by David Sayre
"Look like it. If I had to guess, yeah," Vernell responded.
T-Dub wiped his hands and his mouth with a napkin, then picked up the photo to examine it closer. It showed Diego, beaten and bloodied. His eyes were open and empty and T-Dub agreed with Vernell's assessment. The boy was gone.
"It's gotta be Araña's people."
"Mm-hmmm," Vernell replied as he slowly nodded his head. "Friend of his. Was his lieutenant, now he running things. Name of Cristiano."
"Yeah. I know who that is. He's been around a few years."
Vernell nodded. They knew who they were up against, now they had to consider how to handle the matter.
"It's time to talk. I don't know what the fuck that shit was about at Araña's shop, but we need to clear some air with his crew," T-Dub said. He had the far off look in his eye, the way he always did when he was calculating every angle.
"I might know somebody who'd guarantee a safe meet. If that's what you're thinking on," Vernell offered.
T-Dub let the idea process for a few moments before telling Vernell, "Set it up."
Vernell nodded. Order understood. He got up and walked away.
T-Dub's appetite was gone.
✽✽✽
Sailor Pete's was a dive bar on the Miami River. It was stuck in the middle of the warehouses, shipyards, the marina, metal works and other industrial businesses along the riverbank.
It was easily disguised as another plant or warehouse, given the scrap metal heavy decor of aluminum and rust. Whatever damage had been sustained by Hurricane Andrew was difficult to evaluate since Sailor Pete's looked pretty awful before the storm. Inside wasn't much better. The place was well known for cheap beer and a quick lunch from a simple menu that primarily had sandwiches and a soup of the day, which was typically something in the seafood variety. But Vernell knew it as the side business of its proprietor, Joe Faizon, better known as Saint Joe. The nickname was short for Saint Joseph, the place Joe's family was from in Trinidad.
Saint Joe was a husky man, of a dark caramel complexion, with a Brillo pad goatee and one glass eye that never followed the direction in which he was looking. He had tattoos on his left arm and scars from a knife fight on his right. He was well connected in Miami and the islands of the Caribbean. He ran several businesses locally and in the Latin American trades. Not drugs, but other markets that were indifferent to the confines of the law. He was one of the best men you could turn to in the area, if what you needed was guns and wanted to buy bulk. He'd also been known in some circles to relieve cargo ships of their freight, particularly if they had valued goods such as televisions, stereo systems and even automobiles.
Vernell entered the dreary bar and walked over to the stick. It was the only thing wooden in the joint. It hadn't been polished for years and was so worn and faded that it almost looked grey. Vernell sat at a stool and watched Joe's good eye look him over. He flashed Vernell more of a smirk than an actual smile.
"Something I can do for you, Vernell?" Joe asked. He had no real accent to speak of, but his pronunciation of certain words told strangers that he was probably from somewhere outside the U.S.
"You interested in making some easy money?" Vernell asked.
"Ain't never heard of no easy money. All my years, money come by doin' something for it."
"Well while you think on it, pour me a Michelob."
Joe made an easy stride to the taps where he had three domestic options. He grabbed a glass from under the bar, lifted it to the spigot and pulled forward on the handle.
"Talk about this easy money," Joe said as he placed a cardboard coaster in front of Vernell and set the beer glass on top.
"Need you to host a meet for my boy T-Dub."
Vernell took a sip of his beer and Joe leaned back against the counter with the register set upon it.
"What T-Dub need to meet somebody here for?"
"He got static with a Cuban in the same business, taking over for Araña."
"Yeah I heard about that shit. Boy got shot up in his own joint, that's fucked up. Y'all had somethin' to do with that?"
"Truth what it is, I can't tell you for sure."
"This beef between them two ain't gonna come to some shit like that in here if I let 'em in, is it?"
"Nah. See that's why I'm reachin' out to you, brother. They need a neutral territory to talk through their thing."
"Mmm-hmm."
Saint Joe rubbed his chin, running his fingers through the scraggly hairs. "Who I'm charging for my hospitality?"
"T-Dub figurin' on given you two hundred for your troubles and hopin' this Cristiano dude will go for the same. He also hopin' you'd be willing to reach out to Cristiano with the details of the talk."
"What that mean? Time and place."
"Yup."
Joe considered it and agreed, "Alright. We'll do it that way. But I'm gonna tell you same as I'm gonna tell Cristiano. I arrange something like this on neutral territory and them two discuss their shit like gentlemen. Nobody comes carrying, nobody gets hurt. Now, I got my reputation to keep and I want to continue to be known as a man that provides a safe place for folks like y'all to deal with their grievances. You fuck with that, you break my rules and I got more police on my payroll than either of them two ever done business with. So don't break my rules.
"Now, you tell T-Dub that's the agreement and he wants to take it, he takes it as is."
"No problem," Vernell said.
"Okay. I'll get in touch with Cristiano, set it up. You'll hear from me by tomorrow night at the latest."
It didn't take until the next night. A few hours after Vernell had left Sailor Pete's, he had already received the call.
The meeting was set.
✽✽✽
Sailor Pete's wasn't open for breakfast and that's why the meeting had been arranged for the following morning. The sun shone brightly and served as an unrelenting reminder that a Miami morning could be as hot as a country afternoon.
Vernell led T-Dub to the door and when they walked in they were greeted by Saint Joe. T-Dub and Joe had really only known each other by reputation. There was respect on both men's faces as they gave a solid nod.
T-Dub sat down at one of the four seat tables that were inconsistently positioned around the bar. Vernell walked over to Joe, who waited patiently on the other end of the stick. Joe didn't like to get involved with the conversations had when he set up a neutral meeting for paying customers.
Vernell shook Joe's hand and said, "Everything cool with Cristiano?"
"Far as I can tell," Joe responded. "He say he gonna be here. Y'all know my rules, so much as I'm involved with it, everybody should be happy."
"Cool."
"You got to tell me upfront if you need anything from the bar. 'Cause once they show up, I'm going to the backroom. I ain't needin' to know what gets discussed here."
"You get us a pitcher of water and some glasses?"
"That I can do."
Vernell nodded and walked back to the table. Joe grabbed a pitcher from the stack on the counter and filled it with ice and tap water. He grabbed four red, plastic cups inscribed with the Coca-Cola insignia in white lettering. He brought the water over to the table and set it down. Vernell immediately filled two cups with water.
Before Joe could walk away T-Dub said, "Thanks for the meeting place, Joe."
As he turned to go Joe responded, "Thank you for the business, brother."
Joe returned to his spot behind the bar.
T-Dub waited, patiently. Vernell sipped his water.
The front door creaked as it opened and in stepped Cristiano with a tall, muscular, Hispanic man with a completely shaved head and a beard bushed with curls.
Vernell looked the man over and kept his eyes on him. He was as stone-faced as the subject of his glare.
Cristiano moved towards the table. T-Dub stood, as non-threatening as possible. He reached out a hand and Cristiano accepted.
"Allen Tisdale. People call me T-Dub."
&nbs
p; "Abraham Cristiano."
They shook and Cristiano sat. His thug remained standing, behind and to the right of his boss.
Joe walked to the table and reiterated, "You gentlemen know what the agreement is. I call you gentlemen, because that's what I expect. I don't need no foolishness in here. You say your piece, talk it out however you got to, then everybody leaves without issue. Shit gets physical, we got problems. Alright?"
T-Dub and Cristiano were staring at each other, even though both answered Joe.
"No problem, Joe," T-Dub said.
Cristiano added, "We cool."
Joe nodded, took them at their word and left for the backroom.
"My sympathies for your loss," T-Dub said.
"Really? That's how you gonna start this?" Cristiano responded.
"I didn't know about that thing that went down."
"That's some bullshit. Don't talk to me like I'm stupid."
"I'm not. I am telling you, honest. Them boys that done what they done to Araña, they did that shit on their own. I didn't give that order."
"Well the way I hear it, three of your little boys planned on it. I already put two of them in the ground. You bring me the third, I call us square."
"I ain't bringing you shit."
"What happened to 'Sorry for your loss' and shit?"
"It went out the window when some slick talking motherfucker put his spic balls in my face."
Cristiano laughed. "Damn! You a fuckin' feisty motherfucker."
T-Dub let the moment cool and he calmed his tone when responding, "I'm just saying that there ain't no cause to go to war over this shit."
"This shit? My best friend gets killed on his own grounds. Your people! Don't matter that you didn't had anything to do with it or not. Your fucking kids, going against their own kind to work for the crosstown negrito, and they come in with guns on me and mine? Uh-uh. That don't fly, homey."
"I'm not your homey. And the way I hear it those boys didn't want to work for Araña anymore because he treated them like shit, the way he treats everybody else."
"Nah, the way I heard it he didn't want those come mierdas working for him because one was a fuck up and one was a little faggot! They deserve what they got for killing him and I'm gonna find the other one and do the same."
T-Dub didn't personally know Cristiano before this meeting. Hadn't formed an opinion on him. Now he hated this man. He was without respect and perhaps without reason. T-Dub didn't like the way Cristiano was conducting himself as a business man. He was angry at Cachorro and wanted to find that young man to see what the fuck he'd been thinking getting involved with this shooting. But he knew he wasn't going to turn him over to Cristiano, if for no other reason than to keep his new rival from getting what he wanted.
T-Dub stood, slowly, as to not cause any unnecessary alarm. Vernell stood with him, his eyes constantly on Cristiano's second.
"You do what you got to do, Abraham," T-Dub said, "I can't stop you from looking for that boy. I wanted to have this meeting to let you know I had nothing to do with killing your man. I've accomplished that. Far as I'm concerned, business goes as usual. I got my place to sell, you got yours. Let's keep it that way."
T-Dub and Vernell walked towards the door.
"We'll see. Things don't go like I want them to, might have to branch out," Cristiano threatened. "See if there's more territory around town."
That stopped T-Dub in his tracks and Vernell turned to look at Cristiano when T-Dub did.
"You come at me, you got bullets to deal with," T-Dub said.
"Give me Cachorro and nobody needs to start shooting," Cristiano said.
"I don't know where he is."
Cristiano nodded, then gave an arrogant shrug for show as he replied, "Guy came to me a few days ago . . . I didn't know who he was at first. But after I asked around, turns out he was some fuckin' half breed you used to play ball with. Back in your day and shit. This guy's a detective and he's looking around for the same little fuck that we are. Maybe asking you was a waste of time. Maybe I should just ask your old pal."
T-Dub turned back to the door and Vernell followed.
"That's your problem. Not mine," T-Dub said over his shoulder.
He opened the door and walked out of Sailor Pete's. He didn't want a war, but now he thought he might not have that choice. He wanted to find Cachorro one way or another. And he knew he had to get a message to Delmon Sheen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Lost Boy
Eladio had the television on, but he wasn't watching it. He was laid back on the bed with his head raised on his pillow, eyes focused on a hardcover copy of Graham Greene's Our Man in Havana that he'd gotten from the library. He was so involved in his reading that the knock on the door startled him.
As he always was when someone unexpectedly came to the motel room door, he immediately became suspicious. He stepped closer to the window with a furrowed brow, slowly moved the curtain just enough to see out the window and saw Maribel waiting outside. She knew he would be checking the window, so she gave a slight wave as she looked at the closed curtains.
Eladio was excited to see her, but also surprised. He wasn't expecting her for a few more days. He quickly opened the door, a big smile on his face that faded when he noticed she wasn't alone.
"Who the fuck are you?" Eladio demanded.
Maribel swiftly moved to clarify the situation as she put both hands on Eladio's shoulders and explained, "Babe, listen to me. This is Detective Sheen. He's the one I told you about."
"What's he doing here?" Eladio asked, no calmer than he'd asked the first question.
"Babe, he's here to help."
Then Eladio noticed the marks on Maribel's wrist. His eyes grew wide and they moved up to her face, but on the way he caught a glimpse of the marks on her neck. She had applied makeup to conceal them earlier in the day. But the summer heat had caused the makeup to fade with her perspiration.
"What happened to you?" Eladio asked, then immediately turned his attention to the strange man beside her.
Sheen held up his open hands, attempting to ward off Eladio's assumptions. Maribel interrupted and told her protective boyfriend, "Someone is looking for you and they came after me! That's why Detective Sheen is here. He helped me!"
Eladio's anger at hearing Maribel had been attacked got the better of him and he punched the door right under the number eight that was decaled at eye level.
Sheen had mostly heard about the young man that stood before him from his mother and from Maribel. Only a little from T-Dub. His mother spoke of a sensitivity in him that wasn't always shown and Maribel had echoed the same sentiment. All Sheen saw now was anger. Maybe it was just because the woman he loved had been hurt. Maybe he was scared, frustrated by the situation, and like an animal backed into a corner, was ready to lash out. But Sheen's initial impression of Eladio wasn't great.
"Eladio!" Maribel shouted.
She grabbed his hand. He shook it off. "Don't!" he said. "It's fine."
He caught his breath and she rubbed his shoulder. Finally his eyes met Sheen's.
"Can we talk a while, Eladio?" Sheen asked.
Eladio nodded. He held the door open for them. It wasn't a major thing, but it was a courtesy. Sheen noted the manners with which Eladio escorted them both into the room, waiting until they'd entered and shut the door behind them.
Eladio pulled a chair out from the table for Maribel to sit. He indicated to the only other chair in the room, across the table from Maribel, and said to Sheen, "Have a seat."
Again, manners. An invitation to sit down. These were small gestures, but Sheen always thought they'd said a lot about a man. Delmon's father had taught him that.
Eladio sat on the edge at the foot of the bed. He was close to Maribel and looked her over again. He turned his attention to Sheen and asked, "Who did this to her?"
"First things first, you gotta tell me what happened the day you left Miami," Sheen responded.
"No, I wan
t to know who did this!" Eladio insisted as he pointed to Maribel's neck. She tried to get him to cooperate by gently grabbing his hand.
"The man who did this did it because he thinks you helped kill his boss," Sheen explained. "And I can't help you, I can't tell you what's going on, until you give me some clue as to what the hell you were doing downtown that day."
"I don't know you, man! I don't trust you!"
"You trust her, don't you?" Sheen gestured with his chin towards Maribel, but it wasn't needed. Eladio knew what the detective was talking about.
Maribel stroked her thumb along the back of Eladio's hand and said, "Come on, mi amor. Talk to him."
Eladio closed his eyes. This was all too much for him. He was in too deep and he just wanted it all to go away. He wanted to live a quiet life with Maribel at his side and his mom safe and happy. He opened his eyes to ask, "How is my mom? Is she okay?"
"She's worried sick," Sheen bluntly answered. "But she's safe for now."
"What does that mean?" Eladio asked.
"It means that somebody came after Maribel and I can't promise you they won't find a way to go after your mother, Eladio."
Eladio sighed. He thought about the night he and Diego watched the hurricane coverage on the television. How scared he was for his family.
"I should have been there. For Andrew. I saw the storm here on the TV. It was horrible. I never imagined a hurricane like that."
"Yeah," Sheen said. "We got the dirty side of the storm. That's where all the bad stuff is."
Eladio shook his head, bemused. "Everything's bad."
Sheen saw the opportunity to get the young man in front of him to open up and he took it. "Tell me about the day you left, Eladio. Tell me about the cafetería."
"It wasn't my idea. And I knew we shouldn't go through with it. But sometimes I just . . ."
"You went against your instinct?"
"Yeah. Which is something you should never do. But, I had my boys with me and I thought, if it worked, that T-Dub might be impressed and . . . I don't know. He's been really good to me.
"You know I worked for Araña for a while. He put me on the corner and left me there. Two years! He had it in for me, like I rubbed him the wrong way or something. I never did anything to him! I was a hard worker, a good earner, but he just didn't like me. I go to work for T-Dub and, yeah, I was on the corner at first there too. But I'm not even there a year and he already has me running things on three corners. Now, I pick up and deliver the package. T-Dub gave me a chance to prove myself. I feel like, if I have an idea or something, I can tell T-Dub."
