Nobody Rides For Free

by Neil S. Plakcy

  Katya called 911 and requested an ambulance. I left Shane tied up on the ground and hurried over to where Ozzy sat slumped against the building. His left hand was soaked with blood as he grasped his right bicep. “It’ll be OK, Ozzy,” I said. “My name is Angus and I’m a friend of Shane’s. I want to help you.”

  He moaned in pain as I quickly unbuttoned my shirt. “I’m going to tie a tourniquet around your arm to stop the bleeding.” I ripped a strip above the hem of my shirt. “We’ll get you all fixed up and then take you back to Lazarus Place.”

  “No!” Ozzy screamed. “I won’t go back there. Frank rescued me!”

  “It’s OK,” I said, backing away a bit. “Nobody’s going to make you go anywhere except to the hospital to get treated.”

  Ozzy looked panic-stricken, his eyes wide. “Where’s Frank?”

  “Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you anymore.”

  “Frank isn’t the one who hurt me. It was Shane.”

  Shane? Well, yeah, Shane had shot him. But did Ozzy mean something more?

  I looked over to where Shane was lying on the ground. Tears were streaming down his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you Ozzy,” he said, between gulps of breath. “I wanted to take care of you.”

  A funny phrase, take care of. Nicholas Geier might have “taken care of” Alexei Verenich and Dorje Brewer. But the phrase could also be so good—the way I felt taken care of when I was with Lester. Even that could go too far though—and I had a feeling I knew which way things had gone between Shane and Ozzy.

  “Shane. What did you do?”

  Shane didn’t answer.

  “He made me have sex with him,” Ozzy said. “He’d tie me up and beat me. He said it was the only way he could show me that he cared about me.”

  “Shane. Is this true?”

  Shane curled up in a ball as the ambulance siren keened in the distance. I left Katya in the courtyard and went out to the front to wait for it. I unlocked the front door and tore down the yellow crime scene tape on the outside.

  I’d gotten it all wrong. I’d thought I had special insight into this case because I was gay, but I was looking at everything that had happened through the lens of my own experience, growing up with a loving family, never being assaulted or forced to have sex against my will.

  Though I hated Shane for what he’d done to Ozzy, I knew that he was as much of a victim as the boy he’d tried to save. He was reenacting those awful scenes from his childhood, when his cousin had raped him repeatedly. Was that the only way he could feel now—to cause someone else pain?

  A big red ambulance came down the street, lights flashing. When the first EMT jumped out, I showed him my badge and told him that Ozzy had been shot. He and his partner got a stretcher from the back and carried it into the lobby, then out to the courtyard.

  Katya had rolled Frank and Shane together, both still cuffed by belts. She sat on the ground beside Ozzy, speaking to him in low tones. I put my torn shirt back on as the EMTs opened up the stretcher and checked Ozzy’s vitals.

  Ana Cespedes arrived before the EMTs took Ozzy away, and she spoke to him briefly.

  Then she came over to me. “Mr. Perez has an interesting story,” she said. “You have any evidence to back it up?”

  “I have a video where Frank Cardone has sex with Ozzy, who is underage. That should be enough for statutory rape, right?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll need a copy of the video as soon as you can provide it. What about his allegations against Shane McCoy?”

  “That’s tougher.” I thought back over what I had heard. Shane had only said that he tried to take care of Ozzy. When Ozzy told us about the way Shane had raped him, and I’d asked Shane if it was true, he hadn’t answered, just curled up and sobbed. “I think it’s going to be Shane’s word against Ozzy’s,” I said, though I hated to admit it. “For now, you’ll have to use the shooting. And then once you’ve mirandized Shane, maybe he’ll admit to something.”

  She nodded, and walked over to speak to a couple of officers in uniform, who cuffed Shane and Frank and led them away. An EMT told me they were going to take Ozzy to Broward General for treatment of his gunshot wound.

  Cespedes interviewed me and Katya as the CSI guys set up big lights and collected evidence. I began with my investigation into the flakka distribution, and how that had led to the porn house in Wilton Manors. “That’s how I got to Lazarus Place,” I said. “Shane McCoy was the only guy dealing with homeless gay teens who was willing to talk to me. He was desperate to get in touch with Ozzy Perez. Now I understand why.”

  I shook my head. “I had it wrong,” I said. “I thought Shane was rescuing these boys from the street, but according to Ozzy, he was being abused. And that makes me wonder if other boys are in the same situation.” I explained what Shane had told me about his own abuse as a kid.

  “That’s no excuse,” Cespedes said.

  “I know. And I’m not defending him. Just trying to understand.” I shook my head. “I should have suspected something.”

  “No way you could have known,” Katya said.

  “Maybe I’m not cut out for this job,” I said. “I had the abuser in my sights and I didn’t recognize it.”

  “Humanity is what makes a good law enforcement agent,” Cespedes said. “Now. About the murder that took place here a couple of days ago. You ready to give up the information on the guy Eric Morozov mentioned? Nicky?”

  I looked at Katya. “It’s time,” I said to her.

  38.

  Bad Decisions

  “The man you’re looking for in the murder of Dorje Brewer is Nicholas Geier,” Katya said. She spelled the name and gave Cespedes Geier’s cell number. “I don’t know where he’s staying, but he’s driving a rental car.” She pulled out a small notebook and recited the make, model, and plate number.

  “What’s the status of Antonio Cruz?” I asked Cespedes. “Is he still in custody?”

  “He bonded out yesterday, and immediately demanded to know what happened to his cheetah,” she said. “The cat’s recovering at a veterinarian’s office that specializes in exotics. Since Mr. Cruz did not have a permit to keep a wild animal in his home, when the cheetah is recovered, he’s going to a shelter in central Florida that accepts wild cats.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t kill it,” I said.

  “I’m just as glad you shot it,” Cespedes said. “What do you need Cruz for?”

  “It looks like he’s the man behind the LLC that runs the porn house. I’ll need to meet with Frank Cardone after you’ve booked him. I’d like to get him to confirm Cruz’s place in the operation before I get an arrest warrant for Cruz.”

  It was nearly midnight and I was wiped out, but I didn’t want to go home. I texted Lester to see if he was still awake, and he was. He invited me over, but I called him and said, “I need a long, hot shower to wipe all this crud away from me. But by the time I finish that I’ll be in no condition to drive.”

  “Then I’ll meet you at your house,” Lester said. “And if you need a hand in the shower I can help with that, too.”

  • • •

  I woke beside Lester Sunday morning, and I wondered if this was going to be my future—waking up beside this big sexy guy who made me feel protected. I thought about what had happened the night before, the awful way that everything had turned out. Shane and Frank would end up incarcerated—Shane for shooting Ozzy, and perhaps for the sexual assault that Ozzy alleged as well. The statutory rape charge against Frank was only the tip of the iceberg once the prosecutor got hold of all the videos and computer files we had confiscated at the house in Wilton Manors. Frank would probably have the chance to make a plea bargain if he could give up Antonio Cruz or anyone else higher on the food chain than he was.

  What would happen to Ozzy once he was discharged from the hospital? With Shane out of the picture, could he go back to Lazarus Place, or would there be too many bad memories associated with it? There weren’t many other options for a kid on the edge of
adulthood with no education and no skills other than the ability to perform sexual acts on film.

  I picked up my phone from the bedside table as Lester slept on his back, tiny snores rippling from his mouth. A text had come in at two o’clock from Ana Cespedes asking me to come in and meet with her later that morning.

  Lester woke up and I leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “Morning, sunshine,” I said.

  He yawned. “Is it morning already?”

  “That’s what the sun says.” He got up to use the bathroom and while he was gone, I called Broward General. After jumping through a few bureaucratic hoops I was able to find out that Ozzy Perez had undergone surgery to remove a bullet from his chest. He was sedated and in guarded condition.

  When Lester returned, I got up and we both grinned as we bumped hips. “You have time for a workout this morning?” he asked.

  “We didn’t get enough of one in last night?”

  He laughed. “I was thinking of the gym. But hey, if you’re up for more fun…”

  “I wish I could. But I’ve got to go meet with a police detective.”

  “You’re an awesome guy, Angus. You’re smart and you have a big heart. You know how to handle yourself in a crisis and you’re not bad looking either.” He grinned.

  “We’re a mutual admiration society then.” I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close to me. I loved the way his body smelled, the way his skin felt against mine. I could live in those arms.

  “What’s your schedule this week?” I asked.

  He was working a couple of late shifts at Equinox. “But tomorrow morning I’m meeting with the liquor distributor again. If they offer me the job, I’ll quit Equinox as soon as they can replace me.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, then.”

  Lester left soon after, and I showered, dressed, and drove to the Fort Lauderdale Police Station to meet with Ana Cespedes. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her cream-colored blouse was wrinkled, with a coffee stain on the right cuff. She introduced me to an assistant district attorney named Vivian Walsh, a statuesque woman with a Jamaican accent.

  I spent nearly an hour telling Walsh everything that had led me to the Morningstar Apartments the night before, stopping periodically as she asked me to clarify certain points.

  “There are a lot of crimes here and a lot of perpetrators,” she said when I was finished. “Some of them will go up on federal charges, some on state charges.”

  “I believe that Antonio Cruz, who’s out on bail for participating in an illicit poker game, is behind the operation of the porn house. If Frank Cardone can give us Cruz, will you make a deal with him?” I asked her.

  “That’s certainly on the table, depending on what he has to offer.” She looked at her watch. “I have time now if you want to accompany me to the jail.”

  Walsh made arrangements to have Frank Cardone brought to an interview room like the one where Cespedes and I had met with Eric Morozov. Walsh and I met in the lobby of the jail a half hour later.

  I had already told Walsh about the investigation into the flakka distribution, which I had handed off to Colin Hendricks. “Can we ask him about that, too?”

  “Let’s see how things go. I don’t want to muddy the waters by bringing in too many cases at once, and since I’m not the prosecuting attorney on that case, I don’t have the authority to make deals on it.”

  Cardone looked like shit. The orange jumpsuit wasn’t a good color for him, and he was pale and sweaty. A clump of dirt remained in his hair from when he’d been wrestled to the ground.

  Walsh introduced herself and me for the tape. “Depending on what we find after a full analysis of the videos you produced, you’re looking at numerous counts of unlawful sexual activity with certain minors, as well as lewd and lascivious molestation,” she said. “Each count could include a fine of up to $10,000, up to 15 years in prison, or both.”

  “You’ve gotta help me,” Frank said. “I can give you lots of information if you can work on those charges. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison.”

  “We’ll see, based on what you have to deal with,” Walsh said. “Why don’t you start by telling us how this operation got started?”

  “I met Antonio at a bar in Lauderdale,” he said. “Second Star, on Andrews Avenue. We discovered that we had similar tastes, if you know what I mean.”

  “For the tape, please specify,” Walsh said.

  “Cruz likes young boys,” he said. “Preferably right on the edge of puberty. He plays the daddy, gives them gifts.” His mouth curled into a sneer. “Fucks their little asses until they start sprouting pubic hair. Then he dumps them.”

  Walsh was impassive. I imagined she heard a lot of awful things in her job. “How about your own tastes?”

  “I’m no pervert,” Frank said. “Yeah, I like my boys young, but older than Antonio’s for sure. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. You know, in the old days people used to be able to start having sex as soon as they hit puberty. Our society is so fucked up about sex.”

  “Let’s go back to the original question,” I said. “You met Cruz at Second Star, discovered you had similar tastes. What happened next?”

  “At the time I was working for a web company making instructional videos. Cruz was impressed with my skills and told me he had connections with a guy who distributed porn. He asked if I was interested in making some movies. That there was a lot of money in it for me if I could do it right.”

  He cleared his throat. “He found the house in Wilton Manors and paid for all the equipment. I started cruising around downtown Fort Lauderdale and the beach, looking for boys to participate.”

  He led us through how he’d recruited boys, then let them go when they aged out. From what he said, the house had been in operation for at least five years.

  He wasn’t a stupid guy—he made it clear that Cruz was behind everything, even going so far as to say that he had tried numerous times to get out of the business but Cruz had threatened him to keep him making movies.

  Eventually, Walsh said that she would review the evidence and get back to him with further questions. “Looks like we made a bad decision in releasing Antonio Cruz,” Walsh said as she and I walked out of the jail. “I’ll put out an order to have him picked up again.”

  She reached out to shake my hand. “Good work, Agent Green.”

  I shook it, and thanked her for her help. But if I’d done such a good job, why did I feel there was still so much to do?

  39.

  Sinuous Grace

  I called Katya and made arrangements to meet with her at the office in Miramar to make sure our details matched. “I spoke with Frank Cardone this afternoon at the county jail,” I said, when we were in my office together. “He implicated Cruz in the operation of the porn house. The DA is having him picked up again.”

  “Lots of people made bad decisions in this case, and they’re all going to pay.”

  “Nobody rides for free,” I said.

  Katya looked confused.

  “It’s something my stepdad says. Back in the day, he hitchhiked across country, and one of the drivers had a big sign on his car. ‘Cash, ass, or grass—nobody rides for free.’ He used to tell my brother and me that we weren’t going to get a free ride from him.”

  “This case has cash and ass, and flakka in place of grass,” Katya said. “And those boys sure didn’t get a free ride anywhere.”

  None of us did, I thought, after Katya left. We all paid a price for the lives we led. Guys who had been victimized, like Shane, Ozzy, and Dimetrie, were trapped in many ways by what had happened to them—whether it was abandonment, abuse, or just making bad decisions.

  That night, I remembered my conversation with Katya and the way I’d mentioned my stepfather and my brother. I realized I hadn’t spoken to Danny in a while and I called him.

  “Awesome news,” he said, after we’d said hello. “I applied for this scholarship for my summer program and I got i
t!”

  “Wow. From Penn State?”

  “No, from this Italian-American group that wants to foster closer ties with Italy. They fund a bunch of scholarships to programs like the one I’m going to. With their money and what I’ve got saved, I’ve got all I need.”

  “That’s great, Danny.” I was happy for him—but at the same time I’d enjoyed playing the role of big brother, sending him my extra cash to make sure his dream could come true.

  “I was thinking, Angus,” he said. “I’m going to have enough cash to cover an extra week in Rome at the end of the course. That is, if I’m careful and I have somebody to share expenses with. You think you might be able to get some vacation time in August and come join me?”

  “The Green boys take Rome,” I said. “I should have some time coming to me. That could be wild, bro. You and I haven’t had a vacation together since…when?”

  “I came to visit you at Penn State when I was a senior in high school,” he said. “Remember? You borrowed a car from somebody and we went camping at Stone Valley?”

  “Oh, yeah. But I gotta tell you, bro, I’m going to need indoor plumbing on this trip. No more peeing in the woods for this guy.”

  “It’s gonna be great, bro!” he said, and I had to agree.

  • • •

  Monday morning I met with Roly to explain the events of the weekend. “It looks like all these cases are tied together, and if we’re lucky, the lower level guys will rat out the upper echelon. The porn house, the flakka distribution and the money laundering will all get wrapped up.”

  “That’s a lot of work for one weekend,” Roly said.

  It took a couple of hours to go through the evidence I’d collected and determine which prosecutor got which materials. When I left Roly’s office I texted Lester to ask about his interview, and a moment later he called me. “I got the job,” he crowed. “I start next Monday, and I already got another guy to cover my shifts. For the moment, I am officially unemployed. But I’ve got a lot of studying to do this week.”