The Harvesters: A Detective Devora Lobos Novel

by William J Manning

  “How’d ‘you steal the evidence from Gabriella? I mean, how did you find it?”

  “Santos.”

  “Oh, god. You’re not fucking him again, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why the hell is he helping you?”

  “He and Gabriella had a fallen out over becoming business partners with Radomir.”

  “Makes sense. Radomir is sadistic and an erratic psychopath. His men would rather gun down police than buy them off, which makes any organized crime organization short-lived.”

  “Pretty much it’s why the Italian crime families only killed cops as a last resort.”

  “So where’s Santos now?”

  “When I was on the phone with him, gunfire cut the call short. Someone caught him destroying the copy of the evidence Gabriella had, and they shot him. The bastard died for me. I feel like shit I got him killed.” My voice low.

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Lobos. That man chose that life.”

  “Yeah, just the way it is, I get it. Did they let Merryweather go?”

  “No, he’s still in custody awaiting trial. I put another agent on the case.”

  “So, what do you want me to do about Radomir and Gabriella?”

  “Shut them down, Lobos. I don’t care how. I just don’t want to know how you do it.”

  I light up a cigarette and exhale smoke. “Feeling like the old days again.”

  “This is isn’t Mexico, Lobos. Don’t go so far I can’t reel you back in.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  The officer returns my weapons. “Don’t forget these, Agent Lobos.”

  “Thanks, Officer.”

  I holster my Sig and revolver and place my Mossberg in the trunk.

  Chapter 35

  Jerry pours Munroe and me a drink and then pours himself a glass. “So let me this straight, Devora? You teamed up with the very man who was killing our suspects to erase the evidence that Gabriella had on me and you.”

  I take a sip of my drink. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “So where’s Santos now?” Jerry asks.

  “I don’t know. Dead, maybe the call was cut short by gunfire.”

  “So why have you called us here, Devora?” Munroe says.

  “My boss Tanner has given me the green light to shut down Gabriella and Radomir. Whatever it takes, he just doesn’t want to know how we do it. He wasn’t happy about us causing a war between them, but like I told him, it’s better than them coming together and forming a super cartel.”

  Jerry knocks back his drink. “I don’t see why we don’t just sit on our asses and get drunk. Fuck’ em, let em kill each other.”

  “Because I don’t want them to kiss and make up. I want to tear their worlds apart. Besides, Gabriella knows I destroyed what leverage she had on me and Munroe. So we are targets now.”

  Munroe takes a sip of her drink. “Shit! So what’s our plan on that?”

  “We need to watch each other’s six. Gabriella’s people already tried to kill me at my hotel.”

  “Are you alright?” Jerry asks.

  “Better than them. They got the wrong end of my 12 gauge.”

  Munroe crosses her legs. “How do you plan on taking down these two?”

  “By any means necessary. Killing them is not off the table.”

  “Whoa. Devora, I’m no vigilante. I can’t just execute people.”

  “These people have sabotaged our case with our pasts, and they weren’t content with that; now they’re trying to kill us to shut us up. Gabriella wasn’t just going to let us walk away peacefully. Santos told me she’s going to kill us both. So the way I fucking see it, it’s pre-emptive self-defense.”

  “Okay, so if the plan is to kill Radomir and Gabriella, then how do you plan on getting close to them?”

  “We draw her to us, and…” my cell rings. It’s a video call from Gabriella. I answer it, and it’s a video of Greg sitting in an oil drum in the Everglades.

  “Hello, Agent Lobos. Did you have fun breaking into my home and killing my men who come to collect what is rightfully mine?”

  My heart drops into the pit of my stomach. “Ms. Trevino, let the kid go. He’s not a part of this?”

  “Correction, he wasn’t a part of this, but you made him a part of it when you couldn’t leave well enough alone. You forced me to kill my top Sicario. I swear, to this day, I will never understand what he saw in you.”

  “Cut the bullshit! You were going to kill me and Munroe whether we went along with your demands or not. Santos told me how you see us both as a loose end.”

  She sighs. “Santos is dead to hell with him! I gave you a chance after chance to walk away, but you defied me, and now those you care about must suffer for your transgressions.”

  “Let him go,” my eyes water. “Please fucking let him go.”

  She places her hand on her hip. “You remember that kid Vargas burned alive in that oil drum? Juan Vargas had a rat in his organization, and he was zeroing in on you, so you planted evidence on that kid, and you just stood there and let him burn alive. Listening to his screams and cries for you to help him. Hermana, you must have ice water running through your veins.” She briefly stares at Greg. “Kind of fitting I kill him this way.”

  “How the hell did you get to him? He was under a police escort.”

  She smiles. “Those cops worked for me. My reach is further than you think.”

  “Please let him go.”

  “Lobos, I told you to go home; your work is done leave and go bask in your victory, but when I saw you would not stop with the Harvesters, you was going after Radomir, my business partner, well I had to dredge up yours and Munroe’s past to keep you in line, and then you destroy my only bargaining chip so now here we are, you forced me to take a more barbaric approach the situation. So beings we are heading down memory lane, I want you to get the full effect.” She yanks the gag out of his mouth.

  “Devora! Help me! Please! Don’t let me die like this.”

  Tears pour out of my eyes. “Goddamn it! L-let him go take me instead!” my voice trembles.

  She stuffs the gag back into his mouth and glares at me. “Take you? No, no. If I take you, your pain is over. You need to understand how much pain you have caused me.” She strikes a match. “I want you to understand this is your doing, Devora. You are killing your lover, not me.” Greg frantically rocks back and forth, trying to get out of the drum, but it’s no use. She drops the match in the drum, and flames consume him, and he lets out an ear-piercing scream. The fire abruptly silences his screams after what feels like an eternity of his cries. “Do yourselves a favor. Leave town, or I am coming after someone else you care about. Your niece, Munroe’s brother, your sister; I have all their addresses. Leave town, the both of you. This is my final warning.”

  I cut the call off and stare at the floor in a daze. Time seems to slow down, Munroe and Jerry are trying to talk to me, but all I hear is my ears ringing. I belt out a loud howl of grief and anger until I lose my breath, and no sound is coming from my lungs. Munroe places her hands on my shoulders, trying to get me to look at her in the eyes, but I shove her away, storm out of the cabin, and head to the nearest bar.

  ***

  I sit down at the bar and call over the bartender. “Six fucking shots, stat.”

  The blonde bimbo furrows her brow at me. “Excuse me?”

  I slam my debit card on the table. “Did I stutter, bitch? Six fucking shots of Jameson stat!”

  She takes the card. “Okay, coming right up, Jesus.”

  “Oh, trust me, honey, he doesn’t give a flying fuck!”

  My six shots come, and I knock back all six of them. “Let’s go six more of em.”

  She returns with the drinks. “Go easy on these. I don’t want you blacking out tearing up my bar.”

  I salute her. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”

  The second round comes, and I take a shot, staring at Greg’s picture on the phone. I never should’
ve taken you home that day. I knock back another and bring another to my lips. If I had just rejected you that day, you’d be alive and in med school with some other woman, any woman but me. I killed you, kid. I’m sorry. The worst part is I was in love with him, and now he’ll never know, he’s dead. I gulp down the shot. A deluge of memories fills my head of the good times we had. I toss back another drink, and I stand up, stagger out of the bar and trip over my feet, and hit the pavement.

  Damn it.

  “Don’t mind me, folks, I am ofay,” I slur. I stumble into the street, cars narrowly missing me. I reach an alleyway, and I collapse blackness washes over me.

  I’m in a dark room, and I see Greg standing over me; his body is charred from head to toe and his eyes filled with fire. “You did this, Devora. You killed me. This is all your fault. I wish I never met you.”

  “Greg, your right. It is my fault. Just kill me, kill me!”

  “No. you must live with my death. That is your damnation.”

  “Bullshit!” Drawing my gun, I put it to my head and pull the trigger, but the gun doesn’t go off, just a dreaded clicking sound. I eject the magazine, and they’re bullets in it. I slap the mag back in and put it to my head and again and pull the trigger again. Click, click, click. I throw the gun across the room. “Fuck you!” I roll over into a fetal position. “Please, god, let me die.” Blood drips on my cheek, thunder cracks, red lightning flashes, and blood pouring from the scarlet heavens. Greg and Cristian, the boy I let die in Mexico, stand over me, glowering. Cristian’s eyes fill with flames. “You betrayed me and let me die. I died for your lies.”

  “Cris, I’m sorry. If I could go back and do it again, I would’ve put myself in that barrel rather than you.”

  “The past is done, and now you have to live with your decisions. I looked up to you, Devora. And you let them burn me.”

  I throw up as the aroma of burnt flesh invades my senses

  Chris stands over me and touches my leg, and flames slither up my leg and up to my face. A scream erupts from my mouth when I feel my skin boiling off my face.

  “You will not die. You will simply know the pain I felt on the day. I died for your lie. You will suffer for your lie.”

  I roll around frantically, crying in agony, trying to put the flames out. The stop drop and roll method is useless. The flames are still coiled around me like a fiery serpent, searing away my flesh.

  I look down and see Greg kicking my shoe. “Hey, lady. You okay?”

  I open my eyes, and its two boys in bathing suits tapping my foot with a stick. “Hey, lady. Are you alive?”

  I groan and jerk awake. The kids scream and run away. “Eek! Zombie!”

  I squint my eyes as I try to look around. The Florida sun is not friendly to people with hangovers. I think about standing when the bile churns in my gut, forcing me to hurl into a pile of garbage. Wiping my lips on my sleeve, I stand up. I brace myself on the wall of a building and just rest my head on it, trying to get the will to walk back to my car. After a few minutes of standing there trying to get myself together, I lumber back to my car—I near my vehicle, and the urge to puke hits again. I scramble over to some bushes and just let it rip. I lean on my Dodge and wipe the cold sweat off my forehead on my sleeve.

  As much as it rains in Florida, that puke won’t be there long.

  I sit in my car and gaze at the Miami skyscrapers, realizing you can’t escape your past. It’s always there nipping at your heels till eventually it takes you down like a lion pouncing on a gazelle. My hand trembles with rage as images of Greg screaming and burning replay in my mind like a tape on a loop. I dial up Tanner.

  “Go ahead, Lobos.”

  “Sir, I need guns if you want me to take down Gabriella.” My voice strangled with anger.

  “What happened, Devora? I’ve heard your voice like this once before, and nothing good followed.”

  “You going to give me access to the goddamn armory or not?”

  “No, but I can put you in contact with a back alley gun dealer that asks no questions. Remember him.”

  “Where is he these days?”

  “Texting you the address.”

  My phone vibrates with a text. “Got it.”

  “Good. Now I don’t want to know what you got planned, so just leave me out of it, but stop Gabriella and Radomir.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.” My voice cold. I toss the phone in the passenger seat and head to the address.

  ***

  I arrive at a two-story apartment building with two street gang members guarding the door. Both are built like they never missed a day at the jailhouse gym. Their arms are covered in prison tats.

  I climb out of my car, and he puts his hand up. “Hold up, chica, you can’t just walk up in here.”

  “I have an appointment with the Armsman.”

  “Name?”

  “Cortana Cabello.”

  Pushes the button on the intercom. “Hey, are you expecting a Cortana Cabello?”

  “Yes. Let Ms. Cabello in.”

  “You good to go in. Just let us check you before you go in; we need to check you for wires and weapons.”

  I left my guns in the car. I know the drill of this place. It’s not my first business dealing here.

  He pounds on the door, and it opens. “No wires, you’re good. Shop till ya drop, chica.”

  I step into the building and head up the flight of steps, and a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair cries out. “Cortana! It’s been so long since you frequented my Bazaar of death.”

  I glance around at all the guns on tables. “I see you increased your inventory since I used your services.”

  He nods. “Eh, you know how it goes: the bigger the clientele, the bigger the demand. So what do you need?”

  “HK416 with an integral suppressor and a shitload of ammo.” I stroll down the line of tables and place my hand on a box of Fragmentation grenades. “I will take six of these.” He loads the grenades into a duffle bag with my rifle and ammo. I scan the table, looking for something else that may come in handy. An RPG launcher with two rockets. “I will take all of them.”

  He glances at my weapons and boxes of ammo. “You know, Jesus preached forgiveness for our enemies.”

  An arms dealer quoting Jesus is all kinds of ass-backward.

  I stare at him. “Then the illegal arms business would go belly up if people followed his teachings.”

  He chuckles. “Well, there is that little hic-up.”

  “Okay, anything else?”

  “Nope, that’s it.”

  “Can I interest you in some Claymores?”

  “No, this is good.”

  He smiles. “Okay, how are you paying?”

  I slam a stack of cash down on the table. “With my rainy day money.”

  This was cash the CIA paid me for my silence on the Vargas operation.

  He takes my money and smiles. “Good luck with whatever you’re hunting.”

  “Thanks, Abe.”

  I leave the building, put the weapons in my car’s trunk, and head out to find another hotel room. I can’t get my clothes because the damn place is still a crime scene, so another hotel room is lost.

  I park the car in a seedy motel and head into the lobby, and rent a room. “Here’s your room key. If you watch any of those porno channels, you’ll be billed extra upon your check out, comprende? And if you bring a hooker here, just keep it down.”

  I snatch the keys off the counter and leave the lobby.

  The motel is a long rectangular one-story pink brick building, typical Florida design. Each room has one big window and a metal door with a peephole. I step into my room and place the duffle bag onto the bed. I pop the cap off the bottle and take a slug of Jameson and stare at the RPG.

  This’ll get her fucking attention.

  I dial up the Dermot. “Yeah?”

  “You and Munroe ready to do this?”

  “Damn right. Meet me at my place.”

  “On my way.�
��

  These fuckers want to play dirty. They want to make this shit personal well; they got their wish; I’m going to burn their fucking diseased world down and force-feed that fucking bitch Gabriella her own heart.

  Chapter 36

  Munroe and Jerry stare at me with alarm when they see me step into the cabin carrying a duffle bag with a rifle and a shit tone of bullets inside it. “Devora, what is all this?”

  “We’re taking the fight to Gabriella.”

  “Right, but we’re law enforcement, not vigilantes.”

  “Those fuckers killed Greg in front of me, so I don’t give a shit what we are anymore.”

  She puts both her hands up. “Look, I know you’re pissed, Devora, but we took an oath.”

  “Yes, an oath that fucked us ten ways from Sunday. Look, Sarah. If you can’t roll with this, then get to Steppin.”

  “No, I’m with you, Devora, but surely there’s a way we can do this without going all Punisher.”

  I slap a magazine in the HK. “I’m putting these sons of bitches in the dirt. If you’re not with that, then stay home.”

  Jerry comes into the room with his tactical shotgun, and he sets a box of shells on the table and pushes the rounds into the breach. “I’m coming with ya, Lobos.”

  “Jerry, Devora. Come on, don’t become them.” Munroe pleads.

  “Saddle up or hit the trail, Sarah,” Jerry says.

  I slip on my TAC vest and slide my rifle mags into the pouches and handgun magazines in my leg holster.

  Munroe scoffs and throws her hands up. “How are you two going to explain the massacre, assuming yall live through this?”

  “This is not my first time slaughtering filth.”

  “I know about the cult compound, but this is different.”

  I shrug. “No, it’s not. The cultist killed my partner, and I killed them. Gabriella killed Greg, and now I’m going to kill her. It’s not Chinese algebra.”

  “Come on, Jerry, let’s go pay Gabriella a visit.” We head out the door.

  Munroe rushes outside. “Damn it, Devora! You do this, and you’re no different than the bitch who sat Greg on fire!”