The Guardians(73)

Skip takes a deep breath and studies the ceiling. He’s not afraid of prison, not even a U.S. Pen. He’s spent most of his life behind the fence and he survived, at times even prospered. His brothers are there, all sworn together in a vicious but protective gang. No work, no bills to pay. Three meals a day. Plenty of drugs, especially for a gang member. Lots of sex if one is so inclined.

However, he’s just met a lady he’s quite fond of, his first romance in many years. She’s a bit older, not rich but with some means, and they’ve talked of living together and taking a trip. Skip can’t go far because he’s on parole; a passport is only a dream. But she’s given him a glimpse of another life, and he really doesn’t want to go back to prison.

Because he’s such an experienced con, he knows how to play the game. This tough gal can find some room to negotiate. He asks, “So how much time are we talking about?”

“As I said, thirty years.”

“With a deal?”

“Three to five.”

“I can’t survive three to five. The answer is no.”

“If you can’t survive three to five, how can you expect to survive thirty?”

“I’ve been there, okay? I know the turf.”

“Indeed you do.”

Nolton stands and glares at him. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes, Skip. Right now you’re wasting my time.”

He asks, “Can I have some coffee?”

Nolton spreads her arms and says, “Coffee? I don’t have any coffee. Anybody here got coffee?” The other six agents look around as if searching for coffee. Finding none, they shake their heads. She marches out of the room and someone closes the door. Three agents remain. The largest one parks himself by the door in a heavy chair and begins deleting voice mails. The other two sit at the table with Skip and immediately find urgent work with their cell phones. The room is silent and Skip pretends to nod off.

Fifteen minutes later the door opens and Nolton walks in. She doesn’t sit but looks down at Skip and says, “We just picked up Mickey Mercado in Coral Gables and we’re getting ready to offer him the deal of a lifetime. If he takes it first, you’re screwed and our offer is off the table. Think fast, Skip, if that’s possible.”

She turns around and marches out again. Skip manages to keep a poker face as his bowels grind and he feels nauseous. His vision blurs as his head spins. They not only know about Mercado, but now they have him! This is overwhelming. Skip glances around and notices the two agents at the table watching his every move. He is breathing heavier and he cannot stop it. His forehead turns wet. They make notes on their phones and send messages.

A moment passes and he does not retch. He keeps swallowing hard and another moment passes.

Ten minutes later she’s back. She sits this time, a clear indication that she plans to really squeeze his balls. She begins pleasantly with “You’re a fool, Skip. Any con in your shoes who can’t take this deal is a fool.”

“Thank you. Let’s talk about witness protection.”

She doesn’t smile but she is obviously pleased as they take a giant step in the right direction. She says, “We can talk about it, but I’m not sure it will work in this case.”

“You can make it work. You do it all the time.”

“Indeed we do. So, hypothetically speaking, if we agree to stash you away, what do we get right now? On this table? Obviously we have Mercado. Was he your immediate contact? Was there someone above him? How many names can you give us? How much money? Who got it?”

DiLuca nods and looks around the room. He hates ratting and he has spent his career brutally punishing informants. However, there comes a time when a man has to worry about himself. He says, “I will tell you everything I know, but I want a deal in writing. Now. On this table, as you say. I don’t trust you, you don’t trust me.”

“Fair enough. We have a standard short-form agreement that we’ve used for years. It’s been approved by various defense lawyers. We can fill in a few blanks and see what happens.”

DiLuca is taken to another room and placed before a large desktop computer. He types his own statement:

About six weeks ago, I was approached by a man who identified himself as Mickey Mercado, said he was from Miami. He actually knocked on the door of my apartment, which was odd because very few people know me or know where I live. As it turned out, he knew a lot about me. We went to a cafe around the corner and had our first meeting. He knew I was a Deacon and had spent time at Garvin. He knew all about my criminal record. I was a bit rattled by this and so I started asking him a bunch of questions. He said he was a security consultant. I asked what the hell that means, and he said he worked for various clients primarily in the Caribbean and so on and he was pretty vague. I asked him how I could be sure he wasn’t some kind of cop or agent or some such prick who was trying to suck me into a trap. I asked if he was wearing a wire. He laughed and assured me he was not. Anyway, we swapped phone numbers and he invited me to visit his office, see his operation. He swore he was legit. A few days later, I drove to downtown Miami, went up about 35 floors, and met him in his office. Nice view of the water. Has a secretary and some staff. No name on the door, though. We had a cup of coffee, talked for an hour. He asked if I still had contacts inside Garvin. I said yes. He asked how difficult it would be to take out another prisoner in Garvin. I asked if he was talking about a contract. He said yes, or something like that. Said there was an inmate who needed to be “extinguished” because of some vague bad deal with a client of Mercado’s. He did not give me a name and I did not say yes to the contract. I left and drove home. In the meantime, I dug through the internet and found very little about Mercado. But I was almost convinced he was not a cop. Our third meeting took place in a bar in Boca. That’s where we cut the deal. He asked how much it would cost. I said $50,000, which was a big rip-off since you can get a guy rubbed out in prison for much less. But he didn’t seem to mind. He told me the target was Quincy Miller, a lifer. I didn’t ask what Miller had done and Mercado didn’t offer. It was just a business deal as far as I was concerned. I called Jon Drummik, the leader of the Dekes at Garvin, and he arranged it all. He would use Robert Earl Lane, probably the most dangerous man there, black or white. They would get $5000 each up front, another $5000 when the job was finished. I planned to pocket the rest and screw them. You can’t take cash to prison, so I had to arrange payment in cash to Drummik’s son and Lane’s brother. At our fourth meeting, Mercado gave me $25,000 in cash. I doubted I would ever see the other half, regardless of what happened to Quincy Miller. But I didn’t care. $25,000 is gravy for a prison murder. I then met with Adam Stone, our mule, and planned the killing. He delivered messages to Drummik and Lane. The attack was well done but they didn’t finish the job. Stone said another guard got in the way or something. Mercado was furious at the bad result and refused to pay the rest of the money. I kept $15,000 cash.