Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  “Your head on a platter, better yet, stick it on a wooden pole?”

  “Funny, I appreciate levity, like watching you shit your pants and wet the bed for the last week.”

  “Screw you, bitch!”

  “Listen, you’re going to take a brick of heroin to your boss. Easy isn’t it? Deliver the brick. Attached to it is a phone number he needs to call. Our people will answer and explain the arrangements we would like.”

  “You simpleton, your arrangements; there are so many bosses involved from here to Chicago, New York, Georgia and the Middle East. You have no idea who you’re dealing with. These people helped start the war!”

  “What war? Drug dealers don’t start wars.”

  “You dumb naïve shit,” Garez said. “Right, dealers don’t but the producers do, you dummy. They have a lot of money at stake; they need to purchase weapons for their next attack. It wasn’t cheep for them to bring down two skyscrapers and the aftermath.” Garez looked at the water and the golden sand of Ghetto Beach. He put his hands on his shoulder where Mitchelli had shot him. “I can’t believe how good I feel, it’s as if I had never been shot—what the hell happened?”

  “You have an hour half to reach your destination,” Mores said. “After that you’ll begin to feel the painkiller begin to wear off. At first, it will be an annoyance then it will get much worse with every passing minute. Of course, I’m no doctor but these new drugs you’ve been on at very high doses seem to have an addictive nature. Mitchell, you will eventually feel severe pain, then become incapacitated by the withdrawal symptoms.”

  “Thank you very frickin’ much, you SOB. What if I don’t make it to my boss?”

  “Oh well if you don’t make it, the penalty unfortunately will be the end of you. Once we verify the legitimacy of your boss over the phone, we will direct them to your salvation; the antidote hidden, buried someplace in your truck.”

  “My boss isn’t going to care whether I live or die. What if he doesn’t talk to you or kills me before he makes the call?”

  “My friend your boss has lost over three hundred million dollars of heroin; I would think he would have some interest in locating it. You need to impress upon him how you are needed as a go-between for your boss and my people when the transfer is negotiated.”

  “My people, your people, who the hell are you? I know nothing and you think they going to let me live. You could sell toilet paper for all I know.”

  Mores reached over and cut the tape binding Garez’s hands together. “You have an hour and a half. I suggest you get moving and strategize your salesmanship with your boss. You need to convince him to make a phone call to get his eighty million in junk. You have a full tank; we’ve checked the oil and tires. Mitchell you’re good to go, don’t get lost, don’t get reckless or get in an accident. You mess up and you’ve lost your free ticket, your lottery ticket of life. Capisce?”

  Mores stepped out of the SUV and stood outside the truck. Garez started the engine and began to drive out of the parking lot onto Furhmann Boulevard. Garez looked out his rearview mirror at Mores standing in the parking lot and he suddenly stopped the SUV, its tires screeching on the asphalt.

  “You son of bitch, I’m going to kill you myself!” He raised the gearshift into reverse and the tires squealed on the asphalt as the SUV raced towards Mores, increasing its speed. Mores watched as the SUV’s reverse lights came closer at ever-increasing speeds. He didn’t move, he didn’t even flinch; he just stared at Garez’s reflection through the rearview mirror.

  Garez screamed, “You bastard, run! Move or I’m going to run over you like the dirty varmint you are. Move, damn you, move!” The SUV jerked as Garez cut the steering wheel to his right, causing the truck’s rear-end to lurch left as the front end spun one hundred and eighty degrees around and came to a sudden stop. Garez was facing Mores, who stood a mere three feet from the front of the bumper.

  “You frickin’ ghost. I would have killed you.”

  “Mr. Garez, you’re wasting time. You have less than an hour and fifteen minutes.” Mores stepped aside and the SUV drove past him and headed south on Furhmann Boulevard towards Lackawanna steel country.

  Mores’s hand trembled as he pulled a phone out of his shirt pocket, and flipped it open. “Pick me up, he’s out of sight. Are the transponders working? Good we can’t lose him, hurry it up.” Within moments, a black SUV with heavily tinted windows and a black dome one foot in diameter on the roof pulled in the parking lot. Mores got in the back seat and the vehicle sped away after Garez.

  ***

  Handly sat in his club, Katherine O’Connor at his side. The bar was empty. A man was stocking the bar, clinking the bottles on the glass shelves. Wisps of smoke streamed from Handly’s cigar upwards towards the ceiling as he puffed slowly. His phone sat on the table next to his glass of whiskey on ice. O’Connor was occupied with her phone, vigorously texting messages like an adolescent schoolgirl between class.

  The screen on his phone lit up, signifying an incoming call. Handly checked the screen, Blocked Number. “This is him, the facilitator frickin’ Evan, listen up. What!”

  “Hello Leo. Have you spoken with your friends in Chicago?” Evan’s voice was arrogantly confident.

  “Well Evan, I did, and there is no way we’re going to pay a million for something that was stolen from us.” There was no response, the phone went silent; the call was terminated.

  “That arrogant bastard hung up on me, that no good bastard.”

  “Leo, what if he doesn’t call back? You’re going to have problems, big problems. Don’t be so cheap, push Chicago for the million--you can split it with them.” O’Connor grabbed Handly’s hand.

  Handly pulled his hand away. “You know Katherine, why is it that I’m in trouble and not we; as in you and I? When the cash is churning it’s we, when we’ve got a knife to our throats it’s me.”

  “Back your ass off, Leo. I don’t deserve that and you know it. We are in a shit load of trouble except you’re the one calling all the shots putting us six feet under.”

  “It’s my wife that…”

  O’Connor quickly interrupted, “If it wasn’t for me and my connections, Patty would have hanged herself last night. I got the nurse and cleaned the piss off the floor in your living room, while you sulked in your pajamas like Hugh Hefner.” The phone rang again. Handly answered and said nothing.

  “Leo, it seems we are at an impasse in our negotiations. How much heroin are you missing? There were so many nylon bags, oh they were very heavy. Rather ingeniously simple, a pleasure boat pulling a torpedo, safely floating three hundred million to shore in the middle of the night. Did you use snowmobiles in the winter when the lake was frozen?”

  Handly’s eyes bulged with the detail that Evan gave. “Ok, I agree we’re at an impasse. Your fee is too expensive but we’re businessmen and we should be able to negotiate terms which are mutually agreeable.”

  “I could work for a percentage, a real estate agent typically gets six percent of the deal, how much is six thousand pounds of raw heroin worth? Sixty, seventy-five, oh maybe three hundred million? Help me do the math, please Leo?”

  Handly’s face crunched tight as if he was going to squeeze his eyes and nose out of his skull. “How about five fifty? Deal?”

  “No deal Leo, but I will call you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t hang up, six hundred even, that’s it. You hang up, don’t call me back again. In fact, you ever hang up on me again; I’ll find you and hang you up permanently. Six hundred is a gift, you not even delivering my goods, you’re just giving me a name that’s it.”

  “We’ll start with a name and work towards the goods.”

  ***

  MacJames was on the phone for almost an hour straightening out the additional security manpower for the Mitchelli family. She could tell Freed’s head was spinning. He kept babbling about his conversation with Molly and Washington’s concern over Mitchelli’s well-being. MacJames was surprised Secretary Stuart
had kept continuous tabs on Mitchelli. Usually appointed executives in Washington would sidestep responsibility and have many layers of managers between themselves and an operation in case something went wrong. The Secretary of Homeland Security had really stuck his neck out for Mitchelli and the rest of the team. He was in his late sixties and at this point in his career was more interested in results than covering his elderly butt.

  As she walked into Mitchelli’s room, she could hear the shower running as she opened the door to his master suite. “Peter, it took almost an hour but everyone’s on the same page. The Secretary is insisting on a security force for your children. He sent ten agents today with more to follow later in the week.” MacJames paused. “Peter, I think Ann would be pleased don’t you?” There was no answer. MacJames hit her hand to her head. He must think I’m mocking his wife, or him, be a little sensitive, Angela. Give the guy a break. “Hey I was just kidding, hurry it up! Your kids will be home soon and we have to get our strategy down, you know explain the security team to your mother-in-law and the kids.” There were no sounds from the bathroom except the noise from the giant showerhead. MacJames raised her voice, “Peter?” She opened the bathroom door and found Mitchelli slumped on the floor of his Roman shower, semi-unconscious.

  “Oh my God! Peter, can you hear me? Peter what’s wrong?” She shut the shower off and quickly checked Mitchelli’s pulse, his heartbeat was faint. She lifted his eyelids and his eyes rolled back. Oh my God, he’s having a stroke, a blood embolism, don’t call 911, stay calm. Call his doctor Sue, Suzanne Stazi, that’s her name, what the hell is her number? Look in Peter’s phone. She quickly found Dr. Stazi’s mobile phone number in Mitchelli’s contact list and with several movements of her finger, the call was in progress.

  “Peter, my love what took you so long to call? I’m off today, and I’m feeling like a tigress in heat.” Stazi’s caller ID had recognized Mitchelli’s number. “MEOW!”

  MacJames swallowed her pride. “Dr. Stazi, this is Angela MacJames, Peter’s friend. He needs your help, he passed out in the shower and I can’t bring him to.”

  “You’re the woman, the government woman?”

  “Yes, Dr. Stazi, Suzanne, I’m worried--he passed out in the shower.” MacJames struggled to hold Mitchelli’s torso against the shower wall.

  Dr. Stazi knew Peter Mitchelli’s medical history along with many other of his personal affairs. “Has he eaten today?”

  “Well, I…” MacJames paused for a moment.

  “MacJames, has he eaten today?” Dr. Stazi yelled as though talking to a rookie nurse.

  Angry at the doctor’s tone, she answered, “No! I don’t think he has eaten for twenty hours, or for that matter, I don’t think has been drinking either.”

  “You were going to watch him, remember how concerned you were in the hospital over his meals? He’s hypoglycemic you need…”

  MacJames interrupted her, “Ok I know, he needs sugar.”

  “Put the sugar under his tongue, a piece of candy, or a spoonful of sugar, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  MacJames called to the agents downstairs and they ran to her assist her, pushing her out of the way, they moved Mitchelli to his bed. MacJames was halfway down the stairs when she saw Lillian walking in the door. “Mom, Peter needs sugar right away; he’s passed out.”

  “I know what to do, I’m a nurse. I know what to do, I’m on my way!” She ran to the kitchen and yelled, “I’ll be up in a minute, don’t worry, I’m a nurse.”

  MacJames returned to the bedroom and sat by Mitchelli on the bed. Lillian appeared in the doorway with packets of sugar and a large bottle of water. She quickly opened Mitchelli’s mouth, pouring a sugar packet below his tongue, then pouring a little water into his mouth. “Don’t worry Angela, he should be fine. He pushes himself too hard, always has.” She was taking his pulse when Dr. Stazi burst her way into the room with an agent pulling at her coat.

  “Get off me, I’m a Doctor for Gods sake, he needs me.” MacJames motioned to the agents and they let Dr. Stazi into the bedroom. She carefully checked Mitchelli’s vitals, pulse, blood pressure, and oxygen levels. “Oh my God, what have you been doing to him? I haven’t seen him this thin since Ann died, have you Mom?”

  “No, he pushes himself to hard, way to hard always has, my daughter couldn’t stop him.”

  MacJames felt irresponsible. Dr. Stazi was clearly blaming MacJames for Mitchelli’s condition. She walked to the other side of the bed and watched as Stazi lifted Mitchelli’s bandages to check his wounds.

  “Oh my God, Ms. MacJames, his wounds I can’t believe how well they’ve healed in less than a week. It’s miraculous! My dear, I’m sorry. You must be doing something right.”

  Mitchelli was gaining consciousness, he grabbed Stazi’s arm. “Suzanne am I at the hospital, what happened?”

  “Peter, my love, you passed out. Your blood sugar was too low. You have to eat, my love! Your simple girlfriend isn’t taking care of you.” Stazi grabbed the water bottle and dumped several sugar packets into it and quickly shook it. “Peter, drink this, Doctor’s orders. Drink it quickly.” Mitchelli drank the water, gulping it down. MacJames looked at the two young agents standing off to the side of room. She stared at the young men; they never took their eyes off Mitchelli, as though they were looking at a sports legend. She looked at Mitchelli, his body sculpted; his arms, chest and shoulders muscles were a series of continuous curves. There were no straight lines on Mitchelli’s body. MacJames quietly asked the agents to go downstairs and inform Hoss of what had happened.

  “Where’s Angela, Suzanne? Where is Angela and the kids?” Dr. Stazi’s mouth opened in shock over Mitchelli’s emotional outburst for MacJames. MacJames stood still as Lillian spoke up.

  “Peter, the kids are not home from school yet and Angela is right here, speak up Angela. He’s still weak, don’t make him strain.”

  Mitchelli looked at MacJames across the bed and reached for her with his left hand. She sat on the bed, Ann’s side of the bed, and she held his hand. “Peter, the kids are fine they’ll have their own security detail, your friend in Washington insisted. You gave me quite the shock, how are you feeling?”

  “Better, but I need to leave.” Mitchelli grabbed a shocked Dr. Stazi’s hand and squeezed it. “Suzanne, thank you. I’m sorry to put you out.” He pulled Suzanne’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

  Dr. Stazi looked at MacJames compassionately. “Your friend must not know how to cook, she nearly starved you to death! Luckily she knew enough to call me, and she must be dressing your bandages because your wounds look great. Nevertheless, I’m going to send my sister here to cook for you if you don’t start eating. It makes no sense--your wounds are healing miraculously, yet you’re starving yourself.”

  “Angela, maybe that holy water worked.”

  “Holy what?” Stazi looked at MacJames. MacJames gently touched Stazi’s arm.

  “Peter’s Priest anointed his wounds with holy water from Rome, right after we left the hospital.” MacJames remembered their romantic night together and his tussle with agent Hoss. She had to repay the doctor who rushed to help her love. “Suzanne you’ve did an excellent job, you’ve saved his life. Peter moves like he was never injured.”

  Dr. Stazi began to blush. “You’re too kind,” she said, ignoring the comment regarding the holy water. “Ms. MacJames, is someone going to explain to me what’s going on?”

  “Explain to you! What about me?” Lillian asked. “This is a hell of a lot of people for one mugging. Angela, I’m worried about the children. Three men asked me for identification before I could get in the house, then there were two men, what do you call them, agents? Two agents in the kitchen.” Mitchelli’s mother-in-law was shaking.

  Mitchelli looked at MacJames. “Angela, I have to leave, get as far away from here as possible.” He closed his eyes as he finished the water.

  “Rest, Peter, while I speak with your mother-in-law and Suzanne in the hallway alone.” The th
ree women left the bedroom and gathered at the end of the hall, three bedrooms away from Mitchelli’s room. MacJames looked at Stazi and Lillian. She put her professional attitude on and attempted to be frank. “Peter’s well-being and that of his children are the highest priority of the United States Government. FBI agents have been assigned to protect Peter’s children. Each child will have their own security team. Mom, I need your assistance explaining the security to the children. Our office will contact the Clarence school system and brief them. I must disclose as little information as possible to both of you, for your own protection, and especially Peter’s.”

  “Protect them from who? If Peter doesn’t start eating properly and rest he is going to destroy himself. What are you and your agents going to say when he has a blood embolism or passes out from a hypoglycemic episode while he’s driving his car?” Dr. Stazi leaned towards MacJames, her large breasts shaking side to side as she spoke.

  “Suzanne, if you couldn’t make Peter stay in the hospital two days after major surgery, what makes you think we can force him to eat? He is a very focused individual. He has an objective in his sights. He’s relentless; unfortunately his health suffers the consequences.”

  “He’ll kill himself. For his children’s sake, you must stop him now.” MacJames and Stazi turned to look at Lillian. Both were taken aback by her comments. “My daughter Ann knew how obsessive he was, with work, hobbies that silly Sheriff’s business. Suzanne, don’t blame Angela, I know he loved my daughter. Ann was very strong; even she could not control him. It’s his way. Peter doesn’t fail, his victories come with personal casualties, possibly his life, God forbid the children.”

  “The United States Government agrees with you. Many high ranking officials are committed to protecting Peter and his family.”

  Stazi said, “Since when can we count on the government? What did Peter get caught up in, anyway? He’s a business man, a good family business man, he’s respected in the community. I know he didn’t break the law. The government must be using his good name for their selfish needs.”