The Harvesters: A Detective Devora Lobos Novel

by William J Manning

  He turns left and heads down the road that will take us back to his houseboat. “Good, we can drive at a normal pace now.”

  ***

  Sipping a beer and puffing on a cancer stick, I watch the news cover our handiwork.

  Police say this was the work of a rival gang attacking the Trevino Cartel. The DEA believes the drugs’ burning was to send a message to Gabriella Trevino, the Queenpin of the Trevino Cartel.

  He steps out of the can and claps his hand. “Alright, our next move is to hit Radomir. Devora, this is where your Spanish comes in and Munroe, if you speak Spanish, please feel free.”

  She smiles. “Will do.”

  “So what’s a juicy target for Volkov?” I ask.

  “I was thinking hit one of his trucks transporting guns across the state lines to his people in Brighton Beach and Boston.”

  I rub my chin. “That could get pretty messy, but if it gets messy, it gets messy.” I glance at Munroe and Jerry.

  She shrugs. “I can live with that.”

  “I’m not losing sleep if we have to kill a few of these monsters,” Jerry adds.

  “So we follow one of their trucks and study its route, and then we set up an ambush point,” I say.

  Munroe crosses her arms. “It sounds like a brilliant plan, but what about its security detail?”

  “I’m working on that. For now, it’s just recon we don’t make a move till we have an ambush point, got it?”

  “Yeah, we got it,” Jerry says.

  I stand up and slip my gun into my holster. “Good. Let’s go.”

  ***

  We’re parked on the corner of the street, waiting for the truck to leave from the shipyard a few minutes later, a truck pulls out of the dockyard and heads north. Munroe starts the timer. I put my car into gear, tailing the box truck, and keep my distance. We follow the truck out of the city; the road transitions to an uneven, narrow dirt road. The car bounces and jerks us around. When we come to a big clearing with a warehouse sitting in a field encircled by a chain-linked fence, I stop the car on the edge of the road where gators are sunbathing along the dirt road.

  Definitely don’t want to break down here.

  “Best ambush point would be at that crossroads a few miles back from here,” I comment.

  “How long did it take us to get out here, Lobos?”

  Munroe looks at her phone. “I ran the timer on my phone till we got here. I would say forty-five minutes.” She groans. “Damn. I’d love to hit this place with CIRG, but right now, that’s not gonna happen.”

  “We don’t need your little SWAT team.” I turn the car and head back toward Miami. “Alright, let’s get back to the boat and plan our attack.”

  This plan is idiot-proof, but I’m no optimist. There’s always that chance that even idiot-proof plans can go to shit in a millisecond.

  Chapter 32

  Next day

  I’m hiding in the shrubs with Jerry while Munroe poses as the decoy to distract Radomir’s men. She does the telltale body language of a flustered motorist broke down in the middle of nowhere. Hopefully, the box truck won’t just plow through her car and keep going. But it’s okay; I got Jerry ready with the spike strip in case the driver gets a brainwave and realizes his load is being jacked.

  Munroe throws her hands up, waving to flag the truck down, but she also signaling us to get ready. The big-box truck comes into view and slows down. The driver climbs out of the cab and smiles at Munroe. “It’s okay, my dear, let’s see if we can get you rolling again,” he says.

  It looks like the driver is going to be the Good Samaritan and help a lady in need.

  Jerry and I slip our bandanas over our mouths and creep to the truck with our pistols at the ready. I give him the gesture to deal with the person assisting Munroe. We split off, and he heads to the driver using the ditch as concealment. I advance on the passenger side door. “Out of the truck, Pendejo.”

  He didn’t even flinch.

  This one could have hero syndrome.

  He snatches the barrel of my gun. It fires, sending a round through the windshield. He socks me in the nose and knocks me off the truck. I hit the ground hard, stunned; the wind knocked out of me; I gasp for air. Despite the pain surging through my face, training and muscle memory have taught me to go for my backup weapon. The passenger levels my service weapon at me, but my 357 magnum cracks off four rounds. Three rounds strike him in the neck and shoulder, my revolver roars again and cakes his brains on the windshield. His body goes limp, and arm slumps over the door frame, staring at me with his dead eyes blood runs down the side of the door. I lay on the ground, clutching my nose.

  The killing wasn’t part of the plan, but I’m not losing sleep over a murdering rapist.

  Footsteps shuffling through the grass are rapidly drawing closer. I see out my peripheral Munroe is racing toward me. She looms over me, staring at me with concern. A grunt bellows out of my mouth. “Am I still pretty?” my voice sardonic.

  She laughs. “Yeah, you’re alright.” she reaches down with her hand, and I grip her palm; she pulls me to my feet. I storm over to the driver, he’s slowly regaining consciousness. I jam my 357 to the back of his head. “You think we’re stupid, Pendejo? We know it was you who burned our money, cabrón.”

  “Where is, Ivan? What have you people done with Ivan?”

  “I scattered that pinche cabron’s brains all over the cab.”

  His body convulses as he sobs. “You are gonna die, bitch! You fucking whore! You and that cunt Gabriella.”

  I whack him in the back of the head with the revolver, knocking him out again. “Noted.”

  I pick up my Sig and join Munroe at the rear of the truck. “Ready?”

  I nod. “Do it.”

  She unlocks the door and raises it; the trailer is stocked to the ceiling with automatic small arms, explosives, and Gustav Recoilless rifle.

  Goddamn, no wonder the bikers were hitting their loads on the regular.

  Jerry pulls the car up but maintaining a safe distance from the truck. He steps out of my Dodge, lighting the rag on the Molotov. “Ladies, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of there.”

  We dart out of the truck, and he pitches the firebomb into the trailer. The bottle smacks the walls of the truck and shatters, slinging flames everywhere. Jerry hops into the driver’s seat and speeds down the two-lane road. I watch in the rearview, and the truck explodes into a giant fireball, blowing the hauler to pieces.

  Flames must’ve reached those Gustav shells.

  My eyes glance at them. “Good job, everyone.”

  Munroe stares at me with the look of something troubling her mind.

  I glance over my shoulder. “Something bothering you, Sarah?”

  “You think they bought it? You think Gabriella and Radomir are falling for this?”

  “You heard that driver, you people are gonna die, you and Gabriella. So I think he was sold.”

  “I am not talking about him, Devora. I’m talking about Radomir and Gabriella. Will they fall for our scheme?”

  I’m about to reply when Jerry jumps in. “Munroe, those two have been at each other’s throats for a long time, so their little ceasefire will not hold.”

  “Yeah, Sarah. Gabriella wants Miami; she’s just stringing Radomir along because they both have a mutual enemy. Us.”

  “Ah, the old enemy of my enemy is my ally type shit going on here, right?”

  “Yeah, till they don’t need each other anymore, and then it’s back to business as usual.”

  “We need to do something about that nose, Devora.”

  “Yeah, it’s still bleeding like a bastard.”

  ***

  The clinic patched me up and put a bandage on my nose. Munroe brought me a clean shirt from the gift shop, a Miami Heat T-shirt. I never cared much for basketball, but it will do till I can get back to my hotel. The real fuckaroo is this annoying bandage on my nose. Munroe spun a good yarn to keep the cops from coming to ask questions.
She told them my nose was broken in an MMA match. The medical staff must’ve bought the story because no cops were called. I pop ibuprofen they gave me for pain.

  Shit, my nose itches.

  I reach up to scratch it through the bandage; my body tenses up, and my eyes water. “Damn it!”

  Jerry smirks in the rearview mirror. “Your nose had an itch, and you tried to scratch it, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say, wincing.

  “Oh, man. Just wait till you have to sneeze or blow your nose. Whew! Talk about torture.”

  “Thanks, Sarah. I can always count on your warm bedside manner.”

  “Just call me Doctor Feel Good, Devora.”

  “Doctor Asshole is more like it,” I say.

  We arrive at Jerry’s house, and Munroe flips on the TV to the local news station, nothing yet. I pour myself a drink and light up a Marlboro and gaze out the window at the sunset through a haze of cigarette smoke.

  I know what I’m doing could cost me my career back home. Still, I don’t care. Those assholes don’t get to use me as their personal recon tool and then blackmail me when I want to take down Radomir, the man responsible for scores of people kidnapped and chopped up and sold for parts. He must pay.

  A breaking news headline appears on the TV. Another gangland-style attack today, this time on the Everglades highway, a man driving a truck full of illegal weapons was injured. His passenger was shot to death, then the assailants set his vehicle on fire. Anti-gang Taskforce believes the driver had ties to the Russian crime syndicate allegedly ran by Radomir Volkov. Some investigators believe this attack was a response from the Trevino Cartel for an attack that occurred on Wednesday evening.

  Gabriella and Radomir are probably regretting their little business arrangement now, I bet.

  Jerry pops the cap off a beer. “Yeah, that should get both of them shitting bricks sideways.”

  “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “So what’s our end game with all this,” Munroe says.

  I take a swig of my Tequila. “We sit back and let them slaughter each other like the murdering bastards they are.” I sit my empty glass on the table and head to the door.

  Munroe’s brow furrows. “Where are you going, Devora?”

  “I’m going back to my Hotel and coping some Zs. Besides, we need to sit back and make sure they’re fully at war with each.”

  “I’ll put out feelers and let you know if it’s war or not,” Jerry says.

  “Good. Keep us posted.”

  “You got it.”

  I leave his boat while hoping the Volkov syndicate and Trevino cartel fell for my ruse.

  Blue Dolphin Resort

  I slide the keycard into my door; the room is pitch black, and I see an all too familiar site put on display at the table. Two candles positioned on the opposite sides illuminate Santa Muerte’s statue. A picture of me is laid at the foot of the effigy. I frantically yank my gun from my holster.

  Shit.

  A dark shadow lurks near the bathroom and my heart jigs. The figure is soundless and motionless. The flicker of the candles glints off his predatory eyes, giving the impression he was sent to collect my soul. I aim my weapon at him. “Identify yourself or die.”

  “Hello, Devora,” the figure speaks with a familiar voice.

  I breathe in frustration. “Santos! What do you want?”

  “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t recognize your tactics with our drug boats and Radomir’s arms shipments?”

  “Gabriella sent you to kill me?”

  “Yes, but I’m here to talk.”

  “Well, then what the hell is with all theatrics?”

  “I have to keep up appearances.”

  “She was going to kill me all along, even if I had abandoned my investigation of Radomir.”

  “Yes. You’re a loose end. I wanted to tell you, Devi, but it wasn’t the right timing.”

  “Does she know I’m behind those attacks?”

  “No, only me.”

  “Why are you disobeying her orders?”

  “Because I don’t like her in business with that psycho Radomir. That bastard is too impulsive. He’ll destroy the empire I helped her build.”

  I roll my eyes and crane my neck. “Like I give a fuck some drug queen ruins herself.”

  He lets a light chuckle. “I know not much of a sale, but what if I could get you close to Gabriella?”

  “Close to do what?”

  “Kill her, of course.”

  “Santos, I can’t just kill in cold blood anymore. I’m not living as Cortana I don’t have the CIA’s license to kill anymore.”

  “You’re past has sabotaged any legal means of incrementing her or Radomir. So I don’t see any other option for you, no?”

  As much as I hate it, the asshole is right. I don’t have any other option on shutting down Radomir or Gabriella, not as long as she has that leverage against me and Munroe.

  “Okay, let’s say I kill Gabriella. What about the leverage she has over me and Munroe?”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “Hey, just because we used to be fuck buddies doesn’t mean I trust you. So you tell me your plan on getting that shit on me away from her.”

  “She keeps the files on you in a flash drive in her desk and one with a lawyer back in Mexico.”

  “What if she has more than two backups?”

  “She doesn’t. As far as I know, she just has the two thumb drives with dirt on you and Munroe.”

  “As far as you know? You’re not inspiring much confidence here, Santos.”

  “You want to retrieve the evidence against you? I’m all you got?”

  “How do you plan on getting me in?”

  “I’ll get back to you on that.”

  I sigh. “Of course you will.”

  Despite sleeping with him in the past has ruined this case, I’m still feeling a fire in my loins to make me want to jump his bones, but I must resist it.

  “Look, I promise I will get back to you, okay?” He walks past me.

  “Santos.” My voice soft.

  He stops at the door. “Yeah?”

  “Were you… really going to kill me?”

  He yanks his mask off and smiles at me. “No. I wasn’t.”

  The corner of my mouth curves into a lustful grin, and I stare him up and down, undressing Santos with my eyes. “Get outta here before we do something we shouldn’t. And take all this Santa Muerte stuff with you.”

  He laughs. “Don’t make my mind go into the gutter, Devora.”

  “Just get me to where I can steal that thumb drive from that bitch.”

  “I will, Devora?” he walks over and grips my ass, pulling me close to him. “Sure we can’t give into a little nostalgia?”

  My breath quivers as a tingling sensation builds in my lady bits. I frantically unfasten his belt and slip my hands down his pants, massaging his firm member. He kisses me, caressing my boobs. I yank my shirt off, and he leans down, and he briefly sucks on one of my nipples. He spins me around, and he grabs my waist, yanking my pants down to my ankles, and shoves me on the bed, pinning my hands down. I gasp sharply and dig my fingers into the sheet as he plunges deep inside. He breathes raggedly as he ravages me, jolting me forward. Santos wraps his arm around my chest and lays down on top of me, kissing my neck. I groan as he pierces me deeper and snatches a wad of my hair.

  So much for not doing something we shouldn’t, but I missed this so much.

  ***

  Santos’s arm wrapped around me, my bare leg hangs, and my breasts hang out of the sheets. He pours us both a drink. “I see you never got the tattoos removed; why?”

  I glance at my sleeve tat and shrug. “I don’t know… I guess I kind of grew to love them. That and too fucking painful to remove.”

  His smile glints off the candlelight. “Funny you don’t seem to mind a bit of a pain in the bed.”

  I slap his chest. “Oh, shut up, pendejo.”

  He pushes a strand
of damp hair off my forehead. “I love how the sweat glistens off your body in the candlelight.”

  I take a sip of my drink. “Well, maybe if we go again I can sparkle for you.”

  He laughs. “I forgot what a wise ass you are.” He notices my black eye. “Who the won boxing match?”

  I grin at him. “Me, of course.” My smile shifts to a frown.

  He notes my expression. “What’s wrong?”

  I throw the covers off of me and sit on the edge of the bed, laying my head in my hands. “Can’t believe I’ve done this again. I mean, what the hell is wrong with me. This is the very thing that ruined my case, and now here I am slutting it up again.” I grab the bottle of Jameson and take a gulp.

  “Devora, it doesn’t matter this time. The case was already fucked.”

  “You gotta get out of here. If Gabriella finds out about us screwing again, she’ll kill you for sure this time.”

  “I’m not worried about her.”

  “I didn’t say you were. I just don’t want you dying because of me.”

  He scoots forward, wrapping his arms around me, kissing my shoulder. “It’ll be fine, amiga. We’ve always gotten each other out of jams like in the old days.”

  I glance over my shoulder. “In the old days, we had the CIA giving us support along with a Seal Team.”

  “Yes, but if we watch other’s back on this one, it should be fine.”

  “I hope so, Santos.”

  “It will.” He playfully tugs on my arm. “Come on, I’m ready for another round. I want to see if you can sparkle.”

  I turn around, sitting Indian style. “How can you be ready again? It’s not been that long.”

  He sighs. “What can I say? It’s been a while.”

  I shove him back on to the bed and straddle him. “Okay, but this time I’m going to be on top, and you’re just going to lie there and let it happen.”

  He lays his hands on the bed, giving me a shit-eating grin.

  I scoff. “Squeeze my ass or something. Don’t be a limp piece of meat.”