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Chapter 11: Sanity Maintenance
by MJ

November 7, 1984: 2100

Unlike DeMarco’s takedown, the Lombard sting was a total disaster. No sooner had Rico and DeMarco boarded Lombard’s yacht, when unexpectedly the mobster announced they were going to cast off. None of them had counted on that. The surveillance crew was not prepared and Rico was going to be out on the open sea without backup.

As soon as the yacht’s engines began to sputter, DeMarco panicked, lying to Lombard that he skimmed the payment money to pay off the man who killed Barbara Carroll. But when he saw Lombard’s eyes narrow coldly, he completely caved, pulling off his shirt to show Lombard the wire the cops “made” him wear in a desperate gesture to win back his boss’ trust.

Listening to the worsening situation on the yacht while he waited nearby on the Scarab, Sonny shouted for the squad to move in before it turned into a bloodbath.

“All units… move in! Code Red! Move in!”

Then, firing up the Scarab’s engines, they raced for Lombard’s yacht.

“Come on… come on…” Sonny shouted above the roar of the Scarab engine. He trained his binoculars on Lombard’s yacht in the distance and cursed softly under his breath.

“What the hell is Jerry doing there?” he asked, his voice cracking with emotion

Barbara Carroll’s husband was creeping forward, inching his way along the deck. And Crockett was sure he saw a revolver in the distraught man’s hand.

“No,” he groaned. “No, Jerry, no!”

The Scarab cut through the waves, racing against all odds. But when they heard the single shot, Sonny knew they were too late. His only hope was that his partner was still in one piece. He could deal with anything but the thought of Rico dying because he hadn’t worked out all the possible kinks in their plan.

His eyes wild with worry, Crockett stepped onto the yacht and held his breath, expecting the worst. He kicked open the door leading to the inside of the vessel and stared into the gloom. Rico and Lombard stood there with their hands in the air DeMarco was dead, shot through the heart with a single slug from Jerry Carroll’s revolver.

“Why?” Crockett whispered hoarsely.

“I had to, Sonny; I just had to.” Jerry answered.

Crockett put his hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he muttered. He understood how Jerry’s world had been shattered, his sanity stripped away. Sonny saw the suffering on the man’s face; sensed his relentless hunger for justice. It didn’t matter what happened from here on because nothing the law could do to him would make him regret what he had done.

Sonny handcuffed Jerry’s hands behind him, the same way Rico had handcuffed Lombard a few minutes before. Jerry’s head hung miserably but Lombard seemed unconcerned, telling them all how he was not about to miss his next appointment for lunch.

Castillo wasn’t optimistic either. “Lombard’s too slippery,” he warned them. “He knows how to play the system.”

And just as he predicted, Lombard’s lawyer arrived a short time later, ready to spring him before the mug shot could even be taken.

Jerry Carroll’s fate was an entirely different matter.

“So whatta ya think they’re gonna do to him, huh?” Rico asked Sonny that night as they sat on the St. Vitus under the stars

“It’s hard to tell. No priors… family hardship… diminished capacity. He’ll be hit with a hard sentence. After that it will be up to the judge.”

“Lombard’s probably out back out there on his yacht, sailing out into the blue.”

Shaking his head, Sonny swung open the hatch door and disappeared down the stairs that led to the galley.

“It stinks!” he shouted up to Rico.

“Ya got that right.”

After a few seconds, Sonny returned with two fishing poles and handed one to Rico, who looked puzzled. “What’s this?”

“This is what is commonly known as a fishing pole. People fish with it.”

“Ten o’clock at night and you’re gonna go fishing, Crockett?”

“It’s called ’sanity maintenance’, Tubbs. Ya outta try it sometime.”

Rico stared after his partner trying to decide if fishing was the answer to assuring his partner’s stability

“Would ya cast off the bow line?” Sonny shouted.

“The bow line?”

“Oh, I forgot!” Sonny chuckled. You’re from New York! Uh… that’s the front of the boat, Rico!”

“Oh… We’re gonna sail this thing in the dark?”

“Yeah, sure we are, Rico. I have lights on this baby and everything.”

Rico caught the sarcasm in his partner’s tone. “Okay, okay. So I’m a city boy. Just give me a manual or something and I’ll bet I have my sea legs in no time!”

Leaning over to loosen the rope that tethered the yacht to the dock, Rico lost his balance and almost tumbled head over heels into the bay. Sonny tried hard to muffle his laughter.

“I heard that, Crockett. Just let’s see how cocky you are when you come up to my neck of the woods. Try navigating the New York City subway and we’ll see just how street smart you really are!”

“Never gonna happen, Rico,” Sonny answered smugly. “I have no intentions of ever setting foot in ‘gridlock’ city.”

Sonny steered the boat out onto the bay and anchored when the Miami lights were nothing more
than a glitter in the distance

Rico tossed him another beer. “So, partner. Now that you’ve had this chance to work with him a little, what do ya think of the new Lieutenant, this Martin Castillo?” he asked.

Sonny sat down on a deck chair and popped open his beer. “He’s intense, that’s for sure. But maybe he’s just what the squad needs.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” Sonny picked up his pole and with an expert flick of his wrist, let the fishing line float on the wind until it landed with a soft splash in the water. “There’s something about him, Rico. Something… different.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Rico grumbled.

Sonny pulled back and cast his line again.

“I don’t know. He may seem hard nosed about some things but, he’s disciplined and he’s honest. And besides that, I trust him.”

“Sorry. For me, the jury’s still out on that one. Ask me in a couple of weeks and maybe by then I’ll have seen the light.”

“If he doesn’t fire your ass first!”

“I wouldn’t talk. His first impression doesn’t exactly make you ‘Cop of the Year’.”

“Maybe not. But at least he knows I’m not the kind of guy that rolls over and plays dead when the going gets tough.” He took a sip of his beer, grunting contentedly. “So, Rico, buddy,” he laughed, eyeing the pole hanging limply in his partner’s hand, “Ya gonna put that hook of yours in the water some time tonight? Or maybe you’re one of those New Yorkers who thinks the fish are gonna jump into the boat all by themselves?”

“Keep it up, wise guy. I won’t forget those words and you know what they say about ‘payback’ now, don’t you?”

“Sure do, Rico,” Sonny laughed heartily “But then, that’s a whole ‘nother story, my friend. A whole ‘nother story!”

Chapter 10: The Setup
by MJ

November 7, 1984: 0800

Crockett arrived at the office the next morning grumpier than usual. The blue tee shirt he had pulled over his head that morning was rumpled, a noticeable coffee stain on the front. His cover sometimes called for an unshaven look, but this morning, the stubble was thicker than usual.

It had been several nights since Sonny had gotten a decent night’s sleep and this morning it was beginning to show. Even the strong black coffee he had brewed aboard the Vitus had done little to help re-energize him. Lighting up a cigarette for the fifth time that morning, he coughed vigorously when the tobacco fumes hit the back of his throat.

Castillo’s office door opened suddenly. “Crockett?” he called out. Catching Sonny’s eye, he nodded
toward his office. “We need to talk.”

“Now what?” Crockett muttered under his breath.

“Have a seat,” Castillo said to him when he entered.

The two men eyed each other warily.

“I know. I missed Schroeder’s inquisition, right? That’s what this is all about.”

“That’s not why I asked you in.”

“Well, I don’t have any case reports outstanding. Hell, I don’t even have any cases at all for that matter, ” Crockett laughed.

“Tubbs came and spoke to me last night.”

“He did?”

“His plan makes sense.”

“Okay… I mean, I’m glad.”

“There are definite weaknesses in Schroeder’s powers of deduction.”

“You think so, Lieutenant?” Hope welled up inside of him so powerfully that Sonny could barely hold himself back.

“We need DeMarco’s statement to clear you,” Castillo was saying. “Setting him up by making Lombard believe there’s been skimming from the profits should convince him he’s in big trouble. He’ll be begging for protective custody.”

“If there’s a way to do it, Rico will find it.” Sonny dragged hard on his cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke.

“Don’t underestimate an allegiance.”

Sonny snickered. “Lombard’s got a special relationship with his money. He’d cut off his own grandmother’s hand if he caught it in the till!”

The office door burst open and Schroeder poked his head in, pointing an accusing finger in Sonny’s face.

“Your no-show at the prelims was good, Crockett. Where’s the Clarence Darrow defense? Why don’t ya just hang it up and become a security guard?”

“Schroeder!” Marty snarled.

The IAD officer stopped gloating. “Yes, Lieutenant.

“Who do you think you are, to walk into my office and mouth off to one of my detectives? I went over Crockett’s file and given his arrest record, commendations and the interest he shows during an investigation I’d say either you’ve been had or you’re a complete idiot for believing the charges against him.”

Laughing at Schroeder’s expression would have ruined the moment. Sonny chewed on the inside of his lip and hurriedly looked down at the floor.

“Plenty of dirty cops have squeaky clean histories. It don’t mean anything,” Schroeder was saying, his eyes slipping away guiltily from Castillo’s laser-like glare.

“One thing that it does mean is that he doesn’t have to walk around here being harassed by you.” Castillo said angrily. “If you’re done with the files, get out!”

Few moments in Crockett’s life were as sweet for him as this one. He took a deep breath and looked up at Castillo.

“Thank you.”

The lieutenant cleared his throat as if he was about to speak but said nothing. He hesitated for a moment and then seemed to make up his mind about something.

His glance toward Crockett was curious, probing. Sonny shifted uncomfortably.

The sound of Tubbs’ whistling broke the spell. With a happy grin on his face, Sonny’s partner leaned into Castillo’s office to tell them that he had met with Lombard after the cockfight the night before and had successfully muddied DeMarco’s standing with his boss.

“Good,” Sonny smirked. “We should be hearing from Mr. DeMarco.”

“You already have. DeMarco’s on the line,” Trudy called out happily.

Vincent DeMarco was frantic.

“What are you trying to do to me? I got people watching my house. Watching my car. I’ve got family! Lombard’s not returning my calls.”

“It’s called payback, De Marco.”

“It’s called murder. Mine. Payback for what? I don’t even know you. What do you want, money?”

“Yeah, well listen, Vincent, you’re gonna have to do me a little favor.”

They knew they were going to have their work cut out for them. Convincing Lombard that DeMarco was skimming had been a piece of cake. But now persuading DeMarco to cooperate with the law was going to take some expert handling.

“Careful how you play this,” Castillo warned. “It could blow up in your face if he gets cold feet.”

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant. DeMarco knows he’s history on the street. He’ll cooperate.”

“Make sure your method of interrogation doesn’t feed a lawyer an excuse to throw out the charges.”

Rico and Crockett’s silence was ominous. No doubt the racketeer’s legal rights were something they were not about to consider.

“Thanks to Vincent DeMarco, a young mother with two kids is dead,” Sonny said softly.

“Look at the bigger picture, Crockett. DeMarco is small fry. Lombard’s the one who ordered the hit.”

“Oh, I know that, Lieutenant. Protective custody and promised immunity for DeMarco will come with
a high price this time. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s gonna have to help us get Lombard.”

Rico continued to explain. “We still have that invitation for lunch with Lombard this afternoon. Zito and Switek will be fitting DeMarco with a wire beforehand so that if Lombard makes any incriminating statements, we’ll have the evidence we need to bury the bastard.”

DeMarco was willing to sign the statement that retracted his allegations against Detective James ‘Sonny’ Crockett but his enthusiasm about having lunch with Lombard with a wire under his shirt was not as forthcoming.

“Forget it! I’m not signing nothin’!”

Crockett’s eyes gleamed with malice. “On what we know now, a court order will rescind the immunity from prosecution Schroeder got for you on racketeering charges. And I’m not even gonna bore you with the peripheral stuff, pal. Extortion, assault, R.I.C.O. Statutes. Vinnie, honey. You’re facin’ five years federal prison time minimum.”

“Dealer’s choice, Vinnie!” Rico jeered. “Jail, or lunch.”

Barely hesitating to consider the alternatives, DeMarco took a pen from Zito’s hand and signed on the dotted line.

“You’ll need these,” Castillo said to Crockett. Some of the ice had disappeared from the edges of his voice. He picked up a large yellow envelope and spilled the contents out on his desk. Crockett’s eyes lit up when he saw his badge and the gun that had been confiscated by Schroeder after he had been taken into custody.

“Make sure the report on the Lombard arrest is on my desk tomorrow morning, Detective,” Castillo warned.

“Yeah, okay Lieutenant. Bright and early.”

“Good.”

Sonny hesitated. “Lieutenant. I… appreciated what you said about me to Schroeder.”

“I only said the truth.”

“Yeah, but all you had to go on was my file and you still gave me the benefit of the doubt. That means a lot.”

Sonny reached out his hand, determined that this time his welcome would be genuine and Castillo
sealed the allegiance with a firm handshake of his own.

Rico was back to tell them that everything was set up.

“Later, Lieutenant,” he said, turning away with a brisk two-fingered salute. The two young detectives left his office, sauntering confidently toward the swinging doors while members of the squad called after them, wishing them good luck.

Castillo sat at his desk, his gaze wandering to the bottle of aspirin still resting by the carafe of ice-water. For the first time in days, the throbbing pain was gone. The muscles in his face relaxed at
last.

Doug Hanson may have thought he had successfully neutralized Martin Castillo but the senator had miscalculated badly.

The battle lines for the war were drawn; the troops experienced and ready.

Miami was his home. It was where he needed to be.

Chapter 9: James “Sonny” Crockett
by MJ

November 6, 1984: 1100

No one in the OCB office seemed to care that IAD officer Charles Schroeder was studying a ream of paperwork he had lifted from Sonny Crockett’s desk. That is, no one except Miami Vice officer, Larry Zito.

“So, Lieutenant! Sticky fingers here just gets to molest our files, or what?”

Suddenly, the office doors swung open and Sonny strode in, dark sunglasses hiding his tired, bloodshot eyes.

“Find anything interesting, Schroeder?”

“Leave him alone,” Castillo piped up. “The man’s doing his job.”

“Terrific!” Sonny muttered disgustedly.

Enjoying the moment, Schroeder leaned toward Sonny, taunting him with his sarcasm. “If you don’t own a coat and tie, Crockett, buy one. Standard dress for a Board of Rights preliminary hearing and ya got one of those tomorrow.”

Schroeder held out the summons and Sonny’s forehead creased with lines of worry.

“Forensics thinks the Carroll woman was in the water 10 hours, which makes her time of death
around 8:30pm.” Gina announced. She sat down on the edge of Sonny’s desk and continued. “Absence of bruising, hematomas and low hormone levels indicates there was no struggle. At least she didn’t know it was coming, Sonny.”

Somehow that didn’t make him feel any less guilty. “The lights just went out, huh?” he said softly.

“Trudy traced her movements to about six when she gassed up on Miami Avenue.”

“No prints?”

“Nope. Not much of anything else to tie this to DeMarco. I wish there was more Sonny.”

Crockett put his face in his hands and sighed.

“How’s THIS going?” Gina nodded toward Schroeder standing by the coffee maker pouring himself some of Stan’s “jet fuel” coffee.

“I don’t know, Gina.” Sonny’s head hung dejectedly. “They’ve really dropped me in the trick bag this time.”

The hand she placed on his shoulder was warm and comforting, but the smile he gave her back was full of pain.

By eight that evening, the office was quiet. Stan had gone home, Gina and Trudy were meeting with the porn ring’s supplier and the only one left was the janitor sweeping the floors and emptying wastepaper baskets into a large pail he dragged along behind him.

Now was the time to go over the files. Castillo took off his jacket and was preparing to get to work when a gentle knock at the door broke his train of thought.

“Come in!” he growled.

It was Ricardo Tubbs. “Lieutenant, sorry to disturb you. Can I talk to you a minute?”

Marty nodded wearily and Rico entered, his eyes centered on Marty as if he were expecting some sort of reprimand. Marty nodded toward the couch that rested against the far wall.

Rico began with a sigh.

“First of all, I want you to understand I was sticking up for my partner this morning at the river. But Crockett said I was outta line, so I guess I’d better apologize.”

“Accepted.”

Rico squirmed uncomfortably. “Okay, since we got that outta the way, I’ll get right to the point of the other reason I’m here. My partner, Sonny Crockett, is in trouble. The charges against him are full of holes and I have a plan to clear his name.”

Castillo said nothing.

“Lombard and DeMarco seem to think they hold the winning hand with this set up against Crockett, so I thought I’d get set up a little sting of my own. I got myself into a poker game Switek told me they have going at the Trident every night at two am.”

Rico’s plan was a good one and Castillo found his initial impression of the cocky detective beginning to change for the better.

“Poker’s something I can handle, Lieutenant! Grew up on the streets of New York, so I know how to hustle and I know how to play cards. I did pretty damn good, too! Won a bundle. But best of all, I managed to get DeMarco’s attention. Got him to believe I was a dude from up north, facing charges for racketeering and some other nasty crimes. He liked what he heard and suggested there might be a place for me in the Lombard organization. Next thing I know, I’m havin’ lunch on Lombard’s yacht, swapping jokes with the main man and impressing him with my Italian accent.”

“You’re not home free yet. Lombard’s going to do some checking.”

“Sonny and I discussed this. He has contacts that vouched for me and my references passed with flying colors. Now that I got a foot in the door, I can set things in motion. Shouldn’t be all that hard to find a chink in Lombard’s armor.”

“Take the preliminary steps and keep me informed,” Castillo stood.

“Yeah,” Rico answered, not sure whether he had gotten his superior’s blessing or not. He headed
for the door.

“And Detective?”

“Yes, sir?”

“No cowboy stuff.”

Rico tried not to laugh. “Our reputations precede us, I see,” he said with a wide grin.

“Just make sure your reputation doesn’t bury you, Detective. Watch your back.”

“Will do.”

The interview was over.

A few lights had been left on toward the back so that the outer office would not be in total darkness. Castillo made his way quickly to one of the file cabinets across from his office and retrieved the records he wanted to review. On his way back, he passed Sonny Crockett’s desk and something he noticed there made him stop.

A professional photograph of a blonde woman and young boy was in a gold frame off to the side. The child bore a strong resemblance to Crockett… obviously his son. The woman in the picture held the child close to her, her arm encircling him protectively. She seemed, happy, content. He stared.

A blonde with a million dollar smile.

His eyes widened with recognition. Picture in hand, he rushed back into his office and fanned out the files he had pulled on the desk in front of him. The first three names he saw jumped out.

Bennett, Richard
Calabrese, Gina
Crockett, J

It was the last one he wanted. He opened Crockett’s file and saw the name James
‘Sonny’ Crockett…

“James?”

He remembered Rico calling his partner that name earlier in the day, but it hadn’t registered in his mind until now. He peered at the small photograph of Sonny in his file and thought back to that day in Viet Nam when he and Jack had gone to the army base hospital looking for the soldier they had carried out of the jungle.

“His name was James. Sandy hair. Approximately five foot eleven… burns on his face; wounded leg… no way was he discharged…”

Castillo blinked.

Crockett’s hair was sandy blonde… and his height was probably a shade under six feet.

He glanced at Crockett’s military record located on the second page:

The years were matching! His eyes raced through the file scanning the highlights of his history with the force:

Finally, he checked on one last piece of vital information:

The small photo in the file jumped up at him. “I’ll be damned!” he whispered, sitting down hard. “Caroline Lambert!”

It was a name he’d never forget, scrawled on the back of a photograph that a wounded soldier had entrusted to him eleven long years ago. The name Martin had committed to memory just in case… just in case he would have to find a girl back in the States and tell her that James would not be coming home.

Stunned, Castillo read the record through again and again, refusing to believe that such an incredible coincidence could ever be possible. But there it was, in black and white.

“James ‘Sonny’ Crockett”

There could be no doubt that Crockett and the young soldier he and Jack had rescued were one and
the same.

So, now what?

Should he introduce himself to Crockett? Remind him of their history together? Have the pleasure of
watching the shine of recognition come into the cool green eyes?

It was tempting,but Castillo hesitated. Each veteran reacted differently to the aftermath of their experiences in ‘Nam. Some were unable to stop talking about them. Others like Castillo himself found them too painful to relive. Maybe Crockett was like that, too, burying the memories so deeply that he’d be unwilling to drag them back to the surface no matter who had come back into his life.

He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes.

There was a bigger problem to consider: Sonny might think Martin expected his gratitude. It was Crockett’s unconditional loyalty he wanted, not his thanks. The man’s respect for him should be based on the here and now instead of half forgotten memories of long ago.

The course of action was clear. Maybe someday they would be able to sit down together, have a talk about the past, maybe even heal a little in the process. But for now, Martin would be content to be silent and allow the passage of time to be his guide.

Chapter 8: The Canal
by MJ

November 6, 1984: 0800

The yellow crime tape fluttered in the breeze. Now he understood why Jerry had never heard from her.

He watched them zipper the body bag closed over Barbara Carroll’s face and his heart cracked in two. They wheeled her away on a rickety gurney and he stayed by the edge of the canal, staring out at the muddy water.

“Hey, man I’m sorry,” Rico said as he came up behind his partner.

“How the hell could it have ended here?”

His unspoken worries from the night before came back with a haunting vengeance. What had her last moments been like? Was she frightened? Did she suffer? Did she cry or beg for her life? Did she pray?

He shuddered.

“Who did this?” Jerry Carroll asked as he confronted him. “Where are they?”

“Now you listen to me. The kids have already lost one parent. They don’t need to lose the other. Let us handle it!”

“How? Like you handled this?”

Crockett flinched. Shocked by Jerry’s anger, he watched him leave the crime scene, his head down
and his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets.

Castillo was already there, standing in the clearing handing a clipboard to one of the coroner’s technicians.

“Damn it!” Crockett thought miserably. “Just what I need! Mr. Cheerful.”

“Five shots in the back of the head with a .22,” Castillo told him.

Sonny crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against one of the black and whites. “Outfit trademark. Lombard.”

“Anybody can buy a .22,” Castillo mused, looking off into the distance.

Rico’s eyes narrowed. He came up to the Lieutenant, almost pawing the ground with frustration.

“Hey, whose side are you on?” he challenged.

Uh oh.

Eyes like burning coals fixed on Rico. “Don’t ever come up to my face like this again, Detective.”

Too steamed to recognize he was in serious trouble, Rico squared his shoulders, preparing an angry answer when Sonny pulled him away in a hasty effort to rescue his partner from Castillo’s fury.

“Come on,” he interrupted, pushing Rico along. Rico began to protest, but Crockett gripped his arm in a vise-like grip. “What’s the matter with you, idiot! Get going! Did you see his face? He was
about to send you into orbit!”

Few ever dared to defy him, and those that did learned to regret it immensely. Castillo glared after the two retreating figures and tried to make up his mind if he wanted to trust Ricardo Tubbs.

Chapter 7: Good Timing
by MJ

November 5, 1984: 2200

“So, what did you expect?” Sonny muttered to himself. “You risk your life every day, work so much overtime that your marriage falls apart! And what ends up happening? You get yourself investigated by a bunch of idiots whose job depends on finding dirty cops!”

He stopped for a red light, the Ferrari’s engine purring as if to calm him. The red light changed and he pushed hard on the accelerator, rubber wheels squealing in protest as the car catapulted through the intersection.

“Damn DeMarco! When I get finished with him, he’s gonna wish he’d never been born!”

Lost in thought, he turned into the marina parking lot and pulled abruptly into an empty parking spot. It was late. All he could think of now was a hot shower and hitting the sack early for a change. One more drag on his cigarette and he flicked the butt angrily into the water.

“Damn DeMarco…”

Some of the boats had lights on, laughter from his partying neighbors floating on the air. But the St. Vitus should have been shrouded in darkness and the unexpected glare that greeted him made his body stiffen with apprehension.

As he hurried down the dock, he heard the clatter of dishes. Someone was aboard the Vitus, rummaging around in the galley! He boarded quietly and peered down the hatch. Gina came climbing up the galley stairs holding a bottle of champagne in her hands.

“Hi there!” she said cheerfully when she saw him. Her smile was confidant, unconcerned. She handed him the bottle and a corkscrew. “Here, open that for me, will ya?”

Sonny looked down at the label on the bottle, wondering for a moment if he’d let another birthday go by without getting her a present.

“Great. So… what’s the occasion?”

Curiously, he watched as Gina struck a match and lit the hurricane lamp she had set up on the snack table. A small white tablecloth had been draped over it and two champagne goblets were waiting.

“Oh, I just thought you might be in the mood for a little company tonight.”

Wasn’t that just like Gina, no doubt worried about his bruised and battered ego? He walked over to her, his eyes sparkling with affection as he gathered her up his arms.

“Good timin’,” he said to her gratefully.

Their bodies touched. He bent down to kiss her, and lingered for a moment, enjoying the sweet softness of her lips and her tongue like a feather on his mouth. He felt her trembling and pulled away to look at her.

“Forget the champagne,” she whispered breathlessly, her hands clinging to his jacket.

“I’m with you, darlin’,” he chuckled and bent over to kiss her again

Gina stood at the foot of the bed, taking off her clothing slowly, allowing him to watch her in the moonlight. Slowly, she lifted her arms and pulled her shirt over her head. Her skirt slipped to the floor and she stepped out of it, her dreamy eyes watching his reaction.

Dreamy eyes… eyes that a man could get lost in.

He breathed out slowly.

Her white skin seemed to glow almost ghost-like; her rich dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders. Her bare breasts rose and fell with every breath, and the slender curve of her waist delighted him with its perfect symmetry.

He ran his hands over her shoulders down her arms, feeling her softness on the tips of his fingers. Then, he reached over and eased her panties down over her hips, watching as the silky fabric slid sensuously down her legs and pooled to the floor around her ankles.

Gina toyed with the button on the waistband of his linen pants and after a few good tugs it popped it open. Then, her fingers began working on the zipper.

“I need you, you know,” he said, quietly watching her.

She smiled and reached up with a finger to trace his lips. “That’s why I’m here,” she answered playfully.

He pulled her against him and they began to kiss again, gently at first and then the kiss deepened, becoming hungry, more demanding. Breaking away, he picked her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed. Then he lay her down gently.

He stood there for a moment, feeling her eyes explore his body as he peeled off his shirt. He finished the job she had started with the zipper, finally getting the pants down around his ankles and kicking them off into a corner.

“Come on, Crockett,” she whispered impatiently.

Touched by her restlessness, he smiled as he lay down beside her, and taking her face into his hands, quickly covered her mouth with his own.

Hours later, they lay together, Gina’s head resting lightly on his bare chest. Sighing contentedly, she shifted to her side and Sonny molded his body, and held her, spoon-like, as she slipped softly into sleep. For a while, he was satisfied to listen to her rhythmic breathing. He dozed fitfully, until an hour later, he found himself wide awake, listening to the water slap gently against the dock.

Getting up quietly so as not to wake Gina, he pulled on his shorts and padding barefoot to the galley stairs, climbed up onto the deck. Now, he took the time to really sort out his feelings.

The IAD investigation still worried him, but more than that, he was worried about Barbara Carroll. After Schroeder’s little display at OCB, he and Rico had gone over to the Carroll house to speak to her and her husband Jerry told him he didn’t know where she was.

“Got a phone call from a girlfriend. Said she’d be right back.”

When Sonny checked with Jerry a second time, he could tell that Jerry was getting frantic.

“Take it easy, Jerry,” he had said to him. “She’s probably caught up in some gabbing session with her friend or something.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Listen, if you need me, if you need anything, call me. Okay?”

“Okay, thanks. And Sonny?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna take care of things, right?”

“I’ll do everything I can, Jerry. Do like I tell you and just take it easy. Make sure you call me when she returns.”

Now a channel marker clanged mournfully in the distance and Sonny glanced at his watch. It was three a.m. and Jerry still hadn’t called. Rico had put out an APB on Barbara, but no sighting of the woman had been reported.

His stomach churned as he wondered if she was out there somewhere, in trouble and alone. Doing it his way and pushing DeMarco hard may have been a mistake.

Maybe it would have been a good idea to insist she have some protection.

The sting of guilt made him restless, uneasy. He fingered the keys to his car, fighting the impulse to go out on a search of his own. He knew that would only be a waste of effort, since he had no idea where he would start. Better to wait for Jerry’s call.

Or else the dreaded results of the APB

He shoved the keys back into the pocket of his shorts and picking up a pack of cigarettes from the
ledge, he lit one up, pulling the smoke deeply into his chest.

Chapter 6: One-Eyed Jack
by MJ

November 5, 1984: 1600

Ricardo Tubbs burst into the office, his eyes wild with fury. “He’s been arrested!” he shouted. “The IAD bastards arrested Sonny!”

“What?” several voices called out in unison.

Stan whistled. “What happened?”

Castillo’s door opened and he stepped out to face them. “Inside my office, Detective.”

Rico obeyed numbly.

“Report, Tubbs.”

“It was a set up, Lieutenant. Vincent DeMarco and Al Lombard set him up!”

“From the beginning!” Castillo growled.

Rico took a deep breath. “Okay, okay.” He looked up. “Sonny went to meet up with DeMarco. Said he was gonna make the slime give back the tools and equipment to Barbara Carroll’s husband or else the guy could say goodbye to peace and quiet! Well, it backfired! DeMarco set up another meet and handed Sonny an envelope of money for the tools. IAD was watching and made a big thing about it, like he was accepting a payment, or bribe or something.”

Castillo’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“I know, I know. It looks bad for him. But you don’t know Sonny the way I do. The guy can’t be bought! He was set up, and now, DeMarco’s probably out on the ocean somewhere, laughing it up on Lombard’s precious yacht!”

“Where is Crockett now?”

“They’re bookin’ him.”

Castillo picked up the phone and hurriedly punched in a number.

“Lieutenant Castillo, Vice. You’ve got one of my detectives. Yes. Crockett. I’m sending Detective Tubbs down to collect him. Yeah… I’ll take the responsibility. Thank you.”

The Vice detectives assembled around Crockett’s desk when they heard he was in trouble. They watched solemnly as Rico came back from the booking a short time later with Crockett himself in tow. Sonny nodded solemnly to his co-workers, following Rico into Castillo’s office. Gina, Trudy, Stan, Zito, and several other detectives gathered outside the doorway, listening uncomfortably as IAD Officer Charles Schroeder was doing his best to convince Castillo of Sonny’s guilt.

“Detective Crockett is a ‘One-Eyed Jack’! We only see that side of him that he wants us to see. I feel there’s enough evidence in here to prosecute. He has to appear for a hearing in two days.”

Castillo was carefully looking over the paperwork Schroeder had given him earlier.

“Why all the ‘John Does’ in the subpoena?”

“We prepared it in advance. We’ve known for six months there’s been somebody on DeMarco’s payroll. In exchange for immunity from prosecution on a racketeering charge, he named Crockett.” Schroeder looked over at Crockett accusingly.

Rico sprang into action. “Schroeder! You’re not going to go on the word of some known sleezorama
who’d plea bargain his own grandmother?”

“Enough!” Castillo snapped.

“Barbara Carroll refused to sign a complaint against one of DeMarco’s enforcers after a meeting with Crockett,” Schroeder said haughtily.

Crockett turned to face Schroeder. “What?”

“Less than three hours later, Detective Crockett was observed by myself and two Miami Metro
officers receiving eight thousand dollars from a known racketeer.”

“Lieutenant, James Sonny Crockett is the last cop in Dade County that’s dirty!” Rico shouted.

“You’ve been down here a month, right?” Schroeder asked.

“Right!”

“That hardly qualifies you to be an expert on Detective Crockett.”

“Hey listen, scrod face…”

“Wait a minute!” Crockett interrupted, circling Castillo’s desk and approaching Schroeder. “Look! Lombard’s an artist. He has DeMarco set me up. He gets to keep his organization’s image heavy on the street, gets me off his case and you’re dumb enough to buy the set up of me, give him immunity and blow the entire case we’ve been building against DeMarco!”

“That is the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard!” Schroeder jeered. Sonny looked away in disgust and turned to face Castillo.

“Look, I can get Barbara Carroll up here in twenty minutes and we’ll straighten this whole thing
out.”

“No, you’re not!” Castillo growled, glaring up at Crockett.

“Lieutenant, it stinks!” Rico shouted.

Furious, Crockett now stared back at Castillo. The look in his eyes was determined, defiant…
fearless.

A sudden flash of memory burst like mortar fire around Martin Castillo and he flinched as if he had been hit. The whoosh of helicopter blades deafened him for the moment, while a sensation of heat and heavy humidity washed over him, leaving him suddenly confused and slightly off balance.

“Who the hell are you?” he thought, as he stared back at Crockett, his own eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Listen,” Sonny was saying to him. “If you think for one minute I’m gonna sit behind a desk while this is happening to me, you’re dreamin’!”

He turned away and he was gone. Everyone watched him go. No one said a word.

Gina tried to follow after him, while others, embarrassed by Sonny’s fall from grace, slipped away to their desks, trying to pretend it had all been a terrible mistake.

Trudy stayed behind after the others left, chewing the inside of her lip and trying desperately to think of something to say in Crockett’s defense. She glanced over at the new boss and realized he was totally unaware of her presence, concentrating instead on reading Crockett’s file while scribbling hastily in the margins of Schroeder’s report. He wrote with broad strokes, the black pen
he used clutched tightly in his hand. His jaw clenched; his eyes flashed while he explored first one set of papers, then the other.

Clearly, the man was upset.

“So… he has a heart after all!”

Trudy let out a long sigh and slipping out of the office, she headed for home, comforted by Castillo’s obvious concern and relieved that things no longer looked so bleak now that Crockett had a powerful ally in his corner.

Martin may have looked in control, but at that moment, he felt as if he had just been punched in the gut.

The ceiling fan above him beat the heavy air like swirling chopper blades, barely managing to cool the feverish sweat on his forehead. Then, at last, his breathing began to return to normal sending the familiar stench of jungle rot retreating back into his nightmares. He let his shoulders slump forward slightly, attempting to ease the tension.

“Who the hell are you?” he muttered finally as he pulled himself together, brusquely shoving Crockett’s arrest report into a manila file.

December 1973: Vietnam

“Blowin’ in the Wind”

Moving invisibly through the jungle was an art the Viet Cong had perfected long ago. After all his years in Southeast Asia, he had learned to recognize the signs. Martin thought this over carefully as he stopped on the overgrown path to listen to the whispers in the trees.

The familiar scent of decaying vegetation was strong and the air that washed over his face was hot
and heavy with moisture. All was quiet except for the incessant buzz of insects around his head. Even the chatter of the birds had stopped while small animals peered down at him anxiously from the trees, trying hard to blend in with forest canopy.

He was sure the VC were out there somewhere, watching and waiting for just the right moment. He
frowned, apprehension growing with every step.

He and Jack Gretsky were together on this mission. Dressed in camouflage fatigues their arms and faces were painted to match the jungle, the whites of their eyes startling in contrast. Jack was up ahead, his head twisting side to side, keeping his wits about him in case he stumbled into a nest of hidden Viet Cong. They were carrying some very sensitive information with them and if they were caught, it would mean death for them and very serious consequences for the troops scattered throughout the countryside.

Jack looked over his shoulder when he heard the first crack of rifle fire. Instinctively, they both ducked and rolled their bodies into the brush. Peering out from their hiding place, they aimed their own weapons through the branches and waited impatiently for the enemy.

More gunfire shattered the silence, sounding even more insistent this time. Then they heard the furious eruption of an automatic weapon.

“It’s not aimed at us,” Jack whispered when no one failed to appear.

Suddenly, a loud explosion shook the earth beneath their feet…and more gunfire, followed by the frantic shouts of wounded men, crying out in pain.

“Someone else out there is in trouble,” Jack said.

“Then we have to go back,” Martin answered, standing tall and slinging his rifle over his shoulder. He didn’t wait for Jack to agree.

“Right,” Jack muttered uncertainly, following out onto the path.

They both crouched low as they ran, skillfully avoiding the hanging branches. They got closer and
realized it had gotten quiet once again. The firing had stopped almost as suddenly as it had begun.

Then, they could hear low moans coming from the direction of a small clearing they had passed a
short while ago. Getting down on their stomachs they began crawling crab-like toward the sound.

Adrenaline was surging through Martin’s body but his heart was heavy with dread. As they got
closer, they kept their heads below the level of the thick underbrush, always aware that an enemy soldier could catch sight of them approaching.

The scene they saw beyond the trees was about as bad as it could get. Martin’s face darkened with
anger. Five American soldiers lay sprawled on their backs. Four of them were perfectly still; one was writhing back and forth as if in terrible pain.

Two Viet Cong soldiers had come into the clearing, shouting excitedly in Vietnamese. He knew the dialect and realized the men were congratulating one another’s shooting skills. Then, green ferns parted and a Vietnamese soldier of obvious rank stepped into view.

The two Viet Cong soldiers snapped to attention.

Slowly and methodically, the officer began to nudge the fallen bodies with the toe of his boot and when he came to the groaning American, he began to spit words of anger into the air. Glancing nervously at his superior, one of the young Vietnamese soldiers stepped forward and without hesitation put a bullet in the head of the dying American.

Martin felt the bile rise up in the back of his throat and he cursed softly.

“Let’s go,” Jack muttered. “It’s over. There’s nothing we can do for them now.”

“No. Not yet.”

Jack watched Martin pull his Bowie knife from its sheath.

“They’re going to strip the bodies, Jack,” Martin whispered. “I can’t allow that to happen.”

Again, they crawled together along the ground, moving to the left and away from the clearing. They had only gone a short way before they almost ran into another group of enemy soldiers, hunkered down a few yards from the perimeter of the clearing. Fearful they might have noticed them, Martin held his breath, ready to defend himself if he had to, but the VC soldiers appeared relaxed, smoking
their cigarettes and blowing smoke lazily into the sky. He nodded to Jack and they moved on toward the left.

Both Americans moved with agility and speed, putting into practice all the skills they had been taught, working as a deadly team behind the backs of their unprepared enemy. The first man Martin attacked never had the chance to call out to his comrades. Clamping his hand over the slender man’s mouth, he thrust the blade in deeply and the body went limp.

The rest were not so easy. One of the men turned and saw Jack creeping up behind him but before he could give the alarm, Martin attacked from the side, grabbing him in a choke hold and quickly breaking the man’s neck.

Before five minutes had passed, five Vietnamese soldiers had fallen to the ground, dead or dying.

Taking in great gulps of air, they stopped, waiting and listening. Martin got closer, peering into the gloom, his eyes sweeping over the clearing once again.

None of the others seemed to have realized what had happened to their comrades. Seven or eight VC soldiers were already removing weapons, watches… anything of value from the dead GI’s.

“God damn it,” Jack muttered, moving closer to the clearing.

Martin put out his arm to stop him. “Not like this,” he whispered. “We must wait for the right moment.”

Jack’s shoulders sagged and he sat back down on the ground. Helplessly, they watched as the enemy soldiers did their work. Some stripped the bodies methodically, without emotion as if it meant nothing at all to them while others yanked off personal belongings angrily, pausing every so often to spit on the American uniform or kick at the dead soldier savagely.

They wanted to try and stop it, but this time, they were badly outnumbered and the element of surprise would not be on their side. Retreat almost seemed inevitable when suddenly; they heard the familiar whoop, whoop of helicopter blades beating the air. The VC soldiers stopped to look up and then swiftly began to melt into the protection of the jungle.

A huge green Huey with the familiar US markings came into view. Gunfire erupted once again and for one terrible moment, Martin realized that the VC had the capability to bring the aircraft down.

“This time we can do more than just sit here and watch,” he muttered. Jack nodded and made ready
to move forward.

They knew the number of enemy troops they were dealing with and they saw the direction they had taken. Intuitively, each man knew what he had to do. They split up without so much as a glance at one another and went in opposite directions, circling once more behind their enemy. They picked their victims carefully and one by one, they silenced them with a vicious thrust of a blade, until finally, only four of the enemy remained.

One of the soldiers turned his head slightly and saw Jack approaching.

“Ahheee!” he shouted, reaching for his sidearm.

Martin silenced him with the butt of his pistol.

Jack drew his own pistol from his holster and pointed it toward the three remaining North Vietnamese they found huddled behind clumps of tightly packed bamboo. White-faced, Jack clutched his weapon tightly and began to spit out orders in Vietnamese.

“Get up! Get up, you bastards. Get up and turn around so that I can see your faces before I kill you!”

“No, Jack. No! It’s over. They’ve surrendered, Jack. We’ve won.”

“You call this winning? No we didn’t win! Don’t you see Marty? Those poor bastards over there… the ones with their heads blown apart! There’s hardly enough of them left to bring home in body bags! That’s winning? I call that losing, and I call it losing big time!”

Jack’s jaw set determinedly as he pressed the muzzle of his pistol against the temple of one of the captured VC, but Martin pulled it away just as Jack squeezed the trigger. A burst of ammo let loose harmlessly into the sky.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jack sputtered angrily as Marty twisted the pistol firmly from his grip.

“Do something useful and help me tie them up,” Martin growled.

Soldiers from the copter began to emerge from the trees, stopping in their tracks, when they saw the dead Americans lying in the clearing. Then, they saw Marty and Jack, with four bound VC soldiers sitting at their feet.

“Take your prisoners into custody,” Martin told them quietly.

“Baptism of Fire”

They held their emotions in check as they walked side by side with a young Lieutenant Jordan Michaels, sent in by his commanding officer to oversee the cleanup detail. The dead were about to be loaded on to the military copters and Michaels asked if Martin and Jack wanted to ride along.

“We were on our way up country. We have a job to do, so we’ll go it alone.” Martin said. He leaned
against the trunk of a tree, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, extracting one and placing it between his lips. Distracted, he lit the end inhaling deeply, his black eyes staring back at the bodies of the dead men.

“What were their orders? Who was their commanding officer?” he asked Michaels.

“They were called in for a VC sweep. A captain by the name of Henry Ferguson was in command. We were told he had put together a group of hand picked officers to go out ahead of the column. Their assignment was to flush out saboteurs in the villages and wipe out the camouflaged nests of VC sharpshooters. Most of all, they hoped to locate and blow up a few of those long tunnels the VC were using for supplies from the North. Looks like they ran right into a hot spot. There’s a tunnel entrance right over there.”

Jack kicked away the vines and branches that covered a narrow hole in the ground and shuddered.
“I gotta hand it to those VC tunnel rats. You’d never get me to go down into one of those things.”

Martin seemed lost in thought.

“Pretty small group for such a large operation,” he said carefully.

Michaels glanced back at him. “Twenty-five hand picked men. We found Ferguson’s body along with fifteen other Americans and twenty VC. We searched the woods, but didn’t find any more.”

“You mean there could be some of them still out there?” Jack stared at Michaels incredulously. “What the hell are we waiting for?”

“I’ve been told these hot-shots liked to fan out in small groups, sneak up on the enemy before they saw them coming.” Michaels shook his head with regret. “But don’t kid yourself. None of them are
left alive. This time, the VC were ready and waiting.”

“You don’t know that.” Martin took another drag of his cigarette and tossed it to the ground, crushing the butt beneath the heel of his boot. “Jack and I will take a look around and see if one or two managed to hold their ground.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t wait for that,” Michaels answered regretfully. “My commander has ordered me into the air immediately. He tells me I have to evacuate another group of men stranded a few miles from here and I have to get going before I have another massacre on my hands. The chopper will be taking off in a few minutes.”

He stood at attention and saluted.

“Good luck with your mission, sir!” he said, his eyes full of respect. Then he boarded the copter and turned to look back at them as the aircraft rose quickly into the air until it became nothing more than a black dot disappearing into the clouds.

Jack Gretsky followed silently behind Castillo. They had said nothing to each other since the episode with the captured Vietnamese soldier. Castillo still had Jack’s pistol in his waistband and wondered if the time was right to offer it back

They had found the path again and walked along quickly, well aware that darkness was about to fall
and that soon they would be forced to set up camp rather than stumble along blindly.

“What was that?” Jack asked, stopping in his tracks suddenly.

Martin listened, but all he could hear was a breeze sighing in the trees.

“No, wait… I heard a voice… I’m sure I heard someone calling for help.”

Martin glanced over at Jack sympathetically. “I don’t think so.”

But then, they both heard it… a faint moan, over to their left.

“It’s coming from the direction of the river,” Castillo said. “Careful. It could be a trap.”

Jack paid no attention to the warning, but took off into the jungle, ducking low to avoid the overhanging branches and vines blocking his way. He didn’t have to go far. Castillo caught up to his partner in time to see him down on one knee beside the body of a fallen young soldier.

“How’s he doing?” Castillo asked breathlessly as he caught up.

“He’s dead, Martin.”

The guy’s mouth was open, his eyes staring sightlessly up at the sky. Both of his legs had been blown away below the knees. It looked as if he had slowly bled to death.

Jack turned his head away, his face a mask of fury. “A booby-trap!”

“He’s been dead for a while,” Martin said. “We heard someone moaning just now. That means
there’s another soldier nearby.”

They beat through the brush with their hands and after a minute or two, came across another young
soldier on his knees, trying desperately to crawl and failing at it miserably. Groaning again, loudly this time, he fell onto his side and lay very still.

Jack reached him first.

“Hey, buddy. Can you hear me? Take it easy! You’re gonna be okay. We got you now,” he shouted. He placed his fingers over the artery in the young man’s neck. “He’s got a pulse, but it’s weak.”

Kneeling down beside his partner, Martin noticed the swelling around the young man’s eyes. Singed blonde hair spiked around the crown of his head and the skin on his face looked red and tight as if he’d been out in the sun too long.

“He took some of the blast to the face. Hopefully what we’re seeing here is just temporary.” Marty winced when he noticed a jagged cut on the soldier’s leg. Nothing fatal, but he knew how quickly a jungle infection could set in.

“Soldier, can you hear me?” Martin asked. He reached down into the soldier’s shirt and pulled out the dog tags from around his neck, glancing long enough to catch the man’s first name.

“Well, James, looks like we have a problem. How the hell are we going to get you some medical help with the chopper gone and no radio contact?”

Chances of getting themselves out of the VC-infested jungle with a wounded man slung over their shoulders were not good. There was no time to put together any kind of makeshift stretcher since some of the VC could surprise them at any moment and sniper shots might suddenly explode from the trees. The choice was clear. They would have to make a run for it… and they would have to take
turns carrying him.

The kid wasn’t heavy, but Martin had a hard time keeping his balance on the soggy ground with a limp body slung over his shoulder. His feet kept slipping in the slimy muck and once he heard the soldier moan when he almost tripped over a fallen tree stump.

“We have to take a breather,” he gasped.

They lowered him gently to the ground, retrieving ointments and bandages from their packs. They
did what they could to treat the damage to his body, all the while glancing over their shoulders to make sure there was no one coming down the trail

“Let me up!” the young soldier insisted suddenly, struggling weakly to pull away.

“Easy, fella,” Jack said soothingly. “We got ya. Easy.”

“You… you gotta find my buddy! He’s hurt!” the soldier croaked in a raspy voice. He reached up with his hand and touched the bandages on his eyes gingerly.

“My face,” he moaned.”And my eyes… I… I can’t see!”

Martin heard the panic in his voice and saw the soldier swallow hard.

“You were in an explosion. We’re getting you some medical help, soldier.”

“Hank, where’s Hank?”

Jack looked over at Martin, the truth frozen on his lips.

“He’s dead,” Martin said simply. There was no sense in hiding it from him. The guy would have to be told sooner or later.

A sob escaped from deep inside the young soldier’s chest.

“No!” he cried softly, his head falling hard against Marty’s shoulder.

“We’d better keep moving.” Jack whispered. “Come on. It’s my turn to carry him.”

They had marched late into the night without encountering one Viet Cong. Exhausted, they decided
it would be wise to camp for the night and catch some sleep. The spot they chose was by a small river, hidden from the main trail by overgrown foliage and hanging vines

“Here, drink. You need the fluids,” Marty said to the soldier.

“And take this.” He put a capsule into the soldier’s mouth. “Antibiotics,” he explained. “I have morphine too if you want. Are you in pain?”

“Not enough to need that crap!”

“Then get some rest and we’ll leave in a few hours.”

The soldier sipped more water and pushed the canteen away. Then his head fell back and he let his
hand stray to the burned skin around his eyes. He winced.

“My friend,” he asked them in a raspy voice. “Did you bury him?”

Jack looked away and let Marty answer. “We couldn’t wait for that. The jungle was crawling
with VC.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Martin lit one of his cigarettes and placed it between the lips of the young soldier.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

He took a deep drag of the tobacco and exhaled the smoke slowly.

“Hank was a good guy. His wife just had a kid… ” his voice trailed away.

“Hey look,” Jack said as he put his hand on his shoulder. “Your buddy never felt a thing. It was over pretty quick.”

“Yeah.” The young man took another drag of the cigarette.

“Ferguson your commanding officer?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, Captain Ferguson. Used to be with Special Forces. Hank and I were assigned to his unit a month ago. Our outfit was nicknamed ‘The Chimney Sweeps’.”

Marty leaned his head against a tree trunk and closed his eyes while he listened.

“Twenty-five of us,” the guy continued. “Some had some experience with explosives. One or two had engineering degrees. Hank had been a miner back in the states. He liked to flush the VC out of the tunnels. We used to watch him disappear into one of those holes in the ground with just a hunting knife and a flashlight. All of a sudden, one of those VC bastards would come hoppin’ outta there just like a scared jack rabbit!”

The soldier laughed softly. “Me? Well, Ferguson found out I had a reputation as a crack shot. Even
heard about a few trophies I had won in state competition. Before I knew it, I was assigned to the unit that specialized in taking out the snipers in the trees.” He hesitated. “Ferguson always said I had a… a good eye.”

He paused again and licked his lips before continuing.

“We had gone on ahead to scout a little, you know; make sure there were no VC on the road waiting. I was in the lead; Hank had taken the rear. There was a noise, I suppose it must’ve been the detonator, so I glanced behind me and watched him step from the shade into the bright sunlight. Then, a blinding white fire came all around him and a swoosh of wind lifted him up into
the air.”

The cigarette was finished and he flicked it away bitterly

“Next thing I knew, I felt the heat from the blast and then, everything went black.” No one said anything for a moment.

“You need more water,” Marty said quietly.

The young man took some, and lay back again.

“Hey. Thanks. I… I owe you guys plenty. You risked your lives. I know I’m holding you back.”

“That’s our problem. You don’t owe us a thing.”

“I… I need to ask you for another favor… a small one, but it’s important to me.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got a girl… waiting for me back home. We… we were going to get married. She’ll be worried when she doesn’t hear from me. If… if I don’t get back, would you tell her that you were here… here with me at the end?”

“Hey, show a little faith in us. We’re going to get you back.”

He tried to smile. “I know, I know. It’s just in case, that’s all.”

“Yeah, just in case.”

“What town are you from?” Jack asked

“Miami,” the soldier answered wistfully. “Best town in the whole US of A. Hope I get to see it again some day.”

Castillo looked over at Jack and their eyes came together.

“I come from Miami,” Martin said. “It’s been a while since I’ve been there, but when my family left Cuba, it became my American home town.”

“No kiddin’. What part?”

“Little Havana.”

“So if you’ve lived in Miami, you know what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Castillo said. “Tell me about your girl.”

“Her picture’s in my jacket pocket. Name and address on the back. She’s the second one listed as
my ‘next of kin’, after my brother.”

Castillo took the small photo out and stared down at a pretty blonde, posing on a football field in a cheerleader outfit.

A girl with a million dollar smile!

“Nice looking,” he said simply.

“When you find her… just… just tell her… tell her that I love her. And tell her that I’m sorry, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

The boy’s head listed to the side. “I coulda gone home a month ago,” he whispered sleepily. “But Ferguson needed me. I hadda stay.” He chuckled. “She wasn’t too happy about it, but she never made me choose. Told me she knew I wouldn’t be satisfied until I’d won the war single handedly.”

Martin understood that felling only too well.

“It’s late. Stop your jabbering, soldier and get some sleep!”

“Sure,” he answered softly. “But don’t forget. I don’t want her to hear what happened from some clueless bastard. She’s going to have lots of questions and she deserves to get the answers from someone who was with me… someone who understands and can explain it to her… ”

His voice trailed away and within minutes the young soldier was out, breathing in deeply.

“Come here!” Jack said to Martin, motioning him a short distance away. “We’re already a day late. Anderson’s gonna be frantic.”

“We’ll move at sunup. No sense stumbling around in the dark.”

“Listen, the kid’s right; he is dragging us down. Face facts, Marty, we gotta keep moving.”

“I don’t care about facts, Jack. We leave at sunup.”

“Okay, I’m not happy about the way this is shaping up either, but it’s crazy to think we’re gonna find help for him in time. Besides, the longer we wander around out here, the easier it’ll be for the VC to pick us off. Then, the three of us will be dead along with Anderson and his company.”

“We’ll get him back.”

“Martin, you know that I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, but this time? This time, my friend… well, I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Bandana”

Martin heard the cries and sat up suddenly, confused for a moment where they were coming from.

“He’s burning up!” Jack was bending over their charge. “Here, give me the water.”

They watched as the kid thrashed helplessly with fever.

“Wait! Over here, guys!” he was shouting, his arms flailing in the air. “Hank, Lou… get down, now… Charlie coming… watch out, damn it! Get down!”

Jack clamped a hand over the kid’s mouth. “If he keeps that up, we’ll have the whole North Vietnamese army around our necks!”

“You’re right, he’s pretty hot,” Martin said, running the back of his hand along the soldier’s face.

“It’s the leg,” Jack said, shaking his head. “It was bound to happen! In this kind of heat and
with the bugs…”

“Yeah.”

They kept vigil until the first rays of sunlight burst through the trees and finally the boy slipped back into a deep, silent sleep.

“He isn’t gonna make it, man,” Jack whispered.

“Like hell he won’t!”

“Listen, we did our best. If we don’t get this information to Anderson before tomorrow night, a lot more men than this one soldier will be suffering the consequences.”

“We gave him our word.”

“And what about our word to two thousand American troops waiting on Heartbreak Hill?”

Castillo stared over at Jack. “We’ll get to Anderson in time, and we’re going to get this soldier to a chopper. That’s all I want to say about it, Jack. Now, are you in with me on this, or not?”

Jack stood.

“I can’t believe you’re sticking with this!” And moving toward the river’s edge he bent over to pick up a few small rocks and proceeded to angrily skim them across the surface of the muddy water.

Martin soaked his bandana with water from his canteen and pressed it against the soldier’s forehead and then his neck. “Thanks,” the boy’s voice croaked.

“You’re awake.”

“Yeah. I heard your buddy. Sounds like he’s pretty mad.”

Martin glanced over at Jack glaring back at him. “He’ll get over it.”

“Maybe. But he’s probably right. You don’t have time to be worrying about one lone guy. You have to get your information to your commander.”

“You heard?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I was out, but I heard most of it. I’ve put you both in danger. And many other lives are depending on your mission.”

Castillo said nothing. It was difficult to argue with the truth.

“Listen, sir…”

“The name’s Martin.”

“Martin. Listen, you’ve done all you could for me, and I thank you for that. But with my eyes, I can’t help you. Damn, I can’t even march like this. If you stick with me, no one is a winner. You can leave me. It’s okay.”

“Shut up!” The explosion of anger surprised them both.

“You have no other choice.”

“Just keep concentrating on getting back to that girlfriend of yours. I promise I’ll be there to toast you both at the wedding.”

They followed the river.

Martin strained under the weight of the young man’s limp body. Every so often, he heard a groan, and slowed down a little. The delays were infuriating Jack.

“Now what?” he growled over his shoulder when he sensed Castillo had stopped for the fourth time.

“Water break.”

Suddenly, the sound of rifle fire shattered the silence sending a sniper’s bullet whistling by his ear. Another one followed quickly and Jack shouted out in pain. Dropping to the ground, he cradled his injured arm.

“Damn!” he whispered through gritted teeth. “Now, are you satisfied, Marty?”

Another shot rang out.

“In the trees, there. I see him.”

Martin lined up his rifle and his shot easily found its mark. They saw the tree branches rustle briefly and heard the thud of a body landing hard on the soft earth.

It had been a close call.

“It’s only a scratch,” Jack insisted. He avoided looking at Martin. “They know we’re here. There’ll be others.”

“Go ahead, then, Jack. You were right. I’ll stay with him. At least one of us will be able to make it.”

“No way! Not now! We’re not splitting up!”

They both looked down at the wounded man.

“I want you both to go,” they heard him say.

The young soldier had managed to push up the bandage and was squinting up at them. Martin saw the swelling around his eyes had gone down and it was apparent he had regained some vision from the way he was aiming his loaded pistol in their direction.

“Guess my sight has come back a bit. Remember, I told you I’m a good shot. So both of you better get going before I show you just how good I really am.”

“No!” Castillo spat out angrily.

The gun bucked in the soldier’s hand and the bullet smacked into a tree branch close to Castillo’s ear.

“Next time, sir, I won’t miss.”

They knew he was bluffing, but the young man had made his point. His little show of bravado had given them permission to leave him behind in the jungle.

In war, men are often forced to make terrible, God-like decisions and Martin knew this was going to be one of those times. Tears of bitterness burned deeply into his tired eyes and with a heavy heart, he did the only thing he could think of to do. Standing up straight, to his full height, he faced the young soldier and saluted.

Jack did the same.

“We’ll be back,” he said.

The soldier grinned. “Got any candy, Sir?”

“Something better,” Jack answered. He handed him a metal flask. “This should help keep the bad dreams away.”

“Thanks.”

Together, they dragged the soldier into the heavy foliage, pulling dead tree branches over him to make sure he was hidden from the road. Jack handed him another pistol and a rifle. Martin filled the extra canteen with water and set it where he would be able to reach it easily. Finally, he gave him the vial of antibiotics and two pre-filled syringes of morphine.

“Think you can see well enough to use this?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll deliver the information and come back for you,” Martin told him.

It was a hollow promise, but saying it soothed away his guilt, helping him accept the fact that he was deserting a fellow soldier.

“I won’t hold you to it,” the soldier said. “Just don’t forget about my girl.”

Martin said nothing.

“We gotta mark the spot somehow or we’ll never find him,” Jack was saying.

Nodding numbly, Martin took the red bandana from around his neck. Shimmying up a tree, he tied it to one of the branches that hung over the path.

The soldier had settled back against a tree trunk and was taking a generous mouthful of bourbon
from the silver flask.

“Ahh! Now that’s better!” he sighed contentedly. With a brave smile, he toasted them both with the flask.

“You and Anderson better give ‘em hell.”

“We intend to.”

“And… and be careful.” The voice was softer now, more tremulous.

“You too, soldier.”

Jack had begun to tug him toward the path but Martin pulled his arm away angrily. Jack met his furious stare with a defiant one of his own.

“You’re not gonna pin this disaster on me, Martin! Believe it or not, I’m not that wild about leaving him behind either.”

“After we’ve finished with Anderson, I’m heading back into the jungle to find him!”

“I kind of thought you’d say that. And I’ll be right there beside you, buddy. That’s a promise I need to make.”

An hour had passed since they left and the noonday sun beat down on them viciously as they marched single file toward the north. Sweat trickled down the sides of Martin’s face, but when he reached for his bandana, he paused, remembering with a stab of pain where he had left it.

Damn!

Just some simple compass coordinates and a single piece of red cloth was all they would have left to guide him back.

God help us… God help him!

Martin imagined the young man sitting there, waiting in fear. It would be a terrible way to die: alone and helpless. If the VC didn’t find him, the animals and insects surely would. Then the end would be slow and painful. Martin almost hoped the enemy would find the kid soon and end his misery with a bullet.

“He has the booze, Martin,” Jack said suddenly, as if reading his friend’s worried thoughts. “And the pistol.”

“Yeah. The pistol.”

It was true. Putting the gun to his head and pulling the trigger himself was always an option.

Martin quickened his steps.

“Promises to Keep”

They reached Anderson’s camp by seven that evening.

“I’d about given up on you,” Anderson said to them with a smile of relief. The packet they had brought to him lay open on the table, areas of type underlined and hand drawn maps highlighted in red.

“This is good, very good. Now both of you; get some food and some rest. We pack up and leave for the north at daylight.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, Castillo.”

“Sir, I’m requesting permission to go back into the jungle.”

Anderson paused, his eyebrows arching upward in surprise. “Whatever for?”

“One of Ferguson’s men survived. He’s back there, wounded. And he’s waiting for us to get him.”

Anderson picked up the packet and slapped the papers against the palm of his hand.

“Permission denied. You know I can’t allow you to do that! The jungle is crawling with the enemy. I’m sorry, Martin. I can see how much this means to you. But I can’t afford to lose you and Jack. You have to understand that.”

He didn’t understand.

Permission denied?

The anger he was feeling at that moment nearly took his breath away. At no other time in his military career had Martin ever considered disobeying an order.

“Martin, it’s been ten hours,” Jack was saying as he looked down at his watch. “Do you really think there’s a chance he’s still alive?”

“It’s the not knowing that’s tearing me apart.” He pulled out the picture of the soldier’s girlfriend from his pocket.

The million-dollar smile!

“I made him a promise, Jack!” he growled. “I don’t care what Anderson wants.”

“Just don’t go off half cocked. It’s dark out there. We should plan, get some supplies.”

“Sir?”

They turned. Lieutenant Jordan Michaels, the leader of the helicopter crew who had airlifted the dead GI’s, stood at attention, his large eyes full of sympathy.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Martin said to him. “It’s good to see you again. How are things going?”

“Fine, sir. I… I understand you found a wounded soldier in the woods after we lifted off.”

Martin stared back at him. “Yes.”

“And you weren’t able to bring him back?”

Martin winced. “The soldier was weak and couldn’t go on. We had no choice but to leave him behind.”

“It has also come to my attention, sir, that you think there is a chance we could find this soldier alive.”

“We left him hidden in the brush. There’s a slim chance. Yes.”

“Sir, if I may. We have one of the smaller copters… a Jet Ranger… I’ve used them in the jungle before, mainly for reconnaissance, but it’ll be okay for a one-man rescue. In fact, I could have it fueled and ready for action just before daybreak. Give me the coordinates and we’ll go back and find him together.”

“You’d risk a court martial?”

“What court martial? I was the one who had been ordered to clean up after the Ferguson massacre, and bring back survivors. Obviously I didn’t complete that operation. As far as I’m concerned, I’d deserve a court martial if I DIDN’T go back.”

Relief flooded over them. Jack put his arm around the young pilot’s shoulders.

“Guess we’d better hurry and get this act on the road then, before Anderson gets wind of our new assignment. Just get us a map and we’ll tell you how to lay out the flight plan, Lieutenant!”

The big glass bird whistled in the wind, silver blades slicing cleanly through thick gray clouds, heavy with moisture. Suddenly, it started to rain.

“There,” Jack said pointing his finger down.

Michaels glanced down at the jungle cover and shook his head. “No. That’s not a place to land this baby.” He scanned the terrain until he saw a small clearing to the south. “Okay. That should do. Keep in mind this is a mighty hot area, sir. You’ll have to move fast.”

“I know. We were there, remember?”

“How much time we got?” Jack asked.

“That depends on whether we get any visitors or not.” He handed them a flashlight. “Once you find the guy, bring him to the edge of the clearing. Flick the flashlight on and off twice. I’ll be hovering.” He pointed skyward. “Up there.”

The two of them jumped from the open doorway of the aircraft, thudding into the grass and breaking into a hard run before their boots had the chance to sink into the soft mud. As soon as the jungle swallowed them, they stopped for a moment to listen.

It was deathly quiet. The rain tapped on the leaves, dripping down to soak into their uniforms. They waited for just a moment. Then, Jack pulled on Marty’s sleeve. They got up and set off up a hill. Neither said a word, but the same thought hung out there like a chain, weighing them down with worry. Visibility may improve with the light of the oncoming dawn, but the chances of finding the tree with the red bandana, and finding it quickly, were going to be poor if not down right impossible

“I see the river,” Jack whispered.

Again, they stopped to listen; hoping to hear a moan, a whimper… but there was nothing.

“We’re close.”

For ten minutes, they beat branches away with the hands, afraid to speak. An automatic weapon
chattered in the distance and they froze

“Which direction?” Jack sputtered. “How close?”

“Close enough. We’re running out of time.”

Someone coughed.

“Hey, soldier!” Martin called softly. “James!”

Another cough and then a groan.

“Over here!” Jack was on all fours, sniffing the wind like a tracking hound.

Martin looked up at the tree branches above his head and a small smile played at the corner of his mouth. It was the bandana, wet and dripping, but still tied tightly to the low hanging branch.

The soldier was sprawled on his back, the bandage gone from his head. His eyes were wide open, glazed. There was no response when they spoke to him. Martin put his fingertips on the side of his throat.

“He has a pulse. And he’s breathing.”

Jack looked around him and took in a gulp of air. “Looks like he had some company.”

Martin saw the dead Viet Cong soldier before Jack finished his sentence.

“This one’s had it. He’s dead.” The bullet-hole in the center of the man’s forehead left little room for doubt.

“The kid wasn’t foolin’! He’s some shot! That’s a direct bull’s eye if I ever saw one!”

“Bought yourself some time, eh soldier?” Martin said softly.

He lifted him up and slung him over his shoulder just as a burst of machine gun fire exploded a short distance behind them.

Without a word, they ran.

“I Owe Ya One!”

The acrid smell of antiseptic was strong enough to make Martin gag.

“He was airlifted here on Friday!” he was insisting hotly. “He had blonde hair… about five eleven. His face had some burns… and he had a leg wound. His name was James… I don’t know the last name. Don’t tell me he’s not here! There’s no way he was discharged already!”

It had been three days since they had rescued the young soldier and brought him back to Anderson’s camp; a day and a half since he had been airlifted to the Army Hospital on base. Then, it had taken two more days of marching through the jungle and hitching an all-night ride in a jeep with an army medic before they finally got to the hospital to check on the boy’s condition. The nurse’s distracted attitude infuriated him, but she was too overworked and preoccupied by the chaos in the ward to be intimidated by any shouting.

“You’d better calm down, sir. That’s exactly what I’m telling you! The kid was a hell-raiser. Badgered Doctor Benson unmercifully until he finally let him out! We weren’t exactly sorry to see him go.”

“But his eyes! And the leg…”

“His eyes healed up nicely,” a gravelly voice spoke up behind him. Dr. Gerald Benson approached
them. Martin recognized him as one of the army doctors famous for his tirades and no nonsense attitude with the troops.

The older man was studying them curiously.

“You’re the two intelligence officers I heard about who went back and plucked that boy out of jungle, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, his leg wasn’t infected either, you’ll be happy to know and that’s amazing considering the time he was out there with that wound. If you boys hadn’t bandaged him up and given him the antibiotic when you did, he probably would have been facing amputation somewhere down the line.”

He paused.

“You know, he never stopped talking about you two. Said that he was gonna find you after the war. Find you and shake your hands. Oh, and he said something about a wedding you promised to attend?”

“He owes us each a glass of champagne.”

Benson laughed.

“Is he being shipped back to the States?”

“Hell, no! That boy was fit and willing to return to active duty. Said he had one more year until his time was up. Wouldn’t hear of being sent back home. And I agreed. His wounds were superficial and he healed fast. Besides, we need men like him in the war. Especially now.” Benson chuckled. “Son of a bitch, the guy gets blown up, loses all his buddies, almost dies in the jungle and he wants to go back and fight the VC. Tough as nails, that boy was.”

He struck a match and lit up his pipe, his hand cupped around the bowl.

“Yep, tough as nails,” he repeated as he puffed on the pipe stem thoughtfully.

Chapter 4: The Briefing
by MJ

November 5, 1984: 1205

He hadn’t been sure what to expect.

They had assured him the detectives in Vice were dedicated, hard working, determined to see their cases to the bitter end, no matter how long it took or how much personal pain it caused them. If this was true, then Jorgensen had been right when he had said that the Miami: Vice Division had functioned well despite the lack of discipline. The “glue” that held them together must be
very strong.

Just as Trudy had told him, they were all there, assembled in the conference room and waiting. Trudy and the other woman, Gina Calabrese, looked up and smiled slightly when he entered, but no one else bothered to acknowledge his presence.

Stan Switek and Larry Zito had the good sense to look away, embarrassed by the poor impression they knew they had made earlier that morning. Ricardo Tubbs seemed preoccupied with a book of mug shots and even Crockett managed to avoid eye contact by making a big deal out of putting out his cigarette in the ashtray in front of him.

Martin ignored the cold reception. “Let’s begin,” he said quietly.

Trudy and Gina’s case was the opener. It involved a kiddy porn ring that had been working the tourists registered in the most luxurious Miami Beach hotels. They had already established contacts, and were convinced their undercover identities had been accepted, allowing them to be part of a buy that involved importing sexually explicit videotapes from a European source. The plan they had was a good one and both women seemed confident they would succeed in wrapping up the case within the week.

Stan and Zito were the surveillance experts. Although they acted like two overgrown adolescents, they had no difficulty impressing Castillo with their skills. At the moment, they were helping Gina and Trudy obtain evidence for their case and they played back a tape of Gina meeting with a Mr. Jordan, the porn king’s second in command.

“Had that mic in Gina’s hair, right here,” Stan boasted, pointing to a spot behind Gina’s ear. “Blended in real nice. Picked up the whole conversation, too.”

Zito looked over at Stan encouragingly. “Yeah, that was a good one, Stan.”

The case Sonny and Rico were working on involved the racketeer, Al Lombard. He had his sticky fingers into every sort of illegal activity but as soon as an investigator got close to nailing him, he always managed to slip away.

Sonny knew his suspect well enough to be painfully aware of Lombard’s connections. But this time,
he had been hoping to tighten the screws. Martin heard the evidence that he and Rico had gathered so far. It was apparent that while Sonny talked, everyone listened. Martin sensed the respect the squad had for him; saw the admiration in their eyes.

Sonny told them how he and Tubbs were on routine surveillance the day before, listening to a local bookie work the phones in his office when they saw a young woman, Barbara Carroll, get roughed up by a big lug named Rusack. After they broke in and arrested him, they learned he worked for a loan shark named DeMarco, one of Lombard’s men.

“She got behind in her payments and DeMarco took her husband’s tools as payback. So now we have a direct path to Lombard, but the trouble is, Barbara is reluctant to press charges. Fear of reprisal, I guess…”

Castillo waited for Sonny to pause before asking him a question.

“How well do you know this woman, Detective, this Barbara Carroll?”

“We went to school together. We also went out together for a while. But, that was a long time ago.”

“And you’re sure you can separate yourself from that relationship?”

Sonny seemed annoyed. “It won’t be a problem, Lieutenant. I know how to handle it.”

Castillo glared a warning in Sonny’s direction. “Be sure that you do.”

Then he looked up at the others. “That will be all. Thank you, everyone.”

One by one, they stood and began to slowly file out of the room.

“Phone for you, Sonny,” one of the secretaries called out just as Sonny sat back at his desk.

“Yeah, this is Crockett,” he growled into the receiver. He listened to a voice on the other end for a moment and then cursed softly under his breath. Then, pushing himself up, he pulled his jacket from the back of his chair and headed for the door.

“Hey, man. What about lunch?” Rico shouted after him. “Stick around! We’re gonna order Chinese!”

“Not this time, Rico. I’m on my way to Al Lombard’s pool club. Today, I’m having lunch with a slime ball by the name of DeMarco.”

Castillo watched Crockett as he stormed out of the office. “There’s a fire in him,” he mused.

Then he thought back to the briefing. So far, he liked what he saw. These were good people, a little rough around the edges and undisciplined as hell… but innovative and full of heart. They had experience and talents that were invaluable… they worked effectively as a team. He appreciated the caring they showed for each other… he admired their loyalty.

He smiled.

And there was no doubt in his mind that it was Crockett who held them all in the palm of his hand. Infuriating, rude, stubborn, arrogant, impulsive, unorthodox… but also talented, intelligent, charismatic, intuitive… a man who cared passionately about what he was doing. Just the sort of leader Castillo had hoped he would find.

Even so, he had seen cops like Crockett crash and burn over time. Castillo knew he would have to find a way to nurture this man’s idealism while protecting him from a system that could easily destroy him.

It was the same during the war… the cream of the crop, turned bitter from constant defeat and
the presence of death all around them.

He had seen it happen, time and time again. He had seen it had it happened to him.

Nam. 1972.

It was not a time he had thought about often. It was that year he had been part of an elite intelligence group assigned to move thorough Viet Cong territory and warn troop commanders of the
enemy’s position. Mostly, what he had seen were a bunch of young, American boys plucked from their soft lives in the United States and dumped into a steaming jungle, expected to fight the kind of war that men in power knew could never be won.

He had done what he could… he and his buddy Jack, but it had never seemed to be enough. The ones who had fallen had been so young, young like Crockett…anxious to go into combat, filled with that same fire and passion of their convictions.

That is, until the lights went out and there was no one left to care…

Chapter 3: Migraine
by MJ

November 5, 1984: 1030

The headache was a bad one.

A sudden aura… flashes of light… a persistent pounding in his skull. Then white-hot current slicing through soft brain tissue, leaving him numb with a paralyzing weakness…

Not now… please…

He bit down hard.

Martin had already swallowed four aspirins over the last two hours and still the throbbing continued… insisting… relentless… demanding his entire focus.

Harsh fluorescent lights brought on fresh waves of pain. He flicked them off and with a sigh of resignation, lay down on the lumpy sofa in the back corner of his office.

Things had not gone well so far.

When he had first arrived that morning, he had stopped by the front desk to check out the logbook of arrests before heading up to see the unit. He had noticed a “resisting arrest” case that involved the violent take down of a suspect and he asked the desk sergeant for the detective’s filed report.

“Oh, that’s Crockett’s case,” the sergeant had muttered. “He’ll get around to writing one sooner or later.”

“It should have been written up as soon as the arresting officer set foot in the door,” Martin told the sergeant angrily. “I want it on my desk within the hour.”

Castillo had seen it happen before. Things could get messy if a riled-up citizen decided to register a complaint of police brutality. The department needed to be prepared in case of legal action, and by delaying things this long, Detective Crockett had not only ignored procedure, he had unintentionally forced a showdown with his new superior.

Not exactly the best way to begin.

Thirty minutes passed before the pain had finally faded to a dull ache. He sat up, twisting his body around slowly and easing his legs to the floor. His personal belongings had arrived by messenger earlier and the box sat waiting for him in the shadows by the door. Slitting it open with a penknife, he began to empty the contents into desk drawers tossing anything that had outlived its usefulness into the wastebasket nearby.

One of the last things to appear was a tired looking bible with a badly scuffed leather cover that he placed carefully into a bottom desk drawer. There was also an unopened bottle of aspirin, which was soon to earn the unique distinction of being the only thing visible on his barren desktop.

It was the way he liked it. No photographs, mementos; no nameplate. Not even a pen. Castillo was a man who appreciated simplicity. He found peace in order. Order was control.

Martin glanced up at the clock on his office wall and saw it was already noon. There was a soft knock on his office door.

“Come in,” he murmured and Trudy Joplin appeared with a shy smile.

“For you, Lieutenant.” She handed him a stack of files, mail and several printed case reports. Crockett’s report was among them.

Finally, the detective had delivered.

Annoyance still nagged at him, but for now, he decided to let it pass.

He opened the manila file and let his eyes scan over the few pages quickly. Normally, reports were typed, but this one was handwritten in a bold, confident scrawl.

November 4, 1984
Metro Dade, OCB-Vice
Case #1446 -Rusack, Bruno
Charges: Assaulting a Police Officer, Resisting Arrest

Arresting Officer: Detective S. J. Crockett, Badge # 2449

He looked back at the officer’s signature for a moment.

Crockett.

The name struck a chord.

He had heard it somewhere; perhaps during his briefing with Lieutenant Madison who had been filling in for Rodriguez. Martin remembered that Madison had not been particularly impressed.

“Watch out for that one… he’s a renegade… a cowboy…

Perhaps…

But then, breaking out of the mold was not always a bad thing. It showed a rebellious nature, but
it also demonstrated creativity. A man with fresh ideas could be an asset, capable of breathing new life into a dead-end investigation.

Point one for the rebel…

Another gentle knock on the door and Trudy poked her head in.

“Lieutenant, everyone’s waiting,” she said apologetically. “What would you like me to tell them?”

“Don’t tell them anything. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Right, Sir.”

He glanced over at the personnel files he had pulled earlier, deciding he would find the time to go through them later in the afternoon. Now was the opportunity to watch his officers interact while they brought him up to speed on their current cases. Hopefully, he would discover their strengths and weaknesses, determine the ones who were followers, and if he was really lucky, pick out the leader. Aligning himself with that one would be the key to gaining the staff’s confidence, and more importantly, a giant step toward winning their respect.