by David Sayre
Sheen turned back towards the field of cars, leaving the mass of people who had been displaced, disillusioned and doing all they could to survive.
CHAPTER TEN
Stepping Up
The Day Before the Storm . . .
On the corner of Biscayne and 6th street there was a vendor who sold Gyros, steak sandwiches and Italian sausages with peppers and onions from his cart. Detectives Lima and Foley each paid for a Gyro and a can of soda, then walked back to their unmarked car parked at the edge of an empty lot on 6th, across from the Freedom Tower.
They stood on the sidewalk, leaned against the car, Foley by the hood, Lima by the passenger side door, and ate their Gyros.
Lima chewed his first bite and, as he swallowed, he wiped some errant tzatziki sauce from the corner of his mouth. "You remember that kid we rousted the other day? Corner of tenth and first?" he asked his partner.
Foley took a swallow of soda to wash down his first several bites of pita bread and grilled meat. He had been famished nearly all morning. "Oh yeah . . . Uh, Bitty," he responded.
"That's right," Lima said as he took another bite. He looked at the surroundings, off in the distance towards the Metrorail track, to where the city looked less like the hotspot on the bay and more like an urban wasteland.
"Bunch of these young fellas, all over the city. They are just like him. And I bet all the money in my pockets against all the money in your pockets that ten, fifteen years ago a couple of weary ass NARCs like us pulled Araña off some corner."
Foley let out a knowing laugh, agreeing with his partner that it probably happened exactly that way.
Lima continued, reflective, almost as though he was thinking out loud. "And years from now, when Bitty's runnin' his own show, some other little shit's gonna be earnin' on Bitty's old spot."
Foley gave an accepting nod, followed by a shrug and replied, "So it's cyclical. Nothing new about that."
"Nope. Shit, man, ain't nothin' new under the sun, you know that. What I'm saying is, even if Bitty comes of age, takes Araña's place, at least we got Araña, right? One's just one, but it still fuckin' counts."
"You're God damn right it does," Foley offered as he finished his last bite of Gyro and killed off the soda.
Lima bit into the rest of his lunch and headed towards the public waste basket on the corner sidewalk. Foley handed Lima his empty soda can, which his partner accepted. Lima tossed the cans in the bin and ate his last piece of Gyro. Heading back to the car he said to his partner, "Department wants us to step up, right?"
Foley nodded and said, "This is how."
They got into the vehicle, Lima started it up and they drove west towards First Avenue.
✽✽✽
Eladio watched Maribel work. He was finishing off the fries he had ordered with his Elena Ruz sandwich. He sat at his table and watched Maribel move from one customer to the next. He liked to see her talk to the patrons, smiling, laughing and making them feel at home. She was such a radiant woman. God he was in love with her.
She caught him staring and winked at him from across the room. Eladio didn't know he was capable of this kind of love until Maribel brought it out of him. She was worth it, he thought. Worth anything he was about to do, anything he might get mixed up in. The risk was worth the reward. Give Maribel everything I can and build our happy life together.
Gameboy's plan wasn't a great plan. It was shaky, it didn't have as much of a definitive outcome as Eladio would like. But it would show the boss something. It would improve T-Dub's situation with his competitor. And it would definitely accelerate Cachorro's ascent in the organization.
But it was risky. Was it smart? Not particularly. Eladio was more intelligent than that. He knew it. His grandfather had raised him to be so. But he couldn't back out. His boys would think he was a bitch. That was the code of manhood he'd learned on the street. Not exactly the manhood his grandfather taught him. It was a less intelligent version. What would Abo think?
Abo would understand.
Abo knew that Eladio had to do what he had to do. A man must do what he must to earn his daily bread.
Eladio finished off his can of Ironbeer, wiped his mouth with his napkin and nodded to Maribel. He stood up and met her at the front entrance.
"You going, baby?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Okay. Be safe, mi amor."
He kissed her and held the kiss longer than usual. There was a moment, maybe that he should have abided. It was almost a sixth sense and when he released the kiss and looked into Maribel's eyes he knew she'd felt it too.
Eladio didn't know what it was. He wasn't a superstitious man, but the foreboding feeling was intense, no matter how brief.
Maribel's eyes were sad and Eladio mirrored her look with concern. He placed his hand on her cheek and said, "I'll see you later."
"Be careful, sweetie," she replied, then added, "I love you."
"I love you, too."
He squeezed her hand in a small and delicate gesture of comfort before turning towards the front entrance.
Cachorro exited the Café Vida, jogged across the street to the parking lot centered between the opposing lanes of traffic on Biscayne Boulevard, holding his hand up to the motorists in front of which he'd crossed.
He got in his Accord and drove away.
✽✽✽
Diego was sitting in the passenger seat of the Honda by the time that Cachorro pulled up to the curb where they'd pick up Gameboy. After a few moments of waiting, Gameboy walked up to the vehicle. He opened the passenger side door and gave the thumb signal to the backseat.
"Get your ass in the back," he ordered.
Diego complied and got out of the car to relocate to his spot behind the passenger.
Gameboy gave out a quick whistle that caused Cachorro to look in his direction. Once he did, Gameboy turned around, lifted up the tail of his t-shirt to show off the gun he'd secured in the waistband of his jeans.
As he turned back to get in the car, Gameboy stuck his tongue out like a face-painted rock star and chuckled. Cachorro's expression was not one of amusement. He didn't voice his displeasure with Gameboy, but as he pulled away from the curb, he thought to himself: Yeah. You think you're a real badass, don't you?
Despite the nagging feeling in his gut to stop this all, right now, Cachorro drove on, heading for Flagler.
✽✽✽
Cachorro pulled the car up to the curb on Flagler, just west of NW 1st Avenue.
"How do we do this?" he asked.
Gameboy stared out the window at a Cuban cafetería on the corner, a few yards away. "You keep the car running," Gameboy replied.
"No, no. You're not goin' in there by yourself, bro," Cachorro contested.
"I need you out here, man! Shit goes bad, I'm gonna need a wheel man. And that's you! C'mon, bro. You're my mainest man!"
Gameboy smiled at Cachorro and offered his hand for their customary shake. Cachorro stared at his boy, unsure what to do. He wasn't convinced that Gameboy should go in there without back up. But he knew that the car needed to be ready to go, so he relented. Cachorro and Gameboy did their shake. Neither gave much profound thought to the notion that this could be the last time they'd ever exchange that routine.
"Okay, but you ain't goin' alone. Diego's going with you," Cachorro stated.
Gameboy's chortle was nearly an insulting, full laugh. He immediately followed it with the question, "To do what?"
Gameboy's eyebrows were raised in a sarcastic surprise. He honestly didn't know what Cachorro was recommending Diego for and Cachorro knew, in his heart of hearts, Diego wasn't cut-out for this side of the life.
"Alright. Get your ass in there, do your thing and get your ass out," Cachorro said.
Gameboy didn't need any more prompting. He opened the door, stepped out and walked towards the cafetería. Once he did, Diego got out of the backseat and moved back to the shotgun position.
They sat in silence for a few moments and Cachorro tu
rned on his stereo, pushing the CD function button.
"You heard the new Ice Cube?" Cachorro asked.
Diego shrugged. He didn't know if he'd actually heard it or not. Diego just didn't pay attention to that kind of stuff, so he couldn't really give an answer.
Cachorro looked at him sternly, curious and somehow irritated at Diego's ambiguity. There were times when he really didn't understand Diego at all.
"Damn, Diego. Is that a yes or a no?" Cachorro added. He said it in a cold, almost rude way. Cachorro wondered if his friend could have his own opinion on anything.
✽✽✽
Foley and Lima drove along Flagler, heading east until they drove under the Metrorail tracks and turned onto NW 1st Avenue. They pulled the car to an abrupt stop on the avenue, just in front of the cafetería on the corner.
They walked towards the building. Lima noticed a Honda Accord with two passengers parked in one of the spots on Flagler. He didn't give it much thought. He was just taking in everything around him. That's why he also noticed the three men sipping cafecitos at the window, the homeless man asking for change from the commuters waiting at the bus stop and the old man shining shoes across the street.
And then he heard it.
Two gunshots.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lights Out
Sheen was leaning against the wall that separated Café Vida from the place of business that stood beside it. It was a weird moment, because he'd caught himself feeling like a private eye. He thought if he was a smoker he would have a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Then he thought about hard-boiled detectives in the old noir movies like The Maltese Falcon and The Big Sleep. Humphrey Bogart in his long trench coats and sporting a fedora.
That made Sheen think of his father. Ben Sheen was a private detective, just as his son ultimately became. He could picture his father with his Camel cigarette clutched between his fingers. And his father used to wear those old hats, just like in the classic films. And Delmon wondered about life as a P.I. What it was for his father and how was it different from his own.
There weren't big cases. At least not for Delmon. There was a lot of finding people who didn't want to be found. But Delmon had never solved a big murder, never helped the cops with "the big case they couldn't break" or any of that stuff. He guessed that his dad probably had similar work. Though he knew Detective Ben Sheen had at least two or three "big" cases in his career. Not the least of which was the one that introduced him to Delmon's mother.
"Really? You again?"
Sheen abandoned his thoughts when he heard the voice that led him to look up at Maribel.
"You don't give up easy," She continued. "I guess you need that in your job."
"You took my business card, Maribel," Sheen responded. "I think you're not totally against helping me out."
Maribel knew Sheen had a point and it frustrated her. She defensively deflected the statement with a sarcastic retort, "Is this gonna be like an everyday thing now?"
Sheen was still trying to figure her out. He knew she was smart, he knew she was protective of herself and, seemingly, those she loved. And he had deduced that anything that made her feel vulnerable would be something she lashed out on. He thought his best bet was to not get tied up in responding to her verbal jabs. He chose to ignore anything that wasn't a straight answer by presenting a new question.
"Where does Eladio work?"
Maribel didn't respond.
"Is he selling drugs?"
Again nothing.
"Maybe it's not drugs, maybe it's something else, but it's something bad and you're protecting him. He's hiding somewhere and I think you know exactly where he is."
"How do you know?" Maribel asked, defiantly with fire in her eyes.
Sheen refused to back down, he matched her intensity and hit back with, "Because if you love him like you say you do . . ."
"I do love him!"
" . . . then you'd be horrified if some detective came to you because he was missing."
Maribel backed down. She caught her breath, calmed.
"From the moment I met you, until right now, nothing has ever shown me that you were gravely concerned with his whereabouts. You know where he is and you know what's happened to get him there. What's he gotten himself into?"
Maribel thought on it for a moment. Who the fuck is this Detective Sheen?. Maribel didn't know him well enough to give him the answers he wanted. So what if she'd taken his card? That didn't mean she trusted him. What's more, she didn't want to expose Eladio. Would this detective understand? Would Eladio's mother?
"He doesn't want his mom knowing. It would destroy her. She's the sweetest woman," Maribel said.
"Then tell me something I can work with," Sheen replied.
Maribel didn't know what to do, but she knew enough to know that she couldn't be the one to say anything. But maybe she could get Sheen off her back by throwing a false trail of breadcrumbs in his path.
"Calle Ocho. Just before you get to the overpass for 95," Maribel offered.
"East or west?"
"East."
"So around 4th avenue."
"That's right. One block, there's a liquor store on the corner, a barber shop nearby."
Sheen nodded as he jotted the notes on his pad. "I know it."
"Ask around, guys in the neighborhood. You want to talk to the boys on the sidewalks. Probably some of them hanging in front of a pawn shop. They'll know about Eladio. But they call him Cachorro," she said the last part with disgust, and then added, "I hate that name."
Sheen looked up at her. She saw his face and explained, "Eladio's a man, not some stray in the streets. He's a good man and none of those guys know who he really is."
Sheen gave her a sympathetic look and nodded.
"Yessenia tells me you live in Cutler Ridge," Sheen said.
"A little further south. Closer to Homestead."
"I understand the storm was rough out there."
Maribel nodded, doing her best to hold back her emotions.
"I remember how happy we used to get as kids, when school would be cancelled, you know? They'd send us home early because a hurricane was coming. We didn't think anything of it. We weren't scared," Maribel said. The tears forming in her eyes were betrayed by the smile that crept on her face, thinking about those memories. She almost found it funny, given what she now knew what a hurricane could do.
"It got to be like a fire drill," She continued. "There would be some rain, some wind . . . but that's it. With this one . . ."
Maribel's smile faded, replaced by the sadness that causes the corners of one's mouth to drop. The dampness in her eyes grew as she thought of it, then reported, "I went to the grocery store with my mother, just before the storm. I saw two old ladies get into a fight over the last loaf of bread. Like a real fight, you know? An actual, physical fight. Like animals."
A tear trickled down her face which she quickly brushed away before it could fall down her cheek.
"You've been displaced?" Sheen asked, though he already knew the answer. Still, he couldn't exactly tell Maribel he'd tailed her home.
Maribel nodded, and then confirmed, "The tent city in Homestead."
Sheen didn't know what to say about it. Then he heard himself blurt out, "If there's anything I can do for you . . ."
He wanted to finish it by saying "let me know", but he'd caught himself off guard by making the statement in the first place.
Maribel was just as thrown off by it when she said without thinking, "Like what?" She had asked the question directly, almost sarcastically. Both of them knew the gravity of Maribel's situation.
She is right, Sheen thought. What can I do? Have her and her family stay with me and mine? Pay for a hotel room for an indefinite amount of time? There was nothing he could do for her.
"Thank you for the information," Sheen said. "You have my card if you think of anything else."
Maribel nodded, walked past him and entered the café for her day's work.
<
br /> Sheen went the other way, walking down Biscayne to collect his car at the garage by his office.
✽✽✽
Sheen knew the area Maribel spoke about in Little Havana, a few streets southeast of the Miami River. He was familiar enough with the neighborhood that he was able to park his car next to a nearby baseball field and walk a few blocks to his destination. That not only gave him some distance to keep some anonymity as he approached, but also provided him additional time to think about his plan.
Sheen knew that he wouldn't believably pull off the act of portraying a friend of Eladio. So he thought it best to assume the role of someone who owed Eladio money and was willing and able to pay. If nothing else, he hoped that they may be more helpful giving some information on how Eladio could be reached, if they thought it might lead to him being paid a debt.
Sheen saw the pawn shop across the street, and he saw the corner boys that stationed themselves in front of its doors. He checked for oncoming traffic, crossed and headed for the group.
He was met with suspicious eyes by the less entrepreneurial teenagers. The ones who would eventually make something of themselves and get promoted in the organization saw him as the only thing they wanted him to be: a potential customer.
The young man wore jean shorts and a white wife beater, his head sporting a doo rag. Like most of the corner boys he was African-American. He strolled up to the approaching Sheen and asked, "What you need? 'Cause whatever you need, I'm sure I got it. Even if you don't know you need it yet, you gonna find out right quick and you gonna thank me after."
The teenager flashed a winning smile. He looked like he could've been a Calvin Klein model if another life was in the cards. But out here it wasn't. So he settled for being a master salesman to the junkies in need. Whether down and out and living out of a cardboard box, or masking their addiction with their suit and tie in the boardroom, everyone was served the fix they desired.
"Nice pitch," Sheen commented.
