Following the initial surprise, Keith explained that all new high-end yachts came equipped with a tracking device dissimulated in the cockpit. The man was understandably reluctant to divulge client data, but the prospect of being an accomplice to one of the most wanted men in America saw him yield eventually. Then, it was just a matter of identifying the vessel and activating the tracking device. Piece of cake, Teddy thought.
In just over an hour, they would enter the US territorial waters, and then, half an hour later, anchor at the port of Miami.
Teddy couldn’t help but feel like a weight was slowly being lifted off his shoulders. The nagging feeling of an ambush at sea had proved unfounded. Now, all he could think about was his pledge to finish the job, help Frank and Parker close the case, and finally make his way back to Birmingham.
CHAPTER 22
Shortly after six P.M. that day, the Conquistador anchored at the port of Miami with seventeen men on board – ten DEA agents of various ranks, Joaquin Herrera and five of his associates, and of course Teddy Harper. Seven of these men were handcuffed and would soon be en route to Miami’s Federal Detention Center while they await trial. Law enforcement officials had a lot of work on their hands. The raw evidence was there mostly thanks to Paco’s tedious shadow work, but they would still have to conduct hundreds of interviews and see dozens of witnesses covering the two decades the Corporacion had been operating.
The case would then move along within the court system, and judges would ensure the defendants were guilty beyond reasonable doubt.
Frank had mentioned to Teddy on the yacht that throughout each stage of the process, constitutional protections were in place to make sure the rights of the accused are respected. He explained, “There are dozens of restrictions on courts’ ability to prosecute people, including the right to confront one’s accusers, the right against incriminating one’s self, the right to counsel, and the right to a jury trial. The purpose of all of these fail-safes is to give as fair a trial as possible for the accused.”
“So, in other words, this thing could drag on for months?” Teddy asked.
“Yes, maybe even a year or more,” Frank replied.
Teddy’s eyes widened. “Fuck me! What kind of crap is that,” he said in disbelief. “In any case, they’ll be locked up during that time, right?”
“Correct, they’ll be detained for the duration of the investigation and while the case is processed. And obviously afterward when, or if, they are condemned.”
“What do you mean if? Fuck that, I’ll stick around long enough to make sure they get what they deserve. Inside or outside the judicial system.”
Frank said, “Don’t get emotional now, they’ll get condemned, I’m just being cautious here.” He added, “And Teddy, it goes without saying that your help was instrumental in their capture, thank you for that.”
“Don’t mention it, I’d have blown their brains off one by one myself if you guys hadn’t shown up.”
Frank nodded. “I know, I know.”
They remained silent for a minute, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Frank said, this time visibly embarrassed, “Also, I have to mention that you’ll come under scrutiny like any of the other top associates of the Corporacion. Of course, I’ll see to it that your valuable help is duly acknowledged throughout the process.”
Teddy’s heart leaped into his mouth. “What? What do you mean Frank?”
“To put it bluntly, you’re under arrest, Teddy. You’re associated with Herrera and his organization, you’ll have to stand trial as well.” He added, “There’s nothing I can do about it.”
For a fleeting instant, Teddy considered running away, like he did back then. He rapidly pushed that thought away. Being a fugitive in two of the largest English-speaking countries in the world wasn’t a good strategy for survival.
“I understand,“ Teddy said. “I’ll cooperate and testify as requested.” Fuck me. As his mind mechanically tried to contemplate the consequences of the prosecution he was facing, sheer panic suddenly burst up his spine through to his brain. What if they tracked me back to the events of Birmingham following James’ murder? Holy shit! The old Wilkinson and Rob had better done a proper cover-up job, or I’m profoundly and durably fucked.
“Teddy, Teddy…” Frank repeated. “Come on man, don’t make this difficult.”
“Sorry…I was lost in thought…” Teddy looked down at the pair of handcuffs Frank was holding. The man was ready to apply them on Teddy’s wrists.
On the ground, three armored trucks marked DEA were parked on the dock of the harbor, waiting for their human cargo. As the group disembarked the yacht, Herrera passed by Teddy and whispered in his ear, “They won’t go easy on you just because you helped them once. You’ll do as much time as any of us.”
“What are you talking about?” Teddy snapped. “They’re locking me up so I don’t sever your head from your body.”
“Don’t be a fool, boy. Don’t tell them too much, stay vague in your statements, and I won’t forget it, I promise you.”
Upon hearing those words, Teddy entered a senseless rage. Without a second thought, he headbutted Herrera right in the nose, shifting to low kicks as the man hit the floor and Frank restrained him, pulled him backward.
Teddy was relentless. “You fucking slag! You were about to murder me less than twenty-four hours ago, and now you’re telling me to be lenient with you?” He cleared his throat and spat a gummy projectile that landed right on the Padrino’s right cheekbone, as his frenzy reached new heights. Frank – a six feet four colossus – was barely able to hold the young Englishman back.
Teddy went on with his verbal rampage, “I’ll tell them every little detail I remember, everything that could incriminate you and your filthy organization. I’ll tell them about every command you’ve uttered, every rumor I’ve ever heard about you, foul pig. I’ll snitch on you like the worst coward that walked this earth. I’ll write everything down. Tonight. And tomorrow. And the day after. Until I’ve put every last memory I have of you on paper and my mind dies from exhaustion. You absolute cunt, you can count on it!”
Stunned by the earlier knock on the face, and maybe even more by the unexpected vicious tirade, Joaquin Herrera struggled to regain his ground. The DEA officer holding his hand behind his back pulled the man straight up. Herrera was bleeding from his nose, which now looked like a painful mess of inflamed flesh.
The other Cubans looked at the altercation in bewilderment as they were ushered into the vans. If anything, the bust-up would have dented some confidence that they would come out of this with short sentences. It’s always the same story, Frank thought, once a man fears that his friends won’t keep their mouth shut, he starts to talk.
Even if Teddy was oblivious to it, Frank knew that those little bouts of anger were helping the case against the Corporacion. He wondered how a decent bloke like Teddy – an Englishman, of all people – fell under the grip of the Cuban mafia.
As he sat in the DEA truck, hands still cuffed, Teddy was struck by a sudden feeling of foreboding. I better get my story straight. What awaited him in the very-public witness seat promised to be a real test of character. The hearings were likely to take place in a few weeks, and he felt exceedingly anxious at the prospect of being exposed. For the first time in over a decade, there was a possibility that his dark troubled past caught up to him.
CHAPTER 23
From the outside, the Miami-Dade County Pre-Trial Detention Center looked like any other residential high rise. The three identical wings of the building – each hosting just under three hundred prisoners – formed a perfect triquetra. An elevated bridge linked the building to the Dade County Police Department Court.
Inside, the cells were a standard six by eight feet each, with brick walls and one pre-cast barred door that locked from the outside. Inmates were gratified with a scanty bunk bed and stainless-steel lavatories anchored to the concrete floor.
Teddy had escaped the judiciary his entire life,
but his knowledge about life in prison far exceeded that of the layman. Former inmates, particularly multiple offenders, were always keen on relating their time in the slammer, and Teddy was a sucker for a good prisoner story.
The unintended consequence was that he had received all sorts of contradictory advice, even before he was convicted. Keep your head down, and don’t talk to anyone. Stand up for yourself and show them you mean business from the get-go. He decided he would ignore all admonitions and go through this by himself – following his gut instinct.
Teddy dreaded prison not because of how ruthless convicts and guards could be with new joiners, but because he knew it would be the most boring experience of his life. He also knew that most of the grandiose stories of escapes and epic battles of captives against captors had little truth to them. The reality was desperately simpler, and in a way, more nefarious. Pre-detention custody was just as nasty as the real deal. The phones would often be out of order, denting chances for inmates to make bail. The guards would purposely confuse visitation times or mix up visitors. Prisoners would be moved from cell to cell, preventing them from forming any kind of bond with their cellmates. And so forth. All welcome distractions, Teddy reckoned, but it was miles away from the adrenaline-packed experience of belonging to the most powerful rogue group in the Miami-Dade County.
He feared that the dull day-to-day would lead him to subconsciously seek chaos and drama, which in turn would likely beget more time spent in the joint. And that was out of the question. England was calling. The old men were waiting. He felt the entire two-hundred and forty-two thousand residents of Birmingham were expecting his return
On the outside, Frank seemed genuinely prepared to do his utmost to help Teddy settle seamlessly in the detention center in the run-up to the awaited trial.
The day following his arrest, Teddy had been allowed a phone call abroad. Five rings had passed before Rob Harper picked up, and the man had sounded extremely worried – in his own way – at the mess his nephew was into.
“Fucking great Teddy, just when the dust was settling for good around here,” he had said.
“I know, Rob, you don’t have to tell…wait, what do you mean by that?”
“They’re about to close the case, Teddy. Over ten fucking years. It’s been suspended for a couple of years, and they’ve finally come to the conclusion that no new evidence would show up.”
“So, that means I can come back, doesn’t it?” Teddy had asked in a casual tone that surprised his uncle.
“Yes Teddy, that’s what it means. But now you’re taking paid vacations in the slammer!”
“Mate, I’m gutted enough, I don’t need a bloody lecture,” Teddy had replied, his English accent slowly resurfacing. “Right now, I got two main concerns. Those sleazy Cuban dogs after my ass. And the risk that the prosecutor finds out about what happened in Birmingham with O’Connor.”
“Kid, don’t you worry about that,” Rob had explained. “First of all, you haven’t been condemned in Britain. And second of all, even if you had, you can’t be prosecuted for a crime committed abroad. It’s all about common versus civil law. Trust me, common law jurisdictions will prosecute based on the location of the crime, while civil law jurisdictions will prosecute based on the citizenship of the criminal. The US and the UK are both common law countries, so you’re good. I think.“
Teddy had kept quiet for several seconds, suspecting his uncle was feeding him a pile of rubbish. Then, a correctional officer had shouted from across the room, “Time’s up pretty boy, you hang up now.” And that was it.
The ensuing weeks shed some light on the fate of the accused. The charges against the members of the Corporacion were deemed so serious that law enforcement made sure the investigation was conducted swiftly, so that sentences could be served without delay. The right of the defendants to bargain plea was waived. There would be no leniency for that lot.
As planned, Teddy took part in the investigative effort and upon hearing of the concept of bargaining plea, he was keen to plead guilty to any charge, so long as it would reduce his sentence and allow a prompt return to his homestead. He decided that he wouldn’t let anything come in the way of his comeback. He would serve his sentence, make amends for whatever wrongdoings they imputed to him, and dart away from Miami for good.
For all the anticipation of standing in front of a judge and a jury, Teddy was almost disappointed to hear that the plea agreement they had reached was effectively exempting him from a trial. He would spend a full eighteen months in detention and would plead guilty to minor assault and gang fraud. Bolita a gang fraud? You bunch of clueless bureaucratic penguins! Paco must be turning over in his grave, Teddy thought. But it didn’t matter the least bit. All the other charges, including drug trafficking, robbery, and killing committed in justified self-defense, would be dropped.
Despite his supplication, Teddy was unable to attend the verdict of Joaquin Herrera’s judgment. He had been waiting for the outcome of the Padrino’s trial with more anticipation that even his own case, and when the day of judgment finally came, he couldn’t stop pacing in his cell.
He felt an immense gratitude for the US judicial system upon hearing the sentence. Herrera’s roster of charges was a whopping sixty-two items long and included twenty-nine felonies. The multiple manslaughter charges finished convincing the jury. They would request the death penalty. All the struggles of the past months were over.
Rumor had it that Herrera had remained impassive upon sentencing. Teddy could picture perfectly the man’s psychotic green eyes piercing through the members of the jury, drenching them in cold sweat.
Justice for the cowardly murder of Paco had been served. Like all death row inmates, Joaquin Herrera would be locked up in a high-security prison quarter and would only be notified on the morning of his execution. A fitting end for a remorseless cold-blooded cunt.
.
CHAPTER 24
The Dade County Correctional Institution, a state prison of varying security levels, had opened only a few years prior. It was conveniently located at the southernmost tip of urban Florida, just next to the Southern Glades and at the time of Teddy’s transfer to the institution, it was hosting over one thousand and four hundreds adult male offenders, which was dangerously close to its full capacity. Thirteen inmates had died the previous years, including four from hanging and two from head trauma during their sleep.
Florida’s prisons had long been among the most brutal and overcrowded in the nation, which was exacerbated by local law demanding that inmates complete a whopping eighty-five percent of their time before release. The upshot of this elimination of parole was a dramatic rise in the inmate population particularly in the ranks of older prisoners. This already poisonous climate had further to contend with the endemic abuse of inmates. First in line were those suffering from mental illnesses.
The Dade County Correctional Institution was part of hundred and twenty-three facilities gathered under the Florida Department of Corrections. These facilities incarcerated felons convicted and sentenced to a year and over. Teddy has been unlucky, he realized later. Had his sentence been only a month shorter, he would have been sent to jail, with presumably much softer individuals.
Upon arrival at the correctional facility, Teddy had been processed, tested, evaluated by the prison’s health services and assessed for program needs. A stout woman sporting a short boy haircut with curly bangs reviewed the seriousness of his offenses, length of sentence, time remaining to serve, prior criminal record, escape history and announced with an exasperated voice, “Medium risk.”
Teddy was then given a plain light-blue prison uniform and was ushered into his quarters, where he made acquaintance with his cellmate Raymond Cooper. The man didn’t strike him as particularly psychotic or ferocious, yet he had allegedly savagely murdered a romantic rival almost twice his size. He had escaped death row and was now faced with the prospect of spending the best part of his life behind bars.
Luckily, Ray wa
s the talkative type and he did not mince his words. The introductions out of the way, he was keen to share with Teddy his grim opinion of the correctional facility. “I’m telling you, man, DCCI is a hell hole with a bunch of motherfucking clueless guards.” His think frame made his head look disproportionally large. He added, “The scumbags won’t even buy soap for the kitchen. We can’t wash our goddam plates, can you believe that? Most of the staff is corrupt and smuggle in drugs and cigarettes. The food is filthy. Rats, mice, cockroaches, the place is not fit for habitation by humans.”
Teddy stayed silent and listened with interest to the colorful depiction of his new home.
“It gets worse,” Ray went on. “This snake pit has the highest death toll in the country, and it’s not even a maximum-security prison! You know what they do to the nutcases of the mental health unit? They beat the shit out them, they starve them. Some were so severely harassed that they saw no other way out that to commit suicide. It’s sickening.”
Teddy had just come to terms with his fate as a prisoner and now his new cellmate kept ranting about the precarious and revolting living conditions inside the place. Just fucking great, a few months of that and I’ll go nuts!
Ray Cooper had a heavy heart, and his monologue wasn’t over, “Guards are the biggest fucking liability here. They have no understanding of how shit works, the alliances, the feuds, the gangs. What gang are you in by the way?”
The question startled Teddy. He hadn’t given it any thoughts and realized that, like the guards, he had no knowledge of the power plays at work in Florida’s prisons. He mulled the question over for a few seconds and said triumphantly, “I’m in a one-man gang. The Harper gang.”
Raymond Cooper looked at him dubiously and replied, “Well… that doesn’t sound too good if you ask me. You won’t last a week if you go it alone. No one does.”
The Florida Department of Corrections claimed that over a hundred gangs operated in the state’s prison alone. The head of the institution had attempted to map them out earlier this year. The largest ones were the Latin Kings, the Gangster Disciples, the Folk Nation, the ruthless MS 13, the Crips, the Bloods, the Mexican Mafia, the Outlaws biker gang, and so forth. All those groups had their own moral codes, internal rules, rankings, customs, and initiations rites. More often than not, belonging was determined by race and skin color, rather than deliberate choice.
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