by Don Donovan
"I wanted to get an earlier start," she said as they walked out the door. "You know, to beat the rush hour, get past all that traffic before it starts."
"Sorry, Silvi. I slept through my alarm, I guess. But we're still all right. It's only a quarter of four."
"We need to be in Key West by six-thirty."
"Why you wanna get there so early? Why we have to leave so early?"
She said, "We've gotta get there before he gets up and around. He's an outlaw, so he probably lays around in bed all day. Or all morning, anyway."
They drove away in the darkness. Vargas couldn't stop yawning. "Let's stop and pick up some coffee, okay?"
She nodded and he saw a Dunkin' Donuts ahead. Just as she pulled in, she said, "It's a good thing you live close to the Turnpike. Makes it easier, you know, quicker to get out of town."
"Yeah. Real convenient."
He went in and grabbed two coffees to go. Back in the car, Silvana asked him, "How do you like living over here, here in this part of town?"
"Oh, I like it a lot," he said. "Close to everything except downtown. Makes it a bitch to get to work sometimes, you know, with the rush hour traffic, but it's worth it to live out here in the peace and quiet."
"I was thinking, you know, thinking I might like to move out this way."
Vargas raised his eyebrows. "Really? Hey, you should do it. You'd like it here. Only thing is, is I didn't think you'd ever leave that little place you got down off Calle Ocho."
"Yeah, I do like my place. Close to work, you know? Plus I got it fixed up just the way I like it. It's really me."
"Well," he said, "I bet you could find yourself a place out this way. You looking to rent or buy?"
"Buy."
"Oh, shit, you should do it. Now's the time, too."
"Why's that?"
"The market has been in the fucking tank for about three years now. They say it might recover soon, so if you're in a position to put some dough down on a house, you could make yourself a pretty sweet deal. I'm thinking of buying a house myself. There's a lot of them for sale, too. People who got upside down on their homes."
"Upside down? What's that?"
"That's where their house lost so much value, they owe the bank more than what it's actually worth."
All this high finance talk was hard for her to grasp, so she let the conversation lie there and just drove instead.
They got on the Turnpike south toward Florida City, where they would pick up US 1 to Key West.
Silvana said, "Hey, Bobby. Did you read all those books you got back there? In your living room?"
"Yeah, just about. Why?"
"I don't know. Here we been partners for three years now and I never knew you were a reader."
"I love to read," he said. "Takes me away from the bullshit and the scumbags we have to deal with every day. Like an escape, you know? To another world altogether. Escape to a world where someone else has to deal with all those problems and I can just sit back and enjoy watching them."
"Yeah. Escape." She gazed out the windshield and picked up speed.
≈ ≈ ≈
They crossed into Key West at six-thirty sharp after speeding most of the way down, the southbound lane almost to themselves. What traffic there was came at them from the opposite direction, people getting an early start on returning to their lives following a Fourth of July weekend at the End of the Road.
By now, as they drove along the southern shore of Key West, the sun had cast its first glimpse on the horizon. Puffy clouds embossed the southern sky out in the Florida Straits, probably forming up for rain later in the day. A couple of sailboats were already drifting on the open water and the first jet skiers of the day were warming up on shore, waiting for the approaching dawn. Joggers loped along the beach in both directions.
Silvana had run an R&I check on Logan through the state database and had come up with his record and his address. One arrest, strong-arm robbery back in '04, no conviction. The vic had gone back to Oregon and didn't want to make the long, cross-country trip to testify at the trial. Case dismissed.
Their GPS led them wildly astray, and it wasn't until a little after seven that they arrived at the Margaret Street address. Silvana cursed the GPS for making them later than she wanted to be, but figured it was still early enough to catch Logan before he got too coherent.
They went up to the door and knocked. Surprisingly, a woman answered right away. "Yes?" she said. The aroma of brewing coffee flowed out the door from behind her.
Silvana looked her up and down and did a quick assessment. Look at this fucking slob! Wearing a muumuu. Means she's too fat for real clothes, stupid look on her face caused by the fucked-up teeth. And barefoot. Jesus, don't these fucking people wear shoes down here?
"Police officers," Silvana said. She and Vargas gave a quick flash of tin, not enough for this fat bitch to see they were from Miami. "We're looking for Logan."
"What's this about?"
"We just need to speak with him, ma'am. A few questions is all."
"I'll go get him. Just a minute."
When she went to get him, Silvana looked the place over. A little nicer than I would've given this guy credit for. Expensive-looking furniture in the living room, fancy lamp, kitchen looks pretty clean and upscale. Big Sub-Z fridge. All in all, not bad. Crime must really pay in these parts.
It wasn't long before the fat woman came back with a guy in his bathrobe. Short hair, but sticking up here and there from a night's sleep, unshaven. Thick legs, solid build, looks like he can handle himself.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"We're police officers and we wanted to talk to y —"
"First, may I see your badges?"
Vargas had the temptation to ground this guy's foot like he did with Flaco out behind the 305, demanding to see his badge. Silvana stepped between them.
"Certainly," she said, trying hard for smoothness. She produced her shield, and Vargas's look told her he was not on board with the idea. She motioned him with a head gesture and he pulled it out. Logan looked at each one carefully before returning them.
"Miami," he said. "You're a long way from home, Sergeant."
"A triple homicide makes the world a little wider for us," Silvana said, noticing the fat slob hadn't left the room. Stood right there taking it all in, as if she belonged or something.
"Triple homicide? Why are you all the way down here? And why are you in my home?"
"Where were you a week ago Friday night? The 24th of June, to be exact. Late Friday night."
"Friday night? I was here with my girlfriend." His demeanor remained even, unflinching.
"All night?"
"All night."
"What were you doing?"
"Watching TV, talking. I don't recall that specific evening, but if it was like all the others, that's what we were doing. We don't go out much, her and I. And we went to bed at our usual time. Around eleven-thirty, twelve."
"Remember what shows you watched on TV?"
"Not offhand. Maybe a Marlins game. We sometimes use the TV for background noise while we talk. Or play cards."
Vargas said, "What do you talk about?"
"I don't think that's any of your business, Detective."
Vargas stepped closer to Logan. He hissed, "If I ask the question, then it's my business, asshole. You got that?"
Logan appeared unfazed at Vargas's tough talk. "What I got is you two are way out of your jurisdiction. And you're not here with any local cops, so that means they don't know you're here. I might oughta call them right now and tell them there are people here in my home harassing me and my girlfriend at seven in the morning, getting me out of bed, pretending to be Miami cops." He walked over and picked up the phone.
"All right, all right, take it easy," Silvana said. "No need to get all excited here."
Logan looked directly at her and said, "I'm not the one who's excited. Now what is it you want?"
"We want to know where you w
ere late on Friday night, June 24."
"I was here. I already told you that."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. You were here. Are you acquainted with Chicho Segura?"
"Chicho Segura? Let me think. No … no, I don't think so. Can't place the name."
"Well, place this. You were seen in deep conversation with him a couple of weeks ago in La Luz … that's a bar up in Miami. Then a bank in Miramar gets boosted, and later that night, Segura and two others are blown to kingdom come at a house in Little Havana."
Logan kept his cool. "I was up in Miami a few weeks ago, but I saw a lot of people, you know? I don't remember all their names."
"Try to remember this one. Chicho Segura. You were also ID'd as being a conspirator with him and other unidentified parties in various crimes in the Miami-Fort Lauderdale area."
Logan chuckled. "Whoever gave you that information needs to get an eye exam. I'm no criminal."
Silvana checked out the fat bitch again. She just moved up next to him to be shoulder to shoulder. Only a slight move, Vargas probably didn't catch it, but I did. She's in this, too. I can feel it. If she's not involved, then she knows about it.
"Are you two married," Silvana asked, taking in both of them with her eyes.
"No," they answered in unison. Then Logan said, "We just live together."
Silvana looked at the barefoot slob in the muumuu. "How about you, ma'am. Can you remember a week ago Friday night?"
"Yes, I remember very well," she said with a lot of authority. "I came home from work — I'd had a very rough week and I was glad it was Friday. I had a couple of beers and we watched a little TV. I always unwind when we sit together on the couch in front of the TV. I find it very relaxing."
Relaxing, my ass, bitch, Silvana thought. This fucking Cuban can see right through your bullshit.
"I don't suppose you're aware of any crimes in the Miami-Fort Lauderdale area your boyfriend has committed?"
Before the fatso could answer, Logan piped up. "Hey, I already told you, I'm no criminal."
"Then what do you do for a living?" Vargas asked.
"I work in landscaping."
"Who do you work for?" Silvana said.
"Well, I'm going this week to speak to a local guy about a full-time job in that field."
"In other words," Vargas said, "you're unemployed."
"For now, yes. But like I said, this week —"
"This week, bullshit!" snarled Vargas. "You're on the grift, pal. Admit it."
"I admit nothing. Now if you two are through here, I'm going back to bed. Or should I call our boys in blue?"
Silvana sighed. She and Vargas made for the door and she said, "We're through for now, Logan. But just because we're from Miami, don't think we're ever too far away to nail your fucking ass on three counts of murder."
19
Logan
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
7:25 AM
THE TWO COPS WALKED OUT OF OUR APARTMENT and didn't shut the door behind them. That's an old play. Designed to show complete disrespect for the residents, show them that if they want the fucking door closed, they can do it themselves. The final little slap before going back to wherever the fuck they came from.
Dorothy shut the door and watched out the window as they got into their car and drove away. Then she turned and said, barely above a whisper, "How the fuck did they put it all together?"
I shrugged. "Shit, your guess is as good as mine. But one thing's for certain, I've got to be very careful from now on. They're onto me and they won't let up. I can't take any chances at all. I've got to stay off the radar as best I can, you know?"
"Did you leave any evidence up there? Any witnesses? Anything at all?"
"No. I'm positive. Nothing."
"Well, where did they get the idea about liking you for it?"
"I have no fucking clue," Logan said. "But I know I didn't leave any evidence."
Dorothy said, "No prints? Not anything?"
"No, nothing. I'm almost positive."
"Almost positive. That's not gonna get it! You have to be sure!"
"All right," he said. "I'm a hundred fucking percent positive. I didn't leave any evidence. None! Only thing I left is shell casings, and I wiped those clean before I went up there."
"Did you see anyone on the way back to Key West that night? Anybody? Run into anyone in Miami before you went to Chicho's house?"
"No. Nobody at all. I rented the car here but I used a fake ID and credit card. I checked into a fleabag hotel after I got up there, I guess it was around midnight, 'cause, you know, I needed a little shut-eye. I spoke to the desk clerk when I checked in, but that guy, he won't remember. His eyes were gin-soaked all the way through. He probably can't remember anything from one day to the next. Besides, the hotel wasn't really near the house."
"Well, how do they know? They must have something to go on. Shit! They've got something!" I heard the urgency in Dorothy's voice. She was worried for me.
"They've only got a theory. How they got it is beyond me, but I know they have no proof. If they had, they'd've shown up with Key West PD, all nice and official, and I'd be riding back to Miami in fucking handcuffs with them right now."
"I didn't like them the minute I opened the door. They didn't look like Key West. That fucking dyke … I didn't think we had anyone like that here on the force working plain clothes. That's why I told you something didn't smell right about them.
"Yeah, it's a good thing you let me know that. Sharp work. You see them when I asked to see their badges? Ha! They looked like they wanted to string my ass up right here in the living room."
Dorothy poured out a little laugh. I was glad. It helped lighten the moment. "So what do we do now?"
I thought for a minute. "We do nothing. Keep on living our lives like normal."
"You gonna get that tree-trimming job from what's-his-name?"
"Don Roy Doyle," I said. "Yeah, I'm gonna get it. He's out of town right now. Won't be back for a week or so. But when he comes back, seeing him's the first thing on my list."
"What are you gonna do in the meanwhile?"
"Like I said, we go on with our normal lives. You show up for work at the courthouse every day. I'll stay around here. Don't worry. We'll be all right." I pulled her to me. "We'll be all right, my love. They won't get me." I pulled her to me and whispered in her ear, "They'll never get me."
She embraced me with all her strength and said into my chest, "God, I hope not. I don't know what I'd do without you."
We hugged for a long time. A couple of long kisses, and I got an urge. I said, "Now how 'bout a little pick-me-up before you go to work?"
20
Logan
Saturday, July 9, 2011
11:30 PM
I DROPPED INTO THE WILD THING during the shank of Saturday night. Thirsty customers stood two deep at the bar hollering out orders. The scantily-clad bartenders moved fast to churn out their drinks, but I could tell they were way behind. Free-poured whiskey flowed carelessly into ice-filled glasses, mixers to follow. Rock music roared at earbleed level from enormous speakers placed in all corners of the club. It would've been impossible to find relief, a spot where you could talk in a medium yell. Full throat was your only choice here. Two strippers bounced around on the brightly-lit stage, both of them working the pole with great skill. Their G-strings burst with cash shoved in there by the hyped-up suckers surrounding the stage. LeeRon was probably getting a blowjob back in his office. What a racket.
I noticed Sharma working the floor in between her stage appearances, hustling champagne and lap dances, playing touchy-feely with the customers, a mild variation on the world's oldest profession. Eventually, she made her way over to the spot I'd staked out at the end of the bar. She approached me, her nasty mouth widening into a leering smile.
"Hey, honey, what's up?" Her blonde hair hung a little limp with perspiration from the hot stage lights. She wore pasties over her considerable tits, all supposedly covered by a low-cut,
see-through teddy. A gold G-string and Lucite heels completed her evening dress.
I said, "It's Saturday night, baby. Payday."
Her smile vanished. "Payday?"
I held out my palm and crooked my fingers at her in a come-on gesture. "Tonight and every Saturday. One grand."
She gave me a look that said, "I don't think so." It was accompanied by that wiseass slouch you see in the mugshots of street punks. Then she said, "Trey says I don't have to pay you anything on account of his marker was torn up."
"I don't give a fuck what Trey says. He didn't make our deal. He didn't get you this job. I did. You're on the hook for a thousand a week. Tonight's payday. Let's have it."
Her head swiveled around, taking in the scene. With her chin jutting out, she was telling me we were on her turf. Like she was one with the other strippers and these slobbering customers. She spoke like she had the Seventh fucking Cavalry behind her, swords raised. "I don't think I have to. Besides, it's a lot of money. Too much, if you ask me."
"No one's asking you. Believe me, you don't want to jack with me on this."
"I'm not paying."
I grabbed her wrist and twisted the skin hard without twisting her arm. It hurts like hell if the arm is fleshy, which hers was. Feels like the skin will peel right off. It's all in how you grab it.
"Go get the fucking money. Now."
"You're hurting me. Let go."
"You think this hurts, you don't know what hurt is. Pay what you owe." To be honest, I didn't really know if I would follow through on that threat.
I'm supposed to be fucking retired, for Christ's sake. Why am I doing this?
Well, all right, I'm doing it for the money she owes me, but isn't that what it's always about? Money? And she does owe it to me, right? I mean, I got her this damned job. She never even would've found this joint if I hadn't brought her here. Wasn't for me, she'd be on the bus back to Hialeah.
