MacJames whispered, “I’m not leaving you Peter… I’m in...” A guilty tear ran down her face, touching Mitchelli’s cheek. She could not remember the last time she was needed by a man. The FBI agents knew MacJames as a taskmaster; her professional façade was shattered as she lovingly supported and hugged Mitchelli. Embarrassed in front of her subordinates, she buried her face in his shoulder, hiding her tears.
“Your eyes are beautiful,” he whispered.
“So you told me.”
“I’m sorry to put you through this, just give me a minute, one minute.”
“This is silly, I’ve fallen for you…I may even…” she could not say what she thought.
He whispered, “Love me? Well, if you love me, why the hell were you walking so damn fast?” He touched her tears as they rolled down her cheeks. “Why are you crying?” The office was silent; the receptionist along with the other agents could not help but to stare.
MacJames ignored the question. “Peter, let’s get out of this office, I’m taking you home.”
Just then, Freed walked out of his office at the end of the corridor. He watched as MacJames propped Mitchelli up. He quickly walked to their side. He put his arm around Mitchelli’s back and helped MacJames hold him up.
“Peter, can you walk?” Freed asked. “If Coarseni has to carry you; my God, we’ll never hear the end of it.” Mitchelli smiled.
“I’m good, I can walk.” He held firmly onto MacJames’s hand. The two government agents held him up as they walked him to the conference room.
A hush had fallen over the office. The agents were stunned; what they had seen gave validity to the stories--Mitchelli had been shot, the Marauder was injured, he was struggling to walk. MacJames and Freed had dropped their professional guard for the entire FBI office to see. MacJames had cried on the mystery man’s shoulder. The stone cold super career G-Man, Agent in Charge of the Buffalo office, Freed, had rushed to help his outlaw shooter.
Tid bits of Freed’s grain elevator report had been divulged within the FBI office. The report detailed Mitchelli’s actions at the grain elevator, how he had saved Freed and Buckala’s life and recovered the largest quantity of drugs in the region’s history.
Freed and MacJames helped Mitchelli into a conference room chair. Freed left to get Mitchelli a bottle of water from the commissary. The couple was alone.
“I think you should go back to the hospital,” she said softly. “You need time to heal. Most agents would take six months off after a shooting, regardless of injury or not.”
Mitchelli sighed. “Angela, you think I’m an agent? You had better tell Stuart; so much for his civilian operative. Freed will throw a fit, he’ll never believe I’m a professional agent. Remember he didn’t even want me to carry a gun. We need to be alone for awhile.”
“Peter, the elevator ride must have shaken something lose in you. If I knew you were going to open up like this in my office, I would’ve scheduled a conference room so we could talk.” She couldn’t hide her sarcasm. “Maybe it’s the office environment that makes you want to let your inner feelings out. We’ve been alone all morning. I would have loved a truthful conversation, rather than our verbal sparring charade.”
“Who can I talk to about what I’m involved in other than you? I’m no expert in relationships; go easy on me, I’m trying.”
“What about Stazi and the other women?”
Just then, Freed entered the conference room placing several bottles of water in front of Mitchelli. MacJames and Mitchelli exchanged a quick look and ended their conversation.
“Bob,” Mitchelli said, “before the others arrive, I need your commitment that you’ll protect my children if they send hit men after them.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little presumptuous?” Freed asked. “What makes you think they’ll come after your children? They don’t even know who any of us are. We don’t even know who they are.”
MacJames was annoyed with Freed for questioning Mitchelli’s request. He had saved Freed’s life, possibly his career, and Freed was battering, demeaning Mitchelli’s request. She glared at him. “Bob, I can contact Secretary Stuart if you don’t think the Buffalo FBI office can protect the Mitchelli children. I’m sure he’ll find a federal agency, possible the Secret Service; they have an office in town.”
Freed replied, “Angela, we’re all a little emotional, even myself. You know as well as I do the paperwork involved in protecting his children, along with the man hours and cost.”
MacJames scoffed at his reply. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll have my staff complete the paperwork; the Secretary will make sure no one questions the cost, we can call him now.” She began to pull her phone out of her purse.
Freed suddenly recanted. “Wait a minute, Angela!”
“Angela, I already spoke to him,” Mitchelli said.
Freed and MacJames were stunned as they stared at Mitchelli.
Freed asked, “When the hell did you speak to Secretary Stuart?”
“He called me last night on the cell phone you gave me,” Mitchelli replied. “He wanted to make sure I was all right. He asked me if I needed anything. It was embarrassing--Kaitlin answered my phone and interrogated him before she would give me the phone. I told him my concerns and that I would discuss it with you today. He assured me that you would not have any issues with protecting my family. He told me you should contact his assistant Molly if you have any issue. Molly will get ahold of him immediately; he said something about meeting with the President in the morning. Angela, his cell number is in my phone--he gave it to me last night.” Mitchelli quickly drew his phone from his sport-coat pocket.
Freed shook his head in disbelief. “It took me six months to get his cell number, and I’ve never even spoken to his assistant Molly. Angela, when did he get another assistant?”
“Bob, let’s not get sidetracked.” Mitchelli did it again, seizing control of the meeting, as he had the investigation. “They’ll find me; there is too much money involved. Someone is going to have to suffer for that financial loss. They’re embarrassed, they have to make an example so others will think twice before crossing them.” Mitchelli looked at MacJames, he couldn’t help but stare at her green eyes. “Ok, I know I’m a novice, I’m a little numb from my injuries and pain pills, but the mental concern over my children and my business are beating the hell out of me. You asked for my help; I would think that I’ve exceeded your expectations. Do you want me to beg, Bob? I’ll cover the cost—please just protect my kids. I need to finish this case, but I can’t do it without your insurances that you’ll keep my family safe.”
“I don’t want to insult your faith,” Freed said. “However, you may be paranoid because your priest, Father Oreille, thinks you’re in a state of grace. Did you tell Secretary Stuart about stopping to see your priest for confession, did that topic come up in your little phone chat?” Freed smiled and tilted his head.
Mitchelli’s eyes winced his voice deepened, “Bob, believe me I’m not afraid to admit my limitations. I’m not a protector, I’m a roughneck builder, sometimes contractors have to demolish and destroy something before they build anew.”
Freed interrupted him, “You’re a destroyer alright.”
Mitchelli continued, “Protecting someone takes someone with skillful finesse a professional like you, not a roughneck bully like me. If they attack my family, I’ll go after the attacker, and not stay close to my kids to protect them. I need to believe you’ll keep my family safe. They need professionals. My first day on the job, you insisted you were the professional, not me.”
Freed shook his head. “You are one hell of a negotiator, and you’re full of it. You were skillful enough to throw a man off your back and save our lives. You kept me from rambling like a scared rookie, sticking your bloody hand in my mouth to shut me up. Don’t tell me you don’t have finesse, Mitchelli. I watched you shoot two men, reload, and pick off two more like an action movie hero.” Freed looked at MacJames and shook his hea
d. “Angela, did you ever imagine this would happen? Roughneck, did you look at the autopsy report? They couldn’t find your first shot--you know the shot in the thug’s head that had the knife to my throat. Remember he was going to decapitate me.” Freed was not wearing a tie and he pulled his shirt open to show his scar. “His top front tooth had a small, almost unnoticeable chip in the bottom, and his lips had blisters on them from burns. Angel at night, from twenty feet, our roughneck Peter here made the perfect head shot between the lips and teeth of the dirt bag, the bullet passing through his mouth and smashing into his brain stem, instantly paralyzing him. Baltimore sent a photographer to take pictures; the instructors want to show them at the Bureau academy. Of course all details of the operation, including our roughneck are will be kept classified. You’re a roughneck, no finesse. Did you get that from a movie? Peter, your follow up shots were just as precise; no misses, tight groups, center mass, not to mention the shoulder and hip shot you made on the perpetrator you chose to live. Peter please dare to tell us why you spared his life.”
MacJames was shocked. She remembered what Buckala had told Freed and her the first time they had met, Then we saw him shoot, he shoots like an obsessed son of a bitch. He’s not fast, but he’s steady, boom, boom, boom right on target, his reloads like he practices in his sleep. We thought he was connected…Mafia…He looks like those wise guys on TV…Cool as a jewel. Her comment to Mitchelli that morning had been on track. No one was sure what Peter Mitchelli was: developer, contractor, or mafia hit man?
Freed relented, “Ok, Peter the roughneck, I’ve witnessed firsthand and via video in Baltimore you’re a destroyer that’s probably the first thing we’ve agreed on, I hope it’s not the last. The FBI will have a plan to keep your children safe, I promise you, if that means anything to you.” Freed’s voice nervously cracked with emotion as he made his promise and extended his hand, which Mitchelli shook. “But don’t give me that load of bullshit that you don’t have any finesse.”
MacJames took hold of herself, and shed her awe of Mitchelli. “Ok, Peter, we need to get you home. Better yet, probably to the hospital.”
Mitchelli looked at MacJames he reached across the table and grabbed her hand. Buckala entered the room with Moss and Coarseni. They ignored Freed and MacJames and welcomed Mitchelli, giving him gentle pats on his back.
Coarseni looked at Mitchelli and asked, “Wow did you lose weight? You look great! You know I read somewhere for every thirty pounds you lose, a man’s penis grows an inch. Angel…” Freed jumped in and changed the topic. He asked Moss to present his report regarding the suspects’ backgrounds.
Moss’s hands began to tremble ever so slightly. The assumptions in the report were thin. Moss had seen how tenacious Mitchelli could be when he argued with Freed regarding Buckala’s involvement in the case. Mitchelli softened his approach, but the simple fact was after two years, the outsider’s hunches had kick-started a stalled investigation. Mitchelli’s reputation was growing among the senior agents creating a feeling of inferiority among the agents who had been stuck in an investigative quagmire, like Freed and Moss.
Moss explained, “Garez and Veto are connected to the Florenzio family headquartered in Chicago. The Florenzio gang controls drug distribution in Chicago, New Jersey and New York City. Garez and Veto are not made men.” Made men are Sicilians and have risen through the ranks of the family because their criminal ventures had been profitable or they possessed a certain skill, bribing politicians, judges, and or murder. A made man cannot be touched. Therefore, Garez and Veto were expendable but working hard to move up the ranks of the family. Everyone read Garez’s file.
Moss explained, “Gares is a Chicago hands-on thug with skills; he’s never been charged. He’s been questioned several times as a suspect, but no DA would prosecute. He probably was sent to Buffalo to keep an eye on the family’s investment in heroin. The family’s paid up front for their shipment of heroin. The primary buyer needs his distributors to commit to a down payment, upfront money for the next buy. Baltimore thinks Florenzio’s cut was probably a hundred and fifty million. The Florenzio family wanted to have feet on the ground to make sure their goods were picked up. Garez and Vito probably transported the money from Chicago, picking up down payments from smaller distributors on the way.”
Coarseni whistled. “So the Florenzio family is the key. Our agents were too close to the shipment of heroin and they got jammed up. We come down on the Florenzio and we find our guys, right?”
“Not exactly,” said Moss. “The Florenzios are distributors; they are middle men, they’re not smugglers. There is another group making the arrangements. They have the connection overseas to bring the heroin close to our borders, make the drop, and smuggle it in.
“Baltimore, Chicago, and Buffalo investigators believe Orion and Donahue represent the local talent for smuggling the raw heroin into the country and distributing it in the Northeast. Tying the guidance counselors to a local gang or family is difficult.
“They both grew up in the in a Williamsville neighborhood. They attended the same public school and went to Buffalo State College. Other than working for two different school systems, their career paths are identical. O’Donahue has a connection to Orion’s brother in-law, Leo Handly, who owns Handly container, a dumpster/garbage collection company which he inherited from his father. Orion worked as a driver for his brother-in-law during summer breaks while he was going to college. O’Donahue worked for Leo Handly at his restaurant Leo’s Lair on Chippewa Avenue in the city. Leo Handly is dirty but has no record to speak of.”
Buckala interrupted, “What the hell is dirty!”
Moss replied, “Handly was arrested for child pornography. Magazines, films, you name it. His father was alive when he was arrested and hired the best lawyer in the country to get his son off, and it worked. He was never convicted. Quantico believes Handly made connections in Europe with human traffickers, stealing poor lost kids and smuggling them into the states to make his porno films and pose in his magazines. Those traffickers may have hooked Handly up with his heroin suppliers. He’s the only person that we can tie Orion and Donahue to without interviewing people and raising suspicion.”
“Brian Mores wants the grain elevator seizure kept a mystery,” Freed said. “He wants no suspicion that a law enforcement agency was involved with the seizure and disappearance of suspects. Mores is convinced that Garez will break. We don’t want the smugglers to discover who interceded in their operation. Mores thinks Garez will talk, but his wounds are healing slowly and are a constant distraction for the thug. His recovery has been hampered by his lunatic violent rages. I guess he believes we’re all dead, and his boss is coming after us.”
Freed continued, “We have to set up shop at the container company and the restaurant. I’ve assigned a tail on Leo Handly--I want his every move logged. Mores does not want any wiretaps. He thinks the paper trail of the taps and the low-level mechanic or administrator involved will sell the information on the streets. He is hypersensitive—and for good reason; he doesn’t want it known the government was involved with the seizure. He’s even trying to convince me to cut Garez loose so we can trail him.”
MacJames and Mitchelli looked at each other. Freed’s comment was precisely the topic of their morning conversation; letting Garez out and tracking him like a wild animal. MacJames was intrigued with Mitchelli; the civilian went beyond thinking like a cop or Federal Agent. The Italian contractor’s thought process was more like that of a spy. Spy, no, Peter thought and acted like a…Oh my God, I don’t believe it. Your mind is wondering; stay focused--you’re acting like an analyst. I’m doubting him because I’ve fallen in love with him. I have to learn to trust him, trust my feelings. I must stop analyzing the men in my life. He’s a family man in every sense.
***
The blonde woman with a perfect figure stepped out of her lipstick-red Audi convertible. Her grey business suit hugged her shapely body. The suit was conservative by design, but no
design could hide her large breasts; they parted her suit coat, thrusting outward from her brassiere. The short skirt showed her long, slender legs, which were extenuated by her high-heeled black shoes. She quickly walked into the brick single story office building. The building’s deep red brick was reminiscent of buildings constructed before World War II. The brick walls were void of design, merely stacked brick with grey mortar and limestone windowsills. Other than the overgrown weather beaten shrubs at the entrance, there was no other landscaping.
The building’s location was in an industrial area of the city. Sparsely spaced steel windows broke up the square shape of the building. The buildings to the rear of the property were much larger, taller metal structures with large garage doors that large, flat-nosed trucks moved in and out of. The ten-wheeled trucks had long chassis with no bed or fifth wheel to pull a trailer. The truck beds were designed to tilt and lower, attach a cable on to a dumpster, and pull the dumpster onto the bed, securing the dumpster for delivery.
Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder Page 24