Smugglers 4 - South Beach Heat Read Online Free PDF Page A

Mercedes’ apartment after kissing her in the doorway. Glenn watched Bill walk very quietly back to Cynthia’s boat.
    “Why, that asshole!” Glenn thought to himself. “He must have waited for Cynthia to get drunk and pass out or something. I wonder how long he has been seeing Mercedes. I wonder if he was seeing her while he was living with Nikki? What an asshole!” No wonder the marina is in bad shape financially, what with the coke, whores, and Bill not working. Glenn was surprised it lasted as long as it had.
    Glenn’s thoughts returned to the night’s events and the beer can on the top of the PVC pipe. Only the locals knew what that meant. He remembered when it was a white glove with the middle finger extended in the air, a sign meant for the DEA. The edge of the canal was about six inches deep, and you could run aground, but right up the middle it is two and a half feet deep. Again, only locals knew this. The kids used to call the DEA the “sleeping policemen,” because once you hit that marker at one hundred mph and turned, no matter how fast they were or what kind of boat they had, the DEA ended up aground, trying to short cut you like a speed bump in a street, hence the “sleeping policemen.”
    The DEA actually hired captains who had grown up in the area to run the go-fast boats to catch the smugglers who were the brothers and cousins of the men making the trips. Within a two month period all the DEA go-fast boats had the bottoms torn out of them by the captains, and all the boats sat in the yard until they could be hauled to Miami to be fixed. They were so stupid! If you didn’t grow up here and have a lot of relatives who lived here, you had no business stopping even to ask directions. The smuggling business had started back in the gangster days with Grandpa and Grandma in the rum business. Entire families had grown up in the smuggling trade. None of them ever talked to strangers, because they never knew who might be with the law, and the end result could be a jail sentence or even worse, death.
    Glenn sat on the balcony and thought more about the day, but was so high from the excitement that he knew there was no point in trying to sleep. So he turned on the TV, and there they were. Hundreds of cops and reporters swarmed around the DEA go-fast boat, which was half out of the water and half sunk. They were talking about how many holes had been shot into the boat, over one hundred, and both engines were full of holes. He heard them say something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The DEA pilot was dead, and the gunner was in the hospital with two holes in him. Maybe he wouldn’t make it.
    ‘Oh, shit!’ he thought and called Jim. “Jim, turn on the TV! Put on the local channel, now!”
    “It’s already on,” Jim said.
    “I’ll see you within the hour,” Glenn replied.
    Glenn made plans, talking to himself as he outlined his next steps. “First I’ve got to dump the bushmaster and all the clips and ammo, make sure the boat is cleaned through and through; the engines blankets, suits, and hats must go, too. They’ll be looking for a go-fast everywhere, so I’ll take the jeep.”
    It was 7:30 in the morning, so he went to his boat to break down the bushmaster. The boat had a bolster on each side in the v-berth that hid the guns. He took down the bushmaster, clips, blankets, shirts and hats, put them all in a dive bag, and stowed it in the back of the Jeep. Then he took off for Jim’s place.
    When Glenn arrived, Jim was freaking out and packing to leave.
    “Are you crazy? They’ll be looking for anything unusual like guys leaving all of a sudden. Quit acting like a run over dog and calm down. You have no go-fast boat. Take your fishing boat out now to the Ditch and dump all of your stuff.” Glenn said, reminding Jim that the Ditch was over 6,000 feet deep. “Okay, okay! Calm down! Jim, we’ll get through this. No more yeyo or drinking ‘til this blows over. Remember,