Downward Dog in Miami

by Larry David Allman

  “Hey!” someone shouted from the first lane of cars. Noah turned; two men were approaching. Enrique got out of the Chevy Tahoe, which was blocking the Panamera, and closed his door. Noah came closer to the passenger door of the Tahoe. The two men, both large and wearing suits and ties, came up next to Enrique and formed up in a line facing him.

  “What are you doing here?” one of them said with an accent.

  Enrique took in the man and noticed the bulge on his left hip, then the same with the other man. Both were armed; both were much larger; both presented an immediate problem.

  “We’re picking up this car,” Enrique said.

  “We were hired to pick up the car. Who are you?” Noah asked.

  “We’re security,” the man responded with a smirk.

  “Let’s see your ID, Mr. Security,” Enrique said.

  It started without warning. The man on the left moved quickly into Enrique’s space and pushed him, both hands on his chest and with force, into the Highlander. Enrique landed hard against his back and felt the breath go out of him. Noah rushed around to the front.

  The other man pulled his gun and pointed it at Noah. “Get in your shit car and get out of here… or you’re going to get hurt,” he said, more gutturally, pointing his gun at Noah, then pointing the gun to their Tahoe. “Now!”

  Noah reached out to Enrique, who was leaning against the Tahoe, and grabbed his arm. “Let’s go,” Noah said. As they got in their car to depart, Noah said to the men, “Sorry, must have been a mistake. We’re leaving. And really sorry about our shit car.”

  Enrique drove around the lanes of parked cars and exited the parking lot. As he got out of sight from the parking lot, short of breath, he said to Noah, “I’m going to pull over down there; we need to make some calls.” Noah got out his phone, as did Enrique after he stopped the Tahoe and put it in Park.

  “Hey Carlos,” Enrique said after he tapped on his directory. “We had a little problem. “

  “What kind of problem? What happened?”

  “Two guys, big guys, pulled a gun on us. Foreign guys. We didn’t fight with them… We left.”

  “Must be something involved in what happened here. Five guys were killed here today. Shit.”

  “What do you want us to do? I mean, you paid us for this; we didn’t get it done. We want to be straight with you.”

  “Me too… I’ll call you right back.”

  “Hey Pablo,” Noah said into his cell phone as Enrique clicked off on his. “How busy are you… Yes, tonight?”

  * * *

  I was just ready to give Agent Ross an overview of what I thought we could do to help him, and help the government, when my sat phone chimed. It was Linda. I accepted her call and was at the same time interrupted by my regular cell phone. It was Carlos. Two phones chiming away at the same time—I must have looked impressive.

  “How important? We’re in a meeting,” I said to Linda while I accepted Carlos.

  “Not urgent, but interesting,” she said.

  “Okay, stay there. I’ll call you back in a minute.” I put down the sat phone and positioned the office phone. “Carlos, what’s up?”

  “Hey man, problem with the pickup. My guys went, and two guys showed up, foreign guys, and pulled a gun on them. My friends left without making a problem. But man, that’s a big no-no with these guys. What do you want to do?” he asked.

  I thought for a minute while Agent Ross watched me. He was government; I needed to be careful.

  “It’s a rental car,” I said.

  “Well, listen, chief, you asked me to do a job, and I asked a friend, and it didn’t get done. That’s not who we are. We need to be better than everybody else or else we aren’t going to make it… That’s what our parents taught us, and we try to live it. We can’t just let this go,” he said.

  It gripped me in a way that was totally unexpected. When I first met him, I saw that his spirit and attitude and integrity boded well for the future of our country. Now, here were those concepts in action.

  “What do you have in mind?” I said. It would have been easier to just let the rental car company go and pick it up and charge me, but something was moving me in the way Carlos and his friends wanted to fix the situation, that they weren’t just giving up because it had become difficult.

  “My friends know people who can handle this. My friends have friends. They can get the job finished. It will cost,” he said.

  “How much?” I asked.

  “Don’t know. Their friends are not my friends, but I know who they are, and they don’t take shit off anybody.”

  “You think that’s the way to go? We don’t want any more problems. I’m here in this building where five people were killed today. These could be the same people. I’m trying to say it’s dangerous.”

  “Right. I understand; my friends understand. But there’s a certain honor for us. It’s how we want to live. You put these people on the case, and it gets handled. My friends will need a budget… and I know you’re good for it, whatever you say. I know you’re good.”

  That did it. Trust, competence, excellence: Carlos was preening, and it affected me. He was about eighteen years old, but he felt like an equal. “Okay, make a deal, be reasonable, get the car back to the hotel, and call me when it’s done. No problems.”

  “I’m your guy,” he said as he clicked off.

  Lauren and Agent Ross looked at me, waiting for some explanation of that call—Lenny knew what it was. I tapped in Linda.

  “Hey,” she said. It was good to hear her voice.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “One of those nuts from the Chinese consulate—his phone has been dormant but went active tonight. He got a call a few minutes ago from the Miami area, a number we never had, obviously a burner.”

  “What’d it say?” I asked.

  “‘Come immediately.’”

  It had to be General Kangxi, I thought. Who else would be summoning those clowns?

  “It was in Mandarin,” she added.

  “Where’s James?” I asked.

  “Don’t know, probably—”

  “Okay, enough. Find James, and conference me on this phone. And knock it off about James.”

  “On it,” she said and clicked off.

  This could be a very tasty development in the case. The government had lost the general at the airport. I needed James in that moment, as well as Linda. We needed to do cyber warfare at a level way above Ross’ pay grade.

  “Okay,” I said, “this is what’s going on.”

  Just then, Ross’ phone chimed. He accepted the call and listened for a minute. “It’s the AG’s office,” he said.

  “Florida?” I asked.

  “Main Justice, DC. He wants to speak to you,” Ross said, looking at me.

  After what we had done earlier today at the Cayman bank, I was a little leery.

  “Put it on the speaker,” I said as I looked to Lauren looking to me.

  “Mr. Randall,” a booming voice with a deep Southern drawl came over the cell. “Harris Zeller here, Deputy AG for Organized Crime. Are you there?”

  “Yes sir, Derek Randall here. How can I help you?”

  He presented a very brief case in a lawyerly fashion, using very few facts and ultimately asking for our help with actual victims. He informed us that they—being the federal government—were aware of Siroco on a very limited scale, and, as well, of the Santo Garcia money laundering operation in Florida. They were able to generally follow money flows, but they needed an actual predicate crime to tie them to further judicial action. Then they could move more aggressively. I knew two things with certainty in that moment: we could help, and the government was way behind us.

  “Mr. Zeller, thank you for what you are doing. Have you run down Santo Garcia and his fellow criminals, up in Stuart?�
� I asked, trying to be courteous.

  “We’re on it right now, as we speak. They all have sheets, mostly felonies; that line of inquiry is in process.”

  “What about Siroco?”

  “We’re a little behind on that one… Well, until today. Now it’s national security, probably our main focus here at DOJ and at DHS. When they found the ricin, everything changed. We will take down the principals of that enterprise any minute now.”

  I knew that would not be happening any minute now. I had seen Lev in action. He was anything but stupid, irrespective of whatever Billings and Mr. Jones had said.

  “What about General Kangxi, and Dimitri Porshenko and Katarina Truska? What do you have on those people?”

  “Almost nothing. Maybe you can help us with those too. I assume they’re involved with Siroco?”

  This was our government… Could it be more impotent?

  “You need a real victim? For what? Money laundering, national security, organized crime… For what, exactly?”

  “For all of those. It opens everything up if we can connect it all to a specific crime, a specific victim. You know how judges can be. Can you help us?”

  I didn’t have to think too long on that one, except this was a national security matter, and I knew if they wanted to, they could make arrests based on a wish. This guy was probably a political appointee, the ones we hear about who got their job some way other than by earning it.

  “We’ll get back to you within five minutes,” I said and clicked off. I looked at Agent Ross, who also clearly understood that this was pathetic. I tapped in Ed.

  * * *

  “It’s a go,” Carlos said to Enrique. “Get your guys, and get it handled, no problems. Nothing weird. Make a fair deal. My client is good for it, I promise.”

  “Back to you soon,” Enrique said. He clicked off with Carlos and looked to Noah, who was holding his cell phone and put it on speaker.

  “Pablo, brother, we need you. Can you work tonight?” Noah said.

  “What you got?” Pablo answered.

  “We need a car picked up. We tried. Two guys came at us, large guys, pulled a gun. Sounded Russian,” Noah said.

  “Shit, man, this our country. That don’t fly here. What exactly you want us to do?” he said.

  “Just deal with them so that we can pick up the car. It’s at the airport. The client doesn’t want any problems.”

  “Sounds like you already got a problem or you wouldn’t be calling me. But okay, simple repo assist. We can do that. You sure it’s just two guys?”

  “It was just two when we were there. Big guys with guns.”

  “We big and we got guns. But we smart too. When you want this?”

  “As soon as possible. Can you do tonight?”

  “Depends on price.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Two thousand, cash.”

  “Okay, that’s okay. We have to get it from the client, but it’s good.”

  “You know you never fuck with us on money. You do, it don’t end well.”

  “It’s all good, Pablo, it’s not a problem. You will get your money.”

  “You on the hook for this. I’m getting the guys together now; we can be there in forty-five minutes. You need to be there too.”

  “Yes, it’s at Air Charter Service, the private jet place, in that lot. We’re here now; we’ll stay.”

  “Hermano, you owe us two Gs. See you there,” he said.

  Noah clicked off and looked at Enrique, who said to him, “Don’t worry, this guy is good for it. I trust Carlos, and Carlos trusts him.”

  “He better be, or we’re in real trouble,” Noah said. “These guys don’t take prisoners.”

  * * *

  “Yes, Derek?” Ed answered his phone. This was definitely not the man I had come to know, and there was some slight commotion in the background. His voice was weak, almost faint.

  “How are you, Ed?” I asked, although the answer was obvious.

  “Not good. We’re at Mogen David Mortuary. We’re getting ready to take Arthur home.” He choked up and paused. “Sorry,” he came back, “this is my fault. I don’t know if I can face my family… but I have to try.”

  “Are you going home with Arthur?”

  “Of course, I’m responsible. I have to deal with this in the right way.” He paused, and I could hear him sobbing. “This is my daughter’s child, and I got him killed.” Then he lost it, for maybe a minute, but got back in control.

  My heart just ached, I felt his pain so strongly. I pushed on.

  “When will you be leaving?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow. Why, do you need something?”

  “Well, yes, there’s a call and maybe some paperwork for the criminal case against Siroco. Some guy in the federal Attorney General’s office needs to talk to you. Can you do that now?”

  “I can try. These bastards need to pay for this,” he said, regaining some strength.

  “That’s what we’re working on. This man will call you in the next five to ten minutes. Just tell him what happened, how Siroco stole your money. But Ed, do not say anything about how you got it back. Don’t deal with that at all. Okay?”

  “Sure, Derek, have him call me. What’s his name?”

  “Harris Zeller, Deputy Attorney General. He’s in charge of the criminal case against Siroco. Just tell him about the theft, but nothing about getting your money back. Let me know when it’s done.”

  “Okay. You take care of yourself, Derek; you’re like family now. I’ll be back in a week. I need to make sure Adams and these Siroco bastards get what’s coming to them.”

  “Ed, that’s exactly what we’re working on this minute,” I said, then added, “Shalom, Ed.” I knew it was a phrase that had deep meaning for Jews.

  “Shalom,” he responded.

  As I clicked off, I looked to Lauren, and her reality hit me. She had seen dead bodies riddled with bullets and covered in blood, and she had actually killed one of them in a life-and-death situation in which she got life and he got death. What a horrible day for her. Same for Ed Sapperstein. I got it strongly that we needed to move things along. Lauren needed food and sustenance and relaxation and security, and I was the guy to provide that. A couple more things to finish, I thought, and we could get out of here, get back to the hotel, and start the recuperation process. I signaled to Agent Ross, who got Zeller on the phone. I gave Zeller the information to contact Ed and what, in general, had happened to Sabra Security. He said he’d call right away.

  As soon as Zeller clicked off, Ross’ phone chimed. He accepted and held the unit to his ear, tightly so that we could not hear, for about two minutes. Someone was briefing him on something.

  “Let’s keep the line open; we want to hear the takedowns in real time,” he said as he put his phone on speaker. “Both teams are moving into place,” he said to us as he adjusted the volume on his phone unit. “Adams will be stopped on the turnpike in one minute, and the SWAT team is moving into place somewhere in the Everglades, at some house there,” Ross informed us.

  I was pretty sure, based on what I knew about Adams, that this was a real situation. I had not dealt with him personally, but from what I knew, he appeared to be a kind of stooge for Lev, a frontman burnishing the brand and not stinking outwardly of criminality and evil.

  I knew that Lev would not be in whatever house they were focused on. The beacon would be there, but not Lev. This guy was way smarter than that.

  Agent Ross’ phone crackled with activity; he kept it on speaker and let us listen in. He was getting live feeds from two separate operations. Each was chasing an individual and a beacon. It was a national security show of force, and, I admit, it was interesting. Then things sped up.

  “Team One in place. Now, execute… Execute!” Then the other team, almost like it was choreographed
. “Team Two, almost in place, amphibious unit just coming ashore behind house. Two minutes to breach.”

  We heard Team One, sirens blasting and men yelling the usual police stuff, like “Let me see your hands.” Then the Team One leader announced that “Individual One and Passenger are in custody. Repeat: Individual One and Passenger in custody, no resistance.”

  Then staccato crackling in comm-unit quality, “Team Two: execute… Execute!”

  All of us leaned in toward Ross and his cell phone—it was compelling theater.

  Then we heard gunshots, lots of them, followed by the unmistakable blast of a bomb. Then the transmission went down. Nothing.

  I knew that some decent, honorable guys would not be going home tonight. So did Lenny. Ross’ face paled. “Oh God!” he moaned through his hands. “I know those men.”

  19

  The bomb blast at the site in Everglades City was shockingly real and penetrated us with a sense of lethality and instant death. It silenced us. Agent Ross seemed lost in a kind of numbness, unable to move or speak, covering his face with his hands. Lauren’s eyes were wide and knowing. Lenny assumed a serious posture. I took this horrific event in a kind of professional way—that is, I didn’t emotionalize it or internalize it, I kept it exterior to myself. I knew reality would not be the way Billings and Ross had presented the situation to us—they had only the slightest idea what they were dealing with in Lev. I did: the guy was a stone-cold psycho.

  We were silent for more than two minutes, processing the worst. I checked my watch. It was nearing eight p.m. This had been a super long day, filled with way too much stress and danger, riddled with bullets and dead bodies covered in blood, and now concluded by this horrific failure with attendant death and dismemberment. I checked Lauren; I could see that she was weak and needed to get to safety and security. I needed to move this along and get out of there, get back to the hotel, and begin to help Lauren heal and recuperate. I could use a lot of that myself, and I was sure Lenny had his own similar needs. I took action.