy still had contacts over in Miami-Dade he could tap for the list of the last group to go in, and he figured he could narrow down which one was in Hank’s pocket. He figured he knew why, too. Hank would try to concoct some story about guards trading sex for drugs. The kind of crap that sold the Post in the grocery store but wouldn’t raise an eyebrow anywhere else. Burnett could just fire one of the guards and hire him back later once he’d found Hank’s girl. Jimmy didn’t doubt for a second Burnett would find the girl. It was what he did.

The fourth beer was usually when things started to come together. But it wasn’t happening this time. At least not like he wanted. Instead of things making sense it just got more cloudy. He could see his sister’s face. Hear her say she loved Burnett, then confess she tried to set him up, then cry about how she loved him again. He’d been surprised when Burnett just let her go, then furious when he figured out letting her live without Burnett was worse than killing her. Being pushed away by the man she’d given everything up for destroyed her. He chuckled and raised his can to the picture. “Part a that’s on you, sis. You tried to get him whacked, after all. Can’t expect the dude to up an’ forgive that just because you suck him off.”

Still, he had to square things with the man. Maybe not totally because of his sister. He’d been tracking along, too, until the wheels came off the whole wagon and he had to run for it. The fifth beer usually saw him being that honest with himself, though it didn’t stick very long. It sounded better to frame the whole thing in his head about righting the wrong done to his sister instead of admitting he wanted revenge for his own plans getting blown to hell.

Sighing, he dropped the empty can on the floor with the others. “An’ none of that shit helps me one damned bit with what I need to do,” he muttered to the empty room, popping open the last can and raising it in the direction of Burnett’s picture. He didn’t even know where it had come from now, but it captured the man perfectly. A suit so dark it might as well have been woven from the night. Hair slicked back and captured in a tight ponytail. And the Ray Bans. Always the Ray Bans. Everything perfectly in line. Pressed. Creased. Precise. He hated that picture.

“Jus’ what the hell am I gonna do with you? Those fools thing you can be embarrassed to death. They ain’t too damned smart, are they? Me? I know better. But that don’t help me figure out what to do. I mean I can’t just…” He paused. Letting it sort itself through the sixth beer. “Hell…maybe I can at that. You were always a direct son of a bitch, Burnett. Maybe it’s time someone returned the favor.”