by Hamric, Zack
“And I’m guessing what they signed up for wasn’t exactly what they found when they got to their destination?” asked Rivera.
“Exactly,” said Miller. “These girls were interviewed in the villages and if they were young and pretty were sometimes smuggled out of the country within hours. Once they arrived, their sponsor informed them he would keep their passports until they could repay the thousands of dollars they owed for travel expenses. Instead of the job they were promised modeling or working in a restaurant, they usually ended up working in a strip club or massage parlor. They could never get ahead-the expenses just kept adding up for food, clothes, and rent. Those initial jobs were on the job training to ease them into the real business.”
“Prostitution,” said Rivera.
“Exactly; after a few months of intimidation, rape and beatings, they would be turning dozens of tricks a day in a whorehouse or if a girl was really pretty, she might be used for escort services for the tourist trade.
Miller cleared his throat and resumed, “We were working with the Italians trying to figure some way to get one of our guys working on the inside. For once, we managed to catch a lucky break-the manager for some clubs owned by the Camorra was nailed with a couple of kilos of coke one night after he accidentally ran over a tourist with his scooter. Usually, he would have beat feet and left the tourist in one of the neighborhood garbage piles. That night, he had the great misfortune to do the deed right in front of one of the few Polizia Municipale who couldn’t be bribed or threatened.”
“We persuaded him that it was in his best interests to make some introductions on our behalf. Kyle was presented as a money man-if someone had fifty or sixty million Euros from dubious sources and needed to have it come up clean on the other side, he was the ‘go to’ guy. Took a few meetings and a lot of documentation to provide his bonafides, but it was beginning to payoff. Kyle started off small, but after a couple of months he was introduced to an Ukranian General named Popov who seemed to be the spider in the center of the web. He started using Kyle for larger transactions and was talking about getting him involved with a new venture in Florida.”
“Who was Popov involved with in Florida?” asked Rivera. “Other Russians or the Columbians?”
“Columbians. This guy was a freakin’ one man, multinational corporation,” said Miller. “We were getting regular weekly reports from Kyle while he was in Italy, but he cut back the flow of information after he came back to the states-said he was getting word of some cops being paid off in South Florida. All just rumors the low level guys talked about after a few drinks, but it sounded like information was being leaked from law enforcement back to Popov.
Miller paused to let the implications of that sink in. “Kyle’s been here for about two months working his way into Popov’s operations-mainly the strip clubs and new operation with the Columbians. He thought he could get enough information to shut down the entire network on both continents. Everything moving smoothly until last week when he completely dropped off the radar.”
Miller nodded at Davis. “Agent Davis works out of our Miami office-I’ll let him pick up the story from here.”
Davis cleared his throat and took over the conversation. “Our local office really wasn’t really in the loop until ten days ago, because we had pretty much been left in the dark on the details of the operation.” Miller fixed Davis with an icy glare and Rivera was amused to see the beginnings of a nervous tic developing in Davis.
Miller interrupted. “We started this investigation in three different countries. The fewer people who knew the story, the better.”
Rivera raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue.
“In Italy, it was strictly a Russian mob and Camorra problem-very bad characters, but no direct effect on us in this country. Once Jackle hit the scene in Miami, he found the Russians and Columbians like this,” Miller said as he intertwined the fingers of both hands. “Sex, drugs, extortion, money laundering-apparently they figured there was an advantage to working together. Apparently all is not coming up roses-there’s beginning to be a mounting body count in Miami and South Florida. At first it seemed isolated, but so far we’ve identified at least five guys associated with the strip clubs or escort business who have been killed in the past two months. There were also a couple of out of town businessmen who were found dead in what might be referred to as ‘compromising positions’. The last one was killed three weeks ago down in Key West-an enforcer working for Popov who died very, very badly.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Rivera with genuine curiosity. “I haven’t heard anything about this.”
“No reason you would-on the surface it looks like several random killings spread out over all of South Florida. Jackle actually pointed us in this direction, because it was Popov who initially started to connect the dots. Turns out the dead guys were all either associates of his or clients. He was going nuts trying to figure if it was the Columbians playing him or whether there was someone else involved trying to send him a message. This was definitely personal though-in every case, these guys were mutilated, usually before death. In the case of one of the businessmen, he was found strapped naked to a bed missing the ring finger on his left hand. They found the missing finger and attached wedding band during the autopsy of his stomach contents. A very nasty business-that one was in West Palm and we buried the details of the investigation.”
Rivera leaned back in his chair as he stretched and tried to figure out where to take the conversation. “So how do you figure those are related?”
“I’m not even sure they are related,” said Miller. “I just know that there are too many unexplained deaths surrounding these guys and the one man who might actually shed some light on it is missing.”
“OK, background I got,” said Rivera. “ And the short version is we don’t want these guys for neighbors and we need to close them down. So what do you need from me and the department?”
“To start, we need a BOLO issued in Miami for Jackle,” said Miller leaning forward with his palms on the table. “If one of your guys spots him, call us and I’ll bring him in personally. There’s no telling how he would react if one of your officers tries to arrest him. I can’t stress enough-we want to bring him in safely, but he’s the most dangerous man I know and right now he can’t tell his friends from his enemies.”
CHAPTER 10
I flipped the thick business card back and forth in my fingers. Indecision. The VIP card from the Platinum Club was a definite link-it told me the Russian had been there and apparently was a regular. The risks for me were huge. I was walking onto their home turf, and I could be dead without even knowing why.
I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw. Earlier that day, I sent the bellman out with a shopping list and some cash. After cutting my hair to a short buzz cut and liberally applying a little ‘hair color in a bottle’ I went from dark brown to blonde. The five-day growth of beard helped further change my look and the sunglasses added the final touch of the transformation. No way it would fool anyone who knew me well, but it would be close enough for the casual observer.
The whirlpool in my mind was another matter. Still no clarity, but random flashes of events, of faces, of events. Almost like looking at half a jigsaw puzzle. It gave me some hope that it would improve with time-more than likely it wouldn’t matter, because I would be dead before the week was out.
“Platinum Club in Lauderdale,” I told the driver showing him the address written on the card.
“You know that’s about an hour cab ride?” he queried as he fiddled with the radio dial until he found some nice Reggae.
“Yeah, that’s fine, not a problem.” I said as I settled in for the ride ahead. He took A1A North, probably not the fastest route, but definitely a scenic one. I’d been having more flashbacks as we drove. Just snippets of memory like sun-faded Polaroids that kept popping into my head. Buildings that looked familiar, flashes of the faces of people I had known. An earlier life-was I
in the military? We slowly made our way through the Art Deco hotels on South Beach and wended our way north through Aventura with its towering condo projects that appeared almost deserted until we finally arrived at the club.
I saw the place from a mile away-all flash and neon on the outside. The parking lot was full of cars-everything from pickups to Bentleys. The driver dropped me under the canopied awning and I slowly unfolded myself from the backseat.
The dingy red carpet led straight to double red leather doors flanked by two huge bouncers wearing polo shirts with SECURITY emblazoned across them. These guys were big, used to intimidating by their presence. Both had that bored, detached look that came with the job. The biggest challenge these guys would face during the night was strong arming drunk college kids or out of town businessmen who thought that twenty bucks entitled them to cop a quick feel from one of the dancers-forty bucks, maybe, but never twenty.
I strode in past them and took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness of the club. Paid my ten bucks at the counter just inside the door. The music hit me in the face as soon as I stepped in-pounding, raw techno that vibrated you down to your bones. Smoke machines, lasers, and pulsating lights completed the picture. Strip clubs are like casinos-every element calculated to thrust you into an alternate reality and then separate fools from their money as quickly as possible.
The main stage dominated the room. It started at a velvet curtained door in the rear of the club and extended out thirty feet before forming a T shape. Every foot of the stage was surrounded by low comfortable chairs and about half were already filled with guys leaning back trying to look casual as they flashed their rolls of bills-usually a bunch of ones with a hundred rolled around the outside. There were two brass stripper poles, one already occupied by a tall, dark haired girl who leaped straight up, grabbed the pole with her leg and flipped upside down as she spiraled down the pole.
I quickly stepped through the illuminated pools of light surrounding the stage and found a small curved couch hidden in the deep shadows at the side of the club. A perfect place to watch everyone coming in and not be seen in the cloak of darkness.
Less than a minute later and the waitress showed up. “What can I get you?” she asked flipping a cocktail napkin on the table in front of me. The waitress was dressed in a checkered skirt and white top-kind of a slutty Catholic schoolgirl look. Worked for me. She looked pretty damned bored. Either she wasn’t good looking enough to dance or she had just started at the club and hadn’t worked up the nerve to take to the stage with the courage fueled by booze and pills.
“Myers and Coke,” I said. Automatic response-I couldn’t remember that being a favorite, but I guess it was. While I waited, I watched. Lot of action-fifteen or twenty girls rotating around the room hustling guys for dances. My drink showed up about the same time the first girl showed up. Touched the back of my chair and leaned over me flashing a well-rounded set of tits overflowing from the tight lace top.
“I’m Misty,” she said. “We’re having a two for one special-would you like a dance?”
“Thanks Misty, but I just got here. Let me finish my drink and we’ll save the dance for later.”
She was gone with a swish of fabric swirling the smell of cheap perfume through the air. I wouldn’t see her again-in that quick conversation, she had already figured out that I was either broke or wasn’t spending-either one an unforgiveable sin in a strip joint.
I watched the crowd. The usual. Some fairly young guys, early twenties-out for a big night celebrating their newfound freedom to drink legally and have girls shake titties in their face. Older guys usually sitting up at the stage-overweight, looking like they had just been dumped by their third wife. Pulling bills off a wad and stuffing it into the garters of the girls shaking it on the edge of the stage. Supreme confidence in their ability to attract a woman-as long as their supply of cash held out. One guy rolled up a bill long-ways and held it in his teeth. The dancer squeezed it between her tits, snatched it out of his mouth with a wistful pout of a smile and circled to the other side of the stage.
More serious action on the couches off stage. Girls, topless with only dental floss for thongs, leaning over guys and grinding in time with the music. And then there were the guys who looked like they owned the party-a haze of pungent cigar smoke surrounding them and the occasional flash of gold out of the cloud as someone’s expensive watch was reflected in the light.
My reverie was interrupted as a girl glided to a halt beside me and sat down. This one was a looker-tall, sandy blonde, hard-bodied. She understood timing-paused a second. “Mind if I keep you company?” came out in a low, throaty voice with a faint hint of an accent. I nodded and she flowed onto the couch beside me-still not touching, but close enough where I could feel the heat of her thigh next to mine.
I waved at the waitress. Another drink appeared. “I’m Tasha.”
“John,” I said, staying with my newly adopted persona of John Doe until I could figure out something better. A quick tilt to her head, like she almost said something and thought better of it. A conversation that was as unmemorable as it was brief. The usual story about how “I’m here from Europe working for a modeling agency and just have to fill in here a couple of nights a week to make ends meet.” All bullshit of course, but we each had a role to play.
Music started-pulsing, loud. Tasha raised her eyebrows to ask the obvious question. “Sure,” I said gesturing with my hand and smiling encouragingly.
Time for Tasha to go to work. Stood in front of me, unbuttoned her top with a single snap on the back and languidly draped it around my neck. Reached out with her tiny foot encased in a pair of five inch stripper heels and spread my legs apart. She was amazing-tight firm breasts with tiny pink nipples winking from under the cover of the long blonde hair that reached almost to her waist. She moved into me with a catlike stretch starting at my waist, then leaned forward dragging her hair and tits against my body as she worked her way up. Before I knew it, four songs and eighty bucks of the Russian’s money were gone.
She sat beside me and snuggled against my shoulder. “Why don’t we go to the VIP room-I think you might enjoy it,” she said as she dragged her lips across my earlobe.”
Easy choice-spending a dead guy’s money on a beautiful blonde didn’t require much thought. “Let’s go,” I said as she grabbed my hand and led me across the room to a raised platform. At the rear of the platforms were eight by ten rooms hidden behind dark purple velvet drapes. Inside the room, barely visible in the dark light were low couches on the side and back walls.
Tasha pulled the two sides of the curtain together and turned her full attention to me. In two long steps, she strode across the room and straddled me while slowly wrapping both arms around me and pulling my face into her breasts. Then she bent her head down and whispered in my ear. “What in the fuck are you doing here? You’re a dead man!”
I might normally have jerked back with surprise but decided against it. I could feel something that felt suspiciously like the point of a knife blade buried in the hollow of my throat. Tasha was certainly proving to be full of surprises. I started to say, “What are you talking…?” when she cut me off and continued her tirade.
“Don’t react-they’re watching us on camera,” she said keeping the knife in position while continuing to grind in time to the music, and generally putting on a masterful performance.
Two can play that game. I plastered a lovesick smile on my face, groped her in a couple of inappropriate places and and felt a warm ooze of blood for my impertinence as she leaned into the blade just a little.
“And is a knife generally your idea of foreplay? I’m sure there must be a reason why you’ve got a blade sticking in my throat”
“Mercedes was a good friend of mine,” she said. “She was with you two nights ago. The guys in the club say you killed her and threw her in a dumpster.”
“I really should tell you, I have no friggin’ idea what you’re talking about. Sounds like p
robably the same night your friend disappeared, somebody beat the living hell out of me. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in the hospital with some Russian guy on top of me trying to kill me; I don’t know who I am or why the hell any of this is happening,” I said as my voice started to tighten with the stress of this insanity.
“ That actually makes sense in some weird sort of way-I’ll explain later,” Tasha said as she paused for a moment. After a moments thought, she leaned back and I heard a click as she folded the switchblade. “You have to get out of here. That blonde surfer dude look won’t fool anyone who knows you and takes a second look. I can’t believe no one’s recognized you yet.”
“I’m open to suggestions, just what do you have in mind?” I asked, somehow realizing that even if I wasn’t sure if I could trust her, I really didn’t have many options at this point.
“I’ll get my car and meet you in the front,” she said. “Miguel is on the back door and carries a pistol stuck under his shirt in the back-there’s no way you can get out there. I’ll get up like I’m going to the bathroom. Give me two minutes and I’ll pull up to the front door. Whatever you do, get outside quick-these guys have been tearing the town apart for three days trying to find you.” With that, she slipped out through the curtain while I nonchalantly checked the time on my watch and subtly tried to stem the trickle of blood still running down my chest.
It was the longest two minutes of my life. At any moment, I was expecting several guys to come bursting into the room. It would have ended badly-didn’t matter if I busted up the first couple of guys through the door, sheer numbers would have carried the day for them.
