Free Who'll Stop The Rain: (Book One Of The Miami Crime Trilogy) by Don Donovan Page A

Air Jordan. He ground the point of
his heel in, hard. "Fuck the badges, fuckhead," he hissed. Flaco
yelped in pain. "And you're comin' with us now." More grinding, and
the kid caved.
    "Awright,
awright!" he cried. "Outside." He head-gestured toward the back
door.
    They
slipped out into the narrow alley, guiding Flaco's limping figure. Garbage was
all over the place — rotting pizza slices, a few empties of cheap wine
and forties, Mickey D bags, even a hypo or two. Silvana held her nose at the
pile of human shit a few steps away. Just beyond it was the probable source, a
wino sleeping on the pavement, facing the building. Or maybe he was dead.
    Silvana
threw Flaco against the building. He grunted in pain.
    "We
want to know what you know about Chicho Segura."
    "I
don't know nobody by that na —"
    Vargas
landed a left hook to the kidney. Flaco yowled.
    "One
more time," said Silvana, knowing the kid was required to disavow all
knowledge — at first, anyway — of whatever they wanted. "What
do you know about Chicho Segura? Or do you want to piss blood for the next two
weeks?"
    "He's
— he's dead."
    Vargas
landed one flush on the kid's nose. Blood spurted out all over his sport coat.
Flaco's head whipped back against the brick wall of the building. His shoulders
dropped and his knees buckled momentarily.
    "Don't
get smart with us," Vargas said. "Tell us what you know or I'm gonna
open up your fuckin' head."
    "Awright!
Okay! I'll tell you!"
    Silvana
said, "Go ahead. And I'll tell you right now that we know you were in that
house in Little Havana right before he got clipped."
    Flaco
swallowed. He tried to settle himself down. "Chicho was an okay dude. A
street guy, you know what I'm sayin'? Never took no shit, not from
anyone."
    Silvana
moved between Flaco and Vargas, serving as a barrier from Vargas's itchy fists.
"How long did you know him?"
    "About
two, maybe three years. Somethin' like that."
    "Where
did you meet him? Tell us all about it. And about him."
    "I
was working in Yayo Dávila's crew. Makin' pickups, collections and all."
    Silvana
stared at this kid in disbelief. How the fuck this punk could ever make any
kind of collection, with its unspoken threat of force, was completely beyond
her imagination. Especially in a crew as tough as that of Yayo Dávila.
"And …?"
    Flaco
continued. "And one night, I hadda get rough with this guy, a guy who
owned this bar over in Miami Springs. His envelope was light, you know what I'm
sayin?"
    " You got rough with him?" Silvana
asked with a not-quite-there shake of the head.
    Flaco
picked up on it. "Yeah. I know it don't look like it, me bein' so skinny
and everything. But I can take care of myself pretty good, you know what I'm
sayin'? I mean, y'all are cops, so I'm goin' along here, but anybody else that
gets in my face like you just did? They better guard their grill."
    "Okay,"
Silvana said. "You got rough with him."
    "Yeah.
I shove the guy around a little bit and he eventually comes up with the rest of
the jack he was holdin' back. I turn to leave the joint, and there's Chicho
sittin' there on a barstool. He's like, 'Yo, dog. What's your name?' and I'm
like, 'Who wants ta know?' So we start talkin' and shootin' the shit, you know
what I'm sayin'? He buys me a drink and then I buy him one. Next thing you
know, we're friends."
    "Awright,
so you're BFFs. We want to know about Chicho. He ever do anything with
Yayo?" Yayo Dávila and his brother Camilito were feared all over Little
Havana and Hialeah as top crew chiefs and enforcers for Maxie Méndez.
    "No,
never. Yayo's got all his slots filled. Chicho was too small-time for anything
like that."
    Silvana
allowed herself an inside chuckle. This fucking mook calling someone "too
small-time", as though cloaking himself in the highest echelons of
major-league crime.
    She
said, "Well, what was Chicho into, then?"
    "Oh,
man, he was goin' around stealin' radios out of cars and shit. Mickey Mouse
shit, you know what I'm sayin'? He did that