AGAINST THE WIND (Book Two of The Miami Crime Trilogy) (27 page)

Silvana

Miami,
Florida

Friday,
April 20, 2012

2:45
PM

T
HEY DUMPED
SOFIA AT THE BOOKING DESK
, and she was ordered held for arraignment. Upstairs, Santos
was not in his office. They had called in the arrest on their way to
headquarters, but Santos didn't answer his desk phone.

Silvana said, "Come on. Let's get over to Harvey's office. We'll
call Santos's cell on the way." They hustled out to the car. Vargas drove.

After two tries, Silvana reached Santos. "Lieutenant, Sergeant
Machado here. Detective Vargas and I have made an arrest in the Bob Harvey
case."

"An arrest? Who?"

"One Sofía Ramos, owner of record of the escort service that sent
Evalena Díaz to the Sea & Sand. She hired her brother as the trigger. Phil
Harvey was the one behind it all, ordering it done and paying her forty grand.
We're on our way to bust Harvey right now."

"Where is he right now?" Santos asked, excitement rising in his
voice.

"In his office," she said, and gave him the address in Coconut
Grove.

"I'll meet you there. Out in front of the building. Don't go in
without me."

"Yes sir," and she swiped the call off.

Vargas, sensing a problem in her voice, said, "What's up,
Silvi?"

"Fucker wants the collar. He says he'll meet us there."

"Son … of … a …
bitch
!"
Vargas said. "We do all the fucking work and —"

"And he takes all the fucking credit," Silvana said.
"Welcome to the real world." She leaned back in the passenger seat
and glanced out the window. "Well, we can only hope he'll cut us in for a
piece of it anyway."

≈ ≈ ≈

Traffic along Grand Avenue was heavy as usual. People
running around trying to get home to beat the five o'clock rush hour. And in
doing so, they create their own three o'clock rush hour.
It was no picnic getting here, either, as I-95 was jammed up from
where it dumped itself into US 1, always a bottleneck. Again, people trying to
get home before rush hour.

Vargas pulled into the bus stop in front of the building that housed
Harvey Development. They spotted Lieutenant Santos standing out front, waiting
for them, looking like the Colossus of Rhodes standing guard.

Silvana and Vargas got out and the three of them hurried into the
building.

The third floor lobby was immaculate, just like when they were here
nearly two weeks ago. Only this time, they weren't playing footsie with the
receptionist. They quickly walked straight back to Harvey's office while she
leapt from her desk, following them and firing off objections every step of the
way.

They barged into Harvey's office. He held court from behind his desk
while a very well-dressed man and woman sat in the chairs opposite him. The
entrance startled Harvey and his guest.

Harvey jumped to his feet. "What's the meaning of this? What is your
—"

"Mr Harvey," Santos said in his best TV cop voice, "you're
under arrest. The charge is first degree murder."

Silvana and Vargas immediately went behind the desk where Silvana cuffed
him. Santos briefed him on his rights and they led him to the door. The
receptionist, who had witnessed the entire event, moved to the side of the
stunned man and woman who were still sitting in the chair with dropped jaws.

"I'm so sorry about this, Mr Beauchene." Her voice was most
reassuring. "This is all a big mistake. But don't worry." She
gestured toward the woman. "Mr Harvey's second in command, Miss Long here,
will take over. She's fully up to date on your deal."

≈ ≈ ≈

Harvey kept his mouth shut all the way to
headquarters. There, he was allowed to call his lawyer and within twenty
minutes, Reese Kilgore showed up. Santos, Silvana, and Vargas were waiting for
him.

Kilgore, forty-fivish and looking it, was a commanding presence. He only
stood about five-ten, all of it ramrod-straight, and his blond hair was fine
and receding along the hairline, but his charisma was unmistakable. A wide
mouth dominated his moonish face.

He spoke deliberately. "Let him go, Lieutenant. You haven't got
anything."

"Yes, we do," replied Santos. "We've got a confession from
the person he hired to arrange the murder, along with other evidence."

"Bullshit! You've got the word of a street whore. How well do you
think that'll hold up?"

Silvana said, "We just received a scan of his bank statement
revealing a forty thousand dollar withdrawal on the day of the murder, the
exact amount the 'street whore' claimed she was paid to set his brother
up."

Kilgore put his hands to his ears. He said in a raised voice, "Help
me! I can't take any more of these fairy tales!" Then he lowered his hands
and said, "Unless you release him right now, your department will be sued
like you've never been sued before. Now you think about that, and about how the
higher-ups are going to like that."

"So fucking sue us," Santos said. "And by the way, I
thought you were the attorney of record for Magic City Suites, Miss Ramos's
escort service. Isn't this a conflict of interest?"

" 'Were' the attorney is right, Lieutenant. It so happens she
dismissed our firm over a year ago after a disagreement regarding a bill. That
leaves me free to defend Mr Harvey, which I intend to do to the best of my
ability."

"We've got sufficient evidence to hold him, so we're holding him.
You can come back in the morning for his arraignment. Maybe you can persuade
the judge to set bail, but it's first-degree murder. Judges don't like to turn
such people loose."

Kilgore stormed out. Harvey was escorted in cuffs to a cell in the city
jail.

Silvana edged Vargas aside and whispered to him, "If we leave now,
we can catch Desi Ramos at the drop spot where I make our pickup." As they
headed for their car, she pulled out her cell and selected a phone number to
which she texted the name and address of the restaurant in West Hollywood. She
added, "We're going there now."

Desi
Junior

Hollywood,
Florida

Friday,
April 20, 2012

5:50
PM

T
HE YELLOW
RICE DIDN'T TASTE QUITE RIGHT
for some reason — spices or something — so Desi pushed it to
one side of his plate about halfway through, concentrating instead on the pork
and the black beans. He wondered what the deal was with the rice. The Las Vegas
Cuban Cuisine, as the place was called, always featured great rice, where the
kernels were separate and tasty. But today …

There were a few other customers in the place, but the dinner hour hadn't
really cranked up yet. By six-thirty or so, this joint would be crammed with a
waiting list. He was here at this hour because Machado was making her pickup at
the new six o'clock time. He hated the fact that he always had to be waiting
for her. God forbid he should ever keep her waiting even one fucking minute.
Like she's some kind of goddess or something.

Fucking Machado. She's
stealing my fucking money. Money that I work hard for, and she just comes along
sticking her grimy hand out, expecting me to put a thousand dollars a week into
it.

He didn't know when the heat was going to lift from his shoulders. Those
Jamaicans have long memories, and they're not likely to soon forget the murder
of their beloved fucking Bebop. Desi let his mind consider all the angles.

One, he could stay here. Tough it out. Wait for things to cool off, and
then get back to work. Hit the streets and take back his territory from
Wilfredo, who he was sure by now had considered Desi's kingdom his own.

This option, however, was pretty unlikely, as he referred back to the
Jamaicans and their long memories.

Two, he could sell his Escalade and move to another part of South
Florida, maybe the Keys, and even into another line of work. A straight job,
maybe? Well, maybe not, but something else ought to be right for him. There had
to be something out there.

Nope. He never did care for the Keys. Too small-townish. And the people
there were kind of strange. He was a city boy through and through, and he had
no desire to hang around mangrove swamps.

Three, he could forget the Escalade, get into his Nissan, and drive. Far,
far away from those North Miami niggers who wanted to chop him up and eat him
for dinner. He could go to Tampa, maybe. Or even farther than that! Orlando! No
one would ever find him there. Sure. That's it. He could set himself up in
Orlando on a street corner somewhere. Start off small. In no time he can have a
regular route built up. Just like here.

He was liking this option more and more when Machado walked up to his
table.

"Payday, Desi. Let's have it," she said.

He glared up at her from his seat. "Shit, Machado. You can even ruin
a good meal, you know that?"

She stuck her palm out over his plate. "Come on. Let's have
it."

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope folded in
half and handed it to her. She looked inside, riffled the bills, and stuck it
in her pocket. She lowered her voice and said, "Now, I want you to step
outside with me for a minute."

"Hey, fuck you! I ain't goin' nowhere with you."

She whacked him sharply on the back of his head and it stung. The sound
of it got the attention of some of the other customers. "Get your fucking
ass out of that chair," she snarled. He tossed his fork down and got up.
She escorted him to the door.

What I wouldn't give to get
the drop on this fucking dyke cunt
, he thought
.
Just one time. One fucking time. I'd put her down so fast she —

As soon as they stepped outside, Vargas grabbed Desi in a hammerlock and
moved his squirming figure around to the rear of the building. There sat a
Mercedes Maybach, midnight blue on top, gray on the bottom, four hundred
thousand dollars' worth of soft luxury and raw jungle power. The engine was purring,
no doubt to support the perfect air conditioning inside the blackened windows.
The back door opened and out climbed Maxie Méndez. Three other men stepped out
of the other doors. The engine continued to run. Desi froze up.

Maxie looked comfortable in an open-necked purple linen shirt. Without a
word, he gestured toward Desi, who was still in Vargas's firm grip. The three
men came and took him.

"No! Hey!" he cried. "What the fuck — what is this?
Hey! I didn't do nothin'!"

He struggled mightily as they loaded him into the Maybach. His screams continued,
but went unheard once they had him inside the great soundproofed machine.

From his restrained position in the back seat, Desi looked through the
window and saw Maxie hand a briefcase to Machado. After the transfer was
complete, Maxie returned to the car and lumbered in. Paralyzed by the horror of
what he knew was coming, Desi watched Maxie give a signal to the driver, who
put the car in gear and sped away toward the freeway and the bowels of Hialeah.

Alicia

Miami,
Florida

Friday,
April 20, 2012

11:40
PM

T
HE ORGASM
WAS ONE OF THE BEST
Alicia could remember. Nick always knew what to do. He
designed every move just for her, as though she were slipping into a
custom-tailored suit, something truly one of a kind. No woman he had ever been
with received this kind of treatment, she was certain. He was completely
attuned to her desires and needs, and they were like no other.

She rolled off of him onto her back on the bed. The combination of the
air conditioning and the ceiling fan overhead couldn't stop the sweat from
streaming off her. After a few deep breaths, she reined herself in.

Nick turned on his side to face her and placed his hand on her damp
stomach. His smile reassured her of his deep love and commitment and she wanted
him to know she loved him, too. After all, he was the father of their beautiful
little girl, and they were one happy family. They really were.

They were even happier after she gave him the new Jaguar for his birthday
following her return from England on Tuesday. She had ordered it a couple of
days before she left Miami and arranged for its delivery to their doorstep
Tuesday evening, his birthday. He was wowed, no doubt about it. The car was
beautiful, a big sapphire blue XJ, with all the bells and whistles. It was all
he talked about all week, including tonight.

That, she figured, would make what she had to say go down a lot easier.

"Honey," she said in a low murmur. She still lay on her back
but turned her head in his direction and smiled. "If I can get you to quit
thinking about your new car for a second …"

"Sure, my love. What's on your mind?"

"I've been thinking of expanding our markets at the store. You know,
open up new sales frontiers where we haven't been yet. Not just Latin America
and the UK, but elsewhere."

"New frontiers?" he said.

"Yeah," she said, not giving anything away. "My plan is to
make an initial trip for a week or so. If I can generate any kind of real
sales, I may have to return on a regular basis until things get up and
running."

"Where will you be going?"

"Taiwan."