Bounce
by elfin
PART TWO
def: 'Bounce' - to land after freefall without the aid of a parachute
Sonny:
I had the dream again, the one where Rico's starin' down at me from
above, like I'm lyin' down and he's lyin' over me, and he's smilin',
happy, and so am I. Then his smile fades and his eyes melt and
run like hot toffee outta his head. In the dream I'm screamin'
but when I snap awake I'm just makin' this pathetic yelping sound and
sweatin' like I've run a marathon in a heat wave. But the worse
thing about it is the horror, that sick feelin' it's impossible to
shake for the rest of the day.
I showered, put on a pot of freshly ground coffee and went out back to
stare at the water like a lovesick puppy until the coffee was like
treacle, thick enough to hold the teaspoon upright and strong enough to
keep me awake for a week. I'd started havin' the dream in
Tallahassee, the night I stopped over from Miami to here, where I ended
up. Rico used to think I had a sixth sense, or second sight or
some damn weird thing. But if he wasn't okay someone would have
written to me. I made Gina promise before I left. She was a
little pissed off I didn't ask the same thing of Trudy if anything
happened to her, but I think she worked out years ago that after Tubbs
came on the scene, she was always going to come second to him.
At the end of the path from the back of the house, 'The Ricardo' bobbed
in the calm ocean. The idea to take tourists fishin' wasn't
panning out as planned. When I bought the boat it had apparently
slipped my mind that I'm not a people person. I'd taken some of
the locals on a couple of trips though, and I'd been paid in fish and
kegs of beer, so I decided that had worked out okay. But my
fourth incarnation as a fisherman was suiting me less than my second as
a serviceman and every time I looked at the ocean I felt an ache so
deep for Miami it was all I could do not to get in the car and drive
home. No amount of self-denial it seemed was gonna convince me
the island was anything more than a stopover. It still felt like
an interlude between two lives rather than an existence I could eek out
over the next few years. I could leave anytime, sell the boat;
I'd make money on it too after doin' it up, spending so much time on
it. But I didn't know where I'd go and wherever I ended up I know
it wouldn't be long before I left there too.
And there was another surprise too.
A young lady - Carolyn - who lived half a mile further along the shore,
had come onto me a couple of times in the local bar; nothin' heavy,
just a bit of gentle flirtin'. She'd made it clear it could go
further if I wanted it to. The strange thing was, I didn't.
And it wasn't that she had practically the same name as my ex-wife and
the mother of my son. It wasn't that I wasn't attracted to her…
or more, it wasn't that she was unattractive. She was beautiful
in fact - shorter than me by a couple of inches, even in heels, and I
loved that. Long blond hair, stunning blue eyes, and a very sexy
smile. She was intelligent and funny. She reminded me a
little bit of Catie, and not even the thought of those memories
pouncing on me had put me off. The problem was that something
inside me wasn't buying a love affair as a good enough reason to
stay. After all, a love affair hadn't kept me in Miami, and then
it had been the greatest love of my life.
So there I was, that morning, standing on the path behind my rented
home, contemplating the meaning of my life and drinking coffee so dark
the sun wasn't reflecting off its surface, when a shrill ringing sound
caught me off guard. I jumped - literally - dropped the mug,
reacted as if it had been a gun shot, when all it was, I realised
belatedly, was the telephone. I'd never heard it ring
before. Only Billy had my phone number and I'd always called him
to save the kid money.
It was so odd that it took a couple of seconds for me to start inside,
or maybe I was hoping whoever it was would ring off. But they
didn't, and it was with the caution of a man handling a dangerous and
unpredictable animal that I lifted the receiver from the cradle on the
kitchen wall.
"Hello?"
"Crockett?" My heart started to beat so hard I could barely hear
my old Lieutenant's voice at the other end of the line. "Sonny?"
"Yeah… Marty, it's me. How did you get this number?" There
was a pause, a silence, aand Sonny felt like banging his head against a
wall. "Sorry, kinda obvious. How are you?"
"Good. I'm good, Sonny." It sounded like it was an effort
for him to say it; he'd never really been one for small talk. So
I cut him some slack and reacted like I thought he'd probably expected
I would. "What do you want, Marty?"
"Enrique Fernandez was found dead in New York this morning." He
was back on solid ground, but I was suddenly treadin' water.
"I hate to remind you, but I quit a while ago…."
"He had your photo in his hand." Mine? I didn't even
recognise the dead guy's name. "Yours and Rico's." Well,
yeah, the chances were high - Rico and I had been almost
inseparable. "Fernandez worked for Mandella Garcia."
Shit. Garcia. But even those memories were overshadowed
when he continued, "Tubbs and his new partner are investigating."
His words hit me like a blade to the chest - that initial, terrible
sharp pain, followed by a nauseating ache that refused to quit.
That Rico had been dragged or coaxed or bribed back to law enforcement
didn't surprise me. No. Not bribed. My Rico wasn't
for sale, never would be. What else was he gonna do in the Big
Apple? And with the job came that inevitability of a
partnership. But Rico… God, Rico was mine damn it! The
force of the pain, the strength of the feelin', took my breath away and
left me winded.
"Are you still there?"
"Yeah, Marty." I don't know how I managed to speak, but when I
said, "I'm going up there," it was the first thing I'd been sure of
since we took down Borbon in that other life I thought I'd left
behind. How naïve was I?
# # #
Rico:
The Coroner had got a print and the print had turned up a name -
Enrique Fernandez - wanted for everything from petty theft to drug
trafficking with outstanding warrants in New York and Miami.
Tyrone and I had gone north, doing something apparently he'd sworn
never to do.
"Ricardo Tubbs, meet the Cola brothers, Matthew and Luke."
'Cola' presumably because they were white… I didn't get it either, but
then I didn't care. I turned on the charm with my usual
consummate ease and within ten minutes Tyrone was holding a computer
printout that touched the floor when he stood up and let it fall open.
"See, this is why I don't work Vice." It was a list of known
connections stretching back years and reaching half way around the
globe. A second printout followed. "Fernandez's
record. This reads like a novel, Ric. Arrested in New York
in '81 on suspicion of dealing along with two other guys, Paulo Lopez
and Charlie Spotts. Released without charge. Arrested in
Miami in '82, suspicion of receiving and moving, again released without
charge. Arrested in Miami in 1983 along with a Mark Solari and
charged with possession, did two years. Solari got off on a
technicality - the warranty to search his house didn't cover the boot
of his car where they found the coke." He carried on down the
printout. "Fernandez disappears off the map for about a year then
and reappears in New York, arrested for trafficking and this time he's
defended by a hot shot lawyer who gets him off."
"Who was the lawyer?"
"Let me see… Alexio Montoya." The name didn't ring any
bells.
"Then what?"
"He's arrested in 1986 yet again - this one ain't clever - in Miami,
during a Vice bust… hey, Bro', that you? Mandella Garcia?
Hey, Ric… you've turned white, man."
#
The bar was the kinda place Sonny would have loved - hidden away down
some back street, tiny tables big enough to hold two Espresso cups and
an ashtray, spilling out onto the uneven pavement. Inside smelt
of ash, sweat and bourbon, and the patrons were shrouded in a layer of
smoke, a protective cloak that hid them from the world. Not
Tyrone's first choice that was for sure, but he went where I was
going. We sat outside and when a young girl in black with long
black hair came out Tyrone ordered two beers and I ordered a Jack
Daniels chaser. He looked at me like he wanted to say something
but didn't.
I didn't want him there - hadn't invited him but he'd come anyway,
forcing his way into my car before I could get it into Drive. So
he was with me, but no way was I gonna spill about Garcia. It was
one of those weird ones, and there'd been a few during my time in
Miami. Garcia was the weirdest of the lot, but he led to that
redefinition of the word 'partner' that made it so difficult to have
anyone else but Sonny play that role in my life.
We'd been undercover for months, on and off, working our way up the
food chain, starting small, getting bigger and bigger deals, letting
them all go down smoothly, until we finally got the call Garcia wanted
us to move one-hundred and fifty keys out of Miami to the Caribbean to
his distributor. It was what we'd been waiting for. But
before he told us where and when he wanted to meet us, and we were kind
of anxious to meet him. He had a place on St Andrews Island, and
we were cordially invited to a house party one night.
Socialising with the bad guys was always Sonny's least favourite part
of the job. But in we went, DJs and bow ties, lookin' like a
million dollars, with no backup and no emergency exit. Not as
much as a bullet between us. It was a party! What could
possibly go wrong? We learnt our lesson that night, and what I
did, I did because I already loved Crockett, even before any of the
other stuff happened between us.
We partied. We met Garcia, he told us to enjoy ourselves and that
in the morning we'd talk. That was cool. We had a couple of
drinks, chatted to a couple of women, and when I went to bed around two
Sonny was in the seemingly safe and capable hands of a blond lady who'd
been whispering all the right things in his ear all night. I
thought we were on for an easy ride. But a couple of hours later
I was rudely awakened by one of Garcia's goons stroking my ear with the
business end of a .45 and I started to think maybe I'd been wrong.
The house was quiet, all the guests gone. I'd guessed
someone had talked - maybe someone at the party had made us - and the
usual routine in that situation is restraint, a beating followed by one
through the back of the head. So when we stopped in front of a
white door and the goon opened it, two things struck me instantly, one
with greater ferocity and a heightened sense of horror than the
other. The room wasn't an office, it was a bedroom - Garcia's
bedroom. And kneeling on the carpet with his hands tied in front
of him and the twin of the gun holdin' me hostage pointed at his head
by the twin of the goon behind me was my partner. That was
something I'd seen too many times before, Crockett held at
gunpoint. Business as usual, except for it being in a
bedroom. But standing in front of Sonny, wearing nothing but an
open silk shirt and silk boxers, was Garcia, stroking his own dick
through thin black material, gettin' visibly, obviously hard, and I
knew what was comin' next. Or, I knew what Garcia thought was
comin' next; rape at gunpoint followed by a double execution somewhere
far from the house.
Only I knew differently. I knew nothin' in this world would make
Crockett open his mouth, and as he still had his pants on I guessed
Garcia didn't want it any other way. I could read the stiff set
of his shoulders, the way his head was turned away as far was possible
with a .45 shoved against his temple. Sonny wasn't gonna suck any
dude's cock, and his refusal would get him pistol whipped and
eventually earn us both an early bullet in the head.
Me, on the other hand… well, let's just say it wouldn't be the first
dick I've had in my mouth and leave it at that. I wasn't exactly
playin' martyr on Sonny's behalf,
although I would have done, so I got mouthy, so to speak. I
figured he knew we were cops, businessmen didn't usually seal deals by
sexually assaulting their transportation providers, so I told him Sonny
had been in jail for contempt, that he'd been
used, was damaged goods, psychotic, that he'd likely bite it off.
I didn't look at Sonny as I said it.
Garcia grinned in a way I didn't like. "He bites, Tony here puts
a bullet through his brain."
"Yeah, but then you're gonna have to slit his throat to get your penis
out and hope some surgeon can sew it back so it works right. Come
on, man, you want your cock sucked, let me."
He looked down at Sonny and obviously something in my partner's eyes
backed up what I'd said. To my relief he swaggered over to
me. "What's to say you won't do the same thing?"
"Because I don't want to watch my partner die. And I don't want
to die either."
Garcia considered it and to my relief, he nodded. "Okay,
cop. Make it good and I give
you my word he walks out of here." Nothin' about me walkin' out
with him, but that was okay. I had other ideas anyway. I
didn't look at Sonny, kept my eyes on Garcia until his dick was in my
mouth, then I closed them. He wasn't big, not compared to some of
the guys I'd sucked off, but then I'd chosen to do them. I could
feel the guy behind me, pressing the gun into the side of my head as he
pressed his hard-on against the back of my skull through his
pants. Kinda obvious that Garcia would employ like-minded goons
but the interviews must have been a laugh a minute. I did glance
once at the guy standing behind Sonny and surprisingly he
didn't look into it at all, in fact his head was turned away from us in
what might have been repulsion. That was good. That would
help. Because after a couple of very long minutes, when Garcia's
climax was close,
when I had his complete attention, I pulled my head back suddenly and
bit the head of his cock as I head-butted the erection behind me.
Both men doubled over in pain and I heard a grunt as Sonny took down
the goon with the gun to his head. In a move faster than I'd ever
seen, he grabbed the gun, shot the heavy once in the knee, turned and
fired one into Garcia's crotch. The amount of blood was
incredible, his screams were terrible, and even I wouldn't have wished
that on the guy. But I understood why Sonny had done it, and God,
at that moment I loved him fiercely for it.
It was hours before the local cops had cleaned up the mess. By
then Castillo had arrived - a blissful sight after what the locals
had put us through. It was something Sonny and I could rely on -
Castillo turnin' up wherever we needed him to bail us out. Sonny
insisted on taking us back to the mainland in the cigarette boat that
we'd bought out to the island and truth was I was happy to go with
him. Even though we hadn't told Castillo the whole truth about
what had happened, it was like somehow he knew. If one of us had
showed any emotion above and beyond the usual he'd have had us off on
mandatory leave before we'd been able to utter a single word of
protest, with the added joy of a visit to the department shrink thrown
in for fun.
Ironically, I knew, even though I was okay with what had happened Sonny
definitely wasn't. Once we got back to Bal Harbour, and to the
St.Vitus Dance, and Sonny had thrown a frozen perch at Elvis, he
erupted. Every word was predictable, his anger understandable,
and his tears when they came broke my heart. I let him yell
himself hoarse before I even tried to explain - listened to him
demanding
his right to take his own punishment and to not have to watch his
partner throw himself on the sword on his behalf. Only when he'd
run out of steam did I assure him I hadn't sacrificed my manhood to
save his. I told him about the guys in New York and the one guy
I'd had in Miami in all the years I'd been there. Reminded him
that when he put his dick in a girl's mouth, he was handing over
control of the situation to her. Garcia hadn't been a big deal,
he'd handed control to me and I'd used it against him, but trying to
convince Sonny of that wasn't easy. I'd known he wouldn't get it,
I'd expected it to make things awkward between us for a while. It
beat being dead and I knew we'd work it out.
Then I struck on an idea. "Imagine Garcia had been a lady," I
caught his expression but forged on, "imagine she'd demanded you fuck
her or she'd kill us both. And she wasn't too horrible, you know
what I'm sayin'? Other than she had a gun to your head. You
knew you could get it up 'cause you hadn't had it in too long.
She'd really wanted you. Would you have done it?"
He thought about it for a long time then said, "Not sure I could get it
up with a gun to my head." But by his tone I knew he got my
point. It took a few minutes, but eventually he nodded, showing
me he understood at least that I wasn't gonna be needin' any rape
counselling.
"So… are we okay, Sonny?" Like I said, I'd imagined it would be
awkward. But he looked at me with that intense expression in his
eyes, the one that told me something deep was happenin' inside that
complex mind of his. More. It told me he loved me.
"Rico… you saved my life; both our lives. We're more than
okay. And if you think I'm gonna have a problem with you because
you like guys, you're wrong, Pal. It ain't somethin' that bothers
me."
I remember the silence that followed once he looked away; a silence
that would have been broken by the sound of his churning thoughts if
thoughts were audible. And me being the kind of guy I am, I
decided to push it just that little bit further.
"When I was suckin' Garcia, did you look?"
I made sure my tone was teasin', somethin' I could laugh off if he
reacted the wrong way. But he got all serious, shook his head,
"Couldn't, man."
I dropped my voice to somethin' quiet, gentle; just askin'. "Why
not, Sonny?"
He didn't speak for a few long seconds, started to give me an answer
just when I thought I wasn't gonna get one. "I didn't what know
it would do to me." I had to concentrate hard to hear him he said
it so quietly. "Didn't know if I'd be repulsed or… or turned
on." True Sonny Crockett honesty. "That scenario of yours;
if Garcia had been a woman? Would you have watched?"
One thing about my partner; however hard I pushed, he pushed back twice
as hard. But I owed him the truth. "No, I wouldn't."
"Why not?"
"Because I know it would turn me on, seein' you like that; aroused,
hot, gettin' off on it." Of all the things I'd ever confessed to
him, that had to be the craziest, the most intimate. Any earlier
in our partnership and he would have hit me. Or maybe not - we've
always been honest with each other, always been open.
As usual, Sonny topped me. "Knowin' you were watchin' me, knowin'
I was turnin' you on… that would be really somethin'." He could
take my breath away with the simplest of sentences. "Would
somethin' like that destroy us, Rico? Or would it make us
stronger?"
That we'd been able to have such a conversation made our partnership
special - if
not unique then at least extraordinary and rare. I looked at
Trudy and Gina sometimes and wondered how much they told one
another. Everything, probably, as they were women and that's what
women did. Beautiful, smart women, too. I've read ladies
described in novels as 'rare beauties' and Sonny was mine. He
often reminded me of the wild cats in the New York central zoo, forever
checking the perimeters of their confines, searching for a means of
escape. Sonny wasn't meant to be in captivity. And wasn't
that what Borbon had been? A way out? Even after
everything….
"Ric!" My head snapped up of its own accord and I looked at
Tyrone leaning in close across the tiny table. "Tell me what
happened with Mandella Garcia!"
"He's a pervert. And a couple of years ago he was castrated by a
Vice cop shooting him in the balls." Tyrone's eyes widened.
"Not me, my partner, defending my honour."
# # #
Sonny:
I didn't like the idea of leaving the Ferrari behind, but it would have
taken too long to drive to New York and it was perfectly safe on St
George Island locked down along with The Ricardo.
Besides, I'd
already decided to bring Rico back with me, at least for a couple of
days, show him the results of my handiwork and prove to him I didn't
need
the adrenaline high of the job to live; I wasn't a junkie, I wasn't
addicted.
So why did I feel more alive as I sat in Apalachicola airport waiting
for my flight than I had done since leaving Miami? I wasn't
fooling myself so how was I ever gonna fool a man who knew me better
than I did? Who cared for me more than anyone else ever had?
I stared out of the window at the quiet runway lost in memories,
remembering early on this kid I'd
used to bust a trafficker called Montoya. This kid… he'd been
shot by Montoya's brother at the airport. I was there when it
happened - we both were - standing five feet away from him. Rico
chased the guy down, killed him in self-defence. And when it was
all over he tried to take me home. But I didn't move - couldn't
move - and Rico sat on the floor beside me, stayed with me. No
one came near us. Sounds corny but Rico's always been my safe
harbour. How the hell did I ever think I could make it without
him?
Of course, I might have been over reacting in one huge way.
Fernandez might have jumped into the East River, or maybe someone had
pushed him who'd never even heard of Mandella Garcia. Chances
were Rico and his new partner would have a suspect in jail by the time
I landed in the Big Apple. But if Marty's story about Fernandez
having a photo of Rico and I in his hand was true, and not just some
wild embellishment to get me on a plane out of the vacuum of my fishing
paradise, then something kooky was going on and I wasn't about to let
my partner - ex-partner - handle the heat alone.
As I sat in the sweltering lounge of the airport I couldn't help but
recall Mandella Garcia; that fucking weird night on St
Andrews - and the changes wrought in mine and Rico's partnership
because of him. Marty told me once that Rico and I occupy the
same space. He didn't have to tell me that a single glance at one
another was all it took for us to formulate a strategy, previously
un-discussed, and put it into play. It was a trait that had kept
us alive for years. Garcia couldn't have known that, or he
wouldn't have accepted Rico's offer that night. And I didn't need
to be watching the rape of my partner's mouth to know when it was the
moment to act. I didn't have to shoot Garcia in the balls but I
wanted to. Whatever Rico wanted to call it - and he wanted to
call it consensual because that four-letter R word was more than either
of us could deal with - Garcia had taken something that absolutely had
not belonged to him and for that reason, I castrated him with a bullet
before he took anything from anyone else.
The eruption from me the moment we were safely back on
the boat was a heady mix of anger, horror and fear for my partner's
state of mind. Rico had been right; never in a million years
would I have opened up and sucked that guy, but it didn't mean that he
had to. We'd found our way out of worse situations, although we'd
never been faced by a dick-wielding pervert before. New situation
all round, and the way Rico had dealt with it scared the crap outta
me. We'd talked, once I'd calmed down enough to see sense - or at
least his version of it - and what we talked about led to something
else, something entirely different, a couple of months later. It
had led to a wonderful woman called Maybella, and to a night that blew
both our minds.
# # #
Rico:
Remembering Garcia had brought with it a flood of memories and feelin's
I knew I couldn't run from any longer. Truth was I'd left Miami
and come to New York because I'd been too scared to see where
Crockett's chosen road would take us. Now I knew I'd been lying
to myself. Tyrone was right there, in my face.
"I'm your partner now, Ric! Talk to me!"
And I was shaking my head, denying it. At first I don't think he
understood, but it didn't take long - he's far from stupid. "What
the hell is it with you, Bro? I use that word and you act like
I'm some monster sleepin' with your momma and tryin' to take your
Daddy's place!"
Weird analogy.
"Sonny and I were more than partners, man."
"Long term it goes that way, Ric! You know what they say - that
it's like a marriage without the sex." I kept my mouth clamped
shut. "But that takes time. We'll get there but only if you
give us a chance! Now I want to find the guy who dropped that
body in the water for the unsuspecting tourists to find but I can't do
it alone." I hesitated, but I knew he was right. Whatever I
did later, for now we had to find Fernandez's killer. I
nodded. "Okay, Bro! So, you knew this Mandella Garcia, did
he have any special places in New York?"
I was about to say that I hadn't even known he'd ever been in New
York. But then I remembered something - a brother, Nicholas
Garcia, owned a club in the city. Someone along the way had
mentioned it. It was our best lead, and ten minutes later, after
a call to the Cola brothers in Vice we were on our way to Club
Mandella. Named after his brother. Cute.
# # #
Sonny:
One thing I knew about Garcia, he had a younger brother who lived in
the city. He'd always kept the kid out of trouble, been his
guardian after their parents had died in a car crash and left them
orphaned at the tender ages of eight and fifteen respectively.
After he'd left college, Nicholas Garcia had been given a New York club
by his brother and he'd turned it into a chic, successful place.
Club Mandella was my second destination once the plane touched down,
after the hotel.
I had the address for Rico that Gina had given me weeks ago, but as
much as I wanted to see him, now I was in his city I had no idea, I
realised, if he'd want to see me. Sure, nothing had happened to
make me think that he wouldn't. But a million paranoid reasons
were cycling through my head and at least half had to do with him
having a new partner now. Someone else was playing that
role in his life now - where did that leave me?
Friend? Fuck-buddy? I hated that idea.
So I didn't go to his place. I went to Club Mandella, had a
yellow cab drop me a block away in case the club's namesake was hanging
around. It was an unassuming place, with clear, open windows out
onto the street but no alfresco drinking. Inside the floor was
dark, polished wood, with the bar and tables to match. Deep red
cushions on the seats and atop the bar stools, white lighting that was
surprisingly easy on the eyes. It was nice - stylish - but I
couldn't help wondering if the colour scheme simply hid the blood more
easily. I sat at the bar and asked the barman for a cold beer and
a bourbon chaser. He fetched both drinks with quiet efficiency
and I gave him a generous tip without askin' any questions. Later
I'd ask and for a little extra he'd likely tell me, but for now I just
sat, let the exhaustion of air travel wash over me, and soaked up the
city again - maybe not my city, but still it was good to be back in
one, like an ex-smoker lighting his first cigarette in six months.
As I sat there two guys came in from the blinding, blazing sunshine I
didn't pay them any attention but heard the barman ask what he could
get for them. The answer came back; two cold beers, a bourbon
shot, and some information.
Just the sound of his voice was enough to finally realise the depth of
my
feelin's for him. I turned slowly, drank in his profile from the
end of the bar, and when he didn't spot me, I dropped from the stool to
my feet, took a couple of silent steps and smiled broadly as I
greeted the back of his head.
"Hello, Partner."
# # #
Rico:
I ordered the drinks and thought I saw something funny in the barman's
expression even before I'd added my request for information.
There was someone sitting at the end of the bar when we walked in, but
I didn't pay them any attention. When I heard his voice, I
thought I was dreamin', and I looked around at him slowly, not even
believin' my own eyes.
A second later I'd closed the gap between us, his arms were around me
and I hugged him like it had been years, not months, since I'd last set
eyes on him. He said my name, grabbed me tight, and I knew that
he'd missed me
just as much as I'd missed him. His fingers splayed across my
back, one hand coming up to cradle my head as he lifted his own and for
a second I thought he was gonna kiss me. For a second I wanted
him to. But his forehead came to rest against mine and I didn't
care that it didn't look like some overtly macho guy reunion. I
felt like I was holding a long lost lover in my arms, and to some
extent that was the truth. His eyes were closed but I didn't need
to see them to know what he was feelin'. Me too, Sonny.
Me
too, man.
# # #
Sonny:
First thing I heard was from the other guy was, "Hey, Ric… you gonna
introduce us?"
Ric? Rico slowly pulled back and possessive, jealous bastard that I am I think I glared at
the tall, dark man he'd walked in with, knowing instinctively that this
was his new partner. I
knew too by his expression that he recognised me, probably from the
photo
Fernandez had been clutching - too much possibly to imagine Rico
carried a picture of us in his wallet.
"Tyrone, this is Sonny, my partner." His introduction wasn't
needed.
I reached around him, shook Tyrone's outstretched hand.
"Ex-partner, to be precise."
To my surprise Tyrone rolled his eyes as he firmly shook my
hand. "No, believe me; at least as far as he's concerned, you two
were never divorced."
That surprised me too - his choice of words, his tone… I glanced at
Rico who was blushin' under all that dark. Tyrone looked at us
both and I read the look in his eyes, knew we
needed to tone it down until we could grab some time
alone. "Listen, I think maybe we should find somewhere else to
talk."
We moved to a bar a block away, close to where the taxi had dropped me
off.
"So I'm guessin' this isn't a lovely co-incidence." That was
Tyrone as we sat down in a private booth with our drinks; Rico I know
had already drawn that conclusion. He was sitting next to me,
shoulder touching mine in a way that was achingly familiar.
"Castillo, our old Lieutenant, called me; told me about Fernandez and
the photo found in his death grip." Told me my partner was
hanging out with another guy. Wasn't that the real reason I'd
flown all the way up here?
While Rico reached into his jacket and pulled out an evidence bag with
the photograph inside it, Tyrone obviously wanted to bring me up to
speed. "Ric tells me you know Mandella Garcia, Fernandez's
employer?"
I took the photo, not missing the opportunity to make skin-to-skin
contact with Rico's fingers, trying to remember where it had been
taken. It was ancient, my hair style was testament to that, shot
on the boat one night. Maybe back when I used to host
parties…. Then
it came to me. It was my birthday! Six or seven years ago,
Rico organised a party for me, just our closest friends, some good
food, cold beer, and he bought me a cake, made me blow out the candles
and make a wish. "How the hell did he get hold o'this?" I asked
the bar in general, frankly amazed. I thought maybe Gina had
taken it.
Next to me, Rico shook his head. "No idea, man. No idea why
he had it, either; whether he died with it or it was put into his hand
after he was killed. Either way, it reads like a warning to me."
I raised my head, caught Tyrone's eye and nodded. "We knew
Mandella Garcia." Then I glanced back at Rico. "Think
Fernandez was a warning from Garcia? Tellin' us he's out and
gunning for revenge? The fact he turned up here and not in the
Miami River says to me Garcia knows you're in New York. But I was
the one who shot him."
"No similar message for you down in Albuquerque?"
"Apalachicola," I corrected him as I shook my head. "No message."
Tyrone shrugged. "This could have nothing to do with your friend,
Garcia?"
"That would make this a coincidence and in this business there are no
such things. Working Vice, you learn to view coincidence as a
great big warning sign; something bad's about to happen and it's time
to grab your gun or get outta there." How many times had I heard
the words 'it's just coincidence, man' followed a single thundering
heartbeat later by the deafening sound of gunfire and bullets pinging
passed my ears? No. I'd shot Mandella Garcia in the balls a
couple of years back for raping and humiliating my partner - not that
Rico ever saw it that way - and now some kid who worked for him had
ended up floating in New York's East River with a photo of Rico and I
in his hand for Rico and this new guy to find. Back in Miami, a
coincidence that huge would have had me shooting everyone in the
vicinity not on my side before high tailing it outta there.
"So what's the plan?" I looked at Rico, the man I'd shared my
life with for the last ten years, all except the past four
months. He was sitting the way he always sat when he was thinkin'
somethin' through, workin' somethin' out; on the edge of his seat,
knees apart, hands together playin' restlessly over one another, eyes
far away until they suddenly snapped back and focused entirely on
me. I loved the way he did that.
"Best plan is still the one we'd all decided on. We need to find
Garcia, and the best way to do that is through his brother."
"And if his brother won't tell?"
"Come on, Rico." I nudged him playfully. "We'll make him
tell."
"What's this Garcia into anyway?" I glanced across at
Tyrone. He learned fast. He struck me as a good guy, an
intelligent guy, someone who'd watch my partner's back. Would he
stand in the line of fire to take a bullet for him? I doubted it
- too soon, too early. Within days of us first meeting I was
devoted enough to Rico to lie for him, couple of weeks later I'd
definitely have put my life on the line for him. It was so fast
with us, like love at first sight, only some strange love neither of us
had ever been able to define.
"Coke and sex."
"Heady mix. So from what I've picked up in the short time I've
been hangin' with Ric, we're sellin' one or the other, right?"
I glanced at Rico with a tiny smile. I really was impressed and
it took a lot to impress me. "Let's make it Coke."
He opened his mouth and I waited for the agreement, for the fine
details. But instead, I saw that glint he gets in his eye
whenever he's hit on a great idea liable to get us all killed.
"No, let's make it sex."
ON TO PART THREE
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