Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1) (38 page)

“Relax, Francisco,” Gina said. “Uncle Frankie, you are to stop terrorizing this young man at once. Got it?”

Frankie smiled. “Got it.” He turned to Miranda. “No offense.”

Before Miranda could answer, Gina said, “So Francisco, your side is clear on the rules?”

“Of course,” he said, trying to quickly regain his composure. “Four men to remain outside from each party, no weapons showing. Three people inside from each side, plus of course the two principals from each side. You are the chief negotiator for your side as I am for mine. Mr. Logan and Mr. Rossi will be your side’s internal security. In addition to me and our two principals, we’ll have two security men inside as well.”

“That is the agreed arrangement,” Gina said. “As soon as the principals arrive, we can begin.”

~~~~

We didn’t have long to wait. Fifteen minutes later, a large single-engine aircraft flew over the center of the field from north to south. It circled to the east and swung gently around onto the final approach for runway two-seven. The airplane, an executive version of a Cessna Caravan turboprop, landed and taxied all the way down the runway before exiting at a taxiway abeam our hangar. A little zigzag and the pilot pulled up onto the tarmac in front of the hangar. The pilot gunned the engine while holding his left brake, and the airplane did a sweet little pirouette and turned to face the opposite direction—the better, I suppose, to make a hasty exit if the necessity arose.

While this was happening, the second airplane, a larger Pilatus PC-12 single-engine turboprop, repeated the routine. It overflew the airport from south to north, turned to join the traffic pattern and landed heading west on runway two-seven. It also taxied the full length of the runway and pulled off abeam the hangar.

Meanwhile, the right side door on the Caravan opened and a set of stairs unfolded. Two men disembarked. The first man was of medium height and weight in a navy suit with a yellow tie. With his silver hair trimmed short, he looked like he could be the CEO of a Fortune 500 corporation. Instead, I recognized him to be John Calabria, former head of the Calabria organized-crime family. The other man was very tall, perhaps six four or so, and probably weighed two-fifty. He was dressed in a dark charcoal suit and he, too, had short, trimmed silver hair—Peter Calabria.

Frankie and Gina walked over to greet them, while I watched and waited with Francisco Miranda. Frankie shook hands with them while Gina received warm hugs from each. They talked among themselves for a couple of minutes, Gina pointing to me and to the hangar. Satisfied, the group walked over to where I stood.

Gina did the introductions. “Uncle John, Uncle Pete, this is my good friend Danny Logan. Danny, these are my uncles, John and Peter Calabria.” We shook hands.

After we’d said our hellos, John Calabria looked at my Hawaiian shirt and khakis and quipped, “Nice suit.”

“Apologize about that,” I said. “I just popped up yesterday on a whim—didn’t know what I’d find and didn’t know I’d be staying. Sure didn’t know I’d be invited to your meeting.”

“See,” Gina said. “I told you. He was going to find me either today or tomorrow anyway.”

“Good thinking,” Peter Calabria said. “Better that he’s here.” He turned to look me over. “You sure this guy can be trusted?”

“I’m sure of it,” she answered immediately. “I’ve known Danny for years. He’s an honorable man—a war hero, even. He told me that he was okay with this. If he says we can trust him, we can trust him.”

“Besides,” Frankie said, “I talked to the kid. I’m thinking we understand each other, him and me. He’s alright.”

“There you have it, then,” John Calabria said, smiling. “You come highly recommended by my two most trusted advisors. You must be golden.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I made a commitment to Gina. I’ll stick by it.”

“Good,” he said.

“Uncle John, Uncle Pete,” Gina said as she turned to Miranda, “Please allow me to introduce Mr. Francisco Miranda. Mr. Miranda is my counterpart with the Tijuana-Mendez family.”

“Mr. Calabria,” Miranda said, practically bowing as he reached to shake hands with John Calabria. “
Mucho gusto
, señor,” he said. “I am very honored to meet you.” He shook hands with Peter Calabria and said, “For the longest time, my family has dreamt of joining forces with an organization such as yours. We feel that the advantages to both our families could be tremendous. We were very excited to hear from Gina with her ideas.”

“Good,” John said. “We’re excited, too.” He turned to watch the Pilatus taxi up to the hangar. “Looks like your bosses are pulling up now.”

Like the first aircraft, the second spun around to face the outbound direction before the pilot cut his motor. Shortly afterward, the door on the left side of the fuselage opened and the stairs were extended. The first man off was middle-aged, with dark hair brushed back and tinged with silver. He wore a beautifully tailored pinstriped suit in a color I think is called taupe. His tie was dark blue. He stood perhaps five ten and was solid, but not heavy—perhaps one seventy-five or one-eighty. He looked like a CEO as well. No doubt about it, we were plain swimming in crime lords dressed up as CEOs this morning. An older fellow with thinning hair followed him. He, too, wore a suit, but his was a little more rumpled.

I had to stop for a moment and remember that I was definitely not looking at CEOs. Instead, I was looking at two of the FBI’s most wanted criminals. Hector and Luis Mendez were both on the Ten Most Wanted list for little things like racketeering, murder, drug trafficking, kidnapping, and extortion. And I had both at arm’s length, right in front of me. Well, actually, me and fifteen bad guys armed to the teeth. I’d made a commitment to Gina not to call this meeting in to law enforcement, and I was duty-bound to honor that commitment. But still, watching these two guys get off the plane was damn hard to take.

As I thought about it, I had no underlying issue with the Calabrias—they’d made their mistakes in the past, and they’d both done their time to pay for it. Gina, of course, had no criminal history—yet. She was still in the clear. As to what they were proposing today—I now understood the reasons for my confusion. Although what they wanted to do was technically illegal, it was at least arguable as to whether or not it was morally bad. There’s that gray-area thing.

The Mendez brothers, though—they were a whole different story. I was 100 percent black and white with these guys—no confusion at all. They were cold-blooded killers, unrepentant bad guys. They thought nothing of blowing up a sheriff’s station and everyone inside it, or running a truck bomb into a shopping mall. These were the kind of guys that settled business disputes by cutting off your head—and the heads of your immediate family, just for good measure. Gina had an odd sense of acceptable business partners. I guess they were a necessary evil, but that didn’t excuse things.

For my part, seeing these two guys snapped me back to reality and brought things into sharp focus. Seeing the Mendez brothers walking toward me—smiling, seemingly with no cares in the world—there was no conflict in me; I was suddenly galvanized. No part of me could tolerate the Mendez brothers—they were pure evil. And while I had no choice but to play along with this little powwow today, I resolved right then and there that the Mendez brothers were going down, and I was going to be the one to take them down. Not today, but soon. Sorry, Gina.

~~~~

Francisco Miranda practically ran over to greet the Mendez brothers warmly as they descended the stairs. As the turboprop whirred to a stop, Miranda shook their hands and talked to them. He pointed at our group and at the hangar. He pointed at the airport and the runway. Finally, he accompanied the brothers over to our group.

“Mr. John Calabria and Mr. Peter Calabria,” he said with a flourish, “please allow me to introduce Mr. Hector Luis Mendez and his brother, Mr. Luis Ramon Mendez.”

“Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,” John Calabria said as he stepped up and shook hands with each of the Mendez brothers in turn.

“We, as well,” Hector Mendez said in heavily accented English. He turned to Gina. “You must be Gina Fiore,” he said.

“I am,” Gina said, reaching over to shake his hand.

“You are a very impressive young woman,” Mendez said. “Very brave and very resourceful, too. Not many would have thought to approach us in the manner you chose.”

“Sorry if my methods were a little severe,” Gina said. “I was pretty sure I had a good idea that would appeal to the leaders of both families.”

“And sometimes, stupid people stand in the way,” Mendez said, apparently referring to the late Mr. Salazar. “I’m glad you figured out a way around that particular obstacle.”

“Thank you,” Gina said.

“It did cost us four grows,” Mendez said. “Perhaps we can speak about this?”

“We can, and we will,” Gina said. “And trust me when I say that I believe when we’re finished talking, you will not be concerned about the loss of these four fields. Instead, I believe you will consider this loss to be a bargain price for admission to a whole new level of distribution channels in the United States. The potential profits from these new channels will make you quickly forget about the four lost fields.”

“I like the way you think,” Hector Mendez said.

Gina smiled. “Thank you, sir. But please,” she said, “let’s move this discussion inside. We’re all set up for you gentlemen in the hangar here.”

Gina pointed the way to the hangar and, except for the four outside guards from each side, the rest of us went inside.

~~~~

The gigantic airplane door was closed, of course, so we entered through a normal-sized door built right into the edge of the airplane door. The hangar was large, perhaps sixty feet square. Inside, four hanging mercury-vapor lights lit the interior of the empty hangar like an operating room. The shiny, white, epoxy-painted floors reflected the light back against the white insulation on the walls. I felt like I should have brought sunglasses—it was as bright inside as it was outside. Fortunately, even though it was already warming up outside, inside the hangar was cool and quiet.

A two-story office had been built into the corner of the hangar opposite the entry door, but the lights inside were off, the door was closed, and the office did not appear to be occupied. Instead, centered in the middle of the hangar floor were two eight-foot fold-up tables pushed together and covered by a royal blue linen tablecloth. The tables were surrounded by six chairs—two on each side plus one at either end. A smaller table, also covered by a blue tablecloth, held water carafes and a coffee pot.

When I was in the army, I attended dozens of meetings of all types—staff meetings, planning meetings, briefing meetings, you name it. Many of these meetings were held in impromptu settings, and more than once in airplane hangars. The layout here was one that I’d seen many times before—it felt like old times. I was ready to jump up and salute when the general walked through the door. Except now it wasn’t generals—it was drug lords and mob bosses. My, how times change.

“Gentlemen, please have a seat, and we’ll get started,” Gina said. The Calabria brothers took the chairs facing the door while the Mendez brothers sat across from them. Francisco Miranda took the seat at one end of the table and, once everyone was seated, Gina sat at the other end next to an easel, which held a flip chart. Frankie and I sat behind the Calabrias, while the two Mendez guards sat behind their principals.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Gina said. “This is a very important day for both the Tijuana-Mendez organization and the Calabria family. I believe that we truly have an opportunity here where the combined effort of our two organizations is much greater than the sum of the individual parts.” Gina paused to let her words sink in. Miranda nodded his agreement.

“Briefly stated,” she said, as she looked at the Mendez brothers, “your team is a world-class master in the art and science of creating a very profitable, renewable product that is in high demand—that is, high-grade marijuana. Our family,” now she looked at the Calabrias, “has local contacts and a distribution network second to none. You create the high-quality product, we can move it for you at prices and in quantities that you’d otherwise not be able to achieve. This is the essence of our proposal. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to show you the details.” She turned to the flip chart behind her and flipped the cover over to reveal a chart labeled Business Plan.

Gina spent the next thirty minutes leading the group through a detailed financial business plan showing numbers of fields, percent loss to law enforcement, delivery costs, profit comparison for different distribution strategies. She concluded by detailing bottom-line profits.

“So subtracting the thirty-million-dollar production costs from the equation leaves a total net profit of approximately $337,000,000 a year. I’ve proposed a fifty-fifty split. Half for the Tijuana-Mendez organization, half for the Calabrias—about $169,000,000 a year for each of us.”

The hangar fell silent as everyone studied Gina’s chart and absorbed the information. She’d gone through the numbers like a corporate VP pitching a new project to her CEO. Except that I don’t think corporations usually make three hundred million per year on thirty-million-dollar annual investments.

After a couple of minutes, Hector Mendez spoke. “I know I speak for my brother when I say that we have always wanted to work with the great families of America,” he said. “For many years, we have dreamt of the humble Mendez family being thought of with the same respect and honor as is granted to the great American families such as the Calabrias.”

John Calabria acknowledged the compliment with a nod.

Mendez continued. “For too long, the Mexican cartels and the Colombians before us have acted in an uncivilized fashion. This has caused us to be looked upon as amateurs and thugs. Our compatriots around the world view us with scorn and disdain. In the words of your comedian, ‘We don’t get no respect.’ Truthfully, sadly, we’ve done little to earn the respect we desire. My countrymen have turned my beautiful country into a killing zone. Their greed is limitless. There is plenty of money to go around, but, alas, they have not even learned life’s simplest lessons—including how to share. Luis and I mean to see this change. We wish to take our place among the world’s most respected criminal organizations and, in so doing, begin to show the way to my countrymen. We wish to bring them to the table of respectability, even if we have to drag them there.