Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1) (39 page)

“We wish to thank you, John and Peter Calabria, for honoring us with this meeting this morning. We want to assure you that we hold your organization in the highest respect, and we would like nothing more than to work together on this venture. But we have some questions that need to be answered first.”

“Please, Mr. Mendez,” Gina said. “Feel free to ask any questions you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Mendez said. “By my own calculations, at a wholesale value of one thousand dollars per plant, acting alone, my organization would net about $250,000,000 per year. By joining forces, our share falls to $165,000,000 per year. Fifty million per year difference seems a lot to give up for something that’s already our product.”

John Calabria said, “Fifty million is a lot of money, for sure. But I think you might want to look at it another way—that is, you’d be completely out of the distribution business. You deliver the crop, period. We take it from there. We can pay the equivalent of fifteen hundred per plant and you’re out of it. You don’t have to deal with lower-level people at all. Right now, you’re operating wholesale and retail. My guys will do what they’re best at, which is running the product through distribution and putting it in the retail places that pay the most.”

He paused for a second, then continued. “And another thing, believe me when I tell you, we appreciate the opportunity to work with you guys as well. We don’t know squat about growing marijuana. Never done it. Never want to. You guys are good at it. But like Gina said, we’ve had distribution channels in place since Al Capone and prohibition—more than eighty years. We can easily move the product anywhere in the country. That does two things for you. First, it allows you to take advantage of better pricing on the East Coast than you’re getting now. Second, it allows you to focus on ramping up production. And that’s where the real money will be.”

I noticed Gina smiling as her uncle spoke. She’d obviously briefed him well in preparation for the meeting.

Mendez nodded. “In truth,” he said, “I’d probably be willing to part with fifty million per year simply in order to establish a partnership with the Calabria family. I think the enhanced respectability brought on by the relationship with your organization will be worth at least that much in our other businesses.”

Calabria nodded. “Thank you for the compliment,” he said.

Mendez nodded. He turned to his brother. “Luis, I like these gentlemen. I think we should do this deal. What do you think?”

“It’s good,” Luis said, nodding. “I’m with you.”

“We think it’s a good deal as well, right, Pete?” John Calabria said.

“Damn right,” Peter Calabria answered, smiling for the first time. “I always wanted to be in the pot business.”

Gina smiled. “Excellent. Gentlemen, I think we have the basics of an agreement in hand. I think Francisco and I can meet and polish off the details later—the mechanics of the deal.”

“That sounds good,” John Calabria said, standing up. “Probably best for all of us if we don’t linger around here anymore than is necessary.”

“Agreed, amigo,” Hector Mendez said. “Next time, we can meet in my country. I can take you fishing for yellowfin tuna on our boat.”

“It’s a date!” John said, reaching across to shake hands with Mendez.

At that instant, a huge explosion ripped through the hangar. The blinding white flash and the thundering noise echoed off the hangar walls. My ears went instantly numb, and I was completely blinded.

Chapter 26

MOMENTS LATER, THE
deafness was replaced by a loud ringing in my ears, the kind you get after you’ve been to a loud, all-day rock concert and sat a little too close to the PA. Smaller but equally bright orange-yellow stars floating back and forth across my vision replaced the bright flash that had at first caused everything to turn black. The acrid smell of cordite was strong, and the smoke burned my eyes. After a few seconds, the ringing in my ears diminished, and the stars in my eyes began to shrink in size and intensity. My vision started to clear, and I became aware of my surroundings again. I emerged into a complete state of pandemonium in the hangar. All around me, I heard the footsteps of people running in heavy boots. “Get down!” they shouted. “Down on the floor!”

Before I was fully functional and able to come up with a coherent action on my own, I was roughly grabbed from behind and literally thrown to the ground. I barely caught myself before face-planting on the cold, concrete hangar floor. As it was, I bashed my knee on the floor as I went down. It hurt like hell, but the sharp pain had the side effect of snapping me back to reality. As my vision returned to normal, my vantage point gave me a great view of boots—black tactical boots—running back and forth. Lots of them. I turned and looked in the other direction, and I was able to make out the fact that the boots were connected to the legs of black-helmeted men clothed in black tactical uniforms with the letters
DEA
stenciled on their backs in bright yellow.
Great
. I was right in the middle of a bust. This was definitely not good.

“Nobody move,” a loud voice commanded us.

I didn’t move. But I was able to ascertain that Frankie was sprawled out on the ground to my right. I could see the Calabrias in front of me, but I couldn’t see Gina from where I was lying. It seemed like dozens of black-uniformed men were visible. Where’d they all come from?

For a few moments, the room was silent. Suddenly, I felt the presence of a man standing behind me. I couldn’t see him, but I heard him walk up. “Well now, that was fun, huh guys?” the man said. His voice was deep and confident. “Loads of fun. Big bang—nobody hurt. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Special Agent Regis Jackson of the Seattle Office of the United States Drug Enforcement Agency. I’d like to thank you all for coming to this little party this morning. Such a—a difficult location, and you all made a special trip. I am impressed.” Wonderful. I was going to be busted by Officer Joe Sarcasm.

“I do want to apologize that our refreshments are a little lacking at our party this morning,” he continued. “But not to worry. I’m certain you’ll all be impressed with our overnight accommodations. I’m told that the food served there is, shall we say, unforgettable.” Several of the men laughed.

“Yes, yes indeed,” he said, now laughing himself. “But this is not fair. I’ve introduced myself to you, yet we don’t know who you are. Let’s get a proper introduction going. Jimmy,” he called out, “push that green button there, open up that main hangar door, and let’s clear the smoke out of here. Make sure you tell the guys outside to stand clear before you do.” He paused, and then said, “Mikey, starting with this shithead right here—” Wham! He kicked me hard, right in the butt, before he continued, “Let’s stand them up one at a time, pat them down, and cuff them. Get a little introduction. May as well be polite, right?”

Two hands grabbed each of my arms and roughly lifted me to standing. They quickly and professionally patted me down and took my wallet and my 1911 before zip-tying my hands together. I looked around for the first time. Smoke still hung thick in the air, but I had no trouble seeing at least two dozen heavily armed, black-clad DEA agents in the room. The door to the office in the back of the hangar was wide open. Had they all been hiding in there?

The Calabrias were in front of me, still on the ground. Miranda was on the ground to my left. I couldn’t see the Mendez brothers, but I could see the Mexican guards behind them, sprawled out on the floor with four DEA agents right behind them, rifles pointed and ready for action. Looking to my right, from my vantage point, the only part of Gina I could see were her legs. The table hid the rest of her body. Uncle Frankie was still lying on the ground on my right side.

The large hangar door began to lift upward like a giant garage door as the agents moved clockwise around the table, meaning the next ones to get stood up would be the Calabrias. Agent Jackson walked past me, and I could see that he was a tall, well-built black man, probably in his late thirties or early forties. He was also wearing tactical clothing.

“Daniel Charles Logan,” he said, reading my driver’s license as another agent handcuffed me. “Thirteen thirty-six Dexter Avenue, Seattle, Washington. Local boy, huh?” He flipped through my wallet. “And what’s this? A CCW permit and a PI license?” He looked at me. “Mr. Logan, or should I say Detective Logan, I have no idea what you’re doing here, but my friend, you are definitely guilty of being in the wrong place at the wrong goddamned time. We’ll see what else you’re up to.” His men laughed again.

He walked past me and pointed to the Calabrias. “These guys next,” he said. He watched as the Calabrias were simultaneously jerked to their feet, facing away from him. Both were frisked and cuffed. He had his men turn them around to face him. He acted in mock surprise. “John Calabria!” he said. “I recognize you.” Then he turned and said, “And Peter Calabria! What a treat! Gentlemen,” he said, turning and addressing his fellow agents, “the Chicago mob is in the house!” A couple of the other agents gave mock cheers. When the cheers died down, Jackson said, “Guys, honestly. I’d have thought by now that you fellas would be out of this shit. You should be sitting on a beach in the Caribbean by now. Soaking up rays, playing hide-the-salami with some sweet young things, and enjoying your golden years. What the hell are you doing working with scum suckers like these cartel idiots here?” he said, pointing to where the Mendez brothers still lay on the ground. The Calabrias said nothing, they simply stared back. “Cat got your tongues, eh? Well, you’ll have plenty of time to figure out where things went wrong, won’t you? Cuff ’em.”

After Francisco Miranda was cuffed, the Mendez brothers were next. They were stood up and searched, then handcuffed. Did I say they looked like CEOs? I take that back. Not anymore. Now they looked like angry, psychotic killers, the kind that would not have been happy unless everyone responsible for this raid was tortured and executed, along with their families, their acquaintances, their whole towns. They were pissed, but they said nothing. Instead, they glared. They had really nasty glares, like angry rattlesnakes poised to strike. Luis Mendez decided to try out the glare on one of the agents. “A little stink eye? Very cute, fuckface,” the agent said just before he slammed his elbow into Mendez’s gut.

“Mikey,” Jackson called out to the offending agent, “Play nice. Don’t forget these men are our guests.”

Unable to manipulate the DEA agents, the Mendez brothers next glared at Francisco Miranda. This worked better, as it had the effect of making Miranda immediately piss himself. The man’s face was sheet–white, and he looked like he expected to be executed sometime within the next seven seconds, which, in Mexico, would probably have been the case.

“Well, bless my soul if it isn’t Hector and Luis Mendez,” Jackson said, walking around the table to the Mendez brothers after they were cuffed. “You are the Mendez brothers, aren’t you?” he asked. He held up Most Wanted pictures of each against their faces. He made a show of looking at the poster, then at the men, then back at the poster. “Yeah, that’s you alright. Looks just like your photos, guys. Gentlemen, welcome to America! We’ve wanted to make your acquaintance for so very long. And now, here you are, our guests.”

Luis Mendez muttered something incoherent, still trying to catch his breath after being doubled over by an elbow to the gut.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson said. “I didn’t get that. What’d you say?”

“He says, I respectfully request to speak to my lawyer,” Hector Mendez said.

“Oh, well, since you put it that way,” Jackson said. “Fuck you. You’ll get your chance.”

~~~~

Finally, they stood Gina up. For the first time, I was able to see her, and I was surprised. On many occasions, I’ve seen people who are unaccustomed to trouble with law enforcement get busted their first time. Most of these people are in a complete state of shock—eyes wide open, legs trembling to the point of having trouble standing; sometimes they’ve even vomited. The mind short-circuits when faced with an ultra-stressful situation. People lose control and don’t act rationally, or certainly not in a way they normally would.

This definitely did not describe Gina. Don’t get me wrong—she didn’t look happy about the situation, but she certainly didn’t look like she was in shock or terror, either. Hers was a look of grim determination, like she had a job to do and, by god, she was going to do it. She didn’t look pissed off like the Mendez brothers did, but she didn’t look the slightest bit afraid either, even after she was searched and cuffed, even after Luis Mendez tried the glare on her. She simply stared right back and shot him a “go fuck yourself” look, which was pretty gutsy considering whom she was staring down.

Last to go was Uncle Frankie, but before the agents reached him, the hangar door suddenly groaned and made a loud bang! People jumped and ducked, and then turned to look at the door. It was stuck about three-fourths of the way open. Beneath the door, I had a great view of the four Mexican and four Chicago outside-guards all lying on the ground, handcuffed and completely immobilized. Another dozen DEA agents guarded them and the airplanes’ pilots.

“Great,” Jackson said, “Door’s broke. Let’s see if we can work that cable loose,” he ordered. Several agents jumped to comply, including those on my side of the table who had been guarding Uncle Frankie.

Frankie noticed right away that everyone was looking at the door and not at him. Knowing he wouldn’t be left untended for more than a moment, he quickly jumped to his feet. Instead of trying to escape, however, he put his hands behind his back as if he were already cuffed. Then he simply stood there. I was the only one who’d noticed.

I looked at him and tilted my head and tried to arch an eyebrow, as if to ask,
What the hell are you doing?
He responded by nodding back at me and giving me a glare, indicating that I was to mind my own goddamned business, thank you very much.

This was going to be interesting. In fact, this was turning into a regular laugh a minute.