by Marc Rainer
“Something I said?” Trask called after him.
“Gotta do some research,” he said.
Trask laughed. Cam had relied in the past on the other magistrates who already knew the detention statutes and cases. They didn’t need any lessons. He would shortly be writing his first brief on detention case law.
Massapequa, Long Island, New York
Tyler Cannon made the drop the same way he’d made it a dozen times before, and the way Dom had told him to do it the first time.
First, he sent a text to the number he’d been given, letting them know that he would be arriving in about ten minutes. Next, he pulled into the rear of the gas station, put the duffel bag, behind—not inside—the dumpster. Finally, he blew the horn twice, then drove away, heading back out of New York. He never saw the party receiving the delivery, never spoke to them, never got paid by them. It was all Dom’s arrangement, and Cannon was good with that as long as Dom kept up his end of the thing and paid for the heroin.
Cannon spent as little time as possible in New York. He thought of it as a strange and creepy place, full of weird and rude people piled on top of each other. As soon as traffic permitted, he was on his way southward and westward, heading back toward Texas with New York in the truck’s rearview mirror. The special compartment in the gas tank was empty now, and he could relax a bit more. He had nothing to do but roll back through Kansas City and get paid.
Kansas City, Missouri
Marylou Monaco went to her bank first, pulling a few hundred out of her account. She checked the balance and stared at the receipt for a few seconds. There was enough left from her husband’s life insurance and the cash-out on her burial plot to keep her afloat for a few more weeks.
Her next stop was the liquor store off Independence Avenue. She walked in and saw the owner behind the counter.
“Marylou,” the man acknowledged her. “Sorry to hear about your boy.”
She thanked him for the sentiment before telling him that she wasn’t there for liquor. “I’m all alone now, Frank. I don’t feel very safe at home. I was hoping you could help me.”
He sized her up for a moment, then nodded.
“How much you want to spend?” he asked her.
“What will six-hundred get me?” She held up her palms. “I have little hands.”
“I’ve got something. Come on into the office.”
She followed him to the back of the store. Once inside the little room, he closed the door and told her to wait. When he opened the door again, he was holding a small leather bag. He opened it and put the pistol on the desk in front of her.
“It’s a Springfield XDs, a subcompact .45,” he explained. “Doesn’t hold many rounds, but it’ll stop whatever you hit with it. You know how to use one?”
She picked up the gun and released the slide.
“Steven showed me how to shoot before he went away,” she said. “He left me a full-sized Colt 1911, but it’s all I can do to lift the thing. I fired it at the range a few times, but never could control it.”
She held the little pistol up and dry-fired it at the wall.
“This is exactly what I need,” she said.
“Great,” Frank responded. “It’s not traceable, if that means anything to you. If you don’t want the old gun, bring it in and I’ll buy it from you. I probably sold it to Steve in the first place. Is it in good shape?”
“It should be. He cleaned it before he left, and I haven’t used it since.”
“I’ll be happy to look at it. You might get close to breaking even on the trade.”
“Sounds good.”
“Need any ammo?” he asked her.
“I don’t think so. We have some left for the other .45.”
“Okay then. You’re all set.”
Marylou put the pistol in her purse. She thanked him and left, steering her car eastward toward the address in Independence. She had written the address on a note in her purse, and she decided to check it again. She had to fish around the new pistol to find the paper, but she was able to pull it out on the second try. She knew she would find the office a short distance from the big shopping mall. She thought about the mall as she drove past it.
I remember when this was a safe, happy place. The cafeteria used to be here on the main floor. Tommy always liked to go to the play area on the bottom level. Too bad the gangs moved in. We’ve had shootings inside, and now the mall has its own police station. I wonder how much longer it will stay in business. The old Bannister Mall down south and the mall on Blue Ridge had the same problems, and now they’ve both been demolished.
She got out of the car and walked inside. The receptionist looked up as she entered the lobby.
“Marylou Monaco,” she said. “I have an appointment with Mr. Sanders.”
“Can I ask the nature of your business?” the woman behind the desk asked. “It’s just to send any necessary forms back with you.”
“I’d like to have a will drafted.”
Dominic Silvestri, Jr., sat in his office at the bar looking at the duffel bag that was staring at him from the open drawer on the side of his desk.
How the hell am I gonna move all this shit without the Gonzalez brothers? They were already wired into the junkies from their pill-selling days. It was easy, they’d pick up the dope, and I’d have the money two days later. I wonder who iced ’em. Probably one of their customers, figuring they might have the cash on hand from selling the stuff. That’s my guess. Oh, well. Gotta find some new boys. Somebody I can trust. I don’t need greedy addicts or the cops coming around because somebody got careless. Things are strange around here at the moment.
He had another idea. He picked up the phone and dialed the number from memory. The call was answered in New York.
“Dom.”
“Hey, Vic. Your drop get made?”
“Yeah, he just left a few minutes ago.”
“How’s the stuff look?”
“Good as always. I should have your dough in a day or two.”
“Great. Could you use some more?”
“I guess so, hadn’t thought about it. Why?”
“My regular delivery guys down here are out of pocket for a while. Nuthin’ serious, but I don’t move the stuff myself, and I have two more just sittin’ here lookin’ at me.”
“Yeah, I’ll take ’em. What’s the schedule?”
“I’ll just turnhim around when he comes in and send him back your way. I figure about three days.”
“Works for me. I could use the extra money.”
Lee’s Summit, Missouri
When Trask opened the door to the house from the garage, he passed through the little mud room and turned into the kitchen. Lynn had it smelling great, as usual. Trask recognized the aroma of chicken and dumplings. He saw her stirring the pot on the stovetop and walked up behind her to give her a hug.
“How was your day?” she asked him.
“That requires too long an answer for now if you want details. You go first.”
“Okay. You know your favorite oldies group, Three Dog Night?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’ve had a three-dog day. Some bad, some funny, some very good.”
“Sounds like you have some long details as well. How ’bout we get the bad out of the way first.”
“Okay, I woke up after you left to a real racket in the backyard. A female mallard made the mistake of landing inside the fence, and Nikki had her by the throat before I could do anything about it. The carcass is in a plastic bag in the trash.”
“Sorry.”
Trask could imagine Lynn crying as she picked up the poor duck and feathers from the yard. His wife could be hardcore when it came to the criminals she used to investigate, but she loved all wildlife that wasn’t spelled “spider” or “snake.”
“You mentioned funny,” he prompted her.
“Yes, the great duck murder put Tasha on edge, and she thought she had to bark at every gnat fart she heard for the rest o
f the day, so I turned on that high-frequency bark suppressor thing we bought and put it on the top of the corner desk in the mudroom.”
“Did it work?”
“Just for a while. She hates the thing, so she griped about it—walking around growling—until the time I left for the vet with Boo. When I came home, the bark suppressor was missing. It took me half an hour to find the thing. Tasha had climbed up on the chair, then climbed to the top of the desk, grabbed the suppressor thing, then hid it under the couch, face down into the carpet where it couldn’t hear her yapping or go off.”
That drew a belly laugh from Trask. “You sure it was Tasha? That’s quite a climb for a mini-schnauzer.”
“I’m positive. I put it back up on the desk and watched her go after it again. I just turned it off and put it back in the cabinet.”
Trask laughed again. Their smallest dog could be a very determined little girl with an enormous will.
“How’d it go with Boo and the vet?” Trask asked.
“That’s the really good news. The doc said her blood sugar is level enough to go ahead with the eye surgery. I’m taking her back in for that tomorrow. They’ll keep her overnight, but when we bring her home the next day, she’ll have her sight back. The vet said it’s her favorite surgery to do, because the dogs come in blind, scared, and depressed, but when they come out from under the anesthesia, they know they can see again, and they have their old lives back. She’ll have to wear a cone for a week or two, but we’ll have our happy, playful Boo when she gets back home.”
Trask gave Lynn a tight hug and a kiss.
“That’s wonderful,” he told her. She had happy tears welling up in her eyes. She didn’t say anything; she just nodded to avoid having her voice break.
She grabbed a tissue and blotted her eyes. As if on cue, all three dogs showed up in the kitchen. The pups had heard them talking. Nikki and Tasha trotted in first. Boo followed them in slowly, head down, groping along, still adjusting to the placement of doorways and furniture in the new house. Trask bent down to give them each a scratch on the head and got a trio of welcoming kisses in return.
“Your turn,” Lynn said.
Trask told her about filing the sixty-defendant complaint, and about meeting the apparently schizophrenic Magistrate Judge Hamilton. “I’m worried about her. Very little experience, and hyper-defensive about every little thing.”
Lynn gave him a look from a head tilted downward. If she had been wearing glasses, she would have been be looking over the top of them like a critical schoolteacher.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m surprised at you. Just put yourself in her shoes. She’s tiny, playing in what certainly used to be a big good-old-boys club, and coming from a different field of law. You’re missing a chance here, an opportunity to teach her without being patronizing. I’ve seen you do it.”
Trask gave her his own look in return. “The women I’m used to dealing with in court are confident creatures, not defensive shrinking violets. Like you, for example—all brass and no hesitation.”
She laughed. “Think back on the first time you had me testify in a court-martial. I was used to lazy prosecutors just pleading everything out. You actually wanted me to testify. I was petrified, remember? You found me chain-smoking behind a soda machine before court. You had to teach me how to prepare for cross-examination, and I really appreciated that. Some other lawyer would have just put me up on the stand, gone through direct, and thrown me to the wolves on cross.”
She was right. “Okay, I do remember that. Still, this gal never should have been hired by the court in the first place. She’d never seen a criminal case before taking the bench.”
“Don’t you think that ship has kind of sailed?”
“I suppose so.”
“Damn straight. I know you can point this lady in the right direction without her thinking that you’re challenging her authority or belittling her. If you do, she’ll never forget that.”
Trask smiled. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around, in addition to your cooking, of course. Is that stuff ready yet?” He pointed to the stove.
She turned and stirred the big pot again. “Just a couple more hours.”
“What!?”
She giggled a little. “It’s ready now. Grab a drink and have a seat.”
Gladstone, Missouri
Dominic Silvestri, Jr., rang the doorbell and waited. He looked at the gold-plated door knocker mounted in the center of the front door, a lion’s head with its mouth opened in a roar. The door opened and an older man stood there, shaped by the light behind him. He was a little shorter than Dom, and thicker.
“Junior. Come on in.”
Dom stepped inside and handed the man the envelope.
“Feels a little light this time.”
“I had to pay the supplier,” Dom said. “On top of that, I’m not sure the Gonzalez brothers got all their sales money up to me before they got shot. So yeah, I’m a little light, and so is that.” He pointed to the envelope. “Sorry. I’ve gotta find new street guys to move the stuff, too. I’m sitting on two packages now with no way to move it locally. Not safely, anyway. I talked to our friends in New York, and they’re willing to take ’em this time, but it’s going to take a little while longer.”
The older man shrugged it off. “It’s all good. There are always adjustments to be made in our business. As long as you pass the benefits up the chain when things are good, those of us in that chain can help absorb the losses when things go a little wrong. That’s how our thing works. You know that.” He paused for a moment. “How you gettin’ the stuff out to the coast? Same delivery guy?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan for now. Just turn him around when he comes back through town.”
“Okay, so another couple of days drivin’ back east, and then another couple to sell the shit. So, I should be seein’ you again about this time next week, right?”
“Yeah, as long as I can find some more distributors for the product.”
“Okay, Dom. I’ll try and keep my ears open for that, too. I might be able to send somebody your way. As long as we’re on that topic, what are you hearin’ about who might’ve done your Gonzalez boys? Anything?”
“Not a thing. It’s crickets.”
“How about Big John and Marge? Anything there? I promised Fat Tony I’d let him know if we heard any buzz.”
“Nuthin’ there either. Like I said, crickets.”
“Okay. Just keep your ears open on that will ya? It’s important to the don.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Good boy.”
The older man reached out and gave Dom’s face a playful slap.
“I’ll see ya next week if I don’t see ya sooner.”
Marylou Monaco pulled into the parking lot of the combination firing range and gun and apparel store. It was a nice facility on I-470 in Lee’s Summit, a few miles south of Independence. She had chosen this newer business for her practice sessions, since the older ranges close to her home were full of prying eyes, shady characters, and guys who always seemed to want to get into her jeans.
She took the two boxes of ammo and the new pistol inside, bought a pack of paper targets, rented a lane and some eyes and ears, and began her practice. She started firing at a range of ten yards.
The first pattern was very respectable, about a three-inch wide grouping, but it was low and to the left of the bull’s-eye. She pulled a chart out of her purse that she’d printed off the web.
This says my finger grip is wrong, and I may be gripping the gun too tightly. The jams might mean that I’m “tea-cupping” it—putting too much pressure on the bottom of the magazine from underneath.
She made the recommended corrections and noticed enough improvement to boost her confidence considerably.
I’m no Annie Oakley, but I can certainly hit a full-grown man at this distance.
She finished the second box of ammunition and felt her arms tiring. Her patterns had start
ed to drift again on the last target.
The gun itself doesn’t weigh that much, but with the magazine loaded, it isn’t light.
She went to the ladies’ room and washed the powder residue from her hands, just like Steven had told her to do.
“You don’t want to forget and eat with that stuff on your hands, hon. Lead poisoning is very real.”
“Don’t worry, love,” she replied to his memory. “I hope to poison somebody else with a full lead slug—the monster who killed our son.”
She told herself that she’d be ready if the next session went as well. She stopped at the counter before leaving and bought a box of .45 jacketed hollow-points.
Kansas City, Missouri
Tyler Cannon pulled into the parking lot behind the bar and honked the horn twice. No one came out of the back door, so he hit the horn twice more. Dom came out a few seconds later. Cannon stayed in the truck, but he lowered his window.
“Damn, don’t get your panties in a wad, dude. I was on the phone.”
“Sorry. Been driving all week and I need to get home.”
“I need you to go back to New York.”
“What? What the hell for? I just left New York.”
“I can’t move the two you left for me right now. Problems with my distributors. The guys on the coast agreed to take ’em off our hands.”
“Sorry, Dom, no can do. I got stock to feed at the house, can’t be gone another five days or they’ll croak, and I’m sick of driving anyway.”
“You’ll do it if you want your money.”
“The hell with that. You’ll find another way to get the stuff up there and pay me, or you’ll be finding another plug for this shit. I expect my money for this delivery and the next one in two weeks. I can find other customers easy enough if you don’t have the money ready when I come through. The demand for the stuff has never been higher, and I can probably bump my price up, too.”
Cannon watched Dom closely, moving his right hand into the crease between his seat and the center console where his 9mm was wedged. He knew that Dom was mob-connected and the crown-prince of at least one side of the KC Mafia royalty. Dom himself had told Cannon all that over a few too many drinks in the bar one night. Cannon had correctly taken it as Dom’s veiled threat never to cross him.