Havana Hustle (Coastal Fury Book 6)

by Matt Lincoln

“What about the other night?” I wanted to ask far more, but it had to wait until Holm and I had him alone. “None of us expected you to pull that kind of stunt.”

  Holm’s soft snort did not go unnoticed. Yoani and Mike both cut him a look, but he waved it off.

  “Ethan knows where I stand,” he said. “I’m just here for the company.”

  Yeah, I knew where he stood, where most of the team stood, over Mike’s actions. It hit me that if I’d snuck out for intel the way he had, Diane would have had a conniption, but she would have let it go. Holm would have been right in the middle of it with me. Birn and Muñoz would’ve been annoyed but forgiving.

  The difference was Mike had a history with Cuba. Oh, and he wasn’t on the MBLIS payroll.

  Mike nodded. He walked out from behind the bar and went to the door.

  “This talk requires privacy.” He locked the door, turned off the OPEN sign in the window, headed back to us. “I know a few things about what goes on in the underworld, but this Havana hustle is a new one by me.”

  I held up a hand. “Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean, you know things about the underworld?”

  “Ethan, I got offered jobs with five different agencies after my work in special ops.” He pulled up a stool behind the bar, sat, and crossed his arms. “I took one of those jobs. Made a few friends, made a few enemies. We brought Howie in later.”

  “Is that how he met the people in this crime ring?” Holm asked.

  “Yeah.” Mike clenched his jaw. “Those assholes got to him, and I didn’t see it coming. He quietly started working with them. It took me too damn long to figure it out. By the time I did, he was off the grid.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us from the start?” Holm had an edge to his voice that I couldn’t read. “Maybe give us some names then?”

  “Those goons are either dead or in prison.” Mike took a long sip from his bourbon. “Howie managed to escape the fallout, and he swore he’d cleaned up after that fiasco. This was a few years ago. Guess he fell off the wagon.”

  A commotion in the small kitchen stopped the conversation. Mike’s servers weren’t due in for another hour or so. Nobody was supposed to be back there. Holm and I got off our stools and drew our handguns.

  “You three go to the game room,” I whispered to the others.

  Yoani’s eyes widened, but she did as I said. Philippe rushed over with her. Mike, however, didn’t budge. He pulled his shotgun out from a locked cabinet under the bar counter. I didn’t argue.

  I led around the corner into the kitchen where it had gone silent. No one was in sight in the small galley-like space, but the back door was open. I waved Holm in, and Mike followed. I edged up to the exit. At first, the only noise in the alley came from cars driving down the adjoining side street. A moment later, something thumped against the garbage bin.

  Holm whispered, “Probably a rat.”

  The hairs on my neck did not agree. I grabbed the broom Mike always left by the door. A jacket hung on a hook behind me, and I stuck the broom handle into the sleeve. Holm raised a brow but said nothing.

  I stuck the sleeve out the door, and a shot rang out. Someone shouted in rapid Spanish, and then at least two people ran. Using the garbage bin for cover, I rushed outside. Two people were at the end of the alley, and one backed away from us with a raised weapon.

  “Drop it, or I’ll shoot,” I yelled.

  The goon backed up faster and caught his heel in a pothole. He fell on his ass, and his gun skittered out of reach. One of the other two skidded to a stop and did an about-face. He fired over his friend’s head as the first goon returned. Together, they continued firing as they dragged the clumsy one to the mouth of the alley.

  I fired back and hit one of the shooters in the arm, but then I stopped firing. The bastards were so focused on us that they didn’t see two figures move up behind them. The guy in the group turned and yelped, but it was too late.

  Birn went up from behind and grabbed the uninjured shooter by the shoulders. He whipped the man to the ground and put a knee to the back of his neck.

  Muñoz kicked the backs of the knees of the shooter I’d hit. He only had one hand to break the fall and ended up with his face in the same pothole that tripped his pal. Said buddy rocked forward onto his knees and put his hands behind his head without being told what to do.

  Holm and I holstered our sidearms. Mike kept his shotgun level on the goons for a moment longer. Sirens cut through the traffic noise and bounced off the alley walls. Gunfire had that effect on a neighborhood. Mike disappeared into the bar.

  “Gentlemen.” I approached our captives as Birn and Muñoz cuffed them and sat them up. “What brings you to visit this fine afternoon?”

  The two who had almost escaped closed their mouths. They appeared older than the one who had fallen. That kid couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. The apparent ringleader had gray sprinkled through his hair, but few wrinkles, and his buddy with the bleeding arm could have been anywhere south of thirty.

  “Nothing? No ominous message? No crying for Mommy?”

  The youngster put on a hard look, but his lip trembled. Ringleader scowled and snarled. He had the look of a veteran gangster, and I had the feeling we’d get a quick ID on him. I addressed the one with the bleeding arm.

  “The sooner you talk, the sooner you get that arm patched up.”

  A squad car screeched to a stop at the end of the alley. The oldest of the trio grinned, which revealed a mix of good and rotting teeth.

  “I don’t think so,” he drawled in an uneven accent. “They have to give first aid. Is our rights.”

  Bloody Arm smirked through the pain. Muñoz jostled him a little, and he lost the smug look with a yelp.

  A second squad car arrived, and the officers from both cars took defensive positions. Birn went to turn around in slow motion, but one of the officers yelled.

  “On the ground, now!”

  I moved around him with my hands wide.

  “I’m Special Agent Ethan Marston, MBLIS,” I called out. “The people already on the ground are in our custody. As soon as the scene is cleared, we’re taking them in.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Nurse Molly hated it when we brought in suspects with gaping wounds.

  “He needs a hospital,” she hissed outside the interview room. “He’s been shot, for cryin’ out loud.”

  “Just patch him up,” I said. “We’ll get him to the ED in a little while. The trick is convincing him that we won’t unless he talks.”

  Molly’s flush went from her cheeks to her ears.

  “Remember that time when rebar went through your leg? The one where you had the great idea to pull it out yourself before getting help for it. You know, the injury I had to clean up because you refused to go to the hospital.”

  Uh-oh. “Um, yeah?”

  The nurse practitioner stabbed a finger into my sternum. “I won’t be as nice the next time.”

  Ouch. She’d been downright evil because I’d had the audacity to go after a suspect rather than let other people catch him. I still refused later when she griped about dressing the wound during a hasty meeting in the office. I gave her a thin smile.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  She carried the orange medic bag to the interview room door, where Holm waited to escort her in. Before entering, she pointed at her eyes and then mine. Damn, the woman was fierce.

  I shook my head and went to the observation room to join Diane, Mike, Yoani, and Philippe. Mike rubbed his face as I walked in.

  “If you four hadn’t stopped in, I might not be here,” he said in a rough voice. “It’s my place, and I had my guard down. Even with all the shit that’s happening, I had my guard down.”

  “We don’t know that,” I told him. “The kid they’re with, he barely handled himself. The guy I tagged doesn’t exactly reek of experience, either. If any of them would’ve given you trouble, it would’ve been the older one.” I put my hand on his shoulder, but
he shook it off. “Look, we don’t know if they have anything to do with the case. They might’ve been looking to rob the bar.”

  “Come on.” Mike thumped the side of his fist on the concrete wall. “They didn’t wear masks. They snuck in through the back while armed.

  “Let’s find out what they wanted before we jump to any conclusions.” Diane moved to the window and frowned at the injured suspect. “Ethan, I’m not happy with interrogating this guy before he gets stitched up. I know it’s just a graze, but it’s enough to get our asses handed to us if it goes wrong.”

  “He’ll be fine,” I insisted. “Look at the guy. He’s barely flinching now. It can’t be too bad.”

  “You get sixty minutes, no more and no less,” Diane ordered. “He goes to the hospital regardless of whether he speaks.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I don’t believe you’re doing this.” Yoani’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Aren’t you supposed to do better than this?”

  As in better than how her government handled prisoners.

  “It’s leverage.” I rubbed the back of my head and tried to ignore the way Philippe gloated at my discomfort. “Besides, the wound isn’t as bad as you’d think, and the hospital is only a few blocks away. It’s nothing like… Look, he’ll get patched up and be good as new before you know it.”

  Yoani’s eyes narrowed, but she said no more. Her disappointment stung. I didn’t want her to think I was a monster when the reality was that the pressure this suspect felt was the highest it’d be for a while. Sixty minutes to me would feel like hours to a guy in pain, even if he had stopped flinching.

  “We need to know if this has to do with the case or if they were trying to break into some old guy’s bar.”

  Mike snorted. “Are you calling my beloved Hut ‘some old guy’s bar’?”

  “No, never.” I cut the urge to laugh. Yoani was in any frame of mind but laughter, and I didn’t want to piss her off more. Come to think of it, Diane wasn’t in a joking mood, either. “Let’s see what we get from this guy, and then we’ll work on the kid.”

  On the other side of the glass, Nurse Molly fussed over the arm. The suspect cooperated, if only because Holm hovered next to him. In her usual smart style, Molly made quick work of the bandaging. She hadn’t been a field nurse for all those years for nothing.

  I waited until a couple of minutes after she left the room to go see our unhappy visitor. Partly because I wanted him to sweat, but more because I wanted to avoid Molly.

  Holm offered a chair when I got into the room, but I waved it off. He shrugged and grabbed it for himself.

  “I’m Special Agent Marston,” I told the suspect. “Who are you?”

  The man dropped his listless stare to the steel table and kept his mouth shut. I pointed at his bandaged arm.

  “That’s gotta hurt.” I cast a glance at Holm. “He’s lucky, you know. The wind threw off my aim.” In truth, my aim had sucked, and I was embarrassed. “It could’ve been your heart or lungs instead. Worse, it could’ve been your stomach. That’s a tough one.”

  “Don’t tell anyone to eat lead and then shoot them in the stomach,” Holm said in a soft drawl. “It’s bad form.”

  Our suspect’s mouth twitched at the poor attempt at a joke. There was a bit of life to him, after all.

  “What’s your name?” I asked in a friendly tone.

  “I want my free call.” If he hung his head any further, he’d be looking from the other direction.

  “You’ll get everything you need once you tell us who you are and why you and your friends invaded that bar.” I put my hands on the edge of the table and leaned in. “Who are you, and why were you there?”

  He shook his head. “No can do.”

  Holm blew out a breath and tsked. “You know, I’m thinking you better get that arm looked at by a doctor.”

  The suspect narrowed his eyes and pinned the glare on me.

  “Hey, don’t look at me,” I told him. “Like I said earlier, the sooner you talk, the sooner you get to the doctor. That bandaging will work for now.”

  “I don’t know, Marston.” Holm gave me a look so deadly serious that I almost broke face. “I’ve heard that gangrene can set it awfully quick. All it needs is a little bacteria in the wrong place. Our medic is good, but she doesn’t have all the supplies that the hospital has.”

  “Gangrene?” Our suspect’s eyes widened. “Doesn’t that take, y’know, weeks?”

  “Don’t let my partner worry you about gangrene.” I smiled. “The blood infection would get you first, anyway. Or the MRSA, maybe. I’m not sure about these things. We could call our medic back in, I suppose…”

  “No, no.” His larynx bobbed. “She doesn’t like me.”

  I wasn’t about to tell him that Nurse Molly didn’t like anybody. Some cards had to be kept close to the vest.

  “Here’s the thing,” I told him, “you messed with the wrong bartender. If we hadn’t been there, he would’ve crushed your asses.”

  He would have given them a hell of a fight, at any rate. It didn’t hurt to overstate it enough to put the fear of God into the suspect.

  “That’s why they sent three of us,” the guy grumbled. “We didn’t know you’d be there.”

  He slouched and winced as the movement twinged his arm. I stood over him, but he didn’t look up. Holm got up, grabbed an empty chair from over by the door, and handed it to me. I spun it around and sat on it backward, next to our suspect.

  “What was your plan?” I kept an edge to my voice. “Take on the older guy and do what?”

  Someone knocked on the interview room door. Holm answered, spoke with someone, and then returned.

  “We got the prints back already,” he told us. “Enrique Hernandez. You’re twenty-two years old and have a sheet with a bunch of petty crimes, all nonviolent. This isn’t a good look, man.”

  Hernandez straightened, and his eyes went wide. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Once in the system, always in the system.

  “All right, Enrique.” I tapped along the back of the steel chair. “Tell me about this trip to the bar.”

  He licked his lips. “You don’t really think I could get gangrene or nothing, do you?”

  I could’ve sold this kid a one-way bridge into a swamp.

  “I’m not a doctor, but I know that bacteria can get anywhere and do some nasty things.” I pretended to think for a moment and settled on a half-truth. “I knew a guy once who got a graze wound in his leg. He didn’t get to the hospital soon enough.” I shook my head and shrugged. “Guy lost his leg.”

  The guy in question was someone I once served with. His leg was fine after he was shot. He lost the other leg years later when he pulled a stupid stunt involving a dirt bike and two or three pickup trucks.

  Hernandez took several rapid breaths. “I don’t want to lose my arm, jefe. Please take me to the hospital.”

  “Tell me what the hell you three thought you were doing, and we’ll get you on your way.” I crossed my arms over the back of the chair. “They’ll get you patched up in no time. Our nurse does a great job, but she can’t stitch you up like they can at the emergency room.”

  “Okay.” He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing a hair. “Manny told us to go deal with the man at the bar. Said that hombre messed with his business.”

  “Who’s Manny?” Holm asked. He had to be thinking the same thing I was.

  “You gotta keep me safe.” Hernandez gulped. “Maybe it’s better to lose my arm. The boys will kill me if I talk.”

  They always worried about getting killed for talking. In the cases we dealt with, it was a reasonable fear.

  “We’ll do what we can.” I shrugged as if I didn’t care. “At this point, they gotta think you’re talking already. Do you really think they’ll believe that you’ve kept your mouth shut?”

  He looked toward his feet.

  “Manny’s the boss.” He dropped into a monotone voice. “He runs things between her
e and Cuba. That bartender found out some things. Manny don’t like that, and he wants that guy to shut up. John something.”

  “Anything special?” I took the edge from my voice. “I heard there was a crew running cars. Maybe more.”

  Hernandez’s mouth twitched. He met my eye.

  “Yeah, that’s us. Manny has a list. He gets guys in Cuba to find cars on the list and fix them up.”

  “Aren’t parts hard to find?” Holm sounded genuinely curious even though we both had our suspicions.

  “Only if you don’t know where to look.” Hernandez looked at us as if we were the children in the room. “We send the parts on boats with yeyo.”

  “Yeyo” was a street name for cocaine.

  “That sounds expensive,” I said. “My understanding is that you get parts here, ship them to Cuba, fix the cars up there, and then ship them back here. Why not move the cars first and then fix them up here?”

  “You know nothing, Agent Marston.” Hernandez shook his head like I was the dummy. And yet, I wasn’t the one who fell for the gangrene trick. “The guys in Cuba know what they’re doing. They fix cars every day. You get them fresh parts and a little money, and boom, you have something worth driving.”

  Holm chuckled. “That’s a long version of ‘they work cheap.’”

  Hernandez was damn near smiling now. He leaned forward, winced, and touched his arm beneath the bandage.

  “I seen these cars.” His eyes gleamed. “I’m not the kind of guy who gets to see rich people cars. It’s something special. Maybe you’ll see them. You’ll understand.”

  “That’s great.” I got off the chair, took it to the far side of the table, and sat next to Holm. “Tell us more about Manny. Does he have a last name?”

  Hernandez’s enthusiasm drained from his face, and he bit his lip.

  “Delgado.” He looked away.

  I wanted to pump my fist, but I acted like getting the name was the least of my concerns by moving on.

  “You said your crew moves cocaine.” I put my elbows on the table. The next part was less than fun. “Anything besides cars and powder?”

  “I ain’t proud… at least not exactly.” Hernandez looked up, met my eye. “I mean, we help people get out of Cuba, and that’s good, right? We save some lives, make others better.”