Genesis, Part XXII

[Robbie C.]

“You’re sure it’s him?”

Victor looked from Esteban to Lupe and back. “Course I’m sure. He’s the one who got us into The Palm, right? Means he’s the only one who coulda told the cops about that deal.”

Esteban Morales narrowed his eyes and looked at Lupe, noticing the man’s faint head shake. “Why would he do that, Victor? What does Gustavo Mendoza have to gain by ratting out one of our own?” He leaned forward. “And why were you at The Palm in the first place?”

“I’d been hearin’ stuff from one of my boys. Guy goes to The Overton on the regular, and he heard Gustavo there bragging about how he was gonna up his status. No better way to do that than to have someone take down a rival. And who better than the cops?”

Lupe shook his head. “That’s pretty fancy thinking for Gustavo, don’t you think? He might be a cousin to the bosses, but I’m not sure he can find his way home on his own.”

“Lupe’s right, Victor. It’s a pretty fancy plan for Gustavo. And he’s already got leverage on the guy at The Palm. He’s not going to gain anything by having the cops bust a deal.”

“Look. I’m just telling you what I hear.”

“Sure. Of course you are.” Esteban smiled. “And I keep hearing you’re trying to run some kind of game down at Rizzo’s. Funny how rumors spread, isn’t it? Especially since I know you’re not dumb enough to try something like that. Are you, Victor?”

The big man shifted from one foot to the other. “Course not, boss. You know I don’t roll that way. I take my crew to Rizzo’s now and again to show ‘em a good time and let them stare at some tits. No way I’d…”

“Good. Because Rizzo’s is protected. Protected by people the boss doesn’t want to annoy. I hope we’re clear on that. It might be a good idea for you to find another club for your crew. Jolly’s, maybe, or the Parlor Club.” He looked down at his hands. “Now go to work.”

Once Victor left, Lupe cleared his throat. “You know he’s been busy at Rizzo’s…”

“Yes. If he doesn’t stop now, we’ll deal with him. He’s been warned.” Esteban looked up. “Do you think it’s true what he says about Gustavo?”

“No. But he thinks it is.” Lupe shrugged. “I don’t know what he’s got against Gustavo, but it’s a grudge that’s not going away soon. Look, I know the boss likes having someone like Victor, but…”

“He’s turning into more trouble than he’s worth. I agree. Keep him in the swamp until I have a chance to talk to Miguel. Maybe he can have Enrique check on Gustavo. Just in case there’s a particle of truth in what Victor is claiming.” He held up his hand. “I agree Gustavo isn’t smart enough to come up with something like that, but he might be trying to play his own angle. The fool is always trying to impress the bosses. And he doesn’t always make the right choices when he does it.”

“How do you think Metro-Dade got onto Frankie?”

“His own carelessness. Frankie was always too fond of his own product. Look into it so we can be sure, but I’ll bet he made a sale to an undercover cop within the last week or so, and that got him busted.” Esteban reached out, feeling the cool glass under his fingers, and then took a drink of rum. “Good work with the 8-Ball Kings, by the way. I hear our friend Cash had an unfortunate accident in county.”

“I just whispered in the right ear. Nothing more.”

“Maybe. But you did it so nothing comes back to us. That’s a talent, my friend.”

 

Martin Castillo returned to his office after the funeral of Father Ernesto Lupe and found the message form on his desk. It seemed odd to him…a small scrap of faded yellow paper containing so much news. But after the turns the Cruz case had taken he supposed it shouldn’t surprise him. He’d hoped for a moment alone, but this changed things.

“I just got the call,” he said as he stood in the doorway to his office. “Dixon Walker was killed in the Dade County jail two hours ago. His assailant was a Dominican with ties to the 8-Ball Kings. Corrections thinks it was connected to money laundering work he was doing for the gang.”

Sonny Crockett slammed his fist on his desk. “Damn it! Another lead on the Mendozas shot to hell!”

“Focus on Cruz. Jorge is making noise in the press. This case needs our full attention. Start by finding Ricky Diaz.” Turning, he stepped back into his office and closed the door. After burying another of his few friends, he wasn’t in the mood for a Crockett tirade. And they’d been wrong about things in this case already. They didn’t need to make any more mistakes.

 

“I think we should use the new boat for tonight’s run. See how she does in close to the coast.”

Enrique Mendoza nodded. “I agree. And maybe check out the new radar, too. It’s a cigar run, so we can try a few things without worrying about a timeline.”

Pasqual chuckled. “Yeah. I do want to see if the new electronics are as good as their ad copy.”

Enrique turned to look at the boat. It was all part of Miguel’s ‘next level’ idea. Faster boats with more gear and the ability to move more product. Radar meant they could spot and avoid the Coast Guard, with enough speed to outrun them if they couldn’t avoid them. Low-slung and painted a light gray to blend in with the ocean at night, she looked more like a warship than a speedboat.

“I don’t get tired of it, either.”

“What?”

“Looking at her. She’s like the woman in the bikini by the hotel pool.”

Enrique nodded. “I guess you’re right, my friend.” He looked across the boathouse. “How are the other runs going? Now that we have so many I can’t check them personally.”

“Good. Now that the stop is off we’re making up for lost time. Which means lost money.” Pasqual moved his head in the direction of two men working on one of their older boats. “Those two brought in enough last night to cover Liberty City.”

“What about South Beach?” Enrique ran his hand over his face. “Never mind. We filled it from one of the stash houses. It’s been a long couple of days.” Then he turned back toward the water. Pasqual didn’t need to know what had made those days long. At least Cash had been silenced. One less thing to weigh on his mind. And Miguel’s.

The truth was Miguel was starting to worry him. Not much, but more of a little itch in the back of his mind. He could see the logic in having their own club, and he was sure Miguel had used whatever he used to check Holly’s background. What nagged at him was Miguel had made the decision without talking to him. Of course he couldn’t complain…he’d added a club or two to their distribution routes before letting Miguel know. And his older brother had accepted the decision without complaint. ‘Just make sure the product is there and the money moves like it should’ was all he said. He couldn’t even complain about Holly; he’d been the one who’d introduced them after all.

Maybe I’m just tired. That has to be it. Between running the routes and keeping tabs on Jesus Estevez he’d been busy. Too busy, perhaps. And then there was Gustavo, bouncing around like a hyperactive puppy. Always trying to prove himself and do the impossible: move up in the family business. No, one of the many things he and Miguel agreed on was Gustavo was exactly where he should be.

“You think we should try to move some of those cigars in South Beach? Smoking illegal Cubans is all the rage with the rich white kids these days.”

Enrique laughed. Pasqual always knew how to kick him out of one of his dark moods. “Sure. Why not? Give Gustavo a few boxes and see if he can get them into The Palm. That bastard who runs the bar owes us at least that.”

“I’ll make the call. You want to see to our new lady first?” Pasqual chuckled as he turned. “Assuming your current one doesn’t get jealous.”

“No chance of that, mano. She knows her place.” But Enrique had to hold back a frown. He knew what Pasqual meant. He’d been with Tiffy longer than he’d stayed with any other woman. “Come on. We need to get moving if we want to make the drop.”

Unlike their cocaine runs, trips for cigars were more like pleasure outings. They’d cruise out, meet up with a small commercial fishing boat or sometimes a cabin cruiser holding close to one of the smaller outer islands, and then run back using the same coastlines for cover from radar. This one was no different.

Their contact was a crusty old fisherman who didn’t use many words but accepted his money and handed off the cases of cigars with admirable speed. The rendezvous was away from normal commercial shipping lanes, and also avoided normal smuggling routes. Enrique wished they could do the same thing with their cocaine cargos, but the Panamanians and others who handled those ships didn’t know the waters around Florida well enough to make it work. Pepe, on the other hand, had been fishing these waters for maybe forty years.

After the last crate was stowed, Enrique looked up at the fisherman in the fading light. “Good doing business with you. Same thing next month?”

Pepe nodded. “Sure.” His voice was raspy, like a cable running through a rusting eyehole. “We might have to move a few miles east, though.” He waved his hand in the general direction. “Saw a flashy boat like yours out this way a couple of hours ago. They made an approach, then veered off and headed south.”

Enrique felt a cold hand grip his gut. “You get a look at a name or registration?”

“Naw. They had it all covered with what looked like painter’s tape. But my deck hand thinks he’s seen the boat before. It’s got this ugly-ass green stripe painted along the hull.”

Pasqual was shifting from one foot to the other, anxious to get underway. But Enrique shook his head. “Where did he see this boat?”

Pepe sent a stream of quick Spanish at the shorter deckhand, who answered almost as quickly. “Over by Grand Bahama. We put in there to sell our catch, he went for a walk while I argued with the damned locals.” He spat over the side, careful to miss their boat. “Cheap bastards.”

“And the boat?”

“Getting to that. He said they were taking on some funny cargo. All covered up and in small boxes. Not cigars, though.” His teeth flashed in the gloom. “He knows what those look like.”

“Thanks, Pepe. We’ll keep our eyes open.” Enrique shot a meaningful look at the sky. “And you’d better get moving before the Coast Guard starts wondering where you got off to.”

“They can bite my hairy old ass.” Pepe cackled at his own words. “You two enjoy. See you next month. You can spot us on that fancy radar rig you got now.”

Once the fishing boat was out of earshot, Pasqual cleared his throat. “You think that boat means anything?”

“I don’t know. Coke smugglers gotta be as common on Grand Bahama as bikinis are during Spring Break. Funny they’d make a pass at Pepe, though. Most of them run straight through at high speed and try to avoid other boats.”

“Maybe the Columbians are sniffing around again.”

“They aren’t the only game in town now, Pasqual.” Enrique eased the throttles forward, feeling the boat surge as power hit the propulsion jets. “Any punk with a boat can get in on the action now. Just look at that guy they busted with Cash. What’s his name? Barnett?”

“Burnett, I think. Something like that. I hear his name from time to time.”

“Yeah. Small time guy with a fast boat looking to move up in the world. Hell, I might have offered him a job if he hadn’t gotten busted with Cash.” Enrique looked at the glowing controls on the boat’s instrument panel. “Check the radar. I want to make sure we’re clear before I take her in.”

“Man, this new set is good! I got Pepe’s boat moving off now. We’ll be able to pick him up easy next time. Not seeing anything else, boss.” He looked over at a slip of paper clipped next to the radar display. “Coast Guard doesn’t run through here for another couple of hours according to the latest patrol schedule. We should have plenty of time.”

“Unless they shake things up. That new commander likes to do that from what I hear.”

“I hear the same…” Pasqual’s voice trailed off. “I got something just on the edge of our range. Coming in from the east, and moving fast. It’s no cutter, though. Too small.”

Enrique nodded and shut off the boat’s navigation lights. “No sense in making it easy for whoever’s out there. Speed?”

“At least thirty knots judging from how the blip’s moving.” Pasqual hunched lower over the scope. “It’s gotta be a go-fast. Nothing else moves like that.”

Something turned in Enrique’s stomach. “What’s its heading?”

“Right for us. It might have radar, too.”

“Hang on. Let’s see what she can do. And get that rifle, ok? We might need it.” Enrique waited until Pasqual was back in the co-pilot’s chair with a stainless steel Mini-14 slung across his chest before he slammed the throttles all the way open. “And here we go!”

The twin V-8s roared, and the boat’s nose seemed to climb straight out of the water. “Holy shit!” Pasqual was grinning like a maniac as he grabbed the rail. “They did a hell of a job on those engines!”

“Worth every damned penny!” Enrique kept the boat straight, knowing any deviation risked sending them flipping end over end if the boat nosed down or hit a rogue swell. As he watched the tachometer and temp gauges continued to climb, leveling off as the boat hit its maximum speed.

Pasqual was still watching the scope. “They didn’t expect that. Idiots were trying to intercept, and now they’re in a stern chase.” He pumped his fist in the air like he’d just hit a home run. “They’re falling off, boss. No way they can keep up with this beast.”

“Keep watching them. We’ll run for a bit and then change course once they’re off radar.” He thought for a moment. It was possible there was someone else out there ahead of them. The boat was fast, but radio was always faster.

 

“There’s been a development in an old case.” Martin Castillo fixed Sonny Crockett with a stare. “The case remains with Homicide for now, but I thought you should know.”

“Know what, lieutenant? That Homicide doesn’t know what it’s doing?”

“Enough. Ballistics came back from the FBI on the Jaime Belequez case. The bullet they recovered from the victim’s head turned up a match with another Miami homicide.”

Ricardo Tubbs snorted. “What took them so long?”

“The bullet was apparently misplaced. They found it during a routine audit of the ballistics lab at Quantico.”

“Which homicide? And don’t tell me it was those Dominicans down by the waterfront.”

“No.” Castillo looked at the interoffice memo, wondering how much he should tell them. We have too many active cases now. The Cruz case may be resolved, but we still need to conduct surveillance on those gun runners. And another tip came in about a major deal in a shopping mall of all places. “The Haitians killed in Liberty City. One of them was killed with the same gun.”

“So the same .45 turns up in two drug-related homicides? I don’t like those odds.”

“They’re both still Homicide’s cases. But I thought you should know there might be a connection.”

“Yeah, unless that .45 ’s a community gun.” Rico turned to Sonny. “We saw them in New York. It’s a gun that makes the rounds, passed off from one bad guy to the next as they need it. Makes it damned near impossible to tie a single weapon to a single shooter. We had one back in the Bronx we used to call Black Maria. Cheap little Colt .38, but it was tied to six homicides and at least thirteen armed robberies.”

“So what do we do?” Crockett looked at Castillo and shrugged. “Wait for them to throw in the towel?”

“Right now we have no choice. That arms deal is still going down. We need to go over the surveillance plan again. These men are professionals. If they sense anything is off, they’ll go underground and we’ll lose our chance.”

“Yeah, but we need to push that CI in the Mendozas harder. He’s gotta give up something.” Sonny looked out the office window at Stan Switek. “He’s a cousin, after all. Not a damned errand boy. The way those guys work, they’d be giving him something to do. He’s holding out on us.”

“I’ll look into it.” Castillo kept his voice low. “You two get on that surveillance plan. Those guns cannot hit our streets.”

 

OCB moves into Child’s Play

 

“Do you think someone knew you were there?”

Enrique looked at Miguel and shrugged. “I don’t know. But if it was the same boat that shadowed Pepe, we might have a problem.”

“And you never got a look at it?”

“No. We weren’t gonna let them get that close.” Enrique thought back to their run to the coast and then his turn east and how they’d ducked in and out of the radar shadows thrown by the coastline itself and small islands. “No way I want to risk that boat for a load of cigars.”

Miguel nodded slowly. “You made the right choice as always, brother. But if someone was looking for you, how did they know where to look?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Not many of my boys knew we were making that run tonight. Pasqual of course. The guys in the boathouse, but they never left.” He shook his head as the memory floated up. “And maybe Gustavo. I think he was sneaking around when Pasqual and I were talking about it.”

“Gustavo?”

“Yeah. He likes to prowl around the boathouses looking ‘useful.’ At least that’s what he calls it.” Enrique shook his head. “He’s always trying to climb the ladder, but isn’t smart enough to see his head has already hit the ceiling. He does ok with that club in South Beach, but he’s got ambitions he can’t back up. And he likes to talk.”

“So you think he’s a problem.”

“He could be. I don’t know if he actually is, but the potential’s there.”

Enrique recognized the look on Miguel’s face. “I’ll look into it. For now, keep him on that damned club of his and away from any shipments. Maybe push him back to stealing car stereos or whatever it was he did before. And talk to your boys. See if they know anything.”

“I’ll do that. But what do you think about Pepe’s guy saying he saw the boat in Grand Bahama?”

“I don’t know. Lots of things pass through there. Some legal, some not. You say he said the numbers were taped over? That sounds like a smuggler’s trick. An old smuggler’s trick.”

Enrique nodded, remembering the stories. “You think it might be connected to Jesus?”

“I don’t know. You still drink with some of his pilots, right?”

“Sure. Sometimes, anyhow.” He shrugged. “Now with Tiffy I don’t hit those clubs like I used to.”

“I know the feeling.” Miguel smiled. “I can’t say it’s a bad thing, though.”

“You’d better sit down, brother. I agree with you.” He shook his head, a warm feeling flooding his chest as he thought of the girl. “Tiffy’s different. I can’t put words to it.”

“See if you can run into a couple of those guys. See what they know. We already know he’s trying to dance with the Columbians. Maybe he’s trying to move up again.”

“I’ll do that. And I guess you’ll be asking your mysterious questions again.”

“No mystery about it, brother. Just common sense.”

They were sitting in the study of the big house, the clock on the wall ticking away an hour while they talked. Enrique looked back at it, remembering all those nights growing up when he listened to that same damned clock. Wondering when it would be safe to come out from under the big desk and make a run for his room. Afraid of the man who now spent his days in a beach house, cowed by the authority and power of the sons he used to beat.

“I think of the same thing when I hear that clock. Sometimes I think about getting rid of it, but then I always decide to keep it. Just another sign we beat him.”

“We did, brother. Both of us.” Enrique looked at his watch. “And I’d better get back to my place before I fall asleep in this chair. I’ll let you know once I talk with a couple of Jesus’s boys.”

“Good. And go ahead and do a buy with that Peruvian you mentioned before. I want to see how it looks. And now that Cash is taken care of we can move on with business. With Frankie in custody The Palm is slowing down, but we can always move product into Brickell. Kilowatt is running again.”

The drive from the compound to his condo wasn’t long, and went faster when he stomped on the gas and let the Corvette do its thing. For some reason his thoughts kept turning back to Gustavo. In a way he hoped the kid wasn’t up to anything. He was a pain in the ass, but he was family after a fashion and useful in a way. He’d gotten them into The Palm, which was turning into a major money-maker. But he also knew the kid couldn’t keep his mouth shut and didn’t understand his ambition exceeded his ability.

Tiffy was waiting for him when he opened the condo door, stretched out on the leather couch wearing a thin silk robe and nothing else. Her blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light thrown by two wall sconces. “It’s late,” she said, letting the robe slide open. “I thought about getting dressed, but changed my mind.”

“I can see that.” He kicked the door closed and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Business took longer than I expected, and then I had to talk to Miguel.” He smiled, stepping closer. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“I know you will.” She slipped out of the robe, reaching up for him.

 

Gustavo and Jesus. Two idiots I don’t need to deal with right now. Miguel poured himself another drink the second Enrique left, sorting through things in his head. He knew Esteban was already looking into Gustavo, so there was nothing to do there but wait. Uncle Jesus was another matter entirely.

There was a time not so long ago when he’d admired the older man. Wanted nothing more than to be making cigar runs with him, in fact. It was with Jesus he’d first felt the night sea air on his face as a boat slipped through the tricky shoals along the coast, dodging a Coast Guard cutter with ease. It was all an adventure to a sixteen year old boy…one he’d hoped would never end.

But now he sat where he did, and Jesus was becoming a threat to the family business. He’d been warned once now, and still he persisted. Maybe it was time for him to meet with Jesus and lay it all out for the older man once and for all. Tell him exactly what would happen to him if he kept steering this reckless course. Jesus might know fish migration patterns, and he might know how to smuggle cigars, but he was a total novice when it came to cocaine. And novices didn’t last long in this new world.

And he knew he had to do something. With the club moving forward he couldn’t afford any distractions right now. The Palm bust had been unfortunate, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Nothing there could track back to them, since Frankie never knew where the product came from. He just sold it. But he did know Gustavo.

I never should have let that idiot come on board. But he shook his head at the same time. He might be an idiot, but he was also family. You had to give family a chance. And he’d done ok. Not spectacularly, but Miguel hadn’t expected miracles. He’d wait for Esteban to report back before making a decision.

“Is Ricky still here? I heard his car.”

Turning, he saw Holly coming into the study. She was wearing a longish t-shirt and nothing else, and her hair was still tousled from their earlier lovemaking. “No. He had to get back. I’d have had him wait but I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. But I woke up and missed you and then I heard his car.” Rubbing her eyes, she walked over and sat down on his lap. “More business?”

“Yes, but nothing important.” He smiled and kissed her neck. “I got to thinking about where to put that club and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“I think you’re more excited about it than I am.”

“No. I’m excited because you’re excited.” In truth it was a combination of both, but he figured she didn’t need to know that. “But we do need to find a property soon. Construction is prone to delay, after all.”

She sighed as he kept kissing her neck. “You know what that does to me? And yeah, I’ve looked at a couple places and have one you need to see.”

“Good. We’ll go first thing.” He reached around and touched her body. “But now I think we need to head back up to bed. Don’t you?”

 

“Come on, man. We don’t know he dropped the dime on them.”

Victor felt the anger welling up in his chest, and didn’t really try to hide it. “My ass! Who else would drop a dime on Frankie? That little bitch has been wanting in for over a year now, and with The Palm wide open he sees his chance.”

It was loud and smelly in Rizzo’s; nothing out of the ordinary for a day ending in ‘Y’ in the strip club. The annoying punk with the pink sunglasses was jabbering something over the blown PA. Victor could never follow what he said, but he’d also noticed the place was fuller when the little moron was behind the sound board. He also noticed the better-looking girls liked working his nights and shook their stuff better as well. That he did care about.

“I don’t know, man. And Lupe says we need to watch him and wait.”

“Lupe.” The name came out as a sneer. “What does that bitch know about the streets? The moves we have to make?” Victor grinned, showing big teeth. “I seen that punk Gustavo sneaking off to the payphone at The Palm. And you know he ain’t calling his lady.”

Another of his crew nodded. He could always count on Hector. “Yeah. I seen him do that, too.”

“Look, man. Esteban hasn’t forgotten about Kilowatt. Why do you think we’re still stuck swatting mosquitoes most nights? And those damned Double Treys been sniffin' around, too.”

“You worry too much, Charlie. Like a woman.” But Victor knew he was right about the Double Treys. He’d underestimated their desire for revenge.

“You want to go against Esteban, you’d better dig your grave now is all I’m saying. We got lucky with those Dominicans. And we can’t forget who Gustavo’s related to.”

That brought Victor up short. “Yeah. I ain’t forgotten he’s a Mendoza. But if we prove he’s a rat and deal with him, that’s all to the good for us.” Still, the mention of Esteban sent a chill down his spine that wouldn’t go away. For all his cool act, Victor knew Esteban was more than capable of vicious violence with no warning.

“Forget that punk, Vic! Man, look at those tits!” Hector waved his beer bottle in the direction of the second stage. “I could spend all night just doin’ them.”

“All in good time, Hector. We still got plans for this place.” At least Victor did. It felt good to stop thinking about Gustavo Mendoza and instead concentrate on Rizzo’s. He knew the rumors about Rizzo’s being connected, but he just didn’t see it. Not enough blow moved through the place, and the bouncers were strictly all meat and no brains. All he had to do was find his angle. And then he and his crew could ease out from under the thumb of Esteban and the Mendoza brothers. And maybe he’d take care of Gustavo on the way out. A parting gift of sorts.