Page 111 of One Last Promise

“It’s hard to believe that he’s seriously a candidate for mayor.” Moose folded his arms and wore his sentiment on his face.

“He’s just one of many,” Flynn said. “But let’s not forget that every presidential election, there are all kinds of alternative options, not just two parties. And in the lower offices, it gets really muddy. Especially since most people assume that politicians are crooked.”

“True, but sad,” Axel said.

Flynn nodded. “Consider his list of donors. Like ‘Speak for Peace,’ a group that advocates for socialism, and ‘New Era,’ a think tank that nationally supported communist candidates.”

“That is crazy,” Tillie said. “He’s not socialist; I can guarantee that.”

“Could be he’s just trying to support what will get him elected,” Axel said.

Flynn nodded. “So you need to ask why. Why does he want to run for mayor? And I don’t believe it’s because of what he espouses on his website—to create a fairer and more equitable Miami.” She turned back to the computer. “So, again,I had to ask . . . why? What does it gain him to run for mayor? Or to sue for custody of a child he hasn’t seen for five years and seemingly doesn’t want?”

Silence.

“The answer might be this.” Flynn had opened a new tab to a news article from theMiami Herald. “It’s an article about the joint operations between the Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force—and a private anti-drug-trafficking organization that apprehended smugglers carrying ten kilos of fentanyl. Apparently, the private organization worked to help the DEA by infiltrating and conducting controlled purchases. The smugglers were arrested with enough illegally manufactured fentanyl to kill five million people.”

More silence.

“By the way, the drugs were in powder form, in mini packets of muscle powder.”

“Like the kind sold at a gym?” Tillie said.

“Yes. The article doesn’t say, but during the arrest, one of the men was killed. Here’s a picture of the smugglers.” Flynn opened up another screen and now pointed to a man on the screen. “This one look familiar?”

Moose leaned in as Tillie drew in a breath. “That’s Rigger’s brother.”

“Yes. He was the one who died.”

“So Rigger’s brother was transporting drugs,” Moose said. “And was killed by the cops.”

“Or the private organization—the article doesn’t say. But I did find this.”

She opened another tab—Moose noticed about ten more on her bar.

“About four months after the drug bust on Rigger’s brother, a Miami DEA agent was kidnapped and later found murdered. This is an article about the execution-style murder of his wife and daughter a few weeks prior to hisdisappearance.”

“When was this?” Moose asked, his voice low.

“The original bust? About three years ago.”

“That could be a coincidence,” Axel said. “But she also found another article. Show them, babe.”

She opened another tab. “This was a drive-by shooting. Occurred outside a school—a girl, seven years old, killed, her mother wounded.”

She looked over at the group. “The woman worked as a DEA agent. She was a single mom.”

“Any arrests?” Moose asked.

“Yes. He was a member of the Southern Syndicate.”

“The what?” Moose asked.

“The same organization that Richer’s brother worked for,” Flynn said.

“So Rigger is involved in organized crime,” Tillie said. “That, I can believe.”

“You think Rigger—or at least the Southern Syndicate—is targeting people who killed his brother?” Moose asked.

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