“I found out he is exactly what he seems to be,” she began. “He was in witness protection, got tired of it and walked away. They had him set up outside of Chicago working in a mortgage company and he apparently got bored. They don’t force people to stay in protection.”
“Why was he in witness protection?”
“That I cannot get to. I can’t even find out what his real name is, where he comes from or if he was a mob guy, a witness or what.”
Chenault is the chair of the city council’s Public Safety and Emergency Management standing committee. In that capacity, she can always think up a good excuse to run a background check on people. She is supposed to have some reasonable grounds to do so, but a good lie is a good lie.
Carvelli’s drug dealer phone rang and he looked at the ID. It was his nominal boss, Jimmy Jones. Tony was in the Lincoln with Wendy a block away from Gretchen’s condo.
“Yeah,” he answered the phone saying.
“Hey, dude…”
“Don’t call me dude,” Carvelli gruffly told him. “I hate that. Do I look like some asshole who spends two weeks playing cowboy on a vacation?”
“Huh? What you talkin’ bout?”
Carvelli smiled at the response before asking, “What is it, Jimmy?”
“Listen, I got someone here who wants to meet you. You’ll want to meet him. Now.”
“I’ll be there in ten to fifteen minutes,” Carvelli replied.
Carvelli parked the Lincoln in his usual spot across the street from Jimmy’s. He had dropped off Wendy at Gretchen’s so they could make the rounds of upper- class opioid junkies while Carvelli went to Jimmy’s apartment.
Carvelli crossed Dupont and found the thug with the chrome .45 waiting for him. He was standing in the building’s foyer with the same tough guy look and the chrome .45 was again tucked down the front of his pants.
“Hand it over,” the man said referring to Carvelli’s gun.
“Ain’t gonna happen,” Carvelli replied.
“I said-” the guard started to say.
Before he could finish, Carvelli had the barrel of the .45 pressed against the man’s forehead and his free hand on the man’s throat. Upon seeing this through the window in the door, the two guards out front came in.
“Out,” Carvelli ordered them without turning his head.
“It’s okay,” the man with the gun in his face nervously told them.
Still pressing the gun against his forehead, Carvelli said, “He’s right, fellas. We’re all friends here. What’s your name?” he asked the frightened guard.
“Duwayne,” the man nervously replied.
“Duwayne says it’s okay. You guys can go back outside.
“Duwayne, huh?” Carvelli said when the door closed. “I like that name. What do you say, Duwayne? Let’s go upstairs and have a chat. We’ll all be friends.”
“Sure, uh huh, okay,” he gulped.
Carvelli followed Duwayne up the stairs and into the apartment. They walked through the entry into the living room. Jimmy was again sitting behind the table. In a comfortable armchair was a man Carvelli did not recognize.
Jimmy looked at his man, shook his head and asked, “Now what?”
“The man just won’t listen!” Duwayne said almost pleading.
When he said this, Carvelli noticed a slight smile come and go on the man in the chair.
At that moment Carvelli learned two things. The man in the chair was not the man, but he was close to him. And, he was serious and not to be trifled with.
“Okay, go,” Jimmy told him. “Give him his gun back.”
“What’s the magic word?” Carvelli said.
“What?”
“Give him his gun back, please.”
Jimmy looked at Carvelli, sighed and said, “Give him his gun back, please.”
“In a while,” Carvelli said.
Duwayne turned and left as Carvelli stepped over to the man in the chair.
“Tony Russo,” he said extending his hand.
The man took it and said, “Lewis.”
“Nice to meet you, Lewis,” Carvelli said.
“Why you always gotta bring the drama with you?” Jimmy asked.
“I told you, I don’t like people threatening me with guns,” Carvelli replied.
Carvelli took a seat on the couch and in less than ten seconds, Duwayne’s gun was emptied and dismantled. When he finished, he tossed the pieces on the couch to his left.
“Jimmy here tells me you want to become a bigger player. Why should we do business with you?” Lewis asked.
“I have,” Carvelli said, pausing as if thinking about the question, “connections in significant geographic locations. They are already in the business, but the way they get supplies is a pain-in-the-ass. And it’s under too much scrutiny. Running around with junkies to doctors, clinics and drugstores is no way to do business and get supplies. You seem to have a steady stream of supplies coming in. Steady and reliable.”
“How do you know we’re not getting our supplies the same way?” Lewis asked.
Carvelli smiled, looked at Jimmy, looked back to Lewis, pointed a thumb at Jimmy and said, “Because you seem smart enough to know better than to send Jimmy here into a clinic or a drug store. He’d be lucky to come out with his dick still attached.”
Lewis laughed until there were tears in his eyes. He leaned forward with a fist extended to Carvelli for a fist bump, then said, “That’s a good point.”
Jimmy was sitting with his eyes glaring at Carvelli. Lewis saw this, then spoke.
“Relax, Jimmy. He meant no disrespect. There are some things you are good at and some things you’re not. It’s true for everyone.
“I tell you what,” Lewis continued looking at Carvelli, “let me check with the man about a meeting. I’ll get back to you.”
Thirty-Nine
Carvelli heard his personal phone ring in the console of the Lincoln. He took it out, checked the ID and answered it.
“Hey, Paxton, what’s up? Why are you calling me on your personal phone?”
“I just left the office,” Paxton O’Rourke replied. “We have a problem.”
“And that is? Hey, watch it, asshole!” Carvelli yelled at a driver who cut in front of him, turned on his blinker and hit his breaks to make a quick left turn.
“You better not be talking to me like that,” Paxton said.
“No, no, some jerk just cut in front of me,” Carvelli explained.
“Really? You guys brag all the time about how nice people in Minnesota are,” Paxton replied.
“Yeah, right. That must be why I carry a gun,” Carvelli said.
“Maddy told me you carry a gun because of all the people you’ve pissed off over the years.”
“It’s a talent, what can I tell you?” Carvelli laughed. “Now, what is our problem?”
“I just left a meeting with my boss, the US Attorney, the local FBI SAIC and local DEA chief,” Paxton said. “They think there’s a link between a Chicago drug dealer and you guys. They’re thinking about expanding the task force to include the Twin Cities.”
“Which would mean they’re gonna flood us with another fifty Feebs and Drug Cop Cowboys,” Carvelli said. “You have to stop them, Paxton. I’m almost inside. I met with a guy I think is number two on the food chain. If we get another fifty Feds up here stomping around, they’ll blow the whole deal. You gotta stop this, Paxton.”
“How long before you get inside?”
“Not sure. Could be tomorrow, could be a couple of weeks.”
“Should I go to my boss and tell him?”
“Can you do that without you getting––oh shit!” Carvelli yelled, then slammed on his breaks. There was silence for a few seconds while Paxton asked “What?” several times.
“Ah, nothing,” Carvelli said.
“You almost hit somebody, didn’t you?” Paxton asked. Carvelli did not answer right away and she continued, “Well? Did you?”
“Um, yeah, but i
t’s okay.”
“I hope you get a ticket for distracted driving,” Paxton said.
“You’re the one distracting me. I keep seeing you in lacy lingerie and…”
“That does it!”
“I’m kidding. Will you get in trouble if you tell your boss what’s going on and you haven’t told him?”
“I don’t know. I could probably do it and make it look like I’m not involved,” she replied.
“Then maybe you better. Can he be trusted? We’ve got a leak here and it could get some people killed. Like me.”
“Yes, he’s been a cop and a local prosecutor. He’s not a politician.”
“Then tell him. We can’t have this. Maybe later, but not right now. There are some things going on that I can’t tell you about. I gave my word.”
“Okay. I’ll do that. What are you guys up to, otherwise? I should come up there for a couple of days.”
“You should,” Carvelli said. “Tonight, Maddy and I are running a sting on someone. He’s got information for Marc’s trial.”
“Oh man. I am so jealous. I’d love to come up and watch this, but I can’t tonight.”
“Go talk to your boss and stay in touch,” Carvelli said.
“I will,” she replied. “Oh, and uh, you want some photos of me in lingerie?” she seductively added, then started laughing. “Best I can do is my army green boxers and T-shirt.”
“I’ll take ‘em,” Carvelli laughed.
“He’s heading for the Warehouse District,” Maddy said into her phone.
“You sure?” Carvelli asked.
“Either that or Whole Foods,” Maddy said. “We’re stopped on Washington and Third. I can see a Whole Foods from here. Call me crazy, but I don’t think that’s where he’s headed.”
“Hey, now that you mention it, I heard somewhere that Whole Foods was expanding into the adult entertainment business,” Carvelli replied. “You may be on to something.”
“You should consider doing stand up,” Maddy said. “Nope, he went past Whole Foods.”
“Okay, I’ll get over to the Marriot and wait in the room. Stay in touch.”
It was after nine o’clock on a pleasant Saturday evening. The Warehouse District, also known as the North Loop, is known for its vibrant nightlife of bars and restaurants. Maddy had previously followed Philo here on several other occasions. There were a couple of gentlemen’s clubs Philo seemed to prefer in the area. Tonight, she drove by as Philo pulled into the private parking lot of Sadie’s Salon.
“Damn,” Maddy quietly said to herself as she drove by. Dressed the way she was, she wasn’t sure the parking lot attendant would let her in.
She drove up to the next corner, did a quick U-turn and back to the parking lot. As she pulled up, she unbuttoned a third button on her black silk blouse to expose her black lace bra. The attendant was a little too distracted to care what she was dressed like.
After paying the ten-dollar parking fee, she quickly found an open space. It was toward the back of the crowded lot and only three spaces from Philo’s Jag,
Before she got out of her car, she jerked her head forward. All of her hair fell forward, then she quickly jerked it all back and gave her head a shake. Maddy checked her makeup and hair. Satisfied she looked sufficiently trashy, she finished the style by pushing up and squeezing her breasts together.
“If this doesn’t get him, I’m probably getting too old,” she quietly said.
To complete the ensemble, she was wearing a black mini-skirt, black stockings, a leather jacket and six-inch heels.
The bouncer supposedly collecting the ten-dollar cover charge took one look, then opened the door for her. Maddy flashed him a smile and went in quietly saying, “Still got it.”
“This is a really bad idea. If she-”
“-finds out she’s gonna kick our butts. Yeah, I know. You’ve said it at least five times. Sorry, but I agree with Tony. Especially in this place. It’s a little sleazy, and someone needs to cover her back.”
This was a brief conversation between Dan Sorenson and Tommy Craven, two ex-cop pals of Carvelli’s. They were walking toward the entrance of Sadie’s Salon; the same door Maddy went through two minutes ago.
“Have you ever been here before?” Sorenson asked.
“Once.”
“We’ll go in and slide to the left. As soon as we find a table, we’ll look for her. She’ll probably be at the bar.”
“When she spots us, and you know she will, I’m blaming it on you and Carvelli,” Tommy said.
They paid the cover and once inside did what Sorenson suggested, they took a sharp left and found a table in a dark part of the audience.
When Maddy got inside, she walked slowly along the bar. It took barely four or five seconds to spot Philo. He was seated at the far end of the bar and one of the girls was right in front of him. Maddy made her way toward him as the girl bent over and almost slapped Philo across the face with her boobs.
This is going to be worse than I imagined, Maddy thought.
When she was five feet from him, the girl turned around, bent her knees and waved her butt at him from less than a foot away from his face. Fighting her instinct to flee, Maddy thought, Please, tell me she’s at least wearing a thong.
Philo slipped a bill into the strap of her bikini bottom. She flapped her boobs at him again, then saw Maddy take the seat next to him. When that happened, the stripper moved off.
Philo had not looked at Maddy until the girl moved off. Annoyed that some bimbo had caused her to leave, he turned and started to say, “Thanks a lot for ruining…”
“Sorry,” Maddy said. “Was she your sister?”
“Um, ah, no, ah, my what? My sister? No, what,” a flustered Philo responded. Realizing Maddy was pulling his leg, Philo laughed and took a long look at Maddy’s crossed legs.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to chase her off,” Maddy said. “Buy me a drink to make up for it.”
“Huh? Oh, sure,” Philo said. “What…”
“Vodka tonic with a lime.”
Philo turned his head to get the bartender’s attention. At that moment, Sorenson and Tommy Craven came in and tried to sneak into the crowd. When they reached their table, they looked toward the bar and saw Maddy staring right at them.
It took Maddy less than a minute to get Philo talking about his favorite subject: himself.
“Really? Wow. You’re a reporter with the Star Tribune,” Maddy said. “That must be interesting.”
Philo went off on a ten-minute soliloquy about his coverage of the protests during this past summer.
Maddy did her best to seem interested and then he got to the good part.
“I’m the guy who took the pictures of Ferguson lying dead in the street. It went nationwide. I’ll probably get a Pulitzer Prize for it.”
To help him think she was a bit of a fluff head, Maddy pretended ignorance. Philo practically puffed out his chest when he explained what a Pulitzer was.
“I have a few other photos that the prosecution and cops would love to know about,” Philo slyly told her.
“Really? Where?” Maddy asked. “I’d love to see them!” she practically squealed.
“Well, we’ll see,” Philo said trying to sound cool and mysterious.
Halfway through her second watery drink, they got down to business. Maddy told him about a room she had nearby. They quickly settled on a five hundred-dollar price which Philo thought was a bargain.
Philo was ahead of her as they walked toward the door. As they did, Maddy turned and stared once again at her two babysitters. Both Sorenson and Tommy tried to act innocently as if they didn’t notice.
The two ex-cops waited a few minutes, then hustled out to the parking lot. They were just in time to see Maddy exit the lot with Philo right behind her.
As they hurried toward Sorenson’s car, Tommy said, “We are in deep shit with her.”
“Stop it,” Sorenson said. “What is she gonna do?”
“You wan
t her mad at you? Women hold grudges forever,” Tommy said as he was opening the passenger door.
While Sorenson was starting the car, he said, “That’s a good point. Marge is still mad at me about things I did before we were married. And that wasn’t even in this century.”
“I’m gonna blame it on you and Carvelli. I’ll tell her you guys made me do it.”
Forty
Maddy slipped the room’s key card into the slot. The red light went off, the green light came on, and she opened the door. By this point, Philo was already getting a little aggressive and too close to her.
“Easy, tiger,” Maddy said as she gently pushed him back a little bit.
A light came on illuminating the bed as they walked in. There was a closet on both sides of the foyer, and before Maddy took two steps, Philo was on her with his arms around her waist.
Maddy grabbed his right hand, bent it back, twirled him around twice, pulled him into the room then flipped him onto the bed. Philo landed on his back staring up at the ceiling. Between the alcohol and her tossing him around, Philo was dizzy, the room was spinning, and he was quite confused.
He laid there for almost a minute before the room stopped spinning. Maddy was standing at the edge of the bed towering over Philo’s head waiting for him to say something.
“Wow! That was fabulous. This is gonna be the best ever!” Philo almost howled with delight.
Maddy looked down at him, smiled and said, “I hate to burst your bubble Philo, but it’s not going to be anything. I’d like you to meet someone,” she continued pointing at the dresser toward the foot of the bed.
“You do like to make an entrance, don’t you?” Carvelli said. He was leaning against the dresser silently waiting for Philo to notice him.
Philo turned his head toward the dresser, saw the man leaning on it, jumped up and off of the bed away from Maddy, stumbled and fell.
“No, not again,” he said as he staggered to his feet.
“Relax, Philo,” Tony said. He stood up straight and held his hands up palms out. “No one’s running a game on you. We just want to talk.”
Exquisite Justice Page 25