No Good Deed...Part XXII

[Robbie C.]

Ricardo Tubbs waited outside the women’s restroom on the second floor of Caitlin’s House. “I thought it was called morning sickness for a reason.”

The retching stopped. “They should just call it the I’m puking my damned guts out for no reason sickness.”

“Nope. Too long.” He grinned. “You gonna be ok?”

“I think so.” There was silence, then the flushing of a toilet and the sound of running water. Moments later Mindy came out, wiping her face and mouth with a paper towel. “That was a waste of a damned good breakfast.”

“We’ll get you some good lunch. Something that’ll stay down. Once we figure out what that is.” He smiled and slid his arm around her waist as they headed back to her office in the admin wing. “Let me know when you’re ready an’ I’ll meet you down there.”

“I’ll call.” She smiled and kissed him. “By the way, did Trudy tell you what she was looking for?”

“Not really. Just stuff on Wiggins, I think. How he’s connected to Haskell and what local muscle they might have.” He let that old Tubbs bop back into his step as he thought about the connections. All the pieces floating around. It used to be his job to put those together, and some days he found he missed the mental exercise. “That and that chump who was looking for Sonny. Hector something or another. And Campbell.” He shook his head. “He’s got that girl runnin’ in more circles than even I can count.”

“Maybe I can help her. Now that the girls are settled in I’ve got some spare time up there.” She smiled. “Catalina’s distracted with the kitchen staff again.”

“That’s a fight even she ain’t gonna win.” He slid his hand down to cup Mindy’s backside. “Tell you what, you do some checkin’ an’ I’ll do a bit on my own, too. On Campbell. That little chump bothers me an’ I can’t put my finger on why.”

Back in his office, Rico told his secretary he had an important project to work on and shut the door. It wasn’t his thing, the closed door, but it let his people know he was seriously busy and not to bother him unless the place was burning down. And he’d need the time. His skills were a bit rusty, and at least one of his old contacts had retired to someplace north of Lauderdale.

Thanks to Lester’s skills his database logon still worked, and he made short work of what Miami-Dade had on one Jimmy Campbell. “Funny,” he muttered, scrolling down the file and back up again. “Kid don’t seem to have existed until about five years ago. Ain’t no one just appears outa thin air. Unless he’s got a jar of peanut butter an’ wants to mess with Trudy’s head again.”

Ignoring all the failed attempts to join local forces, as well as the lapsed PI license, Rico dug deeper. He toggled to another screen and tapped in a search command. “Got you,” he muttered again, taking notes in his old flip-top pocket notebook out of long-learned habit. NYPD always inspected that notebook, and it was a rip if you didn’t have one…worse if you hadn’t entered something. Police records might not have much, but the court records were sometimes full of surprises. Like this one. Jimmy Campbell wasn’t the chump’s actual name.

Scrolling through the file, Rico paused from time to time to pick out details. Jimmy was his right first name, that much was true. But he’d legally changed his last name to Campbell in 1992…right around the time he and Sonny had come back to Miami. New beginnings and all that shit, I guess he thought as he scribbled down a date. The original last name didn’t mean anything to him, either, and there was some crap about a step-father named Campbell, but the name of one of the witnesses made his heart skip a beat. “Damn. Celeste Carrera. Sister.”

He’d never really met Oscar Carrera’s much younger wife, but the pictures he’d seen made it pretty damned clear why the scion of the Carrera cartel wanted her for himself. As, apparently, had his son Miguel. It also went a ways toward explaining why Sonny Crockett had also taken an interest. Granted it was during his ‘time away’ as Burnett. Sonny never talked about Celeste. Never even mentioned her name. But the intel reports he’d seen at the time indicated their relationship had been both intense and serious. The role she’d played in his removal of the two Carrera men wasn’t completely clear, but she’d obviously played some kind of role. One she’d tried to repeat when Cliff King looked to take down Sonny.

Rico leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming absently on the desk. Even after her betrayal, Sonny had let her walk. One of the few examples of mercy that could be attributed to Sonny Burnett. That alone told Rico he’d cared for her. Deeply. But the implosion of the Carrera organization also meant she’d be forever on the run. Different names, different cities. Trying to stay one jump ahead of her past. It might be life, but it wouldn’t be a good one.

A search on the brother’s real last name turned up a handful of small busts for small deals. A kid trying to make his mark in the new family business, maybe. On the fringe of the Carreras looking in. It must have pissed him off to see his future shatter like a vase hit by a train. And then his sister gets sent away. Thrown away is maybe how he’d see it. The fingers kept drumming as he stared at the monitor. It went a long way to explaining the kid’s fixation on Caitlin’s House.

He must have found out after that girl of his went through. Angel I think they said she called herself. Toggling screens again, he searched the internal records and felt his lips tighten into a thin, grim smile. Campbell hadn’t appeared on the radar at all until Angel had come in. Then he started popping up at Charlie 3 and a few other places. Once she got out it got worse. That must have been when he found out Sonny was here. Burnett back in his life and taking another woman from him.

He couldn’t tell Sonny. He knew that much. And there was no way he could stick close enough without drawing a lot of attention. He turned it over in his head, then smiled. Reaching out, he picked up the phone. “Yeah. Have Steve Blair drop by the office. Thanks.”

Even after being around him for a few days, Rico found he couldn’t get a read on Dave Blair’s nephew. The younger man with the hazel eyes was competent, confident, and quiet. He’d also noticed the man had a way of disappearing in a room. He’d be there, but you’d forget to notice him for a time. But he’d also seen him qualify on the range and knew the younger Blair had his uncle’s skills, just with pistols. And he used a big stainless steel Smith & Wesson just like Sonny’s.

“What can I do for you, boss?” The voice was soft, level, and with no clear accent. Just the kind of voice to disappear in a crowd.

“I’m gonna need you to keep tabs on Sonny for a few days. Don’t know how long yet.” He waved for Blair to come around the desk. “This kid we thought was just a topless photo-taking reporter? He’s turning out to be a bigger threat.”

Blair read the words on the screen quickly. “Yeah, I’d say he is. A revenge-motivated nutjob is always the worst kind of trouble. I’m not Sheepdog trained, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Sheepdog?”

“Sorry. In-house language from…the place I work. They’re our surveillance and protection people. Damned good at their jobs, too.”

“So what do you do?”

The eyes changed for a moment, and Rico caught a glimpse of something cold and empty. “I’m more of what they call a blunt instrument. My division…solves problems.”

“Solid.” Something told Rico he didn’t want to know any more. Maybe it was Blair’s eyes, or the way his posture changed. “The thing is I don’t want to tell Sonny. He’d want to go running off after this kid and that would make things worse.”

“I agree. He’s not a cop any more, but he forgets that sometimes.” Blair’s smile was thin, and reminded Rico of Castillo’s. “I’ve got more latitude.”

“You think you can keep an eye on him, at least while he’s here?”

“You bet. This kid got any standoff capability?” He saw the confusion in Rico’s eyes. “A rifle. Some way to hit from a distance.”

“Not that I can tell. He tried out for damned near every police force in South Florida, and none of them noted he had any rifle skills. Hell, one of ‘em put a note in his file saying he was more dangerous to himself than anyone else on the range.”

“Still…determination can make up for lack of skill.” Blair looked at the screen again. “But he’d want to see Sonny up close before he died. So he’ll try with a pistol. Maybe a knife, although I don’t think he’s got the balls for that.”

“Yeah. The way he used that girl he ain’t got much in the way of guts. But lots in the way of crazy.”

“I’ll shift upstairs and keep an eye on him. If you give me access to his calendar I’ll start looking for windows of vulnerability and plan my moves around those.”

“You got it. And Steve? Thanks. I owe you one.”

“No. I still owe you guys. You have no idea.” Blair stared at the screen for a few more moments, and then he blinked like a camera shutter. “I’ll let you know first thing tomorrow if I need anything else.”

Rico sat for a time after the door closed, staring at Jimmy’s flickering picture on the screen without seeing it. It felt strange going around Sonny like this, but Blair was right. If they said anything Crockett would be off like a hound on a scent. And they couldn’t afford that now. With the new girls and the expansion project there was just too much at risk.

Mindy’s call snapped him out of his trance, and he locked the computer before heading to the staff cafeteria. There were only a couple of mid-shift guards in the open room, and he nodded to them before finding a table in the back. Someplace quiet where he could sit and just be with Mindy before the afternoon’s work began.

She smiled when she saw him, running her hand over the middle of her blue dress. “I feel like a whale,” she announced as she sat down.

“You’re not showing a damned thing.” He smiled and touched her hand. “Did you want me to bring you the salad?”

“No. I want one of those cheeseburgers Sonny aways gets. With the bacon. And fries. Don’t let them cheat you on the fries.” She smiled, her blue eyes sparkling. “Preggo appetite. Odds are I’ll go all sorority girl and throw it back up in an hour, but it sounds so good right now…”

“You got it, pretty lady.” He kissed her forehead before making his way to the long counter and the mysteries of food service.

She was halfway through her burger when she noticed he’d only been toying with his salad. “Something’s on your mind,” she said as she ran three fries through a lake of ketchup on her plate.

“Yeah. Guess there is. Don’t be surprised if you see Steve up on your floor more often. Especially around Sonny’s office.”

“What’s going on?”

“I did some digging into Jimmy Campbell. Turns out he changed his name a few years back.” Rico chewed his salad without tasting it, which annoyed him because he loved the cafeteria’s thousand island dressing. “One of the people who signed as a witness was his sister.”

“So?”

“Her name’s Celeste Carrera.”

Mindy shook her head as she ate the fries. “Carrera…isn’t that one of the crime families Sonny took down when he had his break?”

“Yeah. Celeste was the wife of the father, lover of the son, and also Sonny’s woman.” Rico gave her the short version, or at least what he knew of it. “He let her go as far as I know, an’ she disappeared right after.” He didn’t want to say anything else, and Mindy picked up on his mood.

“And the kid was on his way up?”

“Not really, but it probably felt like it to him. I’ll bet he’s got some serious dislike for Sonny.”

“That would explain why he keeps coming after the House. I’ll bet he didn’t even know Sonny was here until that girl of his came through.”

“Yeah, and he could blame Sonny for that, too. Two of the chump’s female meal tickets gone, courtesy of Sonny Burnett. Or so he’d think.”

“And you sent Steve up to keep an eye on him? Good move.” She smiled. “I like him, but there’s something about him. He’s…”

“Distant. Like he’s there but he’s not. I’ve seen him shoot, though. He’s damned good. Think of Dave but with a pistol.”

She shook her head. “So if they have a plan, you think Jimmy will stick with it?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I moved Steve.” He chewed some more salad. “You find any dirt on the others?”

“Nothing we didn’t know about the lawyers. But that Hector Rendozo…he’s interesting. You’re the one who busted him, you know.”

“Hell, I don’t remember. They all kinda blur, you know? Low and mid-level chumps tryin’ to move up were a dime a dozen back then. Sometimes two dozen for a dime. Besides, if he remembered me at all it would be as Cooper.” He shook his head. “How’d he end up with those legal buzzards?”

“Haskell defended him once. I’d bet he also did some strong-arm work for the old guy at least once before that. And since Wiggins doesn’t know anyone in Miami he’d have to work with whoever Haskell dug up. The senior partner who’s in Club Fed for the duration is the one who had all the good connections. At least that’s what my contact down at the Federal courthouse says.” She finished her burger and smiled. “I could almost eat another one, but I don’t want to until I know this one’s going to stay put.”

“Yeah, and we’d better get back to work. Or at least I need to. Got a meeting with Stan in another half hour or so.” He smiled. “Something about a new sweep he wants to try.”

“Just be sure he checks with Catalina first. Last time he didn’t and I had to deal with an angry doctor all afternoon.”

 

Dave had flown out the day before, leaving Randy Mather the sole occupant of their hotel room. He didn’t mind, but it did feel strange without his partner close by. They’d been friends since they were little kids, hunting buddies and later a scout-sniper team in Vietnam. It always felt strange when he worked without his partner.

His Remington M700 rested in a black rifle case on the bed, and his hands were going through the motions of oiling and reassembling his customized Colt M1911-A1. But his mind was on the folders scattered across the now-spare bed. He’d made a couple of calls to the marshal’s office and gotten some workups on Hector Rendozo and his known associates. He at least still had some official standing as a senior detective in the Butte-Silver Bow police department, so he could call in favors the others couldn’t.

He snorted as he wiped down the recoil spring of the Colt. There wasn’t much to Hector, and less to the punks he palled around with. Number one on the list was a skinny wanna-be named Juan who’d picked up the street name Jangles somewhere. The kid looked to have tried his hand at just about everything and come up short each time. Wanna-be pimp who got beat up by one of his girls. Wanna-be pot dealer who smoked most of his stash and was so high he tried to sell the rest to a uniformed patrol officer in his car. Wanna-be hit man who’d shot himself the foot while trying to get the jump on his one and only contract. There were a couple of others, but they seemed to drift in and out. But not Jangles.

He slid the spring over the guide rod and locked the barrel bushing into the slide. Hector wasn’t much better. He’d been busted by Tubbs back in ’88 and did his time on the strength of that arrest. But the deal had originally been with Burnett, which explained why he was looking for Sonny’s cover identity again.

None of it was especially new, at least when it came to Hector. It was Jangles who’d grabbed Randy’s interest. He thought back to Basic, when the DIs would home in on whoever they thought was the weakest and go to work on them. ‘A chain’s only as strong as its weakest link, and there ain’t no weak links in my fuckin’ Corps’ was what Corporal Dawson had always shouted when he found someone he considerer weak.

He snorted as he slid the slide back on the frame, pulling it back and then pushing the slide stop through the barrel lug to complete reassembly of the tuned Colt. This bunch Wiggins assembled had more weak links than a dime store bike lock. Haskell. The younger lawyer Watkins, who seemed so far over his head Randy was surprised he hadn’t drowned by now. The kid from the Post. This Jangles fuck-up. The only ones who really seemed to have their shit together were Wiggins and Hector. Renfro could go either way.

Done with the pistol, he checked the loaded magazine before snapping it into the frame, working the slide to chamber a round, and putting on the safety before slipping it back into his hip holster. ‘Cocked and locked’ the Colt aficionados called it. Kind of how Castillo had him poised in the hotel. Safe, but ready to go at a second’s notice.

Getting up, he walked to the window and looked out over the city that had been a big part of his post-Vietnam life. And like Vietnam he had a serious love-hate relationship with the place. Mostly hate. It was too damned humid, too damned expensive, too much neon, and too full of that fake Southern stuff he hated so much. Like their damned Rebel flags. Hell, you boys lost the damend war. Get used to it. He didn’t mind some of the food, and the girls were good to look at so long as you didn’t harbor any real expectations. He had kind of liked the old Miami, but it was disappearing in upscale developments and pricy things they called urban reclamation projects. In other words push out the people who’d lived there for years and replace them with coke-snorting executive types who’d stay for a year or two and get busted or move on.

Chuckling, he turned away from the window. Got one of my grouch moods comin’ on. Maybe I need some range time. He knew that would help, but it wouldn’t hit the real reason his mood was coming on.

He knew Castillo put a lot of stock in his dreams, and Randy had seen too much in his own life to doubt them. And if Jenny was having them too, that was just doubling down on a bad sign. But he felt like they were drifting. Reacting instead of acting. He knew there were limits on what they could do, and he’d almost shouted for joy when he found out Stan and Lester had started running illegal taps. Things got sloppy when they drifted, and the wrong people got killed when things got sloppy.

Looking at the folders, he snorted again. He’d expected some kind of ramp-up once they got all the names in a row. Something from Castillo indicating it was time to go ahead and start shaping things to their advantage. But there’d been nothing. Just acknowledgement something was happening. Putting Steve Blair in place was another defensive move. A good one, but still reactive. One thing Randy had learned from the Task Force years was they were successful when they took the initiative. He wondered now how much of that had come from Sonny’s Burnett focus. The way he took a problem apart and latched onto the main parts and smashed the weaknesses. Castillo was always decisive, but he was also deliberate. Sometimes to a fault.

But he also knew they couldn’t bring Sonny in. He had too much on his plate with the House and everything else. And Rico, with a kid on way, was likewise tied down. That really left Team Elvis to pick up the slack. To try to get inside the plan and break it. Randy weighed the pros and cons in his head for a minute, then reached for the phone. Castillo might be pissed, but he could live with that. He couldn’t live with anything happening to Rico or Sonny. “Stan? Yeah, it’s Randy. We need to talk, sarge.”

Bomber’s was a dive bar announcing its existence with flickering neon and decor that looked like it had been stolen from either a World War II B movie or a Night Ranger video shoot. Randy smiled as he approached the door. The place had figured in a number of their Task Force cases, and he had the same kind of affection for it a hot rodder might have with the first old junker he tried to ‘tune up.’ It was also the kind of place you weren’t in any danger of being spotted by other former Task Force members.

Stan and Lester were already at a table back close to the pinball machines. Wearing his old jungle boots, faded jeans, and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ look, Randy moved through the light wanna-be biker crowd untouched and pulled up a chair, turning it so he could see the back door. Stan was watching the front, so they had all their angles covered. As soon as his butt touched the bottom of the chair, Stan poured him a beer from the almost-empty pitcher and signaled the bored waitress for another. “Dave make it out ok?”

“Yeah. He and Debbie should be cuddled up back in Butte by now.” Randy sipped his beer with appreciation. “Thanks for takin’ the time, guys.”

“Hey. It’s Team Elvis. Or most of it, at least. No way I’m lettin’ my guys down.” Stan grinned, droplets of beer showing in his trimmed beard. “But this ain’t no class reunion.” He paused as the girl arrived with a new pitcher. “Thanks, darlin’. Keep the change an’ keep ‘em comin’ until we tell you not to.”

Lester eyed Randy. “You must be wondering about the same thing we are. Why are we sitting on our hands?”

“You read my damend mind, Lester. That some new gadget you cooked up?”

“Naw. Been workin’ on it, but with Stan so close it keeps getting overloaded with boobs and butts.”

“In my defense, it’s Gina’s boobs and butt and no one else’s.” Stan chuckled and poured himself another beer. “But I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

Randy nodded. He could feel his thoughts coming together. “If we keep sittin’ back, sooner or later those assholes are gonna find a weak spot. Hell, we don’t even know what they’re after. Or if they’re all after the same damned thing.”

Lester nodded. “Ever since we got the ears working we’ve been kinda wondering the same thing. We report and nothing comes back.”

“I get it. It ain’t legal without warrants and all. But hell, we’re the ones who get nailed if anything goes south and we aren’t kicking up a fuss.”

Randy nodded. “At least for now, I think it’s on us. Look, I’m part of the Marshal’s fugitive task force back in Butte. So’s Dave. I’ll give you all the cover I can. Say I hired you as a contractor to get a bead on someone we think ran here. Anything I can do, I’ll do. A career ain’t worth shit if you get friends killed to keep it.”

“That’s where we are, too.” Stan looked around the bar. “Hell, Gina and I are tryin’ to have a kid, and I know Lester and Nikki are getting serious, too. But what’s it worth if we can’t back up our friends?”

Feeling tears starting to stretch the corners of his eyes, Randy just nodded. “So what have we got?”

“Not much.” Lester’s voice was level. All business. “That Renfro cat doesn’t seem to like his phone much. A few calls to Jimmy that went unanswered. One to Haskell saying the story’s ready. And six orders to some sandwich joint around the corner from his office.”

“You got anything new on Jimmy?”

“No, but I think Rico might.” Lester shook his head. “That kid’s all kinds of on-edge.”

“I think we can ignore him for now. Dave’s nephew is doing close-in security on Sonny for the immediate future.”

Now it was Lester’s turn to nod. “Good. Never met him, but if Dave says he’s ok that’s more than good enough for me.”

Stan poured them all another round and grinned when the waitress reappeared with a full pitcher seconds after the empty one hit the table top. “Keep the change and keep ‘em coming, doll face.”

“You’d better watch it with that talk or Gina will slap the taste outa your mouth.”

“Naw. Lydia there’s one of my CIs. Gina actually put me on to her.” Stan smiled and changed the subject. “I want to open our ears a bit. This Hank or Hector or whatever he calls himself is careful. He calls in from payphones mostly, so I can’t get a fix on him. But I’d like to expand to Haskell.”

“Do it.” Randy thought for a moment. “And have you heard some whiney little bitch who calls himself Jangles?”

“Not calling Renfro. I’ve heard the name, though. Once when Hector called him.”

“I can get you his full name. He’s Hector’s main guy on the outside. They must’ve known each other before he got sent up. He’s the damned weak link in Hector’s little circle jerk.” Randy drained half of his beer. “I gotta be straight. Hector’s the one I worry about the most. The lawyers talk big, but like they say back home them boys is all hat an’ no cattle. Jimmy’s dangerous, but he’s three beers short of a sixer, so there ain’t much we can do with him. But Hector…those lawyers brought him in for muscle but I figure he’s got his own ideas about what’s gonna happen.”

Lester’s head moved in a slow nod. “Makes sense. If I remember the timestamp on that surveillance camera footage they gave us, Hector was looking for Sonny before this Wiggins character even hit town.” He looked around for the waitress. “They still do nachos in this dump? I need something to soak up the beer.”

“Yeah. I’ll order us the bomb bay size or whatever the hell they call it when she comes back by.” Stan chuckled, and then his eyes got dark. “We’ll see about adding ears to Haskell and if we can get a bead on this Jangles guy. If we can get inside their comms…”

“We can get inside their heads.” Randy finished the old line with a smile. “And damn nachos do sound good right ‘bout now. You two do what you do best, an’ I’ll fly top cover. I got a feeling if Team Elvis don’t do something, we’re gonna be standing around picking up the pieces. An’ we don’t wanna be doing that.”