Blood Debts: A Miami Vice Reunion
by Anne Trembley
If anything, what kept them together was their brotherhood, more than
the fight. The fight brought them together, that's true. When that was
gone, they still had that connection, that love.
And THAT is the real victory......
Chapter 1 :: Chapter 2 ::
Chapter 3 :: Chapter 4 ::
Chapter 5 :: Chapter 6 ::
Chapter 7 ::
Chapter 8 :: Chapter 9 ::
Chapter 10 :: Chapter 11 ::
Chapter 12 :: Chapter 13 ::
Chapter 14 ::
Chapter 15 :: Chapter 16 ::
Chapter 17 :: Chapter 18 ::
Chapter 19 :: Chapter 20 ::
Chapter 21
Chapter 8
4:30 PM Bayshore Hospital, Miami
Sonny
Crockett watched morosely as the shadows changed in the slits of sunlight
through the window blinds. The blaze of afternoon sun leaking
through almost made the end of the long day cheerful. The hours at the
hospital all fuzzed together into a blur. He'd ridden to the
Hospital in the ambulance. Supplied all the information he knew to
admitting and the ER staff. Castillo had no identification at all
left in his clothing.
After Castillo was through the ER and admitted to the floor, Rico had
arrived and driven him back to the boat to shower and change. Gina
and Trudy had stayed at the hospital, until Stan and Arnie arrived in
their turn. Sonny had come back, seen that Castillo was breathing,
and more or less okay. He just was not waking up. Sonny
decided to stay. While Rico went back to OCB as Ding to meet his
"Partner" Marco. "Castillo will like seeing you when he comes to.
And I GOTTA meet this Marco."
"He'll probably pick your pockets."
Rico left with a chuckle.
After that, it was simply a long, long period of quiet. It was a starkly
simple hospital room. Inescapable hospital odors, antiseptics and
that ineffable scent of boiled cotton. The blinds were half turned
reducing the light to a gray haze.
They were nice enough to supply a chair he could fall asleep in, and
Sonny had done just that for a few hours. His dreams were
awful. Jumbled distorted bits of things, horrible things.
Under a little stress are we Crockett? Sonny stretched and
walked around the room a couple times, watched the slits of sky through
the blinds or let his eyes wander over the room. Always returning
to the still figure on the bed, trying to sort out his feelings of relief
mixed with horror. Marty was alive, that was the most important
thing. But why had someone gone to the trouble to kidnap him?
It made no sense. Sonny rubbed his face tiredly.
Gina and Trudy had stayed at the hospital waiting for the lieutenant to
wake, then Switek and Arnie. Eight hours later he was still
unconscious. The others had gone back to try and follow up on the
information they had. It wasn't much, but Sonny had the uneasy
feeling that the storm wasn't over yet.
Machines hummed, clicked, and monitored, and Sonny waited. Waited
and wondered. Why? The endless question. He'd seen the
ravaged skin of Marty's left arm, blackened from fingers to shoulder with
bleeding bruises, and needle marks, the puckered half healed tracks of
repeat injections, some badly infected. Now the arm was bandaged
completely, an IV started in the less damaged right arm. As a
detective that raised questions in itself. Why use just the one
arm? Marty was right handed; did that have something to do with
it? If so, what?
Sonny
hated hospital rooms, he'd spent enough time in them for three
lifetimes. He turned abruptly at the sound of someone entering the
room. It was a doctor he'd never seen before. Short wiry gray
hair, a thick brush of mustache. The man's eyes were brown and
sharp and curiously intent. Most Doctors he'd known in hospitals
over the years, were detached around patients and visitors. Always
standing back.
"Who are you?"
"Sidney Friedman, and you?"
"Sonny Crockett."
Oddly Sonny felt he needed to say more.
"I work...I used to work with Marty."
The Doctor smiled with a crooked tilt to the side. The smile went
all the way into his eyes.
"I know, Martin talked about you a few times."
Sonny was a little astounded, but then over the years with Castillo,
there had been so many strange people Marty just happened to know
extremely well, and he never, ever, explained where or how he came to
know them, or how it was that they always seemed to owe him. Sonny
pushed the thought aside.
"You're his Doctor?"
Friedman smiled. It was a friendly smile that crinkled his face and
yet made him seem younger.
"Yes."
"How is He?"
"I don't really know."
"What do you mean?"
Friedman's face told Sonny that the Doctor didn't really like what he was
going to say.
"Someone kept him on IV fluids and drugs for almost a week. He
must have fought them, there's a lot of blown out veins, and he's still
badly dehydrated. His bloodwork shows evidence of a large
assortment of drugs."
Sonny felt sick to his stomach,
"What kind of drugs?"
"some psychoactive, a lot of narcotics, some things so nasty we
don't usually look for them."
"What the hell were they doing to him?"
"A rough guess would be extreme interrogation."
Sonny's eyes widened in horror.
"It doesn't make sense. Even the Cartels don't do this kind of
thing. And they don't waste drugs on people they're going to
kill."
"This may be a problem, he's fully involved."
"What do you mean?"
"Heroin."
"Jesus Christ!"
"I've started methadone because I don't want him in full withdrawal
before I can talk to him. It'll also help counteract some of the
drugs in his system."
Sonny felt as if someone had just ripped out his lungs, leaving a bloody
hole looking for air. He turned to look back at the still
body. "It doesn't make any sense, unless..." Sonny
shut his mouth. Do you talk to just anybody about the extremes of
revenge some people will go for? Or the weird enemies Castillo
might have? Something about Sidney Friedman made Crockett want to
trust him. He just wasn't sure how far yet.
Friedman's eyes were kind and sardonic.
"Martin's always spoken
well of you, I think you know that he's led a complicated life.
I've known him for a long time. Who ever did this may not be
finished. He can use all the friends he's got right now."
Sonny Crockett did not hesitate for even a second.
"We're here for him."
5:56 PM Emil's boat.
The afternoon was fading to
exquisite storm light. Huge thunderheads massing on the western
horizon.
Emil sat at a small table protected from the wind by glass panels.
The view of Miami was superb, delicate as a fine painting. Emil
appreciated fine paintings, as well as fine art of any kind. His
work allowed him to buy almost anything he desired, but after 40 years
there was little left to desire. The work itself absorbed his
interest. Breaking and controlling
inferior people. That was the finest art of all.
Emil drank splendid coffee from a very fine porcelain cup. He
decided casually that this latest cook would be allowed to live. A
ship steward waited deferentially nearby, face appropriately blank.
Emil could not abide any appearance of curiosity from his servants.
He glanced at the papers. Finally snapped a finger without looking
up. The steward carefully removed the papers without touching the
table.
"Very well. We will be in port for 5 days. You may have deck
refinishing done if it can be done in 4 days. Check the
references."
Tuesday 7:03 AM Miami, Dockside
Izzy Moreno wore
faded much stained workman's clothes. A supremely practical man, he
had never thrown away anything he might need in a different job.
Izzy had tried more careers than he could remember. This time he
had chosen with extreme care and attention to detail, every single aspect
of this persona. Getting Manny to agree to work with him had been
the only hard part. On the side of the van he drove, it said,
"Manny's Marine Refinishing Services".
"Haeey, joust like old times, heh Manny?" An older, thicker Manny
sat in the window seat, and rolled his eyes silently at Izzy like a
nervous horse. Izzy spoke comfortingly to the windshield without
looking at Manny.
"Don't worry about
theze. I just need a little money on the side. It is very
important to do this refinishment just right, the materials are always as
important as the job. You must always take pride in your
works."
Manny stared at Izzy with
something like real confusion. NOTHING about this job made any
sense to him. Izzy had helped him get a real business started, and
that was the only reason he was here. Manny had no interest in any
more of Izzy Moreno's crazy scams.
9:14 AM OCB
McKinnin kept the
office completely cut off visually from the rest of the OCB.
Something he suspected the crew was grateful for. It also meant
they could not see him use his cellphone. He had written several
notes after a call earlier, planning his responses carefully. He
wadded a pile of miscellaneous papers together. He did not expect
to be here more than another week at the most, and debated whether to
leave the confused mess of paperwork scattered about for whoever his
successor might be. Checking his large military style watch he
decided it was time to confront the troops again. He noticed they
all looked tired when he marched into the conference room.
"You'll all be glad to know Martin Castillo was found with injuries
sustained in being held for ransom, although no ransom demand was
made. The authorities suspect the kidnapers gave up and decided to
abandon him and run. He'll be in the hospital for a few days before
he comes back."
There was a moment of complete stunned silence and eyes meeting with
unanswerable questions. Stan broke the pregnant hush.
"Great! What hospital?"
"That's not available, they're trying to keep this very quiet.
McKinnin suddenly noticed Rico. "Who are you?"
Ricardo Tubbs gave his best bright innocent smile filled with truth and
honesty.
"Ding, sir."
McKinnin looked doubtful.
"You're Puerto Rican?"
"Hola, bebe," Rico said cheerfully. "Mis drogas es el mejor."
McKinnin nodded wisely. The others held their breath trying
not to gag laughing. Then he looked around again and
demanded,
"Where's Crockett?"
Marco spoke up this time. "He had to go to Metro Dade to clear some firearms
paperwork."
McKinnin nodded wisely again and after listening to their various bogus case
status reports, agreed that the Rio Dezipas case needed more people on it.
Blood Debts: A Miami Vice Reunion
