Catch of the Day

The sun was an orange tennis ball bouncing down on the plate glass ocean surface. A light breeze pushed air over the aft deck of Vellamo, drying some of the beaded sweat on Sonny Crockett’s forehead. He squinted through his Ray-Bans, letting a little bit more line play out from his reel. He didn’t care if he caught anything or not. It wasn’t that kind of trip.

Somewhere below deck Ricardo Tubbs and Mindy O’Laughlin were busy throwing together a salad, and Jenny Walker was catching some sun on the saloon roof after furling her boat’s sails. It had been a rough couple of weeks, and the ocean seemed like the perfect solution. Their new boat, Tranquility, wasn’t ready to sail yet, and his own St. Vitus Dance was having some overdue work done on the auxiliary diesel engine. So they’d taken Jenny’s boat instead, shedding its smuggling past with some fishing and casual dining out of sight of land. Out here you could almost pretend the Job didn’t exist.

Feeding out some more line, he leaned back against the settee cushions and sighed. The fact was he wasn’t much of a deep-sea fishing guy, at least not on a sailboat and when the marlin weren’t running. But it was relaxing as hell to just sit there, feed out line, reel it back in, and then cast out again pretending you were doing something. Sometimes he’d do it just to let his mind wander back over things, sort out problems, or just vegetate on the cushions like now and think about nothing in particular except maybe his next beer and what might be for dinner. That brought a smile to his face. With Jenny on board he knew what would be for dessert.

The booming of twin V-8s echoing over the water snapped him out of his fishing coma. In these waters twin V-8s meant a Cigarette boat, and go-fasts usually came with trouble attached. He reeled in the line, pushing his sunglasses up on his nose and checking the position of his big Smith & Wesson 4506-1 between the cushions next to him. Relaxing was one thing, being stupid was another. And being on the Task Force had taught him more about the difference than all his prior years of police work combined, bringing back lessons learned in Vietnam and almost forgotten.

“Got someone coming to pay us a visit,” he said, angling his head so his words would carry down the gangway. “Tubbs, you and Mindy stay out of sight. Jenny, you might want…”

“I’ve got my .45 up here, Sonny. I can look after myself.”

“That I know, darlin’.” He thought back to the man she’d killed in the hospital…the one who’d been coming for Trudy. “That I know,” he said, lower. More for himself than anyone else. Then he brought his voice back up. “Showtime.”

Someone had painted the Cigarette boat a garish red, complete with a bright one foot wide gold stripe running the length of the hull. It approached Vellamo at speed, throttling back when it got within fifty yards and coming about so its momentum carried it almost up to the rail. Sonny could see two men in the cockpit…one with his hands on the controls and the other holding what looked like a Mini-14. “So this ain’t a friendly call,” he muttered, shifting so he was a hair closer to his pistol. “Afternoon,” he shouted over the powerboat’s idling engines. “Fishing here ain’t that great, and you boys just made it a hell of a lot worse.”

The man with the rifle turned to his partner and rattled off some quick sentences in Spanish. Wish I would have taken those damned language classes. Hope Mindy or Rico got some of that. Then he turned back to Sonny with a sneer twisting his face under big sunglasses. “For us the fishing is good. We’re fishing for boats, and it looks like we caught one.”

Jenny sat up, her thick blonde hair swirling in the light breeze and her bikini top fluttering like a wounded butterfly to the saloon roof. “How can you fish for boats?”

Sonny grinned as the men shifted their gazes almost as one. Can’t say’s I blame them. Jenny topless is a sight to behold. Reflexes honed by years on the Job took over, his fingers closing on the butt of his big .45 and raising it in a two-handed grip. “Drop the rifle! Drop it now!”

He sensed rather than saw Jenny roll to the side, knowing she’d come up with her own pistol. The man’s Mini-14 was one of the stainless steel models common on boats, and it glittered in the sun as he turned back toward Crockett. There was no hesitation in his movement, no sign of surrender.

The echoes of two shots chased each other across the ocean, followed by the heavy slap of a body hitting the water. The second man’s hands shot high in the air, his eyes fixed on the wide mouth of Sonny’s 4506-1, the equally wide muzzle of Jenny’s Safari Arms .45, and the slightly smaller Walther of Ricardo Tubbs standing in the gangway. Rico looked over at his partner and smiled. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I? Always hogging all the action.”

 

Captain Martin Castillo didn’t look up until Sonny was almost done with the after-action briefing. They were in the conference room of the Task Force’s headquarters on the tenth floor of an unremarkable office building. Jenny had come along as she’d been a witness to the shooting, and Rico and Mindy sat next to each other on the other side of the table. The other members of the Task Force weren’t present. They’d be called in soon enough.

Sonny cleared his throat. “We had the Coast Guard bring the driver in, Captain. Turns out he’s a low-level punk who pulls the occasional drug run to feed his own habits. He says this was his first trip with the other guy, a punk named Victor Yerez. We recovered his ID with the body. The Mini-14’s on the bottom of the ocean.”

“You said they were trying to steal the boat?”

“That’s what he said, Martin.” Jenny had a clear voice when she felt the need. “I heard the whole thing.”

Mindy nodded. “I was below, but I heard them talking before the shooting. As soon as they came alongside they started speaking Spanish.”

Sonny nodded. “Most I can do is order tacos, and half the time I get that wrong.”

Mindy smiled. “Rico’s Spanish is good, but mine’s better. Victor said they were behind on their quota and the boss would be mad. The driver said they were supposed to grab power boats, and Victor said this might be the bottom of the barrel, but it would have to do. Nothing special about the dialect. If I had to guess, I’d say they were raised in Miami.”

Jenny snorted. “Now I wish I would have shot him. Vellamo is anything but…”

Castillo raised his hand. “You shouldn’t be surprised drug runners can’t recognize a limited-production sailboat.” He turned back to Sonny. “They’ve done this before.” It wasn’t a question.

“We think so. I talked with the Coast Guard when we were coming back in with the prisoner. The cutter captain said they’ve had reports of one or two go-fasts going missing in that area, and they normally target other traffickers…”

“They wouldn’t report the loss.”

Tubbs frowned. “That’s what got me thinking, captain. A crew doing a rip job is gonna take the cargo an’ sink the boat. Kill the crew. And we sure didn’t look like a runner.”

“I agree.” Castillo paused, the silence hanging heavy in the room. “Miss Walker, thank you for coming in. Lieutenant Crockett, you can take her home. Lieutenant Tubbs, get the rest of the Task Force to work. We need to know what else is going on. That means everything on missing boats and Victor Yerez. I might stop by the Coast Guard station and talk to the pilot.”

 

Martin Castillo eased the dark Mercedes sedan into the late afternoon traffic. His sunglasses hugged his face, and with his dark suit and narrow black leather tie he might have been mistaken for an undertaker or possibly a casually-dressed priest. The thought almost made him smile. In his younger, foolish days he might have considered becoming a priest, but given the course his life had taken being an undertaker would be far more practical.

He navigated the traffic without effort, his mind easing its way through the situation. He didn’t like it when his team came under attack, even if they were random targets. No. Especially when they’re random targets. Premeditated targeting he could identify and punish, especially with the Task Force at his back. Random was harder. You had to find motive, and sometimes there wasn’t one. And for Castillo it all came down to motive.

He’d been a detective of sorts most of his life, first as an operative for the CIA, later for the DEA, and then Metro-Dade. The Marshal’s Service Task Force was the pinnacle of his career, a fusion of some of the best cops…the best people…he’d ever known. If there was any motive here, they’d find it. No question. Sonny and Rico were both skilled interrogators, but Castillo learned the trade in the hard school of Southeast Asia. He had yet to meet a drug dealer or runner who could stand with the weakest Viet Cong, let alone the hardened cadres of the North Vietnamese Army.

The Coast Guard station was a cluster of whitewashed buildings down by a series of docks currently hosting two cutters and a number of smaller launches. Castillo flashed his credentials at the main desk, and was soon talking to the lieutenant in charge. A stocky man with a face lined by years at sea, he introduced himself as Yates.

“I want you to hold the prisoner my people brought in in segregation. No one goes in or out without your approval or mine. In writing. He’s under a special Federal hold as of now. Have your people direct any questions to the Marshal’s Service office.”

Yates nodded. “Man doesn’t say much in any case. We did finally confirm his name. Hidalgo Peron. That’s not the name on his ID, but it’s the one that came back when we ran his prints through the system. He’s been busted a handful of times for trafficking. Mostly running small amounts of coke on his boat. Never over a kilo, so nothing big stuck.” He handed Castillo a teletype copy of the man’s basic rap sheet and information.

Castillo nodded. “This is out of his league.”

“Yeah, I’d say so, captain. He was scared shitless when my men got him on the cutter, and I’d say he’s still scared shitless in that holding cell. Hasn’t asked for a lawyer, either. It’s almost like…”

“…he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here.” Castillo finished the man’s thought. “That’s what I’m counting on. Show me your interview room and then set him up there.”

Without his big sunglasses Hidalgo Peron looked like a waiter from one of the beachfront cafés who’d gotten lost and suddenly realized he was in the bad part of Overton. His thick hair made his head look oversized, especially when compared to his thin frame. Watching through the glass, Castillo let him sit and twitch for a good five minutes before nodding to Yates and heading into the room.

Peron jumped almost three inches out of his chair when the room door clicked shut. Castillo ignored the movement, walked around the table, and sat down across from the man. He didn’t look up…just sat there for another five minutes. Listening to Peron’s rapid breathing, his fingers tapping on the table, his right foot bouncing to a different time count, smelling his sweat in the close air of the room. Then it happened. “I don’t…”

“I think you do, Hidalgo.” Castillo still didn’t look up. “Yes, I know who you are. Hidalgo Peron. Twenty-seven. Grew up on the edges of Little Havana. In and out of trouble since you were sixteen. But nothing like this.”

“Victor…it was his…”

“Victor is dead, Hidalgo. Nothing is his now.” Castillo switched to Spanish, letting his fluid Cubano accent come through strong. “All that is left is you. And the boat you tried to steal. Those were my people, you understand.” He looked up, fixing Peron with a distant stare. “My people. What I must know is who sent you to them.”

“It’s not like that! Victor, he hired me to drive. He knows I got boat skills, an’ he didn’t. Orders were to go out an’ get a boat and bring it back. Cigarette if we could find one. But there wasn’t nothin’ out there but cabin cruisers loaded with tourists.” Peron’s eyes were wide, so wide Castillo was almost afraid his eyeballs would pop out of his head. “I swear on my mother! I was tired, but Victor didn’t want to go back with nothin’.”

“Go back where, Hidalgo?”

“To the boss. I never met her, honest. But she scared Victor. Bad.”

“Does she have a name?”

 

Half an hour later the Task Force was assembled around the big conference room table. Sonny and Rico sat near the head, with Mindy O’Laughlin and Trudy Castillo close behind. Stan Switek and Lester Franz, the Task Force’s technical geniuses, held down the far end, and between them were two former Marine Scout-Snipers, Dave Blair and Randy Mather. Dave, Randy, and Mindy were all Deputy U.S. Marshals, while the rest came from Metro-Dade’s old Organized Crime Bureau.

Castillo was wrapping up his report. “Lieutenant Yates agreed to hold Peron in segregation and let it be known two bodies were recovered with the Cigarette boat instead of just one. They’re still tracing the boat, but it was recently repainted and most likely stolen.”

Sonny nodded. “That fits with what we know so far. Did this Peron know the name of the person in charge?”

“Yes. Isabella Dominguez.”

Sonny froze, spiders dancing on the back of his neck as the name wormed its way though his memories and into dark corners he didn’t care to explore too often. “Hang on, captain. I know that damned name.” He closed his eyes, letting his mind slip back to what he thought of as his Burnett space. He’d forgotten much, blocked out much more, but there were times when he needed to visit it. Things started to click. “She went by Bella then.”

Rico shook his head. “When?”

“Back when I…when I was running the Carrera organization. When I was Burnett.” And when I tried to kill you, Rico. “She went by Bella Dominguez. Had a fast boat and wasn’t afraid to use it. She sub-contracted with us…I mean with them. I always thought Cliff must have had her killed when things fell apart, but I also didn’t look too hard.”

“Sergeant Castillo and Deputy O’Laughlin will pull her sheet.” Castillo looked up, locking Sonny with his stare. “I want to know what’s not on that sheet.”

“She was a good pilot. Gusty. I remember she ran her Scarab through a brewing hurricane once. Brought in close to three hundred keys on that one. When someone asked her about it, she said a little rain didn’t frighten her but she knew the Coasties would be in port and their aircraft grounded.” He shook his head. “Hell of a risk, but I couldn’t argue with her logic. Cliff did, though.” He paused, sorting through memories that stuttered like a projector skipping frames. “Course I think he always wanted to sleep with her and was pissed when she blew him off.”

“Who did she work with?”

“No one. That’s the funny part. She always worked alone. Said she only worked with people she trusted, and then she’d grin.”

Castillo nodded and then turned. “Castillo, O’Laughlin. We need workups on her, Peron and Yerez, known associates, and two properties.” He slid a notepad to Trudy. “The addresses are there. Both are places Peron says he met with Dominguez and Yerez. He never met with Dominguez alone.”

Randy looked at Dave and nodded. “We’ll check our overwatch grids, boss. See what we’ve got laid out for those addresses. We’ve worked that neighborhood before, so there should be some good spots planned out already.”

Sonny heard the normal planning talk flowing around him, but he’d stopped listening as soon as Castillo slid the pad to Trudy. Everything was on autopilot now, like it always was when the Task Force kicked into gear. But his brain was still stuttering. Thoughts bouncing just out of reach. Then one clicked. “Captain? All we need to do is find her physical location.”

Castillo looked up. “Explain.”

“Don’t you see? Her two goofballs tried to steal Sonny Burnett’s boat. The boat he was using to show an important out of town buyer a good time.”

Rico started to grin. “An’ there’s no way ol’ Burnett could let that go. Or Mr. Cooper, come to think on it.”

Sonny shook his head. “Not Cooper. I was thinking more of Marcus Jefferson. The Bella I remember liked two things above all…fast boats and fast cars. She knows Burnett is in transport, but if we dangle a northern wheelman in front of her…”

“Marcus likes the sound of this deal.” Rico’s grin was wider than ever, his voice morphing into the cocky street twang of Marcus Jefferson. “Marcus likes it a whole hell of a lot.”

Castillo held up his hand. “Information first. We need to know the form of our enemy before stepping to its face.”

“More Hmong wisdom?”

“No, Dave. Fortune cookie I got in San Francisco when I came back from Thailand.” Castillo’s lips twitched into his version of a faint smile. “Now let’s get to work. We reconvene in two hours.”

Back in their office, Sonny sank into his desk chair with a groan. “Sorry, Rico. I didn’t mean to ambush you with Marcus. That cover just feels better for this deal.”

“Hey, no big deal. You know the lady an’ I don’t.”

“The thing is, Rico, do I know her? Looking back on that time is like trying to see through morning fog out on the water. I know what I think I see, but I ain’t sure if it’s a damned buoy or a supertanker with a running light burned out. You know what I mean?”

“I think I do, Sonny. But try, partner. That’s all I’m asking’.” Rico paused, turning to look out their window. “Burnett’s too damned thorough to forget anything about this lady.”

Two hours later they were back around the table, Sonny nursing a cup of Stan’s fantastic coffee and trying to focus his thoughts. Castillo looked around the room, silencing them without a single motion. “What do we have?”

Trudy looked at her notes. “Isabella Dominguez. Born and raised in Little Havana. A local girl. She should be in her early forties now, maybe a bit younger.” She smiled, showing her even teeth. “Records are a bit fuzzy there.”

Mindy nodded. “No surprise. Her parents were refugees who fled Cuba when Castro took over. Near as we can tell she has at least one older brother and maybe an older sister. She was the last kid. She first came into contact with Metro-Dade as a juvie…”

Sonny nodded to show he was listening, but he’d tuned out almost as soon as Trudy had mentioned Little Havana. He knew it all already…knew it from looking into Bella’s eyes when she was with the Carreras. Many of his best runners had been like her: desperate kids from poor or broken homes parlaying their skills into cash. Didn’t matter if they came from Little Havana or a shack out past the Intercostal. They all had two things in common: they were good with boats or cars and they’d started at the very bottom and knew they didn’t want to die there.

Castillo’s measured voice snapped him back to the room. “Thank you. Crockett, anything to add from her time with the Carrera organization?”

“Like I said before, she usually worked alone. Had her own boat and routes and ran them her way. I never asked…better for both of us if no one else knew. But she was always on time no matter what was going on.” He paused, scrubbing those memories. “Back then she wasn’t a killer, but if she thought it could up her status…yeah, she’s capable as hell of it.”

Trudy nodded. “And if she’s not, Yerez was.” She flipped a page. “Victor Yerez. Another Little Havana alumni, but with a nasty streak. Not much background on him, but he was picked up when he was twelve working as an enforcer for a corner pot dealer. The beat cops caught him beating up a buyer who didn’t want to pay up.”

Rico whistled. “Welcome to the jungle, son.”

Randy nodded. “We used to see kids like that back home. Once the mines started slowing down people got desperate. Don’t make it right, but some of ‘em think it’s the only way out.”

Trudy cleared her throat. “Anyhow, he stayed in trouble pretty much constantly until two years ago. Then he dropped off the map. Maybe he finally learned how to cover his tracks. But he had no recorded encounters with law enforcement until his last one.”

“And then we have Hidalgo Peron.” Mindy looked at her notes. “If there was ever a fish out of water, it’s this kid. A handful of arrests, mostly for petty theft and small property crimes. Nothing major. He worked as a pilot for a few fishing charter companies starting while he was still in high school. He and Victor grew up in the same neighborhood, so they might have met there.” She paused. “Everything I found about this guy screams small time, captain.”

Castillo nodded. “I saw the same thing in interrogation. He’s in over his head.” He turned his gaze to Dave and Randy. “Surveillance?”

“Those two addresses are in grids we’ve already scouted, boss.” Randy chuckled. “We can set up on ‘em without no one being the wiser. Day or night.”

Castillo nodded. “What about the locations?”

Stan grinned. “Lester and I grabbed that since Trudy and Mindy were busy diggin’ through Metro-Dade’s juvie files. We know how messy those damned things are. Anyhow, the first one’s a bar down near the water. Place called the Golden Pearl. You’d think Izzy came up with the name it’s so bad. Been there for years, but got bought out three years ago by…” He paused, looking around the room. “Isabella Dominguez. Same goes for address number two, which just happens to be a small boat refitting operation, but it’s closer to a boat yard. Claim they can do anything from replacing a broken rail to a complete overhaul and hull repairs. It’s been there since dirt, too. Near as we can tell she bought it about the same time as the Golden Pearl.”

Sonny nodded slowly. “It makes sense.” He turned to Castillo. “When the Carrera organization blew up people were grabbing anything they could. Boats, cars, good booze, you name it. Bella, I mean Dominguez, was in a good position to make off with some product.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus. “She might even have been bringing in a big load at the time. I was…kinda out of it by then.”

“What matters is she’d have access to cash.” Rico nodded, flashing Sonny a quick grin. “Or assets she could turn into cash whenever she wanted. If it’s coke, she sits on it and sells when it’s high and waits when it’s low. She’s not a major player, so no one’s lookin’ at her for anything. And coming from the neighborhood…”

“She’d know people.” Lester nodded. “That fits with what we found. Both businesses were on the verge of bankruptcy when she bought them. For cash. From the old owners. No banks involved. She was smart…looks like she paid the owners first, had them settle the debts for the places, and then did the deed transfers. The head bartender is on the liquor license paperwork for the Golden Pearl, but…”

“All roads lead to Rome. Or Isabella in this case.”

Lester nodded at Rico. “You got it. It’s hard to spot, but it’s there. He’s on the paperwork for the building, liquor license, and fixtures, but she owns the lot.”

“We also dug into what the Coast Guard told us.” Trudy’s voice dropped. “It’s hard to track, but at least ten boats have gone missing in that area. Most of them were trafficking, so they didn’t show on normal reports. But Mindy and I looked through some logs and reports of radio chatter…this Dominguez has been at this for over six months. At least. And she’s good at it.”

“Contact the AUSA for warrants. I want full-spectrum surveillance on those locations.” Castillo looked around the table, waiting for nods. “Crockett, Tubbs. Find us a way in.”

“We’ve already got one, captain.” Sonny shot Rico a glance. “It ain’t gonna be pretty, though. Like I said before, her boys hit Burnett’s boat. He’d want payback. Even if it was a mistake. Hell, especially if it was a mistake. One thing she’d remember about Burnett…he hated sloppy work.”

“We don’t move until the surveillance is in place. We need proper coverage.”

This time Dave spoke up. “Randy and I will go out tonight, cap. Have us a look-see. Don’t need a warrant to get on a roof with binoculars.”

 

Sonny didn’t get back to the marina until well after dark, the Ferrari headlights blazing a path to his usual parking spot. He sat for a moment, listening to the engine tick as it cooled. Trying to pull his thoughts into focus.

When he got to Vellamo Jenny was pacing on the aft deck. “I still can’t believe it. They tried to steal my boat! I should have shot the other one!”

Sonny smiled in spite of himself. It was rare for Jenny to get mad, but when she did it was a sight to behold. Especially when she was wearing one of her thin white t-shirts and nothing else. “Naw, darlin’. That would have been bad. That bozo told us who’s behind the whole thing.” He sat down on the settee, waving for her to join him. “That and he’s really nothin’ more than a scared kid. A punk from Little Havana who usually pilots fishing charters.”

Sighing, she sat next to him and snuggled close, her anger flowing away. “I know. I could see it in his eyes. I think what made me so mad is…”

“He reminded you of someone you know.”

“Something like that.” She kissed his neck. “And you know his boss.” The way she said it wasn’t a question.

How does she always know this stuff? “Yeah…or I should say Burnett does. She was a runner for the Carreras. A girl with a fast boat and a chip on her shoulder. I didn’t know her that well, but…”

“You didn’t expect this.” Again there was no question. “It makes sense, Sonny. Grab a boat from someone, use it for a few runs, then repaint it and sell it. I knew people who did that all the time.” She looked around the aft deck. “Not me, though. I love Vellamo too much. And for what I did, you had to know your boat. Most of the people who changed boats more than they did their underwear were running drugs or guns.”

Sonny nodded, feeling her against him. “Yeah. Quick turn, quick profit.” He knew Jenny had smuggled artworks until shortly after they met. It wasn’t his line; OCB had almost never gotten involved in that world unless an organization was trying to launder money by buying art. But he had a feel for it through her. It had been a slow, patient business conducted mostly by people who knew or were aware of each other. Having a dependable boat that wouldn’t draw a second glance was far more important than speed or flash.

“That world changes people, Sonny. You know that better than anyone.”

“Yeah. I guess I do. But she wasn’t that bad back then. Ambitious, sure. But not…”

“Take her down. Before she hurts anyone else.” Jenny’s voice was firm now. “Because she won’t stop. And she had a good teacher.”

Sonny started to say something, then stopped. She’s right. Bella did have a good teacher. Me. Or Burnett. Hell, we’re the same guy really. What did they say? Different sides of the same coin. And yeah, she got to learn up close and personal when I started running the Carrera organization. “You’re right, darlin’. She’s my mess, and I need to clean it up.”

 

Getting off the elevator, Sonny took a deep breath and smiled. Stan had gotten in early, and he could smell the coffee before he got to the office suite door. This was one of those mornings when he knew he’d need a couple of cups.

Stan wasn’t the only one who got in early. Dave Blair was sprawled in a chair at the big table, and he looked up from his notes when Sonny walked in. “Randy’s on now,” he said. “I drew the short straw and got night shift.”

Sonny poured a cup of coffee. “Anything interesting out there?”

“Aside from knowing what allies not to go down because hookers like turning tricks there? Maybe.” Dave got to his feet and headed for the big city map posted on the wall. All their surveillance grids, what the snipers called overwatch zones, were marked in various colors. “I was in Tango 27. You can see the bar and the boatyard from there. Boatyard was quiet as a church on Saturday night. Can’t say the same for the Golden Pearl.”

“Dive down by the water must see some traffic. I think I saw it mentioned a time or two in our old Vice reports.”

“Yeah, but not this kinda traffic.” Dave pointed to his pad. “I’ve got damned good optics and night vision. Not that we need it, cause she’s got the damned door lit up like a Christmas tree. Picked up no less than five known runners goin’ in within ten minutes of each other. And…”

“They all left at the same time.” Sonny finished the line, sipping coffee and sinking into a chair. “Sounds like someone called a meet.” He paused, looking at the map. Trying to see the area in his head. It had been a few years since he’d worked that part of Miami, but some things still stuck out. “These runners? They low-level players?”

“Maybe one or two. But the others? Naw. One of ‘em I recognized from the old Hermanos outfit y’all broke up before the Task Force got rolling. I think he ran their boats, too. We’d been lookin’ into them as part of a high-risk warrant deal before you took ‘em down, so I knew his face.”

“Just like her to shoot for the best.” Sonny paused. Thinking. “That would be Ricky Valdosa. Got his start with fan boats hunting gators and then upped his horsepower and status.”

“That’s him, boss. Couple of the others looked familiar, but I didn’t have the names to hand. Stan’s got the pictures and is developin’ them now.”

Sonny was about to say something when the door flew open and Rico came sauntering in, his Armani freshly-pressed and his feet doing a quick little modified two-step. “It’s a beautiful day in the greater Miami area,” he announced doing an abbreviated disco spin. “Too damned hot an’ too damned humid for any rational human being. Forecast? It’s only gonna get worse.” He grinned and headed for the pot. “But since I smell Stan’s coffee I might be able to save something of this damned day.”

“Just be glad you ain’t hidin’ on a rooftop covered with black tar paper. Randy is gonna kick my ass come nightfall.”

“I knew there was something good about this whole lieutenant deal.” Rico grinned and sat down, pulling the front of his suit coat flat.

Clearing his throat, Sonny looked around. “You girls done? We got work to do before the captain gets in.” He filled Rico in on what Dave had seen. “So we’ve got Dominguez meeting with a bunch of runners who likely have crews working for them. I was talking with Jenny, and she thinks we’re right about what they’re doing. Grabbing boats, using ‘em for a few runs, and then reselling them. She said she knew a few people who did that when she…when she was still in that life. She also said they were usually drug runners. Quick turn, quick profit was how she said it.”

Rico nodded. “I’ll buy that. But you said she wasn’t more than a runner herself when she was with the Carreras. How’d she get so big so fast?”

“The neighborhood.” Dave looked at the map. “The people we’ve seen associated with her? They’re all from Little Havana. Even Ricky there.”

“She knew them before. Not quite the security those Dominicans had, but it ain’t bad. Parts of that community are still pretty closed.”

“None of that tells us what she’s planning to do.” Sonny kept staring at the map. “She was always ambitious. Even back as a runner. We’ll know more once we identify the other men she was meeting with.”

Two hours later Castillo had them gathered around the big table again. Stan and Trudy took center stage, pictures alternating with words as they introduced the players. “Dave was right,” Stan said, nodding to the sniper. “The first two guys are really nobodies. Guys who drive fast boats for other guys. But the word on the street is they want to move up, and don’t care who they step on to do it.”

“Dangerous game these days.” Sonny stared hard at both pictures, but didn’t recognize either one.

“Yeah. Which brings us to the next batch of pictures.”

Trudy took over. “Meet Ricky Valdosa. Used to run boats with the Hermanos organization, but has been on his own since they were taken down. He’s got at least three boats in his own stable and is always looking to expand. Odd thing is he hasn’t been seen with any loads for about six months.”

The picture changed. “This winner is Gustavo Ortiz. Late of the Moncado organization.” Stan grinned. “You know, the guy Dave decapitated in the Keys. Gustavo managed to evade the sweeps in the aftermath of that little tea party and took a couple of go-fasts with him. He’s a switch-hitter. Deals in both transportation and enforcement. Like Ricky he’s been off the grid for about six months.”

The last picture showed an older man sporting a goatee more white than brown. “Last but not least is Esteban Morales. He’s been in the game since the elder Calderone was on the stage.” Trudy shot Rico a quick look. “Ran boats up north before coming south after his boss died and started working freelance.”

“I remember him.” Sonny spoke slowly, collecting thoughts and memories in one big net. “He was on the edges of the Manolo organization. The Carreras tried to recruit him, but he wasn’t having any. I don’t think he ever signed on with Manolo, either. Just did a run now and then if the price was right.”

Castillo locked eyes with Sonny. “So no ambitions?”

“No, I think he has plenty. He just didn’t like working for other people. You hired him, the run went his way or it didn’t go. He always came through, so he could play that way.”

“I’m surprised Cliff didn’t try to have him whacked.”

Sonny turned to Lester. “He did. The two guys Cliff sent to whack him came back in the trunk of a rental car someone left outside Cliff’s bungalow. Pretty clear message if you ask me.”

Trudy took control again. “According to physical surveillance they were in the place for maybe two hours. They didn’t arrive at the same time, but they all left within ten minutes of each other. We don’t have taps or wires, so we don’t know what they were talking about. And there hasn’t been time to send anyone in.”

“We won’t.” Castillo’s voice was firm. “We will do nothing to tip them off.”

“Copy that, boss.” Stan flipped through some more photos, finally stopping on one. “Dave did get this picture at 0314. It’s the only clear one because the target was moving fast, and even then it’s a partial.”

“Isabella Dominguez.” Sonny’s voice had gone Burnett-flat. “I’d know the hair and nose anywhere.”

“You’re positive?”

“Yes.” He looked at Castillo. “I sat across from her at tables more than once. As close as we are now. She’s not someone you forget.”

“No.” Castillo looked at his own notes. “I checked with some other agencies. This group seems to be responsible for at least twenty acts of piracy in the last six months alone. The more we dig, the more the count grows. Some of this comes from SIGINT. Boats shutting off their transponders without explanation or stopping transmissions in mid-message. Some is from chatter picked up by DEA and other agencies.”

Rico nodded. “And if she’s using each boat for three runs, that’s at least sixty shipments coming through in that time. Big loads, most likely.”

“Bella would never bother with anything under a hundred keys. She always said that didn’t pay for fuel, let alone upkeep on the boat.”

Randy cleared his throat. “An’ they’re sellin’ the damned things, too. More money in her pocket for God knows what. Along with whatever they get when they pick off another runner.”

“That’s the wild card.” Dave grinned. “She’s likely gettin’ drugs, guns, who knows what on two-thirds of them boats.”

Mindy looked around the table. “So how do we get to her?”

“We don’t. Sonny Burnett does.” Sonny laid his hands on the table palms down. “It’s out there her two guys went down trying to grab a boat. The Coasties are sitting on the boat name for now, but that doesn’t matter. I go out tonight with Marcus here and shake some trees. She’ll hear. And I’d bet in one night I get her location.”

Rico chuckled. “Hell, with Burnett and Marcus shakin’ trees I bet you get her bar’s name in under two hours. Less if we pick the right place the first time.”

“After that I pay her a little visit. Demand some compensation. She’d expect nothing less from Sonny Burnett, and I can’t think of anything that would throw her off her game faster.”

“You think she’d cut and run?”

“No, Stan. I don’t. She’s from here. This is her town, her turf. She never wanted to work outside her comfort zone, even back then. I saw her turn down good runs because they’d take her out of those waters.” He turned back to Castillo. “Rico and I will have an ops plan for you inside of an hour, captain. For tonight and the meet when that comes. I don’t think she’ll run, but she might go to ground if we don’t move fast. Bella’s not one you scare off. She’ll go to ground and come back meaner than before.”

Castillo held his gaze for what felt like an eternity. “Do it. Switek, Franz. The warrants came though. I want taps on both the bar and the boatyard. Wires inside if possible.”

“We’ll see what we can do, boss. Phone taps are easy. The others…we’ll see what we can pull off. We might have a trick or two.” Stan’s eyes glittered with the thrill of the challenge as he and Lester got up and headed for the tech room.

Mindy smiled. “If anyone can pull it off, those two can. I’ll pull the plans for the two buildings in case they need them.”

Dave pushed back from the table. “Let us know when your plan’s ready, boss. We’ll match a reaction plan up with it so you two don’t have your pretty asses hung out to dry.”

“I for one would appreciate the hell out of that.” Rico laughed and got to his feet. “I think I might have left my basic Marcus threads here. Let me check an’ then we’ll get to the plan, Sonny.”

It was just after three when Sonny and Rico went to work. Looking over at the passenger seat of the Ferrari, Sonny chuckled. “Man, I forgot how much that damned jersey changes your look. A guy would never know you wore Armani.”

“Marcus wears whatever the hell he wants.” Rico grinned under mirrored aviator sunglasses, patting the chest of his New York Yankees baseball jersey. “Ricky Henderson was the fastest, winningest man in baseball…just like I am behind the wheel. And don’t you forget it, flash.”

“Not a chance, partner.” Sonny pushed his own sunglasses up just a hair, brushing down his black suit coat. “Basic black Burnett. That’s me. Dressed for a funeral. Make sure it ain’t yours.” Flipping attitude was all part of getting into their cover identities. Sonny knew that. But for him Burnett came easy. Just as he suspected Rico slipped into Marcus with more ease than he’d admit.

“What’s the first stop on our world tour?”

Sonny narrowed his eyes, looking for an opening in the traffic. “The Overton. Burnett’s a known player there. And if memory serves Bella used to go there sometimes. It was popular as hell with the Hermanos outfit, too. Word’s bound to get back.”

He could feel Rico looking at him as he drove. “What is it between you and this lady, Sonny? And don’t try tellin’ me there’s nothin’.”

“You know the damnedest part, Tubbs? I don’t know.” He sighed, easing the Ferrari to a stop as the traffic light turned red. “She was one of the hired help. I don’t remember much…this was toward the end of that whole mess. Met her a few times, I guess, an’ heard the other pilots talkin’ about her. Like I said, she always got her loads through and did things her own way.”

“Reminds me of someone else I know.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s part of it.” The light changed and he fed gas to the Ferrari’s engine. “She was a looker, eyes the color of Stan’s coffee and thick brown hair. But damned good with one of those butterfly knives, too.” He smiled at a memory. “One of Cliff’s meatheads tried to get handsy and ended up sporting a hell of a scar just below his eye.”

“Sounds like my kinda lady.”

“Maybe so, Rico. But I’d always hoped she’d walk away from that life. She was smart as hell, and I think there might have been a little brother or something.” Reaching up, he rubbed his forehead. “It’s all too damned blurry now. But yeah…like the knife thing. She always had a mean streak. She coulda kicked him in the nuts. Put sugar in the gas tanks of his boat. Damned near anything. Maybe even killed him. Some of that bunch killed for a lot less. But she decided to mark him. Let everyone know what happened if you tried to mess with her.”

The rest of the drive passed in silence, and soon Sonny was wheeling the white Ferrari into a parking space close to the Overton’s doors, outlined in the club’s signature pink and blue neon. A walking tree trunk wedged into what might have been a tuxedo in a former life stood in the shade close by, watching everyone who came in.

Rico jerked his head. “When did they add the neon? And the ape outside during the day?”

“I don’t know.” Shutting off the car, Sonny pressed his left arm against his side, feeling the comforting weight of the big Smith & Wesson under his black suit coat. “Something’s up, Tubbs.”

“We know who’s fronting this dump these days?”

“No. But I know who would.” Picking up the car phone, Sonny flipped a switch and dialed a number, engaging the phone’s scrambler and calling one of the Task Force’s secure outside lines. “Lester? Yeah…It’s me. Who’s got the financing behind The Overton these days? Yeah…I’ll hold.” He looked at Rico and grimaced. “At least they don’t have music…No, Lester. The hold line, not the club. Yeah…really? Thanks.” He was still chuckling when he hung up.

“So what did he say?”

“Place is owned by a holding company that’s owned by another holding company that’s owned by one that may or may not be a front for either the CIA or Pablo Escobar’s ghost. He’s gonna do some digging, but…”

“That don’t do squat for us now.” Rico opened his door. “Let’s get this party started, partner.”

The doorman detached himself from the shade and squinted at both men as they approached. “You’re good,” he said, jerking his head in Sonny’s direction. “You…we ain’t some sports bar.”

Sonny felt Rico starting to move and raised his hand. “You gotta be new, right? That or you’ve got feet bigger than your IQ. This man’s with me.” Looking over the ape’s massive shoulder, Sonny stared directly at the camera mounted on the wall. “You might want to ask your boss about how wise it is to mess with Sonny Burnett and his guest.”

The ape took a step forward. “You don’t…”

The neon-framed doors opened with a low hiss and a skinny guy wearing last year’s “hip” blazer and tie bustled out. “Leo…Leo…it’s cool, big guy. This is Mr. Burnett. Anyone who’s with him is cool.” He stuck a pale hand in Sonny’s direction. “Marco, Mr. Burnett. Leo…he’s new.”

Sonny stared down at the hand, then leveled his Burnett stare at Marco. “And dumber than the doorframe. But it’s your luck day, Leo. You’re not dead.” Without another word he strode into The Overton, hiding a grin when he heard Rico hiss “Chump” at Leo in his best Marcus drawl.

The bartender was all smiles. “Sorry about that mess at the door, Mr. Burnett. What can I say? Hard to find…”

“I don’t care about your problems.” Sonny kept his voice low and flat. “Does Bella Dominguez still come in?”

“She don’t call herself that no more, Mr. Burnett. It’s Isabella now. If you mean the lady with the hair and figure…” His hands outlined a figure eight in that air.

“Answer the question.”

The man’s hand started to shake as he fought to decide who scared him more. Rico moved into view, cracking his knuckles in slow motion, and the bartender made his choice. “Now and then, sure. Her an’ her new posse. Buncha boat guys who tip like assholes. Haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks, though. Why?”

“I’m looking for her, that’s why.” Sonny looked around, ignoring the waitresses almost wearing their dresses. “If she’s not in this dump, where would she be?”

“I…this ain’t no dump.”

Rico stepped forward, slamming his fist on the bar. “Marcus is done with the games, chump! Where’s the girl?”

“She’s got a place down by the water! Least I hear she does. Man…I don’t know.”

Sonny stepped back. “You happen to see her, tell her Sonny Burnett’s looking for her. Understand?”

“Yessir.” The words flowed together as the bartender let out a long, shuddering sigh. “Always knew that broad was trouble.”

“She might be trouble, but…”

“I know, Mr. Burnett. I’ll let her or one of her posse know if I see ‘em. You can bet on that. How…”

“She’ll know how to contact me. Or I might just keep kicking over rocks until I find her.” Turning, Sonny headed back out into the daylight.

“You think the chump took the bait?” Rico sat back in the leather seat as Sonny accelerated away from the parking lot.

“Yeah, and I’d bet he’s on the phone right now. I don’t think the bozo’s got a direct line to her. Bella was too careful for that. But I bet he knows someone who does.”

“One of her posse.” Rico nodded. “We gonna make another house call?”

Sonny let the thought rattle around in his head. What had started off as an afternoon of fun felt more like work to him now. Maybe it had been the Overton and the memories of Angel Conner. Or ghosts from the Carrera organization. Whatever it was, he was tired now. Drained. “I don’t know, partner. We should, but…”

“Yeah. The Overton might have been a bad choice.” Rico turned to look out at the passing traffic. “It’s always worse when it’s a friend’s kid trying to kill you.”

“She didn’t know any better.” Sonny gripped the wheel with both hands. Hard. “Or maybe she did and just didn’t see any other way. Look, Rico, I don’t want to talk about her, ok?”

“Cool. I just feel kinda funny. Gettin’ dolled up for just one date.”

“Yeah, well, maybe Stan will take you dancing.” Grinning, Sonny pushed his anger back down. Rico’s just trying. Can’t blame him for that. “Look. She used to drop in at Topper, too. At least she did when they still had Latin dance night.” He shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that. The meathead who got the scar under his eye? That’s where he tried to steal a base. Cliff’s rednecks razzed him about it for weeks.”

Topper was a club that had been hip years back and never moved an inch past that moment in time. It was early enough the place was almost dead…just a bartender, a tape deck going through the motions until the night shift DJ came on, and a couple of waitresses making halfhearted rotations past the two tables that were actually occupied. Even the strobe lights were on break.

The bartender didn’t look up from his sports section when Sonny and Rico leaned in. “You guys need a beer?”

“Nope.” Sonny stuck with Burnett flat again. “Bella Dominguez. She still come in on Tuesdays?”

“Who wants to know? Assumin’ I even know who the hell that is.”

“Sonny Burnett.”

The paper hit the bar and started turning to mush as it mixed with a damp bar rag. “Sorry, Mr. Burnett. Didn’t know it was you.”

Sonny narrowed his eyes. “Carl, right? Used to run a rig for Cliff?”

“Yeah…I mean that’s right, sir. But when it all went to shit I took a long look and decided I didn’t want to spend the rest of my days as some big guy’s girlfriend. So I sold the rig and got into bartending. Money ain’t as good, but at least I get to pick girlfriends instead of bein’ picked as one.”

Sony could hear Rico chuckling. “Marcus gotta say the dude’s thinkin’ straight. Pussy like him would be someone’s Saturday night treat every damned day of the week.”

Sonny waved his hand. “Then you know who I mean.”

“Bella? Yeah. No way I could forget that rack. Or the cut she laid on that dumbass.” He chuckled, the sound fading when he looked at Rico again. “She ain’t been in for a few months now.”

“She come in alone?”

“At first, but then one or two other dudes started comin’ in with her. Recognized one as a driver with the old Hermanos outfit.” He paused. “You settin’ up again, Mr. Burnett?”

“Who says I ever stopped?” Sonny let the silence hang for a moment. “You see her or one of her boys, let them know Sonny Burnett is looking for them.”

“Yessir.” Carl nodded so rapidly Sonny was almost afraid he’d break his own neck. “I’ll surely do that. And if…”

“Stick to bartending, pal. It’s more your game.”

They were halfway back to the office when Rico burst out laughing. “I still can’t believe that chump!”

“Ya can’t fault his logic, though.” Sonny drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Be a bartender or a prison bitch? Pretty clear choice if you ask me.”

“Yeah. I guess I ain’t used to those dudes havin’ that kind of insight.”

“Most of ‘em don’t, partner. If they did, we’d be out of work. But I’ll bet he lit up the phone lines as soon as he changed his shorts. I think ol’ Marcus scared him in ways he understood.”

“Now what?”

“We see what the rest of the team’s uncovered. The bozo at The Overton mentioned she had a place by the water, so it won’t look out of place if we drop by tomorrow.” He changed lanes, the engine whining as he accelerated to avoid an old Ford crammed with a mother and enough kids to field a Little League team. “Gotta build some padding in so it looks like Burnett did his homework. And for word to get to her about the two of us.”

“Yeah. You think she’ll take a shine to ol’ Marcus?”

“Anything’s possible, pal.” He pushed the sunglasses up on his nose, fighting off the memories The Overton had sparked. “Anything’s possible.”

Stan was waiting when they came through the office door. “Man, what did you two do? The phone lines into that place have be lighting up like a psychic hotline just before Valentine’s Day or Elvis’ birthday.” He paused. “Not that I’d know anything about that.”

“Of course not, big guy.” Sonny shot a glace back. “Looks like my partner’s checking information with Mindy, so how bout you give me the condensed version?”

“One Reader’s Digest special coming up.” Stan grinned. “Started right after Lester looked up that information on The Overton for you. Interesting place, by the way. But that’s not why you looked up ol’ Stan and his magic wires. Bartender there called the boatyard first, and they rolled him right to the Golden Pearl. Whatever you two did to him worked like a charm. You could almost hear the piss runnin’ down his leg on the phone.”

“Aw, we weren’t that bad. Promise.”

“Sure. Anyhow, he asks for them to put her on. No name. Just her. Then a phone sex voice comes on…not that I’d know anything about them, either…and he starts spillin’ about how Burnett and this bad-ass black guy came in lookin’ for her. She didn’t say much, just told him to keep his mouth shut. Not much after that we get a repeat from Topper. That bartender sounded even more scared if that’s possible. She told him the same thing, but I gotta say she sounded worried herself.”

“Sounds like what I expected would happen.” Sonny leaned against the table, looking at the big map on the wall without seeing it. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. She made one call right after the Topper guy fainted or whatever he did to end the call. You should hear the tape…I think he might have really passed out.” Stan chuckled. “There’s this sigh and a thud…anyhow…she made one call. Number traces back to a bar on the edge of Little Havana. Cuba Libre. Been there since before the Bay of Pigs. Anyhow, she asks for someone she calls V, and when the guy gets on the line the only thing she says before she hangs up is ‘what did you do?’ That’s it.”

Sonny turned and shot Rico a grin as he came bopping in from the outer office. “Mission accomplished, partner. Bella’s cage is officially rattled. Or shaken, not stirred maybe.”

“What’s your plan now?” Castillo had come out of his office without a sound and was standing next to the table.

“We’ll go to the Golden Pearl tomorrow night, captain.” Sonny waved toward the map. “With overwatch in position and backup close by. She’ll be expecting Burnett now, and I don’t intend to disappoint.” He looked at Stan and winked. “That’ll give her another twenty four hours to panic and maybe expose the rest of her network and maybe a plan or two. We got the place wired for sound, right?”

“Yep. Even managed to get a mic on the boat place.” Stan waved in the general direction of the Tech Room. “Lester’s working on something for the bar, but we should have that in place before morning.”

“Good.” Castillo’s laser gaze swung across each Task Force member at the table. “We can’t afford to miss. If we do, this woman will disappear.”

 

Jenny was waiting on the aft deck of Vellamo when Sonny finally got back to the marina, her Virginia Slims cigarette glowing like a firefly in the building darkness. “I wondered when Martin would let you go,” she said as he sat down next to her.

“Yeah…been one of those days.” He tapped out a Lucky Strike from the pack on the settee. Almost had these things kicked. Guess I do, kinda. Only one every few days instead of a few every hour. Progress, Tex would call it. “Too much to do an’ not enough time.”

“You found her.”

“Yeah. We did.” He looked out over the water, trying to catch a glimpse of the dying sun but coming up empty.

“People change, Sonny. Especially people like her. Sometimes they get better, but usually they get worse. Like Monaele. Maybe they’re the bottom of the barrel.”

“I’m sorry you heard Mindy translate that.”

“No, it’s good. It helps me think even less of them.” She smiled, drawing deep on the slender cigarette before sending a focused jet of smoke into the cooling air. “Does she think Burnett is after her?”

“Yeah. I think so, anyhow. Stan said there were some panicked calls from a bar she owns.”

“Good. Even though I know it’s bad for me to say that.” She took a final, deep drag on the cigarette before crushing it out in a cut-glass ashtray. “I know how these people make their livings. They hurt others. And they don’t stop. It’s easy for them. Maybe there was a chance for her. Once. But she didn’t make the turn, Sonny. She kept going. She won’t stop until someone stops her.”

He nodded, not saying a word. He’d never heard Jenny talk quite this way before. Usually she looked for the good, saw it in places he didn’t or couldn’t. But not now. Maybe Bella reminds her too much of Monaele. Can’t say I blame her for that. And the damnedest part is she’s right. Bella’s not going to stop on her own. He drew smoke into his lungs, staring down at the glowing red tip of his Lucky Strike. Thinking of all the other times and places he’d done the same thing, starting with that first night in Da Nang with Robbie and a handful of other new replacements wondering just what the hell he’d gotten himself into. The moment when it all became real.

“I made dinner.” She touched his knee and smiled, bringing him back over the years and miles to her boat. “It should still be good. It’s keeping warm in the oven.”

“Gotta say I am starving.” Now it was his turn to smile, and he touched her smooth shoulder. “Been too damned busy to eat today.”

 

The back room of the Golden Pearl was a far cry from even the guest house at the old Carrera estate, but it was a damned sight better than a room above a failing shop in Little Havana. Even though she hadn’t been back to her father’s old shop, turned into a terrible bar selling bad drinks to tourists and wandering college kids by its new owners, in over a decade, Isabella Dominguez kept the image fresh in her mind. A reminder of where she never wanted to be again.

Leaning back in the black office chair behind her narrow desk, she brushed a thick strand of brown hair back over her shoulder and stared at the door. He should have been here five minutes ago. The thought gave her little comfort. Isabella had no illusions about what might happen. No…what would happen unless she worked fast. After all, unlike most of her men she’d seen Sonny Burnett up close when he was in action.

Sighing, she looked at her watch again, tracking the second hand as it made its sweep around the black dial. It had only been a few years since her time with the Carreras, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Slicing up that puto who’d tried to put his grubby hands on her had only been one highlight in what was starting to look like her big break. Until the idiot Cliff made his move and fucked everything up. She’d barely made it away from the collapse with her boat and a last load of coke.

Like the rest. She’d assumed Sonny Burnett had either been killed or hauled off by the Feds. But unlike many of the others she’d learned he’d come back to the action. But running his own transportation operation that worked with no outsiders and guaranteed results. Once or twice she’d put out feelers, hoping he’d hear and remember the girl with the quick knife and quicker boat. But eventually she had to make her own moves…turning the coke windfall into two buildings to front her operations and a handful of fast boats. Then she’d had the big idea.

Ricky Valdosta wasn’t much to look at when he wasn’t scared, and now he looked like a kid who’d been caught in the mean neighbor’s backyard without permission. “Sorry, Isabella. Traffic…”

“Don’t feed me that shit.” She rocked forward in the chair, her brown eyes hot. “Sit your ass down and tell me what you did to get Sonny Burnett asking about me.”

Sweat streamed down Ricky’s narrow cheeks as he sat. “It ain’t what I did. It’s what those idiots Victor and Hildago did.” He swallowed. “At least I’m guessin' it’s what they did. They checked in as usual an’ said they hadn’t seen any go-fasts, but they had a sailboat in sight. Good prospect Victor said. Then…nothing. Three hours later I hear from a contact the Coast Guard brought in two bodies from their sector. Both shot twice in the chest with what looked like a .45. At least according to the holes.”

Isabella nodded, her thoughts flashing back to the punk who’d mouthed off to Burnett by the pool. He’d caught two big slugs in the chest for his trouble, Burnett staring down at the body with his flat eyes for a second before stuffing his two-tone SIG back into a shoulder rig and waving for a drink. “That sounds like him. So you’re saying those two tried to hijack Sonny Burnett’s sailboat?”

“It’s all I can figure, boss.” He swallowed again, gripping and releasing the arms of his chair with long fingers. “I can have us ready to move…”

“Don’t bother. If we run, he’ll find us. And running makes it look like we went after him on purpose.” She paused, memories flashing by her eyes again. “And that’s the last thing we want him thinking.”

“Come on, boss. I used to work for the Hermanos, remember? This is one guy…”

“Who I used to work for. One guy who took over two different cartels on his own. Or did you think the Manolos and Carreras just handed him the keys when he asked nice?” She rubbed her eyes, feeling the headache building. Maybe just one line…no…that won’t help. And one leads to ten. “I’ve seen the man in action, Victor. We do NOT want him thinking this was anything but what it was. Two idiots trying to do their job and fucking up.”

“So how do we…”

“We wait. He’ll find me. It’s what he does. And then he’ll come to see me. Burnett likes to give a warning…unless you hit him first. Then he wipes you out.” She looked down at the desktop, fighting off the growing hole in her stomach. “When he comes, I’ll tell him what happened. You’ll tell him what happened, too. We’ll ask what he needs to make it right. And then we move on.”

“It just don’t sit right.”

“Let me tell you something, Victor. The Hermanos were kids in a sandbox compared to this man. He fed El Gato to his own fucking cat, for Christ’s sake! Took the Carrera organization right out from under the father and son. We need him to ignore us if we can’t have him on our side. Do you understand?”

Once Victor left, she sank back in the chair and let out a long, shuddering sigh. Closing her eyes, she tried to get the image of that other dealer out of her head. It had been early in her time with Carreras, maybe even her first run. Burnett had been head of security then, with the old man still appearing to run the show and his coked-out kid twitching in the wings. The old man had called a party for all his new people…a time for them to make their first payments and see the prize at the end of the tunnel.

Things had been good. Plenty of food and free booze. She’d even talked to a couple other boat pilots and started to entertain ideas of working with them. Until one of them, an arrogant prick from Puerto Rico, kicked when asked for his cut. “Go screw yourself, old man,” he shouted, looking back at the others for approval. “We run the risks, so we deserve more…”

The two pistol shots came so fast they almost sounded like one. She’d dropped her glass, the shattering noise chased by others. Sonny Burnett stood there, smoke tricking from the muzzle of his SIG. “Anyone else wanna complain? Didn’t think so.” Then he’d turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving the kid gagging by the pool and the father yelling for more drinks and someone to clean up the fucking mess.

After that she’d watched Burnett like a hawk, copying as many of his moves as she could. The biggest one? Always working alone. The dead man had been one of the ones she’d thought about throwing in with, and she’d seen where that would have gotten her. Burnett rooted out the others and sent them packing, but somehow he’d missed her. Or maybe he decided she did good enough work. With him you could never say for sure.

What will he want? It was the question she didn’t want to ask. Standing up, she smoothed down her shirt and looked herself over. I’d give him my body if it meant keeping my operation, but I know that won’t work. Unlike so many others, Burnett had never been swayed by a pretty face or nice set of tits. And she knew some who’d tried. It was one of the many things she’d copied from him: business and pleasure were two different things and never mixed. Never.

“He wants me to know he’s coming.” Looking around the office, she sat down again, opening the desk drawer and checking the Beretta she kept there. “There are a million different ways he could have found me without my knowing, but he picked two places he knows I go and asked.” Rubbing her eyes, she opened the lower drawer and pulled out a bottle, pouring a healthy measure of tequila into a glass. “Guess I was right to tell Ricky. All I can do is wait.” But saying it didn’t make it feel any better. And all the tequila did was make the memory of the the arrogant prick lying in a pool of his own blood all the more vivid.

 

“Everyone’s clear on the plan?” Sonny Crockett looked around the conference table. Waiting for a chorus of nods before continuing. “Tubbs and I will make our play just after 2000. Randy, you and Dave should be in position at least an hour before that. We won’t have comms once we leave the car, so the check will be then.”

“Roger that.” Randy grinned. “You need us, you’ll know we’re there.”

Castillo looked up. “I don’t like you not having comms.”

“No way around it. Bella’s smart. She’ll be sweeping people who come into her office. I’d bet the Ferrari on it.” Sonny looked over at Rico. “But Marus will have one of them damned big, flashy pagers. With a panic button. Things go south you can page us, and if we have problems he’ll hit it.”

Stan tossed a gold-plated pager on the table. “Got you covered.”

“Jo got it meng. And quick work on that, Stan.”

“Thank Lester. It was something he was playing with.”

“Solid.” Rico took up the briefing. “We’ll meet with miss thang and see what’s what. I’ll be playing Marcus with attitude and Sonny…well…he’ll be All-Business-Burnett. No way to say how many of her boys will be on hand, but we’ve seen the pics and will try to get a make on any unfamiliar faces.”

“She won’t have more than one or two where we can see ‘em. Not yet, anyhow. Right now she’s more worried about what Burnett is gonna demand for what her boys did.” He paused. “Stan, you and Lester will be in the Roach Coach about four blocks over.” He pointed to an intersection. “Somewhere near here. Is that still in range?”

“Yeah, and we’ll be able to react inside of five minutes.” Lester grinned. “We timed it last night.”

“Where are we in this?” Trudy leaned forward, her red dress pulling tight across her chest.

“You, Mindy, and the captain will be keeping an eye on the boat operation. The Roach Coach will be monitoring both wires, but we need eyes-on in case she’s got something planned there. Like trying to move product or boats out while we’re talking at the Golden Pearl.” He turned to Castillo. “Did you check with the Coast Guard?”

“They’ll have two launches close by. Lieutenant Yates said he’d use his counter-boat crews, so they know their business. About two minutes out on our signal.” Castillo looked across at Stan. “You’ll have to relay if I give the signal.”

“Roger that. Got their frequency dialed in already.”

Castillo nodded. “Mather, Blair…you can move out now. I want you in position early. Switek, Franz…I want you in place by 1900. You’ll be the command post and you need to be on the air and ready to go. My team will leave shortly after that. Crockett, Tubbs…let us know when you’re five minutes out.”

Sonny stared into the washroom mirror, making a final adjustment to his black silk tie. Gotta hand it to Castillo. Having this place fitted with a full bathroom was pure genius. He checked the line again, making sure the tie fell just so when he buttoned his tailored suit coat over the matching black silk shirt. The look was Burnett all the way. Precise and dark. A far cry from his usual pastel Henleys and unlined sport coats. Night and day.

“Feel like we changed places.” Rico grinned as he pulled on a Ricky Henderson Yankees jersey and checked its drape over the Walther just behind his right hip. “Normally I’m the one hoggin' the mirror.”

“Blow it out your ear, Tubbs.” Sonny forced a grin of his own. “You think I like wearing this monkey suit?”

“Matter of fact I do, partner. It’s a good look for you.”

Sonny gave the coat a final tug before checking his watch. “And we gotta move. Showtime.”

They didn’t talk on the drive over, which suited Sonny just fine. Slipping into Burnett’s skin could be a challenge sometimes, and tonight it was worse than normal. Maybe because I knew her then. Saw her then. Most of these bozos only know Burnett by reputation. But not her. This has to go just right.

When Sonny told people he didn’t remember much from his time as Burnett it was true…as far as it went. There were big gaps and fuzzy spaces, but mostly at the beginning and then later once he started putting things together and hitting the bottle hard. But the middle…parts of it were clear as day. Including a girl with wide brown eyes barely wearing a bikini watching as he put two bullets into a punk boat pilot who’d stepped to Oscar Carrera. He remembered Isabella Dominguez all right…just like he was sure she remembered him.

“I’d say penny for your thoughts, but a cop’s take home I ain’t even got that.”

“What? Oh, sorry, Tubbs. I was just thinkin’.”

“I thought I smelled something burning.” Rico flashed his trademark grin. “And it can’t be about tonight. We done this kinda thing a thousand times now. At least.”

“It’s more about her.” Sonny downshifted and made the turn. They were close now. “Let Stan know we’re five minutes out.” He waited for Rico to make the call before continuing. “She’s seen me as Burnett. Saw me take out some punk as Burnett.”

“You got this, partner. You got the moves, or lack of moves since Burnett’s such a cold character. And with Marcus runnin' cover she ain’t gonna notice. I’ll get all worked up about her boys ruinin' my fun time with a lady an’ see what she does.”

“Yeah.” Sonny slowed the Ferrari to a crawl, looking around the gloomy street. Only one streetlamp of four worked, and its feeble glow did nothing to dispel night’s steady crawl. Then he saw a gold scrawl of neon and swung toward the curb. “Looks like this is the place.” He keyed his radio. “We’re on our way in. Comms going dark now.”

Under the flashing gold script and white blob of pearl neon, the Golden Pearl could have stepped right out of central casting as a dive bar in a ‘40s Noir film, right down to the haze of smoke and stench of stale booze. The bar itself bore the scars and scuffs of countless fights, and he wondered how many times the mirror behind the bald bartender had been replaced. There were tables, a jukebox flashing red and yellow back by a sign pointing to the bathrooms, and another door just past the bar itself. Even the big lug just inside the door could have come from central casting.

Ignoring the bouncer, Sonny left his sunglasses on and strode to the bar. He could feel Rico moving behind him and knew he was shooting his best Marcus glare at the bouncer. Freezing the bartender with a glance, he stopped just short of the rail. “Tell Bella Sonny Burnett’s here to see her.”

“Look, mister. I don’t know any Bella.”

“I’m not saying it again. Tell her.” The last words came out as a hiss.

“Who the hell…” Whatever the bouncer was going to say vanished in a high-pitched cry and thud as Rico put him in an arm lock and slammed him into the bar. “Marcus ain’t cool with chumps messin' in his business. You dig? Nod, fool. Next time I break your arm. That’s a promise.”

The bartender vanished through the door, moving faster than Sonny thought possible. He was back seconds later, sweat streaming off his bald head and running over his fat cheeks. “Miss Dominguez says come on back. But just…”

“Marcus goes where I go.” Sonny unbuttoned his coat, letting it fall open just enough to show the butt of his 4506-1. “We clear?”

“Sure…hey, mister? Don’t hurt Pete too bad. I gotta have someone to move kegs. Please?”

Rico grinned, releasing the big man’s arm and then delivering a quick, hard rabbit punch. “That’s for gettin’ beer on Marcus’s jersey. Chump.”

The office was exactly what Sonny expected from a place like the Golden Pearl, and he pretended not to notice the two sweepers mounted just inside the door frame. She’s careful. Gotta give her that. Isabella sat behind an old desk, a crop top pulled tight over her firm breasts and her thick brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. He recognized Ricky Valdosta standing just behind her, and wondered for a moment where the others were.

Isabella smiled, flashing bright teeth. “It’s been too long, Sonny. What brings you…”

“Don’t play stupid, Bella. We both know you’re not.” He took a quick step to the desk. “Your two idiots tried to hijack my boat.” He slammed his fist down on the desk top, making the pens jump. “My boat!”

“An’ your chumps messed up Marcus’s play with a very hot lady.” Rico shot a look back at Ricky. “You just stand there an’ take it, son. Unless you want Marcus to rearrange that face of yours.”

She raised her hands. “Sonny…we didn’t know it was your boat. Do you really think I’d be dumb enough to hit your boat? Those two were idiots. And they paid for it.” She paused. “No one’s called me Bella in years.”

Sonny looked down at her, watching as she shifted to give him a better view down the top. Nice try, Bella. That might work on ol’ Ricky there, but not this time. “I thought you were smarter than that, Bella. So you’ve got a crew snatching boats. I was out on a freaking sailboat, not a Cigarette. That’s what your boys favor, right? So out of the blue they decide to hit my boat. Like I’m the damned catch of the day.”

Ricky’s voice was a thin whine. “They called in. Said they were gonna make their quota with a sailboat. All they’d seen were cabin cruisers, and sailboats are good for some cargo. No one checked…”

“So it’s my fault your people are sloppy?” Sonny turned back to Rico. “Sorry, Marcus. Here I thought this might be a professional operation. Guess I was wrong.”

Rico nodded, his glare still fixed on a point two feet behind the back of Ricky’s head. “Yeah, but they still gotta pay, right? Back in New York, Marcus done stuck some fools who jacked one of his rides in the trunk of a car an’ then turned on the crusher. Sends a hell of a message.”

Sonny nodded. “It does at that. So tell me, Bella, do I need to send a message?”

She shook her head, the thick ponytail bobbing. “No. Just let me know how I can make it up to you. I’ll do anything.” She leaned forward again, letting the top fall open, and he could see fear plain in her brown eyes. “Anything.”

He let the word hang in the air, knowing she made the offer confident Burnett wouldn’t take her up on it. At least as far as what she was showing under her top went. She’s a damned beautiful woman. Old coked-out Mikey would have jumped at it, but she knows Burnett won’t. She’s seen others try it. “Marcus is my guest, so let’s ask him. You see, Bella, your boys messed up a business meeting in addition to disrespecting me.”

She nodded, raising her hand to cut off anything Ricky might have been about to say. “I didn’t intend to do either one.”

“It just so happens I believe you. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But Marcus here came all the way from New York City for this meeting. Only fair I give him the final word. Marcus, you believe the lady?”

Rico made a show of lowering his mirrored aviators with his index finger and giving Isabella a good looking over and lingering on the parts she wanted him to linger on. “Marcus guesses she might be tellin’ it straight. Seems you scare her good enough, an’ I don’t see her makin’ a move like that if she knew it was your boat.” He grinned. “Damned shame we didn’t meet in better circumstances, though. Just sayin’.”

“So here’s where we stand. I can let this slide. Your boys were idiots, and they’re shark food now. But there’s the question of time.” He paused, letting her absorb the fact Burnett wasn’t going to kill her out of hand. “We spent time cleaning up after that mess and then getting word to you.”

She nodded, and he noticed her hands shaking. “Of course, Sonny. I understand.” She looked back at Ricky. “I don’t have much ready cash, but what would you say to a boat?”

“I got plenty of those. Drivers, too. But Marcus…” He turned. “You got any Cigarette boats up in New York, Marcus?”

“Naw. Marcus is more of a V-8 and asphalt kinda guy. Got a few cars up there that would kick that Italian pasta-maker you drive right in the ass.” Rico laughed. “But yeah, Marcus figures he could use one of them fast boats. Good for takin’ the honeys out on the water. Or so I hear.”

Sonny nodded, hoping they weren’t laying it on too thick. But Isabella still looked scared, and he wasn’t sure how Ricky had avoided pissing his pants. We’re missing people, but these two are the brains. Take them and the rest head back to their holes. “You got your answer, Bella. But the sooner we get this done the better. I’ve got freight that needs to move north, and that requires Marcus.”

“I keep some boats close by. We can go look, and Marcus can take his pick.” The fear was starting to leave her eyes, replaced by growing hope. “And then, maybe…”

“We’ll see. If Marcus is satisfied and if I can keep this run on schedule. Maybe then we’ll see.” He paused. “And don’t try to unload a hot boat on him. You do, I’ll find out. I know that’s your new line.”

“These boats are clean. My own private stable.” She got to her feet, turning so they could see her jeans accenting her legs and the curve of her ass. “I learned that from you, Sonny. Keep work in one place and your personal stuff in another.”

“Only way to run, darlin’.” Sonny nodded, keeping an eye on Ricky. He was still sweating, and scared men made bad decisions. “Tomorrow, then?”

“You said you had business.” She smiled, shifting again to show off her body. “Why don’t we do it tonight? The boats aren’t far. That way Marcus can leave satisfied. You, too.”

Sonny turned to Rico. Gotta sell this just right. “Satisfaction makes for good business. You agree. Marcus?”

“Marcus ain’t gonna say no to a fast toy. Provided it ain’t far and don’t take up too much of the man’s time. We got places to be before Marcus heads back north.”

Sonny nodded. “Thanks for reminding me about that meet. We got about half an hour, Bella.”

“If you think that’s all you’ll need…”

“For the boat. I’ll be back later to talk about the rest.”

She smiled, and he could see in her eyes she actually meant it. “The boats are just down the block. And later will be good. I want to make sure you’re really satisfied with my apology.”

It seemed even darker than before on the street, and Sonny unbuttoned his suit coat before stepping through the door and into the night. Ricky hadn’t had time to make any calls, and Isabella hadn’t made any signals on the way through the bar. Still…the spiders were dancing on the back of his neck.

She’d given in too easy. And offered herself up way too quickly. Even if she’d had a thing for Burnett back when she was with the Carreras. But was she bold enough to try to take down Sonny Burnett? He didn’t think so. The fear had been real, both with her and Ricky. He looked over at saw Rico eyeballing the gold brick of a pager and gave him a slight shake of the head. Not yet. Not until we’re at the boatyard. That’s gotta be where she’s going.

She moved quickly for a girl in boots, the heels clicking on the pavement and her hips swaying as she walked. Ricky trotted along behind like a well-trained dog, and for a second Sonny wondered if she kept him around for anything else. Then the thought vanished. Isabella didn’t need anyone around her. She might want someone from time to time, but need was a different thing.

Her voice floated back to him. “Maybe after this we can talk, Sonny? And after I’m sure you’re satisfied. We do well for ourselves, but in this work it’s always good to have allies. Associations.”

“Yeah. Maybe it is. But I don’t know squat about your operation yet, Bella. We’ll see once I know what you’ve got. It’s how business works.”

“I know. And I think you’ll find I’m good at what I do.”

He watched her hips for a moment. I don’t doubt that for a minute, lady. “Aside from those two idiots, you mean.”

“I’ll make that up to you.” She turned the corner and stopped in front of the refitting shop. “You’ll see. And here we are.” There was a buzzer just to the right of the heavy door, and she pressed it three times. “Just letting the boys know it’s me.”

Sonny nodded, pretending not to notice the camera above the door.

Rico chuckled. “Just like a good chop shop back in the Bronx.” There was a long buzz as someone inside unlocked the door. “You get the cops ‘round here much?”

“No.” She pushed the door open and stepped inside. “We keep traffic low to draw little attention.”

They were in a narrow hallway lit by dim red bulbs positioned to cast light but not ruin a man’s night vision. Smart. She learns fast. Sonny took off his Ray Bans and slipped them into a pocket. “Pretty slick, Bella.”

“The boats are through here.” She smiled. “We have three on hand. All repainted and with clean papers.”

The work area extended out over the water, with lifts to bring boats up for hull work. The entire space was covered, and heavy garage-type doors blocked any view from the water. Sonny spotted three men working on a deep blue SCARAB on the far side of the workspace, and identified two of the three as other runners from Stan’s line-up. The middle boat was a garish yellow and black, and the go-fast nearest them had been resprayed emerald green with a yellow rake on both sides of the hull.

Rico let out a low whistle. “Damn. Them is some fine boats. Marcus is impressed, lady.”

“None of them have been used by runs yet.” Ricky shifted into the light and grinned. “Not by us, at least.”

Sonny nodded, keeping his eyes on the man in worker’s coveralls who kept easing toward a locker mounted to the far wall. He was the one who hadn’t been in Stan’s photo gallery, and that set the spiders dancing again. If Stan was anything with surveillance, he was thorough. And if he hadn’t been there then… “Looks like you’re growing fast, Bella. Maybe too fast. How many of these bozos do you know? Like those two who tried to grab my boat.”

She turned, and he could see the flash of doubt in her eyes. “Hidalgo I knew from the neighborhood. He…”

“He was a good pilot. I did my homework. Damned good with a boat. But new to this game. The first one I shot. Victor? He was a punk. How well did you know him? Or that clown over there in the coveralls? He keeps shifting toward that locker I’m gonna put two in his chest just to say hello.”

“The man’s talkin’ to you, chump!” Rico took two steps forward, his Walther filling his hand before Isabella could blink. “Stay nice an’ still or ol’ Marcus is gonna do it for you.”

Isabella’s face showed real fear now. “Ricky! Who is that? He’s not one I recognize.”

“Hell, I thought you added him to the crew, Isabella.”

Sonny took two steps forward, his face and eyes frozen in the Burnett glare. “I’m gonna ask once. Who’s paying for your funeral?” Out of the corner of his eye he say Isabella moving, and hoped Rico was keeping tabs on her. Right now he was focused only on the man in the coveralls who was gauging the distance between himself and whatever was in that damned locker.

“Does it matter? I’m a dead man either way.”

“Maybe. But there’s plenty of ways to get dead. It can be quick, or very, very slow. And you might not end up dead. Depending on what you have to say.”

“Your lady there is messing with the wrong dudes. Boosting boats from tourists is one thing, but she’s crossed the line.”

“Point one. She ain’t my lady. Point two. You still haven’t told me anything that will keep you breathing.”

“Look…I’m just hired help is all.”

Sonny sighed, his attention split between the punk inching toward the locker and Isabella inching toward the boats. “Yeah, yeah. And I’m almost out of patience.”

“And Marcus IS outa patience!” Rico took a step forward, placing himself closer to Isabella and the boats. Good. He sees her, too. “You got the time it takes my man Rickey H. to make it to first base to talk.” He grinned. “And if you know shit about baseball you know that ain’t long at all.”

 

It’s all going wrong! Isabella heard the words coming out of Marcus’ mouth, but she was watching Sonny Burnett. How he kept looking from the asshole in coveralls to her and back again. He thinks I did this! That I was trying to set him up. I can see it. The fear that had been tickling the pit of her stomach was swelling to a tidal wave now, threatening to overwhelm her.

She kept inching toward the boats, fighting the urge to scream at Ricky. Bringing that idiot Yerez on had been his idea, after all. She’d listened because they needed men to keep up with the rising demand for their boat service. But she should have known, especially when Hidalgo didn’t want to ride with the other man and his damned Mini-14.

Looking at the boats, she knew where she’d gone wrong. I wanted too much too fast. Like that idiot Cliff King. Sonny always said work with who you know. I broke that rule, and look where I am. She could feel the remote door control in her pocket. One push and the big door would open like some rich man’s garage. And watching Burnett she knew she had no choice. She knew what he did to people he thought had betrayed him.

Marcus was shouting again, waving his pistol in the direction of the other man. A small corner of her mind wondered who’d sent him. The odds were she’d never know. Maybe they’d grabbed the wrong boat at least once before those morons kicked the bear that was Burnett. But she could still slip away. Start over with a boat and her knowledge of the coastline and waters between Miami and a slew of Caribbean islands. It would be slow, and she wouldn’t have the luxury of a few kilos of coke to sell for working capital. But it was better than being dead.

She took another short step, measuring the remaining distance with her eyes. Still, she had to thank Burnett for one thing: she’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for him. The puto in the coveralls was likely there to whack her, and if Burnett and Marcus hadn’t have been there he would have succeeded. Looking at Ricky only confirmed the thought. He might be good with boats, but give him a gun and Ricky was as likely to shoot himself as he was whoever he was aiming at.

The light in the boathouse was good enough she could see coverall man’s eyes. They kept bouncing between Marcus and the locker, sometimes flicking back to her. She wanted to scream at Marcus. Just shoot him! But there was no time. The man made his jump, and a heartbeat later she hit the button.

 

It had been some time since Sonny Crockett had seen a MAC-10. Boxy little things, they weren’t know for their accuracy. But they were known for throwing out a whole lot of lead in a very short period of time. He’d been watching Rico deal with the man in coveralls, keeping his own hand close to his own pistol and tracking Isabella at the same time. What he hadn’t figured on was the man having his weapon in those damned baggy blue coveralls and not the locker he kept moving for. And he also didn’t expect the man to go for Isabella first.

The man’s first burst went wide, ten of the nineteen slugs ending the misguided life of Ricky Valdosa and sending him into the water with a bloody splash. Grabbing for his Smith & Wesson, Sonny ducked behind a large tool chest on wheels, knowing Rico would have found his own cover close by. In the close space of the boathouse the high, ripping burst echoed like chain thunder. There was another noise Sonny thought he recognized and then another burst silenced everything.

Risking a look, he saw the man jerking out an empty magazine and fumbling with a fresh one from the leg pocket of his overalls. “Drop it!” he shouted over the echoes of the last burst. “Drop it now!”

“Fuck you, man! That bitch is…”

Popping up from behind a rack of spare exhaust system parts, Rico squeezed off four quick shots from his Walther. One might have missed, but the other three took the man low and dropped him to the varnished concrete like a sack of grain. Keeping his pistol up, Rico looked across the bays. “Looks like he took out the other drivers.”

“Yeah. And Bella’s making a run for it.” Sonny nodded toward where the emerald green go-fast had been and the open bay door.

“Not far, partner. Looks like Yates was good for it.”

Sonny covered the distance to the open door with quick strides and looked out into the darkness. He could hear the roar of Isabella’s engines as she opened the throttles wide, and then watched as the green boat was pinned by converging searchlights. Three Coast Guard interceptor launches, their sirens wailing and lights painting the water blue and red, were coming in fast from the ocean side. Lights in the bow of each boat were tracking Isabella, and he knew there would be gunners there, too.

A PA crackled to life on one of the boats. “This is the United States Coast Guard. Cut your engines and prepare to be boarded.”

“She’s gotta come in, partner. There’s no place she can go.”

As Sonny watched, Isabella’s boat started to turn away from the open water and toward the long concrete jetty. He could see the flashing lights on the Coast Guard launches and cutters closing off the ocean to her. “Maybe she’s gonna…” Then his jaw dropped as the twin V-8s roared their full-throttle song and the SCARAB shot toward the jetty at over sixty miles an hour. His scream was swallowed by the thunderclap of exploding fuel and engines as the sleek boat slammed into the unyielding concrete. The explosion’s flash turned the night orange and red, fading back to a yellowish glow as the burning debris was swallowed up by the hungry sea.

Delighted by your stories like always @Robbie C. 

Glad you enjoyed it. I needed a bit of a break from some other projects and decided to visit the Task Force again.

Such a treat to see new Task Firce content!

Glad you enjoyed it. I might do one or two more at some point, depending. I do find the Task Force is hard to deal with as a short story, but this proves it's possible.

Just started another TF short story. At least I hope it stays a short story...

Can’t wait!!! I absolutely love the TF tales. Would have made the perfect continuation of the series!

Glad you enjoy them. I was looking for a way to continue the series and bring in some original characters in the process. Good to hear it's appreciated.

If Robbie could have been the story consultant and wrote episodes after season 3 this show would have been much better off. 

Talented man.

 

Edited January 30, 2022 by RedDragon86

40 minutes ago, RedDragon86 said:

If Robbie could have been the story consultant and wrote episodes after season 3 this show would have been untouchable.

Talented man.

 

Amen!

1 hour ago, RedDragon86 said:

If Robbie could have been the story consultant and wrote episodes after season 3 this show would have been untouchable.

Talented man.

 

Yes! 100%

Thanks again for the kind words. And we also have Dadrian to score episodes...

And this next story's gonna feature Team Elvis.

Edited January 30, 2022 by Robbie C.

On 1/29/2022 at 9:11 PM, RedDragon86 said:

If Robbie could have been the story consultant and wrote episodes after season 3 this show would have been much better off. 

Talented man.

 

100%!  Another enjoyable read, and with a perfect shocker ending that would have fit right in on the show.

Thanks! It was an ending that just made sense for her. I don't normally do abrupt endings, but it works for this one I think.

Wow, lots of action! I really enjoyed this, Robbie!

I snuck these out a while back. Might start working on new ones at some point...one TF and one post-TF.

For those who might be interested, I started sketching plot ideas for a TF story set between Echoes and The Line and a post-TF piece set before No Good Deed. Still kicking around some ideas for stories set during the series, and maybe some set before. Who knows?

Would absolutely be interested in those!