by Don Donovan
"How tight?"
"Borraga was Maxie's coke guy. Made the buys from the wholesaler who brings the shit in from Colombia. Then Maxie, he sells it in his own territory. Hialeah, Little Havana, you know what I'm sayin'? But Borraga, he was the link."
"Go on."
"So I find out Borraga meets this local guy down there at the wedding reception who's doin' small-time gambling shit. Guy by the name of Kiki, I don't know his last name. He's doin', you know, nickel-dime bolita and sports book and shit. Borraga introduces him to Maxie and long story short, Maxie convinces the dude to work for him, bookin' bets and bolita games, you know what I'm sayin'?"
"Maxie wanted him to do this in Key West?"
Flaco started gesturing with the hand holding the cigarette. They were smooth gestures, able to communicate his emotions at the time. "Thass right. So, the dude, he was workin' for this guy Mambo DeLima, who runs the gambling show down there. Kinda like Maxie do up here, you know what I'm sayin'? See, I knew Maxie was doin' some shit in the Keys recently, but I didn't know how it all started, like Borraga meeting the guy at this wedding and all, until just yesterday I found out."
"Okay, so Maxie's trying to move in on this DeLima." Silvana said.
"Yeah. Borraga went down there and got Kiki set up. Set up with Maxie's way of doin' things. More like enforcing Maxie's way of doin' things. Eventually plannin' on moving coke through the Keys and doin' a whole lotta other shit. But the gambling's what starts the engine, gets all the players in place, you know what I'm sayin?"
"Borraga was sort of an advance man? To get Maxie set up to sell coke down there?"
"Now you feelin' me, Sergeant. I never knew this Borraga, 'cause I'm strictly in Yayo's crew, one of the low men on the totem pole, you know what I'm sayin'? I don't know nothin' 'bout what goes on outside of the crew, with Maxie and his other dealings and shit, but I axed around quiet-like an' got this data for you."
"Very interesting," Silvana said. "Anything else?"
"Yeah. Next thing you know, this Kiki dude, he winds up dead."
"Dead?"
"Big smile on his throat." Flaco gestured with his index finger across his neck.
"So you're saying this DeLima guy did him?"
Another drag on the cigarette followed by more hand gestures. "Well, this is where it goes all gray area. I can't say for sure DeLima did Kiki, but man, who else? He find out Kiki is turnin' colors, going with Maxie, and he take him out! Why not?"
"Borraga introduces some guy to Maxie in Key West, they work out a deal for small-time gambling, and the guy winds up dead. Exactly why should I give a shit about any of this?"
"Because Maxie got a real hard-on for this Mambo DeLima. Thinks DeLima sent Logan or one of his other boys up here to kill Borraga for turning Kiki, you know what I'm sayin'? Coupla nights ago, Yayo and Camilito, they make the trip to Key West."
"To kill DeLima?"
"I hear Yayo say yesterday, they just sizin' him up, his operation and all, you know what I'm sayin'? But D-Day be comin' soon."
"The Dávilas are going to do this themselves?"
"This Keys dude, man, this DeLima, he big down there. They wanna make sure it gets done right, you know what I'm sayin'?"
Silvana took this all in. She liked what she heard, but she would need time to sort it all out and figure the possibilities.
"This is good, Flaco. But why are you telling me this?"
"You say you want me to call you 'bout this dude Borraga."
"But why are you telling me about the Dávilas planning to kill DeLima? Yayo's your patrón, right?"
"Yeah. But he ain't lettin' me move up. I been doin' this small shit for too long, a coupla years now. I want more. I'm ready, but he ain't havin' it."
"So you're ratting him out?" Silvana calling it like it was.
Flaco was clearly put out. "No, man, no! It's more like … I'm making room at the top. The guy who's gonna take over has already tol' me he make me his right hand man if that day ever comes. I'm just tryin' to make it come a little sooner, you know what I'm sayin?"
"Very good thinking, Flaco."
"I thought so. Now, you do somethin' for me?"
"¿Qué quieres?"
"One of my homies, he was picked up on a weapons charge. It's a bullshit bust. All they found was a .38 in his glove box, you know what I'm sayin'? No fuckin' AKs or nothin'. But he got a record, and he could be in deep shit if we don't nip it in the bud."
"I hear you," Silvana said. "What's his name?"
"Tony Carrillo."
"Where is he now?"
Flaco said, "Out on bail."
That was good. No messy jail release to deal with. Those fuckers at County were real assholes when it came to this kind of thing, letting guys out as part of a deal with a CI. "Out on bail" means it's only paperwork, and paperwork can get lost real easy.
"I'm on it," she said. "But listen to me. I want to know when this hit is gonna go down, you got that? You hear anything, anything at all about it, you call me right away. I don't give a shit what time of day or night it is."
"I hear you," Flaco said.
"Okay. You did good today, Flaco. Very good. Keep it up."
"Yeah. Let's see when Tony's case is cleared up." He took a final puff on his cigarette. As he walked away, he flicked it hard against the building, showering sparks down to the pavement.
≈ ≈ ≈
Silvana went back to her car and saw The Overlook riding shotgun in the front seat, demanding to be picked up. The FBI bitch was hot to recover that radioactive shit. Silvana wanted to see how it was all going to play out, but she resisted the temptation and pulled out her cell phone.
"Lieutenant Santos?" she said.
"Machado. What's up?"
"I've developed a CI who tells me Maxie Méndez is planning to murder his counterpart in Key West, possibly through Yayo Dávila."
"Oh really?" he said. Silvana caught the high interest in his tone. "Who's the intended victim?"
"A guy named Mambo DeLima. He apparently runs what rackets there are down there."
"Rackets, my ass!" Santos said. "Hmph! The only racket down there is the high room rates in the hotels. When's this supposed to happen?"
"I'm not sure, sir. But he said 'soon'."
Santos thought a moment. "All right. We'll put a tail on Yayo Dávila. Now, what's Maxie's beef with this guy?"
"I can't go into it any deeper at this time, sir, but the CI wants something in return which I think we should do for him."
"What's that?"
"He wants us to drop a weapons charge against one Tony Carrillo."
"Carrillo? Shit! We've got a chance to put that fucker away for ten years on this charge."
"Yes, sir, I know, but this informant gave me some pretty hot information. And he's positioned to get more. More on the triple homicide. Thing is, sir, we let this hit go down, it might be a chance to pin a murder rap on Maxie Méndez, or at least Yayo Dávila. But we've got to deliver Carrillo to our CI."
Santos thought for a long time. Silvana could hear him breathing at the other end of the line. What little street noise there was fell away for those few seconds. The dark clouds moved closer, promising rain. Finally, he said, "All right. But tell him we want more information. Everything he can dig up. And I don't give a shit how he gets it."
"Yes, sir. But if your tail tells you Dávila's heading for the Keys, would you let me know? Vargas and I want the collar. We feel we've earned it."
"All right. Agreed. Anything else? Anything on the triple homicide?"
She wasn't quite ready to give Logan's name up to Santos just yet. "No, sir."
"Stay on it. But this Méndez thing is scalding hot, so be ready to move if anything breaks."
"Yes, sir."
"And Machado," he said.
"Yes, sir?"
"If we're going to let Carrillo skate on this, and if we allow this Key West murder to take place, I want to be god damned sure we nail either Méndez or Dávila. To
the fucking wall. Open … and … shut. Are you hearing me?"
"In full stereo, sir."
"All right. Keep me posted."
She ended the call and allowed a smile to flicker on her face. Then, still sitting in her car, she picked up The Overlook and turned to where her new bookmark split the pages. She had to finish this chapter.
27
Logan
Sunday, July 17, 2011
4:05 AM
I RETURNED TO THE WILD THING for my second payment from Sharma. I wasn't going to repeat the mistake of creating a scene inside the club, so I checked with LeeRon and he told me her shift ended at four AM, to look for her around four-fifteen or so outside. I parked in a tight spot across the street from the Wild Thing alley and waited. Humidity filled the night air to capacity, drawing sweat out of me. I ran my T-shirt sleeve across my forehead to soak some of it up. It wasn't going to get any cooler tonight. Thick, low clouds hung over the island, trapping the moisture and hiding the moon. It would probably rain later on.
After almost everyone else had left the club, she finally spilled out of the alley at four-thirty. I got out of my car, the slamming door getting her attention.
"Yo, Sharma." She recognized me right away, and temporarily froze, not sure whether she should run, scream, or do nothing. Wisely, she chose door number three.
"Wha — what do you want?" She cast nervous glances over her shoulder back toward the alley. No one around.
As I approached, I spotted her oversized Florida Marlins T-shirt rising and falling around her ample tits from her quick, heavy breathing. Shorts, sandals, big purse carelessly slung over her shoulder, hair messed up after a sweaty night of being groped and pawed … a very different look for her, different than what I'd seen before, anyway.
"You know what I want. It's payday."
She looked behind her once again. At that point, Trey Whitney stepped out of the blackness of the alley, a little stagger in his step. He moved to her side, like a dashing protector of the lady fair. The nearby streetlamp backlit his body, throwing his face into shadow.
"Logan," he said, "I thought we discussed this matter … the other day. As I recall, my … my associates delivered a message to you. Loud and … clear, if I'm not mistaken." His slurry, tentative speech told me all I needed to know about his condition.
I had to laugh. Even when he was this drunk, he was so fucking cocky. I said, "Actually, Trey, you are mistaken. I'm a little stubborn when it comes to this kind of thing. You know, where people don't think they owe me money but they really do."
"Ah, yes. But in this … in this case, they — or rather, she doesn't actually owe it to you."
"I see it differently."
He gave me a loose, careless open hand gesture, waving the air. "Well, that's what makes … a horse race, isn't it now."
I said, "When Mambo forgave your gambling debt, it was between you and him. This money she owes is between her and me."
"You are a … a slow learner, aren't you," he said.
Sharma stepped up, loaded with attitude and righteous confidence. With her head cocked slightly to one side, she said, "Like I told you last week, I don't owe you nothing."
She subtly shifted her purse with her elbow, nudging it a little farther behind her back. Her eyes darted over to Trey, looking for him to draw his sword and slay the robber.
In a crude, exaggerated imitation of her, I cocked my head and stuck it in her face and said in my best snarl, "You owe me one thousand dollars. Now hand it over." I hoped she would come across, since I didn't really plan on roughing her up. If worse came to worst, I guessed I could just grab her purse and fish out the money.
I shot a glance down the empty street. It was only the three of us out there. Even Duval Street, only a half a block away, had quieted down.
At that point, Trey stepped in between us. "Hold it, Logan. She's not paying. And I would recommend …" He burped. " … you not do anything stupid." He pulled on my arm, hoping to jerk me away from Sharma.
What a dipshit. "Easy now, Trey," I said. With little effort, I elbowed him back toward the streetlamp and with the other arm reached for Sharma's enormous purse. She let go a little shriek at the sudden move. To my surprise, Trey plunged in again, reaching out and grabbing my forearm. In his drunken state, he put everything into it and managed to yank me back, out of reach of the purse. I peeled back his fingers, but he latched onto me with his other hand. I had to give him credit, he was putting it all out there. I gave him a heavy shove into the concrete light pole. He smashed into it flush with his back. I thought I heard a crack. I swiveled my head to see him sliding downward to the pavement.
I turned my attention back to Sharma, whose eyes were caught at the crossroads of fear and loathing. She was mulling her next move, but before she could do anything, I loosened my posture and said, "Look, you don't want this to get any worse, and to tell you the truth, neither do I. So just pay up and we'll forget we had these bad words with each other, all right?"
She glanced at Trey lying on the sidewalk and let out a tiny shriek. My head swiveled in that direction. He lay on his back, a bloody pool forming to the side of his head. She rushed to him and knelt at his side.
"He's dead! You killed him, you motherfucker! You killed him!"
I went over to his prone figure. His head leaned slightly to one side and his eyes stared blankly into the night. He saw no more.
My head turned quickly, scanning the street. No one in sight.
All at once, I felt blood rush to my face, each breath shorter and more desperate than the last. I had a hard time moving my arms and legs.
Fucking Trey is dead! A minute ago, he was his usual drunken-asshole self and now he's dead! All because … because I … His old man, the cops, they're all gonna …
Finally able to move, I turned back to Sharma. Still kneeling next to Trey, she sobbed, more out of fear than sympathy for him, terrified I would send her to the same fate.
I should! I should just do her right now and get the fuck out of here. Be done with all of it.
No, wait. I can't do that. I'm not a murderer. I didn't mean to kill Trey. Shit, I didn't even mean to hurt him. All I did was …
My blood was pumping, and fast. I needed a minute to clear my head, so I reached into her purse. The sudden movement sent a startled spasm through her body. I pulled out a wad of bills from a wallet, her night's take, colored up to twenties and hundreds. I counted out a thousand dollars, then crammed the rest into her wallet, which I handed back to her. There was still no activity on the street. No pedestrians, no cars. Only the dim street lamp above us.
I pulled her to her feet and shook her to get her to shut up. She still carried on, so I dragged her into the blackness of the Wild Thing alley.
"You're gonna knock it off right now," I said. I added a quick slap to her face and she finally gathered herself. "Listen to me. Trey came out of the club drunk on his ass. He started grabbing at you out on the sidewalk. You tried to twist away from him. He lunged for you and missed. He fell and hit his head. It was all an accident. You saw it, right?" My hands still gripped her shoulders. I shook her again to get a reply.
"You — you killed him! He's dead!"
I wrapped my hands around her soft neck. With one push, she was against the outer wall of the grimy building. In my lowest threatening voice, I said, "It was an accident. You saw it yourself."
After a few seconds of silence, she nodded, still whimpering.
"Say it," I told her, shaking her with my hands still around her neck.
"It — it was — an accident." Her voice cracked with fear. Her breathing became uneven. She was on the brink of falling apart.
"He grabbed you and — what happened then?"
She forced another whimper back down her throat and said, "I t-tried to get away from him and he —"
"He what?"
"He slipped and f-fell into the light pole and — and hit his head." More sobbing. I slapped her again. She quit.
"That's right," I said, loosening my hold on her. "I was nowhere around. You got it?"
Her head nodded involuntarily, her eyes glazed over. "You weren't here."
"Right again. You hold fast to that story and everyone's gonna be better off for it. Especially you." She made a face and I said, "That's right. Especially you. If the cops pick me up for this, you better know I've got friends who will make you sorry. Very, very sorry." Then I shook her shoulders and said, "Not only that, if Trey's father or those two apes give me any shit over this, you better hope they kill me, because if they don't, I will come after you in ways you never thought possible."
Now I'm the one who'd better do some hoping. As in, hope it doesn't come to that, because I'm almost positive I can't do it. Some guys would just snap her neck right here to make sure she didn't rat them out. I probably should do that, but I'm not going to.
I for sure never had to do anything like that to a woman. Until … until …
My gaze fell to Sharma. Instead of a thirtysomething well-used stripper, I saw bright, wishful eyes, sparkling like clear black glass, belonging to that teenage Cuban girl in Miami, whose tomorrows were wiped out by two of my bullets.
How the fuck did it ever come to this?
28
Logan
Sunday, July 17, 2011
4:50 AM
I RAN TO MY CAR AND JUMPED IN. The street was still clear. A couple of deep breaths while I ignited the engine and quickly maneuvered my way out of the cramped parking spot. Sweat dripped from my forehead and around the back of my neck. I could smell it under my arms. It stung my eyes like tiny needles. I couldn't stop to wipe it away.
I held to the speed limit all the way home, even though very few cars were on the streets and even fewer people walking. By the time I made my way up to our apartment, I'd calmed down a little, but only a little. I jerked a bottle of water from the fridge and swigged about half of it down with the first pull. Without turning any lights on, I sat at our little breakfast table and started to collect myself.
I don't know how much time passed, but I know when I finished the water, my mind stopped spinning. I stumbled into the bedroom, where Dorothy sat propped up by a pillow, reading. She often stayed up late on weekends to get in some reading time. I didn't catch the book title. This one must've been a page-turner, though. It was closing in on five in the morning.