Dead Man (Black Magic Outlaw Book 1) (15 page)

 

 

 

 

My destination was a straight shot down Biscayne Boulevard in light traffic. The taxi pulled to the curb alongside the park without a lot of time to spare. The fare almost tapped me out. I paid the cabbie and asked him to wait anyway.

"Money first."

"What?"

"I saw what you had left. Don't ask me to wait if you can't pay."

I sighed and scrounged back in my pocket. "Here's my last four bucks."

He nodded and accepted the scrunched bills. "That gets you ten minutes."

I slammed the door and wished I still had the Monte Carlo. Not dealing with this was worth the risk of getting arrested. I shook it off and reminded myself that it was a new day with new possibilities.

Bayfront Park, surprise surprise, is a park that sits in front of the Bay. I suppose the naming committee skipped out early that day to watch a movie or something, job well done. The park isn't much besides grass and palm trees sliced with intersecting lengths of wide sidewalks, but it works as a public space. It's mostly known for fireworks, free concerts, and guys selling
arepas
out of little carts. In the daytime, without an event going on, things were more laid back. Quiet, almost, but enough people and daylight to keep things reasonable. Easy visibility in all directions.

In a plaza by the waterside, Evan Cross leaned against a railing that circled a large fountain. It was plain as far as fountains went. A bowl of concrete that sprayed and swallowed water. A fountain next to the ocean. I never understood the point. A few pedestrians were scattered nearby, but most were lounging closer to the Bay.

No good shadows in sight, of course.

"You afraid of something?" I asked when I came upon my friend.

He turned, trying to act casual. He wore light clothes again, tan this time, but the effect was marred by the black bulletproof jacket he wore on top with the word "DROP" across the back. His twin guns were holstered as well.

"Don't be dramatic, Cisco. It's just a vest."

"If I was gonna attack you, the vest wouldn't help."

"Exactly," he said. "So it's not for you."

I nodded in a way that told him I wasn't so sure. I scanned the waterside again and caught a couple men watching me.

Evan smiled and shook my hand. "Got yourself cleaned up, I see. Where're you staying?"

"Don't worry about it," I answered, checking the perimeter of the park. "Why are we surrounded by cops?"

My friend's smile froze in place, then drained into a sigh. "Sorry about that. They won't move in unless I tell them to."

"What the crap, Evan? Is this why you wanted to meet in broad daylight?"

He stepped toward me with his police officer braggadocio. "You're the one who just admitted to operating as a hit man for ten years."

"
Slaving
as a
zombie
hit man," I corrected. "As in, not my choice. I was dead and under compulsion."

"Then what the hell are you now?"

I turned my back to him and checked the field. No one advanced in SWAT formation. I wasn't sure how much to trust Evan. The feeling was probably mutual. Maybe the units were just a backup plan.

I laughed it off. "Fucking Frank Bullitt here. You always did watch too many movies."

"We waited for you last night," Evan said softly. "It was the only thing we could talk about." I didn't answer and he spun me around by the shoulder. "We're friends, man."

Sometimes, even when things are really obvious, it's still jarring to hear them out loud. I considered him, and I could tell he meant it. But he
had
held out on me.

"I'm Cisco, bro. The same Cisco. I don't know about the last ten years, but I know about now."

He smiled again, dissolving some of the tension between us.

"Is anyone listening to us?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"Good. Do you have my case file?"

He chewed his lip. "I couldn't get it yet."

"I'm serious about that file, Evan. I might need it to get somewhere with this."

"I know. I told you I'd try. I need time."

I nodded. He could've been humoring me. "Then tell me about the Nigerian gang."

Evan ran his hands through his short hair. "There's no gang. They don't have the numbers for street power."

"So how do they make moves in Little Haiti?"

"By working
with
the other gangs. The Nigerians are either higher level players or independent contractors on the bottom rung of the ladder. They either are the muscle, or they pay for it."

"Pay who?"

"That's the thing," he said. "They have associations with the Haitians. The Saints. Smaller gangs like the Westies and 71st Street Hoods. They wouldn't be taking out their allies."

I grunted. I thought Evan had more imagination than this. "Maybe they're only friends in public. The Nigerians don't have the numbers for all-out war, so they talk business and send outside players to do their dirty work. People like me. It's death anonymous."

He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. What put you on this Nigerian kick anyway?"

"We don't get too many West African spider tricksters in these parts. And whatever voodoo I've been hexed with didn't come from any of the Haitian death barons."

"But—"

"I'm telling you, Evan, if there's Nigerian activity, it's a worthwhile lead. If I find out there's a connection and you knew about it..."

He put his hands up in a mixture of apology and indignation. "Don't go down that road, Cisco. This is you and me we're talking about. But there is something."

I checked the park. Everyone seemed miles away but I leaned in anyway.

"There's a meeting today," he confided. "That's why I wanted to talk to you."

"What kind of meeting?"

"The Saints are having a sit down with a particular Nigerian businessman." Evan saw the excitement on my face and waved it away. "He's not a gangster, Cisco. He's a community leader. He runs a nonprofit promoting unity and culture."

"And happens to be meeting with known criminals in public."

Evan was ready with an explanation. "Baptiste isn't just a criminal. He runs legitimate businesses up and down the Boulevard. That means legitimate businessmen sometimes interact with him."

"But you know better about Baptiste."

"Everybody does. We know what he is but we can't arrest him. He plays off his family history and needing to overcome the obstacles of minority culture. He's an unlikely success story. The public eats it up."

"What about his esteemed Nigerian business partner?"

"Namadi Obazuaye. He's not a bad guy. He does outreach with the city commissioners and police."

"The commissioners?" I fumed. "As in, your boss? Do you fucking work for this guy?"

"He's legitimate, Cisco. The commissioners work with community leaders. When they need police details, the DROP team is the first in line for the overtime."

"I can't believe it. You actually
do
work for these guys." I got a bad taste in my mouth and bared my teeth. DROP the real police work to score political points. "These are the facts, 'Lieutenant.' Namadi has heavy West African ties in this city. He's associating with a voodoo gang that's been under fire, by myself no less. We're all tied up in this somehow."

"There are other facts you're ignoring. Like all the good Namadi has done for the poor neighborhoods of the city. All the redevelopment projects he's taken on."

I hissed. "Redevelopment isn't noble. It's profitable."

I knew Evan was hearing me, but his face was stiff. An impassive mask of disbelief. Maybe he didn't want to believe he'd been close to a bad guy. Maybe he discounted my opinion because I wasn't a detective. Maybe he needed more convincing.

"Stop being so stubborn and open your eyes," I snapped. Some of the undercover officers watching us tensed.

Evan Cross hooked his hands on his hips and laughed. "I can't believe this. It's high school all over again. You can only see things from your perspective. Nothing else matters to you."

"You know I'm right."

"Do I? You've never even met Namadi but you have him pegged. Meanwhile, I'm the one doing everything wrong." Evan pounded a finger in my chest. "You're reckless, egotistical, and overconfident. And now you're running around Miami like an outlaw."

I hissed at him. "Stop exaggerating."

Evan turned away and shook his head, like a father sick of disciplining his kid. "There was a shootout at Saint Martin's last night."

I frowned. "Lots of people shoot guns in Miami."

"At night in a closed cemetery? The same one that your sister and parents are buried at?" He rested his elbows on the railing and hitched a foot on the bottom rung. "What are you doing, Cisco?"

I narrowed my eyes, about to snap back at him, but I realized he probably saw the same defensive mask on my face that I saw on his. I stared at my red boots for a minute, then sighed and leaned beside him. I crossed my arms and watched the perimeter. "They followed me. I dealt with it."

"Dealt with it how? You didn't kill Baptiste, did you?"

I shook my head.

"Then you only made it worse."

I clenched my jaw. Yesterday, I'd been behind the eight ball. Scrambling and on the run the entire day. But today was mine. The Bone Saints didn't know where I was anymore. They'd assume they were safe at a sit-down behind gang security.

"Why today?" I posited. "Have you asked yourself that? How long has this meeting been planned?"

"I don't know," Evan admitted. "The gang unit picked it up last night."

"After my run-in with the Saints?"

Evan Cross frowned and nodded.

"The meeting's about me."

My friend remained silent. A last-second emergency meeting late at night? The timing was too coincidental for Evan to deny the plausibility of my theory. He rapped his fingers in irritation on the railing, over and over. I finally saw the work conflict. Evan could be working for a corrupt politician for all I knew. His job could be on the line.

Evan pulled a white envelope from his back pocket. "You should stay away from them, Cisco. The Bone Saints are street scum. Low-level wannabes. Adding another player to your list of enemies will decrease your chances of living. Namadi Obazuaye doesn't have the firepower of the gangs, but he has enough resources and connections to make your life hell."

"And if he already has? What if he used his resources and West African connections to make me his personal hit man for the last decade? If that was him, should I still leave him be?"

Evan nervously clapped the envelope between his hands.

I shook my head in disappointment. "What would you have me do, buddy? What's in that envelope?"

He handed it to me. "I spoke with Emily about this. You weren't there to discuss it, but she agreed. We got some cash together for you."

I opened it, rifled my finger over the fat stack of cash, and chuckled. "This isn't a payoff, is it?"

Evan's face was serious. "Get out of town, Cisco. Don't tell anyone where you're going. Not me or Emily or anyone else you've spoken to. You didn't deserve what happened to you. None of your family did. But maybe you can enjoy the rest of your life."

I cocked my head and backed away.

"The streets should be clear for the day," he continued. "The Saints will be busy at the sit-down. It's the best chance you have of leaving town unimpeded. Just disappear."

I snorted, incredulous. "Not gonna happen, tough guy. And I don't need your blood money."

"That's not what it is. Jesus, what kind of person do you think I am? That's some personal money that my wife and I put together because we care about you. Get some food. Buy some normal shoes."

"Hey, don't diss the boots. They're growing on me."

He rolled his eyes. "Just get out of town, Cisco. And keep the money. It comes with no strings attached."

I slid the wad into my back pocket. "Fine. I'll take the money, but I won't take your advice. I'm staying and I'm going to that meeting. And fuck you if you won't help me."

Evan's face twisted in anger. "You can't keep doing this, man. Emily
just
heard about your return last night. If you charge into Little Haiti with a bullheaded plan and get yourself killed again, it's not fair to her."

"It might wrap things up nicely for you though," I reasoned.

"That's not fair!" His emotion all poured out at once. No more mask. I swear, my friend almost decked me. I probably deserved it. It was a cheap shot. To Evan's credit, he didn't retaliate with one of his own.

"The Bone Saints base down in a block-wide series of tenement buildings. It's their turf and it's locked down. You'll never get in and out alive."

"Maybe not without your help."

Evan expressed his displeasure. "I could check if the gang unit is running surveillance."

"Do they have someone inside?"

"In the gang? No. But maybe I could get you some intel. Lie low until then. Don't do anything stupid."

I didn't like it. It sounded more like a stalling tactic than anything else. I held my phone out for him. "You can start with the address."

Evan ran his eyes over the Bay and sighed. He grabbed my phone and punched in an address.

"You really can't help more than that?" I asked as I took back the phone.

"Get involved? Personally?" He looked me right in the eyes. "No way."

I didn't hide my disappointment. "I've been dead, Evan. I've got an excuse. What have you been doing for the last ten years?"

His hands went to his hips again. Facing his demons was business as usual. "You said it yourself, Cisco. You were killed, resurrected. That's impossible. No one should be able to do that. You can't beat whoever you're up against. What chance do I have?"