AGAINST THE WIND (Book Two of The Miami Crime Trilogy) (8 page)

Desi Senior

Miami Gardens, Florida

Sunday, November 26, 1989

12.20 PM

P
ARKING
AROUND JOE ROBBIE STADIUM
was not the nightmare it could have easily
been. Well-placed signs and animated attendants guided the cars into the spaces
in an unusually orderly fashion. Delgado glided down a row of tailgaters near
the south entrance and parked in a spot near the far end.

Desi had become entranced by Delgado, what with
his impossible-to-get Dolphins tickets and now riding in his Mercedes sedan.
With real leather seats and a stereo compact disc player and everything! When
his wife Marianela and his two kids stared out the window down at the street
and saw the big blue automobile pull up in front of the mattress store, they
gasped.

"Daddy, is that car for you? Is that our
car?" his little daughter asked.

"No, Sofía, honey. It is not our car, but it
is here to pick me up. The man driving it is a friend and he is taking me to a
Dolphins football game."

"It's such a pretty car," she said.
"It's so big!"

"What a beautiful car!" said Marianela,
with a longing look in her big brown eyes. "What does this man do to
afford such a car?"

Desi thought for a moment and realized he had
never gotten around to asking Delgado what he did for a living, so he answered
with a shrug.

"He must do very well," his wife said.

Desi said yes, he must, as he kissed her goodbye
and strolled down to the car. He was going to the game!

The two men made their way into the stadium. True
to his word, Delgado escorted Desi to primo seats on the forty-yard line,
Dolphins' side of the field. Desi could only dream of how much these seats
cost. The Dolphins were easily the toughest ticket in town, year in and year
out.

The game was exciting, at first, anyway. The
Dolphins jumped out to a 14-0 lead and looked like they were in control. But
Pittsburgh answered with 17 points in the second quarter and led as the first
half ended.

During the halftime hoopla, Desi turned to Delgado
and said, "I don't like this. The Dolphins don't seem to be able to move
the ball."

Delgado waved it off. "Ahh, don't worry,
Desi. These Steelers, they are a clumsy bunch. They can't win."

Something about this guy Desi liked. His hard
presence maybe, or maybe it was the contrast between his rough-sounding voice
and his easygoing speaking style, he didn't know. But he did know he enjoyed
talking to someone like him. He always enjoyed that kind of thing, even in his
childhood when his own father would have long talks with him, talks about life,
about the world, his job, baseball, Castro, everything.

Delgado ordered a couple of beers from a passing
concessionaire. He paid for them and handed one to Desi. They took the
enjoyable first sip from their large, full cups and wiped foam off their
mouths.

After another sip, Delgado said, "Do you
enjoy your work, Desi?"

"Yes, I do," Desi replied. "But you
know, I never asked you what you do for a living. Tell me, Julio, what line of
work are you in?"

Delgado raised his cup to his lips again. He drank
slowly, as if stalling for time to formulate an answer. Eventually, he said,
"I work for some very important people."

"Very important people?" A marching band
came onto the field and played the opening notes of a stirring song. The crowd
responded with loud cheers. The band began to execute a complicated
choreography while playing. Within moments, the stadium volume had doubled.

"Yes," Delgado said, raising his voice
over the racket. "Big business people. Involved in very big business. They
move a lot of money around."

"Oh? Is it like real estate? Or maybe you
work in a bank?"

Delgado set his beer on the concrete at his feet
and leaned toward Desi. After a quick glance around, he drilled Desi with his
gray eyes and moved up close to him. "Tell me,
mi amigo
, how long have you been driving a bus?"

"About eight years," Desi said.

"And how old are you, Desi?"

"I'm thirty-three. Why do you —"

Delgado said, "Tell me, my friend, how much
do you enjoy your work?"

"Well, how much? I don't know, I guess I
enjoy it a lot."

"Would you like to do a job for me?"

"A job? For you?"

"Yes," Delgado said. "But don't
worry. It won't take time away from your driving. You can do this after
work."

"After work? A job after work? I don't know
if I want to take on another job right now, Julio."

He waved that aside. "No, no, no. This is not
a full-time job. It's just a one-time thing. I just need you to pick up a
package and take it down to Kendall for me. Counting rush hour traffic, it
should take you about an hour and a half to two hours altogether, round trip.
What time do you get off tomorrow?"

Desi said, "Five-thirty."

"Well, that's just perfect," Delgado
said, breaking a smile. "You drive over to Little Havana and pick up the
package, bring it to Kendall, you can be home by seven, seven-thirty at the
latest. Nothing to it."

"You just want me to deliver a package to
Kendall? Why can't you deliver it yourself?"

"I will be busy, and just from the time we've
spent together this week, I feel I can trust you to do this job. Can I trust
you,
mi amigo
?

Desi said, "
Seguro que sí
. You know you can."

"Good. Do you want to do it? It pays two
thousand dollars."

Desi's upper body moved spasmodically and he
nearly dropped his sandwich. As it was, a few of the toppings slid out from it
onto his plate. He said, "Two thousand dollars?" Delgado nodded and
Desi said, "How big is the package? And what is in it?"

"It's in a small suitcase, like you might
carry onto an airplane." He held his hands out to indicate the dimensions.
"About this big."

"What's in it?"

"That's not something you should worry about.
You should only be concerned with getting it to Kendall in one piece and
delivering it to the proper person."

Desi eyed Delgado carefully, but the man gave
nothing away. His face froze. His hard eyes moved into Desi's. Desi inhaled
deeply and said, "Is this … against the law?"

Delgado reached over and patted Desi's forearm.
"That's not something you should worry about either,
hermano
. Now will you do it? It's two thousand dollars cash. For
you. Tomorrow."

Even though this smelled of lawlessness and
danger, two thousand dollars was more than he made in an entire month with the
bus company. And Christmas was right around the corner. He could make his
family very hap —

Delgado said, "Please do this for me. Just
this one time."

"Okay," Desi said. "What do I have
to do?"

A wide grin spread across Delgado's face, wider
than Desi thought possible for his tight facial muscles. "
Muy bién, hermano. Muy bién.
Come to
this address tomorrow after work to pick up the package." He plucked
someone else's business card from his wallet and jotted down an address on its
back.

"When do I get paid?"

"Ha! Good question! You get the money when
you deliver the package. Paid in full."

Desi let loose with his own grin and they shook on
it. The marching band concluded their show to grand applause.

Desi Senior

Miami, Florida

Monday, November 27, 1989

5:35 PM

T
RAFFIC WAS
UNUSUALLY HEAVY
around the Central Bus Garage when Desi dropped off
his bus after his shift. He attributed that to the just-ended Thanksgiving
weekend with lots of people back at work, and as a result, the trip to the
Little Havana address would have to be planned out differently in order to
avoid being buried in traffic.

West Flagler would be a lost cause at this hour,
so he took Northwest Second Street out of downtown, eventually making his way
up to Third Street. By doing this, stop signs confronted him at nearly every
corner, but far fewer cars traveled this back way. It still took him a while,
but at least he wasn't trapped in that damn downtown traffic!

The house was an ordinary little number with
nothing to recommend it. A one-story concrete block structure on Northwest 25th
Court off Third Street, it looked to be maybe a one-bedroom, two at the very
most. The type of place you would drive by — or, hell, even walk by —
and never look at it, never know it was there. Bars on the door and windows,
common for that area of Little Havana, told a story which Desi didn't want to think
about. A dented-up black Honda of indeterminate age sat in the driveway.

He pulled up to the house a little after six and
parked directly in front. He opened the chain link gate and stepped up the
single step of the concrete stoop. His double knock was answered almost
immediately.

A woman stood in the doorway and Desi was
surprised. He expected to see Delgado, but he peered over her shoulder into the
messy living room and saw no one else. She was about twenty-two or three, slim,
and barefoot. A cheap cotton dress hung on her ailing frame without showing any
curves. She peered at him through hooded eyes under tangled hair and her plain,
unpainted face had no appeal whatsoever.

She spoke in a tired Spanish. "What do you
want?" Desi noticed a missing front tooth.

"
Vengo
a recoger una maleta para Julio Delgado
," he said.

"
Un
momento
." She walked away, shutting the door behind her. Desi looked
around the neighborhood. No one in sight. No kids playing, nobody outside doing
yard work, nobody washing their car, no sign of any human activity on this
lovely Monday evening. No sounds. Not even any other traffic. Eerie. Despite
the presence of houses all up and down the street, Desi wondered if anyone else
actually lived around here. The sun, now lowering in the sky, cast long,
dramatic shadows through what trees there were along the street and in the rough-hewn
yards. Thin, rainless clouds drifted in from the west.

The woman returned. She handed Desi a small
suitcase. He noticed it had a lock inserted through its two zippers. She did
this guardedly, passing it quickly to him so no one else would see it. Not that
there was anyone around to watch.

"Take it to the Holiday Inn. The one in
Kendall, on 88th Street near 107th Avenue. Room 214."

"Who do I give it to?" Desi asked.

"Whoever answers the door!" she said,
rolling her eyes.

"Okay. Holiday Inn, 88th Street." She
shut the door before he could repeat the room number. He was pretty sure it was
214.

≈ ≈ ≈

Kendall is one of those
sprawling suburbs that requires a big shopping mall as its badge of identity,
its magnetic center where Kendallites converge. In fact, it had several —
as if to emphasize its significance as a suburb — Dadeland and the Falls
being two of the largest. You draw a straight line from one to the other and
the Holiday Inn would fall right about in the middle. All the emblems of upscale
suburbia surrounded the hotel: Bennigan's, Borders Books, Target, Steak &
Ale … they were all there. Bustling with activity, Eighty-Eighth Street knifed
its way through the economic heart of Kendall. No signs in Spanish. Desi felt
ill at ease, his stomach gurgling. He was a very long way from Hialeah.

He started wondering if he'd made the right call.
This locked suitcase, which was not exceptionally heavy, undoubtedly contained
something which, if he were caught with it, might well send him to prison for
years. Delgado didn't come right out and say that, but he made it very plain
nonetheless. Even though the day — now in twilight — was pleasant,
with the temperature hovering around seventy-five degrees, sweat beaded on his
forehead and the back of his neck. He wanted to scratch his balls, but here in
the parking lot of the Holiday Inn, he didn't dare. Someone might see him.
Someone might get suspicious. Who scratches his balls in a Holiday Inn parking
lot? But hey, he's just a guy walking into a hotel with a suitcase, like a
million other people. What's wrong with that? Who's going to stop him? And why
would they want to?

He pushed back the shock of hair that hung over
his forehead and went inside. The two check-in stations at the front desk to
the left were occupied by two good-sized parties of guests, the clerks
assisting them. A nearby bellman readied his chrome pushcart for imminent luggage
activity. Off to the right, the lounge was busy with happy hour customers. Desi
forged ahead, swinging his suitcase as he moved straight for the elevator. One
appeared instantly. He stepped in and pushed two.

Room 214 was about halfway down the hall. When he
was in front of it, he didn't dare hesitate. Someone might be waiting for him,
looking through the peephole. Someone might come out of one of the other rooms
and notice him just standing there. That would be pretty suspicious for sure.
He knocked right away, trying to still his trembling hands.

The door opened and a man stood there, saying
nothing. He was in his forties, tall, about six-two and horribly thin under a
navy blue silk shirt which looked about three sizes too big on him. His nose
was wide, too wide for his face, and his cheekbones were high, but on him they
only made his cheeks look sunken and unhealthy. He didn't look right at all.
Desi wasn't sure if he was supposed to identify himself or if this was the
right guy, or … He checked the room number again. 214. He untwisted his tongue
and said, "Julio Delgado sent me."

The man spoke in Cuban Spanish. "Is that
it?" He pointed at the suitcase. Desi nodded and the man waved him into
the room. Another man sat in a chair, eyes on everything. Desi barely noticed
him. A TV station was broadcasting local news in Spanish. Another drug murder.
The reporter breathlessly described the event in front of crime scene tape and
a covered body in the street. It must have just happened.

The tall man reached into his pants pocket and
retrieved a small key. He took the suitcase from Desi, tried the key in the
lock and it clicked open. A quick look inside revealed what he wanted to see,
so he went over to his own suitcase spread open on one of the double beds and
reached into the inside pocket of a folded sport jacket. Out came an envelope,
which he handed to Desi. The feel and the thickness told Desi it contained
money. The tall man then reached under the bed and slid out a briefcase. A nice
one, Desi thought, made of black leather with a combination lock. He handed it
to Desi.

"What's this?" Desi said, feeling the
weight.

"Give it to Delgado." The man motioned
toward the door. Their dance was over.

≈ ≈ ≈

Desi walked out of the
hotel with the briefcase, not knowing what to do. "Give it to
Delgado" was not in the script.
Why
didn't Delgado tell me about this?
Desi thought.
Where am I supposed to give it to him? Pepe's? That house back in
Little Havana with the woman? Where?

This was
not
part of their goddamned deal. Desi got to his car and carefully placed the
briefcase in the trunk, buttressing it with a few odd items of junk that were
in there. He didn't want it sliding around or breaking or anything. And he
certainly didn't want it where any cop might see it on a random license check.

He fired up his engine and wondered if this was
routine in the drug world, all this tight-lipped mystery and surprise
briefcases. There was no question this
was
a drug deal by the way it all went down. He'd seen things like this many times
on
Miami Vice
. But was this typical
in real life? They give you a briefcase with God knows what inside it and
you're just supposed to know what to do with it? The drugs might be inside the
briefcase, not the suitcase! He broke a sweat, and thoughts came to him.

Maybe I
should just go to the cops and turn the thing over to them, tell them what
happened, how I was just doing a favor for a guy and didn't know there were
drugs involved. They might believe me.

He could hear himself think these stupid thoughts
and put them out of his mind right away. No, no cops, no ratting anybody out.
He's got his two grand
¾
wait a minute. I never even counted it!
Never even looked at it! Shit, how big a fucking idiot am I!

The envelope lay beside him on the seat of his
idling car. His hand wrapped around it. It still felt like money. He glanced
inside and saw a bunch of hundred-dollar bills. He took them out and counted,
twenty in all.

Well, at
least they didn't fuck me out of my money.

On his way home, he was tempted to stop off at
Toys R Us and spend some of this money on presents for Desi Junior and Sofía,
but decided against it. Christmas would get here soon enough, and besides, he'd
had a long day and wanted to get home to Marianela and the kids.

Marianela! Should he tell her about his chance
meeting with Delgado and the resulting money bonanza? Better not. She'd go into
a big long lecture about the evils of
drogas
and
narcotraficantes
and swivel her
hips while sliding her head from side to side the way only Cuban women can do
while wagging an index finger at him the whole time. No, best to keep quiet on
this one. When he buys the presents, he'll just tell her he'd been putting some
money aside all year.

It was a little before eight when he got home.
Lights were on in all the second-floor apartments, his own above the mattress
store, the rest above other lowly businesses that lined the street. Desi knew
people were settling in to watch Monday Night Football. As he guided his car
into an available space a couple of doors down, he noticed a parked car across
the street and someone stepping out of it. A blue Mercedes. Delgado.

Desi got out of his own car and froze. Delgado
came up to him quickly.

"How did it go?" he said.

"Fine," Desi said. "Everything went
fine."

"You brought the package to the Holiday
Inn?"

"Yes. Everything went fine."

"He gave you … a briefcase?"

Desi finally moved. "Oh … yes. It's in the
trunk." And he stepped around Delgado to the rear of the car. He opened
the trunk and handed him the briefcase. Delgado spun the combination lock to
the proper numbers and the case snapped open. He peeked inside and smiled.

"Did you get your money?" he asked.

"I did," Desi said with a smile.

"
Buen
trabajo, Desi. Muy buen trabajo.
"

"You didn't tell me about the
briefcase," Desi said.

"No, I didn't. But you handled it, didn't
you? You did the right thing, bringing it back here. Like I said,
mi amigo
, good job." He patted Desi
on the shoulder, a sincere pat. Desi liked it.

"I'll see you at Pepe's," Desi said.

Delgado smiled. "Oh, yes. That is for
sure." He reached his arms around Desi and Desi returned the hug. He felt
Delgado's gratitude and an enthusiasm he didn't expect. Then their eyes met and
Desi felt a door opening somewhere deep in this embrace.