M.I.A. Hunter: Miami War Zone Page 12

  First they kill the old man, Charlie thought, and now they want to kill me. Well, they'll have to catch me first!

  Charlie began to slither away from the firefight on his belly, staying so close to the ground that his face was almost pressed into the grass. He had no intention of dying. Not if he could help it.

  Feliz saw the dark form sliding across the grass.

  "Don't you leave this place without me," he ordered the driver. He waited until a lull in the firing and slipped out of the van. Bullets thwanged off the armored cab as someone got a glimpse of him, and then he was off in the dark.

  Heading to meet Crazy Charlie.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "It may not be what we thought," Rosales told Allbright when he picked him up.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The D.E.A. I got a call from some guy named Williams, a big dog from D.C. He wants a meet."

  "A meet about what?" Allbright thought that he must have missed something. He didn't quite know what was going on.

  "A meet about all the killings. It seems there's someone else involved, someone we didn't know about."

  "Who?"

  "A man named Mark Stone. Williams seems to think he's some sort of vigilante, but he has some good connections. I don't know what's going on, so I told Williams we'd talk to him."

  "Why me?"

  "You're Homicide, aren't you? People are dying, aren't they?"

  Allbright nodded. "I see your point."

  They arrived at the D.E.A. office and were met by Mike Bass. "I'll take you to meet Williams. He's really got it in for this Stone guy."

  They followed Bass in. Williams was calm, but they could see the rage just below the surface.

  "I don't know how much of this Stone is involved in," Williams told them after the introductions. "But I know he's into some of it. He's here on his own, completely unofficially, to rescue one of our men. He seems to believe that the agency's helpless and unable to care for its own."

  Well, he's got that right, Rosales thought, but the news upset him in other ways. "You mean to tell me that there's an unauthorized agent running loose down here, shooting up everyone in sight, causing a drug war to break out, and we haven't been told about it?"

  Gilbert Benton spoke up. "It's not exactly like that. We don't know for sure just what Stone's been involved in and what he hasn't."

  "Not all of this is connected to Stone then?"

  "Probably not. But some of it definitely is," Williams said. "And I want him out of it. We'll take care of our own."

  Sure you will, Rosales thought. "And you want us to take this guy out. Is that it?"

  "That's it."

  "You may as well know that we don't think anyone except the locals is involved in the latest escapade," Allbright told them. He explained their reasoning about the drug raid, the loose money and drugs left lying at the scene, and Crazy Charlie's probable part in things.

  "I knew there was something wrong with that scene," Ferguson said. "I think you're right. If Stone had been in on it, he would have at least destroyed the dope. And he would have been a fool to have left the money."

  Rosales decided to let them in on the rest of it. "We're on our way to Charlie Lucci's right now. You're welcome to tag along."

  "Give us five minutes," Williams said.

  The rain began just as Feliz started out after Crazy Charlie. The clouds seemed to open up, dropping hard pellets of water that stung his face as he ran across the grounds. He had no idea where Charlie was going, but he intended to find out.

  Charlie, his feet slipping on the suddenly wet grass, didn't know where he was going either. He was just running to get away from the shooting. There was one other gate in the wall, a small one at the rear of the grounds. If he could get there, he might have a chance.

  Ahead of Charlie was his alligator pool. Most of the stories about it weren't true, but Charlie liked to encourage them because they gave him an exaggerated sense of himself and because they made people fear him. He appreciated the value of fear.

  He had never thrown dogs or cats to the gators, however. He didn't even know how those stories got started. He'd thrown them a couple of turtles once, just to see what they'd do, but that was all. Mostly they ate fish that one of Charlie's men bought at the market, or sometimes he'd give them a few gobs of raw meat.

  Charlie rarely fed them himself. He liked to watch them crawl around, and he liked the way they sounded when they bellowed, but he hardly ever even looked at them anymore. They were just a part of the landscape these days.

  One of them bellowed now, maybe aroused by the rainstorm. Charlie had no idea why they made that noise. It could be that they were just horny. Charlie didn't care.

  He was skirting the edge of the pool, a low brick rim that was the only restraint necessary. The pool was large and deep, except for the shallow edges, and the gators were quite happy there. As long as they were fed, there was no problem with them trying to escape. Even if they did, who was going to complain? They couldn't get off the estate. It was illegal for Charlie to have them in the first place, but no one had ever investigated.

  He could hear the gators moving in the water, and he thought of their sharp teeth and powerful jaws. He moved to give the pool a wider berth just as the bullet struck him in the heel. He fell sprawling in the grass, the rain plastering his hair to his face and weighting his clothes to his body.

  Charlie rolled over and fired back, the bullet grazing Feliz's hip. The Cuban hit the grass even harder than Charlie had.

  For a few seconds the two men blazed away at each other, their revolver barrels spitting blue flames into the rain.

  Neither one scored another hit.

  The pain in Feliz's hip was bad, but he struggled to his feet and went after Crazy Charlie.

  Charlie met Feliz's charge on his knees, flailing away with his fists and trying to get the Cuban off-balance. Feliz went for Charlie's face.

  Both men were once street fighters, but now they had been off the streets for a long time. Both had grown soft, and both had forgotten what real pain was. They fought ineffectually but fiercely, their pain adding to their ferocity.

  Charlie saw the dark stain at Feliz's hip and struck at the wound.

  Feliz screamed and fell to the ground, rolling to the side. Charlie crawled after him.

  Lightning crackled, revealing the thrashing forms in the pool to Charlie's right. One of the gators bellowed.

  Charlie fell on Feliz, trying to get his hands around the Cuban's throat, but Feliz thrust him away. Both men rolled in the wet grass, staining their sodden clothing and covering it with mud.

  Charlie grabbed a handful of mud and grass and tried to rub it in Feliz's face. The Cuban turned aside and aimed a punch at Charlie's stomach. It landed, and Charlie coughed and fell.

  Feliz got to his feet, trying to ignore the pain that shot all the way from his hip to his toes, and grabbed Charlie under the arms. He began dragging him toward the alligator pool.

  When he finally realized what was happening, Charlie dug his good heel into the ground to slow his progress. It didn't help much.

  Charlie then drew both legs up under him and pushed backward as hard as he could. The push, in the same direction that Feliz was walking, threw the Cuban off-balance and brought them both to the grass again. They tumbled together, Charlie grabbing Feliz's hand and biting it until his teeth met through the muscle of the heel.

  Feliz was beyond screaming. He finally ripped his hand away, leaving a bloody hunk of it in Charlie's mouth, and then kicked Charlie in the face, giving his nose the full force of the muddy foot.

  Charlie's head snapped to the side and Feliz crawled over to him, grasping his jacket in his hand and pulling him toward the low wall that ringed the gators.

  Charlie tried feebly to resist, but his strength was gone. Feliz got him to the wall, sat him with his back against it, and then began to push him over it.

  Charlie's eyes were full of mud and beginning
to swell shut from the force of Feliz's kick, but he could hear the sound of the gators behind him. He tried to throw himself forward and away from the sounds.

  Kneeling beside him, Feliz chopped him across the face.

  Charlie fell back across the wall, half in and half out of the pool area.

  Feliz raised his hand to hit him again, but then he glanced up to see a huge bull gator outlined against the thick, dark clouds. Feliz pulled his hand down and tried to wipe the wet hair out of his eyes.

  The gator opened its gigantic jaws, then clamped them shut, taking in Charlie's head and most of his torso.

  Charlie's legs hung obscenely out of the reptile's mouth. They kicked and jerked spasmodically, and Feliz thought he heard Charlie screaming. Or trying to. The sound came dimly from the inside of the gator's mouth.

  As Feliz watched, the gator backed into the pool, carrying Charlie with him.

  Serves you right, you bastard, Feliz thought. He stood up again and limped back toward the fighting.

  As Carol Jenner drove the van toward the estate of Crazy Charlie, Stone and his team heard sirens in the distance. "Could be just an accident somewhere," Loughlin observed. "Or a fire."

  "Have to be a pretty damn big accident," Hog growled, "or a damn big fire. And I don't see any fire."

  "How far is it now?" Stone asked Carol.

  "Not far. Couple of blocks, probably."

  "I hope those cops aren't headed the same way." Hog looked at Loughlin. "Or ambulances, or fire trucks, or whatever they are. I don't feel like messin' with the cops."

  "Bloody nuisance," Loughlin agreed.

  "Let's get there fast," Stone ordered Carol.

  She stepped on the gas.

  Feliz hobbled toward the moving van, working his right hand up and down as a signal to the driver to sound the air horn.

  The driver had been watching him through the rain and immediately began honking. This was the agreed-on signal for the Marielitos to begin reloading themselves in the van.

  Bodies lay all around the cars in Crazy Charlie's convoy, and not a few were scattered around on the lawn where the Marielitos had fallen. Feliz had won, but he had taken heavy casualties.

  When Feliz glanced at the convoy, he thought that he saw a body lying in the middle car. The door was still open from Crazy Charlie's hasty flight, and the drugs were beginning to wear off Wofford. The D.E.A. man twitched ever so slightly.

  Feliz called a Marielito over. There was no opposition to worry about. All Charlie's men were dead.

  The two Cubans hauled Wofford out of the back of the car.

  "This is the guy I want," Feliz said. He had never seen Wofford, but there was only one reason why a drugged man would be in the back of Crazy Charlie's car. He was a prisoner, and no doubt the prisoner that Feliz had been hoping to find to offer the Colombians.

  Feliz pulled himself up into the cab of the moving van as the other man dragged Wofford to the back and tossed him inside.

  "Get us out of here," Feliz ordered the driver.

  Stone knew that something was wrong as soon as he saw the wrought-iron gates hanging limply from their stanchions, and in his gut he knew the reason for the sirens they could still hear behind them, but it was too late to turn back now.

  Carol tossed him a quick, questioning look.

  "Keep going," he snapped.

  She wheeled the van in through the gate.

  As they headed up the drive, they could see the moving van backing and filling, trying to get back on the road and started in the right direction to get off the grounds.

  They could see little else through the rain-smeared windshield. The van hid the cars and most of the bodies.

  The moving van's tires cut deep ruts in the wet turf, but the driver got it back onto the asphalt and headed toward Stone's vehicle. There was room for both of them on the road, but the driver of the moving van seemed to want the entire road for himself.

  "Hang on!" Carol yelled. She cut the wheel hard to the right, trying to get out of the way, but the moving van's reinforced bumper clipped them anyway, sending them spinning off the drive. Carol fought the wheel as they did doughnuts across the muddy lawn, grass and mud whirling away from beneath their wheels.

  She finally got the vehicle under control and brought it to a shuddering stop. By then Feliz and his crew were out the gate. Stone saw the bodies and the three motionless cars. He got out and started toward them.

  The rain had almost stopped.

  Rosales had heard the sirens, too. He got on the radio to check it out, and he didn't like what he heard. "The war is spreading," he informed his passengers.

  Williams was in the back seat. "Crazy Charlie's, eh? That's where we're going?"

  Allbright was in the front seat with Rosales. "Right. And so is every other cop in Miami."

  It might have been early in the morning, and a good time for a sneak attack, but it was also a time when neighbors are easily aroused. Though Charlie's estate was fairly isolated, the police had received twelve different calls about the disturbance.

  Five blocks from the estate, siren whining, the car passed a moving van headed sedately in the other direction.

  Williams shook his head wisely. "At least somebody's gotten smart. They're moving out of this damn place."

  Stone and his crew left their weapons in their van. There was no need for them now.

  They walked around the cars and lawn, inspecting the dead bodies. There was no one there that they knew, no sign of Wofford at all.

  That was the good news.

  There was also no sign of Crazy Charlie.

  "Whoever was in that moving van may have both of them," Stone said disgustedly. "If only we'd gotten here a little earlier . . ."

  "Don't say that," Carol said. "What if we'd had a flat tire, or an accident? What if the police had chased us again? Anything could have happened. It's no one's fault."

  She knew that Stone was bitterly disappointed. He had really hoped to find Wofford at Charlie Lucci's house, and now it appeared that the last chance was gone. Their last lead, as well. She didn't know where they would turn now.

  A police cruiser careened through the gate, followed by another and another and another. They kept coming in.

  "Looks like a cop-car parade," Hog grumbled. "You think they're here to award us a good-citizenship medal?"

  Stone forced a smile. "Somehow I doubt it."

  Stone, Carol, Hog, and Loughlin had been thoroughly hassled by the cops, many of whom had come close to shooting them. Stone understood. He had his people at the scene of a massacre, and the natural first assumption would be that they were involved.

  They cooperated fully with the police, however, keeping their hands well in sight and then going along with the obligatory weapons search, at least to the point that they allowed personal searches.

  A search of the van was something else, and Stone was determined to avoid it if he could. The police had plenty of other things to occupy them, such as the twenty or thirty bodies lying around leaking blood into the chewed-up lawn.

  Stone was talking persuasively on this point when Rosales arrived. His passengers got out, and Williams, being the big dog from Washington, flashed his credentials and took over.

  Rosales let him get away with it, wanting to see what would happen and perhaps find out more about what was going on. He cooled the local cops, who continued their investigation of the crime scene.

  It was after dawn now, but the clouds still hung low and heavy in the sky. Dozens of bar lights were flashing, giving the scene an eerie glow. It was almost as if things were taking place in some cavern of hell. The dozens of dead bodies added to the illusion.

  Ignoring the strangeness of the scene, Williams began his tirade. He was wearing a windbreaker with the letters DEA in orange on the back. Hog figured he needed it to keep his own men from shooting him in the back in a heated action. Hog also figured it might not be enough protection. A man like Williams must not have any friends.


  "This is it," the agent from D.C. snarled. The cords in his neck stood out. "I warned you at the airport that I wouldn't stand for this wild-eyed cowboy shit. But now you've done it. You think you're still stuck in Vietnam in some jungle war, but by God you're in the USA now. You can't murder innocent people like this and get by with it!"

  Stone glared at him. "Innocent?"

  "Until proven guilty. These men didn't receive any trial, did they? Or did you have a kangaroo court before you slaughtered them?"

  Stone's eyes were hard. "Who says we slaughtered them?"

  "I do, goddammit."

  "Didn't you say something a second ago about innocent until proven guilty?"

  Williams paused. "What if I did?"

  Stone looked past him at the other D.E.A. men, also in windbreakers, and at the two plainclothes policemen. "Have you proved anything here?"

  "What the hell are you trying to say?"

  "Have you proved that I'm guilty?"

  Williams waved an arm. "I'd say all those bodies out there prove something."

  "They don't prove we killed them. What did we do it with?"

  Williams looked wildly around, as if expecting to see weapons lying somewhere nearby. "I . . . don't know."

  "We didn't get here much before you did," Stone snapped. "My team didn't hit anybody."

  Rosales stepped forward. "I am Bill Rosales, head of the Organized Crime Division in Miami. It doesn't matter to me who you killed. What the hell, most of these scum deserved what they got, I'm sure. When we check their records they'll all have more convictions than Al Capone.

  "But that's not what worries me. What worries me is a completely unauthorized group of men like yourselves, a death squad if you wish, free in my town. You feel that you can come in here, do as you please, and leave, with no thought to the consequences. That is not the way it works, Mr. Stone."

  Allbnght moved up beside Rosales. "I'm head of Homicide. Murder is still murder, no matter who gets killed."

  "And I say we didn't kill any of this bunch," Stone growled. "We came here to look for a friend. That's all there is to it."