Page 34 of Return of the Spider
“They didn’t used to be, but lately their leader, Patrice Prince, has gotten bolder and more ruthless. Now I think he or his captains could do something this violent.”
Prince, she said, was the son and grandson of members of the notorious Tonton Macoute, the brutal death squad feared by generations of Haitians. He was orphaned at fourteen and had come to the United States as a refugee when he was sixteen.
He soon joined La Main Cachée—the Hidden Hand—an organized-crime group in Miami. He’d been investigated and jailed briefly twice, suspected of involvement in several killings during a gang war there, but he was never convicted.
“The heat got too much, so about six years ago Prince convinced his LMC brothers to let him come north and set up a second operation.”
“So the Fifty-One refers to the District of Columbia, the so-called fifty-first state.”
“And the surrounding counties in Maryland and Virginia.” When Prince first came north, she said, he had used proxies instead of appearing as the front man in the emerging gang. He functioned behind the scenes, building a growing network of disgruntled youth, his organization’s hands reaching into narcotics, armed robbery, illegal gambling, and human trafficking.
“But about eighteen months ago,” Donovan said, “the Red Wolves started feeling like their turf was being stepped on, and it got ugly from there. Los Lobos killed the two proxy front men of LMC Fifty-One about nine months ago, and Prince had no choice but to step out. Yeah, I could see Prince ordering this to make a statement.”
“Any idea where we can find Mr. Prince?”
Donovan chewed at the inside of her lip before meeting myeyes. “Look, I know who you are, Detective Cross, and I have no grudge against you. I think they were right to bring someone like you onto major cases like this.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Officer Donovan. I appreciate that.”
“But at the same time, I’ve been undercover almost fourteen months. I do know where Prince is, but if I tell you, suspicion will fall on a specific circle of people as the leak.”
“Including you?”
She shrugged. “I’d be considered on the perimeter of it, but Prince is not stupid.”
“I understand your situation, but this is a homicide investigation.”
Donovan held up her hands. “I get it. Tell you what—Prince moves around a lot. The second I have a line on him out in a public place, which happens often enough, I’ll notify you.”
“What about Los Lobos?”
“I’ll give you everything I know,” she said.
Donovan told me that she believed the leader of the Red Wolves—behind the scenes, anyway—was Guillermo Costa, a forty-something ex-con who owned a body shop in Bowie, Maryland.
“Costa had trouble as a juvie, involvement in the precursor gang to Los Lobos, then he turned his life around for quite a while,” the undercover officer said. “Became a Marine. Made recon, then got court-martialed for stealing and selling weapons. Did four years in Leavenworth. Came out, joined Los Lobos, and got arrested for grand theft auto. Did another three years hard time but learned auto-body repair, a skill he used to start his business.
“Speaking of, it’s unclear where the money came from to buy the place,” she went on. “I’ll give you the address.”
I handed her my notepad. “How does it work? He comes into the city to run the gang?”
The officer shook her head as she wrote. “Costa never leaves Bowie, from what I understand. The Red Wolves go to him. They talk in secret and leave.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Prince studies him, has him watched. Word gets around.”
“In French?”
“Haitian Creole. My grandmother was from Haiti. She raised me bilingual.”
“You’re one surprise after another.”
She grinned and handed me back my notebook. “Thank you. Any help you need, you can page me at the number I wrote under Costa’s address. I’ll try to get back to you within the hour.”
Donovan got up and turned to leave. I called after her, “Officer?”
“Detective?” she said, looking back.
