warehouse district, rows of garage doors, one after another: Ordell careful, making sure they weren’t followed and there was no one around who might see them. He removed the padlock, raised the door of the space he’d rented, and there they were in his flashlight beam: all
kinds of assault weapons converted to full automatic, boxes of silencers that reminded Louis of parts in a factory bin, the M-60 machine gun and LAW rocket launchers they’d taken from Gerald’s place that day. Ordell said tomorrow night or the next, all this shit would be packed, loaded in the van, and driven down to Islamorada in the Keys, put on Mr. Walker’s boat and taken over to the Bahamas. Mr. Walker would make the delivery to the middleman who bought the stuff for the Colombian druggies and get paid. A good two hundred thousand worth of weapons here, less expenses, would bring his total up close to a million in the bank over there. Telling all this to Louis in the dark, confiding.
Even giving him the key to the padlock, so he could bring over a few guns, TEC-9s, still at Simone’s house.
Louis hearing the familiar voice of his old buddy, certain now it wasn’t Ordell trying to use him, it was Melanie.
Ordell saying, “You appreciate this kind of situation, Louis. It can make you rich, yeah, but you see some fun in the idea too, huh? You see funny kind of things that happen nobody else sees. You know what I’m saying? You the only white guy I ever met understands what the fuck I’m ever talking about. Melanie don’t. Melanie can say funny things without knowing it. But when she thinks she’s funny, she ain’t. Like we in the car coming home from Gerald’s? You hear her? She says, ‘You two guys are still a couple of fuckups.’ See, she thinks she can say that after shooting the man. Like she’s kidding and I’m not gonna say nothing.”
“You didn’t,” Louis said.
“No, but I remember it. See, she disses you and thinks it’s funny. I don’t like to be dissed in a kidding way less it’s somebody I respect.”
Louis said, “You trust her?”
“I never have,” Ordell said, “from the minute I first met her laying in the sun. I keep an eye on her, she can still surprise me, like having that gun. Little Waither .32—you believe how loud it was? She must’ve stole it off me and I didn’t even know she had it. Where else she gonna get a pistol like that cost eight hundred? She ain’t gonna buy it.”
Louis said, “I’d keep both eyes on her.”
Ordell’s gaze moved from the road, Windsor Avenue, to Louis. “She trying to work you against me? . . . You don’t have to say, I know the woman.
She gonna look at every angle, make sure she lands on her feet. She shot Big Guy five times, didn’t she?”
“Four,” Louis said.
“Okay, four. The piece holds seven loads. How come if she wants me out of this, she didn’t do it when she had the chance? You know why? ’Cause she ain’t sure you can take it all the way. You could’ve shot me and Big Guy at the same time, but you didn’t do it. Melanie’s thinking hey, shit, ’cause he don’t have the nerve? She’s the kind, wants to know who’s gonna win ’fore she puts her money down.”
“Why do you keep her around?”
Ordell grinned at him. “She’s my fine big girl, man. Now I got you watching my back. . . .”
“You take too many chances,” Louis said. “You expose yourself. Too many people know what you’re doing.”
“High profit,” Ordell said, “high risk. I need the people till this’s done. I know who I can trust and who I can’t. The only one worries me right now is Cujo, I mentioned to you. They got him up at Gun Club. I called, they don’t have a bond set on him yet. I’d like to get him out of there and send him on his way, only I’m afraid the bond’s gonna be too high to get him one without the cash, and I don’t have it right now. I
They turned off Windsor onto 30th Street and pulled up in front of Simone’s stucco Spanish-looking house, Ordell saying, “You take those TEC-9s over to storage?”
“I’ll do it tonight.”
Ordell saying, “You never told me, you bone that old woman or not?”
18
Nicolet stopped in during prime time Tuesday evening, showed his ID, shook hands with Max, shook hands with Winston, and said, “Winston Willie Powell—I was a kid my dad used to take me to the fights at the Convention Center in Miami? I saw you beat up on Tommy Laglesia and a guy named Jesus Diaz, Hey-
“Something like that,” Winston said.
“It’s a pleasure to shake your hand,” Nicolet said and sat down next to Max’s desk, his back to Winston. “It’s a pleasure meeting you too,” he said to Max. “All the stories I’ve heard about you, I mean when you were with PBSO, closing homicides in two, three days.”
“You better,” Max said, “or you’re in trouble.”
“I know what you mean,” Nicolet said. “The longer a case sits there, nothing happening . . .”
The phone rang and he paused until Winston picked it up. “I have kind of a problem I think you could help me with, Max. Having been in law enforcement, you know the airtight case we have to have to get a conviction.”
“All I know about Ordell Robbie,” Max said, “is where he lives, and I’m not absolutely sure of that.”
Nicolet grinned. “How’d you know it was about him?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to stop by.”
“It’s about him indirectly,” Nicolet said. “You know the guy that shot the FDLE agent, Tyler? We’re convinced he works for Ordell.”
“Hulon Miller, Jr.,” Max said. “I’ve written him several times going back to when he was sixteen years old.”
Nicolet said, “Is that right?” squinting at Max to show how interested he was, laying it on.
This had to be a big favor the guy wanted.
“Seventeen arrests, I think nine or ten convictions,” Nicolet said, “this is a tough kid, knows the system intimately. We got him with a stolen gun, a stolen car. . . . We saw him at Ordell’s house. In fact it was right after we saw you stop by there.”
“Last Friday,” Max said. “You also have him for attempted murder, assaulting a federal officer, concealed weapon, discharging a firearm . . .” The phone rang. Max looked over as Winston picked it up again. “What else?”
“He knows he’s in deep shit,” Nicolet said, “but now he’s a star ’cause he shot a cop. I mean out at the jail. Limps around there—I put a nine through him that almost took his dick off, I wish it had. It was those fucking smoke-glass windows in the car, I had to fire at him blind.”
“So he won’t talk to you,” Max said.
“He gives me dirty looks.”
“You have enough to threaten him with.”
“He knows all that. I try a different approach, I tell him, ‘Cujo, my man, I could’ve killed you; you owe me one. Let’s talk about Ordell Robbie.’ He goes, ‘Who?’ ‘Tell me what you know about him.’ ‘Who?’ I go, ‘Man, you sound like a fucking owl.’ So he’s in there, no bond . . . I get an idea, go see him. ‘How about if I get you bonded out, man? Would you like that?’ Now I’ve gotten his attention. I tell him, ‘You only have to do one thing for me. No snitching, only this one thing. Introduce me to Ordell. Tell him I came to you before, weeks ago, looking for guns. That’s all you have to do, I take it from there.’ ”
Max waited. He said, “Yeah?”
“That’s it. I get next to Ordell, smile a lot, kiss his ass, and he shows me his machine guns.”
“You just said there’s no bond.”
“That’s right, but I can get the federal magistrate to set one.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five thousand. But, see, it’s only if you’ll write it, to help us out.”
