Dirty Side of the Storm

by David Sayre

  Sheen was pulled out of his moment of reverie when T-Dub's stare urged him to explain the contact the private detective had with Eladio.

  "He wants to come back, Tisdale," Sheen offered. "But he's frightened."

  "Of me?" Tisdale asked in earnest.

  "Of you, of Araña's people. He knows he screwed things up, but he doesn't want to live in exile."

  "You can't imagine how much I do not feel sorry for that young'un right now."

  "I get you."

  "Do you?"

  They locked stares. If they'd have been rams, they would have locked horns.

  "Are you willing to talk to him?" Sheen asked. "Are you willing to hear him out? Because he was there. He was in the car, but he didn't do any shooting."

  "What's that do for me? Boy was there. Boy was involved."

  "If I tell him he can have a talk with you, is it going to be safe for him? Or do I have to tell him he needs to start a new life, far from you and your kind?"

  Tisdale's eye twitched at the last comment.

  My kind? Who the fuck are you to tell me who I am?

  Sheen tried to relieve the tension of the moment and asked, "He a good worker?"

  T-Dub let his blood come down a bit and nodded.

  "You talk with him a lot?"

  "A few times," T-Dub replied.

  "You can see he's a smart kid."

  "Yeah."

  "He's a pretty good kid, too, from what I can tell. I think he got mixed up in something that's bigger than he is. I think he had pressure to go along with it from some guys that, maybe, he shouldn't be associated with."

  "Was that meant for me?"

  "No. The one who got shot at the scene . . . I think Eladio wants to make things right with you. You can laugh at this all you want, but I honestly think this guy's got a sense of honor and he wants to pay you his respects and offer an apology."

  "And what's he gonna do to stop the war that's coming because of this shit?"

  "That I don't know. That you gotta figure out. But I know that making him pay for it, or not even hearing him out, does nothing to stop it either."

  Tisdale smacked his lips together and looked off to the distance. They were in the part of town he sold to the addicts. One of them, at least. And he couldn't help but think that Abraham Cristiano was eyeing some of T-Dub's territory. Maybe there was a purpose to what the young'un had done. Maybe he could hear the boy's explanation.

  "I'm gonna call you and set something up. I'm bringing Vernell, but nobody's gonna be armed. That includes you," T-Dub offered.

  He could see the suspicious look on Sheen's face.

  "I'm talking your word, my word. Nobody's armed and I let the boy say his piece."

  Sheen knew he could trust T-Dub for his word. But he wasn't sure about Vernell. Best he could do was count on the fact that Vernell was loyal to T-Dub and that T-Dub trusted his second in command.

  "Good. I'll expect your call," Sheen agreed.

  The waitress brought his brisket and the old friends ate. Nothing else was said.

  ✽✽✽

  T-Dub's call had come by the end of the evening. A meeting was set for 6:30 pm, the following day at Tropical Park in the southwest area of Miami. It was near Sheen's home, though he would have to drive out to Miami Beach to collect Eladio first, negating the convenience of the meeting's location. But it was a part of town where Cristiano or any of his thugs would not be expected to show up and surprise the common enemies.

  Sheen could tell that Eladio was nervous during the drive. He'd assured the young man that there were to be no guns at the gathering. Just a straightforward talk.

  Eladio was still nervous. He didn't know how his story would be taken by his mentor and, he had to assume now, his former boss. He wasn't going to lie. Honesty was the only way to recount what happened and deal with the consequences. Concocting a lie, trying to exclude himself from his part of the plan, would only complicate things further.

  Sheen turned Mickey's Mustang off the side of the main path that swerved throughout the park, from the Miller Road entrance. He stopped behind a wooden parking block, beneath a canopy of tall slash pines, and over the dirt covered ground, blanketed by fallen pine needles.

  They would have to walk about two hundred or so yards to get to the pavilion style picnic shelter where T-Dub waited with Vernell. There were still many tree limbs and branches strewn about the park, residue from the storm. The biggest damage was on the other side of the park, to the stadium where Sheen and Ines had often gone to see some of Wendell's football games.

  The picnic shelter's had old, wooden table and bench combinations, held together by metal braces. Some of the shelters featured barbecue pits, sunken in the concrete beneath an iron grate. When Sheen and Eladio arrived, Vernell was leaning against the concrete slab and T-Dub was seated at a picnic table on the opposite end of the shelter.

  His eyes were on Eladio. Not fierce, but firm. Like a visit to the principal's office, or a boy's father looking for an explanation to his latest, misguided action.

  Sheen didn't feel the need to say anything to break the ice. He watched Eladio take a seat across from T-Dub, and then he walked over towards Vernell. T-Dub's main man gave Sheen a quick nod. Sheen still wasn't ready to be friendly with the man and simply leaned on the other side of the barbecue pit, his eyes focused on the picnic table meeting.

  Vernell didn't look Sheen's way when he said, "Hey, I'm sorry about that knock on the head. Really."

  "Just doing your job, right?" Sheen followed.

  "Something like that."

  Sheen nodded. "I noticed you didn't get those new Jordans."

  "Waiting for the price to come down."

  Sheen gave Vernell a sideways look. Vernell couldn't help but grin at the exchange.

  At the table, T-Dub's expression had not wavered. Eladio had difficulty looking him in the eye, but he did it because he knew he had too. The music had to be faced. Eladio said, his own disappointment with himself coating the statement, "Hey, boss."

  Eladio would never forget the look on T-Dub's face that followed. The way it contorted. His lips forcefully held together and his chin stuck out. It was tremendous restraint. T-Dub's anger held in check by his need to opt for compassion.

  "You owe me words, boy."

  I will not order an apology. I will not demand an explanation. You tell me what's in your mind.

  "You said you wanted to be impressed, that I should show you what I can do," Eladio said.

  "Well, you misread that one," T-Dub bluntly responded. "You just don't take action like that on your own and shit."

  Eladio's shoulders slumped. T-Dub was talking street with him. The last time they'd had a real conversation of any considerable length T-Dub didn't speak to Eladio the way he talked to the rest of the crew. He spoke intelligently, without feeling the need to patronize Eladio.

  Now, that was gone. He wasn't on the level T-Dub had suspected.

  The feeling must have been in the air, because T-Dub immediately noticed the alteration. He was talking down to the boy and he knew it.

  "Whose idea was this attack on Araña's place? Because I don't think it was yours."

  Eladio shook his head and replied, "It doesn't matter. I'm responsible."

  "How?"

  "I put the bug in Gameboy's ear. I mentioned that you were watching and you wanted me to show you initiative. Then his eyes got big and . . . I let it happen, boss."

  "You didn't agree with the plan, though. Did you?"

  Eladio shook his head. No, it was stupid.

  "Why do it then? Why not come to me and tell me what was up? Even if you did have a plan, no matter if it was good or not, you should have run it by me! Not take an action that has consequences like this on your own."

  "I know."

  "If you know, then why did it happen?"

  Eladio shrugged his shoulders.

  T-Dub grabbed Eladio, palming the back of his neck and looking him straight in the eye. "A ma
n don't shrug his shoulders. A man makes a decision," T-Dub insisted.

  Eladio didn't bat an eye when he answered, "I made the wrong choice. I let them shame me into a bad decision. And I'm sorry for it."

  T-Dub nodded. "Okay."

  He released Eladio and relaxed his jaw.

  "You gotta live by your instincts, Cachorro. Trust yourself first. Always."

  "Eladio," the young man responded. "And my instincts tell me that this isn't me anymore. Don't know if it ever was. I respect you, T-Dub, and I appreciate you letting me work for you. But I don't want to be you."

  T-Dub wasn't offended. He was more distressed that he'd thought to have found a protégé he could bring up to expand his business and it hadn't worked out. But he understood Eladio's choice.

  "I ain't gonna hurt you, Eladio. You fucked up and it put me in a spot. But the way I figure it, you got enough problems coming your way from Araña's people. That's gonna be on you to deal with, understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Way Vernell tells it, Gameboy was a little crazy, maybe a little stupid too. And he got dropped for it. Anyone to blame for that mess, he'd be the one. And that other boy got taken out too, so it don't accomplish much for me to throw you towards a grave."

  "Diego's dead?" Eladio asked. There was regret to his voice, but not much surprise.

  "Mm-hmm. The new man, Abraham Cristiano did him. Tortured him, trying to find your ass."

  Eladio's eyes dropped, sadly he said, "He was just along for the ride."

  T-Dub looked off to the distance, shook his head. Along for the ride? Jesus. Fuckin' kids.

  "You got my word on this, Eladio. You don't need to hide from me, you don't need to hide from my people. But you stay around here, you're gonna be looking over your shoulder. You get what I'm saying?"

  Eladio nodded.

  "Some people still looking for blood," T-Dub added.

  He watched the young man for a few more moments, thinking about how he'd picked the wrong candidate for promotion. He'd been impressed by Eladio's intelligence and his loyalty. Maybe it was his heart. But the young man was right. This wasn't him anymore.

  He could never be like T-Dub.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Leverage

  Calvin had driven the route a hundred times before. It started when he picked up the truck at the warehouse tucked behind a strip mall on 27th Avenue, a few blocks north of Calle Ocho and continued after he'd picked up the shipment at the Port of Miami. He would drive back to the mainland and travel through Downtown Miami on NW 6th street. He'd turn the truck onto 2nd Avenue and drive south, across the bridge that passed over the Miami River.

  The River wasn't the official division of the drug territories, but it might as well have been. Araña's, now Cristiano's, crew ran things Downtown and throughout the Overtown, Brownsville and Earlington Heights areas. T-Dub's real estate started in Brickell and moved west and south from there.

  Calvin had to drive the non-descript moving truck through the Cubans' territory each time there was a new delivery. He never minded much, hardly ever gave it a thought most of the time. T-Dub hadn't set up shop in Araña's territory and Calvin didn't expect, now that someone had lit Araña up, for T-Dub to change that policy. He'd heard rumblings about the Cuban crew trying to move in to Brickell and cross the River, but nothing had come of that yet.

  So he drove. He minded his own business and got paid.

  He was used to the early morning darkness. Driving through the city at 4:30 in the morning was quiet time. He'd still often think about what a mess it was to drive through downtown, to Little Havana and all the other high traffic areas during the daytime hours, but how solitary the streets were before the sun rose. Miami was like a ghost town at this early hour.

  The high beams that flashed in his eyes coming from the opposite direction distracted him. He would occasionally see a vehicle driving the morning route, but they typically weren't speeding at this velocity.

  Calvin laid into his horn. The high beams flickered twice and he turned his head to the left just soon enough to catch the image of another truck, high beams flooding the dark morning sky, barreling towards him.

  The truck spun beyond his control. It did a 360°, but didn't topple on its side. Calvin was rattled. He'd hit his head on the driver's side window, but not enough to knock him out. He blinked twice, hard, trying to clear his blurred vision. He had enough wherewithal to recognize he'd just been in an accident. A moment later, he figured out why he'd been hit. He didn't need to wait for the three Latinos armed with automatic weapons to approach the truck's cab. He knew he'd been fucked. Cristiano was making a move on T-Dub's product.

  Shit. 100 kilos of T-Dub's supply is about to get jacked.

  That's the last thing Calvin thought before the butt of a gun came down on his temple and the lights went out.

  ✽✽✽

  T-Dub had been woken by Vernell's call. The news wasn't good. He knew that before he'd heard it from Vernell's words. When he answered the phone and his top guy said, "T, it's Vernell," he knew something bad had happened. It was an early call, earlier than he ever got from his men.

  He had a fifteen minute drive to think about what had been reported in the call. His truck had been hit. A hundred kilos this week, gone. He didn't have to think long or hard about whom had done the stealing. He knew it would be Cristiano. But what was his purpose? Was it the obvious reason and a turf war was about to begin? If so, T-Dub had to mobilize. There would be blood in the streets and there would be no treaty. It would only end when one side was pushed out of business for good.

  He arrived at the warehouse and Vernell was waiting for him in the parking lot. T-Dub got out of his car and Vernell opened the door to the building for him. They went inside, Vernell sealing the entrance behind them.

  "Talk to me," T-Dub said.

  "Little Calvin got hit on 2nd, coming back from the pickup," Vernell explained.

  "Our side of the bridge?"

  "Mm-hmm," Vernell said as he nodded his confirmation.

  "He all right?" T-Dub asked.

  "Busted up the side of his head, bruise. Maybe concussion, I don't know. But he'll be ok."

  "Nobody gives him shit for this, you hear? Man was just driving a truck. Could've happened to anyone."

  "I got you."

  "We hear from anybody yet?"

  "Yup. Just before you got here."

  "And?"

  Vernell slipped T-Dub a bundle of paper.

  "Big Cuban dude, was at the meeting the other day, brought this to our front door," Vernell explained.

  T-Dub opened the paper. It was a note, wrapped around a Polaroid picture. The snapshot was of ten tin drums, each three feet tall. One container had its lid off and a mess of rice grains were scattered around its base. Inside the open container, buried among more grains of rice, were T-Dub's wrapped packages of heroin and cocaine.

  T-Dub grimaced at the image, and then turned his attention to the note that accompanied the picture. It read: "You want it back, let's make a trade. Call me."

  A phone number followed the message and T-Dub wasted no time in walking over to the phone on the desk and dialing the digits he read off the note.

  It rang twice before being answered as the third ring began.

  "Hello," said the voice on the other end of the line.

  "I think you know who this is. I'm interested in this deal you mentioned," T-Dub said.

  "Your product for the boy. That's the trade."

  "And if I say no, Cristiano?"

  "Maybe your drugs end up in the bay. Maybe I sell them myself. The fuck do you care? But you don't get them back if you don't make the deal," Cristiano said with the unmistakable tone of annoyance.

  "How do you want to do this?" T-Dub asked.

  "There's a place off of Krome, off in the woods. A good private spot. You agree and set the time to meet, I will call you one hour before with directions. And we meet again, it's not like before. None of this mierda a
bout no guns. I'm coming with protection and I don't give a fuck if you do or don't do the same."

  "Oh you can count on that. I'll be calling you with my answer."

  "Don't make me wait too long."

  No goodbyes, no indication of when to expect the call, just a hang up. T-Dub was done with that conversation. Now he had another one. He'd have to be a salesman.

  ✽✽✽

  Sheen looked down at his pager that was beeping, clipped to his waistband. He sort of recognized the number. It wasn't a number he immediately knew as one he'd frequently called, but it struck him as one he'd seen recently. Then it occurred to him, as he glanced over to the paper on his office desk, that the number was the one T-Dub had given him for direct contact.

  He reached across to the phone, dialed and awaited a response.

  "Number twenty-two," T-Dub answered on the other end of the line. "What's up?"

  "You tell me, Tisdale," Sheen responded. He hadn't anticipated hearing from his old friend again and certainly not so soon.

  "I need something from you."

  "What do you want?"

  "I need to get together with the young'un. Eladio."

  Sheen sighed. He didn't know T-Dub's angle, but he was instantly suspicious. T-Dub had given his word about the boy, and Sheen trusted that. But he knew there was no good reason for the man to reach out to the teenager he'd just brought back.

  "Why?"

  "Cristiano and his people, they came back on us. Hard."

  "People dead?"

  "Not yet."

  "Okay. Well I'm trying to keep Eladio from getting killed, so whatever it is you need, I don't know if I can help you."

  "This might help him stay alive, Sheen. One way or another, he's in danger. This could put an end to it."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning I got an opportunity to settle things with Cristiano. But I need Eladio to do it. I'm asking you to get me in touch with him."

  "Tell me what happened."

  T-Dub knew it wouldn't be as simple as asking for the favor. He had seen the level of commitment Sheen had to protecting the teenager and he knew Sheen was too honest and decent a man to just hand him over without reason. He owed Sheen the explanation.