Genesis, Part XXIII

[Robbie C.]

“It’s not good enough. You’re going to have to give us more if you want those charges to go away.” Martin Castillo scribbled a note in the open case file on his desk as Gustavo Mendoza’s voice filled his ear through the receiver. “No. You need to put them with the drugs. Not keep telling stories about how you heard someone say something. That isn’t good enough.”

“Look, man. I…”

“I’ll say this once. If you don’t give us something soon, we will hand your file over to Robbery and let things take their course. I’d rather not do that, Gustavo, but you don’t leave me with much choice.”

The whining continued, and Castillo tried to tune it out. He hated dealing with CIs. It never felt right, cutting one man a deal so you could send another to prison, but he knew it was a necessary evil. The only way to get some of these people was to have someone on the inside, and it was rare they’d give up what they knew without something in return. He didn’t like it because it reminded him of his time with CIA.

Gustavo’s voice changed pitch. “Look. Can I talk to Stan?”

“No. You deal with me now.” He’d taken Gustavo because Switek was stretched too thin with the gun runner surveillance. And he didn’t want to let Crockett near their only line on the Mendoza brothers. “So far you’ve given us nothing. We’ve been patient, but there are others above me who want results. And they are not patient.”

It went on for a few more minutes, but Castillo only added a few words to his notes. When he hung up Gustavo’s promises to try harder, to get them something they could use, still rang in his ears.

“Did he give you anything?”

Castillo looked at Gina Calabrese, sitting across from him. “No. He did not. He says he will.”

“And you don’t believe him.”

“No. I believe he’ll try. He’s scared. But he’s also loyal to his family. He’ll try to give us someone close to them, but also someone who can’t hurt them. I don’t think he knows who that is, though.”

“Maybe if Sonny tried…”

“No.” Castillo didn’t want to think about Crockett’s record with CIs. “Maybe you and Trudy can talk to Moreno. He was involved in the original sting. He might know something.”

“Noogie was in on that, too.”

“Crockett and Tubbs are working with him on the possible situation at Rizzo’s.”

Gina nodded. “The guy who claims he’s an enforcer for the Mendozas. I remember.” She got to her feet. “I’ll let Trudy know, lieutenant. At least Izzy’s always good for a laugh.”

“Just be ready for the operation tonight. We can’t let those guns hit the streets.”

 

Enrique Mendoza looked at the assembled faces in the boat house. “So we’re on for tonight. This is a first meeting, so I want everyone on their toes.” He picked out the Cubans. “We’ll be using two boats, and I want two guards with me. It’s just a short run up the coast to one of those old fishing docks, but you know our business…”

The main Cuban, a big man of few words who called himself Chi Chi, grinned. “No problem, boss. Felix and I will be ready.”

“Good. Now this guy’s a Peruvian, not one of those bloodsucking Columbians. Word is he cuts a tough deal, but he’s a straight shooter. Hasn’t tried to rip anyone, but there’s always a first time, right? So be careful.”

“Why the second boat, boss?”

Enrique grinned. “Something I want to try. Tino, you’ll be taking the second boat and staying a bit behind us. Close enough for radar and radio, but not easy to see. Chi Chi will pick a team to go with you. You’re our cavalry.” He grinned again. “If anything blows up, you come in and save the day. I don’t think this guy would expect something like that.”

Pasqual whistled. “I know I wouldn’t expect something like that.”

“Where do you want me?”

Enrique picked out Gustavo. “Back at The Palm. With Frankie still locked up, we need someone we can trust watching the place. Don’t look so down. It’s an important job. Getting product in is only half the job. It has to move once it’s here or it’s no good to us at all.” He caught Pasqual’s eye and saw the man shrug. But what can I do? He’s family, even if he is an idiot.

They idled out of the boat house once the sun died below the western horizon, red and green navigation lights blinking on the new boat. After the deal with Pepe, Enrique had adopted it as his own. It wasn’t much of a run to the buy location, and he kept the engine low so his chase boat could keep up without drawing attention. At least the Peruvian had wanted to do this first deal on land. It made coordination easier.

Chi Chil checked the duffle bag of cash again, nodding to himself as he did. Enrique didn’t know where Miguel got his muscle, and for the hundredth time told himself he didn’t care. They were mostly top-notch, with the exception of an idiot called Victor and his crew of half-wits. But so long as they were at the third boat house he didn’t care. All he cared about right now was securing a new line of supply for the family business.

 

Gustavo Mendoza waited until he was safe in his Camero heading back into Miami before letting out a long string of curses. “Watch The Palm! What am I, a fucking babysitter? Frankie got his own dumb ass busted. Why they gotta come down on me for that?” Still rattled from talking to the cold cop on the phone, he decided he was glad they’d decided not to take him on the buy. He wasn’t sure if he could keep his cool.

Some days he wished he’d just taken his lumps. Gone down for the stereos and done his time. But then he thought about prison and knew he wouldn’t make it. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. All he’d wanted was to make enough of a name for himself and be noticed by his cousins. Now…

He had no doubt the man he talked to earlier meant what he’d said. Stan he could hold at arm’s length, pacify with a few modified stories about deals he’d been in on or things he’d overheard. But this new one…it was like he could see you through the telephone. But even with that, he wasn’t going to give up Enrique. “Too damned obvious,” he muttered as he took the exit leading to South Beach. “I’m the only one not there and he gets busted? No. Sure way to get whacked. Gotta find something else to give him.”

The Palm was packed, the line at the door stretching halfway down the block. It had been like that ever since Frankie got busted. Gustavo couldn’t figure it out. Personally he’d stay well clear of a club that had just been the target of a major Metro-Dade bust, but what did he know? Maybe they were hoping to see someone else get arrested, or they just figured the cops would stay away now that they’d taken their ‘bite out of crime’ or something. All he knew was profits were up. Both at the bar and in the bathroom stalls where the deals went down.

The doorman nodded and let him through, silencing curses from people still waiting with a glare. Gustavo took a second to let his eyes adjust to the pulsing strobes from the dance floor before heading to the far end of the long, plexiglass-fronted bar. “Hey, Donnie. How’s it hanging, man?”

“Long and loose, bro.” Donnie was The Palm’s main dealer now that Frankie was on vacation. A tall Black man with a loose ‘fro and dark eyes, he looked more like a pimp from “Starsky and Hutch”’s casting than a dealer. To Gustavo that was part of his charm. “You got more of the good stuff comin’ in?”

“That’s what they tell me, man. You know me. I’m into sales, not transportation.” He looked around the club again. “How’s it been tonight?”

“Damned busy. I got people workin’ anyplace you can do a deal, and they’re tellin’ me they need more product.”

“Seriously? Man, it’s only ten.”

“Partying ain’t no nine-to-five gig, Gus. You know that.” Donnie leaded down and smiled. “Any chance you can scare up some more party favors?”

Gustavo sighed. “I’ll make a call, but I can’t promise anything.” Stepping back, he headed for the entryway and the pay phone. That was one of Miguel’s rules: always use payphones to call for delivery. His other rule was to always have change for those phones. Digging through his pockets, Gustavo fed in a quarter and punched in numbers.

“Yeah?”

He recognized the voice. “It’s Gus. I need a small package at The Palm in half an hour.”

“No problem.” The was a pause. “Usual cut?”

“Sure. Just make it quick. It goes to Donnie.” Gustavo hung up and headed back to Donnie. “I got you a couple ounces coming in half an hour. It’s the 70% cut, but you gotta make do. Times are tough.”

“Hell, these fools ain’t gonna notice so long as it’s not pure baking soda.” Donnie clapped him on the shoulder with a huge hand. “I pay you?”

“Nope. It’s like pizza. Pay the delivery guy. And don’t forget to tip.” Gustavo grinned to show he was joking, then moved down the bar to order a beer. He wanted to remove himself at least a bit from the scene of the deal. Just in case. He looked around. Place is damned busy like he said. And some of those ladies… Entranced by a slim girl who might have been Cuban doing some exotic moves on the dance floor, he didn’t notice someone else heading for the payphone.

 

Victor smiled as he hung up the phone. “I told you leaving someone in that damned club would pay off. Julio just saw that puto make a phone call.”

“So what?” Charlie took a deep drag on his cigarette, sending the smoke out the open window of the boathouse. “Maybe he’s ordering in more product. Or a hooker for later.”

“And you think he’d use a pay phone for that?”

Charlie nodded. “You forget the orders? Boss says we always use pay phones for business.”

Victor felt his shoulders sag. He knew Charlie was right, but he also couldn’t put down his own suspicions about Gustavo. Or his desire to get back in the good graces of Miguel Mendoza. No matter what it took. If he impressed the boss, Esteban would have to take notice. “So who’d he call, genius?”

“You know who I think he called. One of the stash houses for more product or a hooker. Come on, Vic, none of us like the asshole, but that don’t mean…”

“It means what I say it means!” Victor slammed his hand down on the table, making empty beer bottles jump. “Look, Chi Chi said the punk was supposed to go on some buy tonight, but he shows up at the club instead makin' phone calls. What does that look like to you? To me it looks like a freakin’ rat.”

“Maybe there was a change in plans.”

“Or maybe our rat saw a chance to get himself some good cheese. You really think they’d put Gustavo in charge of product for a place like The Palm?”

“Someone’s gotta do it is all I’m saying.”

“All I’m saying is anything bad happens tonight, we know who the damned rat is who squeaked to the cops.” Thoughts were starting to come together in his head, and he smiled again. “Look. If we have to handle it, we set it up so someone else takes the fall. Hector, you still got that Browning Hi-Power?”

Hector nodded. “Yeah. Don’t carry it, though.”

“Keep it close, mano. We might need it.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “What you got in mind?”

“Look, we have to take out a rat, best to make sure some other cat gets the blame, right? We always use Colts. It’s like…our sign or something. Those Dominicans, the Columbians, they all use 9s, right? So if we drop a rat with a 9…”

“Someone else gets the blame.” Charlie smiled, but Victor could see his eyes were still working. “It’s a nice plan, Vic. Good way to get the cops chasing their tails.”

 

Enrique was still smiling when they let the boat drift into the shelter of the boat house. Sitting beside him, Pasqual grinned. “Went like a dream, boss.”

“Yeah. I think this is a guy we can do business with.” He thought back to the test kit results. “Product is good, he’s not a nutjob with a stupid nickname, and most importantly he’s not some Bolivian who used to be a cop.”

“Does this mean we’ll dump The Bat?”

“Naw. I think we’ll still do business with him. He’s dependable if nothing else.” Enrique scratched his chin. Good for filling in the gaps between bigger loads. And if this guy can move as much product as he claims… “Look, you mind seeing to the boat? I need to make a call.”

Miguel’s voice was guarded on the phone, so he guessed Holly was somewhere close by. “And the samples?”

“High-grade, brother. I tested each kilo, and they were all 85% pure. At least. And he says he can move at least a hundred of the same every two weeks or so. If we alternate that with what we get from The Bat…”

“Good old Oswaldo.” Miguel chuckled.

“Yes. And if we stagger them, we might not need our Bolivian friend any more.”

“That will require some handling.”

“I know, brother. I’m just telling you what I saw tonight. This Peruvian, he’s professional and discrete. Had just enough men with him to show he meant business, but not enough to threaten. He said he’s looking to deal with us because he’s tired of Columbians trying to rip him off. He also said he’s heard of our reputation. That we’re dependable.”

“Good. I trust your judgement in this, Enrique.” There was a pause. “Holly wants me to say hello.”

“Tell her I said hello as well.” Enrique smiled. I was right. And this thing is getting serious. “Look, I’ll finish up here and maybe we can meet tomorrow morning and go over the details. Pasqual will take the merchandise to one of our warehouses.”

“Sounds like the boss is pleased.”

“He is.” Enrique hung up and looked over at Pasqual. “Take the product to the stash house in the Gables. And use the Mercedes, ok? We don’t want to attract any attention.”

“That’s Domingo’s house, right?” Pasqual hefted the gym bag. “He’s usually pretty low key.”

“It is. Tell him he can cut that powder a bit, but nothing below seventy percent. I’d like to move it in Brickell if we can, but if not it can go to Liberty City and maybe Little Haiti.”

“You sure you want to mess with them?”

“We can always sell it to people who want to mess with them.” Enrique chuckled. “Friends of friends and all that.”

“Sure. And they aren’t as riled up as the Dominicans are now in any case. At least not about us.”

Once Pasqual was gone, Enrique sank back in the office chair and looked through the open door at the boat. At his boat. He was honest enough to admit his own vanity there. She’d done well on her first two runs, and he was starting to see the low-slung beast as something of a lucky charm. But something Pasqual had said wasn’t willing to go away. The Dominicans. How long would they keep sniffing around what had happened at Kilowatt? And how long would that moron Victor keep quiet and behave himself?

Sighing, he leaned forward. It was easy to understand why Miguel was frustrated. They were so close, and each time some little asshole popped up and created a problem. And this time it was one of their own. Or maybe two if you counted Uncle Jesus. He’d almost forgotten about the old man in his happiness about the Peruvian deal and annoyance at Victor. But he was still there, like some ghost from the past. Always overreaching.

 

“Can you believe that shit?” Hector pointed with his beer glass at one of the televisions above the bar. “Some damned cop shot a kid.”

“So what else is new?” Victor gave the screen a passing glance. His thoughts were elsewhere. “Probably some punk from Overtown who was trying to be a big shot.”

“I don’t know. You’re right about it being a black kid. They got some preacher on there now beating his gums.”

Victor nodded, more to shut Hector up than to show he was paying attention. It had been two days since they’d seen Gustavo making his call, and nothing had happened. Of course, the shooting and all the press coverage had Metro-Dade distracted. Maybe they were sitting on whatever their little rat had told them until after the smoke cleared.

“Can you believe they ain’t giving the cop’s name? Something about him being a detective.”

“You know what, Hector? I don’t much care. Just means there’s one less punk kid out there tryin’ to take shots at us or cut in on our business.” Victor grinned. “Dude might have done us a favor.”

“Maybe. I guess that makes sense. But with them all fired up and all…”

“Means they aren’t looking at us. Cops are busy circling the wagons and covering their asses. Means we get some breathing room.” Victor took another drink of his beer. Aces wasn’t his kind of place, but it was off their beaten path and close enough to Wynwood they could blend in and speak Spanish without drawing much attention. And unlike Little Havana there was almost no chance of running into anyone who’d been through the camps in the swamps. “Maybe make some moves to get us out of that damned swamp.”

“I can see that.” Hector finished his beer and waved for another. “But why send Charlie over to Rizzo’s?”

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on things, and after you got into it with that bouncer I figured you should stay away for a couple days.” Plus he’d wanted to get Hector alone, but the big guy didn’t need to know that. “Charlie’s good at seeing stuff and not being seen. We gotta get a better feel for that place before we lean on it.”

“Yeah. Did Esteban say it was ok?”

Victor shook his head. “Not yet. I wanna get a good plan going before I take it to him. That way he can’t say we’re just idiots wasting our time.”

Hector nodded, sipping his fresh beer. “I been thinking. I think you’re right about that punk Gustavo. Cousin of the bosses or not, he’s a pain in the ass and don’t know when to keep his mouth shut. And he was always goin’ on about Frankie.”

“Damned right.” Victor didn’t know one way or the other, but he could tell Hector had convinced himself it was true. And maybe that was enough. Lies became true if you repeated them enough, and only a few people needed to believe it in any case.

“You think he knows about our plan with Rizzo’s?”

“He could. He’s down there enough he might have seen us.”

“You think that’s how the cops got onto that guy?”

“Cash? Naw. I think the damned Dominicans screwed that one up somehow. But I still don’t like Gustavo creepin’ around like he does. Makes me nervous.”

“Julio said anything new?”

Victor thought back to the man he’d left in The Palm. “Not yet. Said Gustavo wasn’t in last night, but that’s it. His pet dealer was, but he’s there damned near every night. I’ve got Julio there tonight, though. Just in case.”

“What if Esteban has something for us to do?”

“He won’t. Man, we’re on ice. Like frozen. All because of those damned Dominicans! Like we’re just supposed to let them cut in on Kilowatt.”

“How did those guys get into Brickell anyhow? It’s not their turf.”

“I don’t know. Maybe someone whispered in their ears that it was ripe for the taking.”

“You don’t think he’d…”

“Naw. Gustavo don’t know any of the Double Treys.” But Victor felt his mind starting to work on the problem. He didn’t really know who Gustavo knew or didn’t know. All he really knew was that the kid had been boosting car stereos before getting his in with his cousins. Maybe there was something there. Finishing his beer, Victor pushed back from the bar. He had an idea where to start asking. But he also wasn’t sure if he cared. It all depended on what Julio had to say.

 

The smell of antiseptic was enough to make his lungs close up, but Sonny Crockett didn’t move. He just sat unmoving in the chair, watching the machines around the bed flash and make an assortment of noises. Doing what they could to keep the boy alive. At least he knew his real name now: Gordon Cavis. The whole Jeffrey McAllister thing had been a lie…just like so much of this case.

He looked over, seeing the bandages over the boy’s eyes and the tubes pushing air into his lungs and keeping him alive. It was easy to see Billy in that same bed, but he was also seeing other faces…other bodies. People he’d killed as surely as if he’d shot them himself. Evan Freed. Barbara Carrow. Eddie Rivera. And Larry Zito. There were others, scattered in the backtrail of his career in law enforcement, but those were the ones he saw in that bed. Larry and Eddie most of all.

He wasn’t sure how they’d all gotten tied to the guilt he felt for the boy. Like he’d told anyone who would listen, and quite a few who wouldn’t, it was his gun. His bullet. And he couldn’t pull it back in the barrel. But the others…he’d killed them without squeezing a trigger. And when he was honest with himself he knew Cavis would have shot him without a second thought. But Eddie and Larry had trusted him…and he’d put them both in the ground.

Sighing, Sonny looked over at the quiet body in the bed. Alive yet not at the same time. At least there was brain activity. A chance he could wake up and live again. The others Sonny carried inside himself weren’t so lucky.

Then the anger came back. He had to do something. Make someone pay for what had happened. Maybe the people who were still lying about who the boy was. Stealing his name to hide their own actions. He knew they’d get Holiday. Castillo was all over him. And maybe McAllister as well. But he wasn’t sure if they’d pay. Really pay.

He clenched his fist hard, feeling his fingernails dig into the fleshy palm of his hand. They’d probably slide away like that punk Glantz. At least he’d been able to give the slimy bastard the beating he deserved…slapping him like a bitch across the alley behind his studio. It tamed the anger for a time, or maybe had only added to it. He couldn’t say for sure. Especially not now, looking over at the boy in a coma being kept alive by an assortment of flimsy machines.

“Sonny?” Rico stuck his head through the room door. “Come on, partner. We gotta get rolling. Castillo just called. They got a lead on those guns.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” Sonny forced himself to his feet, looking down at the boy one last time. Then he turned and walked away, trying to leave as much of his guilt and anger in the chair as he could. But it didn’t work. When he closed his eyes he could still see Larry and Eddie looking at him.

 

Miguel looked at the map and nodded. “It looks perfect. Right on the edge of everything, but still far enough out to feel secluded if that’s what we want. What did you say it is now?”

Holly smiled. “It’s an Italian restaurant. A failing Italian restaurant. The original owner died a year ago, and his two kids and the wife have been fighting over it ever since. They change the menu almost every week, and from what I hear most of their regulars don’t go there anymore.”

“Is there enough room for what you think we should do?”

“Yes. If we buy the gallery next door. It’s been closed for six months, and on its own it’s too small to be used for anything else.” She flipped to the next page in the booklet of maps. “But if you take out the wall…”

Miguel nodded, enjoying listening to her talk and the view down her loose top. He’d gone over the numbers the night before, and everything lined up perfectly. Another instance where the business degree proved useful. It let him make sure she knew what she was doing without being obvious about it.

“…and I think if we make a reasonable offer they’ll sell to us. The gallery’s been foreclosed on, so that’s even cheaper.”

“Good. Did you want to handle the purchases?”

She looked up at him, her eyes bright. “I can work with the bank for the gallery. But it might be better if you went after the restaurant. The family’s…”

“Old fashioned. I know the type.” He smiled, thinking of his father and Uncle Jesus. Old men who need to be reminded their time has passed. “I see their information here. I’ll start making some calls. Let me know what you need to close on the gallery and you’ll have it.”

“I’ll call you this afternoon. I’ve got an appointment with the bank in a couple of hours.”

He chuckled, reaching out and touching her face. “You were confident I’d say yes.”

“Well…I hoped you would. There are a couple of other possible locations, but this one really does what you said you wanted.”

He nodded, looking at the street map again. It was a fantastic site, good enough he wondered why someone else hadn’t snapped it up yet. Maybe the family was asking too much for the space, or potential buyers might have fixated on it continuing to be a restaurant. He figured they’d keep some of the equipment, since he planned on the club having at least some food, but that was it. And there was one other thing…the place already had a liquor license. Easy to transfer when you knew the right people, like he did from the distributorship, and he’d pay extra to get it.

He wondered if Newton Blade had any idea what he’d started. Somehow he doubted it. The big man was still chugging around in the Caribbean according to Otis Forsythe, shifting his money to stay one step ahead of the IRS and afraid to come back to Miami. ‘He did so love playing with fire,’ the older man had said with one of his trademark chuckles. ‘I guess it finally burned those big hands of his.’

Maybe Blade had gotten greedy, but the idea of a club was a good one. They dealt mainly in cash, and with artist bookings and other assorted events you could move an unimaginable amount of money through one without leaving much of a trail. The club would allow him to cut ties with Blade, reduce by almost three quarters what he funneled through Jesus, and make the operation as close to self-sufficient as he could. Another club or small restaurant and he could cut out Jesus entirely.

“Miguel?”

“I’m sorry, honey. I was thinking about how we could combine the gallery and the restaurant.” He smiled to cover his embarrassment. “Did you need something?”

“Well…we have an hour before I need to start getting ready…” She gave him one of her bashful smiles and let her top slide off her shoulders. “Maybe we…”

He cleared the plans off the desk with a single motion. She started to giggle, and then he leaned across and kissed her, letting his arms slide around her upper body. She was right about another thing…they had plenty of time.