Who'll Stop The Rain: (Book One Of The Miami Crime Trilogy) (20 page)

"Any
ideas on why they're here?"

He
threw off a shrug. "Not really. But if they're down here, they're here
because of some major event. Maybe on account of Kiki getting smoked the other
night. The only other big thing on the horizon right now that I know of is the
deal the DeLimas have cooking with the Whitneys. Might have something to do
with that."

I
said, "I heard about that. Something about redeveloping some properties
out on the boulevard?" I didn't want to reveal my story about the two
Mambos and me on the Fourth of July in front of the Casa Marina.

"Way
I heard it, it goes beyond that. Way beyond. I don't know any of the
particulars, though."

I
tossed a thumb toward Mambo's office. "And these guys … these Dávila
brothers … what do they have to do with it?"

"Like
I said, I don't really know. But if they're here, it's because there's
something going on, something with a Miami connection. Maybe that North Roosevelt
deal? Maybe Kiki? Your guess is as good as mine."

"What
business are they in?"

"You
don't want to know."

I
did want to know, but I knew not to press it. He'd told me enough. I could
guess the rest.

Mambo

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

7:50 PM

"M
AMBO," THE BARTENDER SAID
OVER THE PhONE
.
"Los hermanos Dávila estan aquí."

"Send
them back here." He went to his liquor cupboard. From among the glistening
bottles of hard-to-get spirits, he selected a bottle of Havana Club rum,
straight from Cuba. The good stuff. Checked the glasses on the serving cart,
made sure they were clean. Ice. Check. He placed the rum on the cart and went
back behind his desk. Big Felo stood by the door.

Soon
after, the Dávila brothers entered Mambo's office. Felo immediately patted them
down and removed their weapons, placing them on top of a file cabinet by the
door, where he remained standing. He also pulled a large manila envelope from
inside Camilito's rear waistband. He felt it, nothing metallic or weapon-like,
so he returned it.

The
brothers didn't seem to mind, rather they looked as though they expected it.
Felo was far bigger than either of them, and was heeled himself, his .380
semiauto visible on his waist rig.

Mambo
rose from his chair and came around his desk, greeting each of them with a warm
hug. The brothers were clearly pleased to be there. He offered them a drink and
they accepted. While he poured the shots of rum, they talked about how glad
they were to see him, how long it had been since they were in Key West, and so
on.

They
toasted and drank, then they all took their seats.

"First
of all," Mambo said, "I want to thank you, Yayo, and you, Camilito,
for suggesting this meeting and then coming all the way down here for it. I
would have come up there, but I could not get away. I hope you understand. I
truly appreciate the fact you have made this trip, come all the way down here
to Key West. Next time, I promise I will travel to Miami."

Yayo,
the older of the two, was by far the better-looking one. Thick, wavy hair topped
a classic Latino face: high cheekbones, firm chin, broad white smile.
"It's no problem, cousin. We couldn't talk on the phone today because it's
not secure. Those fucking feds are listening to every call we make. Maxie, too.
But this was muy importante, so we came down." He adjusted his guayabera
in his chair so it covered his empty holster.

Camilito
said, "It's always good to come to the Keys. We like it down here. Lots of
good pussy. And Yayo's got a new ride, man. A new Benz. Only six months old. Man,
you should see it! One fast motherfucker!"

After
another sip of the rum, Mambo said, "So what can I do for you?"

"We
came to talk about Kiki Fernández," Yayo said.

"What
about him?"

"He
had an accident Sunday night. A very bad accident."

"I
know," Mambo said, looking only at Yayo. "His neck slipped and fell
on a knife." His voice never wavered, never showed any fear the same thing
might happen to him.

"You
know why it happened?" Yayo's tone slipped into more serious mode. Mambo's
eyes stayed on him. Camilito was a sideshow at this point.

"I
suspect it was because I was taking a cut of the action he was pulling in for
Maxie."

"Right.
And you know why —"

Mambo
leaned forward and interrupted. "But you have to understand, Yayo, Maxie
was moving in on me. In my town. Kiki was one of my boys. He sold me out for a
few extra dollars from Maxie. I can't let that happen."

Yayo
motioned palms downward, a cool-it gesture. "I know, cousin. I know. You
had to protect your territory. You had no real choice. And Maxie knows you were
very lenient with Kiki under the circumstances."

Mambo
sat back, satisfied with Yayo's soft tone and gentle body language. Camilito
sat cracking his knuckles, the only sound in the room. The little clicks
sounded like bullets entering a chamber.

"But,"
said Yayo, "you have to realize, Maxie had no choice, either. He did what
he had to do, just like you did."

Mambo
nodded once. "Before all this, Kiki was a good man. A good earner. He'll
be hard to replace." Yayo didn't say anything. More cracking of knuckles
from Camilito. Finally, Mambo said, "So now?" realizing they'd come
to the no-bullshit part of the whole episode.

"Now,"
Yayo said, "Maxie does have a choice. He can stay home and be satisfied
with the way things are now, or … he can take further action."

Take
further action. In other words, arrange for Mambo to fall on the same knife as
Kiki.

Mambo
said, "You tell him he's going to have to come down here to take any
action he thinks needs taking. And that's not going to be easy. Whoever he sends
will be a hundred and fifty miles from home and in hostile territory."

More
downward palms from Yayo. "Calm yourself, cousin. Eso no va a pasar. I
promise you, it will not happen." He took another sip from his rum and
looked at what remained in the glass. "Man, this is some good shit, Mambo.
You got this all the way from the island?"

Mambo
acknowledged the fact, and Yayo continued. "Anyway, Maxie is a very
reasonable guy. He sent us down here so we could tell you personally that he is
very sorry for any problem he might have caused you." He snapped his
fingers and Camilito handed him the manila envelope. He slid it across the
desk. Mambo looked inside and saw thick, banded wads of hundeds. About fifty
large.

"A
gesture of friendship from Maxie," Yayo said. "He doesn't want any
trouble."

"You
can thank Maxie for me." Mambo placed the envelope in his desk drawer.
"You can tell him I accept this token of our friendship."

Yayo's
facial muscles relaxed. He said, "He'll be glad to hear that. When I told
him you were cousin to Camilito and me, he insisted we call you."

This
was all too pat, Mambo thought. Too easy. A guy like Maxie Méndez doesn't just
back away when he's trying to muscle in on someone else's territory. Hell,
Hialeah and Little Havana were someone else's until he came along and took it
from them.

"If
he doesn't want any trouble, why did he try to move in on me in the first
place?"

"He
wasn't that familiar with the Keys. He knew Uncle Tom ran things down here
until he retired not too long ago, so he thought like maybe a few things might
be up for grabs, you know?"

Mambo
said, "The DeLimas have been running sports betting and bolita in this
town for over a hundred years. Uncle Tom ran everything else here and up and
down the Keys. But we have the gambling. Not many people knew that."

"We
know, man. Maxie found that out. What I'm saying is, he doesn't want a
war." Yayo then narrowed his black eyes into slits and shifted his voice
into yet a slightly lower gear, barely perceptible. "And neither do Camilito
or myself."

Mambo
had taken only one sip of his rum since the toast. He took another now. Warmth
rushed through him as the smooth liquid slid down his throat.

"And
neither do I," he said.

≈ ≈ ≈

They had a second drink and the conversation turned to baseball. The
Marlins' mojo failing yet again. This kid Stanton is gonna be one of the
greats, though. Now if Hanley can just get over these injuries and if they can
sign one or two more quality pitchers …

Eventually,
the Dávilas left and Mambo reached for the phone.

"Logan,
it's Mambo. Can you get over here right away? … Oh, you haven't left yet? …
Great, come on back to the office for a minute, would you? … Okay."

After
he hung up, he quickly scoped out his situation. The Dávilas didn't come down
here to shower him with cash and tell him Maxie Méndez was "oh, so
sorry" for the misunderstanding. Méndez wanted to move in, all right. He'd
wanted it since his little chat with Kiki Fernández at the wedding reception a
few months ago. He didn't want only a piece of Mambo's action, either. He
wanted it all. Mambo remembered the line:
The
world, Chico, and everything in it.

No
fucking way was he getting any part of the Key West world.

Logan
entered the office a minute later. Mambo greeted him and beckoned him to sit
where Camilito Dávila was sitting minutes earlier. Big Felo remained by the
door.

"What's
up?" Logan said, appearing at ease.

"Care
for a drink?" Mambo gestured toward the bottle of Havana Club on the
serving cart.

"No
rum, thanks. But, uh, I'll take a beer if you have one."

"Of
course." He got up and went to the portable fridge in the corner. He
extracted a cold Presidente, twisted off the top, and handed it to Logan.

"Thanks."
He took a swallow. "Mmm, hits the spot. What did you want to see me
about?"

Mambo
poured himself a shot of Havana Club and took Yayo Dávila's seat, next to
Logan. He turned to face him, his body loose, accommodating. "I was
wondering if you started work yet. You know, in that tree-trimming job."

Logan's
eyes shot downward. Mambo knew he'd touched a nerve.

"No,
uh … not yet. Turns out there's been a snag. It might not come through."

"Oh,
man, that's really too bad. I know you were counting on it." Mambo
summoned all the sincerity he could gather into his eyes and voice. Logan
nodded. "Any other possibilities out there?"

"Not
yet, but something'll turn up. Meanwhile, I've got a little money coming
in."

"Well,
that's good. That's very good." He took a slight sip of rum. God damn, he
liked this stuff.

He
said, "You know, I'm sure something will happen for you any time now. Have
you talked with any of the other tree-trimming people in town?"

"No,
not yet. I just found out about this one thing, this job falling through, I
just found out today."

"Ah,
well … you'll be out tomorrow, I'm sure, out and about. Beating the bushes,
right?"

"I
guess so." No confidence whatsoever in his voice.

"You
know, in the meantime,
amigo
, I
maaaay have something for you to, you know, kind of, uh, tide you over for a
little while."

"Tide
me over?" Logan's eyebrow shot up.

"Yeah.
A kind of one-time deal."

"I
don't know, Mambo. I'm really trying to retire here. I really do want
out."

"I
know, I know, I know. This is not anything permanent. Like I said, it's one
time and one time only."

"I
don't … well … my mind has already checked out of the life, you know? I'm just
not that into it anymore."

"Could
I get you to check back in for one day and fifteen grand?"

Logan
took a long pull at his Presidente. "Fifteen grand?"

"That's
right. For one day's work. One day only! Plus maybe a little time to set it
up."

"Well,
what is it? There's no harm in listening."

Mambo
spread his hands in front of him. "Exactly right. No harm at all."

"So
what is it?"

Another
sip of the rum. "I'm very glad you're willing to at least listen to this
proposition, Logan.

"Right.
So what is the proposition?" Logan anxious and showing it.

"I
want you to go to Miami and take someone out."

His
shoulders sagged and surprise flashed over his face. "Are you kidding?
Take someone out?"

"I'm
not kidding at all, Logan. I need this done and you're the best man I know for
the job."

"But
I'm not a killer! I'm not a murderer! I'm —"

"Come
on, man. I know you've wasted people before. This isn't your first rodeo."

"Yeah,
I've done it before, but it was always in the heat of another job. I never took
money to go kill somebody!"

Mambo
moved his chair slightly closer to Logan. He dialed his voice down a peg.
"Look, Logan. I
need
you. You
are the only guy I can count on for this."

"The
only guy? What about your other guys? What about Felo here? What about Arturo?
Shit, he'll do it in a heartbeat."

"I
know he will. Only problem is, Arturo doesn't have the intelligence for this
one. This needs planning, smart planning. I need someone who's used to sitting
down and planning a job. Someone who can use his head. This has got to be done
the right way. It's a big fucking target. That's why the big money."

"Who's
the target?"

"Maxie
Méndez."

"Who's
he?"

"He's
an operator in Hialeah. Controls a lot of the rackets there and in Little
Havana. Gambling, whores, dope, all of it."

"Jesus
Christ! You're asking me to go up into enemy country and take out a crime
kingpin? No fucking way."

"Logan,
please."

"No
way, Mambo. It's fucking suicide."

"I'd
want you to take one or two others with you. They get the same pay. Or you can
pay them less and keep the rest yourself."