Genesis, Part X

[Robbie C.]

It was just past noon when Lupe finished his report. “That’s what we got on Falcone, boss. He’s a little worm with ambition. Did some small work for the Revillas, mostly loads under five keys.”

Esteban Morales nodded, looking at the papers Lupe had handed him. “So it’s just him, his damned boat, and two cousins?” He snorted. “Little worm is too big for this one.”

“Si. I thought so as well. It looks like the cousins might be bigger men than he is, though. One of them is a shooter for one of the Dominican gangs on the edges of Little Haiti. The other seems to work for whoever can pay him the most, though he is loyal to Joaquin.” Lupe grinned. “God only knows why.”

“Do you know why he might want to make a move on us?”

Lupe shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s a complicated thing…”

“You mean it might involve Enrique.” Esteban smiled. “What did he do this time?”

“It’s not just that. I mean, Enrique did insult Falcone’s boat. But there’s more. One of Falcone’s cousins, the one who works for pay, is trying to work his way into one of the Brickell clubs.”

“Let me guess. It’s one of the ones Enrique’s man claims to have an in with.”

“The very one. They had a bit of a pushing match the other night, and the cousin said he’ll get his revenge.”

“Did he now? Interesting. Thank you, Lupe. Have the rest of team two come in, please.”

Esteban liked to conduct his side of the business like a military operation. It was how the old men had trained him, and he also thought it made his men take their jobs more seriously. Anyone could pull a trigger, but it took a real man - a real warrior - to plan and execute a perfect mission. And survive to complete another perfect mission. He felt it even more now with the business expanding faster than he could recruit.

The four men stood in a loose arc in front of his desk as he went through the information Lupe had brought. “So,” he concluded, looking first at the team leader and then the others, “that’s what we have. The boss wants this quiet, but he also wants to send a message: don’t fuck with us.” He already had an idea of what he wanted to do, but he liked to include the boys. Sometimes they surprised him. “What do you think?”

The leader, a tall, muscled man with a thick black mustache, stared at the picture of the boat. “Boats explode all the time, jefe. Fuel tanks have leaks, and we all know how hot those engines run.”

“True, but how does that send a message? As you say, accidents happen.”

One of the other men cleared his throat. “We must burn the boat. That’s clear. But what if we shoot the men and leave them outside the boathouse? We can stage it so the cops think it’s a robbery gone wrong or some kind of turf war, but for those who know it will be a message.”

“How?”

“We use the Colts. No other organization uses the .45s like we do.”

Like we did with Jaime a few years ago. “A solid idea.” And close to what I was thinking already. “But for the police to believe it’s a turf war…” He smiled. “Kill the men with the .45s, then shoot the bodies with the 9mms the Dominicans love so dearly. But then the message might be missed. No, just use the Colts. Screw the police. They can think what they will. It’s more important other players recognize our signature and understand the warning.” He looked at each man. “I will lead the strike. But we need to know when they are all there.”

“Can we draw them to us?”

“An excellent question. Lupe, do we know when they make their runs?”

Lupe shook his head. “There doesn’t seem to be anything regular. They work for themselves, so…”

“Set something  up. Quickly. Say we need someone who can move five kilos of product. We have it offshore, but no way to get it closer. Offer them half down, and half once the cocaine is in our hands. That should draw them out.”

The team leader chuckled. “I’d say so.”

“Good. Lupe, work it out. Say we’re representing Columbians or something. Anything they’ll believe without question. I leave that to you. Once we have a meeting time, we strike.”

 

“You think Blade’s really gonna be here?”

Sonny Crockett nodded, pointing to the massive white motor yacht superstructure they could just make out above the hedges bordering Pelican’s Nest. “From the size of that damned thing, I’d say he’s already here.”

“Any chance he’ll have the goods?”

“No way, Rico. Like I said before we went to New York, he’s the Sears and Roebuck of narcotics. You order from his little catalog and someone else delivers. Not him. He’s too damned careful.”

“How we gonna play off the Revillas?”

Sonny swung the Ferrari onto the long drive up to the yacht club. “We were working with Jimmy Borges when he made a wrong move and got wasted. We were damned lucky to get out with our lives.”

“So we tell him the truth.” It wasn’t a question.

Sonny smiled. “More or less.”

Newton Blade had a way of filling a room without saying a word. Part of it was his physical size, but the rest came from his eyes. Otis ushered them into one of the club rooms looking out over the dock and then bowed himself out. “I’m sure you boys have all kinds of things to discuss. Let me know when you’re done and we’ll see about some lunch.”

Blade chuckled. “Leave it to Otis to think of food. I don’t know how he stays so thin. Man eats like a horse.” He was sitting in one of the overstuffed leather chairs, his legs crossed in front of him. “Burnett and Cooper. I see you fared better than the late, lamented Jimmy Borges.”

“Yeah. He pissed off the wrong Indians the way I heard it.” Sonny tucked his sunglasses in the front pocket of his blazer and sat down.

“And how did your associates react to that, Cooper?”

“Pissed. Like you’d expect.” Sonny caught the edge in Rico’s voice. Valerie. Can’t blame the guy, I guess. I’m just glad he came back to Miami. “But once the Revillas bit the dust they were happy to buy our product.”

“I bet they were. Can’t say I miss those two, though. They were bad for business.” Blade laid his hands on his knee. “Now what can I do for you? Otis said something about business.”

“Something like that.” Sonny leaned forward. “I know you don’t touch product, Newton. Just the proceeds from it. But a guy like you has gotta know the players in the game. Cooper here has a job that’s a bit bigger than I can handle.” He grinned. “And it pains the hell outa me to admit it. But I’m only one boat, an’ this is bigger than one boat.”

“I have to say the whole New York thing didn’t exactly inspire confidence, Sonny. But I’m willing to let the past be the past.” Blade smiled. “For a price, of course.”

“Of course.” Rico hissed the words. “See, the thing is…I got this connection. A south of the border kinda connection. They have some bulk product they want shipped, and Burnett’s boat just ain’t quite big enough.”

“You understand your problem isn’t unique? Getting goods to Florida is one thing. Moving it elsewhere is quite another.” Blade leaned back in his chair. “Especially if you don’t want to be too close to what’s being moved.”

“Solid. Thing is, I can take over once the product gets to New York. My associates have connections as far out as Detroit. It’s the hop up the coast that’s a problem.”

Blade stared at them for a long couple of minutes, leaving Sonny feeling like they were across the desk from a smiling Castillo. Man’s a lot more dangerous than he looks. Then he nodded. “I’ll make some calls. We’re dealing with the same situation, Cooper, so maybe we can help each other out. Check back in a couple of days.”

Back at the bar, Rico was still fuming. “Smug-ass bastard.”

“That’s Newton in a nutshell, partner.” Sonny chuckled in spite of himself. “He can piss off anyone in two seconds flat. Then charm the hell outa them two seconds later.”

“I trust your meeting went well?”

Sonny tapped a cigarette out of the small Lucky Stikes pack as he turned to face Otis. “As well as it can when you’re dealing with Newton Blade an’ he’s feeling cagey.” He lit the cigarette with his battered Ronson and inhaled the smoke deep, letting it hiss out his nostrils.

“He can be a trial. But don’t let it get to you. Odds are he’ll do business. It’s what he does.” Otis looked around. “And speaking of business, can we have a word, Sonny? In private.” He bowed his head slightly in Rico’s direction. “No offense, you understand.”

“None taken.” Rico’s voice was tight, and Sonny knew he was still pissed about something. “I’ll be here.”

Once they were in the club office, Otis smiled. “I fear I’ve annoyed your associate.”

“Aw, he’s got a thin skin some days. It’ll pass.” Sonny took another drag on the cigarette. “Now what’s so important we have to come back here?”

“I have a…cargo. One that’s technically not legal.”

“I didn’t think you were in the powder trade.”

“Oh, it’s not that, Sonny. “ He smiled again. “Cigars. Cuban cigars. My old supplier is currently…how shall I put it…indisposed. I need someone to fill in until he’s back in action.”

Sonny made a show of thinking, even though he already knew his answer. “Just one run?”

“Just the one. Maybe two if his problems continue. But I won’t trouble you after that.”

“Why not? Never hauled smokes before.”

“You’ll find it’s dreadfully dull. Meet up with some greasy freighter, likely Panamanian, move some boxes from their tub to your boat, and then make haste for a nice sheltered cove I happen to know.”

“What’s the pay for this dangerous work? I gotta buy gas, after all.”

“Five thousand dollars.”

“We talking three tons of cigars?”

“Oh, no. Nothing that exciting. But you have to understand…Uncle Sam and his Yankee carpetbaggers still consider those cigars almost the same as Khrushchev’s missiles. Let’s just say your commission is about twenty percent of what they’re worth. Conservatively.”

Sonny whistled. “I’ll be damned. And I thought a couple of bucks for these was high.” He looked at his Lucky Strike and chuckled, sending a trail of smoke toward the high ceiling. “When do you need the boat?”

“Stop by the club tomorrow and I’ll let you know. I have a call or two to make first.”

 

They were almost back to OCB when Rico let out a deep laugh. “Here I think we’re gonna finally get the skinny on that Blade chump and you go and land a deal with Otis.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sonny looked out the window as he made the turn into the Gold Coast lot. “Now I gotta figure out how we can keep Otis in play without blowing Burnett sky-high.”

“I can’t see Castillo letting you make a run with Cuban cigars.” Rico chuckled again. “But you never know with him. Cat’s a mix of conventional and unconventional.”

“You got that right.” Sonny swung the Ferrari into his usual spot and shut off the engine. “Guess we’d better go make our case.”

Castillo didn’t look up from his desk as Sonny spoke. “…so we think Blade’s down here for a reason. Otis hinted at it, but he’s not the kind to get into details. If I move the cigars for him, it might open him up a bit more. Give us a way in to whatever Blade’s up to.” He paused. “That and the Mendozas ran cigars in addition to rum.”

“Blade was asking about New York, so he knows what happened there. Or at least part of it.” Rico was standing back by the door, leaning against the jam with his arms crossed. “I told him my guys ended up buying the coke, and I think he bought it. He didn’t want to move product himself, but he said he’d make some calls and see if he could line someone up for us. Maybe Forsythe threw Sonny the cigars as a bone.”

“You want to deliver the cigars to Forsythe.”

“Yes. I’ll turn in the five grand he’s gonna pay me to make the drop. Look, lieutenant, I know it’s not conventional, but it’s a way into that world. Pelican’s Nest is an old-time smuggler’s hangout. We know that. And it’s got ties to what’s happening now. But it’s a closed world unless we get invited in. And a few cases of Cubans seems like a damned low entry price to me.”

Castillo looked up, and Sonny felt the weight of his stare. “You forget yourself.”

“Sorry, lieutenant. But I’ve been working Blade for years now. Otis, too. These guys aren’t flash in the pan Columbians or jacked-up Haitians. They’re strictly business, and hard to get a line on.”

“Sonny’s right, lieutenant. We walk in that place and it’s like walking into a mobster’s brownstone back in New York.” Rico flashed one of his winning Cooper grins. “You can feel the old money and power in the place. And they’re good at what they do.”

Silence dominated the room for a minute. Then two. Finally there was a creak of metal on metal as Castillo leaned back slightly in his chair. “I’ll authorize it. But I’ll need to know just how many cigars you bring through. And you get one chance. We can’t risk another run. Make it count.”

Back at his desk, Sonny let out a long sigh. “Man…did you see the look in his eyes?”

“Yeah. I thought I was gonna have to break in a new partner.” Rico swiveled his chair so he could look toward Castillo’s office. “You think he’ll let us run this out?”

“Maybe. Ah, hell. I don’t know. But what do we have to run out? A guy from old money smuggling cigars and another guy with a boat the size of a supertanker who never gets within five hundred yards of any kind of drugs. It’s a thin hand, Rico.”

“Maybe. Maybe it is.” Rico narrowed his eyes and stared at Sonny. “But…”

“Yeah. My gut’s telling me there’s more there. Granted we don’t have a scrap of evidence, but there’s just something.” Sonny let his mind play back through events. “And why didn’t Otis just reach out to one of the Mendozas? Hell, they used to run rum and cigars all the time. And he’s gotta know the entire clan.”

“Maybe they’re really out of the game.”

“Or maybe they’re too busy upping their status.”

“You work your end with Otis, and I’ll try cozying up to Newton Blade.” Rico chuckled. “At least we can trade stories about clubs in New York.”

“Yeah. I wish we could get eyes on that club, but Switek and Zito have full dance cards.” Sonny shot a meaningful glance across the room. “And don’t even mention Dibble or Gorman. Those two couldn’t get within half a mile of Pelican’s Nest.”

“I think the lieutenant has them working something.” Rico grinned. “They keep running around like they’re important or something.”

“Let’s just hope they don’t screw it up and get us pulled off this.” Sonny shook his head. Damned feeling isn’t going away. There’s something up at that yacht club, and I’d bet the Ferrari it’s tied to the Mendozas somehow.

 

“The meeting is set for tomorrow night.” Lupe smiled before sitting down in the comfortable chair in front of Esteban’s desk. “They suspect nothing. I told them just what you suggested…I’m looking to move five kilos of cocaine quickly and don’t have time to use my normal runner. I also said I’d heard Flacone had the fastest boat in Miami and he puffed up like a peacock.”

“Good.” Esteban leaned back his his desk chair. “What else did you tell him?”

“That I’d bring the money because I was going with him to the meet. That’s when he volunteered his two cousins.” Lupe paused. “For protection. I think he plans to rip me off.”

“Of course he does. And maybe beat the location of the meeting out of you so he can make the buy himself and turn a bigger profit. It’s almost a shame to disappoint him.” He turned to look out the narrow window. “Brief Team Two. I want them in position before the idiot and his men arrive. They’re using his boathouse?”

“Yes. I don’t think he has another location.”

“Good. Tell the team leader I’ll be with them, but I want him to plan the operation.” Esteban kept his eyes hooded. The leader of team two had promise, and he wanted to see how the man handled planning an operation on his own. At the rate Miguel was expanding, he needed to develop as many crew leaders as quickly as possible. Men he could trust who knew what they were doing.

The next twenty-four hours seemed to crawl by, but Esteban was used to it. The hours before an operation were always long, until the last couple raced by in the space of a few heartbeats. His crew leader used the time well, sending men to scout Falcone’s boathouse and preparing a sketch map of the target location so his men could see where they’d be when things went down. Just like the old men had trained, except now it was men training younger men. Passing on skills which vanished if not used.

In the end Esteban was satisfied. His man had covered what could be covered, and allowed for what might happen. The rest was what it would be. It wasn’t much of a drive from their staging area to a turnoff a few hundred yards from the boathouse, and they were in position before the sun set. Esteban checked his Colt while the crew leader went over the details again.

“Lupe and Hector will arrive around 2200, and we expect the target and his punks to get here early. Maybe an hour before. Xavier confirmed the boat is in the shed now, so they’re not out running around trying to get laid. We don’t move until Lupe and Hector arrive.”

Esteban nodded and stepped forward. “It’s a good plan. Remember your lessons and don’t act until the time is right. We want clean kills on all three. Headshots if possible. Xavier and Hector will see to the burning of the boat. We leave the area as soon as the boat is in flames.”

“What about the police?”

Esteban stared at the man. He’s new. We’ll need to watch him. “Patrols out here are few. Usually Metro-Dade just prefers to fly over in helicopters and say things are fine.” A thin smile formed on his face. “But we’ll be listening to the scanner as well. If any patrols come close, I’ll make a call and one of the other teams will start a diversion. Nothing big, but enough to divert any patrols from our area.”

There were no more questions, and the men moved out in pairs. Esteban decided to go with the new man who’d asked about the police, mostly to see how he did under fire. If there was any hesitation, he’d be moved to boat security. His crews had to be tight and smart.

They settled in to wait, darkness gathering around them as the sun slid down the sky. They were far enough away from the main flow of traffic to hear bird calls and insects chirping, and it was almost easy to forget why they were there. From time to time headlights played over the long, swaying grass and low shrubs where his men hid, but no one in the cars seemed to be paying any attention. This was an area you passed through and not one you stopped in.

Esteban was watching the waterfront, and wasn’t aware of the approaching car until the new man tapped him on the shoulder. “Car coming in,” he whispered. “Older Mercedes.”

“Must be the targets.” Raising his hand radio, Esteban hit the transmit button twice. Get ready but don’t move. The earphone connected to his small police scanner and tuned to the proper patrol frequency remained quiet. They had the place to themselves. Checking his watch, he smiled in the darkness as he saw the glowing numbers. They’re an hour early. Means they’re up to something. Raising the radio to his lips, he keyed it and whispered, “Hold positions.”

Once again he was glad for the training the old men had put him through. Lying in the tall grass with mosquitoes was nothing compared to the hours they’d made combat group volunteers hunker in the swamps around Miami. They’d done it without question, knowing if they moved the old men would shoot at them with live rounds. ‘The price of freedom’ they’d called it, and Esteban believed it until he discovered it was all an illusion…a fantasy fed by infrequent arrivals of CIA money and the dreams of men grown old waiting for the promised day that would never come.

Blinking, he pulled himself out of his dreams. Damn it. There’s time for that after. Now we must work. Turning his attention to the boat shed, he could see the yellow glow of weak bulbs through the dirty glass and occasional shadows as men moved around inside. An occasional burst of laughter echoed through the humid air, telling him Falcone and his men thought this would be just another simple rip-off. He could imagine them joking and probably drinking as they decided where they’d stand when they executed their plan. Odds were they’d done this before.

This time he tapped the new man on the shoulder when he saw twin headlights swinging into view as a car turned off the main road. “Lupe is here. We move in.” Without raising the radio he broke squelch three times. Then he raised his Colt and flicked off the thumb safety, smiling as the new man did the same.

The tall grass swished against his fatigue pants as he moved toward the shed. Lupe’s car was parked behind the Mercedes now, and the muffled sound of the engine ceased as he shut off the big Lincoln. The dome light glowed, and then the sound of slamming car doors reached Esteban’s ears followed by a thin voice he assumed belonged to Joaquin Falcone. “Hey! Amigos! Welcome to my little home away from home! You got the cash? Good! Come on in, have a beer, and I’ll show you my boat. Then we get going, yes?”

Lupe’s response was measured. “Sure. You got these men you were talking about? I brought one of my boys, too, so I wouldn’t get lonely.”

“Sure! They’re inside looking the boat over.” The door opened, and a long finger of light illuminated the ground in front of the shed.

“Let me get the money.” Lupe turned back toward the Lincoln. “I’ll be right in.”

Esteban locked eyes with the new man and raised his Colt. Lupe wouldn’t be going in, and he knew Hector would be getting out of the way as well. He triggered the radio one last time. “Take them.”

Coming to his feet, Esteban shifted his Colt to a two-hand grip, keeping the muzzle down as he moved. He heard a shout from the doorway, followed by the quick pop of a 9mm as either Falcone or one of the cousins got off a shot. He muttered a low curse as he closed with the shed. This should have been silent. Doesn’t matter, though. There’s no one out here to hear. A dark shape left the doorway moving toward the cars, and Esteban fired once. The Colt coughed, and a body tumbled away as the single heavy bullet shattered a skull.

He sensed rather than saw the rest of the team closing from the other side, and thought he heard muffled shots before the men inside started shooting blindly. Coming around the corner of the building, he snuck a quick look around the doorway. “Cease fire,” he said in a voice just loud enough to carry a few yards. Two bodies sprawled near the long boat, their heads shattered and blood running down the dock and into the water.

Hector appeared from the darkness near the Mercedes, his hand covering a long gash on his upper arm. “Sorry about that, jefe. I didn’t expect…”

“None of us did. If there’s fault, it lies with me.” Lowering his pistol, Estaban looked around until he spotted the crew leader. “See to the boat. We’ll leave the bodies where they are.”

“And the car?” Lupe came into the wan light, the satchel of money in one hand and his own pistol in the other.

“We’ll take it with us. Maybe burn it later. But no self-respecting crew from Little Havana would leave a Mercedes sitting around, would they?” He chuckled at his own words. “Let’s get moving. I want to be clear of the area in five minutes. Check the shed before you burn the boat. It’s possible they kept cash or product here.” He turned and spat toward the headless body of Joaquin Falcone. “These boys didn’t seem too bright.”

I should have considered they’d have their guns ready. Damn it! Flicking the safety on his Colt, he holstered the pistol and headed for the Lincoln. “I’ll ride back with you and Hector. The team can take the Mercedes.”

Lupe nodded. “Shall we go now?”

“Wait.” Esteban stood until there was a muffled explosion inside the shed and yellow flames started sending their own jagged light into the night air. “Now we can go.”

 

The next morning, Miguel Mendoza smiled as he scanned the Herald while having his morning coffee. “Can you believe the violence in this city?” he asked Enrique. “Looks like another turf war down by the old docks.”

“I saw that.” Ricky chuckled and set down his coffee cup. “Looks like Joaquin Falcone pissed off the wrong crew from Little Havana. At least that’s what the morning shows said.”

“You’d think he’d know better than to stick his nose into the Cubans’ business. That never ends well.” Miguel suspected Esteban had called in the ‘anonymous tip’ everyone was quoting about Cuban gang involvement in the killing and arson. He knew the Cubans wouldn’t complain…it added to their reputation without them having to do a thing, and it eliminated someone who’d been meddling in his affairs. And more to the point, he knew the other smugglers would understand the message of a single .45 to the head. “Now maybe we can focus on our business with Santos.”

“I hope so. And with Falcone’s cousin out of the way we can open the market in Brickell.”

Nodding again, Miguel only half-listened to his brother’s plans. Esteban, he knew, was stretched thin. They’d make the Brickell move, then maybe slow down a bit so their security could catch up and the relationship with Blade could solidify. If they were bringing in more money, they needed someplace for it to go. It was all interconnected now, and his job was to make sure all the balls stayed in the air. At least the police seemed clueless about their operation. That was something.