Genesis, Part VII

[Robbie C.]

QUICK PROGRAM NOTE: For those of you who might be following this tale, these will update a bit slower now that I'm in the meat of the seasons. Placing the actual episodes in a functional timeline and then working events here (and in my other stories) around them is proving to be quite a chore. Obviously air date is pretty much useless, so I have to use other clues to make things work. And sometimes I just stick an episode where it MIGHT fall to make the timeline work.

 

Miami

Three weeks after Buddies

 

“I still can’t believe he stuck him in the wall.” Stan Switek cast a quick look at the recording levels before turing back to Larry Zito. “I mean that’s right out of one of those Vincent Price movies.”

“Yeah. Kinda wish we would have been there to see it, though.” Larry lowered his binoculars for a moment and rubbed his eyes. “You think these guys are ever gonna move?”

“Doesn’t sound like it.” Stan slipped on the headphones again. “Yep. They’re still talking football.” He adjusted two knobs on the reel-to-reel recorder. “At least we finally got some good equipment in the old girl.”

“Thank God for seizure revenue. That crap we had before was old enough Elvis could have recorded his first demo on it.”

“Come on, Lar. Don’t get me thinking that. I might want to get it back.” Stan grinned and launched into the first two lines of “Heartbreak Hotel” before settling down again. Larry knows I’m kidding. There’s no way in hell I’d want that crap back in the bug van. Setup was so old I’m surprised we weren’t using wax disks to record. “At least now we can monitor more than three lines at one time. Maybe if we play with it a bit…”

“Heads up, Stan. Looks like they’re about to have company.” Zito shifted, tracking movement with the glasses. “Looks like…oh, crap.”

“What do you mean…” Stan’s question died in his throat as the parabolic microphone started picking up the new voice. “Gennlemen…joo look like men of disinfection. Rare appreciationals. Men who can see art in motion an’ have the visionaries to want if for themselves.”

“Who the hell let Izzy out of his cage?”

“Don’t ask me.” Larry lowered the glasses for a moment. “Wasn’t my day to watch him. But it does kinda prove those guys aren’t part of the Cannatta sports book racket.”

“Yeah. They’d have apes around to run goofballs like Izzy off.”

“I think you were right, Stan. Those are just old guys for Jersey who like football and are about to become the proud owners of shoes worn by Richard Grere himself.”

Stan listened for a few more seconds before shutting off the recorder. “Yeah. They’re falling for his whole routine. Including the ‘Emingway’s bulls’ line. If I ever get that stupid, Lar, promise me you’ll shoot me.”

“I’ll call it in.” Larry reached for the radio. “It’s a bust, lieutenant. The tip was wrong. No one here except for some old football junkies who just fell for Moreno’s shoes.”

Castillo’s dry voice was slightly distorted by the radio. “Return to OCB.”

“Copy that.” Larry shut off the radio. “You heard the man, Stan. Let’s head for home.”

 

Sonny Crockett stared at the phone on his desk, one part of him wanting to make the call and the other wanting to forget he’d ever had the idea. I should check on Robbie. Make sure he’s ok. Then he thought about the nightmares. They’d been coming back strong since the shooting, transporting him back to a hard-baked road in Vietnam and the crack-bark of AK-47s. And the last time he’d seen Robbie shot. David Conner’s blood soaking into the dry ground. And a rail-thin man in a rusty trailer years later show dead by an asshole from SWAT for the crime of being a vet.

“Earth to Sonny.” Rico’s voice cut through the fog of memory. “You ok? Castillo wants us in the conference room like yesterday.”

“Yeah, yeah. On my way.” Getting to his feet, Sonny pushed the memories deep back in a dark corner of his mind. I’ll make the call later he told himself, knowing he wouldn’t. “We don’t have anything new to tell him about Chuckie, though.”

Chuckie Stokes. The name was like an itch in the center of his back he couldn’t reach. First they’d been pulled off for what turned into Hank Weldon’s blast from the past and some very uncomfortable revelations for both Metro-Dade and the DA’s office, then Trudy’s old boyfriend landed in their laps, and finally the whole mess with Robbie Cann. And each time they’d wrapped up one of those cases the chances of solving Chuckie’s murder shrank a little more. It had supposedly gone to Homicide, but they’d stuck in on a back burner somewhere and forgotten about it.

“You hear anything about that buddy of yours?”

“Not yet. Been meaning to call, but…” Sonny shrugged. “You know how it is around here.”

“Yeah. And it looks like it’s about to get worse.”

The conference room whiteboard had three photos taped to it with names scrawled under them with a dry erase marker. Gina and Trudy were already there, sitting with their backs to the board and going over what looked like case notes. Walking around the table, Sonny sat down and flashed a quick smile. “Any progress on the Walker case?”

Gina shook her head. “No. We got called in just like you two.”

“And the lieutenant pulled Switek and Zito off surveillance. They should be here any time now.” Trudy looked at her watch. “Sounded like it was a bust anyhow, so they’re probably just glad to be getting out of the heart.”

Nodding, Sonny looked at the board and its pictures. One older man and two younger ones. And those aren’t names…unless they’re related and someone named them Subject 1, 2 and 3. Now he was getting interested. This wasn’t a case review.

“You know how you know when you’re watching the wrong target? When Izzy freakin’ Moreno shows up trying to sell them shoes. And they’re interested.” Stan sank into one of the chairs on Gina and Trudy’s side of the table.

“Yeah. Little goofball was halfway into his ‘bull sweat’ line or something when those guys started pulling out their wallets.” Larry echoed Stan’s laugh. “No way they’re Cannatta bookies. Just some old guys from Jersey who like football.”

Rico nodded. “Sounds like a bad tip I’d bet it didn’t come from the records we seized or you would have been tripping over tan Fords.”

Lowering his eyes, Sonny started tuning out the conversation. He still didn’t like thinking about how his old friend from college and Nam had actually been part of the Cannatta crime family. Well…I guess I gotta be fair. He didn’t have a choice. His father ran the damned thing. And he did change his name to get away from them. And in the end he came through for that girl and her kid.

“All your other cases are on hold as of now.” As usual, Sonny hadn’t heard Castillo come in. The man seemed to appear out of thin air. “Hand off any active leads to Gorman or Dibble.”

“Any word from Homicide on…”

“We have nothing new on the Stokes case. It’s not our problem now.” Castillo looked up, his eyes dark. “These men are.”

“Who are those cats, lieutenant? I sure don’t recognize ‘em from any Christmas cards.”

“About a month ago these men were in Miami.” Castillo slid folders down the table, three for each detective. “They seem to have stayed for three days, and then departed. “We need to verify that information.”

“So why didn’t Metro-Dade…”

“This didn’t come from them. It came from DEA, and not through normal channels.”

Sonny nodded, still looking at the photos. “A little bird whispered in your ear.”

Castillo gave one of his small smiles. “Yes. I’m not sure why the information wasn’t passed on. We may never know. DEA doesn’t know why they were here, or who they were visiting. But we need to find out.”

Gina turned from studying the pictures. “Who are they, lieutenant? And if they were here that long ago…”

“This isn’t a replay of the Revillas, is it?” Sonny looked hard at Castillo, remembering Gina in the hospital after the shooting. Another trip down memory lane I do NOT need.

“No. DEA is not moving on these men. The intelligence was generated because one of the names is on an Interpol watch list.” Castillo nodded to the folders. “What they have is in there.”

Sonny opened the first folder and snorted. “Two pages? And one of them an Interpol watch notice? That ain’t squat.”

“No.” Castillo let the word hang in the air. “The older man is Cristobal Santos, a former commander in the Bolivian National Police Corps. He was active in La Paz during the Garcia Meza regime, and was fired as part of the regime’s fall in 1981. He managed to evade arrest, and has been active in narcotics trade ever since. The other two are also former Bolivian police officers. DEA suspects they were acting as his bodyguards.”

“So how the hell did he get into the country? Guy’s gotta be on a dozen watch lists.”

“Likely under a false name. And no, I don’t know how DEA spotted him.”

“Maybe when he was leaving the country.” Sonny was scanning the first page of his folder as he spoke. “There’s a note here about someone spotting him at the airport at a departure gate.”

“Convenient how the Feds only manage to spot him after he’s done whatever he came here to do.” Rico snorted. “Guess their tan Fords musta been in the shop.”

“It doesn’t matter. This is what we have to work with. And make no mistake. Santos is a dangerous and connected man. He may not have the biggest narcotics operation in Bolivia, but it is among the best-organized. We need to find out what he was doing in Miami and who he was seeing.”

Trudy nodded. “Do we know where he stayed?”

“No. Switek and Zito will be working that. Concentrate on the high end hotels close to downtown. Santos sees himself as a man of taste.”

“Once we get that, Gina and I will check out the working girls. I haven’t seen one of these guys yet who didn’t want a girl or two for company. Even if it’s just for the two goons.”

“Crockett, Tubbs. Check with your CIs. I want to know if there’s any word about a Bolivian making moves in Miami. Or someone who might have been meeting with one.”

“You got it, lieutenant.” Sonny got to his feet. “Come on, Rico. Let’s go poke around in some dark alleys.”

“You weren’t serious about alleys, were you?” Rico waited until they were back in the squad room to comment. “No way I can meet that dry cleaning bill.”

“Depends on where your CIs like to hang out.” Sonny dropped the folders into a drawer in his desk. “I don’t think I have any who’d have enough status to be meeting with a Bolivian heavy hitter. I take that back. One or maybe two, but they’d be burning up the phone lines trying to work off their deal. And I don’t have any messages.”

Nodding, Rico stopped at his own desk to secure his folders. “I might know a guy. But I’d rather know where these chumps went first. Might save us some shoe leather.”

“Yeah, but Castillo isn’t gonna want to see us sitting around eating donuts. Let’s go shake a tree or two and see if anything falls out. Maybe by then Stan and Larry will have a fix on where they stayed.”

 

Enrique Mendoza sighed, looking out across the dock. “Man, I’m glad that’s over and done with. Fucking Bolivians were even bigger pigs than I thought.”

The offshore breeze was fresh, creating small waves to slap against the dock and move the go-fast boats ever so slightly. Pasqual Benitez pushed his sunglasses up on his forehead and gave the boats a quick look. “Yeah, but we pulled it off. Didn’t you say they committed to more weight?”

“Yes. But as Miguel said, there’s a danger there. They can cut back on supply and demand more once we ramp up to deal with the increased flow.”

“He’s a sharp one, your brother.”

“Yes.” Ricky nodded. Yeah, Miguel’s got it all figured out. The money’s flowing in, and he seems to have found another way to wash it. Smart of him to wait and see before going all-in with that ass Santos. “I think we’ll come out of this ahead.”

Just down the coast, Pelican’s Nest hid from the sun behind its manicured shrubs and under tall palms. Miguel Mendoza sat in one of the comfortable overstuffed chairs in a private club room, a glass of rum on a low table just within reach. Like Ricky, he was glad they’d survived the visit of the Bolivians. But unlike Ricky he still had to face this meeting.

Otis Forsythe checked his heavy gold pocket watch one more time. “He should be here any minute, Miguel. And I do apologize again. Promptness is not one of this fellow’s virtues.”

“It’s not your fault, Otis. You cannot be responsible for what you cannot control.” Miguel smiled. He appreciated Otis’s embarrassment, and knew the man would find a way to either make things right or make someone pay. He also knew it was a point of honor with the Forsythe clan, and had been going back three generations.

Otis continued fidgeting in his chair, and was about to stand when one of the porters knocked on the closed door. “Your guest has arrived, Mr. Forsythe.”

“Send him in.” Otis didn’t get to his feet, a sure sign of disapproval. “We expected you half an hour ago, Newton. I trust you have some kind of foolish explanation.”

Newton Blade was a big man, with a mane of jet back hair and narrow, penetrating eyes. “Otis. I am sorry for being late. There was this girl…”

“Oh, shut up and sit down. This is Miguel Mendoza, the man I told you about. Miguel, Newton Blade.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Miguel.” Blade had a firm handshake, the kind Miguel knew men of his kind used to cover a multitude of weaknesses and vanities. “And I am sorry about being delayed. There WAS indeed a girl. But I won’t waste your time with stories.”

Nodding, Miguel sat back down. “I understand you’re a bit of a club promoter, Mr. Blade. In addition to some other enterprises.”

“Please, call me Newton. And yes, clubs are a hobby of mine. As are shows, certain bands, and even a racehorse or two. All are fantastic investment opportunities, especially for men with cash looking for a home.” Blade leaned back in his club chair. “Of course, Miami isn’t the most hospitable location. Look at the late and unlamented Revillas and…”

Miguel raised his hand. “Let me stop you there. Both the Revillas and Calderone, who I’m sure you were about to mention, both came to our streets from up north. They did not know our ways, our standards, and did not care to learn. Not the best way to do business. You might point to the Lombard and Cannatta organizations, but I think we can both agree we do not, shall we say, work in their fields.”

Blade inclined his head a hair. “You make excellent points, Miguel. I am impressed. And from what Otis tells me, your family is uniquely equipped to understand the local ways.”

Otis snickered. “The Mendozas have been in the business as long as the Forsythe family if that tells you anything. And having made introductions, I’ll leave you two fine gentlemen to talk business. Don’t hesitate to ring if you need anything.”

Once the door closed with a firm click, Newton Blade let out a deep laugh. “Otis is a hell of a character, isn’t he? But he’s damned good at what he does. Always has been. And like he said, now we can get down to business.”

“Yes. The business I’m in makes a fair amount of money. All in cash. The kind that doesn’t easily deposit in U.S. banks.”

“And you’d rather not deal with those pirates in the offshore institutions. I understand completely. But there are challenges…”

“I also have local means of dealing with much of the cash. But we do have…shall we say…overflow. From time to time, of course. Overflow I could invest in clubs, shows…”

“And the receipts from those clubs and shows would find their way back to you as an investor.” Blade nodded again, tapping his long fingers on his knee. “With an appropriate handling fee, of course.”

“Of course. Depending on what you consider appropriate. And the money would move through another source. A charter company.”

“I like you, Miguel. And Otis likes you, which means more down here. Let’s say ten percent to start with. Unless you’re talking large amounts, then my own costs go up. And I don’t care where the money comes from, so long as I know where to send your returns.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“Good. I pass through Miami every couple of weeks. I can let Otis know, and he can let you know.” Blade started to get to his feet, then stopped. “Your line is transportation, isn’t it?”

“Among other things.”

“There are times when I need certain cargo moved quickly and discretely. Would you be willing to…”

“Of course. Depending on our own schedules, of course.”

“Excellent.” Blade held out his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, Miguel. We’ll work out the fine details later.”

Otis came back in seconds after Blade left. “He’s a bit much,” he said with a slight grin, “but he is good at what he does. Which most days seems to be chugging around in that monstrosity of his.” He pointed out the window at a huge motor yacht tied up at the end of the club dock. “But he has a way with money. He’s also a reliable customer for certain party favors.”

“So he’s another one from up north?”

“Oh, I suppose he is. But he doesn’t try to cut in on anyone down here. Newton is quite content to let things continue working the way they always have. So long as he can make money from it.”

 

“Now that was a complete waste of an afternoon.” Sonny Crockett stared down at the amber liquid in his glass.

“You ask me, too much perspiration and not enough inspiration.” Ricardo Tubbs sipped at a club soda with lime and dabbed at his forehead with a napkin snatched from a stack on the bar.

"Somethin' like that, Rico.” The ice cubes hit his teeth as Sonny drained his glass. “Another Black Jack,” he said when the bartended ambled by. “And this time hold the ice, ok, pal?”

“Man, I knew Falco was a flake, but I never expected to hear he’d ended up in the Broward County lockup.” Rico shook his head. “An’ now my only lead is trying not to be someone’s Saturday night date.”

“At least you had a lead. Me? Half my CIs aren’t gonna go anywhere near a Bolivian. Not after the Revillas. And with the Cannatta family goin’ up in smoke the other half have gone to ground. And there’s no way in hell I’m talking to Moreno.”

“You think Noogie…”

“Not a chance in hell. That’s your answer to both do I think he knows anything and do I want to meet with him.”

“Fair enough, partner.” Rico waited for the bartender to drop off Sonny’s drink and wander back down the bar. “You still workin’ on that Stokes thing?”

“Yeah.” Sonny took a sip of bourbon. “I just can’t get it out of my head, Rico. Why was that goofball using old rum-runner routes? I get he’s got more time to smoke the product on the way in, but those routes are tricky as hell. Lots of shallow water and currents that will screw up your boat but good if you don’t know ‘em exactly.” He traced lines in the condensation circles on the bar with his index finger. “And more to the point, who the hell else is using them?”

“Yeah.” There was another long pause. “You called that buddy of yours yet?”

“Robbie? Yeah…I tried last night.” Sonny thought back to the call. “When I tried the hospital they said he’d been moved, and I couldn’t find out where.” He shook his head. “Probably witness protection. The way the Cannattas are falling apart they might have thought someone would try taking a shot at him.”

“Hell, they would. Boss’s kid or not.” Rico signaled for another club soda. “Seen plenty of those mob things back in New York. Once the blood gets flowin’ they don’t care who they take out. And he saved the girl, so some of ‘em will think he’s a traitor no matter what. Doin’ the right thing don’t mean squat to them.”

Sonny nodded, thinking back to Barbara. “No, you sure as hell are right about that, Rico. And when it comes back on ‘em, the bosses can always say they didn’t know.” He chuckled. “Guess that’s one thing we can say about clowns like the Revillas. They never denied killing anyone. Hell, they we proud of it. Makes it a hell of a lot easier if you get ‘em in court.”

“So why do you think this Bolivian was in town? Checkin’ out the latest in bikini fashion?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say he was here to check on transportation issues. He can have all the product in the world, but it doesn’t do him any good if he can’t get it to the streets of Miami.”

“So we’re talkin' a former cop. Connections from here to La Paz. Who does he talk to if he wants to move that much weight?”

“Hard to say. That mess with Adonis shows just how out of whack things are with the Revillas out of the picture. Too many people scrambling to fill the holes.” Sonny took another drink, feeling the bourbon trace a warm path down his throat. “Thing is, for a guy like that he’d have to find someone who can move quantity and is reliable. Not much of that goin’ around.”

“So who might be trying to move up?”

“Hell, it’s a shorter list of who’s NOT trying to move up. I’d say anyone with a Scarab is trying to get in the game now. But they’d be too small time for Mr. Santos. Stokes and his crew might have been able to swing it, but he was the one who knew the routes and with him scattered all over the bay…”

“The rest scattered, too. Only difference is they’re still breathing. You think it might be worth tryin’ to run a couple of them down?”

“Could be. If we can figure out who took out Stokes, we might be able to get a line on who Santos was meeting with. Unless Switek and Zito already ran that down.” Draining his glass, Sonny left a twenty on the bar. “Come on. Let’s blow this pop stand. I got an idea where we might find Gus Walker.”

“Who the hell is Gus Walker?”

“The guy who usually sold whatever Chuckie brought in.” Sonny grinned. “Let’s go, Rico. Time’s a’wastin’.”

 

“Why am I not surprised someone named Gus likes to hang out in Bomber’s?” Ricardo Tubbs wrinkled his nose like he was downwind of a sewage treatment plant. “Place gives me a rash.”

“Be glad he doesn’t like Rizzo’s.” Sonny grinned as he shut off the Ferrari.

“Don’t remind me. Then I’d have a rash AND need shots.” Rico sighed. “Let’s get it over with.”

One good thing about Bomber’s is it never changes. Not the smell, not the burned-out lights over the bar, and not the nickel and dime dealers always looking to move up to quarters and half-dollars. The bartender looked up from his heavy job of wiping the same spot on the bar with the same dirty rag and nodded in recognition. “Afternoon, Sonny. The usual?”

“Naw.” Sonny jerked his head toward Rico. “Business today. Gus been around?”

“Yeah. He’s back by the far pool table with a pitcher.” The bartender leaned forward. “Good timing you got, too. His driver got blown the hell up a while back, an’ I hear he’s still lookin’ for someone to move his product.”

Nodding, Sonny moved away from the bar and headed toward the back of the bar, where the smell of stale urine from the chamber of horrors Bomber’s called its restrooms almost overpowered the stale beer. Gus Walker wasn’t hard to miss…a man about Switek’s size sitting alone with a half-empty pitcher of beer in front of him with no glass. Taking a long drink from the pitcher, he looked Sonny up and down. “I know you,” he said in a slurred voice. “You I don’t.”

“He’s cool, Gus. Guy I know from up north who’s looking for some Miami produce. Produce I don’t usually handle. So I thought of you and Chuckie and decided to send some business your way.” Hooking a chair, Sonny sat down, sensing rather than seeing Rico moving to watch the front door. “Fat guy behind the bar told me about Chuckie. Sorry to hear that. He was a hell of a boat guy.”

“Yeah. An’ without him there ain’t no produce to sell. So I guess you wasted your time.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Sonny acted like he was about to get up. “How did it happen? Chuckie was always so damned careful.”

“But not as careful as you, right, Burnett?” Gus took another long drink. “Naw, I don’t mean it like that. We were startin’ to move up. Getting into new product. You know how it is. And Chuckie…well…you know him an’ his old routes. Those things he claimed he learned from his father and wouldn’t share with anyone? Yeah, he was on one of those when he got his shit blown all to hell.”

“Who did it? I thought Chuckie was the only one who ran that way.”

Gus looked around and lowered his voice. “You’d best be careful out there, Burnett. There ain’t much word out, but the bits I have heard keep mentioning the Mendozas.”

“Who?”

“The Mendozas. Before your time, man. Mine, too. But Chuckie’s dad knew ‘em, I guess. Heard they keep a low profile, but you do not want to stick your nose in their business. I guess Chuckie did, even if he didn’t mean to.”