by Jon Mills
“Yeah definitely don’t. It’s mine,” Chris said. “Or I’ll take it out of your wages and your face.” He snickered to himself like a fool. Jack smiled having visions of ramming into a tree, or rolling it over Chris’s thick skull.
“And what if they bring in a dog?”
Jimmie patted Jack on the back. “Don’t worry, it’s all been taken care of and besides you aren’t going to be out there alone. No one goes alone. There will be a crew along the road at eight-mile intervals.” He handed him a cellphone to keep him touch with them.
Right then, the sound of plastic being lifted caused him to turn. An African American woman brought in the girl he’d seen inside the trailer. She looked slightly better than she did the previous day but still had that scared look in her eyes.
“Ah, Anna-Belle, just in time. Jack, this is Karla, she’s going to be going with you. She’ll drive, once you reach the spot, which is located in South Beach. Directions are in the GPS already. You’re to stick with Karla at all times. Don’t let her out of your sight. You think you can do that?”
“I guess.”
“You guess, or you know?”
There was an edge to his voice.
“Sure,” Jack replied.
“Okay, Anna-Belle. You can go now, pay is in the kitchen.”
She glanced at Jack suspiciously, looking him up and down before disappearing inside the home.
“Right, any questions?”
“Do the guys on the other end know how to operate this vehicle or do I have to explain?”
Jimmie chuckled. “No, they are very familiar.”
Jack glanced at Karla who stood there looking absently at the vehicle.
“Well, time to get going,” Jimmie said giving him a slap on the back. “Oh and if you’re stressed out, I’m sure Karla can find a way to relieve the tension, isn’t that right, Karla?”
Her eyes dropped.
If they had spotters looking out for police, he didn’t see them. The journey from Chokoloskee down to Miami took them just over two hours. The traffic was flowing nicely. He assumed they had picked a day and time that was less likely to be clogged up with commuters and tourists.
For the entire journey Karla never spoke a single word even though Jack attempted to get her to speak. A pretty girl, dark hair, large almond eyes and well-defined features, she drove the vehicle while he sat in the passenger seat touching base with road crew every ten minutes. They weren’t taking any chances and this load wasn’t even meant to be big. The one for Naples would greatly surpass this.
Jack pulled into South Beach Plaza Hotel located one block from Ocean Drive. All around them were neon and cupcake colored buildings, most of which were historic. The streets were packed with outdoor cafés and boutiques. South Beach was the great American Riviera and Art Deco playground of the world, and said to contain more white sand and colorful buildings than Santa Barbara.
The instructions were simple. They were to hand the keys to the valet, he would then park the vehicle and they were to swing back in one hour. Jack was beyond relieved to arrive without incident; even Karla appeared more relaxed when they pulled in. She’d been white knuckling it all the way, and perhaps that had been another reason why she wasn’t speaking.
“Look, we need to kill some time, you want to grab a coffee?”
She nodded, and they headed north towards a trendy café called the Front Porch Café.
Chapter Nineteen
Lieutenant Sergio Garcia shook his head as the dead were carted out and loaded into the back of an ambulance. Officers were taking statements while the media elbowed each other to try and get a better position. The call had come in early afternoon from Jamal’s grandmother. One of his cousins dropped around to check in on him and that’s when they found the grisly scene.
Garcia was still waiting on forensics to arrive.
It was already hot with temperatures hovering in the high eighties. His shirt clung to him from the humidity. It was going to be a long day. Officer Davis took him through the crime scene and filled him in.
“Jamal Whethers, twenty-two years of age, we are still trying to identify the other two as they were shot in the face. Jamal had a rap sheet a mile long, mostly breaking and entering, possession and sale of marijuana, carjacking, you name it, this guy has done it at one time or another or been accused. He was in and out of the foster system for years, another lost soul who wound up on the wrong side of the law.”
Davis was a religious man who believed that everyone needed to be saved. He took every opportunity to preach to Garcia but he wouldn’t hear it. He’d spent his childhood being forced to attend churches and for what? His father drank like a fish and beat on his mother only to don a suit on a Sunday and go in and confess his sins to the priest.
It was all bullshit. Smoke and mirrors.
Garcia bent down and looked at the trace of cocaine powder all over the carpet.
“Anything on his record about coke and heroin?”
“Nothing.”
“What about laptops, cellphones?”
“The lab techs will have to go through all of that but so far I don’t see shit in here. Besides this room, the place is empty. I just think it was one of his many drug houses for dealing. It was probably just a drug deal that went wrong.”
Garcia stood up and wiped the sweat from his head with his forearm.
“I don’t know about that. Why would they leave those bags of heroin on the counter?” It wasn’t a lot but enough to give an addict a good buzz for a few weeks.
“Perhaps they panicked.”
“See what you can dig up on his family, friends, associates. Find out if he’s ever been seen in Chokoloskee.”
Davis jotted down his requests on a pad of paper before looking back up. “You don’t think this is connected to the shooting at Atomic Charley’s, do you?”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
Garcia stepped back outside into the heat of the day and went over to his cruiser. He sat on the edge and made a phone call to Bo Peterson. The line rang a few times before he answered.
“Bo, Lieutenant Garcia.”
He jumped straight down his throat. “Any lead on the shooting?”
“Actually, I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on an incident. You familiar with a Jamal Whethers?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Though if you show me a photo, I might be able to remember. My brain isn’t working like it used to. Old age and all.”
“You think you can come down to the station?”
“When?”
“I’ll be there in about half an hour,” Garcia replied.
“Sure. I’m only cleaning up shit here and getting construction guys to fix what that asshole destroyed. I swear this place is getting worse every year.”
“That it is.”
Jack scanned the café for any sign of cops or trouble but there was none. He could now see the appeal of doing a dead drop. It was the reason why so many dealers worked for Gafino. He lured them in with the simplicity of it. Though Gafino didn’t go to the lengths the Mitchell brothers had, he still knew how to dangle a carrot under the nose of the desperate. Right now Jack was looking at one such person.
Karla sipped on her coffee as they sat outside watching a stream of scantily clad tourists clogging up the streets. Miami was a hive of activity in the summer.
“Karla, right?”
She gave a nod.
“So how did you get into this?”
“Anna-Belle.”
He nodded slowly.
“And you wanted to do this?”
It was a dumb question as no one wanted to be involved but he was curious. People who made poor decisions would usually justify them before admitting they had screwed up. But was that the case with her? Jack found he’d become immensely interested in what drove a person to make the choices they did in life.
When she didn’t answer, he continued.
“When I saw you last. Did
he hurt you? Chris I mean?”
She looked hesitant to speak.
“Look, I’m not going to say anything.”
Karla spoke in a gentle tone. “Yeah. Him and the others.”
“Others?”
“Brothers, and clients they bring in.”
Jack knew what she was referring to. It was a touchy subject and one he felt he had to tread carefully around.
“They didn’t like what you did?”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
“Before this. Where were you?”
“With Anna-Belle.”
“No I mean, what did you do?”
She snorted. “I worked in a place like this. Cafés mainly, a few restaurants. I just couldn’t seem to hold down a job. As a kid I spent most of my time bounced around the foster system.”
“And how did you wind up here?”
“Anna-Belle said I could earn good money driving. She just didn’t…” she trailed off and looked absently out of the window. It was clear she was troubled.
“So no family at all?”
“None that I know of, my real mother could be anywhere.”
“I know the feeling.”
Jack had never really had the chance to know his own mother. He’d spent the better part of his childhood thinking that she would return only to discover later that his father had murdered her — at least that’s what Eddie Carmine had told him. In the meantime he dealt with an overbearing father and stepmother who had little patience for him.
“You plan to keep doing this?”
She scoffed. “Do you?”
He smirked. “Just until they pay me.”
“I wish. That was just a line spun by Anna-Belle. I honestly thought she was looking out for my best interests.”
“People in this type of business look out for numero uno.”
She nodded and continued drinking. Then she reached into her bag and he spotted a small baggie. Instantly the craving, the drive to feel what he’d felt the night before came rushing back. He turned his head away, forcing the thought of it from his mind.
“We should probably head back,” he said looking at his watch.
They strolled out into the afternoon sunshine and made their way back down to the Plaza. They spent a few minutes having a smoke before approaching the same valet and giving him the ticket.
Minutes later, the valet brought the SUV around and they got inside.
Under any other conditions he would have felt good about the fact that police hadn’t shown up and they hadn’t run into any trouble but he wouldn’t feel good until he’d vacated that tiny island. Ever since being there it had been nothing but a pain in his rear. Karla had raised a good point. Would they pay him? The FBI hadn’t forked out the money yet, only enough for them to stay afloat for the first month. They were in no hurry. Why should they when they could toss him in jail and throw away the key?
“We need to stop for gas,” Karla said.
It was a ten-minute drive to a Shell station on Fifth Street. Jack got out to pump gas and told Karla to go in and pay the attendant. While he stood there waiting for the machine to kick in he stared at the ground thinking about everything that had led up to this moment. All the turns he’d taken in his life, and how similar it was to Karla’s. Neither one of them chose to be born into a tumultuous life. But here they were dealing with the consequences of their actions, and those who had led them astray.
Jack had just pressed the button for the type of gas he wanted when a van rolled up on the other side of the pump. The door flew open and several guys jumped out wearing masks. He released his grip on the nozzle and was about to go for his gun when he was hit by a Taser. The next thing he knew he was being thrown into the back of the van and a burlap bag was placed over his head. He tried to see who his captors were through the bag but it was virtually impossible. All he could make out was the silhouette of figures. None of them spoke a word. He began making a note of the twists and turns that the van made. After twelve he lost count. They were going in circles. What the hell was going on? Zip-tied and punched in the face a few times, he remained still for the short remainder of the journey.
After a while the rumble of the van almost lulled him into a sleep. Eventually it stopped. Light flooded the inside as they opened the sliding door and dragged him out. There was a man either side of him, grasping him around the elbows. His shoes dragged across the ground. All the while he listened intently for familiar sounds.
A steel shutter door was lifted and he was tossed against hard concrete. Once they had sealed it behind them he was hoisted into a chair and had his body bound to it. The men left him there and exited.
“Anyone there?” he asked.
When he got no reply he began rocking back and forth and side to side to try and get himself out. No sooner had he managed to land hard on his side than the metal shutter went up and he heard a voice.
“Get him up.”
The voice was muffled as though the person was speaking through some kind of electronic device.
“Who hired you?”
“What?”
A sharp jab to the side of the face.
“I said, who hired you?”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re—”
Again a right hook to the jaw.
“Let’s do this again. Who hired you?”
“For what?” Jack asked.
“To deliver drugs.”
He said nothing and they hit him a few more times.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know what the hell you are on about. I haven’t done anything.”
He could have blurted out names. Mitchell brothers, Ray Edmonds but that would only seal his fate. Deny. Deny. Deny. The words of Chris Mitchell came back to him and after having dealt with multiple rival dealers in the past, he knew that it was better to say nothing than to admit you were selling on someone else’s turf. That had to be it. They must have seen them pull in. That idiot probably didn’t kill Jamal and now his boys were going to take it out on him.
“Jamal. You know him?”
“Never heard of him,” Jack replied.
Another crack to the jaw, this time it cut his lip. He tugged at his restraints. Whoever they were, they were going to pay the second he got out of these.
“So you’re not delivering drugs for Jimmie Mitchell?”
“I just told you. You’ve picked the wrong guy.”
“Bullshit.”
He received a few more jabs and then heard someone say, “Enough.”
That’s when the burlap bag was lifted from his head. He took in his surroundings. It was a storage area and standing in front of him were four guys dressed in black with ski masks on.
One of them had a device up to his mouth, he removed it and spoke again, “Well done, Jack. You passed.”
Jimmie?
They all whipped off their masks. It was Jimmie and his brothers.
“You want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
Jack spat a glob of blood on to the floor near their boots.
“We needed to see if we could trust you and you passed with flying colors.”
“Trust? You said...”
“I know what I said but this drop in Naples is going to be huge. I trust you. My brothers don’t. I can’t take any chances. Thankfully, you’ve demonstrated that we can all trust you.”
“Hell, anyone who can take Chris’s jabs and not say anything is good in my books,” Noah muttered before bursting into laughter. Chris stood by rubbing his knuckles. A look of glee in his eyes. Satisfaction even. Just wait, Jack thought.
“Where’s Karla?”
“She’s fine. She’s in the truck with Anna-Belle.”
“She knew about this?”
“Does it matter? Untie him. And tell me, Jack, how did it feel?”
“To get punched?”
“No, to do the drop?”
Jack spat another glob and wiped his lip with the back of his hand. Noah used a knife to
cut the restraints and he was helped to his feet. The moment he stepped up he drew close to Chris and headbutted him. His nose burst like a fire hydrant. At first the others looked on in shock and then they all started laughing, except for Chris who was bent over and groaning.
“Fuck.”
“I can see this is going to work out nicely,” Jimmie muttered. “I told you he could be trusted,” Jimmie said patting Willie on the shoulder. He still didn’t look too convinced. He sneered and pulled up the metal shutter and strolled off towards the van.
“Oh don’t mind him. He doesn’t like bringing in outsiders. He says it’s bad karma or some bullshit like that.”
“Are we done?” Jack asked.
“Yeah. My other team is going to do the other drop. Tonight we celebrate at Ray’s and tomorrow you will drive to Naples.”
Chapter Twenty
The Collier County Sheriff’s Office was buzzing with activity that afternoon as Garcia finally managed to pull himself away from the madness. Over the past year he’d been called out to more execution-style murders than usual. It wasn’t just the endless paperwork that had to be done; it was the hours of investigation that followed — it wore him down. He wasn’t getting any younger and his days of beating down doors and forcing people to rat on their compadres in crime were drawing to a close. He could feel it in his bones. He ached all over. Garcia rubbed the back of his neck and cocked his head from side to side as he made his way into the station.
Several cops rushed by him hauling in some meth head. His skin was a mess, his teeth even worse. Why did they do this to themselves? An escape, some would say. A means of dealing with a harsh world. Well fuck, if anyone should have been taking drugs it was him. He dealt with more stress than anyone in the general public.
He didn’t get the luxury of switching off when he clocked out for the day. His mind churned over the incidents, the questions, the faces of the dead and those left behind. They didn’t tell him about that when he was recruited. He wandered over to a coffee machine and poured himself a cup. No, officers came into school and would paint a very different picture of police work. One in which the cop always got his man, justice was served and they got to feel a great sense of pride in the community. The reality was far from it. People despised them. And even more so in an age when everyone had camera cellphones. Of course the media only published the times when they put a beat-down on a resistant perp. It was usually blown out of proportion because the public wasn’t aware of how they were trained with regards to use of force. No, they just wanted something titillating, newsworthy and liable to shock viewers as that’s what bumped up ratings, drew in readers and caused social outrage.
