Genesis, Part XIX

[Robbie C.]

Miami early 1987

 

“And you’re sure he’s coming in tomorrow?”

Miguel turned to glare at Enrique. “Did I stutter? No, he’s coming in tomorrow. Commercial flight from the Bahamas of all things.”

“Guy’s got balls, I guess.”

“That or a death wish. I haven’t decided yet.” They were sitting in one of the club rooms at Pelican’s Nest, the remains of breakfast scattered on the table between them. It had been Enrique’s idea, and Miguel couldn’t complain. The food was excellent, and it gave them the kind of privacy they couldn’t get even at home.

“You want me to keep upping the buys from The Bat?”

“So long as you think he can deliver the weight on time. But it might be good to explore some more options, too. Gustavo finally got some product moving in The Palm, so we need to keep the high-end stuff moving. Between that and the Brickell clubs…”

“Yeah. Liberty City is good with sixty or seventy percent pure. Stretches the product farther.” Enrique sipped coffee and looked out the window at the yachts tied up along the club’s dock. “I’ve got a meeting with Uncle Jesus today.”

“Good. You learn anything more about what he’s up to?”

“Yes, and not much of it’s good. Pasqual says he’s hired at least four new pilots, and we know he doesn’t need them for his charter and fishing routes. He still hasn’t bought any more go-fasts in Miami, but I’ve heard mutterings about a couple of sales in Lauderdale that connect back to him.”

“I havem’t heard anything about new mid-level dealers on the streets.” Miguel scratched his cheek, thinking back to what Esteban had told him. If Lupe can’t find anything, it’s not there. “So he must be trying to cut in one someone who’s established. And he doesn’t know this game well enough to understand what happens when you do that.”

“I’ll push and see what falls out. Maybe take Felix or someone with me to help get the point across.”

“Go easy on him for now, if you can. He’s still family. That and we need him to clean our money.”

Enrique nodded. “Speaking of family, I hear papi finally moved out of the house.”

“Yes. I was going to mention that. He moved out almost a month ago.” Miguel shook his head. “Said he didn’t want to be in the way or know too much about our business.”

“Maybe he did grow some brains.”

“Maybe. I’ve got people looking into some things there. He said he was proud we were restoring the family name.”

“Must be those old farts he drinks and plays bridge with. I never did like them.”

“They were big men once, Ricky. No longer, maybe, but once. I try to remember that. But I won’t let it cloud my judgement.”

Enrique nodded and looked at his watch. “Crap. I gotta go. Don’t want to be late. Look, you and Holly should go with with me and Tiffy this week. You are still seeing her, right?”

“Yes.” Miguel nodded, amazed at the rush of feelings the single word brought. Still…he wondered if she’d ever been with Enrique. His little brother did have a way with women.

“I can see the question in your eyes, brother. No, I never slept with her. Never event took her out. She’s Tiffy’s friend. And not my type.”

“I…”

“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a legit question, and I know you don’t date near as much as I do.” Enrique laughed. “You were always the serious one, remember? The one with the books and studies while I was racing boats and banging cheerleaders.”

“And look how we ended up.” Miguel chuckled, reading across the table and taking his brother’s hand. “Let me know how things go with Jesus. I’ll try to keep Santos away from you and Pasqual. We don’t need a repeat of his last visit.”

“Don’t I know it. Asshole almost got Pasqual arrested when he beat up those hookers. We’re just lucky they couldn’t firmly trace it back to him.”

After Enrique left, Miguel sat for a time enjoying the quiet of the room and finishing his coffee. He had a meeting with Esteban in twenty minutes and wanted to get his thoughts in order.

Otis Forsythe answered on the second ring. “Forsythe.”

“Otis, it’s Miguel. I’m expecting a Mr. Morales in about fifteen minutes. Could you have him shown here?”

“Of course, dear boy. Oh, and I wanted to extend the club’s gratitude yet again for the splendid service. Mendoza Distribution exceeds its well-earned reputation.”

“Thank you.” He smiled as he hung up the room phone. They’d been moving a fair amount of money through the club, an arrangement suiting them both. He suspected the majority of the club’s cut went right into one of Otis’s many offshore accounts, but didn’t care. The Forsythes had been in the game as long as his family, if not longer, and understood how things worked. Unlike people like Newton Blade, who was still chugging around the Caribbean trying to elude the IRS.

There was a sharp knock on the door and Esteban Morales came in, dressed in his habitual dark suit. Since they’d expanded their operations he’d taken to dressing better, a habit Miguel approved. Helping himself to coffee, he sat in the chair recently occupied by Enrique and started in on his report. “We’re as ready as we can be for the arrival of Cristobal Santos. I’ve got a protective detail ready for you, and I’ve increased security at our main boat and stash houses as well. We won’t be able to do much else while the bastard is in town, but I thought it wise to protect our valuable assets.”

“Good move. Enrique is going to confront Jesus today about his little games. See if there’s anything to it or not.”

“I think there is, but that’s not our biggest problem.”

“Explain.” Miguel leaned forward.

“The man with the bank connections…Cash. He’s developed an interest in one of the strippers who works at Rizzo’s.” He paused. “It’s a second-string club downtown. A common meeting place for small time dealers and the like. Anyhow, he’s been going there every night she dances for the last month or so, and I think he might have attracted police attention.”

“Metro-Dade?”

“I think so. I don’t know what unit, but there have been some inquiries run on him. Our source in the administration office is still working, but I think he’s starting to lose his nerve.”

“Remind him just how much his cocaine habit would cost if he wasn’t helping us.”

“I will. And Cash…”

“We cut him off at once.” Miguel smiled. “I think I might have figured out another way to deal with some of our cash flow. It may take a bit of time to start, but we can take the hit until it does. Still…he knows a bit too much about us.”

“Only a couple of names.”

“Which is too much. Do you think they plan to arrest him?”

“Our source doesn’t know. And wouldn’t know. He doesn’t have direct connections to any of the special units, and they’d be the ones requesting the arrest warrant.” Esteban sipped coffee. “You’re sure you want us to stop leaving money?”

“Yes. He’s not to see another cent. We can’t take the chance that his drop’s still safe.” Miguel paused. He knew he needed to give his next order, even though he dreaded what might be uncovered. “One more thing. I need you to have Lupe check the background of Holly Miller.”

Esteban nodded. “Your woman?”

“Yes. I need to know if anything isn’t right there.”

“We’ll do it discretely, jefe. You have my word.”

“Good. Thank you, Esteban.” The knot was still in the bottom of his stomach, but Miguel knew he had no real choice. I need her for my plan, but I need to know there’s nothing damaging in her background first. For this to work, she has to be clean. “And now I need to get ready for that pig Santos.”

 

“Are you sure you want me to wait outside?”

Enrique looked over at Pasqual. “Yes. Play the driver, but keep that pistol handy.” He looked over his shoulder. “Felix will watch my back in there. Right?”

The big Cuban nodded, his eyes hidden behind almost black sunglasses. “Of course.”

“It shouldn’t come to that, though.” At least Enrique hoped it was true. But you could never be quite sure with Uncle Jesus. It was like a switch flipped inside him, turning his mood crazy with no warning. “Let’s get this done.”

They were meeting at one of the small cafés dotting Bal Harbor, a concession to Jesus while still keeping the meeting sight neutral. Enrique spotted the old man sitting at an outdoor table shaded by one of the garish umbrellas coming into fashion. And his damned shirt matches the umbrella! He must be losing it. Forcing a smile on his face, Enrique covered the distance in a few steps. “Uncle! It’s a fine day. Good to see you again.”

Jesus Estevez returned the smile, but even at this distance Enrique could see it wasn’t touching his eyes. “Good to see you, boy. Have some coffee and we’ll talk.” He nodded toward Felix. “Is that your date?”

Enrique felt the smile melt away. “Only if that one sitting next to you is yours.”

“Fair enough.” Jesus waved his hand and the wiry Hispanic man got up and moved one table over. “Now we can talk.”

Enrique nodded, and Felix remained where he was. He didn’t sit, standing so he could see everything going on around them. I don’t know where Miguel finds these guys, but they know their shit. No question. “So let’s get down to it, yes?”

“Ricky? Why do you and Miguel ask so many questions about what I’m doing?”

“Because we’re worried about you. About who you might run into out there.” Enrique rested his elbows on the table, feeling the warming metal against his skin. “I don’t think you know…”

“I’ve been doing this since before you were born!”

“No, Uncle. You haven’t been. You’ve been dealing in cigars and liquor when you’re not conning tourists out of their money with those fishing and sightseeing trips. No. You need to listen to me. These men you’re dealing with, they aren’t like the old days when guys thew burning bottles at each other’s boats. You cross them, they blow up your fucking boats. Two for every one of theirs you destroy. They kill your people. Maybe your family as well.”

“I think I…”

“You’re not thinking. If you were, you wouldn’t be buying go-fast boats in Lauderdale. Or poking around in the southern waters. You know who likes that territory? Columbians, that’s who. And those bastards play for keeps, Uncle.” He paused, hoping at least some of what he’d said would sink in. “Look. I know what you want to do. But the family name is already being restored. By us.”

“You two bastards? You and Miguel?” Jesus spat. “What I hear of you…”

“It’s what you don’t hear that should concern you. The business has changed, and we change with it. Stick with what you know. If it’s money you need, we can increase what we route your way.”

“You dare speak to me this way! If Miguel were here…”

“If he were here things would go much worse for you.” Enrique thought back to how his brother had looked after the hit on the Haitians. “Trust me on that. Miguel is not the bookworm you think you know. You do not want to push him, Jesus. I say this as your nephew.”

“These Columbians have been trying to cut in on my cigar trade. I…”

“If that happens, let us know. We’ll deal with them.” Enrique jerked his head in the direction of Felix. “We’re well-equipped to solve those problems.”

Jesus nodded, and Enrique could almost see the older man shrink before his eyes. Deflating like a balloon inflated for too long. “You know I spoke with your father the other day.” Even his voice was thin now.

“I’m sure that was fun.”

“No. Not for me. He said what you just said. That we’re getting old and our time is passing. He…he also warned me about Miguel. I never thought I’d hear Rodrigo talk like that.”

“It’s for your own good, Jesus. Really.”

“I know. Look…I’ll stop trying to expand into cocaine. Hell, I wouldn’t even know where to sell it.”

Enrique nodded, but a corner of his mind doubted what his uncle said. He’d been asking the kind of questions a man asks when he’s looking for someone to move his product. Still…he was family. He deserved a chance. “See that you do. And I say that as your nephew. Because next time you’ll probably be talking to Miguel.”

They were back in the car before Felix spoke. “Slick old bastard, that one.”

“He is.” Enrique sank back against the leather upholstery as Pasqual guided the BMW out of the crowded lot. “And I don’t think he’s done. He’ll stop for now, maybe even a bit extra. But he’ll push again. I’m almost sure of it.”

“And if he does, the jefe will deal with him.” Felix’s voice contained a certainty Enrique hadn’t heard before.

“Yes, he will. And Jesus can’t say he wasn’t warned.” Turning to look out the window, Enrique wondered again just how he’d missed this side of Miguel. “Take us to the house, Pasqual. I need to update Miguel.”

 

Cristobal Santos looked around the hotel dining room and chuckled. “I wonder how many of these idiots know whose company they’re sharing for dinner?”

Miguel Mendoza just shook his head. Still annoyed by what Enrique had told him the day before about Jesus Estevez, he wasn’t in the mood for Santos and what passed for his humor. “I don’t think they care. You’re not a movie star. That’s what these people like.”

Santos started to glare, then laughed. “You’re right, Miguel. Besides, we have business to discuss.” He raised his wine glass and took a drink, reaching for the bottle as he emptied the glass. “I hate to rush things, but I have meetings most of tomorrow and the next day and then I must return to Bolivia.”

“You’re a busy man.”

“It happens from time to time, yes. Some of the local business leaders want me to consult on a…shall we say enterprise…for them. Since it also involves an old friend, I decided to come. Plus we can meet again and discuss our next moves.”

Miguel nodded. Esteban’s people had been busy, learning one of the people involved in the sudden influx of mercenaries was a shadowy man named Maynard. A man who’d spent time in Bolivia as well as other places over many years. He wasn’t in Miami now, but had been a few weeks ago. “Of course.” He looked around. The dining room was only half full, and sound carried far too well for his liking. But he had no interest in going to the man’s room, either. You never knew just who might be hiding in what closet or bathroom. “This might not be the best place, though.”

“I agree. I just happened to be hungry after my trip. The hotel has an excellent bar with many quiet booths.”

They spoke little during the meal, and soon Santos got to his feet and headed across the lobby to the bar. The lights were low, the decor mostly red and black, and it could have been named discretion instead of whatever fluffy name was smeared above the doorway in flickering neon. They found a booth toward the back of the place, and Santos ordered rum for them both when the waitress appeared out of the gloom. “You see what I mean?” he asked as soon as she headed back toward the bar.

“I do. Now, what was it you wanted to discuss?”

“Straight to the point! I like that.” Santos slid into the booth, his long fingers stretched out on the table top. “Our relationship has being going well, yes? No more mistakes with deliveries after that one unfortunate event.”

“Things are good on my end.” Miguel kept his voice even. Things hadn’t really been that smooth, but he wanted to see what Santos was after. He doubted it was more money…between what he had likely stolen during his time in government, what he made from all his shipments, and what was sure to be a massive retainer from whatever right-wing businessmen he was meeting with, Santos didn’t need money. No, it had to be something else. Access, maybe. Or more frequent shipments. Something putting Miguel’s assets at risk while exposing none of his own.

“As they are on mine. But look. We both know the market in Miami is heating up.” He grinned, a thin thing that avoided his eyes. “Demand is starting to exceed supply. At least normal supply.”

“If the Columbians would stop shooting each other for ten minutes the problem would be solved.”

“I agree. But we know they’re not going to do that. Without men like Calderone or the Revillas they run wild. Like small children. They lack discipline.”

“Which I cannot give them.”

“Of course not. You’re wise to keep your distance from them. Every few weeks the police round up yet another gang and trumpet their success on the evening news. It’s a game I used to play, too. Smoke and mirrors.” He leaned forward, close enough Miguel could see the heat in his eyes. “But smoke and mirrors create excellent hiding places for men with discipline. Men with plans. With ambition.”

“But such men also need to know their limitations, yes?” Miguel’s thoughts drifted back to Jesus for a heartbeat, then refocused on Santos. “We are successful compared to the Columbians because we grow slowly. Planning for each expansion. It’s been the way of our family going back generations. It’s served us well.”

“So you’re not going to increase traffic?”

“Not at this point. Look, we have enough boats and people to manage what we’re bringing in now. And demand through our people is matching supply. Unlike the Columbians, I don’t like having stash houses. They’re just big targets for the police to find and parade on the nightly news.” He raised his hand. “That doesn’t mean we won’t be expanding in the future. Just not right now.”

Santos pursed his lips, then smiled. But it was another of his fake smiles. “Of course. It’s a sensible way to do business. I just wanted to give you first option on a new supply we’ll have access to soon.”

“And I appreciate that.” Miguel was tiring of the dance.

“Would you consider an exclusive supply line?”

So that’s it. He wants to tie us to him. “I’d need to discuss that with others.” He leaned back in his chair, fighting back the anger welling in his chest. Who does this bastard think he is?

“Of course. I’ll be in town for two more days, but you know how to reach me if discussions take longer than that.” Santos finished his drink and got to his feet. “It was good talking with you again, Miguel.” They shook hands, and then the former Bolivian policeman was gone.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” Esteban Morales slid into an empty chair next to Miguel. He’d been watching the meeting from two booths over. Ready to intervene if things got rough.

“A typical policemen. He’s so used to pushing people around he doesn’t know any other way to conduct business.” He sampled his drink, finding the single malt scotch harsh on his tongue. “How many people did he have with him?”

“Two. I think they were the same two apes he brought last time.” Esteban shook his head. “He didn’t ask about girls, did he?”

“No. And I didn’t make the offer. He can find his own hookers, or use the ones his rich friends send him. I think we need to keep our distance until he leaves town.”

“A wise choice. Lupe says there was a reporter sniffing around Maynard. Called himself Ira Stone, and Lupe says he seemed more strung out than anything else. Kept talking about Gringo mercenaries in Nicaragua. Someone shot him, I hear. But any time you get a reporter…”

“You get more reporters. Attention we do not need. And if these idiots are going to Nicaragua there will be law enforcement sniffing around eventually. Federales, Metro-Dade, who knows.”

“My thoughts exactly, jefe.” Esteban smiled. “Now can we get the hell out of here and go someplace that serves good rum?”

“I was about to suggest the same thing.” Miguel looked at the glass and made a face. “I don’t see how they can drink this shit. I’ll call Enrique before we go. Let him know to be careful around Santos’ people for the next few weeks.”

“I…I finished that other task.”

Miguel nodding, settling back in his seat. “And?”

“She’s exactly who she claims to be. Holly Miller. No boyfriends or girlfriends. She works as a promoter for a couple of South Beach clubs, but nothing major. She went to Florida State University and has a marketing degree. Two brothers who live in California. Her parents have a house in Tampa Bay.”

“Thank you, Esteban. I know this isn’t the kind of thing your people normally do…”

“If she’s important to you, you need to know if she has any skeletons. That’s what we do.”

He nodded. The truth was Holly was becoming very important to him. Both personally and as a possible solution to one of the organization’s problems. “Come on. I owe you at least two drinks.”

“There was one more bit of news. Do you remember Oswaldo Guzman?”

“The name is familiar. He was a big distributor at one point…before Calderone if I remember right. Didn’t he get into sports betting?”

“He did. He’s dead now. My people don’t know if it was cops or the Mob who did it, but he’s dead.”

“And that’s why we stick to what we know.” Miguel snorted. “Only an idiot tries to take sports book away from the Mob. Guzman must have started using his own product if he thought that would work.” He paused. “Wasn’t he backing that Sykes kid? The one who was winning big.”

“Maybe. You’d have to ask Victor.” Miguel heard distain in Esteban’s voice. “He likes watching sweaty men hit each other.”

“Still, it’s good to know we don’t have to worry about him trying to get back into his old game. Things are tense enough as it is.” He got to his feet. “Now let’s go find some rum.”

 

After Down for the Count/The Final Bell

 

“I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

Trudy Joplin looked up from the report she was typing. “I know. It doesn’t seem right looking back there and not seeing him.”

Gina shook her head. “No one could have known…”

Sonny should have. But Trudy didn’t say anything. It was bad enough watching Stan slowly falling apart without adding Gina’s constant apologies for Sonny Crockett into the mix. She still wasn’t sure what she thought about the whole situation, but she did know Sonny had pushed too hard and too fast, likely contributing to the death of Moon and eventually Larry Zito. But IA had cleared him, and Lieutenant Castillo had him back on cases without missing a beat. She should trust that judgement. But…

“Trudy!”

“What? Sorry. My head was in this report. Trying to make it sound like we shut down all the hookers in South Beach when all we really did was nab one part-time pimp who had maybe three girls who listened to him.”

“I asked if you wanted to get dinner tonight.”

“I don’t know, Gina. It’s been along couple of weeks.” Trudy looked over the edge of the form and gave her partner a wicked smile. “Why? Did Crockett back out?”

“What? No! I mean…” Gina’s cheeks turned a deep red and she sighed. “I never can fool you, can I? Well, he’d asked if I wanted to have dinner with him. He was meeting with some Panamanian or something and needed help with the cover. But I guess the Panamanian cancelled the meet.”

Sure he did. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’m just gonna go home, put some jazz on, and maybe order Chinese.” Anything to help me forget the last few weeks.

“I understand.”

Trudy started to speak, then changed her mind. I’m not gonna suggest she ask Stan. She’d just talk about Sonny, and that’s the last thing Stan needs. Turning, she looked at the empty desk in the far corner of the room. I wonder where he is. I don’t think anyone’s running surveillance.

It had been three months since they’d buried Larry Zito. Oswaldo Guzman was also dead, but that didn’t matter as much. Trudy kept replaying the case in her head, even though she and Gina had been on the sidelines most of the time. And each time it ran through her head, the less she liked what she saw.

“Can you believe Sonny and Rico are going to Rizzo’s again?”

“Still chasing that money guy? At least we’re not stuck going with them.”

“Just don’t give the lieutenant any ideas. He might decide they need some local color.”

“I hope not. There’s diseases in that place medical science hasn’t discovered yet.” Trudy hit five more keys and then ‘return’ with a flourish. “Finally! The downfall of another two-bit pimp is now part of the official record.” She scrolled the report form out of the battered IBM and tossed it in the ‘out’ basket on her desk.

“You think they’ll get anywhere?”

“With Cash?” Trudy snorted. “Only if Rico puts up some money, an’ you know that’s not his style. Cooper’s strictly an out of town guy. And Sonny? Burnett never has ready cash. Just a fast boat and faster story.” Motion in the corner of her eye made her turn her head just a bit. “Stan! You been back in the lab?”

“Something like that.” Switek’s voice was slightly slurred, and even at this distance Trudy could see the stubble on his face. “Just got a couple reports to type up and I’m outa here.”

“More wiretaps?”

“Naw. Just got an update from that Gustavo goof.” Stan flopped in his battered desk chair, doing his best to not look in the direction of Larry Zito’s empty desk. “Still claiming he’s only hearing about these little deals going down.”

“You know he’s not gonna roll on his family. Not yet, anyhow.” Trudy nodded, understanding the motive. Growing up in Overtown, she’d seen too many boys like Gustavo Mendoza. Chasing some stupid family legacy and ultimately bleeding out forgotten in a gutter.

“Maybe if Sonny…”

“Screw Crockett.” There was a sharp heat in Stan’s voice that made Trudy look up and shook Gina a warning look. “Why? So he can get him killed like he did Lar? Or Moon? Gustavo’s a moron, but I don’t hate him enough to turn him over to Sonny Crockett.”

Gina’s face went red, and Trudy could tell she was about to say something she’d regret later. “Hey, Gina? Maybe I will take you up on dinner after all. Come on. Let’s get going. See you tomorrow, Stan?”

“Yeah. Like I have anyplace else to go.” Turning back to his desk, Stan started typing, the keys sounding like distant machine gun fire. How the hell he can type that fast is something I don’t understand.

Onside the squad room, Gina stomped her foot. “Damn Stanly Switek sometimes! Sonny was…”

“Look, Gina. Stan lost his best friend in the world, and even you have to admit Sonny Crockett had a big hand in that. I know you have feelings for him, but he pushed that operation too hard and too fast. You know it, I know it, and I think even the lieutenant knows it. Larry shouldn’t have been working undercover alone against someone like Oswaldo Guzman, and Sonny put him in that position. Maybe he was trying to make up for getting that Hackman asshole released. I don’t know.” She laid her hand on Gina’s forearm. “Nothing you say will change that for Stan.” She thought back to the dark weeks after her brother was murdered. When she hated just about everyone and everything in the world. “You gotta give him space, girl. And don’t fight Sonny’s battles for him.”

“We should have been there.”

“I know. But the lieutenant kept us on other things.” And I don’t know why. “So we need to stay clear of this one.” She hooked her arm through Gina’s and headed for the door. “Now let’s go have two drinks too many and eat some good food.”