by Dale Nelson
“Oh, that’s right,” she said, with a knowing, haughty tone. “I forgot. He goes by Rusty now.”
Twenty-Four
Jack took a few casual steps forward, gravel crunching under his feet and kicking up little clouds of yellow dust around his loafers. A warm Tuscan sun beat down on him, illuminating the valley he looked across with a shade of yellow-gold that only existed here. Jack fell in love with Italy during his time in Turin, in those heady days when he and Enzo worked tirelessly, job upon job, to perfect their craft. Since then, Italy had always been special to him.
Jack’s eyes tracked across the valley to an estate atop the ridge on the other side, surrounded by cypress trees and a beautiful vineyard that rolled up and over the hill. It looked like Heaven. “That,” said the woman who stood slightly behind him “is one of the oldest vineyards in the Chianti Region. Villa Caffagio.”
“Good neighbors,” was all Jack said, but he knew exactly who they were. In fact, that was one of the reasons this property was so enticing to him, though he chose to play up his ignorance to his Italian realtor, knowing what she probably thought of bon vivant Americans. He turned to face the woman. She was in her mid-thirties, tall, and looked like a model. She wore a white blouse and red skirt that was just professional enough and hid her eyes behind large, round sunglasses. Her English was excellent, and she had a slightly British accent. Jack assumed she was the one her firm sent to negotiate with the rich foreigners buying property here. She cradled a leather portfolio in one of her arms as one would a baby.
“Well, Mr. Ryan, what do you think?” The property she’d shown him was incredible and exactly what he was looking for. The villa itself was in a state of disrepair and would need major remodeling, but it had enormous potential. The vineyard itself was equally in a state of disrepair and would need several years of solid care, luck, and grueling work before it would yield sellable fruit.
Maybe that was what he needed.
Jack got away, but his escape was far from clean.
The Sonoma County Sheriffs and EMTs arrived at Kingfisher to find a dead Serbian gangster, an injured federal agent, and the owner who was slumped against the bar. When the deputies asked what had happened, Danzig explained that she received a tip from an informant that a crime related to an ongoing investigation was to occur at the premises that evening and she arrived just in time to prevent it. She was very lean on details, telling the deputies that it was related to an active and highly sensitive investigation.
While the EMTs were attending to her wound, Danzig asked the Sonoma deputies for a field interview card, where she documented Fischer’s name, DOB, address, and statement. Then, she asked the deputies to drive him to their station, fingerprint him, photograph him, and attach them to the FI card. Coughlin exploded and endeavored to describe the depth of shit she would be in for harassing his client this way. The deputies complied, however, and took Jack to their station to do exactly as Danzig instructed. He’d need to be interviewed anyway because of the shooting, and both Jack and Coughlin knew there was nothing they could do to avoid it.
Danzig said nothing else to him, but then, she didn’t need to. She’d gotten the parting shot that she wanted. “Frank Fischer” was now in the system.
The winery kept the shooting quiet, but word eventually got out in the wildfire way of small town gossip. No one really got the story right, just that someone tried to extort Frank Fischer and it ended badly because Frank was friends with an FBI agent who just happened to be there. As Jack had told Danzig that day, people wanted a piece of something that was just a little south of shady to make them feel dangerous, and these words proved prophetic. Business at the winery surged after the shooting, particularly when it was clear that the owner, who was well-known and better liked, wasn’t implicated in anything.
Reginald and Sharpe were both in pretrial confinement. Neither of them was given bond. Their trial, which was sure to be one of the most bizarre in recent memory, would likely not get underway until well into the following year given the three-way jurisdictional fighting still happening. Jack doubted the winery would ever see the money Sharpe embezzled again, but they were enjoying a nice wave of publicity that had translated into some decent sales. They’d even named one of their 2013 releases “Extortion” to commemorate the event.
The game Jack was playing now was whether Danzig would be able to generate enough momentum inside the bureau for her to make another run at him, or more to the point, when. Jack knew he hadn’t heard the last of her, and once Reginald was in prison, he fully expected Danzig was going to use that to continue to build evidence against him. Would it be enough? He didn’t know what she had now and whether Reginald could corroborate anything useful for her.
Jack was actually putting his money on the FBI, which is why it seemed like a fine time to buy a vineyard in Italy.
“I think it’s perfect,” Jack said, turning his head slightly to look at the neglected villa that would soon be his home.
“Wonderful,” she said, her voice lilting in a way that he knew was expertly practiced. Tradecraft was tradecraft, Jack mused. “Shall we discuss the terms?”
Revitalizing this place would take the rest of his Carlton money plus most of his remaining assets. Jack found that risk oddly liberating.
“Of course,” he responded, and she led him back up the gravel path to the villa.
They were halfway to the old house when the agent paused and turned, regarding the vineyard on the property. “When we met yesterday, Mr. Ryan, you said that you were retiring here.”
“That’s right,” Jack said, unsure of where she exactly was going with this.
“It’s no business of mine, of course, but I am curious. Why a vineyard?”
Jack placed his hands inside the pockets of his white pants and turned back to the valley, showing the agent his profile. “I don’t know. I’ve spent my entire life working for someone else. I thought it would be nice to work for myself for a change, and I love wine.”
“So you intend to make wine, then?”
“Well, we’ll see. I need to figure out what shape those grapes are in first. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that many Americans such as yourself come over here with this romantic notion of making wine but don’t know the first thing about it. The Tuscan hills are dotted with empty villas purchased by businessmen who’ve let their vines go to hell. That’s what happened here.” She extended a slender arm toward the rows of distended vines. “It would be a shame if it continued.”
“Oh, I agree,” he said seriously.
“So, tell me, Mr. Ryan, do you know anything about making wine?”
Jack considered the realtor for a time. Then, a sly smile broke his lips and crawled up the side of his face. Jack pulled the phone out of his pocket and dialed.
“No,” he answered, “but I know someone who does.”
<<<<>>>>
Author’s Note
A Legitimate Businessman is based on an actual theft, which took place at the Carlton Intercontinental Hotel in Cannes on July 28th, 2013. I have attempted to replicate the details of the actual crime as closely as possible in the book. The escape of suspected members of the “Pink Panther” gang from the prison in Orbe, Switzerland, just days prior to the heist also occurred, though I condensed the timing to better fit the story.
As of this writing, the Carlton Heist remains unsolved.
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Also by Dale M. Nelson
The School of Turin - “Gentleman” Jack returns in the explosive sequel to A Legitimate Businessman. Jack wants a normal life but cannot give up his criminal past. Though he works to build a legit business as a winemaker, the infamous jewel thief can’t resist the thrill of a heist. But when his latest job goes sour, he has no choice but to make a devil’s bargain to avoid arrest. With the authorities closing in and an old friend pushing him to settle a long-forgotten score, he fears this caper could well be his last.
Proper Villains - They’re petty criminals. Very petty. Three small time hoods in over their heads and their only chance is a high risk scam that could get them all killed. They just might pull it off if…if they can stop double-crossing each other long enough to do it.
The Bad Shepherd - Los Angeles, 1981, a city about to tear itself apart over a drug-fueled gang war. Bo Fochs is an undercover detective unravelling a citywide drug ring, but can he stop this cocaine kingpin before the violence spills into the streets. Get the book readers are saying is filled with “raw energy and intensity” that “will set your pulse racing”!
Aknowledgements
Special thanks to Jonjie Lockman for your expert knowledge of the wine industry, the Napa Valley and, most importantly, the financial aspects of the business. Your suggestions were invaluable. Any factual errors are mine.
About the Author
Dale M. Nelson grew up outside of Tampa, Florida. He graduated from the University of Florida's College of Journalism and Communications and went on to serve as an officer in the United States Air Force. Following his military service, Dale worked in the defense, technology and telecommunications sectors before starting his writing career. He currently lives in Washington D.C. with his wife and daughters.
For more on Dale Nelson’s writing, visit him on the web at www.dalenelsonbooks.com