The woman entered the barren lobby and quickly walked past the receptionist, into the main office. The office area had dark wood paneled walls, with no artwork. The furniture, minimal at best, was vintage fifties. The worn vinyl floor was aged a tinged yellow. There were ten desks placed in two rows of five, where salesmen sat talking on phones in various stages of conversations, peddling their services. She quickly walked past the sales area to a grey haired middle-aged secretary sitting behind a cheap grey metal desk who motioned her to proceed into the office behind her.
The large office was an appendage on the building, jutting out the back some forty feet by thirty feet as though cobbled together over a weekend. The inside of the office was nothing like the appendage on the outside. The inner office was luxurious. The black shag rug had an overly expensive thick pad underneath, making it difficult for the blonde to walk across in her high heels. The office walls covered in a flagstone and large exotic animal mounts hung from the walls. Some of the mounts were endangered species.
Her contact sat at a large oversized wooded desk facing the center of the room with a credenza behind it. As the blonde entered the room, he zipped up his fly and an Asian adolescent girl giggled and snuck out a back door. The voluptuous blonde stopped--her blood went cold, remembering her childhood torture: being forced to act in this man’s pornographic movies. Her stomach churned and her sight became slightly blurry. She knew she had to recover and ignore her past. Though disgusted, she managed to control her emotional terror. Enslaved as a child, she had made millions with the devil she loathed, her current partner. She walked towards a dark wood Winsor desk with large balustrades at each corner with a grey granite desktop. Zebra hide covered the large executive chair. The zebra’s white and black colors were a classless attempt to coordinate with the grey granite desktop. The man in the chair picked up a large cigar while staring at his computer screen, never actually looking up at the blonde that entered the room. Across from his desk were two large oversized leather chairs, and beyond the chairs a large gas-burning fireplace, trimmed in mahogany. Centered above the fireplace a picture of a large yacht hung, engraved on a brass plate. In the center of the picture frame was the name, Boot Leg. To the right of the fireplace sat a wet bar, with ornate crystal decanters. On the left side of the fireplace were tall bookshelves that displayed a disturbing collection of sexually erotic porcelain cherubs. A diorama of a rocky mountain face sat next to the wall opposite the entrance, which displayed a goat with long curved horns and a mountain lion crawling towards the unsuspecting animal, ready to pounce.
She spoke first. “Leo, the Chicago family is freaking out; they want an answer on the status of their shipment. They’re getting nervous, you’ve never been late.” She walked to the bar and poured herself a glass of whiskey from a crystal decanter.
“The Italians, huh,” Leo Handly said, tapping his ashes into his ash tray. “ Grease balls, they’re freaking out! If they knew what we don’t know ,we would have a war. Katherine, pour me a glass of Jameson on the rocks.”
She quickly shot back, “Leo, we’ve made millions with the family, show them some respect.”
“We’ve made them millions and they know it! I’ll never show any Italian respect. I tolerate them to make a profit, and they tolerate me for the same reason, money.”
“Do you think we’ve went too far?” she asked. “By growing too large too fast? There are so many families depending on our shipments. I don’t even want to consider what’s going to happen with our Middle East suppliers. The Chicago and New York Italians are not going to pay without receiving their merchandise.”
Handly snarled, “What about the Irish in Boston and Philadelphia, are they bitching too?”
“No, not yet.”
From below the counter she removed an ice tray from the bar freezer. Skillfully, she smashed it against the granite counter without wasting one piece from the tray and filled a large glass full of ice. She reached for the Jameson whiskey decanter, filling both glasses. She walked from the bar and placed the large crystal glass on the desk by his hand.
“Has Mike heard anything on the street?” she asked. “Someone has to know something.”
“Delany has heard nothing, He’s trying my patience. I pay him a ton of money, a ton of money so things like this don’t happen!” Leo Handly strained to stay calm; he took a puff on his cigar and then a large sip of whiskey. “Delany’s contacts in Narcotics know nothing; I spend too much money keeping those cops happy, and they’ve been no help. He’s pressing his sources at the federal level. He tells me he’s got things under control.” Handly looked at her. “Katherine, we had total control--leverage, fear, no one dared come near us on the street, and now we’re blind. Shit, now an entire shipment is missing, including our people.”
Katherine asked, “What about the loan shark that’s been asking questions, you know the one that got roughed up at Runners?”
Handly scoffed. “That dumb Pollock, Kazzlowski; they’re meeting him tonight. Trust me, the meeting is not on his agenda.”
“How long can you keep the Middle East off our backs?”
“Their money’s not due for several weeks, thank God. If they’re not paid, that’s when we have to call in our cards, play our bluff. I’ve been keeping tabs on the lumberjacks.”
“Our Cayman accounts are doing very well, earning us a great return, my contacts are pleased.”
Handly looked at his computer screen, reviewing his spreadsheets, which had totals exceeding a hundred and sixty million. His eyes widened from the rush. He puffed on his cigar then sipped his Irish whiskey.
“We’ll find the SOBs who played us,” he said. “I’ll eliminate them, their families, their friends, everything--just like we’ve done before.”
***
The Task Force E meeting had ended; they would reconvene tomorrow. The members encouraged Mitchelli to rest, preferably in the hospital. Leaving the office, Mitchelli slowly walked the gauntlet of cubicles, out of earshot of most of the comments. MacJames made sure she did not walk too quickly, leaving him straggling behind. As they rode in the elevator to the parking level, Mitchelli grabbed her hand, wrapping his arm around hers. They both knew there were cameras watching their every move. MacJames still had her professional face on, but would not let go of Mitchelli’s arm as they walked to her car. She was pleasantly surprised that the stiff, quiet Mitchelli was loosening up and showing outward signs of affection, like holding her hand in public, though she preferred it not be in her office within view of her subordinates. They pulled out of the parking ramp and headed to the expressway.
“I think you should go back to the hospital.” She knew what his response to this would be, so she bid high and would negotiate for resting at home for several days, with her and his family.
“I’m taking you out for dinner tonight, and then to a club, Leo’s Lair,” he said, with a serious look on his face.
“You are going home to bed, mister; you almost passed out in my office.” Tempted, she asked quizzically as she grabbed his hand, “Where would you have taken me for dinner?”
“I’ll pick you up at seven. As my brother Phillip would say, dress for ‘clubbing.’ Angela, can you fit your service pistol in your purse?” Mitchelli knew the answer to his question.
“You know I always carry, but not in my purse, usually on my waist under my shirt.”
“Oh, that’s what I felt.”
“Don’t to get off topic Peter. I don’t think you should be going out. We’ll spend the night together at your house with the kids. You’re pushing your body too hard. Let’s not argue.”
“We don’t have time to rest. They’re looking for their three hundred million in drugs, and they’re crazy mad wondering who duped them. I know…”
“Why are you so sure? Most criminals would hide after a bust like that.” MacJames was testing Mitchelli.
“Right! I know what I would do. I’m spending the night on the boat. Please check with Freed to make
sure he has someone watching my house. I’m going to be staying on the boat until the case is solved. I want to draw their gunman away from my house.”
“Do you want me to say it? Damn it, you need to back off. I’m grounding you, bringing you back to reality. They don’t even know you.”
“I’ll say it, I’m crazy! Is that what you wanted to say? That’s what my family thinks. I’m not backing off; I’m getting ready to throttle up. In addition to being crazy, I’ll say it for you, I’m obsessed! Obsessed!” Mitchelli let go of her hand as he looked out his window, running his hands through his hair, then in an instant of pain he grabbed his left shoulder. His stomach was instantly burning from the pain of lifting his arm. He broke into a sweat. MacJames put her hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing it as she drove.
She searched for something to say to calm him down. “Why don’t we go to dinner tonight. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Mitchelli asked MacJames to stop at one of his construction sites near the expressway entrance. She pulled into the gated entrance. The site had been cleared of all its vegetation and topsoil. The ground had been stripped to red clay, and temporary stone had been placed for the parking area and building pad. An excavator was digging for the foundations, casting the spoils into a large dump truck that was stock-piling the material on the opposite side of the site. Ten men were working well behind the excavator, setting concrete forms for the building’s foundation. As Mitchelli slowly stepped out of the car, the foreman came out of his trailer running towards him. MacJames lowered the car window attempting to hear what was said. She strained, but could hear nothing. Gradually the workers climbed out of the trench and walked to Mitchelli. Some gestured with their hands, pretending to shoot at Mitchelli. Then smiling, they gently shook his hand patting him on the back. Mitchelli questioned the foreman, pointing to different areas of the site. The supervisor pleaded with Mitchelli, slightly raising his extended arms, palms facing up. Then he touched his fingertips together, pleading for more money.
As the foreman put his head down, Mitchelli put his hand on his shoulder reassuring him things were ok. MacJames noticed twenty yards from the construction trailer a dumpster about the size of a pickup truck. On the side of the green dumpster, large white letters spelled the words, “Handly Container.” She stared at the name on the dumpster, wondering how well Mitchelli knew Leo Handly. Angela, stop analyzing him. He’s a contractor, they use dumpsters. There are hundreds of Handly Dumpsters all over town. He didn’t have time to tell you that Mitchelli Construction had accounts with Handly Container. Dear God, Peter Mitchelli, who are you? Peter Mitchelli contractor, developer or…criminal. Stuart said it takes a criminal to catch crook. Oh God, what am I thinking?
Mitchelli stood for a moment outside the car, quickly swallowing more pain pills before opening the door and climbing back in. “Thank you for stopping, I would have introduced you, but I need to rest before dinner.”
“Why didn’t you tell me your company had accounts with Handly Containers--do you know Leo Handly?” The words shot out of her mouth like a machine gun. She stared at him, waiting for a response.
He turned in his seat to face her, his right eyebrow raised. “Well, Angela, please, get right to the point.”
“Did we stop here so I would see that dumpster?”
Mitchelli smiled. “We’ve already discussed my relationship with Leo Handly, and no, I didn’t bring you here so you would see the dumpster. But at least now I know how much you trust me, FBI Deputy Director MacJames.”
Her eyes locked on his, searching for any signs of lying. “When did we talk about your relationship with Leo Handly? I don’t remember his name ever being mentioned by you.”
“His name wasn’t important at the time.” Mitchelli wasn’t smiling anymore; he was annoyed and angry. His eyes never flinched as he held down her stare--he knew he was being studied, interrogated by MacJames. “We can continue your interrogation tonight at dinner, I hope you can wait until then.” He turned and sat back in his seat, mumbling under his breath with a German accent, “Send him to the cooler.”
She whipped back, “What did you say? I heard that!” She put the car in gear, the tires spinning on the gravel as she pulled out of the construction site. In a better German accent she retorted, “We have ways of making you talk, Schultz!” She reached for Mitchelli’s hand, but it was rigid, rejecting her. She stopped the car abruptly, pulling over on the side of the road and slamming the car into park.
Mitchelli yelled as his prescription bottle flew from his hands, scattering the pills across the dashboard, “Where the hell did you learn how to drive!”
“Peter, are you an anomaly?”
He did not answer and instead stared out the front window. Finally, he looked at MacJames. She read his face like a book: he was in pain, physically, and emotionally. She was all he had. She had questioned her trust in him. He looked down at her hand, still trying to hold his firmly in desperation. MacJames released her seat belt and leaned towards him touching his face with her left hand, gently kissing his lips and then working her way to the nape of his neck. They locked in a passionate embrace, their lips pressed together. MacJames pressed her chest against his.
Their lips separated briefly. While holding his right hand to her face, he felt as if he were drowning her green eyes and asked, “Why?”
MacJames whispered softly, “I’m sorry. I’ll back off.”
“No you won’t,” he said. They separated; their passion postponed. Mitchelli needed to get home and recuperate before dinner. MacJames had to clear her head and concentrate on trusting her partner, her love.
CHAPTER 18
As MacJames dressed for the evening, she could not stop thinking of Mitchelli. She worried about her love. She contemplated if she should contact Freed for assistance in getting Mitchelli back into the hospital. She convinced herself it would only irritate Mitchelli and the effort would be useless. He would only forcibly negotiate his way out of the hospitable while Dr. Stazi put his hands all over her chest. She wanted him as far from that woman as possible.
Truth is she longed for an evening out with him. She was addicted to him, his mannerism, smile, and his recent display of affection. She had never dated an Italian man and remembered one of her girlfriends once telling her that they were very affectionate. Her mind drifted to her friend Martha’s high-pitched Brooklyn accent:
“Angie, I went out last night with this Italian from the Bronx. I never dated one of them before. Oh he had the most beautiful brown eyes, mammoth eyelashes, you know, bedroom eyes. The stallion at dinner couldn’t keep his hands off me. His big lips were like soft pillows that caressed my entire body. My God! Our clothes were off before we made it out of the elevator. You should have seen the maintenance man’s face. Those guineas know their way around a women’s body, if you know what I mean.”
MacJames thought of their first kiss at the pier. The day they spent on the boat. Her heart pounded, remembering the morning after church in the boat’s cabin when they stopped short of making love. Mitchelli was so unlike any of her narcissistic ex-husbands; he was quiet and reserved, yet volatile. She remembered his family’s comments about his temper and his tenacity with Freed at their first team meeting. She had to trust him, but she was obsessed with getting an answer: Why were Handly containers on your job site? She did not want to ruin the evening questioning Mitchelli’s relationship with Handly. He told me he had discussed his history with Handly at our meeting in the conference room a week ago…football!
She reached for her phone and called her assistant. “Pam, sorry to bother you after hours, but I need you to do something first thing tomorrow morning.” MacJames could hear the TV in the background; Pam was not married and had no children or boyfriend.
Pam said, “Let me get a pencil. Ok, I’m good, tell me what you need.”
“I need you to locate and set up an interview with Peter Mitchelli’s Junior Varsity Clarence High School football coach. He would have coached P
eter in 1981.”
Pam, “You want to interview his football coach? Ok, I’ll get on it tonight.”
“I know it sounds strange!”
Pam said reassuringly, “You have to get it out of your system.”
Feeling remorseful, MacJames said, “Pam, it can wait until tomorrow.”
“No way boss, it took you a long time to find him--we don’t want you losing him. I’m happy for you; the two of you look great together. I saw you in the office today; all of us saw you. I’ve never seen you let your guard down with a man, especially in the office.”
“Oh man, there goes my image. It’s complicated, Pam. He’s a widower. Well, it’s not just that, he won’t open up to me. He’s hiding something.”
“Your instincts are screwed up when it comes to men.”
“What do you mean? I have great instincts.”
“What man would tell you his inner most thoughts?” asked Pam. “Most of the time, we don’t want to know.”
Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder Page 25