Who'll Stop The Rain: (Book One Of The Miami Crime Trilogy) (32 page)

Mambo

Thursday, July 21, 2011

3:10 PM

A
FTER MAKING
HIS BANK DEPOSITS
, Mambo decided not to return to the restaurant right away. Instead,
he made a last-minute detour to the City Hall annex.
Why not
, he thought.
She
should be there today.

The
annex took up most of a strip shopping center in New Town. City offices
inhabited most of a long line of small storefronts, which stretched nearly the
entire length of the center. This was to be local government's temporary
quarters until they could find a newer, more permanent facility to occupy.
Mambo knew Dorothy worked there, he just wasn't sure which office or what her
function was. After an inquiry in the first office he visited, he was directed
to the traffic ticket counter a few doors down. He sauntered on down, in no
particular rush, and entered. There she was.

She
smiled up at him from her desk through the window. "Hey, Mambo." Then
she said through a chuckle, "You got a traffic ticket you want to
pay?"

He
returned the chuckle. "Naw, no tickets today, sweetheart." He looked
around the office at her co-workers. None of them seemed especially interested
in their conversation. The guy at the next desk could probably hear them, but
he was deep in some computer task.

She
stood up and leaned into her side of the window, only about a foot or two from
Mambo. She stationed her mammoth tits on the counter inside her folded arms and
smiled at him. "Well, what brings you here, then?"

A
quick look around. Still no one paying attention. The guy at the next desk on
the phone now.

"You've
heard from Logan lately?"

Her
smile vanished. "Why … yes. Yes, he's called me every afternoon and
evening."

"You
know where he is, right?"

"He
said he had to go to Miami. What's this all about, Mambo? Is he all right? Come
on. Is there anything wrong?"

He
patted her arms gently, his fingers brushing her tits at the same time. She
didn't flinch or ease back. He said, "No, no, everything's okay.
Everything's fine, he's fine."

"Well,
then … what?"

"I
just wanted to tell you … I mean, did he sound worried when he left?"

"A
little. Now tell me what the fuck is going on."

"I
just wanted to tell you, to say he has nothing to worry about. And I don't want
you to be concerned about him." His eyes penetrated hers. She held still.
"He's in Miami doing a job for me. And for my grandfather. I don't know
what he told you, but he called me today to say everything should work out
perfectly. He should be home by tonight, tomorrow morning at the very
latest."

Dorothy
let out a little exhale. The guy at the next desk was now off the phone and
pretending to be doing something when in fact he was eavesdropping. Mambo
leaned closer and indicated to Dorothy to lower her voice.

She
spoke barely above a whisper. "That's such a relief. I was worried sick,
you know, worried he … he …"

Another
pat on the arm, another flick of the tits. "I know," he said.
"Just be assured everything is going to be okay. I know Logan and so do
you. You know he's not going to take any unnecessary chances. My grandfather
will be very pleased, and so will Win Whitney."

"Whitney?
What does he have to do with any of this?"

Mambo
realized his mistake immediately, even before Dorothy spoke. The Whitney
connection was none of her affair — none of Logan's, either, for that
matter — and he regretted saying it.

"No,
never mind. It's nothing. I just wanted you to know he's going to be all right,
that he'll be home tonight or tomorrow morning. You don't have anything to
worry about."

She
nodded and seemed to accept what he said. He gave her another quick pat, this
one on the cheek, and he left.

On
his way out, he began to think, maybe he shouldn't have come here in the first
place. He certainly shouldn't've been so positive about Logan's prospects. It
might not work out at all. Logan might not get Maxie Méndez, or worse yet,
Méndez might get him. Although Logan did tell him he had everything lined up
and it was going down this afternoon, and he would call him when it was over.
He sounded confident on the phone.

He hasn't called yet, though,
Mambo thought.
I know he's going to call when it's over. Unless … unless he's dead.
Shit, I shouldn't have come here. I really just wanted to see her and those
gorgeous tits of hers, and she wasn't even showing any damn cleavage. What a
waste of time!

He
got into his car and headed back to his restaurant.

Silvana

Thursday, July 21, 2011

3:20 PM

Y
AYO
DÁVILA SNAPPED THE TRUNK
SHUT
just as Silvana and Vargas
approached. He and Camilito were still between their car and the one behind it.
First thing she noticed: no shotguns. Second thing: no weapons of any kind in
their hands. Yayo made a slight move to the driver's side as though he were
getting into the car. He stopped quickly and his alert eyes focused on Silvana
and Vargas. Camilito did the same.

"
Buenas tardes, señores
," Silvana
said, summoning all the sweetness her voice was capable of. Vargas pasted a
sappy tourist grin on his face. There was no one else on the street.

"
Buenas tardes,
" Yayo said warily.

The
cops walked over to the curb but didn't step down from it. They wanted every
advantage, no matter how small. "We seem to be a little lost and we don't
have a map. We were looking for Duval Street. You know, where all the stores
and restaurants are? Could you help us? Could you tell us where it is?"

Camilito
spoke up. "We don't know. We aren't from here."

Yayo,
who stood directly in front of Silvana, put his hand in front of his brother
and said, "You have to pardon my brother,
Señora
. Sometimes he forgets his manners." He pointed down the
street. "Go to the end of this street and then take a right. Follow it all
the way to Duval Street. It's about a half a mile."

 
Silvana took it all in. She turned her
head a little and still, no one else in sight. "Ahh,
muchas gracias, señores
." Yayo smiled a "you're
welcome" and turned for the driver's door, while Camilito took a step to
the passenger side. At that moment, Silvana reached behind her, drew her
weapon, and came up firing. Vargas, acting on cue, did the same. Silvana's
first shot found the chest of Yayo Dávila, shock seared onto his face.
Clutching the wound around a widening blood splotch, he fell backward to the
street. Vargas's round hit Camilito in the forehead, spewing skull bits and
pieces of his brain all over the gleaming red finish of the Mercedes. What was
left of his head smashed against the car on his way to the pavement. Silvana
stepped off the curb and stood over Yayo, who stared blankly upward and gasped
for breath as he lay in the street. She put one into his head.

Silvana
and Vargas holstered their guns. Immediately, Silvana frisked Yayo. He was not
armed. She pulled the car keys from his pocket and opened the trunk. Inside
were two shotguns and an array of handguns. Quickly and with handkerchief in
hand, she removed two semi-autos and shut the trunk. Looking around, there was
still no one watching. She tossed one of the weapons to Vargas, who placed it
Camilito's hand to put his prints on it, and then on the street near his body.
She got Yayo's prints on the other gun and dropped onto the pavement. They were
far enough down the street from the bar so that no one inside could clearly see
what was happening. Then she looked at Vargas and winked.

"Good
job, partner," she said. "Now let's call this in."

Logan

Thursday, July 21, 2011

3:20 PM

W
E'D BEEN WAITING
IN OUR CAR
NEARLY THREE HOURS
,
most of the time with the engine off.
A sea breeze had risen from the east and was cooling us down nicely through the
open windows when they finally came out of Honey Buns. One of the bodyguards
exited first, carrying a black satchel. The other one followed right behind
him. The afternoon sun glistened off their designer shades as they looked
around for any sign of trouble, anything out of the ordinary.

Shimmy,
still behind the wheel, jacked the pump of his shotgun and pulled earplugs out
of his shirt pocket, inserting them in his ears. I slipped out of the car
around to the driver's side of the adjoining car, pretending to fish for my
keys. From my spot, I could lower my head, yet raise my eyes to watch them
coming out the door, and still appear to be looking through my pockets with my
head down.

Satisfied,
the bodyguards stepped out and nodded back at the door. Maxie Méndez walked out
with a blonde stripper on each arm, their hair blowing in the breeze. Shimmy
started the car.

I
drew my piece and ran around into the lane between the club entrance and the
parking lot. Shimmy pulled up on my left. Holding the gun in cop position, I
dropped to one knee and fired, hitting one of the bodyguards squarely in the
chest. I took aim at Méndez. His jaw dropped and his eyes protruded in fear under
heavy lids. The strippers screamed, but he held them tight, trying to hide
behind them. I took aim.

These girls … the fucker's using them
as shields! I have to kill them to get to him! That girl in Chicho's house …
that young, young girl … these two … they're young … they're screaming …

I
was knocked over hard by a sudden explosion in my thigh. My weapon flew from my
hand.

Wha … what the … the other bodyguard?

Less
than one second later, from behind me, I heard the deafening blast of the
shotgun and saw the bodyguard blown backward with a wide red stain on his
stomach. Another blast, this one catching one of the strippers in the head,
blowing it to bits. I saw only a little pulp hanging from her neck as she fell.

Méndez
backed up fast to the club entrance, holding the other stripper in front of
him. Shimmy lost his angle of fire from the inside of the car. He reached over
and flung the passenger door open.

"Can
you get in?" he shouted.

"I
— I — can't move."

He
got out and ran around the car. With a big effort, he picked me up and shoved
me into the passenger seat. He retrieved my piece, then moved quickly to the
driver's side and slid back in. Seconds later, we were pulling out of the
parking lot onto Red Road, which thankfully was free of traffic.

Shimmy
looked away from the road to check out my wound. "Are you hit anywhere
else?"

I
shook my head. I'd never known pain like this. Never. My brain was trying not
to function. More than anything, it wanted to surrender to the blackness that
called to it, but I wouldn't let myself pass out. I was afraid I'd never wake
up. I howled.

Shimmy
looked again. Blood flowed through my pants onto the seat, but it wasn't
squirting. "I don't think it hit a vein," he said. "Just hold
onto it and try to stop the bleeding. Or at least slow it down. We'll stop
somewhere and do something as soon as we can."

In
just a few minutes, we were on the Palmetto Expressway and a few minutes later,
we were on the Turnpike heading south. Before long, we pulled off into the
Snapper Creek service plaza. The whole way, I shrieked in heavy pain. Shimmy
parked in one of the angled parking spots.

"I'll
be right back," he said. He left the engine running.

I
saw him hustle over to a landscaped area nearby and he tore a small branch from
a tree. On his way back to the car, he peeled everything off the branch,
cutting it back to about a foot long. Back in the driver's seat, he took the
towel he'd used to wrap his shotgun and he tied it around my leg, fashioning a
tourniquet with the tree branch. He put my hands on the branch, twisting the
towel tight on my thigh. I screamed.

"I
know it hurts, man, but you got to keep a hold of this, keep it tight like
this, to stop the bleeding. We got three hours of driving to do before I can
get you to someone who can help."

I
already knew this, but in some weird way, it felt good to hear Shimmy say it.

"Thanks,
man," I said.

"Don't
mention it, bubba."

I
kept the pressure on, twisting the stick through the godawful pain, and we
re-entered the Turnpike, bound for Key West.

Silvana

Monday, October 10, 2011

9:00 AM

S
ILVANA STRAIGHTENED OUT
HER DESK
.
One of the file folders rested at an odd angle amid the others to the point
where the tab was not fully visible. She pulled the edge of the folder an inch
or so to the left, aligning them properly. Order. The one thing you should be
able to count on in life. Without it, you have chaos. And then, the animals
take over.

Her
desk phone rang.

"Machado,"
Lieutenant Santos said. "You and Vargas get down here right away."

She
tapped Vargas on the shoulder and said, "Santos." He sprung up from
his chair and they made their way down the hall.

Santos
beckoned them in through his open door. He sat, they stood.

"Technically,
I'm not supposed to tell you this, but I'm going to anyway. You'll get the
official word later today. At long last, FDLE has completed their investigation
of the shooting of the Dávila brothers and they've determined it was justified.
In both cases. In addition, Key West police have decided not to press charges."

The
two detectives broke out in wide grins. They hugged each other tight. This
investigation was a long-ass one, and it could've gone either way. Following
the shooting, Silvana called in the Key West PD and then called Santos,
according to protocol.

The
local cops came out in full force for this broad-daylight double shooting in
the street. They canvassed the neighborhood for potential witnesses and got
zip. They worked what few customers were in Mambo's and they worked them hard.
But they were all grifters, so naturally, nobody saw anything.

The
brothers' intended target, Mambo DeLima, showed up himself a few minutes after
the fact, just as the cops were arriving. He told them he'd just returned from
the bank and claimed to know nothing about it, quickly disappearing inside his
bar. Silvana never found out if they questioned him any further.

Forensics
took forever. Prints, powder residue, angle of bullet entry …
there
was one that nearly tripped them
up. The shot to Yayo Dávila's head was at an angle inconsistent with a straight
shot from six feet away. Silvana had to impress on those FDLE dickheads that
her first shot sent him reeling, and her second shot must have caught him as he
fell backward.

And then there was the sticky matter of what
they were doing there in the first place. If they were on the trail of murder
suspects, protocol dictates notifying Key West of their presence. They swore
they were going to call the locals, but they only knew they were following the
D
á
vilas
to somewhere in the Keys, according to their CI, and they never knew exactly
where they were headed. When they got to that out-of-the-way joint in Key West,
the brothers showed their guns immediately and then things just happened so
fast that, well
…

According
to script, Santos reported the incident to the Florida Department of Law
Enforcement, aka the State Police, who looks into all police shootings in the
state. Investigations are thereby taken out of local hands, where coverups
might well infect the proceedings.

Their
record shadowed them through the whole hearing process. Silvana and Vargas had
been written up before for getting rough with suspects, and although Santos
vigorously argued to the contrary, the FDLE mentioned rumors they had heard
regarding mysterious deaths the two detectives left in their wake of certain
investigations, most recently the untimely passing of one Yolexis Molina. FDLE
dwelled on that and other incidents for a long time, digging around looking for
evidence, any evidence at all, of murder in other cases in their past, hoping
to pin a murder charge on them for the Dávilas. A couple of times they came
close, but couldn't build anything solid beyond those rumors.

Santos
reported to the Chief the likelihood of the Dávilas, acting without the
knowledge of Maxie Méndez, being the shooters in the Little Havana triple
homicide. He laid out the scenario surrounding the money and Flaco's role in
it. Flaco, of course, had been notified as to exactly how his story would be
told. This included hearing Yayo Dávila converse with his brother about going
to the house on Tenth Avenue that night after they heard there was a lot of
money to be had. And of course, that was how Flaco told it. Maxie, of course,
couldn't be nailed for it since the only real evidence, Flaco's story, left him
in the clear. The Chief bought it, then notified Commissioner Harvey the
killers of his wife's niece had met justice, and the case was closed.

The
hugging and smiling went on for a minute or two, then Santos said, "Close
the door."

Vargas
closed it. Santos put on his no-bullshit face and said, "I went to bat for
you two in these hearings. All three of us know what really happened down there
in that Key West street."

Silvana
spoke. "Sir, we didn't —"

He
shut her up with a raised, outward palm. "All three of us know what went
down. I'm not going to say it again, Machado." He lowered his hand and sat
back in his chair. Silvana and Vargas both twitched a little. Silvana hoped
Santos didn't catch it.

"I
was a big help to you," he said, "both with FDLE and with the Chief.
I did it because you two get results, like I've always said, and in my book,
results are better than no results. As long as you don't get out of control,
you understand."

The
two detectives stood with their hands behind their backs, at parade rest.

"You
do understand, don't you?" Santos said.

No
response.

"I
didn't hear you, Machado. You either, Vargas."

"Yes,
sir," they said in meek unison.

"Yes
sir, what? I want each of you to say it. Machado, you first."

"Y-yes,
sir, I understand."

"And
what is it you understand. Tell it to me in very clear terms."

She
said, "Results are good as long as we don't get out of control."

"That's
right," Santos said. "And do we know what happened in Key West back
on July 21?"

"Yes,
sir."

"Tell
me what happened."

"Uh,
Lieutenant, sir, are any recording devices present?"

Santos
chuckled. "No. No recording devices. Now tell me what happened."

"Do
we have your word on that, sir?"

"You
have my word. Now, god damn it, tell me what I want to hear!"

"We
wasted the Dávila brothers, sir."

Santos
turned his eyes on Bobby Vargas. "Is that right, Detective?"

"Yes,
sir," he replied.

"You
tell me, too. Come on."

"We
— we wasted them, sir."

"And
it wasn't self-defense, was it."

"N-no,
sir," Vargas said. "It wasn't. But those fuckers, they had it
coming."

"Well,
maybe they did," Santos said, "but that's for another day." He
turned back to Silvana. "We were supposed to let their hit on Mambo DeLima
go down so we could grab them for it and get them to roll over on Maxie Méndez,
weren't we?"

"Yes,
sir, but we —"

"No
more bullshit, Machado. I know why you got so impatient and put those
cocksuckers down." He had a clear edge to his voice he didn't try to hide.

"You
— you do, sir?"

"You're
collecting a thousand dollars a week from Méndez not to link him to the Little
Havana triple homicide. You don't want to upset your little revenue
stream."

Silvana's
knees buckled and she tried to hold back the exhale, but couldn't.

"Yes,"
Santos said. "I know what's been going on."

"Lieutenant,
sir," she said. "How do you know that? How
can
you know that?"

"You
told me once that you hear things. Well, I hear things, too. Now, all these
favors I've done for you lately, I have to tell you, they come with a
price."

"A
price?" Silvana said.

"Yes.
A price. And that price is half of that thousand dollars every week from now
on. Plus half of all the other action you've got going. I know that sleazebag
Ramos is paying you another thousand to protect his drug business around
Dolphin Mall, and you've got a few other little things going. Half of
everything, you kick up to me. Everything you currently have on the line and
anything you may pick up in the future. Starting now."

Silvana
and Vargas took a moment to recover from this assault on their brains and on
their wallets. They looked at each other, nodded warily, and both said okay.

He
pointed an index finger at the two of them. "This means no holding back.
If I find out you've held back even a single dollar — and I
will
find out — you will meet up
with the Dávilas in whatever corner of hell they're in. I will personally see
to it. Understand?"

Both
their heads went up and down once.

"Good,"
Santos said. "I've long said you two are the best I've got. Now get out
there and protect the citizens of Miami from the scum-sucking criminals that
roam our streets. Do your job."