Genesis, Part II

[Robbie C.]

Miami, early 1983

“You’re the senior detective now, Crockett. With Wheeler gone, you get to train the new guy.” Lou Rodriguez drew on his cigar, the tip glowing cherry red before disappearing in the inevitable cloud of smoke.

Sonny Crockett started to protest, but thought better of it. Deep down he knew Lou was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. In the two months since Wheeler’s departure, he’d been making good progress establishing Sonny Burnett. He’d even made a couple of small runs…nothing big, but enough to start building his name on the street. There was even a manufactured bust with dismissed charges on his sheet if anyone bribed someone to take a look.

“I know what you’re thinking, Crockett. You don’t have time to train someone. Your cover’s just taking off. Don’t bother. I’ve heard it all before.” Lou leaned forward. “But did you ever consider what another body brings to the table? You have a buyer now. Someone you can introduce to people higher up the food chain.”

“Give me a break, Lou. I know all that. So yeah, I’ll train this kid. What’s his name? Freddy?”

“Eddie. Detective Eddie Rivera. He’s done some undercover work with Patrol, and had a short stint with your old pal John Malone before Scotty turned Fed on us.”

“You can’t blame him. Better pay and better insurance. His kid…”

“Oh, I don’t blame him, Crockett. But I can still bust his balls about it.” Picking up the phone, Lou hit an extension button. “Send him in.”

Damn! I must have looked like that when I walked through that door back in ’78. Sonny turned in his chair to get a good look at his new partner. Green as grass and full of fire and ambition. Ok, maybe not as green…the Corps and Nam saw to that…but the rest… “Sonny Crockett,” he said, getting to his feet.

They shook hands. “Eddie Rivera. John Malone says hello.”

“Does he now? How is the old son of a bitch?”

“Better now that you’re gone.” Eddie grinned and shifted. “At least that’s what he told me to tell you when you asked.”

“That’s John, alright.” Sonny chuckled. “The lieutenant says we’re working together, so I’d better give you the tour. All the important stuff like where the john is.”

“Bring him back when you’re done, Crockett. We need to start setting up his cover.”

Back in the squad room, Sonny made quick introductions and then walked Eddie to the locker room. “Just take one without a name on it and claim it as your own. You’ll use it more than you think.”

“So I hear.” Eddie looked around, his eyes still new-kid wide. “I’m just glad to have made it to Vice.”

“Don’t be too sure. You married, Eddie?”

“Yeah. Her name’s Maria.”

“Better memorize her face. We work long hours here, and going home ain’t always on the menu when a case takes off.” Sonny felt his eyes losing focus for a moment. “This unit can be damned hard on a marriage.”

“Maria’s father was a cop. She knows the drill.”

“You’re a lucky man, then. Still, take the time with her you can when you can. The way things are heating up, we’re only gonna get busier. And busts make careers around here.”

“John already tried to scare me out of transferring with that line. He also said if I want to get sent back to Robbery I should just call you James.”

“Only person who calls me that is my mother, and if she does you can bet I’m runnin’ the other way.” Sonny grinned to hide his annoyance. Leave it to John. “That and my cover’s Sonny, so just stick with that. Makes life easier.” He checked his watch. “And I’d better get you back to the lieutenant before he has a heart attack. Once he’s got your cover sorted, I’ll give you the run down on what I’ve been workin’ on.” He slapped Eddie on the back. “If you wanted to stay busy, you came to the right place.”

 

“And you’re sure of this information, Esteban?”

“Si.” The Cuban nodded but kept his place in the corner of the room.

“There can be no mistake? No misunderstanding?”

“No. Jaime is selling our routes to the Columbians. One in particular.” Esteban’s voice became a sneer. “The one called Calderone.”

“Then it’s good the little bitch only knows the routes we wish him to know. And not the best ones.” Miguel Mendoza turned in his chair so he could make out the tall shadow of his unofficial head of security. “We must deal with him. Tonight, I think.”

“Directly?”

“No. It must not be seen to come from us. Not yet. And my brother cannot know.”

“Still trying to protect him?”

Miguel smiled. “No. Protecting us. Enrique is many things, but discrete isn’t one of them. If he knows, he might say the wrong thing in the wrong company. Perhaps he will learn, but for now he should remain in the dark.”

“It will be done.”

Miguel wasn’t sure when Esteban left. His attention was focused on the wide window, or more correctly the view from that window. From here he could see the ocean, rolling blue with white caps marking the waves. It had been the source of his family’s income going back generations…to the first Mendoza who cast a fishing net from his simple boat. At least that was the family myth, and Miguel enjoyed a good myth as much as the next person.

The decision to kill Jaime hadn’t been easy. He’d known the flamboyant boat pilot for years, going back to the ‘70s and their first forays into high-volume cigar smuggling. But the kid had always had two problems: his mouth and his ambition. Problems he’d never learned to control on his own and now never would.

“Miguel. We need to talk.”

“Of course, Ricky.” Deep in thought, Miguel hadn’t heard his brother come in.

“I’ve been thinking. If we’re going to keep adding routes, we will need more boats. At least two. Using the same ones over and over…even the Coast Guard will notice that.” He chuckled.

“As will our rivals. Good thinking. Do you have makes and models in mind?”

Ricky nodded and dropped a small stack of brochures on the desk. But Miguel only listened with half his mind. Ricky knew boats, and anything he picked would be fine as far as performance went. It would be up to him to control costs.

After a time, talk of horsepower stopped. “So you’ve told me of the boats. What else did you want to say, little brother?”

Ricky grinned. “I can never hide anything from you, can I, Miguel? I don’t know about the others, but I’ve been crossing paths with strange boats out there. And before you yell, yes…I’ve been making some runs. It does the boys good to see the family out working with them. And it keeps me aware of what’s going on. Like this new situation.”

“What kind of boats?”

“At first I thought it might be the Coast Guard trying something new. But it’s not. These are fast boats, like the Scarabs I want to buy. Low to the water and hard to spot. But they use their radios more than we do. Much more. I’ve heard them more than once, and from their accents I’d say they’re mostly Columbian. Not an accent I’ve heard before on our routes.”

“You say they’re using our routes?”

Ricky nodded. “It looks that way. Not often, but enough for me to notice. I asked one or two of the others…only men who’ve been with us for some time. They say the same thing.”

“Stop using those routes. At once. Meet with Jesus and plan some new ones.” He raised his hand. “I know he’s busy with his new charter service. But still…”

“He knows those waters better than any man alive. I’ll call him as soon as we’re done. To tell the truth, I think he misses some of this.” Ricky paused, lines appearing on his forehead. “But how did they…”

“You stay focused on the routes. Shifting our boats to new ones once they’re charted. I’ll deal with how the Columbians got their hands on those routes.”

“And that’s why Jesus brought you on two years ago, isn’t it? To carry the weight of those decisions.”

“Someone must. The product the Columbians move earns far more than cigars ever could, my brother. And as we expand our portfolio as the Gringos say, we need to protect our business. Those routes are key to it. With them we can move product, even their cocaine, faster and with more security than anyone else.” He looked at the stack of boat brochures. “Get me some quotes on those Scarabs. We may be needing some quite soon.”

 

Gina Calabrese looked up from her typewriter and smiled. “So you’re the new hotshot come to keep Sonny Crockett in line?”

Eddie nodded, his cheeks going red, and Sonny chuckled. “Come on, darlin’. Don’t scare the kid off while he’s still wet behind the ears. Eddie, you’ll get used to Gina’s sense of humor. She and Trudy over there are workin’ to keep the streets of Miami free of pimps.”

“And that’s a fight we’ll never win.” Trudy Joplin smiled. “But if we can save some girls from them I count it as a win.”

Sonny stepped back, letting the two women talk with Eddie a bit. It also gave him a chance to admire Gina’s figure one more time. Since he’d gotten the boat he spent less and less time at home, which seemed to suit Caroline just fine. Billy was harder to read, but he’d gotten used to his dad being gone. Maybe too used to it.

Still, they couldn’t linger too long. Lou had done a hell of a job getting Eddie a cover on short notice. It was pretty flexible…Eddie was a buyer from out of town, sometimes the West Coast other times from the Panhandle or someplace like Lauderdale. A guy looking to score who had just enough money for a medium-sized deal and needed transportation. Burnett could provide the latter, but not the product. Now he just had to see if the kid had the chops to pull it off.

“If you’re about done makin’ nice with the ladies, we’re got work to do.” He flashed his wide receiver smile at the two detectives. “See you around.”

They were halfway to the black Daytona when Eddie spoke. “They seem nice enough.”

“Yeah, and they’re good cops. We don’t work with ‘em much, but when we do it’s always a good bust.” He fired up the car, a smile flashing across his face as the engine boomed. “Come on. I’ll show you the boats and introduce you to Elvis. You’re gonna love him.”

“Nice ride you got.”

“Yeah. It’s seized properly like everything but my underwear and socks.” Sonny chuckled as he whipped the car into traffic. “Had a Porsche back when I was in Robbery, but they made me turn it in when I transferred. And my first partner here had a thing for those Ford sedans. Might have been part of the reason he ended up jumping to the DEA.”

“I think Lieutenant Malone sent me out in that Porsche a couple of times. I know I got some dirty looks…”

“Yeah. I rattled a few cages before I left.” Sonny upshifted, feeling the car settle into its comfort zone. “Once we’re done with the tour we can grab some lunch.”

Eddie’s eyes were still wide when they pulled into the diner parking lot after leaving the marina. “Why didn’t you tell me Elvis was a gator?”

“University of Florida Gator, actually.” Sonny was still grinning, remembering the scream Eddie had let out when Elvis stuck his snout around the cabin of the boat. “I played ball for them back in my late, unlamented college days. Seems this incarnation took a snap at a Georgia free safety. They were gonna turn him into a pair of shoes until I stepped in. He’s a hell of a conversation piece, ain’t he? I’m workin’ on training him to sniff out drugs, too.”

“They weren’t kidding about you back in Robbery.”

“Probably not.” Sonny didn’t really care what they’d said about him. He got results, and at the end of the day that was what mattered. Nodding to the girl at the register, he headed for one of the booths back near the kitchen. “Not as quiet back here, but more private. If we’re gonna partner up, you need to know the score. This ain’t Robbery. In Vice you can’t tell the players without a program, and it changes damned near every day.” Sonny sat down, feeling his SIG in the shoulder rig tap his ribs. “I’ve got three active cases right now. One of ‘em’s small time, but the other two…”

 

Miguel parked his car and shut off the engine, listing to the block tick as it cooled. Esteban had picked just the spot for this little message: a disused dock rumored to be favored by at least one of the Columbian gangs springing up like weeds. There was no way they could miss it, or the intent.

He found Jaime just where Esteban said he’d be - tied to the controls of his boat. The sleek craft bobbed with the light current, still tied to the long, crumbling dock so it wouldn’t float away. Jaime’s eyes were wide, and he strained at the gag Esteban had stuffed in his mouth.

“What? Did you think I wouldn’t learn of your little gambit? Selling our routes to the Columbians was a foolish move, Jaime. Even for you. And word moves fast in our business. Even Ricky knows they’re using our routes now.” He took a step closer to the edge of the dock, looking deep into Jaime’s wide eyes. “And even Enrique can’t save you now.”

Esteban appeared from the darkness of the small shed near the far end of the dock. “You don’t need to be the one…”

“Yes, I do, Esteban. My brother had a good point earlier. Sometimes the family should be seen out working with the men. And how can I ask someone to do what I won’t do myself? Even you.” Miguel pulled the .45 from his waistband, the grips warm from his skin. The Colt was old, a gift from his grandfather, but it would do the job.

The slide racking was loud in the silence by the water. Miguel watched as Jaime’s eyes got even wider and muffled squeals came from behind the rag in his mouth. “No, Jaime. There’s no turning back now. Just try to die like a man, ok?” The single gunshot crashed over the water, starting some birds from their night nesting spots. Flicking on the safety, Miguel nodded to Esteban. “You can burn it now.”

 

The call came just after one in the morning, jarring Sonny Crockett awake. It took him a moment to recognize the slight motion and remember he was on the boat. Reaching out, he snatched up the cordless receiver. “Yeah? This better be good.”

“We got something you need to see.” He recognized the gravel tones of Whitman from Homicide. “You know that old fishing dock out by Fowler’s Point?”

“The one a certain class likes to frequent? Yeah, I do.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting.”

Snarling a curse, Sonny hit the disconnect button then punched in numbers. “Eddie? Yeah, it’s me. Look, we got something. Give me your address and I’ll pick you up in about twenty minutes.”

Eddie was still scrubbing sleep from his eyes as Sonny turned onto the dirt road leading down to the water. “How do you even know about this place?”

“Name of the game, Eddie. I’m a boat guy of questionable means, remember? Means I have to know how those questionable means make it to the streets.” Sonny chuckled, slowing down as they rounded a corner and saw three squad cars, an unmarked, and a coroner’s wagon painting the landscape red and blue. “And it looks like we missed at least some of the party.”

Detective Whitman had a face to match his gravelly voice, and he didn’t waste time or words. “Got a call about a boat on fire. When we got here the evidence destruction crew was already done and packing their shit. We’re getting what we can, but it don’t look good.”

“Let me guess. This ain’t just a sloppy kid playing with matches?” Sonny noticed Whitman’s raised eyebrow. “Sorry…this is my new partner Eddie Rivera. Eddie, meet Jack Whitman. A legend in Homicide, or so I’m told.”

Whitman grunted. “Only believe half of what this guy tells you and you’ll make it home every night. Anyhow, we ran the boat and found it was flagged by Vice. You heard of Jaime Belequez?”

Sonny felt his skin go cold. “Jaime? Yeah, I heard the name.”

“He’s the crispy critter. Except he didn’t die in the fire. Someone put a large caliber bullet through his head before they dropped the matches and gasoline.”

“Shit.” Sonny looked down toward the water, seeing the low, dark shape of a burned-out boat. “Yeah, that looks like his outfit. Kid had a thing for those stupid spoilers.”

“I’ll keep you looped in once we get the autopsy report back.” Whitman shrugged and lit a Marlboro from the one already dangling from his lips. “Don’t expect much else, though. These guys don’t talk, especially if there’s a turf war in the making.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know if we dig anything up. Right now, though, I can’t think of anyone who’d go to the trouble over Jaime.” Sonny waited until Whitman headed back down the dock before turning to Eddie. “And there goes my small-time case.”

“Was he a CI?”

“Naw. Jaime was strictly small time…a guy with a fast boat who knew the routs better than most. He used to pilot for Jesus Estevez.”

“Now that name I know. Sports fishing guy, right?”

“You got it. Been doing that and charter runs for a couple of decades now. Never been dirty as far as we know, but Jaime used to skipper for him. And you don’t skipper for ol’ Jesus unless you know everything there is to know about the Keys and areas south.”

“And Jaime got greedy.”

Sonny nodded. “Near as I can figure. I ran into him when I was building up the Burnett cover. Drank at the same bars with him, but hadn’t gotten an introduction yet. Word was he was on the way up. Started off smuggling cigars and pot, but was looking to move into coke. Good ol’ Peruvian Marching Powder. I did hear him brag one night that he was about to move his first load for the Columbian.”

“Which Columbian?”

“That’s what got me hooked. He didn’t say ‘a Columbian’ or ‘the Columbians.’ Just ‘the Columbian,’ like everyone was supposed to know who that was.” Sonny looked off toward the water. “And the funny thing is I think most of ‘em did. They acted like he’d been drafted by the Dolphins right out of high school or something.”

“And now he’s dead.”

“You’re learning, kid. Learning fast. A hit like this is either a message or payback in this world. Maybe both. But it sure as hell ain’t random. What Jaime knew was valuable. You don’t snuff that out without a damned good reason.”

“Maybe Jesus…”

“Naw. He either fired the kid or let him go. Jesus is strictly legit. Something like this would be bad for business if it tied back to him. We’ll let Whitman’s boys tromp around for a bit, but my money’s on either this mystery Columbian or whoever Jaime was working for. A lot of these guys get a bit upset when someone tries to walk away.” Digging into his blazer pocket for his Lucky Strikes, Sonny sighed. “Yeah…the smart money’s on whoever he tried to quit. Trouble is, I don’t know who the hell that was.”

 

The morning sun was washing over the dining room table when Enrique Mendoza burst into the room. “Did you hear? Someone killed Jaime! Burned his boat and everything!”

Miguel set down his copy of the Miami Herald and looked up. “Did they? It’s a sad day, then.”

“I’ve had four calls already. Guys wanting to know if it’s still safe to make runs.”

“Oh, I’d say it is. You know Jaime, brother. He may have screwed the wrong man’s woman or pissed someone off he shouldn’t have.”

Ricky started to say something, but his mouth froze in mid-word. Then he started laughing. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Ricky. And perhaps it was this Calderone. Maybe he didn’t like what Jaime was selling him.”

“So it was Jaime who gave up our routes? Bastard.”

“Only some. He never knew the good ones. The ones Jesus kept back for himself and the family.” Taking a sip of coffee, Miguel debated just how much Ricky needed to know. “Just be sure the boys know our routes are our own and no one else’s. And I want you to handle some of them personally.”

“Of course.”

Miguel nodded. “Thank you. And you might reach out to whoever Jaime was in contact with before his passing. The Columbians, I mean. Maybe even this Calderone. We might be willing to contract with them for transport. Provided the price is right and our methods remain our own.”

“They might not like that.”

“Then we will do business with others. I know they aren’t the only game in town when it comes to product. There are Bolivians, Peruvians, and others who would be willing to pay a reasonable price to have their goods reach Miami.” Miguel decided it was time. “Ricky, have some coffee and sit down.”

“Sure, but I don’t…”

“I’ve been thinking about this. Fifty pounds of pot doesn’t net us much in the way of profit and is bulky to move. The same weight of cocaine is easy to hide and turns a far greater profit. We can use smaller, faster boats to move the same weight and make at least ten times the profit from one run. Just one.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, too. The downside is if you get caught…”

“Of course there is risk. There always is when the rewards are great. The question is, brother, do you feel we’re up to the task? If not, I’ll drop the idea and we can carry on as before.”

“No…it makes sense. We’re already running risks, and getting caught with a load of cigars is almost as bad as cocaine with the crazy laws they have.” Ricky snorted. “And I like the idea of being able to move faster and make more money with each run. We would need protection…”

“Leave that to me.” Miguel smiled, thinking of Esteban and his men. “I have an idea or two along those lines. But you’re right. The men from South America are a violent bunch, and with this much money in play you can always expect violence to follow close behind.”

“I say do it.”

“Good. Buy your boats. How many did you say you needed to start with?”

“Three. One for me and one for our other top pilots.”

“See to it. And Ricky…I only want you to use the routes of Jesus Estevez. No one else can know about them. Are we clear?”

“Of course. What is family should stay family.” Ricky finished his coffee and got to his feet. “I’ll get the orders placed and let you know when we’re ready to proceed. And I’ll put some feelers out. See if we can find Jaime’s contacts.”

Once the younger man was gone, Miguel left the table and walked over to an ornate end table. Picking up the phone, he dialed a number. “Esteban? He’s going for it. Yes, get your men. I think we’ll need four to start with. I don’t want the Columbians or anyone else to think they can push us around. Draw what money you need.”

Turning, he looked back out the wide window at the ocean. It had been some time coming, this move. Making the jump from cigars and grass to something bigger. Maybe even something bigger than rum had been for his grandfather during Prohibition. He’d grown up on the old man’s stories…tales of a time when the Mendoza family was a power to be reckoned with among the families in Miami’s underworld. They’d slipped since then, going from the top to a shadow of their former glory. Maybe this was when things turned around.

 

Sitting in the open rear cockpit, Sonny Crockett figured he was starting to get used to this marina bum lifestyle his cover demanded. Up in the bow Elvis was crunching away on a tuna he’d caught the day before, and he was soaking up the last of the afternoon sun with a cold beer and nothing better to do. At least that’s how he wanted it to look.

But behind the dark Ray-Bans his mind was racing a mile a minute. The autopsy showed Jaime had been punched out with a .45 ACP. Most of the recent narcotics-related murders in Miami involved 9mms, so this was something different. Cubans, maybe? They’re all about tradition, and a lot of them still have .45s from the Bay of Pigs. He took a swallow of beer and shook his head, discarding his own theory almost as soon as it formed. Naw. Wrong part of town. And I don’t think they’d burn the boat. Waste not, want not an’ all that.

When they’d talked to Lou, he told them to leave it mostly with Homicide. “Let them do the legwork. We don’t have the manpower or the time. If there’s any Vice link they’ll let us know and you can run with it.” He’d glared at Sonny through the inevitable cloud of cigar smoke. “Are we clear on that, Crockett?”

“Crystal, lieutenant,” he’d said with one of his ‘you got it’ smiles that meant anything but that. It was starting to look like another night at smelly bars down along the shore. He needed to get a hint of who Jaime was running for before he could move forward. Draining the last of his beer, he looked at the empty bottle for a moment before tossing it on the cushion next to him.

He was about to start down the gangplank when he pulled up short. Shit! Heading back, he picked up the phone and dialed. “Caroline? Yeah, it’s me. Look…you know that body they found? It’s tied to a case and I…Yes, I know he has Little League tonight. I know what I said, but I don’t have a choice here. There’s no…look…I’m not selling used cars. It’s a lead and I…” He stared at the buzzing receiver for a moment before slamming it back in the charging cradle.

Driving let him work out some of his anger, slamming through the gears and sending the Ferrari zipping through the early evening traffic. The top was down, and the wind whipped at his hair as he drove, his attention focused on the road in front of him. But his mind…that was a different story.

It wasn’t always like this. Back when I was on Patrol we were good. At least I thought we were. Robbery was ok, too, more or less. She used to bitch about me being late for dinner sometimes, but you can’t help it. Then Vice came along and I had to take it. Hell, it’s a cop’s dream if you don’t want to spend your days elbow-deep in dead bodies. Let those freaks take Homicide. Vice has the chase.

Even partnered with Wheeler he’d sensed rather than seen things starting to come apart. Maybe he’d fooled himself into thinking he and Caroline were just like Scotty and Debby. Wheeler’s wife got what he did, and made allowances for it because she knew it was important work. He’d thought Caroline felt the same way. Or maybe he’d just convinced himself she did.

He saw the flickering neon up ahead and forced Caroline and Billy to the back of his mind. It was time to go to work.

A favorite with the boat crowd, The Rusty Anchor tried and failed to look like an old English pub. Instead it looked cheap, with cracked plastic chairs and ‘brass’ ornaments turning green from the humidity and lack of attention. Still, it was popular with the up and coming segment of Miami’s smugglers. Sonny always guessed it was because of the dim lights and long hours. But the drinks were cheap and talk tended to flow as freely as it ever did in this crowd, especially after one in the morning.

He could feel rather than see the place looking him over as he came in, and a voice floated up from one of the tables back by the pool table. “Burnett! Bout damned you showed!”

Sonny forced a smile on his face. “Business, Gary. You know how it is.”

“Yeah. We all do. Get a beer an’ come on back.” Gary was a small-time hustler who ran with other small-time hustlers, but his crowd seemed to know everything that went on in their ten mile stretch of coast. So Sonny got a bottle of Bud from the skinny bartended and headed back. It was already looking like a long night.

He’d managed one swallow before Gary started talking again, his bad teeth hidden by the bar’s gloom. “Shame about Jaime. You heard, right? Got capped an’ burned in his own boat. Who does that?”

“Good question.” Sonny took another drink, trying to keep his voice marginally bored. “Someone I don’t want to move loads for, that’s for sure.”

“Coulda been the Columbians.” Jocko was an old-time speed cooker who’d gotten into the land side of transportation after his last cook lab blew up. “They’re ruthless bastards from what I hear.”

“Good think they ain’t into your product, then.” Gary laughed. “Hard t’ tell who Jaime was haulin’ for. The kid never talked much about that. But yeah, it’s the kind of thing the Columbians would do. They’re nasty bastards, especially if you try crossin’ them.”

Sighing inside, Sonny drained his beer and headed back to the bad for another. It was going to be a long night.

[Matt5]

Great piece @Robbie C.thankyou for posting pal!

[Robbie C.]

Thanks! Don't miss Part I, either. This is another novel, so it's gonna be long...

[sdiegolo78]

Awesome!

[Dadrian]

@Robbie C. Idk how many years away it is, but if there were ever AI voices for all the cast, a podcast of all your stories would be a real treat! 

[Robbie C.]

I'd settle for PDF distribution, but that might be interesting, too. Got another novel in the works, along with a short story or two. Seems I just can't stop writing the darned things.