Downward Dog in Miami

by Larry David Allman

  “Good… Good,” I said, processing the new information. “Send me everything.”

  “I just did,” James said. “Listen, the manager wants the lab back. That DHS letter said only for twenty-four hours. You better get Agent Ross to authorize another one, or I gotta go back to work.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Can you stay connected for a few more hours while we figure this out?” I asked.

  “Sure. And don’t forget all this overtime,” James said. Follow the money.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be happy, I guarantee it.” We clicked off. It was approaching nine a.m. I looked to Lenny, then Lauren, and thought of that old Army phrase, “We do more before nine a.m. than most people do all day.” It was crunch time.

  Lenny wanted to leave. Lauren needed to be protected. And Lev was out there actively working on his threat to kill me. Not pleasant thoughts.

  Then my cell chimed: Unknown Caller. I accepted.

  “If I don’t get my money back, you’re a dead man,” the voice said before I could say anything. It was Lev! “Wire it back this morning or I’m going to kill you and your girlfriend!”

  I was stunned for a moment. How do normal people react when someone threatens to kill them?

  He clicked off before I could re-engage my mind and say something. He didn’t even give me the routing numbers to wire the money back… Damn!

  The call had been on speaker, so Lenny and Lauren both heard it. Lenny just nodded. It did not affect him like it did me. Lauren was wide-eyed but silent, thinking negative thoughts for sure.

  “We gotta take this guy down,” Lenny said, continuing to nod affirmatively. It was action time for him. Me, I thought about checking the airline schedule. But Lenny was right. We needed to finish this case, and especially finish the Lev threat. We needed to mobilize every resource we had available to us—and we needed to do that immediately.

  James chimed on the sat phone. “That was Lev,” he said. “He just called you from that warehouse address I gave you.”

  “Is he still active? I’d like to call him back,” I said.

  “No, he turns off immediately.”

  “Stay there for a while,” I said and clicked off. Time for a plan.

  * * *

  Just then, my cell chimed. It was Olivia. I accepted. “Hey, what’s up?” I said.

  “My article is trending. Over three million hits, still going strong,” she said, breathless and enthusiastic as ever. “Did you see it?”

  “Yes, good work. I told you I would help you get a Pulitzer,” I said, then paused, thinking.

  After a few seconds, she said, “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I was thinking. I have more for you.”

  “Give it!”

  “Okay. I’m going to send you a photo. Check it out and call me back. We can help each other here.” I clicked off, then sent her the photo of Shorty and his intern. Within seconds, she chimed back on.

  “That’s Mickey Epstein. He’s a real scum bag. Nobody wants to work with him.” That confirmed my thoughts exactly.

  “He’s working for the Miami Tattler Poste.”

  “Really? That’s new.”

  “I want you to help me here. Will you help me?”

  “Sure. Talk to me,” she said.

  “I want you to go live with a new article as soon as possible—within the hour. These two guys are working with Siroco. You know that Siroco is shut down. There was a dead guy there; they found ricin poison.”

  “I already know that.”

  “I want you to tie these guys to Siroco, and Lev Lavorosky, and Richard Adams, and the Los Bandidos gang. Plus their newspaper, the Tattler. Use this photo. Splash it big, right in the headline.”

  “How do I know this? What’s your source?”

  “My source is me. I haven’t lied to you yet. These clowns flew a drone outside of our hotel. Don’t you dare mention which hotel. We captured the drone; I can show it to you if you want. Then they actually came in and demanded we return it. Clowns, zero class, about as lame as it gets. Can you do this?”

  “If I use the photo, people will be able to figure out the hotel… You want that?” she asked.

  “Can’t you Photoshop the hotel out of it?”

  “We can try. I’m on it. I’ll let you know when it goes live. Thanks, Derek… I think I underestimated you.”

  “Fortunately, I didn’t make that mistake with you. Olivia, there will be more on this. Start writing your acceptance speech. Send me the article before you post it,” I said and clicked off. If she did this right, it would create some large problems for some angry people.

  Just as I ended with Olivia, my cell chimed. I put it on speaker.

  “Mr. Randall, Agent Ross here.”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  “Santo Garcia just walked. I thought I should let you know. That bastard Blackstone got him out on bail. The other one is staying for a while.”

  “Listen, Agent Ross. We’ve got information down here. Lev Lavorosky is calling from a warehouse. I have the address. Can you get a SWAT team or something on this now?”

  “Yes, I’ll get right on it. Anything else?”

  “Yes, that Chinese general you guys lost. He’s on a boat.”

  “How do you know this?” Ross said.

  “We know this like we know everything else. We’re good at what we do. If this is national security, man, what are you guys doing?” I said with too much attitude.

  Bad move; we needed this guy. Lenny signaled for me to knock it off.

  “Sorry, Agent Ross… This is a bit much for me.”

  “I understand. We’re not living up to our usual high standards,” he said and paused. I thought that they were not even living up to medium standards. “I’ll get back to you as quickly as possible.”

  “One more thing,” I said. “The Stanford Lab. James needs for you to extend your DHS letter—it was only for twenty-four hours.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he replied and clicked off. That was about as weak as he could be. Our government not in action.

  Ross texted me after five minutes and informed me that he could have a SWAT team there by four p.m.—by which time Lev and his crew could be having a lobster dinner in Europe. I texted back to him to get that SWAT team moving and that we would be back to him with more information. Relying on our crack FBI and DHS in this case was maybe not our best route for success.

  Before we could get depressed about our government, Olivia chimed in with a draft article. It was right on point: MICKEY EPSTEIN WORKING FOR INTERNATIONAL DRUG AND POISON CORPORATION SIROCO. It was excellent. The photo was just Shorty and his intern, no background. It mentioned the ricin and the fentanyl and the dead guy, and the shuttered offices at Palmetto Plaza and the Los Bandidos gang. It even mentioned the Miami Tattler Poste. It was good, but not good enough. I called her back, and she accepted immediately. “This is good, Olivia, but can you add anything to it?” I asked.

  “Like what? You’re a journalist now.”

  “Can you add more photos? I’d like to see you add one of Lev and one of the Bandidos. Can you do that?”

  “Yes. We have no space limitation on digital articles.”

  “Excellent. I’m going to send you one of Lev and one of the Bandidos at Palmetto Plaza. Here they come,” I said as I called them up and sent them to her.

  She put me on hold for a minute, then came back on. “Check it out now; I put them in,” she said.

  Good thing I had two phones. How do people survive on just one? I opened the attachment. The article and the photos were perfect: the scumbag reporter and his intern, Lev, the Bandidos, blaring photos of each with just the right captions under each photo—totally professional.

  “Good work, run it now! Thanks,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she sa
id, totally out of her usual gruff character, and clicked off.

  We were back on offense. It felt good. Then Lenny suggested that we go take a look at the warehouse from which Lev had called. As an armchair computer nerd, I liked the aggressiveness of his plan. As a dimwit field operative, well, I had some concerns, such as that I didn’t want to get killed today. I was seriously concerned that Agent Ross and his crack FBI troops were just a mere six hours away. USA! USA!

  * * *

  Lenny was right. We had to take matters into our own hands. Lenny’s confidence, as well as his training and expertise in this area, gave me confidence.

  We gamed it out. We’d go to the warehouse… Then what? What do we do there? What would we need to get it done? What would our objective be? Lenny took the lead. I asked some questions, made a few suggestions, and Lauren watched and enjoyed the boys playing field operatives.

  My phone chimed. “Yes, Agent Ross,” I answered on the speakerphone, saving him the need to identify himself for the umpteenth time.

  “Mr. Randall, just calling to tell you the AG refused to continue the order on the Stanford Lab. It’s disappointing, and I’m not sure why. Your guy there has given us some good intel. I must say, this is frustrating,” he said with true disappointment in his voice. Our government—you can rely on us!

  “What about the SWAT team, at the warehouse?”

  “That’s in process. I can confirm that four p.m. estimated time of arrival. It’s a good team, I assure you.”

  “Estimated,” I said.

  “Well… You know… They’re coming over from the Tampa Bay area,” he said.

  “I understand,” I said and paused so as not to lose it. We did need Ross and his resources, but at this rate, we could phone it in and get the same results. He was swimming upstream too. Our path became more clear.

  “Please keep us informed of your progress,” I said. “We may have something for you later.”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “We’ll let you know. Keep in touch; we will too,” I said and clicked off.

  “This could work out to our advantage,” Lenny said. “Look at it this way: we have a good five hours before anybody interrupts us there. We can do a lot of damage in that time and then get out before anybody knows who did what.”

  I let that sink in. Sufficient time to do sufficient damage, and sufficient time to escape untouched. Why was I reminded of the phrase if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is?

  “We need more help,” Lenny said.

  Before I could respond, Lauren got up and walked toward the bedroom.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her. I hadn’t thought much about her well-being since the drone attack earlier.

  “While you boys are playing, I’m going to use the facilities.”

  “Like take a swim?” I said.

  “Yes… and have a massage and use the spa. Do they have any classes here?” she said as she disappeared into the bedroom.

  I was distracted. Fortunately, Lenny wasn’t. “We need more guys,” he said, bringing me back into the conversation.

  After a little thought, I tapped my cell phone. Ed Sapperstein could help. It went to voicemail. Maybe he was on a plane to Israel with Arthur. I called the Sabra office and asked for Charlie. She was out for the day, and Ed was unavailable. I thought to ask for Avram or Ronnie, but without Ed’s authority, I let it pass. Then I had another idea. I tapped in Carlos.

  “Hey, I’m your guy,” he answered. To be eighteen again.

  “Carlos, work to do,” I said.

  “What do you need?”

  “I think I need Pablo. Can you put me in touch with him?”

  “Sure, man, he’ll be happy to hear from you. I gave him the extra thousand. He understands that kind of gesture. Give me a minute; I’ll get right back to you,” he said and clicked off. Carlos was a positive, reassuring factor in this Miami case, which had gotten way outside of my usual business.

  Two minutes later, my phone chimed. Unknown Caller. I accepted. Maybe it was Lev again, and I could get those routing numbers to return his money… Right.

  “You the client?” a heavy Latin voice said.

  “Maybe. You’re Pablo?” I asked.

  “I am. You a lucky guy. I not talk to everybody. I like your style. What you need, dude?” he said.

  “I understand you handled the situation over at Air Charter for Carlos and his friends. I don’t know what happened there, but the result speaks for itself. That was you, right?” I asked.

  “Maybe. What you need?”

  “I need to rent you and some of your men. It will be field work,” I said, not sure how to best phrase the operation. “We’re going to go to a warehouse and take a look. Not sure how many men will be there, but they will have guns.”

  “That’s pricey work, dude. Danger involved.”

  “Yes, you’re right. Proper compensation would be essential. And there could be some goodies there that might interest you. We’re not sure what’s there. But these guys deal in lots of illegal stuff, and they’re bad people. We’re looking for the leader, for one guy. We get him, we leave, end of story.”

  “How many men you need?” He was all business, unlike our government, which was all excuses. I looked at Lenny just as Lauren came back into the room. She started to say something, but Lenny shushed her, then held up five fingers.

  “Can you do five guys, with weapons? You have weapons for something like this?” I asked.

  “Dude, we got more than the police. You want five… What kind of weapons?”

  Lenny handled that one. “Automatic and silenced,” he answered.

  “You recording this?” he barked.

  “No, Pablo, Lenny is my partner. Just us. We’re good, man, no need to worry.”

  “Always need to worry, gringo. That why we survive. Where this at?”

  “The warehouse,” I said and gave him the general area.

  “Hey… You involved with those guys in the paper this morning?” he asked.

  “What guys?” I said.

  “Those international guys, Sherco or Sirco or whatever. This who you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “That makes a difference. One of their crews fought with us. We will help you, amigo. For you, special deal. Ten thousand… cash.” Follow the money.

  “Done,” I said. “When can your guys be there?”

  “When you want us?”

  “We’ll be there in an hour. Can you meet us there?” I said.

  “We’ll be there. Bring the cash. Give me the address,” he said. I gave him the street and number.

  “Don’t be late, gringo,” he said and clicked off, very much in Miami style.

  “You guys sure about this? I mean, guns and bad guys and whatever,” Lauren said. She stood in front of us and looked to Lenny, then me, then back and forth again, just like we were kids. “This is dangerous. Can’t you just call the police?”

  “We tried that. They’re a little jammed up today… like six hours’ worth,” I responded.

  “We can handle this, Lauren,” Lenny said.

  “Yes, he can handle this,” I said, pointing at Lenny. We chuckled. She was right. This could be seriously dangerous. But the alternative was worse: sit and wait. Fear another attack by Lev and his goons.

  We were silent for a minute. Lauren came over to me, kissed me on the forehead, went over to Lenny, kissed him on the forehead, and said, “Please be careful. I’ve had enough guns and bullets and dead people this week. I’m going to the spa. I’ll be back this afternoon. I’ll have my cell with me.”

  She walked to the door, opened it, turned and waved, and left.

  “Game time, buddy,” Lenny said as he stood up to his full height. “Let’s suit up.”

  * * *

  Lenny marched out
of my room with a confidence I couldn’t quite match. In truth, I was somewhere between concerned and downright scared. I was a computer hacker who ran a successful business helping people with their cyber security. I’m not Jason Bourne or Mitch Rapp or anything close to that kind of guy. I tried to delete the mental resistance I was forming and started to pack up. As I was deciding which jeans to wear, someone knocked on my door. I grabbed the Glock Lenny had left me and approached the door. I glanced through the peephole… Lenny.

  I let him in. He was carrying the jamming device.

  “Changed your mind?” I tried to joke.

  “No, bro. Where’s the drone?” he said.

  We had placed it in a closet. I got it out and brought it to the living room. Lenny opened it up and made some adjustments. He tapped in some numbers, then reconnected the battery, then flipped a switch on the jamming device. A bunch of electronic clicking and whirring came out of both. Lenny tapped his device, and the drone’s propellers started to whir slowly.

  “All right,” he said. “We can use this at the warehouse.”

  “You can control it with that?” I said.

  “Yes. It has an attachment, a small control unit. I can run it through this burner phone line,” he said. “Look here.” He pointed to a screen I had not noticed. “Watch when I move the camera.” The image on the screen moved with it. No question this would help.

  Lenny went to finish suiting up, as he’d said. The drone and the jamming/control device sat on the coffee table, waiting patiently for battle—the black enamel drone with its sci-fi energy was unsettling, but at least it was our weapon.

  I was dressed when Lenny knocked again and came back in. He was carrying a Kevlar vest, which he handed to me. “Wear this,” he said as he turned and went back to his room to finish. What else could he have possibly stuffed into those big Pelican cases?

  After the final knock, I let Lenny back in. He was bundled and ready for action. He was carrying a kit bag, which no doubt contained some useful items. I noticed he was wearing two guns, his Diablo .12-gauge handgun on his left hip and his Glock on his right. He offered me a light jacket, blue with POLICE lettering on the back, which would amply cover our guns. His must have been a size 10X. He pointed at the drone.