Genesis, Part XXVIII

[Robbie C.]

The freighter’s deck was slick from the rain and ocean spray, but Enrique had no trouble finding his footing. Light shone from a handful of portholes on the superstructure, but they’re no lights on deck. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, and he shifted to give a slight nod to the Cuban. Something’s not right.

The man who’d thrown the rope was big and square. A broad chin turned dark with stubble and narrow, mean eyes dominated his face, and thick shoulders set the stage for the rest of him. “Good thing you made it, Holmes.” His deep voice was scratchy. “Weather’s taking a turn, no doubt.”

“Let’s get this done. Where’s the product? You know the drill…test and then pay.”

“Sure, Holmes.” But the man made no move. Just stood there grinning like an idiot.

“Look, Chico. My name isn’t Holmes. And I want to get off this rusty bucket of shit and back to Miami before that storm really opens up.” He could sense the Cuban moving into a different position. Slow enough you’d have to really be watching to notice. He doubted the block of muscle in front of him noticed a thing.

“Well, that’s the thing. Mister Santos, he didn’t want to send product this time. Not to you, anyhow. Says he’s got another buyer up the coast who’ll pay more. In fact, we already did that deal. But he does want the money you brought. Said he’ll make it up to you later. Says to think of it as a down payment on a bigger shipment.” The big man raised his hand, and a door on the superstructure creaked open. “Now just hand that bag over to my friend here and…”

Enrique saw the big man’s right hand coming up filled with a pistol and started his dive to the left, aiming for a stack of battered crates for cover. The boom of the Cuban’s shotgun left his ears ringing, and the big man spun away with blood spraying from his destroyed midsection. Bright orange blooms by the door showed where the second man was firing, and Enrique hoped the Cuban had taken cover as well. Then he heard high cracks from behind, and a line of sparks showed on the superstructure metal as the Cuban in the boat opened fire with his Mini-14, driving the shooter to cover.

“You ok, boss?”

“Yeah! Now let’s get the hell off this damned tub!” Enrique scrambled to his feet, feeling a sharp stab where he’d scraped his palm raw on the deck. He sent three quick shots at one of the portholes, more to hear his own pistol than anything else. A second blast boomed from the Cuban’s pistol grip pump shotgun, and he thought he heard a high scream over the gunfire. The other Cuban continued firing from the boat, his .223 slugs gouging steel and showering the deck with sparks as they ricochetted into the darkness.

The big Cuban grabbed his shoulder when they got to the rail. “Go! We got you covered!” Out of reflex Enrique flipped up the safety on his Colt and made the jump over the surging sea between the boats, slamming into the padded instrument console as he misjudged the distance. His chest was throbbing, his veins almost alive with surging adrenalin. Sending a final shotgun blast in the direction of the still-open door, the Cuban turned and made the same jump. Beside him the man with the Mini-14 continued triggering off shots, and Enrique imagined he could see glittering shell casings spinning away from the weapon with each shot.

“Cut the rope!” Flaco’s voice was high and tight. “We gotta move!”

Coming back into himself, Enrique found the knife tucked in one of the side pouches and hacked at the thick line just as the big Cuban sent another shotgun blast in the direction of the freighter. Finally it was free, the rope snapping back and up as Flaco jammed the throttles all the way open and cranked the wheel hard to port. The boat’s nose climbed in the air, the surging power slamming Enrique and the two Cubans back into the cushions as they shot away from the small freighter. Looking back, Enrique thought he saw a handful of muzzle flashes blooming along the rail and then the steamer was lost in the blackness.

 

Miguel Mendoza paced back and forth in the narrow office at the boat house. “And you’re sure Santos planned this?”

“All I know is what the dead asshole said. But he wasn’t in on it alone. The whole crew was. And they would have had my ass if it wasn’t for those Cubans of yours.”

Miguel nodded. The two men would be getting bonuses, as would Flaco. “I’m not doubting your word, Enrique. Just verifying things. I’d be willing to bet he sold our load to the Manolo cartel. Lauderdale’s their turf, and that’s north of us. I hear they’ve been taking some hits and need more product in a hurry. And we both know Santos is a greedy pig loyal only to himself. If Manolo made him a better offer, he’d take it in a second.”

“So what do we do?”

“We lure him in.” Miguel’s fury had been replaced by something else while he paced. Calculation. “Look. He doesn’t know what his men said. And I don’t think the survivors are going to tell him their guy gave the game away. So we play dumb. Say he’s got bad apples again. We play the grinning, gullible Puerto Ricans and lure him into our waters. Maybe into Miami again. And then we kill the son of a bitch.”

“You’d hit Cristobal Santos?”

“Why not? He tried to kill my brother. That cannot stand. But we need to be precise about it. What’s the word…methodical. He can’t know what’s coming, and no one around him can suspect what’s coming. But once it’s done they’ll know who did it and why. And that it will happen to them if they set foot in Miami again.”

“Isn’t he some kind of fancy international fugitive, though? Won’t that draw attention?”

“Not if this thing with Manolo and Gutierrez keeps heating up. Or if Carrera takes a hand. He might, you know. They all work the same territory, and even an old bull like him will charge if he thinks someone’s in his pasture. Plus he’s got that young wife to impress.”

“I’d forgotten about her.” Enrique scratched his chin. “Lots of things could go very wrong. You’re right about that.”

“And when lead starts to fly, it’s easy to drop another body in the mix. I’m sure Metro-Dade is watching Manolo to see what he does to retaliate for the boat.”

“To be honest I’m surprised he hasn’t.”

“Maybe he’s trying to smoke out whoever planted the bomb. Like I said, my money’s on Alejandro. He’s slippery enough to do that and then try to partner up with Manolo when he missed. Or maybe he was trying to take out the men around the king so he could take their places. Who can tell with an idiot like that?” Miguel grinned. “But once he knows for sure who planted the bomb, he’ll take action. And then it will get hot again.”

Enrique nodded, and Miguel noticed his hands were still shaking. Not much, but enough for someone who knew him well to notice. “Should we plan on a slow down again if that happens?”

“Yes. I won’t risk our people getting caught in their crossfire. I had been thinking about adding a few new customers on the sales side, but now I think we’ll wait until things settle down again. We have enough coming in off our regular sales we don’t need to expand.”

“Patience, eh?”

“Something like that. Something I think grandfather would have done. Sometimes the best action is no action. Try to add another week’s worth to our supply if you can. I suspect our Peruvian friend will be up to it. The money’s there, and I’ll make the calls. If he can double the amount of one of his regular loads we should be fine.”

“And I won’t need a second boat for that. So long as we use one of the newer ones.”

“Have you used the new one yet?” Miguel steered the conversation away from the night’s action, seeing Enrique was starting to calm down.

“No. She’s getting some work done, but I expect to have her on a run next week. The week after at the latest.”

“Good.” He reached out and squeezed Enrique’s shoulder. “We’ll get thought this, brother. We’ve seen worse times and come out on top, and we had much less then. If we had to wait a week, we’d be in trouble. Now? Now we can just sit and watch our enemies do our work for us before we start again.”

He stayed on the wide porch, watching Enrique walk to his Corvette and pull out down the long gravel drive. Normally his younger brother walked with a cocky bounce, but now he seemed reserved. Worried. He knew it would pass, but seeing it kindled his anger again. I’ll blow Santos’s pig head right off his damned shoulders. No one does that to my family. No one. He stood until the red taillights vanished into the gloom, then turned and headed back inside. At least there would be no explanations…Holly was at Shock overseeing one of her concerts. If the deal hadn’t been tonight he’d be there with her. But he’d have time to call Esteban before she got home.

“I heard about the rip,” the Cuban said as soon as he picked up the phone and heard Miguel’s voice. “My boys say Ricky did well.”

“Make sure they get bonuses. But also make sure they lay low and stay quiet about what happened. I don’t want Santos to know we know what he was trying to do.”

“You got it, boss. We’re going to hit him back.”

Miguel noticed it wasn’t a question. “Yes. But at a time of our choosing. I don’t want our people stuck in the crossfire between Manolo and whoever he decides to lash out at.”

“Good idea. There’s a lot going on out there right now. People starting to move for position, and others making sure everyone knows which side they’re on.”

“We stay above it. We’re on our side, no one else’s. We’re going to slow the runs soon. Sit back and wait for the shooting to start and maybe finish. There will be plenty of pieces to pick up.”

Esteban chuckled. “That’s no shit. My guys heard about a shootout last night just north of the Grove. Two crews opening up over two kilos.”

“That’s how it starts, my friend. How it ends we don’t know, but we can make our own ending if we keep our heads. But I want you to put some extra people on the stash houses. We might have to rely on them in another week or so, and I don’t want them exposed.”

“They won’t be.”

 

“Where are we on this?”

Ricardo Tubbs looked the notes he’d jotted while staring down at the three dead bodies laid out under a streetlight. “Intel suggests they were little fish. Working for a guy who worked for a guy who might have worked for Gutierrez. Lots of shell casings the lab says probably came from a Tech 9 or maybe an UZI. And a bit of Bolivian party powder scattered around where a bag must have taken a stray round. Oh, and a couple of twenties with bullet holes in them, too.”

“So the three are from the same crew?”

“Looks that way, lieutenant.” Stan Switek shook his head, and Rico caught a quick glimpse of bloodshot eyes. “Homicide just kicked the bodies and handed the case off the second they saw the coke, but Gangs at least ran some prints. Our dead guys all ran together. Like Rico said, guys who work for guys. One of ‘em had a rap sheet going back to the 8-Ball Kings, but Gangs said he went out on his own a couple of years ago.”

Rico sat to the right of Castillo, noticing how Stan skipped a chair before sitting down. Leaving a space for Crockett out of habit, maybe. Gina and Trudy were across the table, and for once Dibble and Gorman weren’t in the conference room. He didn’t mind…they didn’t add much to the conversation. Gorman in particular. They did run serviceable surveillance, though, which was where they were now. Trying to get a fix on Alejandro Gutierrez. He’d been something of a ghost since the boat explosion.

It was Gina who asked the question. “Any news about Sonny?”

“No.” Castillo’s voice was clipped. “The Coast Guard says there’s no more debris to be found, and the divers came up empty.”

Trudy shook her head. “You want us to try to get a fix on the other crew at that meeting?”

“Yes.” Rico thought he heard a whisper of relief in Castillo’s voice. He couldn’t blame the man. “Whoever they were, they took out three men quickly and reasonably cleanly. If they were working for Gutierrez, he’ll want to hit back. Hard. We can’t let this explode into a full-blown war.”

Back at his desk, Rico stared for a long moment at Sonny’s empty chair. “Hell, it already is a full-blown war,” he muttered, tugging at the sleeves on his suit coat. “And it’s only gonna get worse.”

“Do you think he knows anything about Sonny?”

Gina’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “No, Gina. I don’t. If he did, he’d tell us. Castillo’s like that.” He sighed. “And right now we ain’t got the time or manpower to start our own search. I got Izzy and Noogie sniffing around, but Noogie’s acting kinda strange even for him and Izzy…this ain’t his game. You just say the name Manolo and I think the chump wets himself. But we’re doing what we can.”

“I know. I just keep thinking…”

“There’s nothing more we can do.” Rico didn’t mention the times he’d driven by the marina, partly to make sure Elvis still had tuna or kibble but mostly to see if anyone had been by the boat. The old fart who looked after the place was also seeing to feeding Elvis, and he kept a weather eye on the boat as well. “Ain’t seen your friend around for a spell,” he’d said the last time Rico dropped by. “I got that card an’ I’ll call first thing if I do, though. He’s a good guy, if a little wild.”

Across the squad room Stan slammed down the phone with a curse. “And we got another one. Dead body just inside Overtown. Call of lots of shots fired, and in that neighborhood for someone to call you know it had to be a division’s worth of shooting.”

“I got it.” Straightening his tie, Rico swung his feet off his desk and reached for the Caddy keys. “Anyone want to ride along?”

“I’ll go.” Trudy smiled. “I still know some cats in that part of town. Might be able to shake a couple of words loose if Patrol hasn’t scared ‘em all off already.”

Rico swung the Caddy into a spot a quarter of a block from the two patrol cars. “Looks like they’re traveling light,” he said, nodding toward the three uniforms clustered around what he assumed was the body. Someone had strung crime scene tape around the area, using a light post, a broken parking meter, and one of the patrol cars as anchor points.

“Metro-Dade doesn’t come down this way much. Never have.”

“Yeah. NYPD was like that where I grew up, too.” He flashed his badge at one of the uniforms. “Tubbs. OCB. What do we have?”

The patrolman was young, likely a few weeks out of the academy at best, and had the pale cheeks of someone who’d just seen his first dead body. “Guy took two in the chest. At least that’s what my FTO says. I think he might have been a corner dealer. One of the ones who holds product for the younger ones.”

“Solid.” Rico gave him a quick smile before turning to the older cop with two stripes on his shoulder. “You know this cat?”

“Goes by Tricky. Don’t ask me the fuck why.” The older cop, with eyes that had seen way too much too soon, gave a dry chuckle. “Like the kid said, he holds product for other dealers.”

“He independent?”

“No way. I think he carries…I mean carried…water for the Manolo cartel.”

“It’s starting already.” Trudy looked from Rico to the body sprawled halfway across the curb.

Nodding, Rico crouched to examine the body. “Two in the chest. No doubt about that. Don’t see any sign of lots of shots being fired, though.”

The older cop grunted. “That would be Tricky’s ride. They dumped about twenty rounds into it.” He pointed toward a Monte Carlo with its windshield and passenger side windows shot to hell and a constellation of bullet holes pocking the door and rear quarter panel.

Trudy walked over to the car. “I’d say they hit him first and then shot up his ride. Question is why.”

“A message. Just showing how much firepower they’ve got.” Rico straightened up and scratched a few lines in a pocket notebook. “Seems pretty restrained for Gutierrez, though. If this is payback for the hit earlier.”

“I don’t know, Rico. This guy’s higher up on the food chain than those punks who got hit earlier.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s true enough.” He looked around. “Anyone stop to watch the show?”

“Nope.” The older cop shook his head. “They all scattered as soon as we rolled up. I’d bet it was the shooters who made the call.”

“Probably. No point in payback without an audience.” Rico looked over at Trudy. “Anything you want to check on, partner?”

“No. Looks like the ME’s here, and that means crime scene isn’t far behind. They’ll send his effects over. We should check the car, though.”

“Solid.” He turned to the uniforms. “Extend the crime scene to include the car.” Why they didn’t do that when they rolled up is something I’ll never understand.

Back at OCB, Rico laid out twenty pre-packaged bindles of cocaine. “All set for quick sale, lieutenant. We tested one, and it came back 75% pure. That’s pure gold for Overtown.”

“We also ran the punk’s street name.” Trudy walked to the white board in the conference room and stuck up a blown-up mug shot. “Say hello to Trevarious Johnston. The late and maybe unlamented Tricky. His rap sheet went back to when he was fifteen, mostly narcotics with the occasional assault mixed in to keep it real.”

“It looks like he started dealing for Manolo about a year ago. Started in Little Haiti and then moved back home. Narcotics thinks he’s got a crew of about ten smaller pushers moving product for him, but that number’s not solid.” Rico paused. “But his relationship with Miguel Manolo is. They’ve got surveillance photos of the two of them. Not enough for any kind of warrant, but enough to show the connection.”

“Stay on it. Manolo will hit back, and hit hard. Anything on the weapon?”

Rico shoot his head. “The lab says 9mm, but it could have been a handgun. They didn’t find any shell casings on the scene, so they think the shooter or shooters might have been in a car.” He paused. “Or they were careful and picked up their casings.”

“Does Gutierrez favor any shooters?”

Rico smiled. He’d anticipated the question and pulled some files. “Not really, lieutenant. Seems like he goes with whoever’s handy. But he likes to contract out. That way nothing comes back on him or his people.”

“Stay on it.” Castillo didn’t look up. “And keep me informed.”

The sun had started to slip below the horizon when Rico tossed the Herald on a small table next to his chair with a snort. “Blood in the streets.” He glared at the front page. “Damned thing coulda come from the Post. Don’t expect to see that here.”

He looked around his smallish apartment, the latest in a string of places he’d lived as part of his many covers. It was better than the hotel by the airport he’d been stuck in during his first weeks in Miami, but how much better was still an open question. At least he could see the lights from here. It wasn’t New York, but it was a city. He drew some comfort from that.

He also couldn’t really argue with the paper. There was a war coming, and it was going to be as nasty as the Revillas cleaning house. Miguel Manolo wasn’t known up in Lauderdale for his patience when it came to rivals. Gutierrez was still something of an unknown, and Rico wasn’t even sure if he had real control over his own people. “Gotta be doing something right, though,” he muttered, getting up and walking into the small kitchen. “Otherwise we would have found him floating in a canal with a couple of bullets in his head.”

As he poured a glass of orange juice, his mind wandered back to Sonny. The only body the Coast Guard hadn’t recovered from the boat. He’d seen the statements. There had been a charter fishing boat about a quarter of a mile away, and the captain swore he’d seen a small boat speeding away from the bigger one just before it went up. Rico figured that would have been Gutierrez, scurrying away like a rat before the cheese exploded. But had Sonny been on board? And if not, had he gotten away in time?

Sonny’s got more lives than three damned cats. If anyone could get away from that mess, it’s him. But that raised another question…if Sonny had gotten off the boat in time, where was he? Taking a sip of juice, Rico rolled the question around in his head. Sonny’s penchant for going off on his own was doing him no favors now. Granted it had only been a few days since the explosion, and if he’d been hurt he might be in some underground clinic. A check of the legit hospitals had come up empty, but Rico knew if Sonny was holding to his cover he wouldn’t go to a hospital.

But why stick to the cover? It was a question Rico couldn’t answer. No matter how many times he chased it around. Maybe he’d been fished out of the water unconscious by Gutierrez for whatever reason, and was lying in some illegal clinic still unconscious. Between getting shot, Caitlin, and the business with Angel Connor, Sonny had been through a lot. Maybe too much. It was something Rico couldn’t discount, even if others did.

“Where the hell are you, partner?” he whispered to the gathering night beyond his apartment window. “You gotta let us know if you’re ok. Hell, let me know you’re ok. Cause I ain’t gonna stop looking until I find something.”

 

“I apologize again for the actions of that bastard. You be sure it was not at my orders.”

Miguel Mendoza bit back a snort as he listened to Cristobal Santos jabbering away on the other end of the international call. “Of course not. It’s what happens when you can’t oversee important transactions yourself. Things sometimes get out of hand.”

“I’m glad you understand.” There was a pause, and then Santos started fishing. “I hear things are heating up in Miami.”

“Not from where we sit. Our business is doing just fine. There might be some trouble between two interlopers from Lauderdale, but nothing more.”

“So you don’t view them as a threat?”

“No. Not in the least. Our position is secure, and we have more than enough resources to defend what’s ours. If one of them tries to cut in, they’ll discover that in short order.” He paused, then decided to push things. The smugness in Santos’s voice irritated him. “And in times like this, we remember our friends and our enemies. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course. It’s what men do.” But Miguel heard a trace of doubt over the crackling international connection. “And since we’re friends I understand your position.”

“Good. These can be confusing times. People are always moving to take more than they can control. And it will only get worse if the Carrera cartel decides to take a hand. It’s always possible. The old man is very proud and territorial. A dangerous combination. Especially when Manolo’s bumping up against areas he considers his own.”

“So this could become a three-way conflict?”

“Or more. The Hermanos brothers are small time, but they’re always eager to get in on a fight. The Boroscos are a bit more cautious, but they’ve been inching toward Lauderdale and might see this as an opportunity.” Miguel had no idea if the smaller groups were considering anything of the sort, but he couldn’t pass up a chance to muddy Santos’s view of the situation.

When he finally hung up, he looked across the desk at a grinning Esteban. “I couldn’t resist.”

“I don’t blame you. I’ll bet that pig is running to his people now demanding everything they have on the Hermanos brothers. He’s an idiot.”

“Yes, but still a dangerous one.” Miguel waved his hand toward the paper on his desk. “I see it’s starting already.”

“Yes. So far they’re one apiece, but I think the blow to Manolo was more severe. I also don’t think Gutierrez was behind it.”

“Really?”

“It was too clean. Far too clean. Alejandro is more a bomb in the car trunk kind of guy. That and my source tells me the police found the product in the car packaged for sale. Gutierrez wouldn’t leave that behind. It wasn’t much, but it’s still something he could use to turn a profit.”

“So who do you think did this?”

“I actually think it might have been the Boroscos. It’s in an area they claim as their own, and this guy hadn’t been working it for more than a couple of months. Maybe they warned him off, then decided to send a stronger message when he ignored them.” He shrugged. “It might also have been ambitious locals. Overtown has its share of gangs, and they might resent someone from Lauderdale trying to get in on the action.” He smiled. “But the police seem convinced it’s tied to Gutierrez. Who am I to disagree with the great minds at Metro-Dade?” Then his face changed. “There is one thing, though…”

“What is it?”

“I keep hearing rumors about Burnett. That he’s still alive. And working for Manolo.”

“Are they reliable sources?”

“Reasonably. One’s a mid-level dealer, but the other has done security for Manolo at that damned chicken coop he keeps.”

“Keep on it. If he’s still alive we need to know.” Miguel stared at the wall clock, listening to the ticking in the quiet room. “He’s a bigger threat that they understand. Don’t ask me how I know.”

“I get the same feeling from him. Anyone who could do what he’s done is dangerous.” Esteban got to his feet. “You’ll know as soon as I learn anything new, jefe.”