Genesis, Part XVIII

[Robbie C.]

Martin Castillo looked around the conference table at the faces of his team. It had been a rough few weeks, starting with the protection detail on Hector Sandoval and ending with the mess involving the IRA. Gina Calabrese was still on leave while Internal Affairs mucked around with the wreckage of the case, leaving him short a detective and Trudy Joplin stuck on administrative duties until her partner came back. Add in a couple of possibly drug-related homicides in Liberty City and Little Haiti and it was understandable they were tired. Even Gorman and Dibble, who’d had to pick up more cases because of the Sandoval detail. More than anything he wished he could give them a break, but… “Report.”

Sonny Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs shook their heads almost as one. “We’ve been out of touch with our usual sources because of that Sandoval detail, Lieutenant,” Rico said with a shrug.

“Yeah. We’re hoping to get in this week. I’ve got a couple of leads that might be worth following up on…people reaching out to Burnett to move product.”

“Good. I also got confirmation that you turned in your Bren-10 and drew a Smith & Wesson 645 to replace it.”

“Yeah.” Sonny sighed. “Wasn’t happy to see that 10mm go, but I know replacement parts were gonna be impossible to come by now that the company went under. I shot in the 645 last week and it’s good to go.” He gave a thin smile. “Kinda nice to get back to .45, though. And it’s stainless, so it keeps Burnett’s image intact.”

Castillo nodded, noticing Switek and Zito shifting in their chairs. “Detective Switek?”

“We might be able to give Crockett and Tubbs something to do.” Stan grinned and looked down at a note pad. “We got two tips, and they both track back to the elusive Mendoza brothers. One came from Gustavo, but I think he’s lying about most of it. The other one came from Noogie LaMonte, and I don’t think he’s lying about any of it.”

Sonny started to say something, but Castillo raised his hand for silence. “Explain.”

“Simple, Lieutenant. Gustavo claimed he heard some guy talking about a twenty kilo load that might have been related to his cousins. I think he meant he’d been involved in moving a twenty kilo load for his cousins. He was trying to play us…act like he was cooperating so we’d leave him alone.” Stan grinned. “What I think he really told us is they trust him with moving product now. He’s in. But he’s shaky enough I think we need to give him some room.”

“And the other tip?”

“I know you guys don’t think much of Noogie, but the goofball gives us solid information most of the time. And this one might be pure gold. He says there’s a money guy who goes by the really original street name Cash who’s got a major stiffy for one of the strippers at Rizzo’s. Noogie overheard him the other night bragging to the girl about how he’s got a new client…the Mendozas. According to Noogie the guy seems to think they’re his ticket to the big time.”

Sonny nodded. “It makes sense. They can only run so much through that distribution business and their uncle’s charter company, and with Newton Blade on an extended tour of the Caribbean they’d need to find someone else to launder money for them.”

Castillo thought for a moment. “Do we have a way to lean on Gustavo Mendoza?”

Larry shook his head. “Not really, Lieutenant. He hasn’t given us enough yet. Only thing we could do is threaten to out him as a rat, and…”

“A dead CI is useless.” Castillo pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fight off a headache. “Crockett, Tubbs…check out LaMonte’s information. If it plays out, starting working the money man.”

Larry looked at his notes. “We checked the alias, Lieutenant. Only guy in our records who uses the name ‘Cash’ by itself is a guy named Dixon Walker. Cash is his middle name. He’s got ties to Florida Trust Savings & Loan, so he’s got the right access to launder money. No record of him moving big amounts, though.” He turned to Sonny and Rico. “I’ll get you copies of what we got.”

Stan cleared his throat. “Anything on those three guys we got called out to a couple weeks back, Lieutenant? The Haitians in Liberty City.”

“Homicide is still working it.” Castillo drew in a long breath, letting it slip out through his nose. “As far as I know they don’t have any new leads.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. That’s not a neighborhood where you’re gonna find witnesses. Lar and I worked Patrol in Overtown. Saw it there, too.”

Sonny looked up. “Wait a minute. Haitians in Liberty City?”

“Dispatch routed a call to us in error while we were still on the Sandoval detail. Switek and Zito went, then came back as soon as Homicide arrived.”

“It was a mess.” Larry shook his head. “Three dudes shot down outside a bar.”

“Spray an’ pray, right?”

“No, Rico. Looked like big caliber headshots.” Larry shook his head. “Whoever did it didn’t even break a window in the bar the Haitians were standing in front of.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“It’s Homicide’s case.” Castillo looked up, locking eyes with Sonny. “Unless you find new evidence suggesting it should be ours, they keep it. Focus on Dixon Walker. Switek, Zito. See if you can lean on Gustavo Mendoza. We need reliable information from him, not stories.” He got up from the table. “That’s all.”

Back in his office, Castillo leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. Centering himself. Breathing in, then out. He could feel the pain behind his temples receding, and allowed himself a very small smile. He’d hated having the political bomb of the Sandoval detail loaded on his team, but now it was over and maybe things would settle down.

He found himself thinking more of Jack Gretzky lately…and wondering how his wife and son were doing. He knew better than to try to contact them, and even asking his contacts about them was still too risky. The rogue British operative had started the thoughts rolling, and now he was having trouble stopping them.

Still, he’d seen the glint of obsession in Crockett’s eyes when Switek and Zito mentioned the Mendozas. He knew his lead detective well, and there was no way Sonny Crockett had let go of the murder of Jaime and then Chuckie Stokes. This just added to the pile. It did make Castillo wonder how the Mendozas had managed to stay off the radar as long as they had. And still were, if he was honest about it. Maybe they’d all gotten too used to the blazing guns and flashy tactics of the Columbians. Too focused on the bright lights while the real work went on right under their noses.

Rocking his chair forward, he forced himself to focus on the files on his desk. Like it or not, the Mendozas would stay on the bottom of the pile until they made a big splash. Or made a mistake. Sooner or later they’d do one or the other.

 

“So he’s still determined to come?”

Miguel nodded. “Yes. He’s excited about whatever meeting he’s got. I think you’re right and it’s with whoever’s hiring and training all the mercenaries. Make no mistake…that’s what they are.”

Enrique nodded. “No question. At least his last shipment was without problems. We’re spreading it out now.” He chuckled. “And Gustavo did ok. At least he managed to find their freighter on the radar on the second try and didn’t drop any product overboard. He’s also got some product ready to move in The Palm.”

“Speaking of relatives…” Miguel paused for a moment. They were down by the house’s boat dock, well away from prying ears. “My people say Jesus is looking to get into the cocaine trade. It confirms what Pasqual suspected.”

“The old idiot. I was afraid of that. Who’s he contacting?”

“He’s sent a couple of feelers out.” He thought back to Eduardo’s report. “Small time, mostly. And only on the sales side, which makes me think he already found a supplier somewhere.”

“Probably one of those big-mouth Panamanians he likes to hire. Those boys aren’t happy unless they’re trying to bang the wives of his clients or bragging about how they have a cousin who can get coke for next to nothing.”

“You’re probably right.” Miguel looked over at the boat tied up to the dock. One of Enrique’s hopped-up Cigarette boats, it was low-slung and dark in the water. “But we need to be sure.”

“Do you want me to meet with him again? Explain how things are?”

Miguel scratched a spot of stubble on his upper neck. The goatee was growing in thick now, and he was trying to decide if he wanted to let it go below his chin. “Yes. Maybe let Pasqual finish checking into things first, but that’s your decision. But if he seems reluctant to listen to reason, let me know. I’ll have a talk with him then.”

He could see hesitation in his younger brother’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Things are moving fast now, and Jesus has no clue about the modern world we move in. Or the dangers it brings.” He paused again. “We’ve put too much work into this, my brother. More work than the old man can imagine. We take the risks, and he grows fat on the money and wants to play…what do they call it…cocaine cowboy. It’s not going to happen, and he needs to understand that.”

“I’ll make it happen.” Enrique started to head for the boat, then stopped. “I almost forgot. We have another run with Oswaldo’s product tomorrow night.”

“The Bat, eh?” Miguel chuckled. “He’s still producing on schedule?”

“Yes, and he’s hinted he might be able to deliver more. I think he’s decided we’re reliable enough to take risks with.”

“Good. The more he delivers, the less we need from Santos. Still…keep your ears open for new suppliers. Where two is good, three is better. If we want to survive we have to keep our options open.”

The roar of Enrique’s boat engines was fading over the water when Miguel turned to head back to the house. He trusted Enrique to handle the situation with Jesus…at least until the old man kicked. Then he’d step in. He also intended to have Esteban check into things as well. Maybe Lupe could dig up something. Pasqual was good with boats, but Miguel didn’t quite trust his information gathering skills. But that was the price he paid for keeping Esteban’s men away from Enrique, and he’d learned to live with it. It kept things insulated. Enrique’s people could only identify a handful of Esteban’s men, and in turn Esteban’s men only knew the routes or stash houses they worked with.

He smelled the cigar before he even got in sight of the deck. Shit. He was supposed to stay at the small house this week. Why the fuck did he come back here? Still, he knew there was no avoiding it. Forcing a smile on his face, Miguel walked up to the wide back deck. “Father! What a surprise.”

Rodrigo Mendoza’s once dark hair was shot through with gray, blending with the cigar smoke swirling around his head. “Figured I should stop by and make sure you haven’t made a dog’s breakfast of the house,” he said.

“As you can see it’s fine. Everything’s fine, in fact.” Miguel paused. He’d wanted to avoid any argument, but his father’s superior attitude struck a nerve. Maybe it was time to remind the old man he wasn’t a scared little boy any longer. “Besides, you’re still getting the dividend checks from Mendoza Distributing every two weeks. And you have the beach house. All without lifting a finger. I’d say your life is going pretty well.”

The tip of Rodrigo’s cigar flared bright red. “How dare you talk…”

“I’ll talk to you any way I damned well please when you’re in my house. Yes, it’s my house, papi. Or did you forget grandfather’s will? He left it to me when I turned twenty-five. That and Mendoza Distributing. Maybe he didn’t want you making a, what did you say, dog’s breakfast of it.”

Rodrigo took a step forward. “I should…”

“You should what?” Usually when his father’s voice hit that register Miguel felt fear. Old childhood memories rushing through his veins and slowing his reactions. But not now. “Raise your hand to me and you’ll regret it, old man. I”m not some boy you can slap around any more.”

He was surprised when his father stopped in mid-step. The tip of the cigar flared again. “Maybe you’re right, Miguel. I hear things, you know. Even out at the beach house. They say you’re making the family name strong again. Something to be reckoned with.” He paused, sending a thick stream of cigar smoke into the air. “I could never do that. No matter how hard I tried. But you. You and Enrique.”

“It’s not…”

“No. I don’t need to know. Hell, I don’t want to know. Old men like to talk. It’s all we have left to do. Throw a blonde with big tits at me and I’ll tell her everything I know and then make up some lies to keep her happy. I know my weaknesses, Miguel. At least I do now.”

Miguel nodded. At least it saved him the trouble of making something up. “We always had a name to be proud of. I decided it was time to remind people of that.”

“And you are. Look, I really came by to get the last of my things. I’m moving to the beach house. You don’t need me underfoot and you don’t need to see how young the girls are I bring home.” He raised a hand. “Don’t worry…it’s nothing like that. But when you reach my age, any woman under fifty is young.”

Half an hour later he was gone, and Miguel sat in one of the wicker chairs on the back deck wondering what had just happened. And more importantly what his father had actually heard. He knew the old man still drank and swapped lies with many of the older smugglers still in Miami…relics of the days when runs to Havana involved moving things and people for the Mob. Had he heard something there or somewhere else?

Lighting his own cigar, he looked out toward the water. Someone out there one of Enrique’s boats might be making its final approach, carrying cocaine or cigars. The crew would be watchful but starting to relax as they got closer to home. He envied the simplicity of their job in many ways. All you had to do was pick up cargo, avoid the Coast Guard and maybe a rival crew or two, and make the delivery. Your worries were narrow, their duration short.

Still, with his father out of the house he could think about having Holly over. Just the thought of her brought a smile to his face. They’d gone out twice since that first night, once for dinner at Cafe des Arts and once at Regine’s. He drew on the cigar, wondering what Enrique would say if he knew he hadn’t slept with her yet. They’d mostly talked, about the clubs she worked for in South Beach and her ambitions. And slowly an idea formed in his head.

She was beautiful, and he knew himself well enough to know he was falling for her. Maybe it came from being alone for so long, or the look she gave him into a world he’d never known. Where it went from here there was no way to know. But he planned to enjoy the ride, no matter how long or how short.

 

“Man, I hate Rizzo’s.” Ricardo Tubbs shook his head as he wheeled the Caddy into a tight parking spot about a block from the strip club. “Almost as much as I hate having to drive you around.”

Sonny Crockett chuckled. “Yeah, but there’s no way I’m bringing that L’il Abner rig down here. You’d think they’d at least have a BMW in Impound.”

“Yeah, but you did get the Ferrari blown to hell. Maybe the bosses think you need a time out for that one.”

“Like I knew that redneck asshole was gonna use a Stinger on my car! Who the hell does that?” Sonny shook his head. He could still see the yellow-white explosion and bits of the Daytona arcing through the air. It wasn’t his car…his mind knew it. But the pain was still there.

Rizzo’s sound system might have been something back in 1971, but now it was mostly blown out and more fuzzy than cheese left on the counter for three weeks in a Miami summer. Still, Sonny could always tell when Noogie was running the mix. Somehow the little freak got the most out of what he had, linking songs to girls in a way no one else at Rizzo’s had ever been able to do. And it showed…revenue went through the roof on the days he was working, and girls even got into fights to work his shifts.

The hunk of meat at the door grinned in recognition. “Sonny Burnett! How’s it been, man? Might be a little cramped in there…Noogie’s got his thing goin’ strong tonight.”

“No problem, Alex.” One thing Sonny had learned long ago was doormen and bouncers always liked it when you remembered their names. And as sources of information they were hard to beat. “Just lookin’ for a drink and some sights of Miami before getting down to business.” He jerked his head in Rico’s direction. “Out of town company.”

“Any pal of Sonny’s is welcome in Rizzo’s.” Alex grinned again, showing missing teeth. “Head on in.” Then his voice changed, dropping almost a full octave. “Not you, asshole. You’re on the ‘get the fuck out’ list.”

“Who knew Rizzo’s had a list?”

“They don’t Rico. I’d bet that goof just pissed off Alex sometime in the last week or so. And even if they had a list, I ain’t sure the big guy can read.”

Rizzo’s had a main stage dominated by a pole and runway leading to the back, two smaller stages off to each side, a long bar that had seen better days in the ‘50s, and a scattering of tall tables and booths along the back wall. Above the booths was a DJ station, dominated by a skinny Black man wearing heart-shaped pink sunglasses studded with fake diamonds. A brunette with long, slim legs was working her assets to what sounded like AC/DC, and Noogie was hamming it up on the PA.

“Hey, hey! Give it up for Lucy Legs! An’ don’t do what the song says an’ touch too much or you’ll be out on your asses! If the Noog-man’s lyin’, he’s dyin’! Now head up an’ buy a beer or four. Next up is Foxy Roxy an’ her twins…an’ y’all know what twins the Noog-man means!” Grinning, he shook his fists in the air before turning and leaving the DJ booth.

Sonny nodded to Rico. “We got about five minutes before he’s on again. Let’s make this count.” They moved through the knots of sweaty men heading for the bar, reaching the side stage door at the same moment Noogie opened it with a wide, white-toothed grin.

“My main men! The Noog-man was startin’ to wonder if he’d done something to offend.”

“Naw, nothing like that, Noogie. Been busy is all.” Sonny shot a quick look at Rico. “Can we talk someplace a bit more private?”

“Head on over hyar.” Noogie waved toward an alcove stacked almost to the top with battered chairs. “Ain’t sure why they keep the damned things, but the Noog-man ain’t into interior decorations.”

“You told Switek you had something for us.” Rico wrinkled his nose. “This place always smell like an outhouse?”

“Naw. You got us on a good day.” Noogie laughed, flashing those teeth again. “The Noog-man got a line on a guy. Ain’t the first time I seen this cat around, dig? He cleans money, but only small deals. Then he gets all hot for Red…she’s on after Roxy…an’ starts braggin’ on how he’s movin’ big green now.”

“Talk is cheap, Noogie. You told Stan he mentioned the Mendozas.”

“Cat did say the name, but the Noog-man ain’t into askin’ dudes who they deal for, if you can dig what I’m sayin’.” The song blasting through the blown speakers seemed to fade a bit, and Noogie shook his head. “I gotta run, son. Time for the Noog-man to spin the tunes that bring the poon. But you stay for Red, hyar? This cat’ll show for her. He’s an average-lookin’ dude an’ usually wears suits he musta stole from that fool Izzy.”

Sonny heard Rico swear under his breath. “That mean we gotta wait?”

“That it does, partner. We gotta get us a look at this Cash. If he shows. But it won’t hurt to see the girl, either. Might be able to get a line on her though Gina and Trudy.” He paused. “I mean Trudy now. IA’s not gonna be done with Gina for a bit.”

“Yeah. That was a bad deal all around.” Rico shook his head. “You think the Mendozas come here?”

“No way. Not their scene. Miguel seems to stick to the family liquor distribution business.” They were back at the bar now, finding spots as the men drifted back to their tables when Noogie announced the impending arrival of Foxy Roxy and her twins. “And we’ve never been able to crack that Pasqual guy, let alone little brother Enrique.”

“That means our luck’s about due to change, partner.” Rico looked toward the stage, shaking his head as a blonde with massive silicone-enhanced assets strutted toward the pole. “And I think we just met the twins.”

“Dear God I hope they don’t explode.” Sonny pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, trying to block the image from his mind. “Hopefully Noogie picked a short number for her. I ain’t sure if those things can take too much shaking without a serious structural failure.”

“We got any idea what this Cash looks like?”

“Only the general that got sent over from central records. Guy seems to have stayed pretty clean. ‘Course that ain’t hard when you’re not dealing in large sums or with crazy Columbians.” Sonny winced as ‘Mississippi Queen’ hit its aggressive bridge and Roxy started grinding the pole with intent. “Why do I keep thinking of those old classroom ‘duck and cover’ drills?”

He was halfway through a Lucky Strike when Noogie’s voice crackled over the PA. “Give it up for the twins, y’all! An’ now we got a treat for you. Blaze is takin’ the stage for an early show. This is one red you don’t want to miss, if you can dig what the Noog-man is sayin’!” His loud laugh was swallowed by a thumping bass intro Sonny couldn’t pinpoint.

“I can’t believe Noogie’s playin’ Aerosmith!” Rico grinned and slapped the bar. “And that’s gotta be Red. I can see why this Cash is droolin’ all over himself.”

Sonny looked and nodded. Red’s legs started where her flowing red hair ended, accented by curves no plastic surgeon had touched. With flashing eyes and firm, high breasts, he bet she pulled in her body weight in tips any time she took the stage. Business, Crockett. Business. Tearing his eyes away, he started scanning the crowd. “Looks like she’s got all these idiots drooling. How we gonna pick out just one?”

“Count me in on the drooling bit, partner.” Rico chuckled. “She can wrap them legs around me any old time.”

“We got work to do, Rico. Focus.” Sonny scanned the men surrounding the stage first. If Cash was as into her as Noogie hinted, he’d likely be front and center any time she took the stage. He discounted three men who looked like lost truckers, two slumming frat boys, and thee drunk wannabe gang-bangers from Overtown. “Hey. See the guy in the Sears suit? Looks like something Izzy lost?”

“I got him. Seventies-style mustache? That’s gotta be our guy.”

“We’ll watch him for a bit and then head back. We’re gonna have to do some more digging to tie this guy to anyone, but at least we know how to bait the hook.” Sonny was about to continue when the pager in his pocket buzzed. “Now who the hell…Aw, no way.”

“What? Castillo calling us off?”

“No. Ira Stone.” He looked at the information on the pager again. “Goddamned Ira Stone.”

 

OCB resumes after Stone’s War, Down for the Count/The Final Bell and Just a Favor

 

“I can’t get over this view.”

Miguel nodded. “It’s the main reason my grandfather built the house here. It was one of the first things he did after he got his citizenship.” Bought his citizenship if family lore is true. And it usually is with him. And he bought the house and land with the profits from one run of Jamaican rum. He leaned against the balcony rail. “I love coming out here. It helps me think.”

“I bet it does.” Holly turned to face him, her dark eyes glowing. “I don’t think I’d ever go back inside.”

“You’ll feel different when it’s raining. The winds off the ocean are cold, and they drive the water.”

She smiled, reaching out and touching his arm. “I’m kidding, Miguel. Going in sounds nice right now.”

He smiled. He’d brought her out here to set the mood. They’d spent the early afternoon cruising South Beach, her talking about clubs she worked with and him looking for a spot for what he had in mind. Then they’d come back to the house and the magnificent dinner the housekeeper had prepared. Miranda had worked for the family since he was ten, a stern woman from the highlands of Mexico somewhere who knew when to rule with an iron fist and when to fade into the background. She was long gone by now. “We can stay for a few more minutes if you like. The last of the sunset is worth seeing.”

“So what did you think of the clubs? I know you’re looking to increase business…”

“Maybe, but that’s not why I asked you here tonight.”

“It’s not why I came, either.” She smiled at him again, her hand still on his forearm. “The last few weeks have been…I don’t know…special.”

“I think so, too. I don’t leave work behind very often, and I’m pretty rusty at this sort of thing.”

“I think you’re doing very well, Miguel.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. “Very, very well.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her back. Hard. Feeling her body press against his and her hands grip at his shoulders. She felt better than he’d imagined. And he’d been waiting so long…

 

“Man! Look at that kid box!” Enrique Mendoza turned to Pasqual Benequez and shook his head. “How did everyone miss Bobby Sykes?”

“I don’t know. But it looks like someone didn’t.”

Enrique followed Pasqual’s gaze. “Felix Guzman? What the fuck’s he doing here?”

“Making book is what I hear.”

Enrique chuckled. “Then he’s dumber than those two blondes look. The Mob does all the sports betting down here. Man’s gonna get his balls cut off and stuffed down his throat.” He shook his head again. “You wanna survive in this business, you stick with what you know and don’t step on other guys’ turf. Especially guys bigger than you are.” The crowd roared, and he looked back at the ring. “Man! He just dropped another one. Third round KO!”

“Who’s the big guy in his corner? Way he waves that damned hat around you’d think he was some kinda cowboy.”

“He’s called Moon. Crazy bastard who’s been training fighters here for years. At least that’s what that Cuban Victor says. He follows this stuff. Me? I watch the ring girls, drink the beer, and take in the sights from time to time.”

“So why are we here?”

“I told Victor I’d come see the kid so he’d shut the hell up about him. And you got elected to come with me because Tiffy doesn’t like the fights.” Enrique drained his plastic cup and tossed it on the floor. “And now it’s over. Let’s go hit the Overton. I ain’t had my fix of neon this week.”