Rebels and Thieves

by Russell Williams

“What’s that supposed to mean, Sergeant?”

  “It looks like you’ve been using drugs with this woman.”

  Smith looked nervous. “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you have a permit to carry that handgun?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Malone put his video camera away. So far, everything was going exactly how he’d anticipated it would. He was holding all the cards, and he intended on letting Smith know it. “Well, you’re up shit creek. Without a paddle, so to speak.”

  “I’m going to get my attorney on the line. I’m going to sue you and the Miami PD.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  Smith ground his teeth. “The hell it isn’t. You just wait and see what happens.”

  “I’ve got the upper hand.”

  “Dream on, Sergeant. You’ve violated my civil rights.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Malone leveled with him. “I’m not charging you with anything.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  Malone looked at the woman. “Get out.”

  The prostitute got out of bed and slipped into a tight pink dress. She walked past Malone, toward the back of the room. On the table, next to her purse, were five one hundred dollar bills. She grabbed them and stormed out of the room.

  “Knock off the tough-guy routine,” Malone said. “It’s getting old.”

  “You better be happy I’m unarmed. Or things would be a lot different.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  Smith gave him the middle finger. “You’re damn straight it is.”

  Malone rose to the occasion. He wasn’t going to take anymore crap from him. “I’m going to take you up on your offer. I’m going to give you a chance to prove it.”

  “Huh?”

  “Go for it.” Malone was looking forward to knocking him down a few pegs. He kept his right hand close to his weapon, ready to draw at the drop of a dime. “Reach for your gun.”

  “No.” Smith shook his head. “I don’t want to do that.”

  “You have ten seconds.”

  Smith’s lips trembled. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “You have five seconds.”

  “I was just blowing off steam.” Smith’s eyes filled up. “I wasn’t serious.”

  “You have two seconds.”

  Hugging the pillow, Smith took a deep breath and burst into tears. He sat there, balling his eyes out, his shoulders jiggling up and down. Several moments later, he used the backs of his hands to wipe the tears from his eyes. “You scared me to death.”

  “I wasn’t going to shoot you. I just wanted to make a point.”

  “Well, I got the message.”

  “No, I don’t think you do. I’m still going to go through with it.”

  Smith looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m still going to show the dirty pictures to your wife.”

  “Oh, please don’t do that to me.”

  Malone knew he was putty in his hands. He just needed to keep the pressure on him for a few more minutes. “I have to do it. In fact, I’m going over there right now.”

  Smith took a deep breath. “Please don’t do it, Sergeant.”

  “She needs to know just how much you love to screw hookers.”

  “You’re going to ruin my marriage.”

  Malone had to keep the ball in his court. Determined to get a lead in the case, he had to keep bluffing him. “It’s probably for the best.” He nodded. “I think she deserves to know.”

  “No, she doesn’t, Sergeant.” Smith’s eyes were wide. “She’ll never forgive me.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Smith grimaced. “I love her, Sergeant. Plus, I have two little kids to think about.”

  “There another way out of this mess. But you’ll have to act fast.”

  “You got it, Sergeant.” Smith breathed out a deep sigh of relief. “Just name it.”

  “First, take the bullets out of your gun. Then get dressed. Then I’ll fill in the blanks.”

  “That’s not a problem.” Smith put on his gray suit with a white button-down shirt and a multicolored tie. He was a short man, with chubby cheeks, messy red hair, and freckles. He emptied his revolver, placing six bullets onto the nightstand. “All right, Sergeant. This is your show. What’s the next step?”

  “I’m investigating your employer, Black Capital Investments.”

  Smith’s face turned white. “I figured as much.”

  “I need to know a lot about their business dealings.” Malone wasn’t going to let him go until he got a significant break in the case. He suspected Smith would hang anyone out to dry, provided it would keep his sexual indiscretions from ever see the light of day.

  “That’s a bad idea, Sergeant.” Smith hesitated. “Let’s not go down this road.”

  “Tell me about your best friend, Jason Roberts.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about him.” Smith stared at the floor, shaking his head. He rubbed his temples, as if he had a pounding headache. “I still can’t believe he’s dead.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “About six months ago, we had a major blow out. We never worked things out.”

  “He must have said something to you, though.”

  Smith shook his head. “I wish I could be more help to you, Sergeant.”

  Malone felt the wind go out of his sails. He didn’t come all this way to come up empty-handed. No matter what, he was going to get something out of him. “Don’t stonewall me.”

  “I’m not, Sergeant. He didn’t say anything to me. We never spoke again.”

  Malone felt a deep frustration. “Tell me about your boss, Roger Kemp.”

  “Don’t keep investigating him, Sergeant.” Smiths sounded uneasy. “It’s not worth it.”

  “You’d better play ball with me. Or I’m going to pay your wife a visit.”

  “I know he’s bringing in a heavy hitter.”

  Malone sensed he was going to level with him. Finally, he was going to get some useful information out of him. “Who is it?”

  “Boris Basov.” Smith looked frightened. “He’s connected to the Russian Mafia.”

  “What are they planning?”

  “I don’t have any idea, Sergeant. And I want to keep it that way.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  Malone picked up the mirror, walked into the bathroom, and flushed the cocaine down the toilet. He left the room and gestured for Peterson to follow him down the short corridor. Both silent, they entered the elevator and took it to the bottom floor. They walked out of the Marriott Hotel, got into the unmarked police car, and sped off into the night.

  Chapter 18

  Apprehensive about seeing his father, Malone walked into Jackson Memorial Hospital. The place was a beehive of activity, with people hustling past him, anxious to see their parents, siblings, and friends. He past many doctors and nurses, some comparing notes, others talking about medical procedures. Halfway down the corridor, he turned into a hospital room and sat down in a visitor’s chair.

  “I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Dean said, propping himself up in the bed.

  “En route,” Malone said. “Official police business.”

  Dean narrowed his eyes. “Ever think about changing careers?”

  “I’m not good at anything else, Dad. Besides, I like what I do.”

  “In your last year of college, you were an all-star Quarter Back. Strong, fast, accurate.”

  “Why even bring it up?”

  “You threw three hundred and forty-three passes in your last season.”

  Malone felt his heart skip a beat. No one missed those days more than he did. “Give it a rest, Dad. That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Two hundred and twenty of those passes were caught.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That’s about a sixty-six percent completion average.”

  Malone was pissed his dad kept pressing the issue. He didn’t want to go down this r
oad. “Forget about it, will you?” He waved his hand. “That was a lifetime ago.”

  “Not to mention, you threw thirty touchdown passes in your last season.”

  “I got hurt, Dad.” Malone crossed his arms. “You know that. I blew out my ACL.”

  Dean looked disappointed. “I always thought you’d be a NFL football star, that’s all.”

  “It’s the school of hard knocks, I suppose. Everyone goes through hard times.”

  Dean shook his head. He was in his early eighties, with light skin, a narrow nose, and short, gray hair. Sighing, he folded his arms across his chest. “At least you got a business degree from Florida Atlantic University.”

  “No big deal,” Malone said. “I’ve always been great with numbers.”

  “You even managed to earn an M.B.A. from Nova Southeastern University.”

  “Good genes, I guess.”

  Dean frowned. “But you never followed in my footsteps, did you?”

  Malone was struggling to be patient. No matter what he did, it was never good enough for his father. “Drop it, Dad. We’ve been down this road before.”

  “Look at it from my point of view. I always thought you would end up like me.”

  “You guessed wrong.”

  “You never finished that the internship I got you with Boeing, either.”

  Malone forced himself to remain calm. He didn’t want to get into an argument with him, especially while he was in the hospital. “That was a lifetime ago. Like I told you before, I didn’t like the boss back then. He was the big shot type.”

  “That was short-sighted on your part.”

  The hospital’s operator boomed over the PA system, announcing a Code Blue, first floor, room twenty-seven. Someone was in cardiac arrest. Outside, a group of doctors and nurses raced past the hospital room, pushing a red and white emergency crash cart down the corridor.

  “No, I didn’t make a mistake,” Malone said. “I found my calling in life.”

  “Most people would have killed for a business opportunity like that.”

  “Not me.”

  Dean looked sad. “You wasted your time, getting those two business degrees.”

  Malone felt his cheeks growing hot. He was on the verge of saying something he’d live to regret. “That’s a bunch of crap. And you know it.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “I understand how the world works—economics, banking, finance.”

  “But you could have been a CEO of a major corporation by now.”

  Knock it off, Dad.” Malone threw him a warning look. “Or I’m going to leave.”

  “I’m just saying you didn’t live up to my expectations.”

  Malone didn’t appreciate the low blow. He wasn’t going to take it on the chin anymore. “It’s my life, not yours. The soon you realize that, the better of you’ll be.”

  Dean pointed at him. “You’re going to end up getting yourself killed out there.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. But at least I’ll die doing what I love to do.”

  Dean lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. He adjusted his pillow, trying to prop his head up. Sighing, he clasped his hands on his stomach. The silence was palpable. They sat there for a long time, both staring into blank space, neither one knowing what to say next.

  “How’s married life?” Dean asked. “Still fighting like cats and dogs?”

  “She left me.” Malone sighed. “Packed up her stuff and slammed the door in my face.”

  A cold look crossed Dean’s face. “It serves you right for marrying a feminist.”

  “She’s not like that.”

  “You can’t control a woman like her. Strong, confident, independent.”

  “That’s why I fell in love with her.”

  “And that’s exactly why you’re going to end up divorced.” Dean placed his right hand over his chest, as if he was checking to make sure his heart was still beating. Staring at the ceiling, he closed his eyes and started humming.

  “I just wanted to stop by,” Malone said. “And give you some support.”

  “Too bad it’s not under better conditions.”

  “Once the doctor puts the stent in, you’ll be as good as new.”

  Dean sighed. “So, I’ve heard.”

  “Take care, Dad.” Malone got to his feet and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you again soon.”

  “Just be careful out there, all right?”

  Malone headed out of the room. He hurried out of the hospital and down a flight of steps. He crossed the parking lot and got into his unmarked police car. Reaching underneath his seat, he pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He took a long swig, just enough to take the edge off.

  Chapter 19

  Jones walked through the cruise ship, packed with hundreds of people. The casino was large, with four hundred slot machines and thirty-four game tables. The air reeked of booze and cigarettes. The room was filled with sounds—bells, whistles, sirens. Some people were jumping up and down, screaming with excitement, caught up in their winning streaks. Other people sat on black stools, shaking their heads, their faces long and glum. Jones sat at the end of the blackjack table, right next to an old man, and put down a wad of fifty dollar bills. The dealer scooped them up and exchanged them for twenty black chips—each one worth one hundred dollars.

  “I can’t wait to play,” Jones said, placing a five hundred dollar bet.

  “I’m in it for the long haul, too,” the old man said to his right.

  “Earlier tonight, I lost a considerable amount of money. I have to make it back.”

  The old man looked concerned. “How much did you lose?”

  “Seven thousand dollars at the craps table.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

  Jones felt a thrill of excitement. Even though he was down, he knew things were going to turn around. “You don’t have to do that for me.” He grinned. “You see, I don’t need luck.”

  “Oh?” The old man scratched his forehead. “I’m listening.”

  “I have it all upstairs, intellect, intuition, and a killer instinct.”

  The blackjack dealer stood behind the table, dressed in a black stretch dress with red adjustable straps. She had long blonde hair and wore skillful makeup. Smiling, she dealt two cards to five players, all face up. In the process, she had dealt herself two cards—the Jack of Diamonds face up, the other card face down.

  “My name is Tim,” he said. “Tim Jones. It’s always nice to meet another gambler.”

  “Mick Thomas,” the old man said, giving him a flat look. “The pleasure is mine.”

  Jones was curious what he did for a living. “Are you retired?”

  “I’m semi-retired. But I still do a little business consulting. Here and there.”

  “Oh, that’s interesting. I’m a Miami Police officer. I’m off duty, of course.”

  “It’s always nice to meet a cop.”

  Jones sensed an air of superiority about him. He seemed relaxed, like he was used to beating the odds. “You have a great hand. The King of Spades and the Ten of Clubs.”

  “I can’t say the same about yours.” Mick chuckled. “It’s a shame, don’t you think?”

  “I’m going to have the dealer hit me. So, you haven’t seen my next card yet.”

  Mick gave him a condescending look. “Neither have you.”

  “It’s going to be a good one.” Jones clapped his hands. “I can feel it in my bones.”

  “I’m gunning for you, kid.”

  The blackjack dealer started from her left and moved down the line, dealing some players a third card, face up. Jones stared at his cards—the Seven of Diamonds and the Five of Clubs. He tapped his finger on the table, behind his cards, indicating he wanted her to deal him another one. He received the Queen of Diamonds, bringing his total to over twenty-one. The dealer picked up his cards and five black chips. Everyone at the table lost, except for the old man, who beat the dealer. He recei
ved a 1-to-1 payout.

  “That sucks,” Jones said. He hung his head. “I hate to lose like that.”

  “I thought you’d probably bust.” Mick’s tone was serious. “It happens to everyone.”

  “I’m not going to let it get me down, though. I’m just getting warmed up, that’s all.”

  Mick’s eyes sparkled. “I doubled my money, kid. I’m on top of the world.”

  “Things are going to get better for me. I’m going to win next time.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Mick chuckled. “But I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “I’ll make it back,” Jones said, placing another five hundred dollar bet. He was starting to get his game face on. He called it the zone, the place where nothing could go wrong. His competitive juices were flowing, and he was ready to make a big score. The wind was at his back. From now on, it was smooth sailing.

  “Since I won last time,” Mick said, “I’ll play again. I’ll bet the same amount as you.”

  “Once I get on a winning streak, nothing can stop me.”

  Mick gave him a wary look. “Take it easy, kid. You haven’t even won a game yet.”

  “Sit back, watch, and learn.”

  “Like I said before, I’m gunning for you, kid.”

  Starting from her left, the blackjack dealer dealt two cards to five players, all face up. In the process, the dealer had dealt herself two cards, the Nine of Hearts face up, the other card face down. She looked up, at the players.

  Jones said, “You have a great hand. The Nine of Diamonds and the Ace of Diamonds.”

  “It’s the luck of the draw, kid.” Mick took a drink of his beer. “It’s fantastic, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t rub it in.”

  Mick clapped him on the back. “Don’t take it personally.”

  Jones felt like he was in the middle of bad dream. He had to get his head back in the game. “Everything’s going to turn around for me. It’s just going to be a matter of time.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Mick laughed. “I think I’m going to double my money again.”

  Jones clenched his jaw. “I’m going to get another card. I’m going to beat the odds, too.”

  “Hey, remember what happened to you last time, kid.”

  “Shut up, will you?”