The Harvesters: A Detective Devora Lobos Novel

by William J Manning

  All fresh faces in here. I don’t recognize any of these agents.

  His office still has the same arrangement as it did when I worked here, one large bookshelf against the back wall and a long oak desk sitting on top of navy blue carpet. He sits down at his desk, reaching into his drawer. “First things first.” He tosses me a shield and an ID badge to get me into the building. “Okay, Special Agent Lobos. You are now labeled as active within the DEA. I know this is a temporary solution, but you should strongly consider coming back.”

  “Tanner, I told you this was temporary, and I meant it.”

  “Fine. But let’s get on to more present matters,” he says, handing me a thick case file.

  “Jesus, is that what you’ve got built up on my brother?”

  “No, your brother is barely a spec in that file, but he is still crucial to solving this case.”

  “Because he’s on the inside of the Russian Mafia?”

  “Yes, and he’s taking a cut from the Harvesters.”

  “What proof do you have on that?”

  “Agent Lobos, every healthy groupie that has gone with Raul has ended up a missing persons or later turned up dead with their bodies emptied.”

  “Just because they go missing after being with him doesn’t mean he’s giving them to the Harvesters and taking a profit.”

  “These groupies weren’t random. Every one of them that was killed was health nuts.”

  “How do you know they weren’t stalking them before they even met with my brother?”

  “Then prove me wrong, Lobos. Help me clear his name, but please do this for me, Lobos, don’t let the fact he’s your brother cloud your judgement.”

  “It won’t.”

  “Anyway, if you look into the file, you’ll see the missing groupies and some other victims the Harvesters have taken. And another thing, Miami PD is not to be trusted. We suspect the Russians bought quite a few.”

  “I’ll file that under ‘shit that doesn’t surprise me’ any other agents on this case?”

  “Yes, your old friend, Roy Donovan. He’s the agent that’s been specifically assigned to working your brother.”

  “Shit, what did he do? Get bored with tactical?”

  “No, he’s still with tactical, but I pulled him off tactical because I don’t want you alone on this case. Thought some extra muscle couldn’t hurt.”

  “Well, thanks for your concern.”

  “He’s also the official agent on this case, so he will get all the credit when this case is solved. Can’t have a conflict of interest after all.”

  “Suits me just fine.”

  “I didn’t think you’d care. Just any evidence you find, pass it along to him. As for you, I want you specifically focused on the Harvesters and Radomir.”

  “What’s the DEA’s interest in the Harvesters? So far from what you’ve told me, they don’t sound drug-related.”

  “Harvesters killed one of our agents, and the last place we saw her alive was leaving your brother’s hotel room. Without being crass, he and Agent Miranda Milton engaged in a lot of… bedroom activities.” He slides a picture of a naked redhead with pale skin with surgical incisions on her lower abdomen. “Some kids found her body over on South Beach completely emptied.”

  “So if you think my brother fucked her and then passed her off to the Harvesters, why not just bring him in?”

  “As I told you back in Tampa, he’s a potential insider on the Volkov operation.”

  “Ah, so this is where I come in. You want me to come to my brother as a concerned sister, tell him to stop his criminal ways.”

  “That and help me shut down the Harvesters. The fact he’s your brother is the only reason I’m not dragging his ass off his tour bus and sweating him in interrogation. But know some other agents will not be happy we’re trying to prove his innocence.”

  “Are any of my old informants still skulking around town?”

  “Yes, one of your old informants, known as X-man or Steve Garland, is still slinging Ecstasy on the Miami beach strip.”

  “What club is Pedo Steve slinging in these days?”

  “Sick asshole mostly hangs out at an all-night hipster nightclub called SkyBar over on South Beach.”

  I let out a sigh. “I hate hipsters.”

  “Well, try not to beat one nearly to death. Second, ask him did he see anyone dump a body on the night Agent Milton was murdered.”

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath on him seeing anything. Steve has a history of dipping in his own product and too busy trying to slip underage girls a roofie.” I place my badge on my belt. “Where do I meet Agent Donovan?”

  “He’s at home asleep, but he will meet you at your hotel at 9:00 am.”

  “Well, then. Guess I best get out to that club,” I say, heading to the door.

  “Lobos, watch yourself; these people are monsters.”

  “I’ve dealt with my share of monsters. This is nothing new, sir.”

  “One more thing, Lobos.”

  “What?”

  “You stink like a brewery. If you’re going to drink on the job, have the common courtesy to drink Vodka, so I don’t have to explain to my bosses why you wreak of firewater. So swap to Vodka or don’t drink at all.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “That’s bullshit.”

  He turns his head to the side. “Excuse me?”

  “The whole thing, how you can’t smell Vodka? It’s bullshit. Anyway, I’ll call you when I got something.”

  My phone pings with a text as I step out onto the sidewalk.

  Devora, we brought your car to the hotel.

  Thanks, bro.

  I call another Uber, and several minutes later, a black mini-van arrives, and I tell the blonde to take me to my hotel.

  I owe him; Raul saved my life when I was choking on my vomit in that alleyway from an OD. Good thing he kept Narcan handy otherwise, I’d be dead today.

  Chapter 3

  Sky Bar, South Beach

  I step through the hotel lobby and take the elevator up to the roof. The doors slide open, and I’m blasted by some kind of Indie house rock horseshit that’s the equivalent of two cats sodomizing each other. I’m stopped by a Hipster with horned rimmed glasses and tight dress pants, and a tight shirt. “Excuse me, Ms., do you have a reservation?”

  “No, and never will for a shit hole like this. I’m here on business.”

  He pushes his glasses up. “Ugh, lady, look business or not, you need a reservation.”

  I pull my coat back, revealing my badge. “Special Agent Lobos of the DEA. Now I don’t think I need a reservation, but if you want to argue the point, I can come back with a few friends of mine, and we can shut this place down for 24 hours for suspicion of drug activity.”

  “Oh shit, lady, be chill, just go right in, Gah!”

  “That’s more like it, douche bag,” I say, shoving him out of the way.

  This place was definitely not your typical bar; they had wicker stools you sit on around a lantern and oversized cushions people are sitting and lying on. It’s blasphemy to call this place a bar. I scan the bar, looking for X-man. Sure enough, I find him leaning on the edge of the railing, trying to sell his product to some busty blonde bimbo who looks to be one pill away from her grave. I walk over to him and grab the girl by the arm. “Go home, honey, Mr. X has other business,” I say, shoving her away. “Hello, X.”

  He gawks at me like a deer in the headlights. “Oh shit! Officer Lobos, I-I didn’t know you were back in town!”

  “Out of prison, and you’re back to dealing and trying to roofie women again. God help this country.”

  He sips his drink and blows smoke in my face. “What can I say, baby cakes. This country is fucked up. So tell me what you want so I can tell you to go to hell.”

  “I need some info about a DEA agent that was murdered yesterday.”

  “Well, you’re not a cop no more, so I don’t have to give you shit.”

  “Wrong!” I say, shoving him against
the ledge.

  He notices the badge. “Oh shit, you a Narc cop?”

  “Yep, I’m DEA. Now, what can you tell me about the DEA agent that was found dead with her organs removed and dumped on the beach last night?”

  He twitches. “What can I say, baby. It’s a sick world out there.”

  “Clearly, you and I need to get reacquainted.” I yank out my gun and smash him in the mouth. He falls on his knees, screaming in pain, spitting up bloody teeth. “You knocked my teeth out, you crazy bitch.”

  I pick him up by the hair of his head, shoving him against the railing. “Now, did I jar your memory of who you’re dealing with?”

  He nods. “Yeah, you’re still the same little girl with anger issues.”

  “Now, answer my question pretty fucking please with a goddamn cherry on top.”

  “I know nothing!”

  I grab him by the neck, choking him. “If you think I seriously won’t dump your ass off this roof, you are so fucking wrong.”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you, but first, I need protection from the Russians.”

  “Why do you need protection? Did you finally roofie the wrong kid?”

  “Look, I didn’t roofie or rape her!”

  “Bullshit! Here’s what’s going to happen if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to haul you in for any drugs you have, violating your parole. As an added bonus, I will make sure you end up in a prison where the Russians have loads of friends.”

  “Whoa, no need to get all gangster on me like that.” Just when the asshole is about to open his mouth, he screams like a banshee. “Fuck you, Lobos! You brought these assholes here! You fucking killed me!”

  I look behind me and see two guys in ski masks and black suits, with AK47SUs with suppressors. Before I have time to grab X and throw him to cover, he’s already sprinting across the dance floor squealing. The entire bar erupts into screaming when the crowd notices the guns. I aim my gun at them. “Drop it!”

  He replies with a volley of lead at me. I fire off a round just before diving to cover behind a stone table. I try to raise up and shoot again, but he keeps my head down with a three-round burst.

  The other hitman in the ski mask has X pressed against the wall. “This for raping Radomir’s 14-year-old daughter.” He pulls out a knife. I try to stop him, but my head gets forced back down by another three-round burst. Mr. X howls so loud, his voice cracks. I peek back around and see the other masked gunmen pulling a blade from X’s dick.

  Not that I’m gonna lose sleep over a dead child rapist, but there goes any info he had.

  His buddy fires off a three-round burst at my position while retreating to the elevator. Then the other gunman boards the elevator. I stand up and see everybody hunkered down on the floor, quivering and sobbing. I rush over to my informant. There goes my lead, bleeding out on the floor; this case is already off to a wonderful start.

  I turn to the crowd. “Everybody relax. The police are on their way.” I grab the phone at the bar and dial 911, and leave it off the hook, and then I duck out of the club, heading back to my hotel.

  X probably couldn’t have told me anything worth a damn, anyway. Despite that, it’d been nice to know for sure.

  Chapter 4

  7:55am, Blue Dolphin Motel

  I light a smoke and pour myself a glass of coconut rum. I dial up Tanner and sit down on my bed.

  “What have you got, Lobos?”

  “Nothing. Russians came in and killed my informant right in the middle of the nightclub.”

  “What the hell did the Russians want to kill him for?”

  “He was a Pedo. People have a billion reasons to want to kill a sick fuck like that.”

  “It would’ve been nice if Karma would’ve waited till we were done with him.”

  “Karma is a bitch.”

  “So, what’s your next move?”

  “Pedo Steve wasn’t my only informant skulking around the city.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “First one is named Elliot Hagan; assuming he hasn’t died from an overdose of heroin, he should produce some good info we can use. The other is Jerry Dermot, a PI I used back in the day when I was a cop; the problem with him is he was the one who filmed me getting plowed by someone other than my husband.”

  “I am shocked you’re still using Jerry.”

  “Trust me, after I’m done with him, I am going to need a shower.”

  He didn’t need to know I’ve known Elliot since high school.

  “All right, wait for Donovan, then you and him go talk to the junkie first and then the Private Investigator.”

  “Will do.” I end the call.

  I need to get a shower and change clothes. I strip off my clothes and step into the shower, scrubbing myself from head to toe. Leaving the shower, I head for my bag full of clothes and change into a pair of dark brown cargo pants and a Black T-shirt and my M65 OD green field jacket.

  I sit on the bed, slipping on some socks and then my black low-cut combat boots. I relight my smoke I had put in the ashtray while I took a shower. Finishing my smoke, I look at the clock, and almost nine AM. I open the evidence file. The photos show my brother in a club with the Russian mob boss, Radomir Volkov.

  Raul, you moron.

  I pull out a photo, and it shows him giving roses to Agent Milton. I come to another picture that shows him making out passionately in a nightclub booth; both are smiling like a happy couple. I call my boss back.

  “What is it, Agent Lobos?”

  “Was Special Agent Milton working my brother?”

  “No.”

  “So she wasn’t working on any case that could be tied to my brother or the Russians or the Harvesters?”

  “No, she was working on a small-time case that involved a doctor selling Oxy prescriptions.”

  “So Milton sincerely liked my brother?”

  “Based on the photographs I gave you, it would appear so. That being said, Agent Milton kept her love life quiet.” He exhales. “Are you working on a theory? Is that why you’re asking me about her relationship with your brother?”

  “My theory is this: my brother falls for a DEA agent, and Volkov finds out, thinks the agent is working him and has her killed.”

  “It’s a theory, but it’s thin. Listen, I have to oversee a pill mill raid in thirty minutes. Get back to me when you have something concrete. Good luck, Lobos.” He hangs up.

  Flipping to the back of the file, it shows the Harvesters have taken twenty people this month. All the victims were health nuts, and most were nabbed at gyms and health spas and healthy eating joints around Miami.

  Humans find all kinds of sick ways to make a profit.

  There’s a knock at my door. “Who is it?” I demand, grabbing my Sig because it’s not beyond the Russians to want to kill me for being a witness.

  “Special Agent Donovan, Lobos.” I open the door, and a stout man with short dirty blond hair steps in and hugs me. “It’s good to see you again, girl.”

  I smile at him. “Hell yeah, it’s been a minute.”

  “Are you back with us for good?”

  “No, this is just a temporary solution to save my brother’s dumb ass, and then it’s back to Tampa.”

  “So shall we get this show on the road?” he says, eagerly.

  “The first person we need to talk to is a junkie named Elliot Hagan over at the shooting gallery in downtown. And then we’ll go talk to a PI Jerry Dermot, and then our next move will determine what those two tell us.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he says, handing me some coffee.

  Climbing into my Dodge, I crank the engine, and we leave the hotel. A red light interrupts our trip to see our first informant.

  “So, Devi. What do you do in Tampa?”

  I take a sip of the coffee. “I’m a police officer.”

  He scoffs. “Duh. What field?”

  “Homicide.” I glance down and see a wedding ring on his finger. “So you finally married that
girl, you poor bastard.”

  “Yep, going on four years now. She’s the love of my life.”

  They usually are till they’re not.

  “Congratulations.”

  “I never got a chance to say sorry your marriage didn’t work out.”

  “Yeah, let’s not reignite that dumpster fire.”

  “Sore subject, I get it.”

  “Yeah.”

  ***

  We arrive at the two-story abandoned hotel now turned into a shooting gallery. We knock on the door, and it drifts open. Entering the drug den, we see junkies strung out all over the floor; some of them are dead. I notice a junkie sitting on a torn couch about to shoot up. Best catch him before he gets high. “Hey, man.”

  “W-what!” his voice shaky

  “Where’s Elliot Hagan?”

  “He’s upstairs. Now leave me the f-fuck alone!”

  These drug dens are the home of lost souls and shattered dreams. This is where addicts come to seer out their souls for a temporary escape.

  Walking across the floor, scuffing through trash and cigarette butts, discarded newspapers. I see a woman lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, giggling. She doesn’t even notice us standing over her; she’s tweaked out of her mind. My eyes wander around the room and spot something that makes my blood boil. A toddler lying in a heap of trash that looks like he starved to death. The junkie giggles louder. “Come to momma, Tyler.” She stands up. “Little Ty come out and quit playing hide and seek. Momma will take you for ice cream.” Roy stares at me with a look of horror on his face. I turn back to the junkie, my jaw tight with anger.

  Her brow furrows, and she jumps to her feet. “Who the fuck are you two!”

  I yank my gun and smash the barrel into her nose. She collapses to the floor, clutching her nose, mewling. “My nose, you crazy cunt!”

  “Is that all you gotta say is ‘my nose’ your fucking child is dead? You got stoned out of your fucking mind and let him starve to death!” I press the gun against her forehead.

  “Bullshit! Where’s my kid, you spic bitch!”

  I grab her by the hair and show her. “There!” I slam her head on the floor.