Genesis, Part XIV

[Robbie C.]

Two days later Sonny found himself standing on the dock looking down at a grease-coated Saul torquing down the last couple of bolts in his Scarab. “That should get you what you’re looking for,” the mechanic said as he closed the engine compartment and scrambled to his feet. “Not quite as past as that other boat, but you also didn’t get the boring and carb work he did.”

Sonny nodded. “Yeah, but that takes cash I don’t have right now. Couple more jobs and that situation should be resolved, though.” He still remembered the look Saul had given him when he’d returned the day before. Guess my name didn’t come back all that spectacular. Gotta work on that.

“I hear ya.” Saul slid the socket wrench into a side pocket of his coveralls. “Look…there’s this dude I know. Roscoe. He ain’t the biggest mover, but he’s steady as they come and is always looking for someone with a fast boat. You want, I can give you an intro.”

Sonny was about to shake his head no, but stopped. He knew he wasn’t going to get to Pasqual through Saul…he’d figured that out early in the game. But maybe there was another way. Saul seemed to know a certain class of runner: the kind Pasqual mingled with. It might not be much of a step, but it was a step up. “Sure. Why not. You got my pager number. Pass it on and we’ll see what we can work out.”

“I’ll do that. Like I said, he don’t look like much when you first meet him, but he moves steady product. And he knows people. Not leftovers from Calderone’s time.”

“Thanks.” Sonny paid the mechanic in cash, knowing the serial numbers had been recorded for later tracing. They’d pass it off to Robbery and let them get the points for the bust. As he started the Scarab and eased her away from the dock, Sonny thought back to what Saul had said. In many ways he was chasing the remains of Calderone’s crew…runners who’d made their bones under the Columbian and were just trying to pick up their share of the pieces. The Mendozas didn’t fit into that picture.

He knew Rico was still working Newton Blade, but it was likely a dead end. Blade had been in the game too damned long…kept all his stuff tightly compartmentalized. If he was doing anything for the Mendozas it was unlikely Rico would ever get even a whiff of it, let alone be let in on the action. But at least Rico’s money might help the Feds make the case they’d been building against Blade for years.

Sonny shook his head, opening the throttles wide and grinning when he felt an extra kick of acceleration. Much as he liked Otis Forsythe, he knew he’d hit the same dead end. If anything Otis was more careful than Blade, and given the links between the Forsythes and the Mendozas he’d be even more close-mouthed about any deals involving them.

We’ll have to break ‘em the old-fashioned way…working our way up the food chain and getting more informants like Gustavo. Assuming they let him in the family business to begin with. Still, there was the meeting with Roscoe to look forward to, and there was something he wanted to try. Something to make Sonny Burnett a little more dangerous. And maybe more appealing to players on the Mendoza level.

 

June 1986

After B-U-R-N-E-double T, Little Miss Dangerous

 

Ricardo Tubbs tried to focus on the scene playing out through his binoculars, but he couldn’t. Instead he kept seeing her face. Her wide eyes. And the blood. Always the blood.

“You ok, partner?”

He mentally shook himself. “Yeah. I’m always ok. How long are we gonna wait on these chumps?”

“As long as it takes, Rico. You know that.” Sonny Crockett sat next to him at the cheap folding table in another dingy hotel room. The only difference was he had the higher-power spotter’s scope. “These bastards always take their damned sweet time working a deal. Nothing new there.”

“Yeah, but the lieutenant could have given this to Gorman and Dibble.”

“Maybe he thinks you need a little R&R.” Sonny leaned forward and looked through the scope. “That Jackie thing hit you pretty hard.”

“Yeah. Maybe. And you sure bounced back from your big lead into the Mendozas getting one in the face. You still don’t think it was them?”

“Naw. I know it was a .45, but it just didn’t feel right. No display. Guy was just offed and dumped.”

Sonny kept talking about something, but Rico tuned him out. He tried again to focus on the three men down by the coffee shop, but his brain kept leading him back to Jackie. I should have seen it coming. I should have known. A corner of his mind knew he wasn’t being fair to himself. No way I could have known how broken she was. Still…I never should have let her get to me like that.

“Are these idiots ever gonna do anything aside from drinking coffee?”

“Doesn’t look like it to me. I think the tip was a bust.”

“We’ll give ‘em ten more minutes, and if nothing happens I’m calling it in.”

Nodding, Rico raised the binoculars and tightened the focus. Still the same two goofballs sitting at a table, with one set just to side acting as security for the money man. Or what they guessed was the money man. The way this one had been going, the money man might just be a pimp negotiating a price for the muscle-head. Never really seen a deal where only one heavy showed up to the party. “You sure these guys are Columbians?”

“Only thing I’m sure of is this room smells like hobo piss.” Sonny snorted. “Hell, it ain’t our tip. The lieutenant didn’t even say where it came from. They could be Columbians, or they could be fruits in from Georgia or Tampa Bay.”

Rico let himself smile. “Naw. They don’t dress well enough to be from Tampa.” Another car rolled past on the street below, blocking his view for a moment. “Georgia, maybe.”

Sighing, Sonny looked at his watch. “I’m calling it.” He reached for the radio.

Nodding, Rico made one final sweep with the glasses. The three men still hadn’t moved, and he was about to lower them when a flash of movement caught his eye. “Sonny, check out that scooter with two dudes. I think the circus just hit town.”

Sonny turned back to the spotting scope, then his posture changed. “Only if clowns carry shotguns. It’s…”

The binoculars gave Rico a front-row seat as the scooter slowed, the driver taking a firm grip on the handlebars as the passenger raised a semi-automatic shotgun from under his long black coat. The flashes blurred into one long yellow and white explosion, the booms reaching his ears a second after his eyes registered the three men being blown away from their table in a spray of red blood. Though the echoes he heard Sonny screaming into the radio, calling in the shooting as he dropped the glasses and went for his Smith & Wesson. The scooter was a memory by the time they reached the street.

 

Red and blue lights played across the cafe’s patio and the faded hotel sign across the street, washing over the faces of the crime scene techs working the area. The ME had already hauled the bodies away, leaving Sonny and Rico to deal with an annoyed, chain-smoking Homicide detective with close-set eyes. He looked from one to the other. “So you say you have no idea what they were doing here?”

Rico snorted. “How many times we gotta tell you, chump? We got no idea. The lieutenant says go stake out something a tip said was a meet, so we staked it out. Assuming our equipment hasn’t been stolen yet, you’ll find it in room 204 across the street.”

“Was it related to Vice, drugs?”

“Like my partner said, we got no idea.” Sonny lit a Lucky Strike. “The tip said possible narcotics, but it didn’t look like a normal deal meet to us.”

The Homicide detective looked up from his notebook. “How’s that?”

“Not enough security for one.” Rico jerked his head in the direction of the three chalk outlines. “Normally these cats haul at least four bodies to a meet. But this one, only the short dude at the table had what looked like security. The other one came alone. And for another they never exchanged cash or product. It could have been a meet-and-greet, but it wasn’t a deal.”

“What about the shooters?”

“Two goofballs on a damned scooter.” The tip of Sonny’s cigarette glowed bright red as he inhaled. “Look, pal, we’re used to Columbians going after each other with automatic weapons. The whole ‘ride up and shotgun them’ thing ain’t their style.”

“You say you were conducting surveillance. You get any kind of look at the shooter or the driver?”

Rico shook his head. “The driver was wearing a crash helmet. Skinny little punk, though. Hispanic, maybe. Leather jacket. The shooter was wearing a black trench coat to hide the shotgun. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but you could tell he was tall. Over six foot. Definitely Hispanic. Long black hair. And the shotgun was a semi-auto. Wasn’t cut down, either.”

“I don’t suppose we got lucky and have pictures?” The detective waited a heartbeat. “Didn’t think so. Either of you get a look at a plate?”

“Didn’t have one,” Rico said. “I looked for that the second they rolled off. No plate, and the scooter had been painted flat black. No maker’s name or anything.”

The man from Homicide sighed. “Thanks. I’ll let you guys do whatever you gotta do. We’ll keep you in the loop if anything breaks on this, but I ain’t hopeful. We’ve had ten homicides in this area in the last six weeks, and no leads on most of ‘em. Gangs thinks it’s some kinda turf thing, but they don’t wanna take it.”

Rico chuckled, feeling some of his anger slip away. He’d forgotten Homicide had more cases dumped on them than even OCB. “Yeah, I get it.”

Sonny flicked the butt of his cigarette toward the gutter on the other side of the crime scene tape. “We’ll let you know if we turn up anything, but like the man said I don’t think there’s gonna be much. The tip was a one-off from a source we don’t know, and it’s not tied to any active cases.”

As they trudged back up the stairs to collect their gear, Rico shook his head. “Man, I don’t envy him.”

“Naw. He’ll get reamed for low activity when there’s no chance in hell of getting any cooperation out of this neighborhood.” Sonny waved his hand. “I mean look around! Junkies, hookers, and God knows what else don’t make for good witnesses, even if they want to admit they saw anything.” Once in the room, he started breaking down the spotter’s scope. “You have any idea where the tip came from?”

Shaking his head, Rico stuffed the binoculars in their case. “No more than you, partner.” He paused, the blood from the crime scene changing into something else in his head. He could still see the look in her eyes.

 

“It was a bit…messy, don’t you think?”

Victor looked back at Esteban Morales and shook his head. “For what we usually do, yes. But to hide what we’re doing, no. Your orders were to settle the situation without any tracks leading back to us.”

“Very true.” Esteban narrowed his eyes. Victor was another product of the camps in the swamps, but there was something about him… “What about the shooters?”

“Two Dominicans we contracted.” Victor raised a hand. “Don’t worry, jefe. They’re food for the gators now. Nothing can come back to us.”

It was messier than Esteban preferred, but Miguel hadn’t left him with many options. ‘Louis is looking to make his own deal. Take care of him and the man he’s dealing with. But it can’t come back to us.’ Those were the orders. With his men stretched as thin as they were, Esteban had to contract out. He would have preferred going elsewhere, but Victor had Dominican contacts who could move now. “I’ll let the boss know the situation is handled. Good work.” He tried to make it convincing.

Victor grinned. “Of course, jefe. I would have preferred to use our own people, but…”

“Time. Of course.

The Lame Bull wasn’t crowded this early in the afternoon, and Esteban remained at the bar for a time after Victor left. There was still time before he had to meet Miguel, and he wanted to get the facts straight in his head. Mostly why Victor had decided to handle the operation the way he had.

He was still sitting on the same stool, nursing his third rum, when Miguel came in and took a seat next to him. They didn’t normally meet in places like this, but for some reason Miguel had insisted. Esteban figured the boss wanted to see where his shooters came from, or maybe visit a girl. Either way, it wasn’t his concern. He just caught the bartender’s eye. “Another for me and the same for my friend.”

Miguel nodded. He’d slicked back his hair, looking more like a pirate with every passing day. “I see the task was completed.”

“Yes. I let my man arrange the details. I’m afraid…”

“No. It was perfect. Well, maybe a bit too, how do I put it, bold for us. But that’s an advantage. They’ll look elsewhere to find someone to blame. Have the actors been dealt with?”

“Yes.” Esteban waited while the bartender delivered the drinks and moved back down the bar. “They should be composting in the swamps north of town soon enough.”

“Good. I can always count on you to leave no loose ends, Esteban.” Miguel tasted the rum and nodded his approval. “This is good. Is it ours?”

“I expect so. The Lame Bull buys from us regularly, and we’re the only ones still bringing this one in as far as I know.”

“Good.” Miguel sat in silence for one minute. Then two. “You have questions about this one.”

It hadn’t been a question. “I know better than to ask, jefe.”

“Of course. You’re a good solider, Esteban. But yes, this one was different. What do you know of the targets?”

“Nothing. There were three men. Two who had a meeting and one providing security for one of the others. I don’t know which one. There was no reconnaissance task.”

“No. There was not. And you carried out the assignment in spite of that. Excellent work. Taking all three was a nice bonus, but in truth if you’d missed the guard it wouldn’t have mattered one bit.”

“But that doesn’t…”

“No. But their deaths are vital to our plans. You’ll understand when I tell you.”

 

Martin Castillo had a headache, a single stabbing pain right behind his left eye. It had been there ever since he’d taken the call from Homicide. Still, he tried not to show it as he looked across his desk at Crockett and Tubbs. “I just heard from Homicide. The three men who were killed the other day.”

Sonny nodded. “Yeah. I still say that wasn’t a drug deal, lieutenant.”

Castillo nodded, noticing the distant look in Rico’s eyes. The girl is still bothering him. If he doesn’t get it under control, I’m sending him on leave for a few days. Time away should clear his head and his heart. “It wasn’t. The tip was wrong.”

“So what was it? Smelled like some kinda mob hit to me.”

“Tubbs?”

Rico jerked slightly as he returned to the room. “Yeah. Reminds me how the wise guys back in New York used to settle with each other. Except there it was sawed-offs and usually indoors.”

“Homicide doesn’t have a bead on the shooters. But they have identified the victims. One was a guard of some kind. Rented muscle. The man they assume he was protecting was a small-time smuggler who was trying to move into distribution.”

Sonny inhaled sharply on his Lucky Strike. “And the other guy?”

“He was a reporter.” Castillo rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “Freelance, not from one of the major papers or stations. He seems to have specialized in investigative journalism focusing on crime.”

“So what you’re saying is we have no idea which one of them was the target.” Rico snorted. “Hell, there’s a good chance they both were the target.”

“The good news is it’s not coming back to us.” Castillo rested his elbows on his desk top. “There’s pressure on the journalist, so Homicide is keeping it. But I have Dibble and Gorman looking at the smuggler. See if he’s been up to anything unusual.” He looked up at Sonny. “Any news on your last lead?”

“I got squat on Roscoe, Lieutenant.” Sonny shook his head. “Look, I know I thought it was tied into the Mendozas, but I’m not so sure now. Homicide found heroin on him, and what we know about the Mendozas says they’re into coke. At least that’s all we hear them connected with. I hate to say it, but I think Roscoe stuck his nose somewhere it wasn’t wanted and someone blew it off.”

“Do we have another way in?”

“Just that cousin Switek and Zito scooped up.” Sonny shook his head. “These guys are damned good at covering their tracks, lieutenant. We know they have lines into the Brickell club scene, and supposedly some action going into Little Haiti, but we can’t get a line past that. Hell, I don’t even know how many boats they run. And that Pasqual character hasn’t gotten so much as a parking ticket since he got tangled up with that Bolivian asshole.”

“Funny thing is, most of their flake tracks back to Bolivia. As far as we can tell, anyhow.” Rico leaned back against the office wall. “Ain’t got the manpower to work them and every other case that comes down the line.”

“We do what we can.” Castillo thought about snapping, but restrained himself. They’d all been pushed hard the last couple of months, Tubbs perhaps more than most. “Just so you know, Crockett, Homicide has declared the other two possible Mendoza homicides cold cases. They have no new leads.”

“And we haven’t given them any damned good reason to keep either case open. I get it, lieutenant. Like I said, these boys are good at covering their tracks.”

“Stay on them when you can.” Castillo looked down at his desk, waiting until the two detectives left to lean back in his desk chair and close his eyes. So far we’ve been lucky. The Mendozas seem content with what they have. But sooner or later they’ll want to move up. And we’ll be playing catch-up. Again.

Back in the squad room, Rico sat down behind his desk with a long sigh. He’d seen how Castillo looked at him back in the office, and he knew he wasn’t fooling the man. Sonny? Maybe. But not him.

The thing with Jackie had been tough. Tougher than he wanted to admit. The girl had gotten inside his head, and in a way he’d not felt since Valerie. But what bothered him more was what he’d missed. He’d been so set on saving her he didn’t notice she was more interested in killing him.

“Everything ok, partner?”

Rico flinched. He hadn’t noticed Sonny sitting down. “Yeah. It’s cool.”

“Come on, Rico. You might be able to fool Castillo, though I wouldn’t bet on it, but you can’t fool me. Not for long, anyhow. It’s that girl, isn’t it?”

Rico started to shake his head, then sighed. “Yeah. How could I be so damned wrong about her?”

“I don’t think you were necessarily wrong, Rico. You just didn’t see the whole picture. And I should know…I’m an expert on crazy women. Problem is I don’t usually find out they’re crazy until it’s too late.”

“If that’s supposed to help…”

“No. Not really. Just wanted to get you to laugh.” Sonny lit a cigarette, the flare of the Ronson highlighting the side of his face. “What you gotta remember is your heart was in the right place. You wanted to help her, man. You tried to help her. It doesn’t get any more righteous than that. Trouble was, she was beyond help.”

“Cat tried to tell us…”

“Yeah. In his own way he did. Sad thing is he really did love her. He just didn’t have the damndest idea about how to get her some help. We were just too late.” Sonny sent smoke trailing toward the ceiling. “Day late and a dollar short. The story of my entire romantic life in a nutshell.”

“Yeah. Mine too.”

“You’ll be ok, Rico. Just let it go. Let her go. You did everything you could, and at the end of the day that’s all we can do.”

Rico sighed. He knew Sonny was right, but he didn’t like the way it made him feel. Somehow it felt like he was just giving up on Jackie, like everyone else in her life had given up on her. And he knew it would be some time before he stopped seeing her shooting herself with his pistol.

“Take a couple of days, man. Go tie one on and pick up one of those fancy ladies you like so much. Or, hell, just drive up the coast and watch the sun set somewhere. You gotta get your head right, Rico, so we can get back in the game.”

Rico thought about snapping, but didn’t when he saw the look in Sonny’s eyes. “Yeah…I think I’ll do that.”

“It’s either that or they pack you off to the department shrink who tells you it’s all because you wanted to sleep with your mother, shoot your father, or both.” Sonny winked. “Trust me…I’ve been there, too. And the cases won’t go anywhere. You got nothing to worry about there. They’re all in holding patterns. Lack of evidence, no evidence, you name it.” Sonny looked at a paper on his desk and snorted. “Besides, I’m gonna be down for a couple of days. Got a summons to testify at the grand jury on Callie’s case.” He shook his head. “Speaking of crazy…”

 

“So you dealt with them both?”

Miguel nodded, watching Enrique’s face for any reaction. Sometimes he thought his younger brother might be a touch too soft for what it took to keep the family business safe and growing. “You said yourself Silvo’s crew was starting to sniff around our boats. And the reporter? He was digging into smuggling. Cigars. Our business.”

“And both men had more than a few enemies?”

“The reporter more than Silvo, but yes. And the shotgun makes it look like something it’s not. The mob, perhaps. Or Haitians or Dominicans settling scores.” He leaned against the balcony rail. “And Silvo’s departure creates an opportunity for us. Didn’t you say he regularly moved product for someone from Peru?” Esteban’s intelligence had already confirmed Silvo’s source, but he liked making Enrique feel involved beyond the boats.

“He did. Guy goes by the street name The Bat.” Enrique smiled. “He likes to think it’s because he stays up all night, but it’s really because most of the dealers think he’s bat shit crazy. But he’s got reliable access to good product, crazy or not.”

“Set up a a meeting with this idiot. See if he’s crazy or not. If not, maybe we can offer our transportation services.”

“From what I understand he usually moves anywhere from ten to forty kilos. Enough to supplement what we get from the Bolivians, and maybe replace some of it if he’s dependable.”

“What about quality?”

Enrique chuckled. “It doesn’t matter. If it’s crap, we’ll move it to the Haitians. Keep the good stuff moving to the Brickell clubs and one or two other places. Mainly people in the middle who keep the corner traffic supplied. One of my boys has a line into Liberty City.”

Miguel nodded, hiding his annoyance behind hooded eyes. “Good, but don’t move too fast. We need to be able to keep up with security.”

“Don’t worry, brother. This what they call sub-contracted. We sell the product to the middle direct and then walk away. And it doesn’t happen often. I can always find security from one of the boat houses.” He clapped Miguel on the shoulder. “So long as your man can keep moving the money we should be fine.”

Miguel stayed on the balcony after Enrique left, looking down at the manicured lawns. The mention of Newton Blade was something of a sore point…the man had cut back on the amount of cash he was willing to handle with no warning. He’d muttered a few excuses, and paraded a number of girls almost wearing bikinis in front of Miguel to distract him, but Miguel was fairly certain Blade was being investigated by either the IRS or the FBI. Maybe both. So he needed to find a new money man, and find one quickly.

When he went back into the Pelican’s Nest, he thought for a moment about looking for Otis. There was only so much money he could funnel through his distribution business as it stood, and Jesus had made it very clear he wouldn’t handle any more. If Blade was coming up short, Otis might have a lead to another banker or someone he could add as a sales client. It might be possible to pad his existing accounts more, but they were already bloated enough as it was. Any more might raise uncomfortable questions at either the state or federal revenue level. No, better to play it safe. At least with this.

Otis was holding down the far end of the bar, nursing what Miguel assumed was his habitual afternoon brandy. “Miguel! It’s been too long. Sit and have a drink with me.” He waved in the general direction of the bartender.

“Perhaps just one, Otis.” Miguel settled onto the stool and sighed. “I was actually hoping you might help with a small problem.”

“Do tell. Might it be related to our friend with the oversized boat?” Otis gave one of his sly smiles. “Word travels fast in this world. I hear our dear friend might be on an extended tour of the Caribbean islands…specifically those without extradition arrangements. And while he’s on that little tour I fear his oversight of his various enterprises might be, shall we say, lacking.”

“You know me too well, Otis.”

“Nonsense, dear boy. We simply share a problem.” Otis sipped at his brandy. “Now I do find myself in need of some of those specialty libations I hear your distribution company imports, so we might help each other. But my need won’t be enough to replace Newton’s various clubs and tours.”

“Mendoza Spirts would be proud to supply the needs of the Pelican’s Nest.” Miguel nodded his thanks. “I’m sure we can make some unique contributions to your cellar.”

“Of that I have no doubt. You’re a gifted man, Miguel. You remind me of your grandfather, or what my father told me of him at least. I did meet him once or twice, but I’m afraid I was a touch too young to remember much.” He took another sip of brandy. “As for your other concerns, I think I might know someone who could help. He’s not the most reliable sort, mind, but in a pinch…”

“Of course.” Miguel let the thought float in his mind. Having someone to deal with contingencies might be worthwhile, but he’d have to be careful.

Otis seemed to read his thoughts. “This gentleman wouldn’t need to know a thing about your business. In fact, I’d consider it a mistake to tell him a damned thing. But for ten percent he can clean up to one hundred thousand dollars. No questions asked and quick service. I believe he has a brother-in-law or some such who’s in banking. I never inquired too closely. Nor do I use him with great regularity. But in times of need he can be handy.”

“I take it you don’t sit down directly…”

“Heavens no. I send one of the staff. I’d suggest you do the same.” Pulling a card from the outside pocket of his plaid blazer, Otis produced a gold Pelican pen and scribbled down a name and phone number. “Let that start your journey.” He checked his Rolex and sighed. “And now I’m afraid I must take my leave. Another boring business appointment. But we’ll meet tomorrow and go over the fine details of our distribution contract, yes?”