King of Swords

They were in an MTF safehouse in Opa Locka. It was early Tuesday morning. Dawn was breaking outside; the birdsong just about filtering through the walls. Frino and his whole crew had been arrested on the Miami River, close to Biscayne Bay, right in the middle of a drop-off in a joint operation between MTF and the Coastguard. The Coastguard got to keep 7 5 per cent of the drugs, the boats, the crew and all the credit in exchange for handing Frino over to MTF. It had been a smooth operation. No shots fired; a simple swarm and seize.

Max and Joe had gone to Frino's harbour-front penthouse, where they'd found a loaded silver Beretta 92 in a bedside cabinet and a safe with $200,000 cash and Swiss,

Italian, German, British, Australian and New Zealand passports under various names.

Max was looking through the passports without saying a word. Joe sat back in his chair with his arms crossed, angrily eyeballing Frino.

'These yours?' Max held up a few of the passports.

'Yes.'

'That's five to ten years right there. You got a licence for the gun?' Max asked.

'No.'

'Another five to ten. And this morning's bust puts you away for life everlasting. You're thirty-eight. You ever been to jail?'

Frino shook his head.

“You'll go to a maximum security facility. That's hell on earth. Everyone'll try and kill you or fuck you or both. Guy like you won't get old in there,' Max said. Frino eyeballed him back. No emotion. “You got anything to say?'

'Lawyer,' Frino answered.

'You're not under arrest,' Max said, 'we haven't charged you.'

'Otherwise I'd be in a police station instead of this crab shack,' Frino said.

'You catch on quick,'Joe said. 'Pip a girl's name?'

'Who are you people?'

'Who we are is of no importance to you right now. What we can do to you is,' Max said.

'Longer!' Frino shouted.

'You're not under arrest,' Max repeated.

'Then this is kidnapping.'

'Call it what you want, I don't give a shit,' Max said. 'You run drugs in go-fast boats out of the Bahamas into here.

Who for?'

'I freelance. I get green for running white. Whoever's payin'.'

'Is this about cuttin' some kind of deal?'

'Answer my man's question,' Joe said.

'It was a guy called Benito Casares. Colombian. He's a middle-man for a cartel. One of many. I never met the main guys; you never do.'

'Who's the main guy and what's the cartel?'

'Medellin cartel. That's Medellin in Colombia. Main guy - well, there's two, one in Colombia, one in the Bahamas.

Pablo Escobar in Colombia, Carlos Lehder in the Bahamas.

Norman's Cay. Virtually fuckin' runs the place. But I guess you know that already?'

Max just about stopped himself from looking at Joe.

'So you never met Lehder?'

'No.'

'Where d'you meet Casares?'

'Here. In Miami. Where we always meet.'

'How was that set up?'

'There's a carwash in Little Havana. I'd go there, tell the guys I want to talk to their boss and leave a number.

Casares'd call and fix up a meet. I'd turn up.'

'How many times you worked for him?' Max asked.

'Seven in the last two years.'

'So he trusts you?'

'I guess.'

'OK,' Max said. 'Here's the deal. And, so as you know from the off, it's non-negotiable. Our way or jail.'

'I figured that. What do I get out of it?'

'You don't go to jail and you leave the country. And don't come back. Ever,' Max said.

'What do I have to do?'

'I'm gonna tell you something that happened and you're gonna repeat it into a tape recorder downtown with your

3M reap almighty hell. You understand?'

'In every language,' Frino said and smiled sardonically, showing a set of gleaming white teeth, perfect in every way but for two overlong, vampiric incisors.

'Do we have a deal?'

'What do you want me to say?'

Max told him: Frino was paid by Benito Casares to transport the Moyez shooter from Norman's Cay, and that once they got to Miami, he handed him over to Octavio Grossfeld.

'So I implicate myself in that courtroom shooting?' Frino smiled. 'What kind of fuckin' cops are you?'

Neither Max nor Joe said anything to that. They couldn't.

They had no replies, no comebacks, just a deep sense of shame. Frino seemed to pick up on this and sat back in his chair with his arms crossed and his legs splayed, smug and haughty, enjoying himself.

You guys work on the Kennedy assassination too?' Frino asked.

Will you do it?' Max responded.

'Sure. Anything to help you boys out, seem' as we're virtually on the same team.'

fed Powers was sitting in the kitchen with Valdeon, Harris and Brennan, drinking take-out coffee.

'Well?' he asked Max when he came in.

'When he gives his statement he'll say that he ferried in the Moye2 shooter from Norman's Cay,' Max said. 'But there's a little more: his real life middle-man happens to work for Carlos Lehder. All Frino has to do is make a call and he'll deliver the guy to us.'

Jed Powers stood up and clapped. The other three followed suit.

'Is this about cuttin' some kind of deal?'

'Answer my man's question,' Joe said.

'It was a guy called Benito Casares. Colombian. He's a middle-man for a cartel. One of many. I never met the main guys; you never do.'