AGAINST THE WIND (Book Two of The Miami Crime Trilogy)

by Don Donovan

  They were seated quickly because the lunch crowd had yet to arrive in great numbers. Alicia ordered a glass of wine for herself and one for Amy. The waiter brought it quickly and Amy raised her glass.

  "I want to drink to you, my sweet Alicia. I never thought in a million years I would find someone like you. Someone who is tender, yet strong enough to keep me in line, where I belong. Someone who can make me wet with your gentle touch, yet who can also give me the pounding I deserve with your big, hard strap-on. To you, my beautiful woman."

  Alicia was not quite ready for such testimony, especially right before lunch with Monsieur Beauchene. But she summoned her grace — not hard for her to do — and looked straight into Amy's mysterious eyes, murmuring, "Here's to us, my darling Amy. My little girl-toy in the bedroom and my strong, intelligent partner in the boardroom. You will do what I say in bed and I would be honored to accept your counsel in the bank."

  They touched the rims of their glasses and sipped their wine.

  "This is really good," Amy said. "What is it?"

  "It's a very light sauvignon blanc," said Alicia. "The perfect complement for the fish we will order."

  Amy took another tiny sip, then said, "So who else is coming?"

  "A gentleman by the name of Henri Beauchene," Alicia said. "He's going to apply for a loan from Chase-Morgan London to finance a big shopping center in the Miami area. He's really a front for the cartel, but because he looks good and he's French, he presents the perfect image of the 'European investor'. The final step in the process."

  Realization moved onto Amy's face. She said, "So he quote-unquote 'borrows' the money from this British company and invests it into a squeaky-clean development in Florida, where it will continue to make money for the cartel." Alicia nodded. Amy said, "Ha! The cash comes full circle! How much is he borrowing?" She put air quotes around the word "borrowing".

  "Two hundred fifty million dollars."

  Amy's head slowly moved up and down at the breathtaking symmetry of the whole process. "Very geometrical," she said. "Very logical, all the way."

  Alicia wouldn't have put it that way, but now that she thought about it, that was not a bad way to describe it. There was a certain geometry about it all, the way the cash inexorably flowed back to Miami — or in this case, Hialeah — as new, beautiful money. Fresh as a spring morning.

  Henri Beauchene approached the table.

  "Mademoiselle López."

  The women looked up. He was medium height, but with a winning smile surrounded by striking good looks that showed him to be somewhere in his early forties. Hair the color of newly-mown hay sat in great quantities atop his head, brushed to perfection. Piercing blue eyes took them both in.

  "May I sit down?" he asked in slightly accented English.

  "Of course, of course," Alicia said, pointing to the chair nearest her. "Monsieur Beauchene, this is Amy Xing."

  Beauchene kissed both their hands in French fashion, lingering on Amy's hand a second or two longer. "Mademoiselle Xing," he said. "Such a wonderful example of classic Chinese beauty. Ni hao piao liang."

  Amy's eyebrows raised and her smile widened just a shade when Beauchene spoke of her beauty in her native language. "You speak Mandarin, Monsieur Beauchene?"

  "Only a little," he said. "Very little. But perhaps if I had some instruction …"

  Alicia was not pleased with the drift of this talk and Amy picked up on it. She withdrew her hand and looked down at the napkin on her lap. Beauchene took a seat, still smiling, still taking in her classic Chinese beauty.

  Alicia took note of the drape of his dark suit. Close-fitting, European cut, very expensive. Not a knockoff, but an authentic designer piece. After the waiter brought him a glass of wine, he began a long stretch of chitchat, impressing them with his Frenchness, and lasting through the wine and the food ordering, all the way until their lunch actually arrived at the table. He threw a few more subtle hints Amy's way but she deflected them all.

  Alicia said, "I understand you will be coming to Miami on Thursday, Monsieur Beauchene."

  Beauchene knew the score. He had fronted for these deals many times, always with great success. Go to some city in the US, pretend to be a French capitalist with access to loads of money, and buy the cartel's way into these projects that are desperate for financing. No muscle, no threats, no Mafia bullshit. All totally legal and with clean money to boot. He was very believable in his role, very knowledgeable in the world of real estate and international financing. A valuable cog in the cartel machine.

  His eyes were fixed on Amy, slowly moving them up and down from her head to her chest, which were her only parts visible above the tabletop. Alicia cleared her throat. "Monsieur Beauchene."

  Beauchene snapped out of it and said, "That is correct, Mademoiselle. I will arrive, I believe, it is around five o'clock in the afternoon."

  "I will have the appropriate paperwork drawn up by then, showing you have been approved by Chase-Morgan London for a loan of two hundred fifty million dollars. This money will be deposited in the Miami account of Panamá Global Development SA. They are going to build a shopping center, and also a hotel, recently added to the project. You will disburse it to the local developer as construction progresses." She appeared to be through, but then added, "Of course, your commission, as always, will be deposited into your numbered account in Zurich."

  Beauchene fiddled with the knot in his silk tie and said, "Have they broken ground yet?"

  "Actually," Alicia said, "they broke ground over a year ago, but construction was halted several months back because of financing and other problems. Those problems have been cleared up and now everything is ready for you to move in with the money."

  "Who will I be dealing with?"

  Alicia said, "He's a Miami-based developer. His name is Phil Harvey."

  51

  Silvana

  Miami, Florida

  Friday, April 20, 2012

  1:05 PM

  THE VACANT LOT ALONG THE MIAMI RIVER had its heyday long ago as a baseball field, dirt outlines of the basepaths and the area around home plate still visible. Once, young boys played here, harboring aspirations of the Major Leagues, looking to hone their skills for Little League, high school, and beyond. Now, however, instead of holding dreams, it held broken bottles, fast food bags, and a rusting refrigerator turned on its side. Other junk was strewn around here and there, and the lock on the chain link gate dangled from its chain, cut long ago by vandals with some powerful tool.

  The trashy look of the place stood in sharp relief to the clean, medium-priced homes sitting on the other side of the river on shady Northwest North River Drive, close to its edge. Boats behind these homes rocked lazily in their slips, waiting to be taken out into the ocean on this fine spring afternoon.

  This side of the river, however, was far less placid. Squat commercial buildings sitting in the sun, mixed with low-rent apartment complexes, lined both sides of the street. Cars and trucks ran up and down the street, past the squad car parked by the vacant lot.

  Silvana and Vargas pulled up next to the black-and-white. They made their way across the lot toward the two uniforms who stood guard over a pile of old tires.

  "All right, Patrolman. What do we have?"

  What they had was a blackened corpse, a lot of it eaten away by maggots and other insects. Looked like it might've been a woman, only because of the height, not more than five-two or three.

  The patrolman spoke in a deep, serious voice. "The call came in from a neighbor. His kids were playing kickball with some other neighborhood kids and they found the body sticking out from under these tires."

  Silvana said, "What can you tell us?"

  "Hispanic female, Sergeant. Although you can't tell by looking at her. She's been here too long. Cause of death appears to be two gunshot wounds to the head. But the ME's on his way now. He'll give you the definitive cause. There is no weapon, no purse, no valuables on her person. But we found her driver's license — we're assum
ing it's hers — in the back pocket of her slacks. Name on the license is Evalena María Díaz, DOB 10/7/88, height and weight appear to match that of the victim …"

  He went through the required data while Silvana and Vargas examined the scene. Taking the information from the patrolman and finding nothing at the scene to move the investigation forward, they walked back to their car. Vargas fired the engine up and the air conditioning cooled them down, although the temperature outside was relatively pleasant. They sat in the idling car, looking at each other.

  Silvana opened. "This means there were two people in that Nissan that pulled out of the Sea & Sand Motel. Diamond here, and her killer. Who was obviously Bob Harvey's killer also."

  Vargas said, "Diamond set him up, brought the killer with her, and he pops Harvey. Then does her, too, probably right after they left."

  Silvana shook her head. "She didn't set Harvey up. Why would she want him out of the way? He was fucking her on a regular basis, paying her two grand for an hour or two every time out. No way she wanted him dead."

  "Well, what then? Who could've done it?"

  "Remember when we talked to Maxie last week? He said — how did he put it? — we can find plenty of reason to like Phil Harvey for his brother's killing. Remember?"

  Vargas nodded. "So you're saying if he did his brother, then he did this whore, too."

  "Right, Bobby."

  "But he's got an ironclad alibi for the Sea & Sand. We checked it out. Solid as a chunk of granite."

  Silvana said, "Yeah, I know. I'm not saying he was the trigger man. I don't think he's got that in him. But he could have easily hired it out."

  "And whoever he hired it out to …"

  "Killed Diamond as well," Silvana said. "To shut her up."

  "So you think he went to Maxie Méndez and arranged for all this?" Vargas asked.

  "No. Maxie wouldn't have wasted Bob Harvey. No way. He was Maxie's gateway into the shopping center deal. It was Bob Harvey who guaranteed Maxie points in the project. Brother Phil thinks Maxie's a degenerate gangster and probably wants him out altogether."

  Vargas scrunched his face up into a question. "Who then?"

  "Who's the only link between this whore and the Harvey brothers?"

  He thought for a second. Then, "Sofía Ramos!"

  "Let's go," she said. "Brickell Bay Drive."

  52

  Silvana

  Miami, Florida

  Friday, April 20, 2012

  1:55 PM

  SOFIA RAMOS TOOK A LONG TIME to answer. Vargas had used the cop thud twice, and was about to do it a third time when she came to the door.

  "Who is it?" she said through the closed door.

  Vargas replied, "Police officers. Open up."

  She cracked the door open. "Oh," she said. "What do you two want?"

  The cops pushed the door all the way open and shoved past her into the apartment over her futile objections.

  Unlike their last visit, her hair was far from perfect, shocks hanging over her forehead and down one side. Her white silk blouse was not tucked inside her slacks and seemed unusually wrinkled, and she was barefoot. This disheveled appearance was not lost on Silvana, who had long thought Sofía the very picture of perfection in every way.

  Silvana glimpsed the living room. The pieces she had broken on her last visit had been replaced by pieces that looked decidedly more expensive. The lamp on the end table was now a Tiffany knockoff, itself probably costing a couple of hundred dollars, and the flimsy coffee table she smashed had given way to a heavy wood and metal number, more designer-looking and definitely providing a much-needed upgrade to the apartment's appearance.

  Two nearly-empty drink glasses sat on the coffee table along with an ashtray. The unmistakable odor of weed was present, even though the window looking out on the building next door had been opened. A couple of throw pillows, which were on the sofa the last time, lay askew on the floor, along with a pair of black stilettos with red soles and a couple of articles of clothing.

  "What do you want?" she said in a slightly raised voice.

  "What we want," Silvana said, "is for you to tell us who killed Bob Harvey and Evalena Díaz."

  "I don't know what you're talking about!"

  "We're not fucking around here, Sofía," Silvana said. "Tell us what you know."

  "Wait … did you say Eval — Diamond — is dead? Killed?"

  Silvana nodded. "Her body was found today. Dead for quite a while. Like maybe since the day three weeks ago when Bob Harvey got it."

  "I — I didn't know she … How could she be … be dead?"

  Vargas moved into her space. He said, "She can be dead because someone you know put two bullets in her head. The same person you sent with her to meet Harvey at the Sea & Sand on March 30."

  Sofía sat down on the couch. A few light sobs, then tears. Her head went into her hands, tears in full flow.

  "Don't give me any of that crying shit!" Vargas said in a raised voice, heading toward the sofa.

  At that moment, the door to the bedroom opened and a woman stepped out. Like Sofía, her hair was messy and her clothing was rumpled. Silvana's heart flew into her throat. Sofía … and a woman! She never suspected! And that was most unusual, because she always prided herself on being able to tell the lesbians from all others. Sofía as a lesbian never entered her mind. Totally off the radar!

  My God! Sofía! So many times I dreamed of it. I would have given myself to you gladly. Would you have taken me? Would you have allowed me to come to your bed? Sofía! Sofía!

  Silvana looked the woman over. Very, very nice. Slender build, Cuban, walks like she owns the place. Probably about Sofía's age, but she looks more … more worldly. Like she's been around the track a few more times than Sofía has. Well dressed, too. Those shoes alone, also with red soles, probably cost a grand or more.

  Sofía, is this what you wanted? Someone with flashy clothes? Someone who can turn heads when you walk into a room with her? I guess, then, you wouldn't have wanted me. That's okay, though. Because that's the kind of woman I want, too. A woman like you, Sofía. You turned my head. How many nights did I dream of you, my beautiful Sofía? How many long, lonely nights?

  The woman said, "Sofía, Sofía. Are you okay? What's wrong?" She looked at the cops. "What's going on here?"

  "Police officers," Vargas said. "Back off."

  "What are you doing here? Did you hurt her? Sofía, did they hit you?" She moved toward Sofía and fondled her lovely face, examining it for bruises or cuts.

  "Who are you, ma'am?" Silvana said.

  "I'm a friend of Sofía's," she said. "I was just here visiting."

  "Your name, please?" Silvana pulled out her note pad.

  "Alicia López."

  "Do you work with Miss Ramos?"

  "No, I don't. We're old friends. I'm not involved in her business at all. Or any business like it."

  "What do you do for a living?" Vargas asked.

  "I'm in the computer business. Retail. Now why are you here?"

  "Police business, Miss López. I think it would be best if you left now."

  The glare in Silvana's eyes made its point. Alicia López gathered up her purse and her cell phone and told Sofía, "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

  Sofía nodded and the woman left.

  Silvana took a seat on the couch next to Sofía, softening her body language. She now regarding this girl in a whole new light. "Okay, Sofía. It's just the three of us. You want to tell us what we want to know?" she asked in a mellow but firm voice.

  Sofía's tears had stopped, but they had reddened her usually-perfect face which now looked drawn and worn. It made her look much older than the thirty-three Silvana knew her to be. She looked up at Silvana, then toward the front door through which the López woman had just left.

  Sofía had composed herself somewhat, and Silvana held her hand. Sofía gave it an involuntary squeeze. The tingle grazed Silvana's spine. She felt the hair bristling on her arms.


  "Tell me, mi amiga," she said. "Tell me who did this awful thing to Diamond."

  With a faraway gaze aimed out the window, Sofía said, "He told me she would be safe." Her voice was hoarse, phlegm-y. She cleared her throat, but it didn't do any good. "He promised me nothing would happen to her."

  "Who promised you, Sofía? Who?"

  "He said he was going to put her on a plane to Tampa. She has family there, you know." Her stare remained fixed out the window at nothing particular.

  "Who said that? Who did this?"

  More tears. Her head re-buried itself in her hands. Silvana saw Vargas getting impatient. She gave him the "keep calm" gesture. Another minute went by.

  She said through streaming eyes, "She — Diamond — never hurt anybody. She was the sweetest little girl you … you'd ever want to … to meet. I made him promise me not to hurt her, to see, to see she got safe … out of town … away from all this." More tears.

  "He broke his promise, Sofía," Silvana said. "He hurt her bad. He murdered her. Cold-blooded murder. Tell us who he is, and we'll see he gets justice."

  "I can't! I can't! You don't understand!" She reached for a Kleenex on the table.

  Silvana's voice remained level. She continued to hold Sofía's hand, quickening her pulse and the rising goosebumps on her arms. "Yes you can, Sofía, honey. You can. And you must. For Diamond's sake."

  Her eyes, red and puffy, came back from wherever they were. She turned them straight into Silvana's own eyes and said through a sniffle, "My brother. Desi Ramos." Sobbing now, full steam.

  Silvana glanced up at Vargas, standing close by with raised eyebrows. He said, "Desi Ramos went to the Sea & Sand with Diamond? Harvey was only expecting her, but got the two of them instead?"

  Sofía nodded.

  Silvana leaned into her ear. She inhaled exquisite perfume and whispered, "Who put them up to it? Was it Phil Harvey?"

  Sofía nodded again.

  Although Silvana's heart was pounding at the scent which had invaded her senses, she kept a cool front. "How did it come about?" she asked. "Why did he want his brother dead?"