Ashes Will Fall - Prelude

Prelude



TO PUT IT simply, the weather in South Florida was somewhat unreal. During the summer months, which make up most of the year, the difference between the temperatures of night and day is only a few degrees. The smothering humidity, which does not care whether the searing tropical sun is up or not, hovers in the mid eighties. As Anthony Lazo gazed into the cloudless night, it was not the humidity causing his shirt to stain with sweat. For that, he could only thank his so called partner.

Drawing himself back to reality, he could not help from becoming further unsettled as he glanced at his watch. Damn it, they were already a half hour behind schedule. With that realization, he reached into his silver monogrammed cigarette case and plucked out the last of his hand rolled cigarettes. As he took his first drag and realized just how irritated his throat was, he was troubled that he had just smoked twenty dollars worth of Drum tobacco in thirty minutes. With every drag of harsh smoke, his resentment grew. All he knew was that if his partner Edward Richards was not already dead, he would be soon after he arrived.

For the most part, Richards was not a man that Lazo would normally care to associate with. That was attributed to Richards’ complete lack of tact and carefree ability to disrespect the wrong people. If there was something on his mind, good or bad, he had no problem letting it be known to all. It was not something that he took pride in, it was just the way he was. It was not a positive trait for someone in a business where saying the wrong thing to the wrong person resulted with a nine millimeter bullet to the back of the head. That was also what ends up happening to those who were unable to uphold their end of a deal. As difficult as it was, he tried to rid himself of the image of Deno sending him to an untimely death with one of those well placed bullets. As he took one last drag, he flipped the smoldering remains of the cigarette into the water flowing beneath the newly repaired dock behind his house.

The water, which he occasionally used as an ashtray, was one of the hundreds of canals which together formed the Fort Lauderdale Inter-coastal Waterway System. That system was one of the reasons that Fort Lauderdale was known as the yachting capital of the world. There were more yachts per capita in this city than anywhere on Earth. That was mainly do to the makeup of insanely wealthy homeowners who live along the waterway. The multi-million dollar mansions were more or less a collection of who’s who in Florida. Of course, along with the competition for who has the largest house, the residents try even harder to outdo each other on the water. With the huge sum of money being poured into massive yachts, Lazo hoped that no one would pay attention to his modest thirty-eight foot cabin cruiser. It was something that his life depended on.

The Daydreamer was a 1976 Chris Craft cabin cruiser built of mahogany. From the day that he acquired the boat, Lazo knew that he would end up spending large amounts of money into it’s refinishing, but he did not mind. After all, boats were his passion. At one point, he had ambitions of spending days out on the open water, making a living off the game fish that he caught. As a result, he redesigned the boats layout to better suit those needs.

Originally, the boat was built with a duel cabin. The rear cabin held the galley, a table with two benches that folded out into bunks, and a small bathroom. The front cabin, which was separated by a foldaway door, housed a single bunk and storage area for the captain. His reconditioning plans called for a complete update to the rear cabin, but maintained the concept. The front cabin however, was completely changed. Where there had once been molding and fancy wood treatments, he had replaced with steel sheets which lined the room. The sheets sloped from the center of the room so that fish blood and other waste could easily be sprayed down and escape through drainage slots on either side of the room. He also added an industrial cooling unit that would ensure that freshly caught fish, would remain that way.

If only it was fish that he was worrying about now. If it was, he would not have to worry about the former Miami Hurricane defensive end, Deno. He and Paul Shultz should be there in thirty minutes. Even if Richards pulled up now, there would be no time for the shipment to be unloaded and inventoried. It would be the first time in two years that he would not ensure that a shipment was intact. As hard as he tried, his mind returned to Deno and his ability to deal heavy handed when things did not go his way. It was something that he had witnessed, but thankfully had never experienced.

Lazo knew that Deno had been anxious about this shipment and made sure to let him know it. This shipment would, according to his steep increase in pay and constant pressure from Deno, be the largest shipment that he had ever handled. Not that the pay would matter if Richards never showed up.

Fuck. He thought to himself. Without a doubt, this was going to be his last job. If Richards wished to continue working for Juan Chavez, fine. He would just not take the responsibility for him any more. Things have just become too stressful. He had enough money now. There was no reason to continue putting himself through the strain. The problem was, would he be able to make a clean break, or would the break be his neck by Deno’s deadly hands? Well, he would find out soon enough.

He was pulled from his thoughts by something down the canal. At first, he was not sure what it was. Then, he realized that the motion sensor spot lights along the waterway were coming to life. About a quarter mile down, he recognized the Daydreamer as it lazily made its way down the water.

From his vantage point, he watched as Richards gracefully worked the boats controls as it nestled softly against the dock. Just as he had countless times before, Lazo quickly snatched the boats lines and secured it to the dock. As he worked, Richards continued to hold the controls in order to keep the boat steady. Once the last line was secured, he killed the engine.

“Welcome back.” Lazo greeted as Richards stretched.

Lazo was always mystified at the physical changes that Richards underwent during his week long voyages. His normal slender body was noticeably slimmer than before he left. He was sure that it was not due to lack of food, he always made sure that there were plenty of supplies on board before he disembarked. Strangely, none of the provisions remained when he returned. He could not help but wonder where everything had gone.

“You’re forty minutes late.” Lazo pointed out.

“What’s the matter Tony?” Richards responded with a sly grin. “Did you think I wasn’t coming back?” Something about the way he spoke gave him chills. He watched as Richards slipped into the cabin and tried to put his finger on what was bothering him. Something just did not feel right.

After a moment, he reemerged from the cabin with a wooden box in his arms. He noticed some Spanish writing on the side that he did not recognize as it was passed to him. “Hey mon, a gift from our Jamaican business associate.” He put the crate aside and noticed that it was filled with bottles of expensive Jamaican rum.

As he boarded the boat and made his way back to the cold storage room, he prayed that there was nothing wrong with the shipment. Given the time that he had, they would be lucky to get all of the shipment off the boat and into the garage. There would be no way to find out if there was something wrong with the shipment, and that bothered him. There were too many points along the trip where there could have been a mix up. The supplier could have shortchanged them, Richards may have given their associate in Jamaica too much product in return for the agreed upon money. Of course there was always the chance that Richards himself would take his own cut from the product. The possibilities were endless.

Inside the cold storage room, Lazo considered what he saw. There was a pile of five-foot long wooden crates with rubber lining that were labeled “Fresh Fish.” They were the same as usual. In the past however, he had never handled more than five in a single shipment. This time however, there were ten.

“Don’t just stand there.” Richards said as he picked up the end of a crate. Lazo did the same and they carried it to the garage and began stacking them. They were stacked in a way that the ends could easily be removed and the contents could be inspected. Normally, he inspected each crate prior to Deno and Shultz’s arrival. By the time they reached the eighth box, it was evident that any inspection would have to wait.

Once the final crate was in place, Richards pulled a fresh Cuban cigar from his pocket. “So,” he began as he lit the end. “When are those two bastards supposed to be here?”

“Any minute.” He answered, without looking at his watch. “And if it’s not too much for me to ask, try and behave this time.” He said. Richards ignored the request and poured himself a shot of rum to accompany the Cuban. He did not care for either man, and he had no intention to treat either differently than he had before.

Lazo was about to say more when he heard a truck back into his driveway. He immediately clicked the electronic garage door opener.

“Remember to be nice.” He said as the door went up. Richards simply grunted.

Lazo had never seen a more contrasting pair than Deno and Shultz. Deno stood at an impressive six-five, two-hundred and ninety or so pounds of mostly muscle. Though his football career did not extend passed college, it was not due to lack of ability or conditioning. An unfortunate accident during his senior year resulted in permanent damage to his left knee, causing him to walk with a considerable limp. Shultz, on the other hand, was five foot five, one-hundred thirty pounds, and looked like a weary scholar. They were complete opposites, but they each served their purpose.

“Come on in gentlemen.” Lazo invited with an extended arm. Both men returned the greeting. “Would either of you care for a drink? I have some. . .”

“Let’s just get this over with.” Shultz cut in.

“Amen.” Richards said under his breath.

“What was that?” Deno asked, coming to the defense of his associate.

“Nothing. How’s the knee?” Richards bated. Lazo immediately saw Deno blush with anger. That was exactly what Lazo hoped would not happen.

“Paul,” Lazo began as he tried his best to change the subject. “Do you want to check the shipment out before we load the truck? We haven’t had a chance to check it.” It took a moment for the attention to switch back to business.

“Anthony, you have done good by us. Let’s just load the truck and we’ll be on our way.” Shultz said, never taking his eyes from Richards.

“You sure, it’s not a problem? I set them up so we could check them quickly.” Lazo explained making his way to the crates.

“No Tony, it’s okay.” Deno said turning from Lazo. “We’re running a little late. Let’s just load up and we’ll get going.” He grabbed one side of a crate. Lazo picked up the other side and made their way to the truck.

Lazo was more than slightly confused by what Deno had said. Lazo knew full well that Deno and Shultz were not running late. In fact, they were five minutes early. There was a chance that the pickup time had changed, but he would have been informed before hand. At least he thought that he would. They had never shown any form of complacency before. Shultz had always made a point to at least give the shipment a once over. With this shipment in particular, he expected Shultz to want to check every last ounce.

Lazo and Deno worked quickly moving the crates into the back of the truck, trying their best to ignore the tension between the other two. In fact, neither noticed when Shultz had pulled a gun out and held it at his side. When the last crate was loaded, Lazo lowered the door and secured the latch. From inside the garage, they heard a metallic cough followed by a sound similar to a hand slapping water. Looking back into the garage, Lazo saw that Richards was in a heap, lying on the floor. He also saw that Shultz was replacing the automatic in his waistband. At once, Lazo knew what had happened. He turned to Deno, expecting to see a gun staring back in his face. Strangely, Deno was glaring at Shultz with a look that sent shivers down his spine.

Not being able to help himself, Lazo quickly turned around to a set of bushes that were conveniently located directly behind him. Once he was standing above them, he proceeded to vomit. Shultz walked from the garage, gave an apologetic look to Deno, and took his seat in the passenger side of the truck. Though he looked at both of them, he did not say a word.

With nothing remaining in his stomach, Lazo turned from the bushes to find that Deno was now looking at him. His face was set firm in stone. As he watched, Deno slowly reached into his pocket. Though he was not a religious man, Lazo said a prayer and tried to set things strait with whoever was listening. He just could not figure where things had gone wrong. This was not how he was supposed to die.

Much to Lazo’s surprise, when he opened his eyes, he did not see a gun in Deno’s hand. Instead, Deno handed him a handkerchief.

“We’ll be in touch, Tony.” Deno said with a tap on the shoulder. Deno then walked to the driver’s side of the truck, got in, and started it. After a moment, the truck rolled away.

Once he could no longer hear the engine, Lazo turned form the driveway to the garage. As he walked in, he pushed the button on the garage door opener and the door slowly lowered. Once it was closed, Lazo took his first glance at Richards’ body.

In all honesty, Lazo had never seen a dead body before. Well, that was not exactly true. When his father died many years ago, he had seen his body in the casket during the funeral. This however, was much different. With his father, the body had looked so lifelike. If it was not for the casket, he might have been confused for sleeping. Simply put, he looked peaceful.

This case was much different. Aside from the face practically being ripped off, there was so much blood. Lazo had never seen anything like it before. Once he watched a butcher kill, skin, and slice up a pig. Even then, he could not remember there being so much blood. The body was also much different. It seamed to be a twisted mess. It almost looked as though someone had folded him up. A human body should never look like this.

“Damn it.” Lazo murmured. With all that the two of them had accomplished, it was a shame that things ended this way. Strangely, he was not upset. In fact, he was angry. Angry that Richards had not listened to him. He was angry that an associate that he was used to working with was shot like some kind of animal. Most importantly, he was angry that he had to do something with the body. He had never thought about disposing of a dead body before. Now, he wished that he had.



AS THE TWO rode in silence, Deno could not believe what had just happened. He could not believe that Shultz had the balls enough to go through with taking a life. More importantly, Deno was livid because he had specifically told him not to do anything. If that was not bad enough, he could not believe that they had simply left Lazo with the task for disposing of the body. Lazo was a good man as far as he was concerned, and he should have no part in what went down between Shultz and Richards. The problems between the two were something of a private nature, not business. Even though a majority of their business was handled in a private manner, personal feelings were rarely mixed with business.

In a way, he could not blame Shultz for wanting to kill Richards. Truth be told, he had been close a few times. The problem was Richards played a major role in Chavez’s organization. Taking him out would require an okay from Chavez himself. Sure, if some punk was giving him trouble, he would be able to waste them with no problem. At the same time, he had better have a good explanation for his boss. He did not have a good enough reason for his boss tonight. The thought angered him even more.

Attempting to distract himself, he concentrated on driving, ensuring to remain under the posted speed limit, and followed all driving laws. For a while, the sequence of checking the mirrors, closely monitoring his speed, and attempting not to think, worked.

“Maybe we should have helped Tony.” Shultz said as an afterthought.

“I would have if you weren’t in the truck.” Deno explained. So much for not thinking.

“We’re going to have to tell the boss about this.” Shultz said after a minute of silence.

“What? Tell him that you fucked with his operation cuz’ the guy was an asshole? Go ahead.” Deno said.

Shultz removed his cell phone and dialed a number.

“It’s Paul. We had a small problem. . . they were five kilos short. . . we took care of it. . . yeah.” At least that was taken care of.



THOUGH HE WOULD have preferred to stay in a secluded cabin somewhere along the Potomac while he was in Washington, George Mitchell accepted the comforts of the hotel that his staff had picked out. The Secret Service had insisted, for security reasons that a cabin was out of the question. The hotel, being far easier to secure, and having his Chief of Staff Paul Jacobs explain that it would be a good idea to have his staff near by in case he, or more likely they, needed him, became his temporary home.

It was not that the hotel was shabby; in fact, it was the opposite. Being the Republican candidate for President of the United States, the hotel staff was beside themselves attending to his every need. Not that he needed much; a sandwich here, a coke there, extra pillows for the bed, and coffee. Those sorts of things seamed trivial to him, yet there was protocol. He, of course, had nothing to do with that, Jacob Goodall; his personal assistant took care of everything. All he had to do was what he was good at. Give speeches, shake every hand in the country, as sometimes it seamed, and smile.

With the general election just a month away, and the election all but locked up, Mitchell was on cruise control. With Jacobs in charge of strategy, he could not loose. It also didn’t hurt that his opponent had to systematically deal with scandal after scandal, thanks to one of his domestic policy advisors, Jason Haddon. Mitchell was not sure who his connections were, but Haddon was always in the know. How he obtained inside information on his opponents campaign, he never asked, it did not matter. Haddon in turn, was the only staff member that Mitchell trusted with shady assignments. This last month of campaigning was already set up, a fact that made Mitchell feel very confident. According to all the poles; Gallop, USA Today, Newsweek, and their internals, he was slated to win the election by close to fifty electoral votes. Not a landslide, but a decisive victory all the same. With the next thirty days, Mitchell and his running mate, Fredric Grant the former Director of the Central Intelligence agency would skip across the nation, stumping in those states where the polling data was within the margin of error in an attempt to further tip the scales. There was still a chance that he could win in those states as well adding more than fifty electoral votes up for grabs.

There was a lot to take into consideration that had to take place in deciding which states they would visit. There was still plenty of money in the war chest, but you did not win elections by simply pouring money into every district where they were in play. You had to make a plan based on all of the information on hand. Who was more popular in the district, Mitchell or Grant? Were the voters wavering on content or character? Where could they get by with just an add buy? And finally, what would they be able to tell the uncertain voters that would court their vote? Jacob and his think tank had come up with a great plan.

After careful consideration, Jacob came up with a thirteen state plan. There were six states; Arkansas, Missouri, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, and Nevada, whose voters were wavering due to content; mainly Mitchell’s lack of military experience. They were going to counter the uncertainty with a visit from Grant. He would give some version of his stump speech, placing emphasis on his experience. Mitchell would make visits to seven; Virginia, Pennsylvania, Indiana, Ohio, California, Texas then Georgia. With the rest of the campaign money, they would have huge media buys in four other states. That however, was just the beginning.

Though most of the planning took place at lower levels always with Jacobs input some of the decisions were left up to Mitchell. The first aspect was how to handle the first leg of the campaigning, especially Virginia. Though he had his doubts, Jacobs convinced him that the effort was not pointless. To help him out, Mitchell obtained the help of the state’s most popular congressperson, Representative Julie Grant.

Politically speaking, Julie Grant was the first term Congresswoman from Virginia who stood to lose her seat when he is victorious in the upcoming election. Her husband after all, was Fredrick Grant. Meetings between Mitchell and Grant were not all that common. It was agreed upon early in the campaign that Grant would be the unofficial congressional representative from their campaign, making arguments and voting along the way that was decided in those meetings. Most of the meetings were handled by Jacobs. For this meeting, Mitchell wanted some privacy.

Quite a bit of planning was needed to make sure that the only two available for this meeting would be he and Grant. At this point in the campaign, it was not uncommon for assistants and staff members to be around him seemingly twenty-four hours a day. That was not counting the Secret Service. There was no way to get rid of them. Luckily, they were sworn to secrecy. It also did not hurt that he treated his agents well. It often made him wonder about his staff, when he could trust strangers more than them. With that in mind, planning was needed.

When it came to his staff, Mitchell relied chiefly on Jacob. When something needed to happen, he was the one that took care of it. He was also the most prevalent staff member. With him, there was always something to be done, which resulted in the pair spending much of their time together. Mitchell anticipated a difficult time convincing Jacob that he was capable of handling the meeting alone. Luckily Jacob had informed him that he would be attending a fund raiser in his home state of Nebraska. Before he left, he was sure to assign the rest of the staff to prepare for the month ahead. He was also sure to suggest to Mitchell that he get some rest tonight, the next month was going to be tough.

When he requested tonight’s meeting with Grant, he had told her that it was about strategy in defending himself from his opponents recent attack adds. His explanation was weak, and a poor reason, but it would work. He even had Brian Garner, his Communications Director type up a few notes for him before he left for campaign headquarters to work on speeches. He could not have cared less about the reason he came up with, he just wanted an excuse to be alone with her.

Settling into his overstuffed sofa with a glass of his favorite merlot, he thought of Grant. For a little over a year now, he had been fighting the temptation to seduce the flawless forty-eight year old. She remained ageless by attending cycling and aerobic classes on a daily basis. After seeing her in several skintight cocktail dresses during campaign fundraisers, it was evident that the classes were working. She could easily pass for at least ten years younger. With looks like that, it was only a matter of time before his efforts to control himself were going to fail. Then, once he turned the romance on, it was only a matter of time before she was putty in his hands.

The clicking of her heels announced her arrival as she walked through the door. Mitchell grinned at the fact that she had not even bothered to knock before she came in. Then again, he had warned the secret service that she would be coming, and she too knew they would be alone. Knowing that, she made sure to dress comfortably.

“Julie.” Mitchell said as she closed the door. She did not answer, nor did she move. Mitchell noticed that she was wearing a long, warm looking over coat to accent her black stiletto heels. He stood and slowly stalked towards her. Once he was close enough, he handed her a glass of merlot.

She sipped the smooth wine, and brushed by. Mitchell suddenly felt very anxious. Though she was there, he could not be certain that she had picked up on his subtle hints. His uncertainty struck him as very awkward. No woman had ever made him doubt himself. It was not something that he had ever experienced. He shook his head and tried to calm himself down.

“May I take your coat, Julie?” He offered, with his arm extended. Indeed, he had never felt this way in front of a woman. His entire body longed for her. Everything about the woman was attractive, from her body to her mind. There was nothing about her that he did not want.

From where she was standing, she knew that he could not see her face, and she was glad. She was pleasantly surprised that the offer to take her coat had made her blush. Forty-eight years old and a man could still make her blush. She could hardly believe it. It had been nearly ten years from the last time she could recall blushing.

The remnants of the hundred dollar a glass merlot went down as smooth as did the fist sip. Gracefully, she placed the glass on the fireplace mantle. With her opposite hand, she unfastened her coat. Then, with a deep breath, she allowed her coat to slip off her shoulders.

Mitchell watched as the coat fell off to the floor. He could not have been more surprised and pleased with what he saw. It was not at all what he was expecting. He had always known that she had an amazing body, but now that he saw it in its entirety, he was paralyzed by its perfection.

“Do you like what you see?” She asked as she turned to face him. She allowed him to admire her naked body. As he stood there and marveled at what he saw, he knew full well that his answer would not disappoint her.