Diabla Makes an Entrance

By Karl Tutt

Karl Tutt is the author of acclaimed The Ghostcatcher trilogy featuring retired English professor T. K. Fleming. DIABLA MAKES AN ENTRANCE introduces Detective Dee Rabow, a tough female cop who can't stay too far away from murder. With her Cuban partner, Ricky, she discovers a smuggling operation and an old adversary who simply wants her dead. They weave their way through the underbelly of South Florida society and an business fronted by some characters you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. A dark series of twists and tangles lead to a conclusion that will keep you guessing throughout.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karl Tutt
• Release date: Jul 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311749734

Karl Tutt

Karl Tutt is a retired English teacher from a dropout prevention program in Florida. He is a veteran cruiser who has published several sailing articles in national publications. His two new offerings, The Children of the Wolf and The House at Hull, continue the mastery of murder and mayhem demonstrated in the Ghostcatcher series with T.K Fleming, and his female sleuth, Dee Rabow, in the Diabla series. Quick, engaging, and satisfying . . . those words describe the approach that has lured thousands of readers to the pages of his murder mysteries.

Book preview

DIABLA

MAKES

AN

ENTRANCE

by

Karl Tutt

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Karl Tutt 2014

All rights reserved without limiting the copyright reserved above. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, brands, characters, places, media and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction which might have been used without permission. The publication use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Thanks to Carolyn and Rosalee, my patient readers, and Sue, an editor who is generous with her time and attention.

DIABLA MAKES AN ENTRANCE

By

Karl Tutt

Chapter One

I’m the tough broad you’ve all heard about, but weren’t sure existed. I’m the real thing. I can assure you of that. I called myself a dancer, but my partner was always a brass pole. I didn’t have to spend much on costumes. Four inch acrylic heels and a G string was all it took. I did some part time hooking, graduated to call girl and did things I shouldn’t have done. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not apologizing. I don’t think I hurt anyone and I learned plenty on the way up and on the way down. Now I’m a cop. There are a lot of things I wish I didn’t know. Still, they come in handy when you’re on the street hoping you can just make the bad guys keep their hands in their own pockets and not shoot any innocent bystanders.

There wasn’t any kind of trouble I wasn’t in as a kid. Drugs, B and E, assault, resisting arrest. You name it. Thank God I was minor. When I turned eighteen, Dad hired a good attorney and it was all expunged. It’s a miracle Dad has any hair left on his head. He lives on his boat in Key West, does computer stuff, got a nice girl friend. I think he’s as happy as he’ll get. He stuck by me through it all, enlisted his friends, T.K, Chris, and Sunny to bail me out of a situation that had me headed for an early grave. T.K. wrote about it in DEATH OF THE MARKED. It’s still hard to believe it was me, but I still got the tattoos if I need a reminder.

I was hooking when I started my degree in criminal justice. It was almost a game at first. Hell, I was pulling five grand a night, and that was one trick. Living in a penthouse on the beach, spending money like it was water. I had regular Johns, but I also had friends. It wasn’t all bad. It sounds corny, but something was missing. I hated those bastards that sucked the life out of farm girls who came to the city with dreams of modeling, acting, somehow making it big. Too many of them ended up in crummy dives with needle marks on their arms and diseases they would never shake. They died young. They died fast. And they died dirty.

When I graduated and applied to the Police Academy, a lot of my former adversaries laughed. The boys on the beat knew me from what I will generously call my misspent youth. Hell, I’d even slept with a couple of them. But thanks to Dad, my record was clean. After calling in a few favors, I got some nice letters of reference about my sterling character and good clean work ethic. Some of the bigwigs were afraid I might know where the bodies were buried. I did, but they also knew I could keep my mouth shut. I passed with flying colors and was in uniform and on the beat making $37,000 a year to get punched, shot at, called a slut, bullied by some of my superiors and generally having a wonderfully swell time. Shit, I used to make that kind of money in a week. But now I got a reputation as a tough, fair, and honest cop. I have to admit, I kind of like it.

I worked my way up. I’m a Detective now, 2nd grade, Fort Lauderdale PD. Making a little more money. I get to wear normal clothes, even fashionable when I can afford it, and I have access to some delightful unmarked wheels that reek of cigarette smoke, vomit and donut crumbs. So what’s to complain about?

When I was stripping, my stage name was Angel. I know you’re thinking, "Oh, how original!’ But I was born Angelique, so it wasn’t much of a stretch. Now I’m Dee Rabow. It used to be Rabowski, but my grand-dad shortened it. I’ve been told my sky-blue eyes could melt an iceberg, but they can also slice you like a stiletto. When I first went to work for the department, some Hispanic yahoo referred to me rather disdainfully as La Diabla or Spanish for the female devil. It stuck, and now all of the boys simply call me Dee. Actually it suits me just fine. Being a bitch sometimes can be quite useful. Big tits and a tight ass don’t hurt either.

Chapter Two

Got a call. Asked specifically for you. No name, Ricky said. He handed me the phone.

Ricky, that is Enrique Fuenes, is my sidekick, aka partner. Most of the guys in the squad won’t work with me. I don’t know if they don’t trust me, don’t think I’m tough enough, resent my past. Shit, who cares? Ricky is my man. Tall, smart, Cuban, drop-dead gorgeous, speaks Spanish, French, Chinese, not to mention damned good English. His family got out before Batista fell in Havana. Rumor has it that his people still have plenty of real estate in Miami. Don’t know why he wanted to be a cop, but I’m too polite to ask. Fact is Ricky’s handy with a gun and a tough character in a light tussle or an old-fashioned knock-em-down fistfight. He’s the guy who inspired the phrase got your back.

I knew the voice on the other end of the line instantly. It was Angie.

I got to bother you. I need to see you as soon as possible. I got a package, she said. There was the unmistakable stench of fear oozing out of the receiver.

So when?

Can you come by the condo? I’ll have coffee ready and with a little taste of Irish in it just for you, Honey.

On my way.

I hung up the phone and headed for the garage. I checked out my unmarked Taurus and wheeled into the street. I’d known Angie for several years. In the past we were rivals of a sort. She was one of the top call girls in Miami. Xi Bo Van Diem was her real name. Vietnamese, tall, lanky, hair like black silk and a face that would have shamed the Madonna, not to mention all of the healthy accoutrements that made guys stop on the street when she strutted by. She was a gourmet cook, a published poet, a classically trained pianist, and a tasteful art collector. She