Fan Fiction

Part I: Crockett's Return
Chapter 1 :: Chapter 2 :: Chapter 3 :: Chapter 4 :: Chapter 5 :: Chapter 6 :: Chapter 7 :: Chapter 8

Part II: New Beginnings
Chapter 9 :: Chapter 10 :: Chapter 11 :: Chapter 12 :: Chapter 13 :: Chapter 14 :: Chapter 15 :: Chapter 16

The black Porsche Carrera drove up the long, curved, palm tree-lined drive and parked near the entrance to the sprawling Spanish-styled mansion. It was an extravagant house, even for Coral Gables.

The driver wasn’t in a rush. He stepped out of the car gradually, strolled leisurely towards the house and slowly climbed the marble steps leading to a matched set of heavy, hand-carved oak doors. Heaving a sigh, he rang the bell. When the doors opened, a swarthy-looking Latino ushered him inside with a nod of his head - not exactly a butler trained in the old school, but then he had other skills that his employer valued more highly.

“Senor Esteban is expecting you,” he said in a heavy Colombian accent, “on the patio out back.”

The fact that the visitor had been here on a number of occasions was evident as he sauntered comfortably through the lavishly furnished rooms to the back of the house. He was a tall man, his dress casual but expensive, and obviously at home in the rich surroundings. His curly dark brown hair, slightly receding now with a hint of grey showing at the temples, was the only clue to his true age. He was still in good shape for a man in his early fifties, echoing the daily routine of exercise he practiced religiously.

“Good morning, Jorge,” he said after he walked through the large patio doors. “How’d things go Saturday night?”

“Very well, my friend, very well. Detective Crockett didn’t suspect a thing - and your little surprise was a nice touch.” He took a sip of his morning coffee before continuing. “But tell me, why did you give him so much money? You know the police will only use it to try to lure unsuspecting criminals like ourselves into trouble.” Esteban laughed as he put the cup back down on the table.

“It’s a private joke - something I’ve owed Crockett for a long time.”

“But he’ll never live to enjoy it - eh?” Esteban laughed. “That is too bad, my friend. Bunett could have been a great asset to me. It’s a shame that he’s a cop.”

He’s a good one, Jorge. Don’t underestimate him. I did once.”

“And now you want to kill him eh?” “You didn’t like prison, my friend?”. He laughed once again.

It was good to be alive, Esteban thought. Last night had gone well. And Wednesday night would be even better - an untrustworthy business associate removed but his money left behind to fill his private coffers, a cop who had tried to spoil his plans once too often taken care of for good, the start of a new partnership, and one other special treat to make the night perfect. Just thinking about it excited him. America truly was the land of opportunity.

“Crockett’s mine. That’s part of the deal, ” the curly-haired man insisted.

“Of course, just as we discussed. I produce Sonny Crockett as an easy target for you to kill, and you take care of that slimy snake for me. It’s the perfect way to start our new partnership. But just remember, before you get to enjoy your revenge, I get to enjoy my pleasure.”

“That’s the deal Jorge.”

Andrew Baker truly was a snake. Esteban, as guerrilla leader Julio Sanchez, had had too many shady dealings with him in the past to trust him now. They had started out as underhanded third world political games for the CIA. Baker arranged for under the table support for his right wing guerilla group. In exchange Sanchez and his men helped take care of ‘commie’ sympathizers in Colombia and other Latin American countries who were not friendly to the American government. After the Contra affair in Nicaragua, the ‘official’ covert deals with the CIA all but dried up, but special transactions involving the agency still continued, well-hidden from the public eye. Along with those came the private deals with Baker, unknown to the Agency, for his own personal financial gain. Their dealings had become more and more of the private nature over the years, and recently that’s all they were.

Esteban had enough political savvy to know that Baker was now persona non grata with his former employer. The man could no longer provide him with any protection from the Americans and was more of a liability to him than anything else. If it were possible, Esteban trusted him even less than he had before. He would be happy to take the man’s money for the merchandize he had brought from Colombia, but he wasn’t about to include him in any future deals. His new partner was going to take care of the problem on Wednesday night. Baker would be dead, his money in Esteban’s hands and the drugs still in tact for a new sale. All his partner wanted in return was to be allowed to take revenge himself on Crockett - all in all, not a bad deal for Esteban.

The Colombian didn’t always understand Americans and their ‘sense of justice’, but he didn’t really care so long as the job got done. At their deal on Wednesday, Baker was planning to do away with Crockett anyway, probably in a manner far more sadistic than a bullet to the head, which is what his new partner had in mind. But, that was the American way he imagined, the sense of justice he didn’t fully comprehend. The Colombian way would be to enjoy the entertainment, watch your enemy die, and then take out your rival. But his new partner had insisted on dealing personally with the man who had put him behind bars years before - ‘payback’ he called it.

The curly-haired man sat down at the table opposite him. They talked for a while longer, reviewing the plans for Wednesday night. Baker might be a snake, but he provided invaluable information at times, not the least of which was the heads up last week that Burnett was actually a cop named Sonny Crockett. In a way, it would be a shame to see Baker go, he could be useful at times, but the man was far too deceitful to let him live.

Esteban was not surprised that his new partner had reacted strongly when he told him that Sonny Burnett, aka Sonny Crockett, would be the runner for the deal. The Colombian had investigated the man thoroughly before deciding to go into business with him. He was a major dealer from up the coast wanting to break into the Miami market just like himself; a silent player who stayed in the background out of the headlines, keeping a low profile - just the type of partner Esteban wanted in the States.

He had come on the scene just over ten years before, after his release from prison. The man who had put him there was Detective James Sonny Crockett. So Jorge wasn’t all that surprised when his future partner had insisted on seeing the runner with his own eyes. In fact he was glad to have the identification confirmed by someone he trusted a bit more than ‘the snake’. He had arranged for Burnett to get an invitation to dinner at the consulate, and during the evening, he had invited him outside for a chat so his future partner could get a good look at his face from a yacht just offshore. The confirmation had been expected, but still he was disappointed when his partner corroborated Baker’s claim. He liked Burnett - it was too bad that the guy was really a cop.

When they finished their business, Esteban escorted the man to the front of the house and the black sports car parked in the drive. Opening the car’s door for his guest, he bid the man farewell:

“I look forward to doing business with you. I’ll see you on Wednesday then.”

“Yeah, Wednesday,” the man repeated before he started the engine.

“Goodbye Mr. Wheeler,” Esteban called out as the Carrera started to wind its way back down the palm-lined drive.

Scotty Wheeler didn’t feel like going back to the lonely apartment in the modern high-rise building in a ritzy part of downtown Miami. It was huge, very expensive and lavishly furnished. It was the place where he stayed while in Miami, but it didn’t feel like home. Instead he decided to head down the coast and find a deserted stretch of beach where he could work out the thoughts that were spinning through his head.

He took the coast highway and drove for how long he didn’t notice, eventually turning into a small pull-off. After parking the car, he took off his shoes and shirt and rolled up his pants, and headed down the foot worn path to the empty beach. He loved the vast expanse of sand and water now. He had never really appreciated the freedom and openness of the ocean until it had been denied him. That was another thing he ‘owed’ Crockett for.

It had been nearly twenty years since Sonny Crockett had spoken to him, but that last conversation remained in his mind as clear as if it had been yesterday. He could still feel the hands gripping his throat and still hear the fury in Sonny’s voice, the words screaming into his brain.…...

“I trusted you, you bastard! “I trusted you, I trusted you.”

If Ricardo Tubbs hadn’t pulled him off, he wasn’t so sure that Crockett might not have killed him right then and there.

For eighteen years he had re-played that evening in his mind over and over. Crockett, his best friend and former partner, had turned him in - Crockett, the guy who was so willing to take chances at the fine edge of the law’ but so righteous about upholding it, always testing the boundaries but never stepping over the line. But what if Crockett had been in his shoes back then? - what would he have done? And what would Scott have done in Sonny’s place? It was the dilemma he had tried to resolve in his mind all these years, and finally he felt he knew the answer. The answer was the reason he had made the deal he did with Esteban. Thinking about it, a cynical smile came over his face.

He continued his slow stroll along the ocean’s edge, his feet gently massaged by the wet hard-packed sand, occasionally flooded by a gentle wave of water. The tide was at ebb and just starting its slow crawl back up the gently sloping shore. His mind wandered back once again to that fateful evening. It had all started with a firm knock on the door at 550 Belinda Street, a typical modest house in the suburbs of Miami ………….

September, 1984

Scotty opened the door, surprised, but pleased to see his former partner standing there.

“Come in, come in,” he said standing aside and motioning Sonny through the doorway.

“Hey Sonny, what brings you to this neck of the woods?” he asked. The look on his friend’s face remained stern, the tone in his voice seemed more serious than usual. When he turned down the offer to stay for dinner from Donna and the kids, Scotty sensed something was wrong.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Sonny said nothing, just handed him a piece of paper and took a few steps into the house before turning around and coming back to face him. It was just enough time for Scott to read what was on the paper. He could feel a lump rising in his throat.

“And if that’s not enough, I got a list of payoffs from DeSoto’s place.” Crockett spoke softly into his ear, not wanting Donna and the kids to overhear. “I think we better handle this outside,” he continued and walked out the door, followed swiftly by Scotty calling out that he had some business and would be right back.

Scotty trailed Sonny to his car, a black Daytona Spyder parked on the street in front of the house, and sat down in the passenger seat beside his friend. Crockett had been his partner in Vice with the Metro Dade police force until he had left for greener pastures in the DEA. They were still best friends, their families still close. Billy and Scott Jr. were the same age, Donna and Caroline socialized with each other, their families spent holidays together. Surely Sonny would understand - he was his friend, he had a kid too.

They sat for while without talking, Crockett staring at the dash. The silence was deafening, the time endless. What was Crockett going to do? He had to understand……didn’t he? He’d find a way to bury it someplace……wouldn’t he? The longer they waited, the more nervous Scotty became. Finally he could stand the tension no more. Surely, once Crockett knew the whole story he would give him a break - keep the information hidden and give Scotty a chance to make amends. They had been partners after all, and they still were best friends. He started telling his side of the story.

“Three months behind in the mortgage,” he explained. “Thirty-six grand in Scott Junior’s medical expenses, last year alone, and me clearing a lousy thirty a year, getting shot at by guys who blow that much in a restaurant in a month.”

Sonny glanced his way for just a second. He was listening, Scotty thought. He did understand. A sense of relief came over him - Crockett was going to bury the information.

“Six months ago a guy comes up to me outside a club in Little Havana - hands me a briefcase. Says, ‘compliments of Mr. Calderone’, nothing else, just ‘compliments’.” Crockett’s expression didn’t change. He just sat there staring at the dash. Scotty was starting to get nervous again, and his voice rose in fear.

“I didn’t even open the damn thing for two weeks!”

He was pleading with his eyes and his voice now, but from the glassy stare on Crockett’s face, he could sense that he wasn’t winning any sympathy. The silence continued until Crockett uttered his first words. His voice was quiet, not much above a whisper, a hint of disbelief coloring the tone;

“How much?”

Sonny finally turned to look at him with an icy glare. His voice was a little louder this time, still monotone and as cold as an iceberg.

“How much to buy you Scotty?” The words dripped with contempt. And then he sat there, staring that icy cold stare, his silence demanding an answer.

Scotty was quickly realizing that Sonny wasn’t going to help him with this. He could see it in his face, hear it in his voice. That’s when the panic started, and thoughts began to race through his mind.

Damn you Crocket! You’re not so perfect. Give a guy a break for God’s sake!

But he knew Crockett was not going to give up until he got an answer, and after a brief pause he replied in a timid voice.

“Seventy grand.”

Maybe if he explained it better to Sonny, he thought, maybe he still had a chance.

“Information.” He was pleading now, his voice starting to crack. “That’s all they wanted.”

“Information!” Sonny spit back, the tone in voice shifting from disbelief to disgust. He turned that icy glare to Scott’s direction.

Scotty began to realize the magnitude of the damage he had done, the magnitude of the trouble he was in. He pleaded with Crockett trying to make him understand, but he could see from the look on his face and the stiffness in his body that it didn’t matter that he had tried to pull out but found it was too late, and it didn’t matter that he didn’t expect people to get hurt. In his own mind he began to realize the consequences of giving over the information. The fact was that people had died - Eddie Rivera, Crockett’s young new partner, had died because of that information, leaving behind a young pregnant wife and an unborn child who would never see his father. Guilt started to fill his mind.

Oh God! What have I done?

He didn’t mean for any of it to happen. But Scott Jr. - he needed operations; his family - they needed a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Surely Crockett had to understand!

But Sonny wasn’t buying any of it. He just continued with his questions, keeping his emotions in check like any good cop would, and Crockett was one of the best. Calderone had changed the game plan and Sonny asked him where the deal was going down. Wheeler was caught between a rock and a hard place, and he was scared. If he gave Crockett the information he needed, maybe his buddy would let him off the hook, or at least make it easier for him with the authorities, but then he’d have to face Calderone’s wrath. He didn’t know which way to go, and it was tearing him apart. It was then he sensed a police car pulling up behind them and the panic inside his head notched up another level.

Damn you Crockett! Damn you to hell! Why did you call the cops? You gotta help me.

His thoughts turned to desperate pleas. “You gotta help me, man. You gotta help me! Man, I got a family.”

But the pleas fell on deaf ears. Crockett repeated his demand. “Where?” He repeated it again, this time in a louder, angrier voice. “WHERE?”

Damn you Crockett! You owe me! Don’t make me do this.

He knew he was going down and he knew Sonny was not going to lift a finger to help him. By now the panic breached the surface and he screamed out at Crockett. Fear was evident in his voice as he played his one last card.

“I got 15 years as a stand-up cop. I got two medals of valor. I took a bullet for you for God’s sake!”

But that plea too fell on deaf ears. A black unmarked police car pulled up alongside them. Sonny turned his head and just glared at him, the look on his face demanding an answer. The silence said more than a thousand words, the contempt in his eyes hurting more than anger ever could. Finally, knowing he had lost, he gave up the information.

He thought it was over, but the worst was yet to come. After Crockett got the answers he needed, Scotty found himself facing the personal issues. The pain in his friend’s heart was reflected in the hurt and disbelief in his voice.

“Am I missing something here, or what Scotty?” he asked sounding totally bewildered. He stared straight ahead again. “I don’t get it……I don’t understand this. You were my partner. I had you and Donna and the kids over for dinner what…… twenty, thirty times, Thanksgiving, birthdays.....”

The hurt and confusion Sonny was feeling finally gave way to the anger that had been building inside him. He turned on Scotty and grabbing him by the throat, he exploded in a screaming rage:

I trusted you, you bastard! I trusted you!

Crockett was still choking his ex-partner and screaming when Tubbs pulled him off the man and out of the car. And those were the last words Crockett had ever spoken to him.

Eighteen years ago and he still remembered it, just like it was yesterday.

He kept walking. He passed a family fishing for whiteys from shore.

“How’s the fishin’?” he asked, more out of habit than anything else.

“Caught a few, but the sharks seemed to have scared them away,” the father replied.

“Well, good luck,” he called out as he continued on his way.

He glanced out at the water and saw a fin break the surface just outside the underwater ridge where the waves were cresting. Sharks - he knew all about them alright, but the ones he knew were the two-legged type. He kept walking, his mind rolling the memories forward.

They had thrown the book at him. His lawyer had wanted him to fight the charges or at least try to bargain them down. But he was beaten, not willing to fight. He pleaded no contest before the judge and ended up with ten years. Crockett had come to the hearing for some unknown reason. He sat silently in the back row, and left right after the sentencing. That was the last time he had seen the man until last Thursday. But he had heard about him.

Donna used to come to the prison with the kids to visit on a regular basis, and had kept him informed all about what was happening in Crockett’s life, not that he wanted to hear it. But Crockett was keeping an eye on the family and providing money to help out with Scott Jr.’s treatments, and Donna never failed to tell him about it.

That’s what irked him the most back then. That son of a bitch!

Crockett had put him behind bars and then had the gall to think that looking after his family and providing money to help his crippled son would make him forget everything. The worst was when he married that rock star, Caitlin Davies. Crockett always did have horseshoes up his ass. Not only did he marry money, but not long afterwards she was killed and he was set up for life. Did he really think that using some of that money to pay for the best medical care in Florida for his son would win him over like it did his family. It only made him more bitter. Donna and he had fought over her taking his help every time she came to visit, but it was her agreeing to accept the expensive treatments for Scott that sent him over the edge. Couldn’t she see what was happening? The man was taking his place, buying them off, and she was letting it happen. She left him shortly after that, filed for divorce and took the kids and moved away. Not only had that backstabber taken his freedom, he had taken his family as well.

And then there was prison itself. Jail was hell for an ex-cop and former DEA agent. Most of the time he was worrying for his life or in protective solitary confinement. He didn’t know what he hated more. And then when Donna and the kids stopped coming, it became even worse. Crockett had the nerve to come once, but he refused to visit with him and the man never came back.

The first six years had been filled with self-pity, anger and hate, attitudes that kept him from winning an early parole. And then one Christmas, a year and a half after the last disastrous fight with Donna, he received a card with a picture in it from his son. Scotty Jr. was twelve by that time. In the picture he was standing, supported by crutches, but he was standing on his own. It was the first time he had had seen Scott on his feet since the accident that had cost him the use of his legs when he was two years old. The picture was taken on a sailboat. Standing beside him, with an arm around his shoulder, was Crockett’s son Billy - he had a pretty good idea who had taken the picture. He remembered crying and thinking that if Crockett hadn’t turned him in, he’d have been the one who would have looked after his son and been there taking the picture. That’s why he had needed that money. If it had been Crockett’s son, wouldn’t he have done the same thing?

That picture had triggered his resolve to get out of his prison hell-hole and get on with life. He signed up for therapy again, compulsory if he wanted to be earn parole. This time he took it seriously though. Over the next year, with the help of counseling, he began to understand his feelings, put his life back in order and determine what he wanted and needed to do when he finally got out of there. At his next parole hearing, he convinced the Board that he was ready to live in the world again. The day he was released, free for the first time in seven years, he promised himself two things - he would find his family and make things right with them, and he would settle his unfinished business with the man who was responsible for everything that had happened, James Sonny Crockett.

After he got out, he found out where Donna and the kids were living, but the guilt still remained and he could never seem to find the courage to face them. When he looked up Crockett he discovered that the man had quit the force and disappeared. His intentions up in smoke, he buried himself in work and by now had progressed well up the ladder.

His new ‘career’ had begun with a bizarre offer from an unexpected visitor a few days after his release. The proposition wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when he had decided to put his life back together - it wasn’t even something he had considered. But after some serious soul searching he decided to take it. After everything was said and done, there wasn’t much work out there for a ‘bad cop’. It had meant moving further north, but there was no reason to stay in Miami anyway, and it had given him a comfortable lifestyle, if not always the clearest conscience. And it had eventually led to his dealings with Jorge Esteban.

When he had first approached Sanchez/Esteban about forming a partnership, the Colombian had told him that he had one deal to finish on his own and then he would consider it. After a few days, Jorge had come back with a proposal. He didn’t trust Baker, the man he had made the deal with. He had a new buyer named Cooper and was ready to go with him - his New York connections could prove very valuable. Esteban would go into business with Wheeler if he took Baker out of the picture first. That was just the deal Wheeler was looking for.

Later, when Esteban had provided further details, he had been more than a little surprised to find out that the runner who would be handling the transportation for the Baker set-up was Sonny Burnett. That was Crockett’s old undercover name from days gone by - but the man wasn’t supposed to be in Miami anymore. The world was full of surprises but this seemed almost too much of a coincidence. Could another smuggler be using the same name? Or would this be his opportunity to finally meet up with Sonny Crockett once again?

He got his answer just last week when Jorge told him of his discovery that Burnett and Cooper were really undercover cops named Sonny Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs. But he had wanted to confirm things for himself, and asked Esteban to arrange the verification. It had been eighteen years since he had seen his old partner, but he recognized him as soon as he saw him on the lawn of the Colombian Consulate. What had brought Sonny back to Miami?- what was he up to? He found it hard to believe but the fact was, that eighteen years after suffering Crockett’s rage, this deal with Esteban would finally afford him the opportunity to bring that whole sorry part of his life to a conclusion. If all went right, Wednesday would provide the perfect opportunity to finally settle the score.

And maybe after that was done he’d be able to fulfill the second promise he made to himself - to make things right with his family again.

Part I: Crockett's Return
Chapter 1 :: Chapter 2 :: Chapter 3 :: Chapter 4 :: Chapter 5 :: Chapter 6 :: Chapter 7 :: Chapter 8

Part II: New Beginnings
Chapter 9 :: Chapter 10 :: Chapter 11 :: Chapter 12 :: Chapter 13 :: Chapter 14 :: Chapter 15 :: Chapter 16