Genesis, Part XXXV

[Robbie C.]

It had been two weeks since the incident with Special Agent Faust, and nothing had happened. No reprimand. But also no replacement agent. It was like the FBI had vanished from the face of the earth. Or at least Miami.

Martin Castillo looked at the reports on his desk, hoping he’d see something different this time. But the typed words didn’t change, didn’t magically shift to reveal a new insight or sparking bit of information. The case was still going nowhere. He was still staring at the reports when his phone rang.

“Lieutenant Castillo?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t a voice he recognized. The man sounded more like a stereotypical Southern sheriff than a Fed.

“This is Chief Deputy Pete Washington from the Marshal’s Service field office. Here in Miami, not off in some backwater hellhole. Look, my boys were lookin’ at the warrant wire this morning and we go a hit on someone your team seems to be chasin’.”

“We’re got a number of cases ongoing. You’ll have to be more specific.” Castillo had worked with the Marshal’s Service a time or two over the years, but never regularly. They’d always struck him as focused and efficient, and not concerned about taking credit for cases. All unusual attributes for a Federal agency in his experience.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Gotta say I don’t envy you that.” Pete laughed, a contagious sound that almost rattled the earpiece of Castillo’s phone. “Guy’s name is Morales. Esteban Morales. Says here he’s tied in with some boys named Mendoza. We got nothin’ on them, but there’s a Federal warrant out on his ass for some stuff he did as a youngster. Seems he was part of one of those ‘combat brigades’ or whatever the hell the anti-Castro Cuban expats call their gangs theses days. Chased a few of ‘em back in the day, let me tell you.”

Castillo tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. “We think Morales is running security for the Mendoza cartel. Tapping into those Cuban groups for trained men and firepower.”

“Do tell? I guess ol’ Esteban has moved up in the world. Or down, depending on how you look at it. Anyhow, the warrant’s for all sorts of weapons-related nastiness. And it’s still active. You know pretty much all we do is hunt folks down, and I daresay we’re not half bad at it.”

“We would appreciate any help you can provide. The Mendozas have proven…elusive.”

“You got a way of playin’ things down, don’t you?” Pete chuckled again. “Most guys I know who talk like that have roots in the Agency. Course I won’t tell if you don’t.” There was a pause. “Look, why don’t we meet for lunch and talk? Face to face. I got a feeling our units could help each other.”

They ended up meeting at a small place called Rudy’s Ribs, at the suggestion of Pete Washington. “Musta spent too much time in the South,” he’d said before hanging up the phone. “Can’t seem to have a good discussion without some fine ribs an’ beer in front of me.” Castillo didn’t mind, even though he wasn’t much of a fan of barbecue. He was more interested in what the Federal lawman was trying to sell. But he had to admit he wasn’t expecting the man who appeared next to his table.

Pete Washington looked like nothing less than a taller version of George Jefferson, right down to the Afro and loud suit. “Look don’t go with the voice, does it?” he asked with a grin as he slid into a chair across from Castillo. “I kinda like it these days. Throws people off an’ gives me an edge. Kinda like those sunglasses and undertaker look do for you, I’d guess.”

“Yes.”

Pete turned to the waitress and ordered for them both. “And don’t forget a pitcher of beer. It’s hotter than hell out there.” When he turned back he was still smiling. “That should keep her busy for a few minutes. So, let’s have it. I know you got questions.”

“Why now?”

“Don’t avoid gettin’ to the heart of it, do you? I like that. Well, DEA was digging around some old cases and tripped over Esteban’s file. I’d guess they literally tripped over it. Their office down here is a sight. Anyhow, seems once upon a time he’d been working with some Puerto Ricans to smuggle C-4 and M-16s into the state. Whole plan fell apart when the Puerto Ricans started shootin’ at each other, but one of ‘em lived long enough to finger Esteban. DEA sort of stumbled around investigating it, then stuffed it in a box and forgot about it.”

“And you want to bring him in.”

“Kind of our job, you know. Running down fugitives. But yeah, I’d like to bring him in. But I’d like to take his bosses down more.”

“I thought you said the Mendozas don’t have warrants.”

“The boys don’t, but the grandfather did. He was a piece of work according to his file. Seems the father didn’t have the stones to carry on the family business the way the old man wanted, but the kids are a different story.”

“They are.” Castillo looked past Pete toward the window. Seeing heat waves rippling off the blacktop street running past the restaurant. “They’re careful, dug in deep socially, and keep their distance from the nasty work. Maybe not Enrique…he loves fast boats. But we’ve never been able to put him with any product. We had a lead on one of his suppliers a few years ago, but it evaporated.”

“That Bolivian asshole who got himself shot a couple years back? Couldn’t have happened to a better scumbag. But you think the Mendozas were involved.”

Castillo noticed it wasn’t a question. “Yes. Santos was killed with a .45 to the head. It’s something of a Mendoza trademark. The same pistol was used in other killings we’ve tied to their cartel. Circumstantially, of course.”

“Like you said, they’re careful. Until they’re not. Just so happens that pistol has a history. Seems slugs that might have come from it were used in some other murders. Back in the 1920s.” Pete grinned. “You can thank the FBI for that little nugget if you want. Me? I just figure they were doin’ their job for a change.”

“Why didn’t they pass that on?”

“Who knows? One of the great mysteries of Hoover’s Own. Maybe it got lost. You know, they could never make a case against old Guillermo Mendoza, even though Hoover sure as hell wanted to. Guy was always too slippery. Too careful. Just like his grandsons.” Pete stopped talking as the beer arrived, then started again as he poured glasses for himself and Castillo. “Course there’s no proof who owned the Colt, mind, but it’s the same gun sure as hell.”

“My people are close. We have the homicides, an increase in high-grade cocaine showing up in South Beach and Brickell, and a possible way into Enrique Mendoza’s side of the operation.”

“His side?”

“Yes. Our intelligence suggests the brothers divide the labor somehow. Enrique seems to focus on transportation and most of the actual drug sales while Miguel is the business side. He runs their money through clubs, sets up the big offshore deals, and controls their security.” Castillo took a sip of beer. “Like Morales they’re all Cubans. At least the ones we’ve identified.”

Pete whistled. “Damn. That’s slick.”

“It’s not the first time we’ve seen something like this.” Castillo thought back to what Crockett had managed as Burnett. “But it’s lasted longer than any other attempt.”

“Why do you think that is?”

He recognized the interrogation technique, but didn’t take offense. They were both professional lawmen…it was what they did. “They don’t get greedy. They seem to have some kind of plan or feeling. How far they can go before they need to stop and take stock. There seem to be limits of some kind, but we’re not sure what those are.”

“So how do you crack that nut?”

“A weak link. In this case Enrique’s right-hand man. Pasqual Benitez. He was connected to Cristobal Santos the first time the man visited Miami, but we couldn’t make anything stick then. This time we can. According to one of our CIs he’s been making his own deals with Mendoza cocaine.”

“That’s a good way to end up gator shit.”

Castillo smiled. “It is. If they find out. So far he’s been careful. At least where the brothers are concerned. But we think they might have noticed the shortfall in some shipments. It’s only a matter of time before Esteban Morales is put on it.”

“Or we take good ol’ Esteban down on his outstanding Federal warrant. See how the organization does without its head of security. And maybe some of his boys. I’ll bet more’n a couple have some paper.”

Castillo let the thought move through his head. It would be more direct than his method, and possibly more violent. But it also didn’t put a CI at risk. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to sacrifice another CI to the Mendozas. Not if there was another way. “Morales keeps a low profile these days. My people can find him and flush him out for you.”

“I’ll have a warrant team on standby. We get him quick enough, Miguel won’t have time to react. I’ll work some warrants from my side of the street. Metro-Dade’s a bit…”

“I know.”

“You got another reason to work with us.” Pete chuckled. “I heard about your little run-in with that prick Faust. He made a grab at a deputy in the Boston field office from what I hear. That’s why he’s down here now. You don’t fuck with Marshal’s Service people. But your bosses are gonna whine all damned day about it unless another Federal agency shows up to help out.”

“Faust…”

“Hell, I just wish I woulda been there to see it. That deputy up in Boston kicked him in the junk so hard he wasn’t walkin’ right for two weeks. Guy’s a head case, so I figure he’s marked for a top Bureau job. But this way everyone gets what they want. I get Morales, you get the Mendozas, and your bosses can claim they ‘helped’ the Feds and have someone else to blame if things go south.”

“I think we have enough to bring Benitez in for questioning. Maybe we can shake something out of him. One of my teams has loose surveillance on him.”

“Why not? Hell, if nothing else it might rattle them brothers a bit.”

 

“You’re sure of the numbers?”

Xavier was new, and he shrank back from Enrique’s glare. “Si, boss. I checked them six times. And I’ll check them six more if you wish.”

“No.” Enrique stared at the sheet of paper, his heart sinking in his chest. All the numbers did was confirm what he’d suspected. Someone was skimming from their cocaine shipments. Not all of them, but the ones coming in light were all connected to one person. “Have you spoken with anyone about this?”

“No. I came straight to you.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “I thought it was important.”

“You thought right, Xavier. Thank you. This is fine work. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself for not checking sooner. For not seeing this sooner.” He reached out and clapped the skinny man on the shoulder. “There’s a bonus in this for you. Now go back to your work and don’t talk about this with anyone. And I mean anyone. Not yourself, not your mother. No one. Understand?”

“Si, jefe. No words will pass my lips.”

Enrique managed to hold his anger in until Xavier left. Then he slammed his fist down on the table.”Shit!” But he didn’t blame Xavier. The man was doing his job, and confirming what he’d already known deep down. Somewhere along the line Pasqual had given in to temptation and started helping himself to their product. The numbers showed it wasn’t much at one time…usually a kilo or two out of larger loads. But it added up quickly, especially after Enrique had put him in charge of his own routes.

Part of him wanted to forget it. To burn the sheet and pretend he’d never seen it. But he knew that wouldn’t work. Sooner or later Miguel would find out. But that wasn’t the real reason he knew he couldn’t just make it go away. Pasqual had betrayed the family…betrayed the trust and friendship they’d had for years. Looking down, Enrique could see his hand shaking. He closed his eyes and took two deep breaths. Then he reached for the phone. “Miguel? It’s me. We have a problem. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“…so far it’s just numbers on a sheet of paper. I’d had a feeling something was going on, but Xavier’s work confirms it.”

“And you’re sure it’s Pasqual?”

“I can’t see who else it could be. The shortages are all on his routes, and the crews don’t overlap enough for it to be one of them.” Enrique gritted his teeth. “I’d bet a couple of them are in on it, though. Unless the Cubans…”

“I’ll look into it, but I doubt it. They know what happens to traitors.”

Enrique nodded, unable to miss the tone of Miguel’s voice. “I’m sure they do. But someone would have to distract them during the deal or when the cargo’s unloaded. That takes at least two people.”

“How far back does it go?”

“A couple of years. It wasn’t much at first. Maybe a kilo every few months. But in the last six months it’s become much more than that. He would have had to have help then, even if he didn’t at first.”

“Agreed.” Miguel’s eyes were dark. “This is your side of the business, brother. How do you want to handle it?”

Enrique was about to protest, then stopped. He’s right. These are my people. I don’t tell him how to cut the big deals or run the Cubans, and he’s let me run transportation how I like. “I’ll go through the lists and see if I can figure out who might be working with Pasqual. He’s the brains. I’m sure of that. But like you said, he’d need helpers. I’ll look for overlap. Xavier said it doesn’t happen on every run…only those with over twenty kilos of product. But he doesn’t know what happens after it’s unloaded. I’ll see if I can find some patterns.”

“Good. I hope we’re wrong about this, though. Pasqual’s been a part of our operation since the beginning.”

“And if he needed more money, all he had to do was ask! That’s what pisses me off, brother. It’s all so unnecessary.”

“Unless he’s tired of being the one in the shadows. Maybe he’s decided he wants to give orders. Greed and ambition are dangerous things when put together.”

Enrique nodded. He didn’t want to think about it any more. Not tonight, at least. Tonight he just wanted to feel and least six rum and Cokes inside him and Tiffy on top of him. Anything to make the pain in his heart go away.

“I get it, brother. It’s not easy. It’s never easy. And if it becomes easy, maybe we should do something else.”

“I forgot. You had to deal with Jaime.”

“As well as others. We’ll look into Pasqual and then if you like…”

“No. I’ll handle him. He’d get suspicious if you showed up all of a sudden. He doesn’t see you that much, remember?”

Miguel nodded. “I know you’re close with him. I was…”

“I know what you’re trying to do. And don’t think I’m ungrateful. But if he was stealing on my watch, dealing with that falls on me. And what would the others think if you did it? They’d say I didn’t have the balls. That you had to come in and clean up for me.” He shook his head. “I can’t have that.”

“You’re right. That’s why I dealt with Jaime and the others over the years. So they wouldn’t say I just sit behind a desk and spend money made by other men. You look into things, and I’ll do some asking as well. We’ll compare notes.”

 

“Why did you do it, man?” Enrique was pacing back and forth as he spoke, light from the dirty window playing across the floor.

“Do what, Ricky?” The wooden chair creaked as Pasqual tested his ropes. “I don’t get it.”

“The hell you don’t. I asked why you did it. Why did you rip us off? We’re like family, man. Family!” The last word was a shout pulled from a place deep inside his chest. “I treated you like a bother. If you needed more, all you had to do was ask, man. Ask!”

“I didn’t…”

“And now you lie to me. To my fucking face. This isn’t a game, Pasqual. We’ve got the weights. The shipments that went short. The boys gave you up, man. Turns out you were making promises you couldn’t keep.”

“Bunch of bitches.”

“No. Not most of ‘em. They still had some honor. Knew what it meant to give their words. But you? Why the fuck did you do it, man? I just want to know that.” Enrique stopped in front of him, forcing his breathing to even out and flexing his fingers so they didn’t cramp into useless fists. He’d never been so angry and so scared in the same instant, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it all.

“Why?” Pasqual worked his face and spat onto the dirty floorboards not far from Enrique’s feet. “I’ll tell you why. Ambition. Something you ain’t got none of. If you did, you wouldn’t let Miguel order you around like a house bitch. We control the routes, man. We move the product. The money should be ours, too.”

“And you’d know what to do with the cocaine? How to move it? How to turn the money into something we can use? That’s what Miguel brings. That and the Cubans. You think little street bitches like we know would be half as loyal as these men?” He waved his hand in the direction of two of the stoic Cubans., standing like paramilitary bookends near each arm of the chair. “It takes both of us to do this thing, you idiot. Why do you think Calderone fell? The Revillas? Even Manolo and Carrera at the end of it? They tried to do it on their own. Without family.”

“Burnett fell, too. And he had loyal people.”

“He moved too fast. That was his one mistake.” Enrique shook his head. “There’s a reason trees grow strong. They take their time. The strongest trees grow the slowest. Deep roots and strong trunks. But you? You want it all now. And you steal from us to get it.”

“I only take what’s mine.”

He hit Pasqual then, a strong backhanded slap rocking the man’s head back and the crack ringing off the walls of the shed. “No. You stole from us. Stole what might have been given if you’d bothered to ask. You were a brother to me, you know. But now you’ll get what’s yours, Pasqual.”

The thought translated into action before Enrique knew quite what happened. He came up with the heavy Colt and put a round into Pasqual’s head. Right between his eyes. The back of Pasqual’s head exploded across the back wall of the shed. “There. You got what you were owed. Happy now? Bitch.” He flicked on the thumb safety and stuffed the pistol back into his waistband. “Get rid of this piece of shit. I don’t care how. And then burn this place. It’s served its purpose. I have to make a call.”

Outside he noticed his hand was shaking. Just a light tremor many who didn’t know him would miss, but he noticed it. Pasqual was the first man he’d killed up close. Really the first man he’d killed that he knew for sure was dead. Sure, he’d exchanged shots in some of those boat chases, more games than real fights when crews were popping off rounds hoping to scare more than kill. But this…this was different. Very different.

“I can tell by your voice it’s done and you did it.” Miguel sighed. “I was hoping you’d spare yourself that.”

“Why? You do it.”

“Yes, but one of us might have stayed clean. You were always the dreamer, Ricky. And that’s a good thing. Now you carry him with you. Like I carry mine with me.”

He shook his head, trying to clear it of his brother’s words. “The body’s being disposed of as we speak. Those Cubans are nothing if not efficient. And now we have to figure out who will take Pasqual’s place.”

“Move in anyone you can trust. I trust your judgement in this completely.”

“But I picked Pasqual.”

“Who went bad on his own, brother. Neither of us did that to him. He made his own choices, and paid for them. He served us well for years. Even now that counts for something.”

“I suppose so.” But he didn’t believe it. Not really. Any man who turned his back on his brothers deserved exactly what Pasqual got. “I need to think about it.”

“Don’t take too long if you don’t need to. With the old Carrera cartel in ruins we have an opportunity again. Especially now that we’re free of the burden of Cristobal Santos.”

“I’ll do that.” Enrique hung up the car phone, not knowing what he was doing to do. Right now he knew he needed a drink. And maybe Tiffy’s calm voice. He wondered how Miguel hid that side of himself from Holly. He’d have to ask.

 

“And there’s no trace of him?”

“Not a hair, lieutenant.” Stan Switek shook his head. “Last place anyone seems to have seen him was at Pelican’s Nest. Dibble and Gorman checked. Guy at the bar says he took a call and left in a big damned hurry.”

Castillo nodded. “They must have found out.”

“How?”

“Esteban Morales is good at what he does. If we found out Pasqual was skimming from his loads, it was only a matter of time before Morales knew it, too. He might have even known before us.”

Trudy looked at Gina. “And if he found out…”

“Pasqual Benitez is dead. Don’t believe for a moment the Mendoza brothers wouldn’t kill him in an instant for stealing from them. They’d see it as a family betrayal. And families like that react very badly to betrayal.”

“He was our way in.” Stan slammed his hand on the table, rattling the pens resting on the battered top. “We’re back to square one.”

“Maybe not.” Gina’s words were measured. “They’re gonna need someone to take his place, right? Ricky can’t run that show on his own. Not with the number of suppliers they have, especially if our read is right and he’s overseeing at least part of the distribution as well.”

Stan nodded. “Yeah, but that’s gonna take time to figure out. Time we don’t have.”

“We have additional resources now.” In short words Castillo told them about his meeting with Pete Washington. “The Marshal’s Service can get us Federal warrants. They even have an arrest warrant for Esteban Morales.”

“The Cuban Ghost?” Stan whistled. “We haven’t been able to scare up so much as a parking ticket on him. And these guys are sitting on a genuine arrest warrant?”

“Yes. And they have forensic evidence linking the murder weapon in at least two of our outstanding cases to murders committed in the 1920s by the Mendozas’ grandfather.”

Trudy shook her head. “It would have been nice to have this a couple of years ago.”

“Chief Deputy Washington feels the same way. It appears the ballistics evidence was siting in the FBI lab at Quantico for several years.”

“Typical Feebs.” Stan snorted. “So what do we do with this?”

“We combine it with what we have and bring down the Mendozas. The Marshals can bring in Morales as soon as we locate him. That’s not an issue. Getting actual evidence on the brothers is. But they’ll be rattled. Moving too fast. Having to kill Pasqual will have shocked them.”

“And that helps us how?”

“They’ll probably fall behind in deliveries while they sort out who’s going to take Pasqual’s place. Then once they do they’re have to move more than usual to make up for lost time.”

“We think they have at least a handful of stash houses.” Trudy looked around the table. “They’d have to in order to slow down movement like we know they have and still keep up with their delivery schedules.”

“Do we have leads on any of them?”

“Not yet. But I’ve got some funny phone calls on one of the taps I need to run down.” Stan scribbled something on his note pad. “Give me a couple of hours.”

“We don’t have the people to chase a bunch of leads, lieutenant.” Gina’s voice was matter-of-fact, just like her eyes under her dark bangs. “If we try that we’ll lose them.”

“Gina’s right.” He folded his hands across the folder in font of him. “Get what intelligence you can and report back. We’ll work through and find the most logical lead. We have to be smart with this. Fast is not going to help us.”

“Can the Marshals give us anything?”

“I’ll make the call. The rest of you know what you need to do.”

“What about Gorman and Dibble?”

Castillo looked at Trudy for a moment. “Leave them were they are.”

“You got it, lieutenant.”

“They might spot something useful.” The words sounded hollow as soon as he said them. But he knew those two could never keep up with what had to happen now if they wanted any kind of shot at the Mendoza brothers.

He made the call as soon as he was in his office alone. Pete Washington was silent for a moment, which ranked as an hour when it came to the chief deputy’s talkative nature. “I think we might have a tool that will help. In addition to being the best damned manhunters in these United States, an’ I don’t give a crap what the FBI’s publicity machine says, us marshals have another job. We seize any property marked for forfeiture by the courts.”

Castillo nodded, even though he knew Pete couldn’t see him. “We used seized assets here.”

“Sure, but with us we’re talkin’ the big leagues. You seize a boat? We seize the yard that built the damned thing. And the AUSA for the Southeastern District is all hot to trot about seizures.”

“What do you need?”

“Evidence something’s being funded by the proceeds of illegal activity. Like the money flowin’ into that club Miguel’s old lady owns on paper. Or maybe some of the green keeping his uncle’s charter fleet in the damned water. We get that, I can get a court order to take the club. Stop his cash flow dead in its tracks.”

“We don’t see this very often on that scale.”

“Naw. Too much pride. The Feebs won’t do it because we’re the ones doing the taking. Metro-Dade don’t like it because it’s the big, bad Federal government taking the stuff. Which means they don’t get to dip their finger in the frosting an’ lick it clean.” Pete’s laugh almost overloaded the phone’s earpiece. “But us? I figure we get what it takes to bring down someone like the Mendozas.”

“We do.” Castillo pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll make a couple of calls. To people I trust within the department. They’ll know if anything’s in process.”

“Good. An’ I hear the brothers might have whacked their transportation guy. Pasqual Benitez. Means they’ll be off-balance while they try to find another boat guy. Even Miguel can’t juggle all them damned balls at once.”

He called the team back into the conference room and briefed them on what Pete had told him. “So we keep focusing on the women, especially Holly Miller. We need evidence showing Miguel’s money going into Shock and coming out clean.”

Gina nodded. “What about Tiffy?”

“I don’t think she’s significant. Maybe as a way to Enrique, but not with the money. Unless we missed something.”

Trudy shook her head. “I don’t think so, lieutenant. When I said Sonny was starting to look at the women, I didn’t get the full picture. I think they were all he was digging into before he…before he left. He’s got lots of notes on this Tiffy, but nothing that tracks her back to money. She might have been a talent spotter or scout, but that’s all. Rico’s notes say pretty much the same thing, although according to him Izzy Moreno claimed she’d spot clubs for Miguel to invest in.”

“Talk to Moreno again. We need to be sure.” Castillo turned to Switek. “Do we know what clubs might have gotten Mendoza money?”

“No clue. Lots of rumors, but you know how that goes.” Switek shook his head. “If I was still a betting man, which I’m not by the way, I’d put money on places that had shootings we can tie to the Mendozas. Kilowatt over in Brickell. Maybe The Palm in South Beach. The message shootings.”

Trudy nodded. “Sonny had notes on that, too. Really precise ones, which wasn’t normal for him.”

Burnett. “Pay special attention to those notes. There’s insight there we need.”