Miami Storm by John D Patten

Author:John D Patten [Patten, John D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-01T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

First up was a skinny black kid with two friends who advertised their profession with too much panache—chains, designer sweatpants, gold money clips on obscene stacks of C-notes, French maze hairstyles, smoking fatties.

I made a bet with myself that all three would be inside in six months. Dealers who don’t do time are the ones who don’t look and act like dealers.

Next up was a has-been TV actress I had once seen on The View while waiting at the dentist for a root canal—a snotty, airheaded, nasal-voiced Hollywood starlet turned ‘social justice warrior’ after her career went in the tank. She screamed into her phone a litany of obscenities to her agent before I dropped her off at a mansion in Coconut Grove.

Next, a woman in her mid-forties in a white raincoat, an enormous hat planted on the side of her head, and sunglasses too big for her face. She smoked a cigarette in a long holder. Should I break it to her that she’s not Faye Dunaway in Chinatown? No, probably not. Although I did wonder what was—or wasn’t—under that raincoat.

We picked up her date, a white-haired man with a briefcase who didn’t waste a moment before he tried to swallow her face. They rolled up the divider. If they hadn’t, I would have.

I dropped them off at a cheap hotel on LeJeune Road in Coral Gables and checked the back before heading to my next gig. All clear.

This is how things went for the next week—me, living at the façade, waiting for Luther’s message to travel the organized crime hotline, driving Alfonso’s Escalade and interacting with a variety of pseudo-rich wannabes who couldn’t afford their own drivers. I didn’t know what else to do. If the FBI can’t find Rafael Quintana, then how am I supposed to?

I could visit Sofia, take a chance on getting arrested. Would she? Maybe she knows something that could help. No, I can’t take the chance.

No, best thing to do is wait and see what happens when word gets out that someone knows where the Quintana money is—not that I know where it is. I’m taking a chance with a big bluff. In my experience, though, bluffs tend to pay off. Well, okay, not always, but sometimes. Okay, rarely. But once or twice. Maybe.

If nothing happens, then I’ll figure out another way to shake the tree.

With my first cash earnings, I bought a chaueffer’s cap and Wayfarer sunglasses from a costume shop to further anonymize my appearance behind the long hair and beard.

I didn’t run into anyone I knew until a kid in his mid-twenties dressed like a lollipop on steroids got in with three girls, all model quality. As they partied, his voice grew familiar.

I pulled up to the InterContinental Hotel. The girls got out. Lollipop leaned in and handed me a C-note. That’s when I recognized him as a seducer-for-hire-slash-Miami-social-climber with whom I once attended a BDSM show on a job. Unfortunately, I think he recognized me too.

“Do I know you?” said Jason Stark.

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