Genesis, part XIII

[Robbie C.]

“Do you believe what he said?”

Esteban Morales nodded. “He was in no real condition to lie. If he was a stronger man, perhaps. But not that one.”

Miguel Mendoza inclined his head. “The fire was a nice touch. It should make Santos think his man mixed with the wrong people and got burned. Literally in this case.” In truth he wasn’t totally pleased with how things had turned out, but sometimes it was necessary to get dirty to find the answers you needed. At least Esteban had made sure the man wouldn’t reveal who’d interrogated him.

“Why do you think they’d do this?”

“I honestly don’t know. If it was his own people ripping him off, I would have thought he’d be screaming about the rest of his money by now. After all, we only paid for the half of the load we got.” Miguel raised a finger as the phone in the next room started ringing. “And speak of the devil. You’d best get going, Esteban. And good work.”

Cristobal Santos had an annoying voice, made worse by the tinny quality of the overseas connection. “What’s this about only paying for forty?”

“What? Not even a hello?” Miguel glared at the phone as he tried to keep anger out of his voice. “Your people only brought us forty, so we only paid for forty. That’s how business works.”

“We loaded eighty.”

“I suggest you take that up with your hired help. It isn’t always easy to find trustworthy people in this business. But your fat man delivered forty, and that’s what we paid for.”

There was a pause, and Miguel listened to static zinging through the line. When Santos spoke again, his voice was lower. “I’ll look into it. There may have been a misunderstanding.”

“Not on our end. We had the resources on hand to pay for eighty. Just be glad we didn’t have pending orders for what your people didn’t deliver.”

“Who are you…”

“The man who controls this end of the business. And the man who can take your word this was a simple misunderstanding. Or not. I’d suggest we take a shipment or two off so this misunderstanding isn’t repeated. Don’t you agree?”

“Sure. Why not. I’ll call as soon as we’ve sorted things out on this end.” There was another pause. “We need each other, after all.”

“Of course.” Miguel waited for the click before hanging up on his end. Better to let Santos think he’d gotten in the last word. This time. But Miguel had already made his decision. It was time to explore new suppliers. They’d been lucky this time. If there had been other clients, he’d be scrambling right now instead of just angry. But he couldn’t let it happen again.

Picking up the phone, he dialed another number. “Ricky? Yes, it’s me. Look, our friend didn’t have any real answers. We need to find a secondary source of supply. I’ll meet you at the dock and we can go out on the water. Better to talk there.”

 

Enrique eased back on the throttles once they were a mile out. “I love it out here. It’s so quiet. You can hear yourself think.”

Miguel nodded, leaning back against the cushions in the co-pilot’s seat. “And we need to think, brother. No question about that. Santos is busy proving he can’t be trusted, so we need a secondary line of supply. And that will take more people.”

“What about Gustavo?”

“I know he’s family, but he doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. What’s he doing now? Selling stolen car stereos? Before that it was breaking into houses. The boy may have some skills, but he’s lacking in brains.”

“Let me work with him. I can put him with one of the cigar boat crews and see how he does. If he passes the tests, we have another man we can rely on. If not…”

“He knows nothing about our real operation and can go back to stealing stereos and basically being a punk.” Miguel smiled. “It’s a good idea, brother. But let’s see if he can avoid being arrested for stealing car stereos first.”

“Sure.” Enrique laughed. “He’s always turning up anyhow…begging to be let into the family business. It won’t be hard to find him if he manages to succeed.” He turned and looked out to the south. Toward memories of islands. “What did Santos really say?”

“He claimed it was a misunderstanding. I think the fat one was trying to steal from him, personally, but it could be something else. In any case, he seemed surprised. About what I can’t say for sure. We’re just lucky only half the planned load was spoken for.”

“I never did like that pig.”

“Neither did I. I hear the police are still trying to talk to some of the girls he and his men roughed up when they were here.” Miguel shook his head. “Perhaps dealing with him was a mistake in the long term, but we needed a quick, sure source of supply.”

“I know. He was the only choice then, but we can always make new choices.”

“See what you can learn, brother. I’ll do the same. And when the time comes, maybe we can make Santos suffer just a bit for our trouble.”

 

Miami, 1986

After King’s Pawn, Back in the World, and Phil the Shill

“Any news about Stone?”

Sonny winced behind his sunglasses. “No. The little worm skipped out as soon as he could walk out of his hospital room. Bailed on paying, too. But somehow he always lands on his feet. Like that weasel of a Brit.”

“Yeah. That’s one chump who’d better hope Switek never catches up with him.”

“I still can’t believe those two managed to put the finger on a Mendoza.” Making the turn into the OCB lot, Sonny downshifted the Ferrari and pulled into his usual spot. “We’ve been chasing our tails for weeks trying to get a bead on that Benitez punk, and they hook an actual Mendoza during a pawn shop sting.”

“Some guys get all the luck.” Rico chuckled. “Go easy on ‘em, partner. They put in their time for sure, and it was a good bust.”

“Yeah, it was. Gotta give ‘em that. And they got something worthwhile out of Moreno and Lamonte. That alone’s gotta be worth some kind of commendation. Might even get ‘em out of Castillo’s dog house sooner.” Sonny shook his head as they pushed through the double doors into the squad room. “I still can’t believe he took sick time to be on that damned game show.”

“Speaking of game shows, who’s the lucky winner of the ‘girl of the month’ prize?”

“Not you, too? Come on, man.” Sonny grinned. He couldn’t really get mad about it, even though Zito had come up with the name. There was more than a grain of truth to it. After Brenda he’d either been working or trolling…dating one girl a few times and then moving on to the next. He wasn’t even sure why. Maybe it had something to do with seeing Billy less. “Her name’s Sara. She’s got a gig as a stewardess, so it kinda works out. She’s gone quite a bit, so my work doesn’t really get in the way.”

“Fly the friendly skies, right?” Rico grinned. “More like you flyin’…”

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe you can put that quick wit to better use by trying to figure out how the hell we can either use this Gustavo asshole or finding a way to get to Pasqual Benitez. Gina said her girl hasn’t seen him since the night with the Bolivians, so that’s out.” He sank into his chair with a halfhearted groan. The thing of it was he was starting to like Sara.

Rico nodded as he sat down behind his desk. “And what the hell’s up with that mystery Bolivian Santos? Those cats usually like to check on their projects personally, but there hasn’t been a peep about him since the one visit.”

“I don’t know, Rico. The whole thing smells funny to me. And I still can’t figure how the Mendozas could be operating in Miami and staying off the radar.”

“I hate to say it, partner, but look at that cat Maynard. He was up to his tricks here, and we had no idea he existed until that freak Stone dropped in on the DEA’s pot bust.”

“Yeah, I know. And it’s a family business for the Mendozas. Means they’re damned good at it. Just switched the cigars for coke is all.” And that’s a world we don’t know. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever busted a smuggler who ran cigars. Different trade for a different world, I guess. He turned and looked at the window into the conference room. “Hey. Did they change the briefing schedule?”

“Nope.” Gorman, his bald head dotted with glittering beads of sweat, sent a thick cloud of cigar smoke toward the fluorescent lights. “Lieutenant had something going downtown, and judging from the way they were dressed the two lovelies had a case. And the two tech monkeys were headed back to that pawn shop.”

“Thanks.” Sonny turned back to the files on his desk. Gorman meant well, he guessed, but there was something about the thickset man that never failed to get on his nerves. He knew they needed bodies on the squad. There was no question about that. But sometimes it felt like Gorman and his almost-invisible partner Dibble existed more to soak up oxygen than to do real police work. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d worked a case on their own.

“Earth to Sonny. Let’s take this as a sign and get the hell out of here. Maybe go see if we can shake some leads loose on that Pasqual chump.”

Sonny was about to shake his head when the bite of Gorman’s cheap cigar hit his nose. “Yeah, let’s go do that. Hey, Gorman! If you’re still here when the lieutenant gets back, tell him we’re running down a lead on Pasqual Benitez.”

“Sure. I’ll…Wait. Did you say Benitez?”

“Yeah.” Don’t tell me… “Name mean something to you?”

“Yeah. Kinda, anyhow. Dibble and I were working this idiot who used to work on other peoples’ boats. As in people who had boats that didn’t belong to them. He had this little rat-trap shop down by the canals. I think one of his customers was named Benitez.”

“This guy a CI or something?”

“Naw. Nothing that fancy. We busted him about a year ago, give or take. He should be out by now…charge got pled down to some piddly-ass crap. Minimal time and probation. And I can’t see him taking no regular job. His name’s Saul Keller.”

“Thanks, man.” Sonny scribbled the name in his small notebook. “Hey, Rico! We gotta swing by Records before we head out. Got a name to check.”

“Man, now you owe that greasy chump.” Rico was grinning as he leaned over Sonny’s shoulder and stared at the flickering green letters on the computer monitor.

“Don’t remind me.” Sonny stabbed at the keys with his forefingers. “How in the hell do you…there! I think I got it. Well, well. Gorman was right. Ol’ Saul here already has an active warrant for a probation violation. Last known is some fleabag hotel down by the canals.”

“Odds are he’s already skipped out.” Rico rubbed his chin. “We know anyone who might know people in that world?”

“Yeah, but I don’t feel like talking to Noogie. Problem is, he’s the one who might have an in with the chop shop crowd, even if it is boats. Izzy…that ain’t his cup of whatever the hell he drinks.” He raised a finger. “And don’t say bull sweat.”

“You mean the perspirationals of the mighty bulls.” Rico chuckled. “Thing is, it’s easier to find Izzy than it is Noogie.”

Sonny looked at his watch. “You think he’s up and about this early? It’s only two in the afternoon.” Damn. I was gonna see if Sara’s back in town. But duty calls and all that. Besides, the quicker we get this done the quicker I can buy Gorman a cheap six-pack and a couple of those dog turds he smokes. It sits too long, he’ll start getting bigger ideas.

“All we can do is try, partner. I know we got this Gustavo chump, but I don’t think we can have too many lines into the Mendozas.”

“That’s no lie, Rico.” Sonny logged out of the records terminal and got to his feet. “Come on. Let’s blow this pop stand. I’ve got an idea where we might start lookin’ for Noogie.”

Club Fandango wasn’t much to look at, and the view didn’t get better when you went inside. The bar was lined with mismatched neon someone had salvaged from any number of other clubs, the low tables were a mix of stainless steel and cheap warping plywood, and the lighting had seen better days back in the ‘20s. The place catered to people who didn’t, or couldn’t, fit in anywhere else in Miami’s scene. But it had a killer sound system playing jazz, punk, or even ‘60s Motown depending on the mood of whoever was running the turntable. Today it was Suicidal Tendencies.

Sonny pushed his sunglasses up on his nose. “Welcome to the freak show,” he said, nodding toward an Amazon of a woman who was arm-wrestling with a spindly goof who could be Izzy Moreno’s cousin. Or sister. In the dim lighting it was hard to tell.

“You call this a freak show? I call it Times Square on a Sunday afternoon.” Rico grinned and moved to one side to avoid a couple trying to dance to the music. “But I can dig why Noogie likes this joint. Hell, if anything he’d be underdressed.”

“And there he is.” Sonny headed for the middle of the bar, locking his hand on the shoulder of Noogie Lamonte before he could slip off the stool. “Where do you think you’re going, Noogie?”

“The Noog-man’s got business. An’ I do mean important business.” Noogie was wearing a pair of purple sunglasses with frames that hid half his face, and it took him a second to realize who’d just grabbed him. “Sonny and Rico! Two of the Noog-man’s favorite dudes! When you ain’t busting the Noog-chops, that is.”

“Yeah, yeah. And if you don’t want those chops busted, you’ll have an answer for a question.”

“Lay it on me, jack! I’m the man with the plan, the stud with the…”

“Ok. I don’t think we want to know what you have.” Sonny grinned in spite of himself. “I just bet you know guys who come by auto parts in less-than-legal ways, don’t you?”

Noogie laughed. “Man! You gotta stick with Deetroit muscle, Sonny. That spaghetti machine of yours finally choke on a meatball?”

“I’ll choke you, you meatball. You know guys like that or not?”

“Hey, man! The Noog’s a lover, not a fighter, so put down the mitts. I don’t remember so good with fists in my face, if you can dig what the Noog-man is sayin’.” Noogie scrunched up his face like a Saturday morning cartoon character pantomiming deep thought. “Any particular bits you cats need? I happen to know a few dudes who deal in that kinda merchandise.”

“Boat parts. Guy named Saul Keller.”

“Let me think…” He scratched his chin with an overlong finger. “Yeah! Saul! Naw…not that Saul. He’s in county for stealing bikes. Yeah! I got it now. Motorboat Saul. Not ‘cause he works on boats, but ‘cause the Noog-man hears he likes his ladies with the big headlights an’ does this thing…”

Sonny raised his hand. “We get the idea. So where is he?”

“Last I heard he was workin’ out of a shop down in Edgewater. Can’t say which one, though.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t. He ain’t my type. The Noog-man ain’t into boats. They like to sink, Jack, an’ the Noog-man an’ the deep blue sea don’t get along. But he likes boats, right? So look for a place that moves boats that are short in the paperwork department. And you can bet it ain’t his shop, pop. Gonna be in some other dude’s name.”

“Now that was a big nothing sandwich.” Rico straightened his suit jacket as soon as they were back on the street.

“Not really. We just call Robbery and see if they have a line on a shop like that in Edgewater. At least the little freak gave us a neighborhood.” Sonny grinned as they got into the Ferrari. “Now all we gotta do is hope we don’t get pulled off this again.”

Sonny shot Rico a quick grin while the phone rang. “This won’t take long. I came up through Robbery.”

A tired voice answered on the fourth ring. “Robbery. Malone.”

“Hey, John.”

“I’d know that wiseass voice anywhere. How ya doing, Sonny?”

“Good, good.” Sonny kept his voice upbeat, but something was off about John Malone’s voice. Damn. He sounds tired. “Got a quick question for you. We’re working a lead, and it’s taking us straight to Edgewater. Specifically someone who might deal with hot boats.”

“What, your dealers can’t buy their own hotshot boats out of petty cash these days?”

“Yeah, most of ‘em can. But the guy we’re looking for is something of a wizard with the engines. He’s got a record, so he’s not gonna be operating his own place.”

“Yeah. I get it.” Again the tiredness seeped into Malone’s voice. “We don’t work those too much. Coast Guard usually gets involved. But I hear there’s a shop down by one of the docks. Place called The Outboard.” A dry chuckle echoed down the line. “Yeah, they need help in the marketing department. But it gets mentioned when a boat goes missing. If he’s not there, I’d try the Coast Guard.”

“Thanks.” Sonny hung up, staring at the receiver after he returned it to the base. Something’s off with John. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him that tired. Hell, I can’t blame him, though. He’s been on the Job for years, and Robbery’s a damned thankless beat.

“You get anything?”

“Yeah.” Sonny pushed his worries to the back of his mind. Maybe later, over a bourbon, he’d let them out again. “Lieutenant Malone says there’s a place over there called The Outboard.”

“I got that. I also heard Coast Guard. We ain’t goin’ there, are we?”

“Not unless we have to, Rico.” Getting to his feet, he grabbed for his white blazer. “Feel like going for a little boat ride? I might take the Scarab over there and have a look-see as Burnett. Shake the tree and see what falls out.”

“Solid. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Hell, Rico, on this one we’re about due. You know, I still can’t make up my mind if the Mendozas are legit or just some kind of urban legend.”

 

Enrique Mendoza looked over at Pasqual Benitez, wishing for once the bar had better lighting. I’d like to see his face when I ask. “How did the last run go?”

“Good, boss. All the product was there as promised, and delivery went off without any complications.”

“So the Bolivians…”

“Yes. They came through. Still…”

“I know. I don’t trust them, either. We need a second supplier. More would be better.” The rum was smooth on his tongue, and he waved for another as he emptied his glass.

“If we do that, we may need another boat. Maybe two. And crew to match.”

“I know. Speaking of crew, how’s Gustavo working out?”

Pasqual snorted. “He’s adequate. A good worker when he remembers that’s what he’s supposed to be doing. He’s done two runs with cigars now and nothing bad has happened. I think he’d be a solid pilot if he’d quit playing the boss.”

“I’ll remind him of his place.” Enrique grinned, then nodded his thanks when the bartender appeared with another rum. “You be honest with me about him, Pasqual. Miguel is serious about him earning his place. If he doesn’t cut it, we must know. The operation’s too important to be put at risk by an idiot, even if he is related to us.” He almost chuckled when he remembered what Miguel had actually said about good cousin Gustavo. “Have there been any other problems?”

“No. Nothing worth talking about, anyhow. There’s a crew working down close to one of our runs, but we don’t use it so much so I’m not worried about them.”

“And the clubs?”

“That’s going well. Demand is growing, but we’re bringing enough in to keep it covered and still have extra to sell to the Haitians when they come calling. But if we have another thing like that freighter…”

“I know.” Enrique sipped his rum. Thinking. “Look, I want you to send a warning to this new crew. Nothing big. Maybe just suggest they find someplace else to work.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Burn their dock if they have one. Maybe blow up a boat. Just let them know we mean business and there’s a cost to doing business on our turf.”

“Ok. I might need one or two of those big Cubans to make that happen, though. This crew’s mostly Columbian, so they have firepower.”

“I’ll let Miguel know. And if they’re Columbians all the more reason to dig them out now. Little bastards are like termites.”

 

The run from the marina to The Outboard wasn’t much, but Sonny made the most of it by swinging wide out and then coming back in. The salt air on his face cleared his head, and there was something soothing about the thump of the twin V-8s as the Scarab hit her stride. The water was calm and the sky clear, making for fantastic boating.

Next to him, Rico gripped the cockpit frame as he heeled the boat around. “This beast can really move!”

“Yeah, she does pretty good.” Sonny shot a quick glance at his partner. “Still ain’t much for sea legs, are you?”

“Where I grew up the most sea time you saw was on a damned ferry. So, no, sea legs ain’t my thing.”

“We need to something about that sometime, Rico.” Sonny opened the engines again, sending the Scarab shooting toward the shore and smiling as he felt the prow climb out of the water. “But we got business now.” He eased back on the throttles as they got closer to the dock, feeling the usual pang of sadness as the big boat settled back down into the water.

The engines were just idling when Sonny steered the boat up against the long dock and hopped out to make the lines fast. Getting back in, he shut down and turned to Rico. “Let’s go see what we can see. I’m looking for some custom work for the boat and you’re a ‘business associate’ from up north along for the ride.”

“Solid.” Rico looked up the dock toward a structure looking something like a gas station projecting out just over the water. “That must be the place.”

“Yeah. Kinda hard to miss with that damned sign.”

“Who the hell outlines an outboard motor with red neon?”

“Only in Miami.” Sonny slipped on his Ray Bans and lit a Lucky Strike, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. “Let’s go see who’s home.”

The clerk barely looked up from his Jugs magazine. “Rent on the dock’s two buck an hour, gents.”

Sonny took a step and leaned partway over the counter. “I ain’t here to rent dock space, Jack. Got a boat that could use some tuning, and I hear you’re the ones to see.” He looked around and snorted. “So far I can’t say I’m impressed. What Motorboat Saul sees in this dump…”

The clerk couldn’t have been much over eighteen, and his tough look was ruined by the red splotches of acne on his nose and chin. “First off, this ain’t no dump. And second, who told you Saul was here?”

“In my line of work you know these things.”

“And what work is that?”

“Transport. Name’s Sonny Burnett.”

The clerk gave a slow nod. “Yeah, I think I heard the name. Who’s the spook?”

Rico grinned and let the Armani coat fall open enough to show the pistol grip of his cut-down Mossberg. “That’s sir spook to you, chump.”

“Sorry.” The kid’s eyes went wide. “Didn’t mean nothing by it, sir.” Then he turned back to Sonny. “Look, Saul’s workin’ on a motor right now. I can get word you want to see him, but there’s no…”

“Sure. Just do it before my friend here gets restless. I told him we’d do the beach bikini tour before it got dark.”

The kid disappeared through a door into the shop, and two minutes later he came back with a skinny man with a pencil mustache who looked like he’d been dipped in motor oil. “Vinnie said you needed some work done,” he said in a voice as thin as the mustache.

“Yeah. The Scarab tied up out there. It feels like she’s running rough in the port engine, and I’d like to get a few more knots out of her.” Sonny gave his best Burnett grin. “Competition’s getting faster every day.”

“Power boat racing?”

“Something like that.”

Saul nodded, his head bobbing like it was about to break loose from his neck. “I can take a look. But my work don’t come cheap.”

“The best never does. Hear you did a good tune job for Pasqual. I’d like the same.”

The head stopped moving. “Who?”

“Guy named Pasqual.”

“You know him?”

“No. Not personally. But one of my associates does. We were talkin’ boats and he said Pasqual has one of the fastest working the Keys. He also said you were the man to talk to if you wanted something that fast.”

“Sounds like your friend talks too much.”

Sonny chuckled. “You know, I told him the same thing.”

Rico made a show of looking at his Rolex. “Burnett, we got that meeting soon. I hate to cut this date short, but…”

Saul turned toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go look at this boat.”

The mechanic spent ten minutes crawling all over the engines, starting them, and testing the throttles before coming up for air. “You got a good baseline, Burnett. But sounds like your carbs need cleaning, and there’s something catching in the throttle on the starboard engine.” He narrowed his eyes. “She usually run with just passengers?”

“Not always. In my business speed is king.”

“Yeah.” Saul stood on the dock, staring down at the boat. “I get that kinda business.”

“If you can work the same magic on her you did for Pasqual’s boat…”

Saul narrowed his eyes. “That’ll cost you.”

“If it’s that good, it’s worth it.”

“What’d you say your name was?”

“Sonny Burnett. That’s B-U-R-N-E-double T.”

The mechanic nodded slow. “I might have a spot later this week. Drop back by tomorrow and I’ll know for sure.” Turning, he walked back toward the shop without another word.

Rico was about to say something, but Sonny raised his hand. “Come on, Cooper. We gotta make that meeting of yours unless you want to lose the load.” He cast off before jumping on board and easing the Scarab away from the dock.

“What the hell was that about?”

“He’s gotta check on me. Make sure someone knows my name and that I’m not a cop.” Sonny chuckled as he steered the big boat toward open water and opened the throttles. “Old Saul ain’t in the crowd Burnett normally runs with.”

“Maybe we’d better change that, partner.”

Sonny was about to shake his head, but something stopped him. “Yeah, I think you’re right, Rico. Sonny Burnett needs to up his status a bit. Again.”