AGAINST THE WIND (Book Two of The Miami Crime Trilogy) (25 page)

Desi
Senior

Hialeah,
Florida

Monday,
December 23, 1996

7:35
PM

D
ESI CHECKED
HIS WATCH.
He was over a half-hour late. No matter. Delgado could wait. Besides, he was
having too good a time with this stripper to get up and leave just to meet
Delgado for a drink. Fuck him.

He rolled back over on top of her and she opened herself up wide for him.

Around eight o'clock, he finished with her. He hurried her up. She threw
on her tight dress and he slipped her three hundred. The deal was only for two,
but she was exceptionally skilled at her trade, making him tingle all over, so
he tipped her an extra bill. She thanked him and left the hotel room.

He downed the last of his drink and poured another quick one while he
dressed. It actually couldn't be called "quick", since it was more
than a double shot, but lately he'd taken a liking to Glenlivet 25-year-old
Scotch, and at two hundred fifty dollars a bottle, he was damned sure going to
enjoy it.

He left five minutes later. The empty bottle stayed on the dresser.

At eight-twenty he entered the Longhorn Steakhouse
on West 49th Street. A casual, family-style place, it was big and loud and
always crowded. Delgado liked these kinds of places. He said you could
disappear in there, be invisible among all the people, and no one would pay
attention to you. Desi thought the joint was annoying.

Delgado was seated at the end of the bar, not far
from the front door, with a nearly-empty beer bottle in front of him. Because
of the Longhorn's patchwork layout, there was no clear line of vision through
the whole restaurant. The only people who could see anyone at that end of the
bar, he said, were the bartender, waitresses, and whatever other people were
seated at the bar, all of whom invariably minded their own business.

Desi took the stool next to him.

"You're almost an hour and a half late,"
he said. "Where the fuck you been?"

Desi waved off his objections. "Don't worry
about it."

"Hey, you keep me waiting here for an hour
and a half, I don't like it."

"I was fucking a stripper," Desi said.
"That all right with you?"

"Not when it keeps me waiting," Delgado
said. "It's not all right with me. I called you on your cellular phone.
You didn't answer."

"I told you, I was fucking a stripper. I'm
not gonna answer a phone call while I'm pounding her pussy!"

"You got a real attitude,
mi amigo
. A real fucking attitude. It's
been coming on for a couple of years now. And I don't like it."

"Too bad. Where's the bartender."

Delgado put a gentle hand on his arm and said,
"I think you've had too much already, Desi. Slow down."

Desi yanked his arm away from Delgado's touch.
"I haven't had too much. I want another one. Bartender!" He made an
overblown gesture to get the bartender's attention.

He came over and Desi ordered their best Scotch,
Johnnie Walker Black.

Trying to maintain his composure, Delgado said,
"Look, Desi. You've been putting that stuff away pretty good lately. Maybe
you should cut back a little."

"Maybe you should shut the fuck up,"
Desi said.

The drink arrived and Desi slammed it back. He
ordered another.

Delgado got down to business. "All right,
look. You've got this deal going down on Saturday. How much will you
need?"

Desi finally settled down and turned serious, but
not losing the slight slur in his voice. "Two keys."

"Pick it up in the usual place Saturday
night. Ten sharp."

"Saturday. Ten sharp," Desi repeated.

"It's going to go down in Liberty City,
right?"

"Right."

"Okay. When you get there, be sure to
—"

"I'm not going," Desi said.

"What?"

"I said I'm not going."

Delgado said, "What do you mean, you're not
going?"

"I mean, I'm sending Desi Junior in my
place."

"
What
?
You're sending your son? He's just a kid, for Christ's sake!"

"It's his seventeenth birthday on Saturday,
and I'm gonna do this for him. He's no stranger to the business and he's been
after me to let him in on a deal. So he's taking my place on Saturday night.
Plus, he's taking Alicia López with him."

Delgado's face reddened and he looked like he was
about to blow an artery. "Jesus fucking Christ, Desi! A fucking
girl
? You're sending your teenaged son
and a fucking
girl
into that deal
with Bebop? Have you lost your fucking mind?"

"Hey, he's
my
son and it's
my
deal.
I'll do what I want. And besides, the girl can handle herself. She's been
around."

Delgado's eyes rolled a couple of times.
"You're being very stupid,
mi amigo
.
Bebop might kill him and the girl just because you didn't show up. He might
take it as a sign of disrespect that you didn't come personally."

"Fuck that nigger. He's not gonna kill
anyone," Desi said. "He wants the dope on a regular basis, he'll deal
with Desi Junior."

"I don't like it."

"Then you can go fuck yourself," Desi
said in a growl. He chugged his drink and shambled out the door.

Delgado sat for a long time. He ordered another
beer and sat some more, thinking.

Twenty minutes later, in the relative silence of
the parking lot, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number.

"Bebop?" he said. "You want to know
who killed your big brother?"

Alicia

London,
England

Monday,
April 16, 2012

8:40
AM

A
LICIA
CHECKED INTO THE HOTEL INDIGO.
Located on Tower Hill in the heart of London, it was small
and unobtrusive, but very nice inside. She liked staying here every time she
made this trip. The rooms were comfortable and modern, recently renovated, yet
brimming with character. A brick wall ran behind the large four-poster bed, and
the large bathrooms always felt very accommodating.

Most importantly, though, it was within walking distance of the Royal
Castle Bank.

Amy was not waiting for her in the lobby when she arrived, as she was
instructed to do that night in their St Kitts hotel room. Alicia was perturbed,
but she knew these international meetups can be delayed by the slightest of
occurrences.

She looked around the smartly appointed lobby one last time before
getting on the elevator and heading for her room. Numerous methods of
disciplining Amy ran through her mind all the way up the elevator and down the
hall to her room.

The little girl needs to be
taught a lesson
, she thought.
Maybe a few slaps
across the face. Or maybe I might make her stand naked in the hallway for a few
minutes. Or I might take her …

She opened the door to her room and Amy lay on her back on the king-sized
bed, arms and legs spread wide, wearing only a smile.

≈ ≈ ≈

At eleven o'clock, they presented themselves, fresh
and happy, at the Royal Castle Bank right down the street. It was, like the
Hotel Indigo, on the small side, not at all like many of the British banks that
were huge and imposing on both the outside and the inside. No big pillars
rising up from the street framing a wide flight of steps. No ornate front door,
no snooty employees, no stuffy atmosphere. It was still a bank, to be sure, so
there was the air of serious business all over the place, but it was an air
Alicia could live with.

She wore her most conservative ensemble, a black suit with a crisp white
blouse and black leather high-heeled pumps, while Amy's suit was midnight blue
with a faint chalk stripe, a pale blue blouse, and black open-toed heels. Each
woman carried an expensive briefcase. Alicia's contact, Mr Maybrick, was there
to greet them.

"Miss López, how have you been?" They shook hands and he led
them into his office.

Alicia introduced him to Amy, they all smiled and engaged in small talk.
Those red-eye flights. Unseasonably warm weather in London. Bet it's nothing
like Miami. A new Royal Castle branch in Taiwan. The name of the Taiwanese
branch manager. He would appreciate the business.

"So," he finally said, "your transfers from Panamá came
through. The money —" He consulted his laptop. "— all two
million, five hundred eighteen thousand, four hundred of it, is currently
resting in the account of Chase-Morgan London according to your instructions.
Here is the paperwork."

She examined the papers. Everything in order. Of course, this is the UK.
They live on order over here.

Good thing there are no
Cubans here
,
she thought.
This country would go crazy
trying to keep everything orderly.

"What is the total balance of the Chase Morgan account?" she
asked. "In dollars, please."

He looked closely at his laptop and calculated the current exchange rate
on his calculator. "Hmmm, looks like four hundred forty-two million, nine
hundred seventeen thousand, five hundred twenty-five dollars and fifty cents."

"Mr Maybrick, there will be a rather large withdrawal made on this
account in the near future. Do not be alarmed. Chase Morgan will be making some
significant investments elsewhere, but this will only produce more income,
which in turn will be re-deposited back into the account. I expect the
shortfall to be made up in a year or less, and then for more to be deposited
thereafter."

From the other side of his desk, Maybrick looked to be around sixty or
sixty-five. Up close, however, Alicia noticed he was probably no more than
fifty. The illusion, she decided, was due to some lifestyle weakness, like
alcohol.

"Excellent!" he said. "Of course, the Chase Morgan people
are free to do what they like with their funds, but I'm very pleased to learn
they will continue to do business with us. Would you be so kind as to give them
my thanks, Miss López?"

"Of course," Alicia said. "We will also need a wire
transfer in the amount of one million dollars from the Chase-Morgan account.
Please make that transfer immediately to this Miami bank." She produced a
document with transfer instructions printed on it. The name on the account:
"Panamá Global Development, SA."

Alicia

London,
England

Monday,
April 16, 2012

11:45
AM

W
ILLY'S WINE
BAR SAT NEAR THE INTERSECTION
of Aldgate High Street and Lloyd's Avenue. An agreeable,
well-appointed place, it features an extensive lunch menu, but is widely known
for its claim of "the best fish and chips in London". This was Amy's
first time in the UK, and she wanted to try the fish and chips, so this was
convenient, since Alicia had made the date to meet Monsieur Beauchene here at
noon.

They were seated quickly because the lunch crowd had yet to arrive in
great numbers. Alicia ordered a glass of wine for herself and one for Amy. The
waiter brought it quickly and Amy raised her glass.

"I want to drink to you, my sweet Alicia. I never thought in a
million years I would find someone like you. Someone who is tender, yet strong
enough to keep me in line, where I belong. Someone who can make me wet with
your gentle touch, yet who can also give me the pounding I deserve with your
big, hard strap-on. To you, my beautiful woman."

Alicia was not quite ready for such testimony, especially right before
lunch with Monsieur Beauchene. But she summoned her grace — not hard for
her to do — and looked straight into Amy's mysterious eyes, murmuring,
"Here's to us, my darling Amy. My little girl-toy in the bedroom and my
strong, intelligent partner in the boardroom. You will do what I say in bed and
I would be honored to accept your counsel in the bank."

They touched the rims of their glasses and sipped their wine.

"This is really good," Amy said. "What is it?"

"It's a very light sauvignon blanc," said Alicia. "The
perfect complement for the fish we will order."

Amy took another tiny sip, then said, "So who else is coming?"

"A gentleman by the name of Henri Beauchene," Alicia said.
"He's going to apply for a loan from Chase-Morgan London to finance a big
shopping center in the Miami area. He's really a front for the cartel, but
because he looks good and he's French, he presents the perfect image of the
'European investor'. The final step in the process."

Realization moved onto Amy's face. She said, "So he quote-unquote
'borrows' the money from this British company and invests it into a
squeaky-clean development in Florida, where it will continue to make money for
the cartel." Alicia nodded. Amy said, "Ha! The cash comes full
circle! How much is he borrowing?" She put air quotes around the word
"borrowing".

"Two hundred fifty million dollars."

Amy's head slowly moved up and down at the breathtaking symmetry of the
whole process. "Very geometrical," she said. "Very logical, all
the way."

Alicia wouldn't have put it that way, but now that she thought about it,
that was not a bad way to describe it. There was a certain geometry about it
all, the way the cash inexorably flowed back to Miami — or in this case,
Hialeah — as new, beautiful money. Fresh as a spring morning.

Henri Beauchene approached the table.

"Mademoiselle López."

The women looked up. He was medium height, but with a winning smile
surrounded by striking good looks that showed him to be somewhere in his early
forties. Hair the color of newly-mown hay sat in great quantities atop his
head, brushed to perfection. Piercing blue eyes took them both in.

"May I sit down?" he asked in slightly accented English.

"Of course, of course," Alicia said, pointing to the chair
nearest her. "Monsieur Beauchene, this is Amy Xing."

Beauchene kissed both their hands in French fashion, lingering on Amy's
hand a second or two longer. "Mademoiselle Xing," he said. "Such
a wonderful example of classic Chinese beauty.
Ni hao piao liang
."

Amy's eyebrows raised and her smile widened just a shade when Beauchene
spoke of her beauty in her native language. "You speak Mandarin, Monsieur
Beauchene?"

"Only a little," he said. "Very little. But perhaps if I
had some instruction …"

Alicia was not pleased with the drift of this talk and Amy picked up on
it. She withdrew her hand and looked down at the napkin on her lap. Beauchene
took a seat, still smiling, still taking in her classic Chinese beauty.

Alicia took note of the drape of his dark suit. Close-fitting, European
cut, very expensive. Not a knockoff, but an authentic designer piece. After the
waiter brought him a glass of wine, he began a long stretch of chitchat,
impressing them with his Frenchness, and lasting through the wine and the food
ordering, all the way until their lunch actually arrived at the table. He threw
a few more subtle hints Amy's way but she deflected them all.

Alicia said, "I understand you will be coming to Miami on Thursday,
Monsieur Beauchene."

Beauchene knew the score. He had fronted for these deals many times,
always with great success. Go to some city in the US, pretend to be a French
capitalist with access to loads of money, and buy the cartel's way into these
projects that are desperate for financing. No muscle, no threats, no Mafia
bullshit. All totally legal and with clean money to boot. He was very believable
in his role, very knowledgeable in the world of real estate and international
financing. A valuable cog in the cartel machine.

His eyes were fixed on Amy, slowly moving them up and down from her head
to her chest, which were her only parts visible above the tabletop. Alicia
cleared her throat. "Monsieur Beauchene."

Beauchene snapped out of it and said, "That is correct,
Mademoiselle. I will arrive, I believe, it is around five o'clock in the
afternoon."

"I will have the appropriate paperwork drawn up by then, showing you
have been approved by Chase-Morgan London for a loan of two hundred fifty
million dollars. This money will be deposited in the Miami account of Panamá
Global Development SA. They are going to build a shopping center, and also a hotel,
recently added to the project. You will disburse it to the local developer as
construction progresses." She appeared to be through, but then added,
"Of course, your commission, as always, will be deposited into your
numbered account in Zurich."

Beauchene fiddled with the knot in his silk tie and said, "Have they
broken ground yet?"

"Actually," Alicia said, "they broke ground over a year
ago, but construction was halted several months back because of financing and
other problems. Those problems have been cleared up and now everything is ready
for you to move in with the money."

"Who will I be dealing with?"

Alicia said, "He's a Miami-based developer. His name is Phil
Harvey."