by Joe Curtis
Juan was used to the streets, not like his ex-partner. He remembered when the two were paired up: the street kid and prep school brat, both now cops. It was rough going in the beginning as their personalities and their pasts clashed, but they learned to work together and eventually became like brothers. It was the saddest day of his life when he learned about Fred’s death. He looked over the mini-cassette now resting in his hand. This small device would bring down the largest, most powerful crime lord in Miami. He was doing this for his partner, for his brother.
A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. His police instincts kicked in as he reached for his gun, but before he could get it out the door was reduced to flying splinters as two brutes crashed through it. They came after him with unbelievable speed, tackling the big Hispanic and taking him over his sofa and into an end table, crushing it and pushing broken wood and glass into hiss back.
They quickly yanked a dazed Juan to his feet, slapping him repeatedly in the face.
“You want to be a hero cop, huh?” said the one doing most of the slapping. He was white, and his head was shaved bald. With each blow, Juan felt lightning bolts piercing his mind and eyes, and he teetered on the edge of consciousness. The other thug, who was holding Juan from behind, was laughing so hard he snorted.
“Yeah, that’s right, Mr. Hero. Your partner died too easily. We didn’t have a chance to have any fun with him—but we’re going to have a lot of fun with you.”
With all the strength he could muster, Juan sent his right foot into his assailant’s groin. This shut him up, and he seemed to bow to Juan. On the way down, he vomited on Juan’s feet.
“You dirty Mexican,” the other Mexican screamed in his ear. He flung Juan against the wall, leaving a hole in the plaster. Juan could taste blood and plaster mixing his mouth as he slid once again to the floor. His attacker showed no mercy as he kicked Juan in the ribs repeatedly.
As he kicked, he would ask, “What is it you were gonna give your friend tonight? What?”
Juan was silent. The best thing he could do for Frederick now was to be quiet.
“Tell me, and I’ll kill you now instead of torturing you,” he said. “You know you just wanna get this over with.”
The other was up again and hobbled over. He grabbed Juan by the hair and yanked him to his knees. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and put it to Juan’s throat.
“Tell me—now.”
Juan weakly pointed at the bookshelf and croaked, “The cassette.”
The two followed his finger and grabbed a cassette off the bookcase.
“Now that wasn’t hard, was it? Grab his wallet out of his pocket, get the cash and credit cards—make it look like a robbery.” The other complied as he raised his silenced pistol. “Goodbye, Hero.” He shot Juan twice in the chest, a fatal wound. The two rushed out the door and into the night.
By the time Tammy and Miss Felicia came to the busted door, the men were gone. When she saw Juan, Miss Felicia wailed, “Oh, dear God,” and rushed to call 911. Tammy crept to her master and whimpered as she nuzzled him. As Juan’s life leaked away, he lifted his hand to her neck and pushed the actual mini-cassette under her collar.
He patted her and said, “Give to Bob.”
***
It was well after midnight when Bob pulled up at Juan’s apartments. When Juan didn’t show up at Versailles, he had a sickening feeling in his stomach—almost as if he sensed death. When he reached Juan’s apartment, he knew something was wrong. People were milling in the parking lot and speaking in muffled whispers in the lobby. He was only a few feet into the hall when he saw yellow police tape over a door. Bob rushed to where the door had been and pushed aside the sheet of plastic that had been hung. What he saw looked like a bomb had exploded.
“Oh, Juan—I’m so sorry,” Bob said, pounding the wall out of frustration and anger as tears ran down his cheeks. He’d only known Juan for a short while but had gained much respect for the man because of his loyalty to his dead friend.
A frail voice startled him, and he spun around.
“What’s your name?” A tiny, elderly woman stood before him. Her gray hair was tousled and partly covered her swollen red eyes. Before he could answer, she moved her hair with trembling fingers and excused herself. “I’m sorry. I usually look better than this.”
“My name is Bob,” he said, reaching his hand out to her. “I understand. It’s been a long night.”
Instead of her hand, she passed him the golden retriever’s leash. “I think she’s yours now.”
He took the leash, and the elderly woman filled him in on the night’s terrible events.
As he numbly walked out the door she spoke, “This fell out of her collar.” She handed him the mini-cassette.
***
Shark’s two henchmen, Tank and Leon, walked through the doors of his mansion and followed the housekeeper to his inner den. They were sneering and making rude comments about her as she walked ahead of them. They were cocky. They had retrieved a cassette that could have damaged their boss. They felt confident that they would be rewarded, so they chattered and laughed as they went.
The two looked like a gangster version of Laurel and Hardy. Tank, who’d done most of the beating on Juan, was as wide as he was tall and was breathing hard as they walked. Leon, the shooter, was tall and lanky. Except for his white socks, he was dressed in black. His socks stood out because his pants legs were two inches too short. His hair was jet black, oily and unkempt. His upper lip had a thin strip of hair that was supposed to be a mustache.
The maid motioned to the door to Shark’s inner sanctum. Before he entered, Leon puckered his lips into a kiss and lightly patted the maid. She snorted disgustedly and rolled her eyes.
“We got it, Shark,” Leon said, raising his hand over his head and rattling the mini-cassette.
Catching his breath, Tank said, “Yeah, Shark. We beat the cop until he was begging us to stop. Then we shot him.” He looked at Leon for confirmation, who nodded.
Unimpressed, Shark motioned for the cassette from behind his desk.
“Are you sure this is it?”
“Yeah, he told us this was it,” Leon said, handing the cassette to Shark.
“Yeah—that was the cop’s last words,” Tank said, hands clasped in front of him as he stepped closer to the crime lord.
“Let’s see what we have here,” Shark said, looking into their eyes, making them squirm as he put the cassette into a player.
After a few moments of audio snow, Shark’s stare became harder as they nervously looked at each other, each hoping the other had an explanation.
Softly at first, as if to convince himself of their stupidity, Shark said, “There’s nothing on the tape.” He rubbed his temples. “There’s nothing on the tape,” he repeated, louder. With a burst of anger, he slammed his fist on the desk, sending papers flying through the air and onto the floor. He stood and screamed, “There’s nothing on the tape!”
Both jumped back, fearing for their lives. Immediately they started begging for forgiveness. “Shark, I didn’t know. I promise. The cop pointed to the cassette and said that was what we were looking for,” Leon said rapidly, his voice high and shrill.
“He’s right, Shark. We wouldn’t lie to you. Let us make it up to you. Please, Shark,” Tank said, backing away, trying to find a quick exit. He quickly realized he was the fly and had just flown into Shark’s web.
“I give you a simple job to do,” Shark said through gritted teeth. He stared at them through hooded eyes. “You have totally screwed up. You have failed me.”
“We’ll go back and get it,” Leon said.
As he surreptitiously began to open a corner drawer of his desk, he said, “No, you idiot, you will not. The real evidence against me is already gone. You go anywhere near that apartment, and the cops will pick you up.” He gripped the pistol in the drawer.
“Tell us where we can go, Shark, and we go,” Tank said, his hands clasped in prayer.
> “You want me to tell you where to go, huh?” Shark said.
“Yeah—tell us, we go, it’s taken care of. You can trust us,” Leon said, smiling, trying to show a confidence he didn’t feel.
Shark raised the pistol in their direction. They both tried to shield themselves against oncoming bullets with their hands, but to no avail.
“You can go to hell.” Rounds exploded from the pistol, and the two men tumbled over the couch and onto the floor.
The housekeeper rushed in the office to find the two on the floor, blood beginning to puddle from them.
Instead of shrieking, fainting or running away, she calmly looked at Shark and said, “I’ll get some of the male housekeepers to come clean up. They look heavy.”
“That’s fine, dear. Would you get me a drink?”
“Of course.” It was just another day for a housekeeper in Shark’s mansion.
***
Bob had stopped at Radio Shack on his way to his office to buy a mini-cassette player, and now he was tearing open the packaging as his new companion, Tammy, looked on. As he fumbled with the batteries with shaking hands, he thought about how the little tape in his pocket could bring down one of Miami’s most powerful crime lords. Finally he put in the cassette and sat back with closed eyes to concentrate on what he was about to listen to.
“Yeah,” he heard after a few moments. “Are you sure you have everything ready on your side?” It was clearly Capt. Finnely speaking. Bob had heard Finnely’s deep, loud voice on several occasions when he was at the police department.
“Of course everything’s ready here. I have six of my men who’ll be ready,” said Finnely after a few seconds of silence. Unfortunately only his half of the conversation was recorded, but Bob was thrilled by what he was hearing.
“I know, I know.” He sounded irritated. “They’ll all be in street clothes. I’m not stupid. We won’t have any cops in uniform.” Another silent spell, then: “Have you decided where the exchange is going to be?” Finnely asked. “State St. Warehouse 4, Wednesday at 9:00 p.m. Got it.”
After more silence, Finnely said, “Don’t worry—with my boys watching over us, if something goes down there’ll be enough firepower to protect the president himself. Okay. Right. I get my money after the exchange, right, Shark?”
Bob pumped his fist in the air and shouted, “I got you, Shark—I got you.”
The voice continued, “I trust you. We’ve been doing business for a long time. But remember—my guys are loyal to me.”
Bob heard the cell phone clicking shut as Capt. Finnely laughed softly, got up from his desk and walked away.
It had been a long day for both Bob and Tammy, so when he finally took the dog to his apartment late that night, he collapsed on the couch and patted the cushion next to him. Nervous and upset from her trauma and her new surroundings, Tammy gratefully joined him there.
He waited until she got comfortable, then said, “Well, girl, I guess it’s me and you now.” He gently stroked her as she looked up with tearful eyes. “I’m sorry. It was because of me that your master was killed, but I promise to take care of you and bring those responsible to justice.” She let out a soft bark and licked his face. He smiled, then nodded off and entered a dreamland dominated by fearsome sea creatures whose king was a giant shark.
***
Shark was furious. He was only sleeping in half-hour spurts. His mind was racing about the bounty hunter who’d appeared out of nowhere, like some cheap circus magician. This was a bad time for such annoyances, considering the imminent exchange of his diamonds. He’d been planning this exchange for months now. Six men and women from around the world were coming to Miami to buy his diamonds. They were brokers who bought for various large companies, but they were not associates of these companies on the books. This shielded the companies from embarrassment in case the media or government watchdogs found out the diamonds had been bought on the black market. Of course in this case they would be.
Shark had the plan specifically mapped out in his mind. They were to arrive at the Warehouse 9 on State Street, 9:00 a.m. on Wednesday. When everyone was there, portions or the entire collection would go to the highest bidder. For protection, Shark had several of his henchmen along with some of Capt. Finnely’s off duty cops.
“Get in, get the money, and get out,” Shark said aloud, finally giving up on sleep and getting dressed.
Adjusting his last button on his shirt, Shark picked up the phone and dialed the number of his new assistant, Carson Fingnom, a hotheaded Cajun from south Louisiana. He had flaming red hair with a few adolescent freckles on his pale cheeks. His eyes were blue and had the same fiery intensity as his hair. When he spoke, it was with a rich Cajun accent. Hearing it, some might think Carson was an ignorant back woods swamp hick, but he was raised in Lafayette by a politically prominent family and educated at Stanford, where he obtained his law degree. After Stanford, he went on to study at Cambridge.
“Hello,” a sleepy Carson said into the phone. It was only five in the morning.
“Get up,” Shark ordered as he approached his BMW. “This is our big day, and I want to meet before it gets started so we can go over the plans. Everything has to be perfect, or it will cost me my money and you your life.”
“Yes, Shark,” he answered before hanging up. He sighed. “Big day indeed.”
***
After taking Tammy for a brisk morning walk, the two jumped into the beauty queen and took off for the Herald to see Brandy and show her the mini-cassette. Tammy seemed to be in better spirits as she hung her head out the passenger window and watched Miami fly by.
“Tammy, it could be pretty hairy in a little while, so I want you to stay in the car,” Bob warned her. She looked at him and barked, then returned to the window. “I talk to dogs and cars,” Bob said aloud. “I must really be weird.” He didn’t have long to ponder the notion as he pulled into the Herald’s parking lot.
Inside Bob was greeted by the kind receptionist who said with a laugh, “You’re Bob, right? We’ve heard a lot about you recently.”
Brandy walked around the corner and said, “Hey, Bob—I saw you come in.”
“Brandy, Bob’s here,” the receptionist sang.
Brandy blushed as she hugged a smiling Bob.
“I can see that.”
“I’ve got something that’s gonna blow your mind,” Bob told her after their warm exchange.
Before she could respond, the receptionist looked Bob up and down and said, “I bet you do.”
“Claudia!” Brandy shouted, laughing. “Come on back, Bob. I think Claudia has been reading too many romance novels.” Bob and Claudia exchanged winks as he and Brandy walked by her desk.
As they sat down at her desk, Bob pulled the cassette from his pocket and held it up.
“This is the break we’ve been waiting for. A good man lost his life for this tape, and I want to make sure everyone responsible goes down.” He put it in his player, and they listened to the conversation. Afterwards, Brandy sat back and shook her head.
“This is it, Bob,” she said, tapping the player. “This cassette is going to bring down Shark. I’m so proud of you.”
She got up and walked over to Bob for another hug.
He hugged her back and said, “We did it. Without you I couldn’t have gotten this far.”
She stepped back suddenly and said, “I’m coming with you tonight. I want to be the one on the scene when this story breaks open.”
“Brandy, I don’t know,” Bob said, shaking his head, already worrying about losing her. “It’s going to be dangerous. You need permission from your editor, and the FBI should be informed and . . .”
She interrupted with a wink and an assuring hand on his chest.
“I’m a big girl, Bob. I can take care of myself and my editor. You need a photo journalist to get your story in the Herald, so Shark will go down.”
Chapter Twelve
Mary Catherine was sitting in her sunroom looking out at
the Miami skyline and watching the sun set. The city looked like it was burning a brilliant orange as the horizon took the life-sustaining star to bed. As she smoked and watched, the maid excused herself to leave for the day. Mary Catherine paid her no attention. Her mind was a thousand miles away, focused on the job before her tonight. She too would be selling her share of the diamonds to the highest bidder, which would net her an estimated million dollars or more.
“I’ve sold my soul to the devil,” she said to herself as the last bit of daylight was overtaken by night. A solitary tear trickled down her cheek as she realized the same greed she detested in Shark had taken over her life.
***
To Bob, his past life as an accountant was a distant memory from what seemed like centuries before. He sat in the beauty queen with Brandy and Tammy, only a half block away from Warehouse 9.
Warehouse 9, like many restaurants, was like a shooting star. It started out bright, made a great show then quickly burned out. It was just a shell of a building that once bustled with chefs and waiters, but not many patrons. Tonight, instead of serving steak and seafood, it was serving diamonds to the highest bidders.
A collection of BMWs, Lexuses and Mercedes had parked near the building in ten minutes. Bob, Brandy and Tammy waited until they assumed everyone had arrived then quietly got out of the car and ran across the street as Tammy stayed in the car. Luckily, Brandy had covered an event there three months earlier, one of the last at the establishment, and knew of a back entrance.
As Bob approached the back entrance, one of Shark’s henchmen approached him. He was a short black man whose head reflected light from the above wall light that was positioned above the door.
“Who are you?” He asked. He placed his hands on his hips as he flexed his barrel chest.
Bob stuttered with an answer, “I’m Cleveland, and this is Dora. We’re buyers.”
“Really?” he questioned.
Suddenly, Bob pointed to the sky, “Look! A butterfly”
The henchman yanked his neck to look. Bob put his head down and with all his might drove his shoulder into the surprised man’s stomach. Bob pushed him back a couple of steps when the henchman’s feet got tangled up with each other. He fell to the pavement and knocked himself out.