M.I.A. Hunter: Miami War Zone (17 page)

"And when is the lesson to be administered?"

"We leave in"—
Feliz
glanced at his Rolex—"ten minutes. Would you like to come along and watch?"

"No, thank you." Bores had gotten his fill of violence in the ring. He had no taste for it now. "I hope that
El Loco
learns his lesson well."

Feliz
grinned crookedly. "He will, I am certain of that. Whether he will survive to tell about it, well, that is another matter entirely."

S
tone's team arrived at the safe house and assessed the damages.

Aside from various bruises and contusions, everyone was in good shape. They went to the kitchen to eat sandwiches made from the cold cuts that were in the refrigerator and to plan their next move.

Carol spread a map of Miami on the table to locate Crazy Charlie's place, which turned out to be in a somewhat less ritzy area than Don Vito's.

"This time," Stone said, "we go in hard. Nothing fancy. We'll hit it with everything we've got. If
Wofford's
there, we'll find him and get him out. That's all there is to it."

"No more sewers?" Hog mumbled around a mouthful of bread and lunch meat.

"No more sewers. We go right through the front door."

"Just the way I like it," Hog mumbled.

Loughlin had a question. "What if Charlie finds out about the raid on Don Vito's, as he must? He'll be ready for us."

Stone disagreed. "Not for us. He doesn't know who the hell we are, or even that we're here. He'll know something happened, but he won't know what or why. We're the X factor in this equation."

"What about all the bodies that are piling up?" Carol wondered. "Won't the police be really itchy?"

"I imagine so, and the D.E.A. too. That damned Williams is obviously the one who traced us and gave our number to the cops that chased us earlier. Have I told you what a great driver you are?"

Carol smiled. "Not often enough. Does this mean I get a raise?"

"Sure." Stone laughed. "Just as soon as I do."

They finished eating. Stone gave them their orders. "I said an hour. Let's make it thirty minutes. If Crazy Charlie is antsy, we don't want him to have time to make too many plans."

C
razy Charlie was not pleased.

Fox had done his best, which was very good indeed, which was in fact the best that could be done, but
Wofford
had told them next to nothing.

"Shit!" Charlie snapped. "The bastard don't know hardly a damn thing!"

Wofford
lay on the bed, still under the effects of the Sodium
Amytal
. His face was smashed and his lips pulpy.

Fox looked at the D.E.A. man. "It's not my fault, let me assure you. I've used all the latest and best techniques."

"Hell, I know that. I've seen what you can do. It's just that he don't know dick about what's going on. Just that one lousy drug buy, see where that leads, get '
em
to trust you, maybe you'll learn something big."

Charlie shook his head in disgust. "It's no wonder the fucking feds never catch anybody except by accident. They got no concept about how to go about things."

Fox was curious. "What would you do if you were one of them?"

"Same thing we're doing right here. Snatch a few guys, run them through the wringer, and see what squeezes out."

"What we're doing here is not exactly legal," Fox reminded him.

"No shit. Well, that explains it. As long as those federal doggies play real nice and follow the rules, guys like me don't have to worry."

"True," Fox said. "But one wonders what might happen if you were ever to go up against someone as ruthless as yourself. The drug trade might then be stopped cold."

"What a laugh," Charlie said sarcastically. "The D.E.A. is as big a bunch of pussies as there is in the world. The only ones as tough as us are the Cubans, and after tonight the Colombians may just wipe them out for me."

Fox had no idea what Charlie was talking about, and so he said nothing.

The telephone in the bedroom rang. Charlie walked over and picked it up. "Yeah?"

As he listened, the blood drained from his face. "Fuck!" he yelled. And a few minutes later, "Goddamn motherfuckers! Shit! Shit!"

The curse of a limited vocabulary
, Fox thought.

Charlie slammed the phone down, then grabbed the whole set and ripped the cord from the wall, throwing the phone across the room and smashing it against the paneling on the opposite side.

"Some fucking assholes raided my old man's place! He's dead and so is every other sonofabitch there! Give that bastard on the bed something to knock him out and keep him that way. But don't kill him. Kill him and you're a dead man too. We're getting him and us out of here."

Well, well
, Fox thought as he prepared the injection.
It seems as if someone else is not playing by the rules . . .

T
he theory of the predawn attack is that your enemy will have been trying to rest, that his energy will be at its lowest ebb, and that his mind will not be functioning at its highest level.

This theory had nothing at all to do with Enrique
Feliz's
plans. He simply wanted to hit Charlie as hard as possible, and as soon as possible, so that the value of his "lesson" would not be weakened by the elapse of too much time.

His
Marielitos
, the toughest, meanest men he had, were loaded into the back of a special moving van, armed with Uzis, and ready to go. The early morning hour was good for one thing. Not too many residents would be awake to see the van moving through the streets.

The trailer section of the van was fitted out with seats along each wall and illuminated with electric lights. The
Marielitos
sat on the hard benches and checked their weapons. Most of them were looking forward to the coming battle. They had not been told its purpose or its reason, but that didn't bother them. A fight was a fight. It was what they were paid, and paid well, to do.

Feliz
rode in the cab with the driver. He did not often go out on the streets these days, but he felt a personal interest in the teaching of this particular lesson. He wanted to be present to be sure that it had its full effect.

The cab had a special reinforced bumper, and
Feliz's
mechanics had increased the power of the engine considerably. The doors were armored, and the glass was bulletproof. Aside from those improvements, the van looked perfectly normal. It was painted in orange and black, and on the sides of the trailer were painted the words FLORIDA MOVERS—WE TAKE YOU WHERE YOU WANT TO GO.

Feliz
smiled when he thought about where he would be taking Crazy Charlie
Lucci
, whether he wanted to go or not.

A
llbright
couldn't sleep. It wasn't all the killing that bothered him so much as the idea that something was wrong. Something that he couldn't quite identify. His mind kept going back over the events of the night, the raid at the Black Pussy Cat, the drug deal that went sour, the attack on Don Vito.

There had to be a connection, but what was it?

Allbright
lay in the bed and looked at the ceiling, trying to get his thoughts to lead him to the solution to the puzzle.
It's a good thing I'm not married
, he thought,
no one would be able to put up with the hours I keep—I can't even get to sleep when I'm not working.

Of course, he was working. Or his mind was. He was just doing it on his own time.

When the answer came, he sat upright in the bed, feeling like a fool for not having thought of it earlier. He grabbed the phone and dialed the number of Bill Rosales.

Rosales picked it up on the first ring. He hadn't been sleeping either. "Rosales here."

"
Allbright
. I know what's going on. Or part of it. How soon can you get a team together?"

"Soon. What is it?"

"All the dope and money just lying there at that ambush, that's what. There's no way anyone would leave it, not unless the ambush had an entirely different purpose from the usual one. It wasn't a rip-off. No one ever wanted the money in the first place."

Rosales didn't get it. "Not want the money?"

"Not primarily,"
Allbright
explained. "I don't doubt that they would have taken it if the opportunity had presented itself. But what if someone just wanted to stir up trouble? To get the Cubans and the Colombians at each other's throats?"

"Crazy Charlie," Rosales said.

"Probably."

"No, no. You're right. I'm sure of it. There's been a rumor on the streets for weeks now that the Mob guys are ready to get back into drug distribution in Miami, and this is just the kind of thing that Charlie would try. Put both sides against the other and then step in to take control. I'm sure you're right. You must be."

"If I am, then we need to get a move on."

"But why?"

"Because Enrique
Feliz
is just as smart as I am. Maybe even smarter. When he puts this together . . ."

"I see what you mean. I'll get some men and pick you up in an hour."

"I'll be ready."
Allbright
hung up the phone and got out of bed.
Where the hell are my shoes?
he wondered.

J
es
ú
s
Blanco sat in his sterile office at the Colombian drug lab deep in the Everglades. He had gone there shortly after receiving the report about the ambush to meet with the other kingpins of the drug operation. Blanco was the leader, but he did nothing without the advice and consent of the others.

Blanco was a thin,
storklike
man who seemed a highly unlikely person to be running a huge drug operation, but he was the one whose expertise made the lab where the paste was converted to cocaine possible.

His opposite was the beefy Jaime del Rio, the enforcer, whose anger at the night's events was burning hotly. "The
fuckin
'
Cubanos
double-crossed us! I lost good men, and that
fuckin
'
Feliz
has gotta pay! I ain't gonna be jerked around by no two-bit dope peddler like that!"

Blanco raised a thin hand. "We do not have the human resources that our friend
Feliz
has. We cannot afford the loss."

Del Rio bridled. "Loss, hell! Who says we're gonna lose?"

"Wait," Diego Gomez put in. "Let us hear what
Jesús
has to say." Gomez was a money man. He didn't like fighting, and he nearly always functioned as a peacemaker at these meetings.

Blanco nodded in Gomez's direction. "Thank you. It is quite simple, really. If we commit ourselves to a battle, and we lose, then we lose it all—the laboratory, our livelihood, everything." He paused for effect. "And not only we. Our families lose. Everyone in Colombia loses, even the little men and women who sell one bundle of paste a year to make their entire income."

Jaime sat back. He saw the logic of it. "I still say we won't lose," he muttered.

"Perhaps not," Blanco went on smoothly. "But consider. What if we commit our manpower to a war with
Feliz
? Where will our men be? One place they will
not
be is here. We will not have the proper force to guard our laboratory. What if
Feliz
should realize that and choose to lead us on to the outside, then send his men here to attack and take over? Where would that leave us?"

"But he doesn't know where we are," Jaime protested.

"He might," Gomez said. "You should never make the mistake of underestimating him. Others who have, lived to regret it."

"There is another consideration as well," Blanco informed them. "What if the fighting was initiated by a third party?"

"Who?" Jaime was immediately interested.