No Good Deed...Part XXIII

[Robbie C.]

With everything that was going on, Sonny decided to keep Tranquility at the marina instead of casting off. It wasn’t that he wanted to, but more he felt he had to. If anything kicked off he needed to be close by and easy to reach. And he was neither if they were ten miles off the Miami coast.

He was sitting topside in the cockpit behind the polished wheel nursing a beer and watching the sun do its slow dive into the red-tinted water. It was hard, trying to relax with everything that was going all. All the moving pieces, and nothing he could do to control any of them.

Jenny’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You gonna stay up here all night?”

“Naw, darlin’. Just waiting for my damned brain to stop spinning at high speed.” He shook his head and raised the bottle to his lips. “But so far it ain’t happening.”

She nodded and sat down next to him, her blonde hair billowing as a stray wisp of breeze caught it. “I talked to Angie today. She’s better, and even called me Little Blondie again.”

“She’s tough.” Sonny shook his head. “Tougher than those idiots thought. And Gary’s got a nice defamation piece that’s almost ready to hit the courts.” He was silent for a time. “But I don’t think they’re done yet. Not if Wiggins is involved. He’s gonna want to ruin the House, and if I go down with it so much the better. That Angie story was just an opening shot.”

“Caitlin hasn’t come to me for a couple of days.” She said it like she was talking about an old friend who just hadn’t called recently. “It’s been nice, being able to sleep.”

“Maybe it’s that we know about Wiggins now. Know who the main threat really is.” He took another drink and set the bottle down. “Now I know how all those people on the other side of my cases felt. The ones who kept calling for updates. There wasn’t a damned thing they could do, and I used to get pissed at them for bothering me. Now I know what it feels like. The helplessness. Maybe it’s worse, because I know what I would do if…”

“We have to stay focused on what we can do.” Her voice was soft and firm at the same time. “Let Gary hit them in court. We can keep that rat Jimmy away from the girls. That’s what matters, Sonny.” She paused again. “Don’t let it eat at you.”

“You’re right, darlin’.” He turned and kissed her, tasting the raspberry in her lip gloss. “What did you think of the new girls?”

“Troubled. Like they all are.”

“Did you sit in on all the interviews?”

“Just two. Angie got free and I wanted to talk to her as soon as I could. So I didn’t hear Kelly’s or Ramona’s.”

He nodded, thinking back to the schedule he’d seen. “So the last two?”

“Yes. I’m gonna try to talk to them tomorrow, though.” She looked out over the water, and her posture changed just a hair. “Something about those two…”

“What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, Jenny. If something ain’t right about them, I want to know.”

“I read their files. Veronica and Monique both came from bad places. Turned out early. Drugs.” She shuddered. “All the bad things. But Kelly and Ramona? Their files were light. Especially Ramona’s. They just don’t feel like the kind of girls the House usually gets.”

Sonny nodded. “I’ll make sure you get time with them tomorrow. Nichole might complain, but I’ll remind her who signs her damned check. With everything that’s going on I need to know if we have girls in the House who might not be what they seem.”

“You think this Wiggins would try to sneak someone in?”

“He’s a lawyer. I wouldn’t put anything past a lawyer. Besides, if you want a scandal, what better way to get one than to make it yourself?” He shook his head. “But they could also just be two girls who happened to be in the right place at the right time and been given a chance to straighten their lives out.”

“I know.” She smiled and ran her hand along his shoulder. “I know we can’t cast off, but it feels so strange being moored.”

“As strange as being tied up?”

She giggled. “No. That feels good.”

He tipped the beer bottle up, draining the last of its lukewarm contents. “I don’t know about you but I’m kinda hungry. And maybe then we can see about making some lines fast.”

She was still snuggled tight against him when the alarm unleashed its persistent buzz. Flailing with an arm, he managed to turn it off without sending the clock crashing to the floor.

“Is it time already?”

“Yeah, darlin’. Afraid so. We just got time for breakfast and then we gotta get moving. It doesn’t look good if the boss is late.”

He knew something was wrong the second they hit the main gate. “Mr. Tubbs said come right to his office,” the guard said as he checked their IDs and swiped them in the new system Lester had installed. A former State Trooper, he’d had years to master the blank look behind mirrored aviator sunglasses. “He didn’t tell me why.”

“Don’t worry about it, Karl. Rico isn’t much for talk in the morning until he’s had at least two cups of coffee.” Sonny accepted the IDs with a grin and put the Daytona in gear.

Jenny lost her smile the second they were out of earshot. “Something’s up.”

“Yeah. Don’t I know it. Maybe they caught Jimmy jumping the wire at Charlie 3.” He turned into his usual parking spot. “You go ahead and see about meeting with Kelly and Ramona sometime today. I’ll find out what’s got Rico’s panties in a twist.”

“I’m gonna wring that damned chump’s neck!” Rico glared up at Sonny, his Armani suit looking a bit rumpled. “And I’m not kidding!”

“Calm down, Rico. I’m supposed to be the excitable one, remember?” Sonny grinned and hooked one of the arms of his Ray Bans in the neck of his light blue t-shirt. “What’s got you so fired up?”

“That.” Rico waved a hand in the general direction of a crumpled newspaper on his desk. “And you ain’t gonna be so white bread calm when you get a look.”

The headline was big and bold, centered above a picture of Caitlin’s House the Post had lifted from the website. “Sex for drugs? That’s the best that asshole can come up with?” He tried to laugh, but he could feel the anger building. Turning cold in his chest. As he skimmed the dense lines of newsprint the anger kept growing. “So he’s claiming one of the guards is extorting sex from the girls in exchange for drugs?”

“More than one guard. And he’s hiding behind that ‘sources claim’ bullshit reporters use when they’re making stuff up.” Rico’s eyes were dark and dangerous. “Damn thing goes on to page two. And he’s got photos of some of the girls. Old ones, but still…”

“None of them are still here?”

“No. And none of them support his claims. Looks like he’s using mug shots, though.” Rico snorted. “Gotta make them look as bad as you can. Damned chump.”

Sonny nodded, still staring at the paper. He couldn’t convince his fingers to reach out and turn it to page two. “How many calls has Gina fielded?”

“Too damned many. But here’s the thing, Sonny. There’s details in that article he’d have to get from inside. The number of girls on each wing. How many guards work night shift. All stuff we don’t release, but it’s in there.”

“So you think we’ve got a leak?”

“Yeah.” Rico looked down at his desk top again. “I gotta say I do. I’ve been goin’ through the files since this damned thing hit my desk. It could be one of the people we let go, but most of them didn’t last long enough to make it to the treatment wings. I don’t think it’s anyone here. I already talked to Lita, an’ Tiny stopped by before he left. They’ll look at their people, but I think we’re solid.”

Sonny shook his head. “It only takes one. But I ain’t gonna fall into that whole ‘we got a mole’ thing. You trust your people, that’s good enough for me. Hell, it’s gotta be.”

“Just to be sure I’m gonna pull the swipe logs and check it out myself.” Rico forced a smile. “Gotta say that damned system Lester put in might just save our bacon. It’d take a certain kind of access to leak details like this if you’re a guard. The construction guys don’t have that kind of swipe access, so I think we can rule them out pretty easy.”

Sonny nodded, still feeling the anger balling in his stomach. “Keep it quiet, though. We’re just verifying.” Sighing, he reached out and picked up the paper, finally forcing his fingers to work. “You mind if I take this? I’m gonna comb through it and then call Gary. I think this time we gotta speak through our own lawyer.”

“You think Wiggins cooked this one up?”

“Gotta be, Rico. It’s slick enough to have come from him.” He paused, then said what he’d been thinking. “If it’s not one of the guards, it’s gotta be one of the girls.”

“They don’t have access to phones, but one of ‘em could have snuck something in.” Rico paused for a moment and then cut loose with a real smile. “And we might have them there. You know that bug detection stuff Lester was playing with? He’s got one that can pick up cell phone signals. It was kinda by accident, or so he claims, but if one of those girls has a hidden phone he’s gonna be able to find it without a real search.”

Sonny nodded, feeling some of his anger drain away. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now I gotta head upstairs and make some calls.”

Gina looked up as he walked by her office door and pointed at the flashing line of lights on her phone. “You’d better get someone on this,” she said with a very thin smile. “I’ve had calls from the papers and local TV since the Post hit the racks. And one national call.”

He stopped and shrugged. “I gotta read through the damned thing first. Tell them we’ll have a statement soon and no comment until then. I’m gonna hand it over to Gary while we do an internal investigation.”

“It’s…it’s not true, is it?”

“Of course not, Gina. You know Rico’s people. Do you really think any of them could do something like this?”

“No…but you know how it is sometimes, Sonny.”

He thought back to Scotty Wheeler coming apart beside him in the front seat of another Daytona all those years ago. “Yeah, I do. But Rico’s on it, and he knows what’s at stake.” Turning, he caught sight of the younger man who’d become something of his shadow in the building. “Come on, Steve. I’m heading for the office.”

Blair shrugged. “I can hide behind a post if that makes it easier.”

Sonny chuckled. “Naw. I’m just giving you a hard time. This was Rico’s idea, right? You might as well come in and have some coffee. And it sure as hell won’t hurt to have some fresh eyes look at this shit.” He thought back to something Castillo had said to him years before in another case. “I’m too close to it.”

 

Gordon Wiggins did his best to hide a smile as he spread orange marmalade on a slice of toast and watched the morning newscast in his hotel room. The mingling smells of coffee, bacon, and possible victory combined pleasantly in his nose as he took a bite and turned up the volume just a hair.

If the Angie story had been a dud, this one had the velocity to go national. The news teams on all three local network affiliates had been drooling all over themselves ever since the story broke, and so far there’d been no comment from Sonny or Caitlin’s House. And the longer they stayed silent, the more traction the story gained.

It annoyed him that the girl hadn’t really been his idea. That meant they still had to deal with Hank or Hector or whatever the man called himself. But if this kept going like it was, he figured it would be money and time well spent. Sipping coffee, he smiled. A worthwhile investment, even if it’s short term.

“It must be so frustrating for you, Crockett,” he muttered as he picked up a slice of crisp bacon. “The great cop brought low by a tabloid. Maybe I’ll need to make sure they include your real name in the next installment, yes?” He’d already decided they needed another article. Maybe two more just to make sure the nails were fully in the coffin of that laughable project called Caitlin’s House.

In a way he was surprised the reporters hadn’t managed to put two and two together on their own. But then they weren’t really reporters these days. They were decorations reading what other people wrote. It made what he was doing easier if he was honest, but there was a part of him that missed the old days. Looking at the carefully sculpted cleavage of the blonde reading the latest update he smiled. It was a very small part that missed the old days. Her assets were better to look at than Walter Cronkite’s.

He almost dropped his coffee cup when the room phone rang, but he’d mastered himself by the third ring. “Yes?”

Hank’s south of the border accent filled his ear. “Man, Jangles is about to shit three bricks. That story? Man, what are you thinkin’?”

“We have to strike while the iron is hot, Hank. Or at least that’s what friend Jake said.” Now came the lie. “I was as shocked as you and your friend when I saw the news and read the paper. But he assured me this is the best way to do it, Hank. Keep the place in the spotlight. Those were his exact words.” Actually it was what he’d said when he told Renfro to go ahead and run the piece, but Wiggins figured what Hank didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And by ‘him’ he meant Gordon Wiggins. It was of no great concern if Hank hurt himself or that idiot friend of his. “And something like this is sure to draw Burnett out. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

There was a pause. Wiggins hadn’t expected that. “Sure.” And hesitation in the voice. “But we gotta be more careful. Burnett’s a smart one. If he starts digging he’ll find where that story came from.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps not. Friend Jake assures me he’s got more where that came from. Those were his exact words.” And they were. But Wiggins didn’t think the other stories would hold much weight. Not without more information from the girl Hank’s pet idiot had managed to slip into Caitlin’s House. “They just need a few little touches. A face to go with the harrowing tales, perhaps.”

“So make one up. That’s what you lawyers do, ain’t it? Make shit up?”

“I appreciate your concern, Hank. Really, I do. Let me talk to the others and we’ll sort something out. I expect it will be taken care of by this evening. Shall we meet?”

“I’ll let you know. I got my own talkin’ to do. See if I can get Jangles to stop pissin’ himself.” There was a click, and the hollow dial tone filled Wiggins’ ear,

Sighing, he hung up. This was something he hadn’t fully anticipated. Renfro had jumped the gun a bit with the story, true, but if this idiot Jangles was about to lose it, he might pull his girl out of things completely. And that wouldn’t do. Not when they were so close. Still, he’d work it out. He’d salvaged bigger messes in his time, and with fewer resources at his command.

His coffee had gone cold, and he was freshening it with more from the thermal carafe when the phone rang again. This time it was Renfro. “We got a problem,” he announced with no introduction. “The kid slipped his leash. He hasn’t been in this morning.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. He’s useful, true, but so what if he drops out of sight? We have what we need, don’t we?”

“It’s not that.” Renfro paused. “Gordon, I found some things in his desk you need to see. Can you come by the paper in an hour? Use the back entrance.”

“It’s important?”

“Yes. Very.”

“Very well. I’ll be there. But this had better not be a waste of my time, Jake.”

“Oh, it’s not. Trust me. It’s not.”

 

Stan shut off the recorder and looked at Lester in the front of the Roach Coach. “Did you get that, amigo?”

“Yeah. Ol’ Masterpiece Theater don’t like being called down to the trenches, does he?”

“No, and I can’t say I blame him. Renfro’s so damned slippery he’s a workplace hazard all on his own.” Stan shifted his headphones and scratched an itch behind his right ear. “Although I guess we gotta thank him for pinpointing Wiggins’ location with that call. Bastard hosted that last meeting in his own hotel. No, what’s got my blue suede shoes itching is what he said about the kid slipping his leash. You think he means Jimmy?”

“Can’t think of any other kid they both know.” Lester nodded slowly. “There’s that other lawyer. Watkins. But if he was going off the reservation it would have been Haskell calling. And Renfro wouldn’t know about Rendozo’s pal. So by elimination that leaves Jimmy.”

“But what’s so bad?” Stan paused, listening to the static on the phone line. The tap was still open, and he found white noise often helped him think. Let the pieces float into place instead of jamming up in his head. Lester used techno for the same effect. “Unless they didn’t know Jimmy was Celetse’s sister. Maybe that’s what ol’ Jake found. They might have no damned clue skinny little Jimmy is after Burnett. And that story didn’t have pictures. Maybe Jimmy decided they needed some.”

“It’s a damned shame we weren’t able to wire Renfro’s office. Or even get a look at the damned place. If he had a speakerphone I might have been able to rig something passive on it so we could listen in.”

“Yeah, but at least we know they’re meeting and it’s something that’s got ol’ grease bag rattled. That’s something we wouldn’t have had a few days ago.” Stan reached for the mobile phone. “I’m gonna let Castillo know what’s up. He can pass it on. What Rico don’t know can’t bite him in the ass later, right? You wanna get us close enough to the Post loading dock so we can get pictures of ol’ Masterpiece going in and out? A picture might not be worth a thousand words in this case, but it sure as hell can’t hurt.”

“Yeah. Hopefully they don’t take too long, though. Rico wants me back before two so we can do a walkthrough with the sniffer to see if any of the girls have cell phones hidden in their rooms.”

Nodding, Stan looked at the digital clock on one of the consoles in the back of the van. “Even if ol’ Gordie runs late we got plenty of time. Might not get to see him leave, but we should see him going in.” He punched in numbers. “I’m callin’ Castillo. Try not to hit any old-timers, ok?”

 

Castillo listened mostly, interjecting a single word question now that then. When Stan was quiet he held his own silence for a moment, looking out the sliding glass door at the clouds gathering over the ocean. “And he said slipped the leash? Those were his exact words?”

“They were.” Stan’s voice shifted as he answered something Lester must have asked. “We’re almost on scene. I gotta get ready.”

“Good. Once you’ve confirmed Wiggins is in there, return to your monitoring location. We don’t need to take any unnecessary chances.”

“We may need to split up. I think I got a fix on Jangles’ location and want to recon it for ears.”

“Do what you think is best. But be careful. Things are happening now.”

“You got that right.” There was a click, and Castillo heard the hollow dial tone before he hung up his phone.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. Stan was right. Things were moving now. Fast and furious. He had no doubt Sonny could handle the latest broadside in the media, and in any case that was well outside his areas of expertise. With Blair running close security he didn’t have to worry about the House, and Sonny could look after himself any other time.

It was what Trudy had told him about Jimmy that worried him. Castillo had never known much about Celeste Carrera, let alone her having a brother. A loose cannon like that could easily be the third stream of tracers from his dream, and Jimmy qualified as being from the past in spades. He wondered if even Crockett knew Celeste had a brother. Somehow he doubted it. Burnett hadn’t been one to poke into the past, and he doubted if Celeste would have been forthcoming if he had. She hadn’t made it where she had by being careless or talking too much.

He thought about calling Trudy but discarded the thought at once. She could look after herself, and he didn’t want her wondering about what he might do. She’d need all of her focus where she was, especially if Jimmy went too far. Rubbing his eyes again, he snatched the cut-down fatigue blouse off one of the chairs in the dining area and headed for the workshop.

The carbine was right where he’d left it: locked in the gun rack glistening with a very faint sheen of oil. Streaks of faded green pain still marked the plastic fore grip and parts of the receiver and collapsing stock, reminders of another time and a very different place. It all came flooding back as soon as his fingers touched the cool metal. Hours spent in dank ready rooms in isolated forward operating bases in Laos and South Vietnam, his team checking and rechecking their weapons. Making sure the magazines were the same ones they’d used on the range a handful of hours before. Like SOG they tested their weapons by firing a full combat load of ammunition through them and then reloading the same magazines. Any that failed on the range were discarded and replaced, until each man had at least twenty magazines that didn’t jam or misfeed.

He inhaled. The smell was always the same no matter where they were. Sweat, cordite, and small arms lubricant. No tobacco. It carried too far in the jungle and could give a team away like a neon sign. Let the NVA and the idiot Pathet Lao smoke. It made them easier to find. And to kill.

These were all memories Martin Castillo had packed tight away, buried behind a wall of duty and never-ending police work. First with DEA and when that soured Metro-Dade. Always busy. Always cases to work and people to train and protect. But now that was gone, and the memories could break through the remaining barricades and look out at the daylight. He knew he’d held them in too long, and maybe when this was done he’d get the number of that guy Robbie and Sonny talked to. Tex. But that was for later.

He wasn’t aware he’d slipped on the vest until he felt its familiar weight on his shoulders. Outside the sun was swallowed by the gathering clouds, and a gust of wind rattled the door of the building. His smile was old. It wasn’t monsoon season, so nothing could stop the mission.

Blinking, he pulled himself back. This isn’t Laos. It’s Miami. Focus on the problem. And the mission. Not the past. He moved his hand from the carbine, reaching into his pocket for the gun rack key. The room swam for a heartbeat and came back into focus. Castillo blinked, and then a crashing boom told him it had been lightning and not something else. Heavy, slanting rain began pounding on the roof, driven inland by the rising wind. But it also cleared his head.

He took the carbine and a claymore bag of loaded magazines back to the house, setting them both in the corner by the door. But he wasn’t sure why he’d gone out there in the first place. There was no target. No mission. Sitting on the floor, still aware of the rain hammering on the windows, he closed his eyes and started breathing. In…then out. Centering himself. Driving out everything but the rhythm of his breath. Focus. Calm.

Little by little, the memories slid back into their hole. Today replaced yesterday. He was still sitting there, breathing, when Randy Mather knocked on the door.

 

The phone rang again, a jangling sound poking at the edge of his consciousness. Jimmy Campbell ignored it. He’d gotten good at ignoring things that poked at the edge of his consciousness. He knew it would stop. Sooner or later. The other things didn’t stop.

He could still feel the anger balling in his gut when he thought about Renfro and his damned story. The greasy bastard looked so fucking proud of himself, sitting behind his desk toying with the life of a girl he didn’t know and never would. “Hey, Jimmy,” he’d said in his best ass-kiss voice, which wasn’t very good. “Relax, man. It’s just a trick. Something to draw Burnett out. You know the drill.”

“And you don’t know Burnett, asshole. He’s not one of those TV stars or politicians you can fuck with. You poke him, he pokes back. Hard. He’ll go looking for the girl.”

“So what? So he kicks her out and she goes back to earning on her back? Not our problem, my friend.”

The memory brought a smile to his face. He doubted Renfro had expected him to lunge across the desk at him. Might even have made the fat bastard shit a bit. He ain’t used to threats. Not the physical kind, anyhow. “How many times I gotta tell you? You don’t know Burnett! He’s not gonna kick this girl out. He’s gonna kill her. But not before he sweats her for everything she knows.”

“Come on, kid. He runs a damned rehab center for junkie hookers. He ain’t gonna…”

Jimmy had almost told him then. Told him what he knew about Burnett and what the man was really capable of. But he hadn’t, and he almost regretted it now. Instead he’d knocked the man’s stack of papers to the floor with a disgusted sweep of his hand. “Do your own research for once, Jake. Go have a look at Sonny Burnett, say around ’88 or ’89. Then tell me what he ain’t gonna do.”

That had been over an hour ago, and his damned phone had rung six times since then. He figured it had to be Renfro. No one else had his apartment number, and he’d gone straight here from the paper. No point in sticking around now that Renfro had screwed everything up. Sure, they’d run a few stories, but he really doubted if the big man and those idiot lawyers he was working with had any idea what they’d done.

Looking around the tiny apartment, he felt a smile blooming on his thin face. The other one, the guy they’d called Hank, probably knew what they’d done. He had the look of someone who might have worked for Burnett back in the Carrera days, and at least came from the right part of Miami society to know Burnett by reputation. His real reputation, not the load of crap Jake Renfro seemed to buy. He wasn’t sure what the lawyers knew, but that was lawyers for you. Even they didn’t know what they knew until it was too late to do anyone any good.

He tried to remember the picture of the girl. She’d been pretty enough. Almost as pretty as Angel but nothing close to his sister. And he knew by the time Burnett got done with her the girl wouldn’t be anything to look at. Assuming they ever found a body. They had boats at Caitlin’s House, and there was a lot of water only a short distance away. Burnett was a bastard, but he was a smart bastard. Jimmy figured that was why he was still walking free today. And a guy had to be both smart and ruthless to walk away from the ruins of the Manolo and Carrera organizations without so much as a scratch or a parking ticket.

He looked at the pictures again. He’d tried calling her. Finding her. Nothing worked. She’d just disappeared. Maybe she’d gotten desperate or greedy and reached out to Burnett. There was no way to know, but the thought gnawed at him, just like his visions of what would happen to this girl.

His mind floated back to the old days. The sprawl of the Carrera mansion patrolled by flocks of squat men with small, dark sub-machine guns. He’d been little more than a speck of dust then…a part-time runner and gofer with ambition and little else. But he’d heard them talk. Burnett. Cliff. Some of the men below them like Vazquez and Cortez. Always it was the same. Take out the biggest threat first, then sweep up. Do it quick and clean.

The gun was locked in his small desk next to the table he used to eat and cook. He hadn’t shot much, but he kept it clean and loaded. Something he’d learned from Cortez. He looked at the picture of Celeste, the one taken by the ocean where she was smiling bright enough to blind the sun, and knew what he had to do. He shook his head as he unlocked the drawer. More like admitted what he had to do. He’d know it for some time.

The phone started ringing again. Stuffing the Beretta into his waistband and pulling out his shirt to cover it, Jimmy snarled and ripped the phone cord from the wall. “Don’t bother me, fat man,” he said to the empty apartment. “I’ve got man’s work to do. You wouldn’t fucking understand.”