chapter 33
IT WAS JUST past dusk when the half brothers pulled into the cemetery. The shadows were disappearing into the night. Darkness hid secrets, and criminals loved the obscurity it offered.
“Yep, it’s a minivan. That’s real smart. Doesn’t attract attention,” Moon Pie said excitedly when he saw his contact.
“Or women.”
Moon Pie grunted and asked, “Is that all you think about?”
Joe Walsh’s song “Life’s Been Good” began playing on the car radio. Levi started keeping the beat, singing, “My minivan does one eighty-five. I lost my license, now I don’t drive.”
Moon Pie almost yelled, “Shut the hell up, and pull over there and wait for them to signal us. They’ll wanna make sure nobody’s followed us.”
“We’re clean. I’ve been watchin’.”
“You keep sayin’ that, but they don’t know it. These dudes are pros. They’re gonna be real careful.”
“Why don’t you just call ’em or text ’em?” Levi asked.
“I swear. Just shut the hell up!”
Moon Pie nervously watched the minivan. Suddenly his phone rang. He recognized the number as he answered, “Yeah. It’s me in the Toyota.” Levi turned the radio down and strained to hear the other voice. Moon Pie continued, “Yeah, we were careful. We’re clean. Let’s do this. Okay.” Moon Pie ended the call and then dropped the phone into the console.
“Pull up next to ’em. Keep your eyes peeled. This won’t take long.”
Moon Pie was obviously anxious, which Levi had never seen. Normally Moon Pie had ice water running through his veins. One time they had poached a giant buck in the middle of a bean field and had sunk an old Bronco in the mud trying to get it out as the game warden was walking toward them. Moon Pie never showed the slightest bit of concern. Levi assumed that Moon Pie was nervous about making a good impression on the Tennessee connection.
Levi eased the FJ Cruiser next to the minivan. When he stopped, the van’s doors electronically opened slowly. Moon Pie got out and initiated a fist bump gesture to the other guy, who ignored it. Awkward, Levi thought.
The passenger of the minivan was a very well-dressed Hispanic—maybe Cuban; Levi wasn’t sure. But he knew that the jeans the other man was wearing cost over $1,000, and the shirt and jacket were incredibly expensive too. Inside the van, Levi could see a beefy driver, who constantly looked around for danger signs. It occurred to Levi they all were just like animals at a water hole. Their senses were heightened because they knew predators were lurking somewhere. Watering holes were death traps. These particular animals knew that law enforcement could explode from the shadows and catch them at any moment. They were vulnerable. An added risk with this herd was that you could never trust others—ever. Levi tried to keep an eye on Moon Pie while scouting for signs of an ambush.
The well-dressed Latino looked Moon Pie over slowly and then bent down and looked inside the FJ. Levi gave him a thumbs-up, while Moon Pie tried to act cool with his hands on his hips, looking like a cross between a Western gunfighter and an East LA gangster.
“Y’all have a good trip down?” Moon Pie asked and immediately wished he hadn’t.
The well-dressed man ignored the question and continued to look around. He spoke softly in broken Spanish-flavored English, “A perro cementerio. Good meet place. Yes.”
A third, smaller man, who had gone unnoticed, jumped out of the van holding a metal-detecting wand.
Moon Pie knew the drill, turned around, and assumed the position against his SUV.
After a thorough search, the small guy nodded to the well-dressed man, who stepped to the back of the SUV, where Levi couldn’t hear the conversation. “I have the money. The product is good? ¿Sí?”
“Yes. Only the finest. The folks I represent are excited about doin’ business with you.”
“We need supply. Steady source.”
Moon Pie knew that their source from southern Florida had been shut down in a high-profile bust. Their front was a top-tier accounting firm that specialized in the citrus and sugar business. Some missteps on the supporting documentation on tax returns caused the IRS to delve deeply enough to uncover suspicious reporting, which ultimately led to over $85 million in various assets being seized and several arrests, effectively taking down the domestic side of the cartel.
“You’ll be pleased.”
“Good. That’s real good.” The well-dressed man reached into the van and retrieved a blue duffel-type bag and held it up. “Nine hundred thousand US dollars.”
“Don’t mind if I count it, do ya?” Moon Pie asked rhetorically and then motioned for his counterpart to follow as he walked to the rear of his FJ Cruiser. He opened the tailgate, but the dome light did not come on. He sat the bag down inside the cargo compartment, unzipped it, and took out the first of ninety stacks of hundred-dollar bills. He broke the band and dropped the bills into the hopper of a bank-grade currency counter that was plugged into an inverter hooked up to the SUV’s electrical system. It began whirling.
“This won’t take but a couple minutes,” Moon Pie said, not looking up. He continued the process of counting every bill, just as his boss had requested. When each batch of ten thousand dollars came out, he grabbed the wad and quickly wrapped a rubber band around it and then placed it back inside the duffel bag. When Moon Pie finished, he zipped the bag shut, made sure that all of the broken paper bands were not near the door, and closed it. He turned to the well-dressed man, smiled, and lit a cigarette.
Moon Pie was energized by the sight and smell of so much money.
“I want my cocaína in cinco días,” the Latino man said firmly, holding up his hand, fingers spread.
Moon Pie took a long drag as he translated and then nodded and said, “You’ll get it by then, I’m sure. We need about that long to provide a secure drop-off.”
The well-dressed man reached into his pocket and withdrew something. He held it up to Moon Pie’s face and then bent down and pulled up Moon Pie’s pant leg so he could attach the GPS ankle monitor. “It stays on tobillo until I have cocaína.”
Moon Pie nodded. He wasn’t really surprised. These guys were serious. He could learn a lot, and if he delivered as promised, he could make more money than he had ever dreamed. And if he continued to impress them—and he could tell from their expressions the bill-counting machine had—opportunities could abound. If he failed, he knew that they would kill him.
Moon Pie looked at the ankle monitor and then with false bravado said, “You’ll get your cocaína, hombre.”
The man smiled wickedly and with a quiet chuckle said, “I will…or…I will have your head, Señor Pie.”