“Thanks, Deputy.”
I examine his body closer. Raul’s skin is a dark purple and scarlet red his bones warped where the hammers struck his torso, and blood spatter on the bay window a blood pattern in an odd design on the floor from where the impacts were knocking him around like a punching bag.
I hope all the money and fame was worth it in the end, little brother.
“This wasn’t the Russians. So who do we know that sends multiple killers on a snitch?”
“Bikers are known for this,” Roth replies.
“Who’s the big biker gang in the area?”
“Mongols MC is the big one. They used to squabble with the Warlocks, but the feud is long over. We’ve had a few issues with the Mongols in my town, but nothing serious, just drunken bar brawls.”
“Where can I find them?”
“They own some bar over on South Beach. C’mon, I’ll show ya how to get there.”
I put the car in gear and head to South Beach. “Who’s the leader?”
“Darrel Krieg. The Collier County Sheriff Department has been trying to connect him with hijackings of semis. Unfortunately, we’ve never been able to link him to the crimes.”
“What was in the trucks?”
“We found meth residue in one of the trucks he cleaned out and abandoned in the woods.”
“Who did the truck belong to?”
“Radomir Volkov.”
“How’d the Russians respond?”
“They shit a goddamn brick and firebombed their MC club in Key West, killing dozens of members.”
“My brother was a big cash cow for the Russians with his concerts. I’m wondering if his murder was used as a way to hit back at Radomir.”
“Yeah, Raul performed in Everglades City; we busted some drug peddlers in his crowd for pushing speed and meth. Naturally, they all lost their ability to say anything other than call my attorney.” She glances at the ocean on the right side of the road. “Do you think your brother was mixed up with the Harvesters?”
“The mayor said he was, but I know he brought in a bunch of money with his concerts because he allowed the Russians to sell their product at his events along with snatching up groupies.”
“So it makes sense the Mongols killed him.”
“Seems like a pretty clear motivation. Russians seem to have a corner on the entertainment industry in this town. Mongols wanted to destroy that.”
“Pull down this street, and we’re here.”
The Drunken Spider
The bar is full of bikers chugging beers and whiskey. Two other bikers have a man pushed against the wall, slugging him in the gut, shaking him down for money he owes.
I stroll up to a towering tree trunk of a man. He’s bald, his head covered in a wolf tattoo, and he’s wearing jeans and a black leather MC jacket. The mountain man looks down at us as we approach him. He crosses his arms. “Hang on, ladies, Krieg isn’t taking visitors today.”
I pull my badge. “Not even for VIP members?”
He sighs. “Honey, you’re either brave or stupid, flashing that piece of jewelry in here.”
“Listen, pendejo. You can let me talk to him, or I can come back with a few agents tearing this place apart.”
He chuckles. “Oh, is that right? How about we just kick the shit out of you two before you leave?”
A voice roars out from the backroom. “Clay!” Another tall man strolls out of the backroom wearing a Denim jacket with the Mongols logo stitched into it. “Watcha want, G-Woman?”
“Can we speak somewhere without all the noise?”
He nods. “My office.”
Heading down the hall, there are other members in the MC watching me with vigilant eyes; some have a look like they’re begging me to try something. Some of them look like seasoned members; others are just young punks with itchy trigger fingers, probably empty a whole clip just to hit one person
Krieg opens the door and gestures to two leather lounge chairs. “Pigs first.”
I scoff. “Cute.”
Roth and I sit in the chairs, and Krieg sits behind the desk, kicking his feet up on the desk. He pulls out three glasses and fills them up with ice and Jack Daniels. “Drinks?”
I take the glass. “Don’t mind if I do.”
“How about you, Deputy? Or are you still a fucking square these days?”
She waves her hand. “No, thank you.”
He forces a smile on his face. “You know, in some cultures, it’s considered an insult to refuse a gift. Tell me… are you insulting me?” he lays a 1911 on the desk with the Screaming Eagles logo engraved into the handle.
“Christ, Emma. One drink won’t kill you.”
He beams a bright smile and throws his arms out to his side. “Listen to the G-Woman. She knows how to kick back.”
He claps his hands and rests his arms on the desk. “What can I do you for, agent woman?”
I take a sip of my drink and wince as it burns going down. “My brother Raul was killed earlier today. Some people beat him to death with hammers. You know anything about that?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Really?”
He turns his head to his side. “You gotta hearing problem, G-woman?”
“Funny, because he works for the Russians, and he ends up dead. Killed in the usual way your people deal with snitches.”
“Maybe they found out his sister is working for the DEA, Devora Lobos.”
“You knew he was related to me?”
“Yeah, that’s the only reason I didn’t tell Clay to throw your asses out.” His eyes glance up and down. “Listen, I’m deeply sorry for your loss. Aside from your brother being a bit of a cocky somebitch, he was a good guy. We didn’t kill him, though.”
“How do you know one of your people didn’t go rogue?”
“Then they best hope I don’t find out, or I’ll feed them to the goddamn reptiles in the swamp.”
I don’t know why, but I believe him.
“Okay, so who killed him, and why would they make it look like your people did it?”
He shrugs. “Some asshole wants us to destroy each other so they can slip right on in and fill the vacuum.”
“What sparked the war between you and Radomir?”
He gulps down his drink and briefly stares at a picture on his desk. “They killed my sister, who was running the Baton Rouge chapter. Sick fucks brutally raped her, filmed it, and sent it to me… after they were done, they cut her head off and sent it to me. So if you’re here to get in my way.” He picks up his pistol and aims at me. “Let me know now so I can just kill the both of you and dump your asses in the swamp.”
I raise a glass to him. “I think Miami will be better off without people like Radomir running around.”
He replies with a toast. “Look, Devora? Can I call you Devora?”
“Sure, just don’t call me hon again.”
“Devora, I don’t know who was behind your brother’s death, but I can tell you this: I’m not the only one Radomir’s pissed off.”
“Who else has he pissed off?”
He pours another drink. “Few months ago, he had a meeting with the leader of the Trevino Cartel Gabriella Cruz Trevino. She wanted to get in on his meth racket, but in reality, I think she wanted to seize his territory like what this country did to the Natives land.”
“I’m guessing Radomir declined her offer?”
He laughs briefly. “That’s one way of putting it. Radomir didn’t just tell her no, he spat in her face and told her he wouldn’t do business with a bunch of spics.”
“War was on after that,” Roth added.
He glances at her with a severe look in his eyes. “You’re goddamn right? World War fucking three in Miami. She kidnapped several of Volkov’s men and hung them up with their guts hanging out along with weaponizing the FBI and the Coast Guard.”
“Miami just got more interesting. You want to burn Radomir down, and Trevino wants to take over Radomir’s turf. What a
bout you? Did you ever try to get in on Harvester’s racket?”
He lights up a cigar. “I’m into a lot of shit, but that organ trade shit that’s just fucked up. Man’s gotta keep some shred of humanity in this business.”
“Are you at war with the Cartel too?”
“No. However, I don’t fucking appreciate being framed for killing a friend of mine.”
“What’re you going to do about Gabriella?”
“With her, I’m just playing it by ear, Devora. The Sinaloa Cartel has more muscle than us and a shitload more money. Gabriella has shown no interest in our operations, which is a plus. Going to war with her is something one does when their depressed.”
“How can you be sure you’re not the next one in Gabriella’s crosshairs?”
He pours himself another drink and tops off my glass. “I had a sit down with her, and one thing I learned about her is she only goes to war if she deems it as lucrative. As you no doubt had learned from Deputy Roth, we’re scraps compared to Radomir’s operation. Gabriella’s like a great white, she goes for the fish with the most meat.”
“What can you tell me about the Harvesters?”
“Talk to Gabriella; she knows a good deal about them. She hates them as much as you do.”
“You gotta way I can reach her?”
He furrows his brow, fidgeting with his glass. “Yeah, but I can’t guarantee she’ll sit down with you.”
“Oh, something tells me she’ll be highly interested when I tell her she killed my brother.”
He chuckles. “You’re one crazy bitch, Devora. You’re alright, though.”
“You and my sister are related, I think.”
He laughs. “Great minds and all that. Before you go, you and Deputy Roth are welcome here, provided you don’t stand in our way when we move out to kill that somebitch.”
“My hearing is not so good. Maybe I should get a hearing aid. What do you think, Deputy?”
“You know what, Agent Lobos, my hearing is going too.”
“Darrel, do you have her number?”
“Yes, but I can’t give it to you. She’ll kill me.”
“Give her message then?”
“And tell her what?”
“Tell her she killed my brother, and I would like to speak with her.”
He stares at me with shock. “You sure that’s wise? I mean, she’s liable to shoot you before you even say a word.”
“Also, tell her I want to bring down Radomir.”
He sighs. “Okay, that may buy you some dialogue.”
I send him a text, so he has my number. “Give her my number and text me when you sent her the message.”
“It will be quick, don’t worry.”
I stand up from the chair. “Thanks for the info, Darrel.”
“No problem. Again, sorry for your loss.”
I nod. “Hmm.”
***
I’m meeting with the cartel with them, knowing I’m the sister of the man they killed. This should be interesting.
I pull the car into the hotel parking lot. Mateo is leaning against a car with two big guys dressed in all black and with Santa Muerte emblems on their belt buckles, black sunglasses and snakeskin boots covered with skulls on the toes of the boots. I had no idea Mateo was working for Gabriella so much for starting his own empire back up. “That was quick.”
She glances at the two men and Mateo. “Are they here to kill us or talk?”
I put the car in park and open the door. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
Mateo smiles. “Hola, Muchacha.”
What the fuck is Mateo doing here? I saved his life now. What the hell does he want?
“Hola,” I say. “I take it Gabriella is taking precautions by sending two Sicarios with you.”
“Well, mi amiga, you can’t blame her; she killed your brother and thought you may be out for vengeance, which brings us to the next topic. Your weapons give them to me.”
Roth grips her sidearm, and the Sicarios reach in their coats. “Whoa!”
“Better tell her to take a deep breath, Devora.”
“Roth, give him the gun. We don’t have beef with them.”
“Actually, Gabriella just wants you to come along. You can tell Officer Roth to go home.”
“Are you sure this is wise, Lobos?”
“It’ll be fine, Roth. Go home.”
She reluctantly leaves me with Mateo and the two sicarios.
One of the suits opens the back door. I hand my weapons to the sicario and climb in the backseat. Mateo climbs in on the opposite side. The car leaves the parking lot.
“Where are you taking me to meet your boss?”
“She has a villa in Marathon, Florida.”
“What happened to be your own boss? All that talk back in Tampa about you starting over and rebuilding your business, was that just talk?”
“No, and Gabriella is more like a business partner. She helps me distribute my product with a much lower risk of cops jacking my shipments.”
“I’m guessing that’s why she wants Radomir out of South Beach and the port area, right?”
“Yes. Tell me, are you planning to kill Gabriella?”
“What I’m about to say may sound cold, and you likely won’t believe me, but my brother chose this life so he could be a big shit rock star with fame and money, and it got him killed in the end. So to answer your question, am I out to kill Gabriella? No.”
He stares at me wide-eyed. “You’re right. That is some cold-blooded shit, but something tells me you have no interest in making arrests on us. Yes, you got your nose into something else.”
“I do. Radomir’s black market organ harvesting operation.”
“Gabriella heard about that sick shit, and she wants no part of it, and she wants none of that shit in her territory.”
“That is one thing me and her can agree on.”
“Why the fuck are you DEA again?”
“It’s a long story.”
“What the hell else are you doing, mi amiga?”
I guess there’s no harm in telling him after all my brother is dead and his troubles are over.
“I joined the DEA to help my brother, and as you can see, that went well.” I notice we are leaving the city and heading across the six-mile bridge with the ocean on both sides of the bridge. “He saved my life. Trying to get him out of this mess was my way of paying him back, but it turns out he dug his own grave in the end. I never was able to pay him back.”
“That’s rough. Amiga.”
I wipe the tears from my eyes. “Yeah.”
“So you’re not pissed at my boss?”
“Why would I be?”
I’m incredibly pissed about his death, but what can you do? He brought all this on himself.
“My brother was dead the minute he shot a DEA agent and the Mayor. Your boss just hurried it along.”
“Still, that is some cold-blooded shit to not want vengeance for him.”
“Listen, Mateo, if you’re worried I’m gonna shoot your boss in the face, then relax. I have no intentions of killing Gabriella.”
“If you say so, Devora.” His tone laden with skepticism.
***
The car stops in front of a large two-story Spanish villa-style home on the beach, which is heavily guarded by men in suits with handguns on their hips; some of them are packing M4’s. Mateo and the guards escort me up the white gravel path flanked by pink flamingo ornaments on opposite sides of the way. A slender man with a handgun on each hip pushes the door, and I step into a giant foyer with a u-shaped set of stairs looming over me.
Here I am in the Lion’s den with no gun, surrounded by heavily armed narco soldiers who are worried I’m going to kill their boss for my brother, so I’d say my Monday is off to a good start.
These narco soldiers are not your typical cartel slouches. These guys look professionally trained. I’m not surprised because, in the past, cartel bosses have paid mercenaries to give their soldiers Spe
cial Forces level training, especially to their Sicarios.
“Detective Lobos!” A soft voice enunciates my name in a refined Mexican accent. I turn, and there’s a middle-aged woman in a red skirt with long wavy brown hair that drapes down over her shoulders. “Oh, wait… it’s Special Agent Lobos now, isn’t it? It is so nice to see you again. Tell me, how does one go from DEA to Police officer and back to DEA? That doesn’t seem like proper protocol.”
Shit. I should have known her helping me shut down the Vargas Cartel would come back to bite me in the ass.
“Is that why you brought me here to discuss proper hiring procedures of the DEA?”
Gabriella laughs as she strolls down the stairs. “Mateo said you had a sharp wit.”
“How’d ‘you even know about me rejoining the DEA?”
She stops a few feet away from me and smiles. “Agent Lobos, have you forgotten how resourceful I am? I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a long time. You do owe me for sparing your life that day.”
“Right. So can we stop with the theatrics and get down to the reason I am here?”
“Very direct. I admire that. Come.” I follow her outside to a pool area that overlooks the ocean. She calls over her Butler. “Bring me a rum on the rocks, Ramone. Lobos, do you want anything?”
“Are you planning to poison me?”
Her eyebrows raise. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t’ve wasted time setting up a meeting with you, no?”
“Fine, get me a bourbon on the rocks.”
Ramone nods. “Very well, Bourbon on the rocks, and I shall hold the poison, Agent Lobos.”
She lets out a cackle. “Oh, Ramone, you are horrible.”
“So why’d you drag me all the way out here?”
She crosses her legs and rests her arm on the chair, grinning like a wolf that has its prey cornered. “I know you seek to shut down the Harvesters and Radomir.”
“And I know you’re planning to fill the vacuum when Radomir’s gone, but how can you be so sure the bikers will win the war?”
Our drinks arrive at the table, and I take a sip from the glass, and she does the same from hers.
Shit, this is some top-shelf bourbon. Better than the cheap shit I buy back home.
“Radomir’s time is running out. Soon he will be dead or in prison. I tried to be diplomatic with him, become business partners, but he spat in my face and uttered a racial slur at me; the man has no morals or business acumen. Miami is about to be under new management.”
The Harvesters Page 8
