Genesis, Part XXIII

[Robbie C.]

September 1989

 

“Crockett and Tubbs have both resigned from Metro-Dade. They’re gone. And nothing will change that.” Martin Castillo looked around the conference room, holding the gaze of each of his remaining detectives for a moment before moving to the next. “I understand this is hard, but we have jobs to do. Their departure has made that difficult, but not impossible. I will not be seeking replacements for them. We don’t have time to bring anyone new up to speed on our cases.”

Stanley Switek snorted. “So they bail and leave us to clean up the mess.”

“Enough. I know you and Crockett had issues. He’s gone now. I need you here and working.”

“Sorry, lieutenant. It won’t happen again.”

Castillo held his gaze for a long minute. He couldn’t really blame Switek for feeling the way he did, and in some ways he was right. Crockett and Tubbs had taken what many considered the easy way out…dropping their badges and walking. Switek could have done the same, but instead he stuck it out, dealing with the suspension and Internal Affairs sniffing around his every movement. But that didn’t change the fact that the Job still needed to get done. “I want each of you to review your ongoing cases. Anything that isn’t top priority will be handed off to another unit. That includes the mayor’s hooker stings.”

Gorman chuckled. “Man, that was something I was lookin’ forward to.”

“We won’t be wasting our time on them. Not this year. I want this unit working one or two high priority cases. Cases that will make a difference, not just headlines. Am I clear?”

Trudy Joplin cleared her throat. “What about the Mendozas, lieutenant? We still don’t have a clear picture of what they’re up to, but they keep coming up any time we meet with our CIs.”

“Stay on them. They’re one of the few intact cartels still operating in Miami.” In spite of himself Castillo almost smiled. “Crockett did a good job shattering three of them when he was Burnett.”

Trudy nodded. “We got a bunch of little fish out there and one shark still swimming.”

“We might need a bigger boat.” Stan chucked, then shook his head. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

“No. You’re right, Switek. We will need more than we have to bring them down. Both resources and manpower. Still, we do what we can with what we have.” He looked around the table. “Gorman, Dibble, I want you working your CIs in Little Haiti and Liberty City. Especially Liberty City. They hear things, and we need to know what they’re hearing. Gina, Trudy, stick with the clubs in South Beach. Crockett seemed to think Miguel Mendoza was up to something there, and I believe he might have been right. We need to know what it is. Switek, start planning wiretaps. What warrants you’ll need. I’ll get what I can. We have to get inside their communications. Hear what they’re doing.”

“You got it, lieutenant. The hard one’s gonna be that club of theirs.”

“The Palm?”

“No. Shock.” Stan looked around. “I know they don’t move coke through it or anything like that, and there’s no Mendoza on the paperwork anywhere. But the owner? Holly Miller. She’s Miguel Mendoza’s lady. The place is technically clean as a whistle, so…”

“You think they run their planning through it.”

“Money, too.” Trudy smiled. “I follow Miami Nightlife a bit. Shock is one of the highest grossing clubs in South Beach. Has been almost since it opened.”

“Gina, Trudy. Dig into that club. You’ll be working South Beach as a whole, but focus on it. I want to know if Switek’s right about the connection with the Mendozas, and if the place is really clean.”

Dibble looked at his cuticles. “It is, lieutenant. Maybe some freelance blow in there now and again, but that’s it. Club security actually tosses dealers out on their asses. It’s one of the few places in South Beach that does that. One of my buddies in Patrol used to have a beat in South Beach, and he always wondered how the hell they did it. Turned so much profit while being clean, that is.”

Castillo nodded, noticing Gina hadn’t contributed a thing to the meeting. Neither had Gorman, but that wasn’t usual. Gina’s silence was. “Stay on it. All of you. We’re going to need all the information we can get if we hope to bring these men down. They’re careful and smart…a dangerous combination.”

Back in his office, he slumped in his battered office chair, letting it rock back and closing his eyes. Keeping the team focused had always been difficult, but it would be worse now. Dibble and Gorman were being pushed into roles they weren’t suited for, and his remaining three detectives were wearing thin. Switek had only just come back from a near-suspension and major gambling issues, and he could sense Gina starting to look for the door. Only Trudy remained focused, and some days he wondered how she did it.

He also knew they couldn’t let up. In the aftermath of Costa Morada the brass were looking for a reason, any reason, to disband the unit. He was surprised they hadn’t already. The pressure had to be coming in from every angle, from the state all the way up to the State Department and any number of alphabet Federal agencies. But for some reason they were still operating. Maybe they were just waiting for him to fail spectacularly enough they could offer him up on a platter and wash their hands of the entire thing.

Certainly they’d had their successes, and maybe that was part of why they were still operating. He could see the bosses hoping for one last headline-grabbing case before declaring victory and disbanding the unit. And the Mendozas had the potential to be that case. What they didn’t understand was Martin Castillo would rather go out a winner, and if taking down the Mendozas was the last act of Metro-Dade’s Organized Crime Bureau he was ok with it.

But he also needed to look after his people the best he could. Opening his eyes, he rocked the chair forward and opened his center desk drawer. The memo was right where he’d left it…another of those proposals for improving victims’ services that always played well during elections and then were conveniently forgotten until the next cycle. Not this time. Reading the lines again, he picked up the phone receiver and punched in numbers. “This is Lieutenant Castillo. I might have an idea about that proposal you sent out last week. Can we meet?”

 

When the knock on his door came, it wasn’t a surprise. The words weren’t, either. “I don’t think I can keep doing this, lieutenant.”

Martin Castillo looked across his desk at Gina Calabrese. She’d been struggling ever since Crockett and Tubbs resigned from the force, but until now she’d been holding up as well as could be expected. “I think I understand.”

“Do you?” Her voice climbed a bit.

“Yes. We’ve all experienced loss this past year. Some more than others.” He looked through the office window at Stan Switek working at his desk. “And for some the loss goes back before that.”

She turned, following his gaze. Then she looked down. “I…I didn’t think…”

“It’s fine, Gina. I understand wanting to move on. It’s something I’ve done, too. More than once.” He paused, looking down at the folder on his desk. “Were you going to transfer or leave the force?”

“Being a cop is all I know, lieutenant. It’s all I’ve ever done, and all I’ve ever wanted to do. But it feels like we’re on a treadmill here. I want to make a difference. Or feel like I’m making a difference.” She looked away, at a spot somewhere past his shoulder, and he knew she was thinking of Crockett. “There are too many memories here, too.”

“I understand that, too. Some ghosts we carry with us, others we can leave behind.”

She smiled, but he could see tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “I saw an interdepartmental memo last week. Something about Victims’ Services wanting to recruit a detective with Vice experience to work with some of their clients.”

Castillo just nodded, keeping his eyes hooded. He knew about the memo…in fact he’d been the one who’d pushed for the position and then worked out the details with the unit’s boss. Gina was on the edge of burning out. He’d known that for some time. So he’d used what was left of his clout within Metro-Dade to create a position for her. One where she could use her skills and knowledge and help some of the girls they’d been arresting and re-arresting for years. He didn’t know if it would work or not, but he couldn’t think of anyone better than Gina to give the program a solid chance.

“I know you don’t think much of that work…”

“That’s not true. It’s incredibly important to what we do. If we can’t reach those girls, someone needs to. And I know you want to be a part of that.” He paused. This was the difficult part. “All I ask is that you hold off on the transfer until we have the Mendoza brothers in custody.” Again he looked out at the squad room. “Dibble and Gorman just aren’t up to this. I need my best detectives.” I doubt those two will ever be up to it, but I’d rather deal with them than new people. At least I know their limitations.

There was a long silence, filled by the laboring whine of the air conditioning. “Ok, lieutenant. I’ll stick it out. But only until they’re arrested. It could take years for them to make it to court…”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you. Just until they’re in custody. But you should apply just the same. I’m sure we can work something out if the offer is made.” I already know she has the job, and that they’ll hold it for her until we’re through. It will give them enough time to get the position lined out and supported properly.

Trudy Joplin knocked on his door five minutes after Gina left. “Something I should know about?” she asked after he nodded her inside. “Gina looks happier than I’ve seen her in months.”

“She’s putting in for the opening in victims’ services. She’s agreed to stay on until the Mendozas are in custody.”

Trudy nodded. “That wouldn’t happen to be the position you twisted some arms for?” She smiled. “Come on, lieutenant. I know how this department thinks, and they wouldn’t come up with something like that without a lot of outside help. And they sure as hell wouldn’t fund it without some serious arm-twisting.”

A faint smile touched his lips, but he didn’t say anything. She’s smart. I wonder how many people underestimate her because of her gender and skin color? “How’s Switek holding up? There’s going to be a lot of weight on his shoulders, and if he needs time he should take it now. I know the last year has been hard for him.”

“The big guy’s doing better.” There was an unaccustomed twinkle in her eyes. “He’s dating Gina now.”

Castillo hid his surprise well. But then he’d never kept up with the social lives of his detectives. Except for Crockett. You never knew what kind of trouble his heart would get him into. “That’s unexpected.”

“She finally got over that thing she had for Sonny. And Stan? He’s a great guy. Funny and has a huge heart. I think they’re good for each other. And she keeps his gambling in check.”

“Good. These next few weeks will be hard. We’re going after major players and we’re down two detectives who knew the case files intimately.”

She smiled. “Believe it or not Sonny actually left decent notes for a change. It looks like he was starting to focus on the Mendoza women, so we might have a good place to start. And Rico? His stuff is thorough. I’ve been reading up on it all, and I think we’ve got a real chance at them. It’s gonna come down to ballistics for some of it, though, so the lab better be on its game or I’m gonna go down there and kick some ass. That .45 keeps popping up like a bad habit, and we need to tie it to an owner.”

“Good. I want to move on them soon.” He looked down at the files on his desk. Cases going back to before his time with Vice. And all with a common thread. “The Mendozas have been waking the streets for far too long.” And I share some of the responsibility for that. It needs to be made right before I move on.

The thought surprised him, but only for a moment. Once Trudy left, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his battered desk chair. He’d been with Metro-Dade longer than he’d stayed with any assignment aside from his time with CIA. So much had been done, but so much was left undone. Again, like the CIA. And he wasn’t sure what could be next. But he knew he needed to put an end to the Mendozas.

Crockett had been right about them, at least as far as he’d gone. They were dangerous, but not for the bodies they left in their wake. In truth the Mendozas were one of the least openly violent cartels Castillo had ever seen. That was what made them dangerous. They were an established Miami family going back generations, not brash outsiders draped in gold chains and waving MAC-10s around on street corners. They moved in the right circles, said the right things, and liked their business quiet and profitable. He knew they could pile up bodies with the best of the Calderones and Carreras, but they only did it when provoked. And they had what Sonny had brought to the Manolo and Carrera organizations during his break: precision.

He faulted himself for missing most of it. For focusing on a handful of bodies shattered by those .45 slugs and not seeing the broader picture. Not understanding what Miguel in particular was up to until it was almost too late. They hid their money well, but traces of it were showing up in a number of South Beach clubs. Always high-end operations with high-powered names on the VIP lists. Switek had been right about that. But Miguel didn’t collect them like charms on a bracelet. Instead he seemed to invest in them, leaving the original owners in as figureheads while he laundered his money and made some operational changes to make the places more profitable.

And it was easy to underestimate Enrique as well. The grinning younger brother with the almost surfer looks and easy way with boats. But he had a loyal group of pilots and knew the waters around Miami better than anyone alive. Focusing on moving product, he seemed to have raised it to an art form. Never sticking with the same routes or techniques, maybe even letting his pilots specialize according to their talents. It was hard to say, because they’d never gotten anyone inside the Mendoza organization. Not after the disaster with Gustavo.

Keeping his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the squad room leaking around his closed office door, Castillo could still see the file picture of Gustavo Mendoza. He’d pushed him too hard. He’d known it then, and he knew it now. He tried to justify it by telling himself Crockett would have pushed the kid harder, but that only went so far. A push was still a push, and a small one could be too far as easy as a big one.

He was down two detectives, but there was no avoiding it now. The Mendozas had to be brought down. Even if he had to do it himself. Metro-Dade didn’t seem to have the appetite for the case, or maybe the Mendozas were just too connected now. And with the Manolos and Carrera out of the way, they were poised to take over the majority of the cocaine trade in Miami. Maybe even South Florida if they wanted. No, it wasn’t something he could let stand.

 

“What do you think of her?”

Enrique Mendoza grinned. “I think you picked a good one, Pasqual. Is she as fast as she looks, or is the paint designed to distract the Coast Guard and lure in the ladies?”

Pasqual laughed. “Both. She’s got a top speed of close to sixty knots. Not as fast as your racehorse over there, but close enough. She’s got more cargo capacity, though, and with the auxiliary tanks we can run all the way to the islands if need be and back with a full load.”

“Good. We may need to test that capability soon. The Bat has another shipment coming in, but he doesn’t want to get too close the Florida. Something about a warrant or something. With Oswaldo you never know what’s real and what’s shit.”

“It’s probably that rust bucket he’s been using lately. The thing doesn’t have the range to get as close as his other ship did and still make it back to whatever grass hut he uses to stage his operation.”

“You’re probably right. I’ll get you the details as soon as I know them. If you think you can take this one solo?”

“No problem, boss. You got a hot date?”

“Something like that. Tiffy’s got some client or something she wants me to meet.” Enrique looked at his watch and frowned. “And I’m already almost late. I’ll call you as soon as I know the details of that run.”

As he gunned the Corvette away from the boat house and out toward the main road, Enrique thought back to the SCARAB he’d just looked over. It wasn’t a bad boat…better than some in their growing fleet but not as good as the handful at the top. Reaching down, he turned on the car’s tape player and let the music blast over him through the Alpine system. They didn’t really need another boat like that, and he wondered for a moment why Pasqual had purchased one.

Ah, it don’t matter that much. If it lets him feel important, it’s ok with me. It’s not like we don’t have the money. Turning onto the causeway, he let a smile slide over his face. After all, he had his own boat. No reason why his right hand couldn’t have his own, too.

He pulled into his reserved spot at Shock just after seven, but the line at the door was already wrapping around the corner. Weaving his way through, he grinned at the Cuban on the door who just nodded and waved him past. “What can I say?” he said when someone complained. “I know a guy. Hell, I am the guy.”

Inside it was loud, Duran Duran blasting through a sound system that cost more than some people made in six months. The bar was packed, and he bypassed it and took the stairs to the upper VIP area two at a time. Again one of the big Cubans nodded him through, and he walked into a cocoon of light blue neon and glittering chrome.

Holly had done Shock’s VIP floor into a series of separate rooms, each one soundproofed to keep out most of the thunder from downstairs. Of the four rooms, he’d gone into the one they called the Ocean Room, mainly because of the blue lighting scheme. It was Tiffy’s favorite, and where she usually held court when she took meetings with people from other clubs. He saw her at the small private bar, her thick blonde hair streaked with blue from the lights and her tight blue dress doing little to hide her impressive body.

She smiled when she saw him. “Ricky! I hoped you’d make it, babe!”

“Wouldn’t miss you for the world.” He looked at the others in a loose arc around the bar. “The rest of ‘em I ain’t so sure, but I’d never miss you.” He’d already made the client…a slightly thick guy who might be Italian or Mexican depending on his mood and had at some point in his life confused greasy with slick. There was a girl, likely rented for the evening, and a couple of guys he assumed were supposed to be bodyguards. He smiled, feeling the weight of his own .45 tucked into the back of his pants and knowing the goons would have been frisked coming in.

“Now be nice. Tommy here is looking to increase traffic in his club.” She turned to the greaseball. “What’s the name of it again?”

“Popper. We’re over in the Grove.” He shrugged. “It ain’t South Beach, but we do ok. Could always do better, though.”

“Never heard of it. But if anyone can change that, it’s Tiffy.” He grinned and kissed her hard, feeling her kiss him, back before he broke away and turned to the bar. “Hey, Joe. Get me a rum, ok?”

He listened to them talk for a moment. Coconut Grove bored the hell out of him, but he knew there was money there. And a market. Markets did interest him, so he started paying some attention as he sipped his rum and let his hand roam up and down Tiffy’s backside. From her wiggle he knew she didn’t mind the attention one bit. And he had to swallow a chuckle when he saw the rent girl’s eyes go wide.

Eventually Tommy got tired of listening to himself and took himself and his two goons and the rented girl back downstairs. Where he went from there Enrique didn’t really care. As soon as the door hissed shut, Tiffy pressed herself up against him. “You know I’m not responsible for my actions when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Touch me like that in public.” She started to work her hips, and he knew what would happen next. “What did you think of Tommy?”

“Grease bag.” He turned his head and gave Joe a ‘take a break for a few minutes’ look and winked as the bartender nodded and headed for the service door. “A second-string guy who thinks he’s making moves. Would love to have you do to him what you’re doing to me now, but knows it ain’t gonna happen.”

She giggled, grinding harder and letting her dress ride up over her hips. “I’ve seen the club. Popper. It’s not bad. Not up to Holly’s standards, but it’s got potential. Kind of like what you’re doing now.”

“Maybe we can make something happen for that greaseball.” He reached down to his belt. “And I know I can make something happen for you, baby.” Not for the first time he was glad the VIP rooms were soundproofed.

He met with Miguel a few hours later, in one of the private rooms at Pelican’s Nest. They’d been coming here more frequently since the demise of Carrera and Burnett’s abrupt exit from Miami. Enrique got a kick out of talking with Otis Forsythe, but he suspect Miguel liked coming here for the associations. After all, their grandfather had been one of the founders of the dump.

“So you think this place has potential?”

Enrique shook his head. “Not me. Tiffy. I know as much about clubs as you do about boats, brother. But Tiffy…she’s good at what she does. And if she thinks it’s got potential it probably does. Plus it gets us into the Grove. Not my scene, but they do have money.”

“Yes. They do. Did she say how much he needed?”

“No. I can have her ask if you want.”

“Maybe I’ll just pay him a visit. Play the wealthy benefactor, and then hit him with the bill once our money’s though the door.”

Enrique nodded, reaching for his glass of rum. “How many clubs do we have interests in now? I keep forgetting.”

“Kind of like I lose track of how many boats we have.” Miguel smiled. “There’s Shock, of course. And then we have money invested in five others. This Popper would make six.”

“Sounds like you added a couple since we last talked about this.” Enrique narrowed his eyes. “I know about The Palm and Kilowatt, but…”

“In South Beach we added Reggie’s and Le Fleur. There’s also Holliday’s. It’s more a bar than a club, but it lets us touch a new clientele.”

“You mean bikers? Must make for fun times for those big Cubans.” Enrique chuckled. “But you’re right. Bikers have their uses. And they spend money.” He leaned forward. “We’re adding a couple more boats, too. Longer-range craft with better engines so we can move things from farther out. I let Pasqual pick out on for himself. Seemed fair since he does a fair number of runs on his own now.”

“Good. I know The Bat doesn’t always like to come close to U.S.waters, and some of the new people we’re dealing with now that Burnett’s organization is gone are also skittish about the Coast Guard.” Miguel paused for a moment, and Enrique recognized the thoughtful look in his older brother’s eyes. “I wonder what happened to Sonny Burnett?”

“My bet is he skipped town. Go someplace quiet and wait for the noise to die down. At least that’s what I’d do after what happened. Maybe he took Carrera’s woman with him.”

“No. I hear she headed West. Las Vegas or California apparently.” Miguel paused again. “You know, we’re lucky he never came after us.”

“You really think he could have gotten through those Cubans you seem to pull out of thin air?” It wasn’t first time he’d wondered just where and how his brother arranged security.

“Maybe not. But he would have done us serious damage in the attempt.” He leaned back in his chair. “Look. I’ll let you know about Popper in the next couple of days. Or should I go directly to Tiffy?”

Enrique thought. “Tiffy would be better. We have a run scheduled the day after tomorrow, and I don’t want any delay in the news getting to her.”

“I’ll let her know. How are things between you two?”

“Fantastic.” Enrique grinned. “Yes, I know. You never thought you’d see me with the same girl for more than three days. But we…we understand each other. And you and Holly? I never thought I’d see you with a girl period. Married to the business is what I thought.”

Miguel laughed. “So did I, to be honest. But Holly has a great mind for business. And she doesn’t meddle in our other affairs. She knows, but doesn’t want to know.”

“Tiffy’s the same way. I think she knows full well what I do, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. ‘What people do is their business’ is what she says. Maybe it comes from working too much in clubs.”

“That could be. Holly says the same thing.” He paused again, reaching inside his jacket for one of the fat Cuban cigars he’d started to favor. “Have you heard anything from Papi?”

“No. He and Jesus have both been quiet. What did you say to them?”

“To Jesus? Nothing. To Papi…let’s say I let him know what we do and what might happen to him if he cocks things up.”

Enrique nodded. “Good. About time someone told that old bastard off. It couldn’t have been easy, though.”

He could see the sadness plain in his brother’s eyes. “It wasn’t, but at the same time it felt good, you know? After all the times he beat mama, tried to beat you, and beat me. It felt good to see fear in his eyes. Real fear, not that fake kind he puts on for the padres.”

They were quiet for a time, enjoying their drinks. Enrique watched the room’s efficient exhaust fan sucking Miguel’s cigar smoke toward the ceiling in a swirling stream, letting his thoughts follow it outside. Then he looked at his watch. “Shit. We got a shipment of those Cuban turds coming in tonight, and it’s my turn to check it in. See how the new pilot did. It’s not his first solo run, but it’s his first time as second seat.”

“Good. We need to move men up. With the Carreras and Manolos out of the way, the stage is ours, brother. We’re the last ones standing, at least in Miami. And according to my Patrol friend it’s going to stay that way for a while.”