The Harvesters
A Detective Devora Lobos Novel
William J. Manning
Other books by William J. Manning
Detective Devora Lobos
Blood Is Black in the Moonlight
***
Lilith Cohen
Merchants of Death
Retribution
Crimson Arrow
© 2021 William J. Manning
All Rights Reserved
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Disclaimer
Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, real-world government agencies, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
7:00pm, Jackie Gleason Theater
Miami, a neon paradise upon sandy shores, or that’s what the tourist pamphlets would have you believe. But that’s all bullshit. Miami is a place where old people come to die, and cartels use it as a gateway to push their poison through the US. There’s no way to stop it not unless you can convince people to stop snorting, smoking, shooting, and swallowing the shit the cartels and crooked doctors push; you’re just beating your head against the wall.
The Jackie Gleason Theater is packed with clamoring fans of my brother. Thankfully, I got a backstage pass—perks of being the big sister to a well-known rocker. The security guard escorting me knocks on the door, and a long-haired man in a red trench coat and a pentacle around his neck stares at me up and down, undressing me with his eyes. It’s my brother’s guitarist, Crimson.
I don’t know his actual name and don’t care. I’m here to see my brother, not make buddies with his band.
He smiles and turns his head back toward the room. “Yo, Raul. You got another groupie chick here who wants to bang you.”
A short-haired man with a black bed head hair due shoves him away from the door. “That’s my sister, pendejo.” He hugs me and kisses me on the cheek. “Devi! It’s so awesome that you’re here. I was worrying you changed your mind.”
“No, as I told you over the phone, I had vacation time coming up.”
“Well, I got another hour before I go on; you want a drink and maybe hit the bowl.”
I sock him in the arm. “Asshole, it took you this long to offer me smoke and a drink.”
He grabs a bottle of Jäger, and a small wooden Jewelry box with a skull engraved on it. “Sorry, sis. I will try to be quicker next time.”
“Is there somewhere we could go for peace and quiet?”
“Sure. Yo, Crimson. I’m going to hang with my sister out on the bus. Call me when we’re about to go on.”
“Sure thing, jefe,” he says.
We head down a long hallway and out a back door. We walk across the well-lit parking lot toward a bus with a horned skull design on its side and the name Hellraisers under it. The interior of the bus has black carpet with flame designs lining the walls and ceiling. These tour buses aren’t as cramped as I would’ve imagined being on here; you could forget it was a tour bus unless you looked out the window. He fires up a joint; the aroma hits my nostrils almost instantly. “What the hell kind of weed is that?”
“This guy I bought it from said it was Nuclear Green.”
I take a deep drag, and the high hits like a Nuclear Bomb, giving me a fit of coughs, and then the herb takes hold; I stare blankly at the floor, lost in the moment.
“Devi!” He laughs.
Damn, he wasn’t kidding. The stuff lives up to its name.
I shake my head. “Oh, sorry,” I say, passing the joint to him.
He slides a glass of brown liquor over to me. “Here, space cadet. This shit will balance you out. Damn, for a minute there, I thought I was going to have to call search and rescue.” He slides the drink over to me. “So you know I’m gonna ask, so let’s get it outta the way.”
My brother always had a fascination with my cases, even the cut and dry homicide cases that were closed in a matter of twenty-four hours. Murders committed on impulse were often open and shut cases.
“You wanna ask me about my last case? Well, this one was a doozy. The guy I was after, The Moonlight Killer, turned out to be an MI6 assassin, his government sent to Florida to kill his targets while they kept me and the police department in the dark about who he was. They saw fit to let us chase our own asses.”
“How’d ‘you catch him?” he says, taking a sip of his drink.
“We didn’t. We ended up working with him to shut down the people yanking his leash.”
“Man, that’s some crazy shit, hermana.”
“Yeah, a real plot twister. While we’re discussing work, your work seems to be taking off nicely.”
“Yeah, Devi. I’m making mad money out the ass, and people love me to death. I mean, when you step out onto the stage and people are cheering your name. Goddamn, that’s a high you can’t beat.”
It’s turning my stomach how he can sit over there and just feed me a line of shit like I’m stupid. I want to call him out on it, but I put on a smile.
“Careful, that’s the shit that turns people into cult leaders.”
He guffaws and launches from his seat, extending his hands skyward. “Yes! Raul Lobos, your lord, and master. Bow before me and give me your money and women.”
“Well, nice to see the money hasn’t turned my little brother into a stuck-up snob.”
“All the money did was take a poor man with a sense of humor and turn him into a rich man with a sense of humor.”
“Did you tell mom I was in town?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I figured you didn’t need the drama right now. Besides, nothing’s changed; she still sees you as a disappointment.”
Yeah, if only she knew what you were doing, I’d look like a saint.
“Nice to know shit hasn’t changed since I left.”
“A lot has changed in this town since you left.”
“Like what?”
“Well, you’re no longer the local pariah.”
I guess it’s true what they say; the public has a short attention span, more so now that smartphones have taken over civilization.
“Well, shit, I was going to write a book about my life and get famous.”
“Sorry, sis. That train has left the station. Besides, the Harvesters are a big thing with the media right now.”
My brow furrows. “Harvesters?”
“Yeah, they’re some psychos out there killing people and taking their organs… fuck no offense to you, Devi, but I’ll be glad when I get back to my Villa in Santa Barbara, Florida is fucked.”
“Do the cops have any leads?”
He gestures his hand at me and laughs. “There she goes. It’s not your problem; switch off for a while.” His phone lets out a ping. “Show starts in ten minutes, Devi. Let’s talk about this later.”
“I guess I’ll go out to the crowd and grab a spot to stand and switch off like you said.”
“Atta, girl.” He frantically digs into his front pocket. “Oh shit, I almost forgot here’s your ticket, VIP seats.” He snaps his fingers at the security. “Hey, bro. Escort my sister up to her VIP lounge where she’ll have a fucking awesome view of me on stage?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Lobos.”
“Hey, Carter. It’s Raul enough with the mister shit.”
“Sorry, Raul.” He gestures toward the door. “Right th
is way, ma’am.”
The guard and I merge between the ranks of people. The concert patrons still bumping into us by accident. I like the auditorium décor of red and black fold-down seats along with four large glowing purple chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. We head up the steps, and he points to my chair, sitting on a balcony overlooking the stage, which is good because I hate sitting in the middle row, rubbing elbows with people.
“Enjoy the show, ma’am.” He nods and walks away.
A server walks up and sits a bottle of scotch down along with a glass of ice. “Good job, lady. You read my mind. How much do I owe you?”
“Oh, now that won’t be necessary, Ms. Lobos. Your brother said to put any drink you order on his tab.”
Damn, I kind of feel bad for not telling him the DEA rehired me to investigate him.
“Thanks for bringing it.” I nod. I pop the lid and pour the drink into my glass. The whole theater goes pitch black, and the crowd cheers when a bluish fog billows on the stage, and abruptly, flames jet from the bottom of the stage, and my brother follows it up with a thunderous drum beat. The guitar fades in with its slow, deep riff that reminds me of Megadeath’s Sympathy of Destruction’s. Then the stage erupts with flames shooting toward the ceiling, and my brother yanks the microphone toward him and begins singing one of his biggest hits: Taking over Hell. The crowd jumps up and down in sync with the drumbeats. My brother returns to the mic, singing my favorite part of the song. “Yeaaah! Gonna kick down the devil’s door, beating his ass like the bitch he is.”
Staring across the sea of people, cell cameras flash others jumping up and down with the music throwing their fists in the air. Someone steps on my foot and falls over me onto the floor, taking with them my glass of scotch.
A most heinous crime has been committed.
I realize it’s my klutz of a niece when the girl looks up at me, grinning. “Devi, you made it. That’s so awesome,” she yells over the music.
“You’re lucky you’re my niece, or I’d beat your ass for spilling my drink.”
“Oh dang, tía. My bad.”
I smile at her and hold up the bottle. “That’s okay; all is not lost,” I say, sipping from it. She giggles and turns to watch the show.
***
After two hours of watching my brother’s fucking epic concert, I head back to his tour bus along with his band members. He lights me a joint and pours me another glass of Jaeger. “What’d you think of my show?” He smiles.
I shrug. “Eh, it was okay.”
“Yeah, fuck you too, Devi.”
We stare at each other blankly, and then he busts out laughing. “Goddamn. That’s a good poker face. You had me wondering if you were for real or not.”
“This why I love you, Devi. You’re a real son of a bitch,” he says, taking the joint from me and dragging off of it.
I gulp down the Jäger, wincing as the fiery burn flows down my throat. I grab the bottle, pouring myself another, and slug it down. Between the Jäger and weed, I’m good and plastered now. Over to my right, one band member and a groupie shoot up heroin; the fucking idiots are sharing needles. Those two pendejos will have HIV before they hit their thirties.
I clumsily reach for the Jäger and drink from the bottle, not caring my brother is drinking from it too. “Devi, you okay?”
A lady snorts cocaine off a woman’s tits and offers me a bump. “You want to join us?” she kisses the woman’s neck passionately.
Cold sweat breaks on my forehead. Part of me wants a turn on the white horse, but I don’t; instead, I stick to my booze. I finish the bottle, walk to the rest of the unopened whiskey bottles, and fall face first. “Devi, are you alright?” My brother asks.
I roll over on my back, laughing hysterically. “I’m great, I’m fucking magnificent.”
But I wasn’t magnificent; I’m surrounded by temptation; the groupies snorting cocaine off each other’s tits made me break into shakes and made me drink more to dull the burning urge. With the way I’m feeling, I don’t care; I’ll snort the shit off her tits and ass.
I gotta get out of here.
“I-I’ve gotta get going, little bro. Got work to do.”
“Yes, well, whatever you gotta do. You’re not driving drunk.”
“Call me flucking cab,” I slur. I take a wrong step and fall off the bus, tearing my shirt. I look down, and the whole bottom of my shirt is gone, and it’s hanging on a jagged edge on the door. Forcing myself to my feet, I pull the shirt off and throw it off to the side. Fuck it, it’s Miami people walk around in two-piece bikinis; they shouldn’t bat an eye at my white tank top.
“Shit! You okay? That was a nasty spill you took, sis,” he says, helping me up.
No shit, Captain Obvious.
I place my hands over my face, sobbing. “I killed him, Raul. It’s my fault I killed my partner.”
“Devi, c’mon on, you don’t mean that. You’re drunk. Let’s take you back to your hotel so you can sleep it off.” The cab shows up, and he helps me in the backseat and joins me in the Taxi. I lay my head up against the window, passing out.
Chapter 2
Blue Dolphin Resort
A high-pitched ringing yanks me out of my drunken slumber. Damn, phone sounds like a damn marching band in my head. I sit up on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes and clutching my head. The taste of vomit in my mouth makes me want to hurl again. I must not have been out long because it’s still dark outside.
I answer my cell phone. “Hello?” My voice groggy.
“Lobos, it’s 2:30 am. Where the hell are you?”
Shit, I got drunk off my ass and forgot about our meeting.
“Give me about twenty minutes, and I’ll be there.” I stand from the bed and find my shoes sitting at the foot of the bed. Slipping on a black T-shirt. I go to put my jeans back on and realized they have vomit all over them. “Shit.” Unzipping my gym bag, slip on a pair of my dark blue jeans and slide my feet into my shoes. I attach my holster to my belt, along with my badge. I step outside and realize nobody brought my car yet.
Uber it is then.
After ten minutes of waiting, the driver arrives, I climb into the black Mazda and give him the address to the DEA’s field office.
“Shit, honey. That’s in Ft Lauderdale.”
“Problem?” I say, holding up two hundred bucks.
He smiles. “Sit back and enjoy the ride, ma’am.” Riding down the purple and pink neon beach strip, I see the clubs are still going strong at 2:45am, but hey, that’s Ocean Drive for you, drink and party till you drop or OD. I glance over to the beach and there’s a Tiki bar with a crowd trying to buy more party fuel. “First time to Miami?”
“No.”
“So what brings you back to our little paradise?”
Paradise, that’s funny.
“I’m here on business.”
He lets out a brief chuckle. “Well, that narrows it down.” His voice ironic.
“Is it a job requirement for Uber drivers to have verbal diarrhea?”
“No, just I don’t get to have conversations much because I’m on third shift and mostly what I get on third shift is drunk, belligerent tourists. Hard to carry on a conversation with that.”
“Well, if you had picked me up a few hours ago, you’d had another belligerent tourist in your backseat.”
He laughs. “Looks like I lucked up tonight. So what business are you here in Miami for?”
God, talk about persistent.
“Just drive the car, amigo.”
“Oh, fine, don’t tell me. Besides, I already figured it out?”
“Oh, you have, have you?”
“Yes, you’re a porn actress.”
Prick.
“You’re an actress here for a movie shoot?”
“Okay, those guesses were pathetic.”
He takes a friendly glance at me in the rearview. “I studied your demeanor and body language. I have it for real this time.”
“Well, if you get it wron
g, this ride is free.”
“Bumping me up to the high stakes round, eh?”
“Damn right.”
“I am going to say… you’re in some form of Law enforcement. Your entire demeanor just shouts it.”
Damn, there goes my two hundred bucks.
“You’re right.”
“Nice. Cough it up, honey.”
I slap the money in his hand. “I hope you choke on it. That was pretty perceptive. Many people can’t tell I’m a cop by looking at me.”
“I used to be a shrink for soldiers and cops suffering from PTSD.”
“So how’d ’you end up in the Uber business? Being a hand holder didn’t pay enough?”
“No, it paid okay. I’m just retired. This is just to keep me from going stir crazy in my retirement. Plus, I love just tooling around the city, meeting different walks of life.”
“May as well get paid for it, I guess.”
He chuckles and glances in the rearview. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
***
The car stops in front of a twelve-story gray concrete building, more suited for a prison than a home base for law enforcement, a fine example of 70s brutalist architecture.
“Well, here you are, miss…”
“I guess there’s no harm in telling a shrink my name. Devora Lobos.”
“Melvin Baxter.”
“Well, you take care, Melvin.”
“You do the same, Devora. A lot of psychos.” The Melvin drives off.
A lot of psychos… I’ll jot down on my ‘shit I already know list.’
I head up to the double glass doors of the DEA building, and they’re locked. I call Tanner back. “Hey, open up. I’m here.”
“I’ll be right down.”
Few minutes later, he opens the door, and I follow him through a small lobby with white tile with the DEA logo painted on the floor. We step into his office, which sits ahead of all the desks in the center of the room.
All fresh faces in here. I don’t recognize any of these agents.
The Harvesters Page 1