Mob Rules

by Marc Rainer

  Perina frowned a little. “I don’t really remembah. It was—ya know—a doah. I see t’ousands of doahs every day. I don’t recall.” Perina’s voice and his temper were both starting to hit turbo speed as the inspector recognized the attempted trap.

  Good job, Joe. A little slower, watch the speed and that accent. The faster you talk, the more Brooklyn you speak.

  “Well, Inspector,” Bernstein continued, “I’m asking you to try and remembah anyway. What do you remembah about the front doah to Mr. Fontana’s residence?”

  “And I already told ya. I see t’ousands of doahs every day. I remembah there was a doah. That’s about it.”

  “Okay. Let’s try it this way. What side did the doah open on?”

  Perina sat back in his chair for a second, then leaned forward into the microphone in front of him.

  “I remembah that. It was a screen doah. It opened out.”

  Trask couldn’t look at Foote, who wasn’t looking at Cam, who couldn’t look at anybody either. They were all trying not to laugh out loud.

  Bernstein was getting red in the face, as his carefully laid little land mine was refusing to explode.

  “I’m not asking you if the doah opened out,” he growled, “I’m asking you which side the doah opened on.”

  “And I already told ya,” Perina growled back, “I remembah that it opened out. Other than that, I don’t remembah. I see t’ousands of doahs every day. I remembah that this one opened out.”

  “And I’m asking you which side it opened out from!” shouted Bernstein.

  “Objection,” Trask said. “Asked and answered.”

  “He hasn’t answered my question!” Bernstein protested.

  “He apparently has, at least to the best of his ability to recall,” Judge Hamilton said. “Move it along, Mr. Bernstein.”

  Flustered, Bernstein reached into the second folder on the lectern in front of him. Trask saw that it was, in fact, a photo of the front of Fontana’s house. He also saw that Bernstein and Perina were both red-faced and glaring at each other.

  “Inspector, I have in my hand a photograph of Mr. Fontana’s front doah,” Bernstein began.

  “Well,” Perina interrupted the question, “if you’re holdin’ a picture of the fuckin’ thing, what are ya askin’ me about it for?”

  The big man noticed the sudden hush in the room. He turned and looked down toward Judge Hamilton.

  “Sorry, Your Honor. I got a little carried away there.”

  Hamilton didn’t say anything, instead waving the issue away with one hand. She turned back toward Bernstein, and Trask noticed that even Heidi Hamilton was doing her best not to burst out laughing.

  “Mr. Bernstein, do you have any other issue relevant to your Franks claim aside from the witness’s apparent inability to recall the design particulars of the front door to your client’s home?” the judge asked.

  “Your Honor, I think the witness’s refusal to answer my questions about the door shows his willingness to alter the facts and even his memory in order to justify his actions, which were a clear violation of the search and seizure lahrs.”

  “Laws,” Trask whispered to Foote, beating him to the punch.

  “I see,” Hamilton said. “I think I’ve heard enough, then. We’ll be in recess.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the judge was back on her bench.

  “The defense motion to suppress is denied,” Hamilton said. “I find Inspector Perina’s testimony to be credible, even if perhaps excessively candid. I find no action on the part of the agents and officers on the scene that could be construed to be in violation of the Fourth Amendment.”

  She banged the gavel on the bench.

  “This case will proceed to trial in three weeks before Judge Brooks. Court is adjourned.”

  Trask, Foote, and Cam stood while the judge left the courtroom. Bernstein stomped out, brushing past Joe Perina, who rose from his seat in the gallery and came through the swinging gate into the well of the courtroom.

  “What was with that ‘excessively candid’ comment?” he asked Trask.

  “I think she referring to the F-bomb you lobbed,” Trask said, laughing.

  “Oh, that,” Perina said. “Sorry. Oh well, guess I’ll see youse guys in three weeks, huh?”

  “See you then, Joe,” Foote said, chuckling.

  Trask looked at Cam, who was filling out a form.

  “What’s up, Cameron?” Trask asked.

  “I have to have a transcript of this one,” Cam said. “Think our office will pay for it?”

  Kansas City, Missouri

  “We got a call from one of our financial analysts on the way out of the courtroom,” John Foote said.

  Foote, Trask, and Cam were sitting around the table in J.P. Barrett’s conference room.

  “One of the monitors at Treasury saw a Form 105 come through the system from the airport in Vegas,” Foote explained. “The traveler had a KC address, so he called us.”

  “Beretta?” Barrett asked.

  “Yep. He left the country headed for Madrid with over thirty-grand in his pocket—or money belt, to be exact—so he had no choice but to fill out the form in order to get through customs. He told the guys at the customs desk that he was going to Madrid to buy a painting.”

  “Can we add a flight count to the indictment?” Barrett asked, looking at Trask.

  “I don’t think so,” Trask answered. “He actually left the country before the complaint and arrest warrants were filed or made public, so he could just disclaim any knowledge that he was under charges. I do think he knew something was up; he was just smart enough to get out of the country before anything became official. He was probably alerted by one of his people, either from here or from that crew in New York.”

  “Damn. Can we get any more concrete information on his travel?” Barrett got up as if on cue and started staring out his window.

  Trask smiled at Cam and Foote. Their United States Attorney’s reflexive act had become an inside joke.

  “We can do that,” Trask said. “Since we have the arrest warrant and indictment in hand now, we can contact ICE and TSA and get his flight information out of the country. He probably did head for Madrid, since he would have wanted that form he filled out to match his ticket. Where he was going from there is anybody’s guess.”

  “My guess is Switzerland,” Barrett said, still looking out toward the river. “He probably had money in their banks.”

  “That’s a good bet,” Trask agreed. “But he might get extradited from Switzerland. I’ll have to check the treaties and see what locales over there would be willing to protect him.”

  “Please do that,” Barrett said. “I hate the thought of our having to go to trial without the lead defendant.”

  “So do I,” Trask said. “I’ll pass what we have on to Interpol as well. They may have some luck tracking his travel after he got off the plane in Madrid.”

  “Good,” Barrett said, nodding his approval. He turned away from the window and sat down behind his desk. “I hear the suppression hearing went well, at least.”

  “It went great. You’ll want a transcript to read,” Cam said.

  Trask smiled. And Cam will keep it in his desk after you read it.

  “Are we expecting the defense to appeal the denial of the motion to the district court?” Barrett asked.

  “I think that’s almost a given,” Cam said.

  Trask smiled again. Comic relief in writing for years to come.

  “Okay, then,” Barrett said. “Tell our admin people to order the transcript with my approval.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cam said, grinning involuntarily.

  “Can I speak to you alone for a minute?” Trask asked Barrett.

  “Of course.”

  They waited until the others had left the room.

  “You don’t have a problem with any of your team, do you, Jeff?” Barrett asked.

  “No, no; nothing like that at all. Believe it or not, it’s about one of ou
r dogs. She’s been diabetic for years, and she went blind from the disease. We had her sight restored surgically, but she’s had some recent trouble due to a tick infection and some bad insulin. Boo’s a special girl, boss. She saved Lynn from a home invasion while we were in Maryland—took a chunk out of the bad guy’s wrist and chased him off—and she’s protected our other pups from any and all comers. She’s twelve years old plus a few months, and she hasn’t been herself lately. If we can’t get her turned around soon, I may need some time off. She’s Lynn’s favorite. She took her to the vet this morning; the doc told us to boost the insulin dosage for a while.”

  “Approved, of course,” Barrett said. “Cam can certainly stand in for you on any witness prep in the meantime. Take whatever time you need. I understand. Pets are family, especially dogs.”

  “Thanks for understanding. I’ll do my best to minimize the absence, if I have to take one.”

  Lee’s Summit, Missouri

  “How’s the patient?” Trask asked. He found Lynn in the kitchen. The dogs had not met him at the door.

  “She actually ate very well tonight,” Lynn said. “They just headed downstairs to go outside. They probably didn’t hear the garage door.”

  “That’s great news,” Trask said, shaking his head in relief. “Anything else from the vet?”

  “I had the hard talk with him. He brought up something called the ‘rule of five:’ we look at the five things she likes doing most. When she’s no longer enjoying those—or most of them—she’s telling us that the moments she’s living in are no longer good ones. That’s how she’ll tell us when it’s time.”

  “Five things,” Trask thought out loud. “Her meals, school, the dog park, playing with Tasha outside, what else?”

  “I’d say we watch for a fall-off in all her vocalizations. She talks when she’s happy. She makes that crazy wookie sound when she’s really happy. We’re also supposed to watch for declines in her weight, and for signs of nausea. The doc said that those would be independent signs that her systems might be failing.”

  “Is she in any pain?” Trask asked.

  “The doc said she wouldn’t be until her organs started going,” Lynn said. She started to sob. “I hope we can prevent this from going that far.”

  Trask nodded. “I do, too.” His voice was starting to crack.

  Lynn walked to him. He held her until she stopped crying.

  “In the meanwhile, we hope and pray that the insulin boost gives her a few more months of those good moments, okay?”

  “Okay.” She tried to smile.

  Kansas City, Missouri

  Trask spent the early portion of the next morning on his computer in his office.

  “Interpol didn’t waste any time,” Foote said. He was standing in the open doorway to Trask’s office. Trask looked up from his computer monitor.

  “Don’t tell me; let me guess,” Trask said. “I’ve been looking at the list of European countries that don’t have extradition treaties with the United States. Do we have a probable destination?”

  “We do.”

  “Is it possibly Andorra?”

  “It is. You’re scary. How’d you figure that out?”

  “It wasn’t hard. It’s the closest non-extradition territory to Madrid.”

  “That makes sense. Interpol said he rented a car from Budget at their counter in Madrid, and he did a one-way to Andorra. Where is that, anyway?”

  “Northeast of Madrid, in the mountains near the border with France. It’s what they call a ‘principality.’ It’s a sovereign country, but with all kinds of supervision and support alliances with both Spain and France. The banks are almost as secretive as the ones in Switzerland. It’s also a tax haven. If I were on the lam, I might head there myself, especially if I had money to live on.

  “The only downside is the size of the place. It’s tiny, and it wouldn’t take much time to get bored with it. I’d catch a kind of land-locked cabin or island fever after a while. Beretta will be risking his neck if leaves home from now on. Interpol has our Red Notice. They could scoop him up in almost every country in Europe.”

  “If the mob didn’t find him first,” Foote noted.

  “Yeah, there’s that, too.”

  “I could call Minelli,” Foote said. “I’m joking, I think.”

  “You are,” Trask said. “For now, anyway. We’ve still got a couple of weeks before trial. Let’s see if Paulie Pistols gets antsy in his new digs.”

  Hotel Montana

  Incles, Soldeu – Andorra

  Paul Beretta frowned as he clicked off his cell phone.

  The one square I hadn’t checked. Dammit.

  The funds he had brought with him and deposited in the bank in the capital city of Andorra La Vella were enough for a few more months, but he needed access to his accounts in Zurich in order to purchase more permanent housing accommodations, and he had just learned that Credit Suisse did not have any correspondent banking agreements with the banks in Andorra.

  “If, however, you could get to our branch in Barcelona, you could make a withdrawal at a much cheaper rate, Mr. Beretta,” the account manager had told him. Beretta did not, of course, tell the account manager why he did not want to leave Andorra.

  He walked out onto the balcony of his room.

  It’s a pretty valley, but I could use a change of scenery, just for a day or two. I’ll be back before anyone knows I ever left.

  The melting snows were finally opening access to the valley roads, so he took a taxi down to the capital. He got out of the taxi at the heliport and paid for a helicopter ride to the La Seu d’Urgell airport. A couple of hours later he landed in Barcelona.

  He took another taxi to the bank branch, and arranged a sizeable withdrawal, taking the money out in the form of a cashier’s check in Euros.

  It’s enough to buy a small house or farm, and to furnish the place. Time to get really established.

  He got a room at a hotel overlooking Sant Sebastia Beach on the shore of the Mediterranean. It was mid-afternoon when he checked in, and he decided to take a walk on the beach. It had been years since he had seen a shoreline, and the warmth of the sun was a welcome change from the cold mountain air in Andorra.

  He hadn’t packed any beach attire, but a polo shirt and some shorts from the hotel gift shop allowed him to hit the beach without looking foolish. He walked toward the north and east for quite a distance along the shoreline, stopping to note that the custom for nude sunbathing in the area was still being honored by some.

  Some should, some should not, he thought.

  He stopped along the street bordering the beach as he noticed the sand coming to an end. He took a left on Carrer de la Marina, and two blocks later noticed the entrance to the Casino Barcelona.

  Well, well. A stroke of luck that may hold a stroke of luck!

  He entered and played a while at the table games. He did well enough to persuade himself that he needed to raise the stakes that he was betting. He checked his wallet and regretted that his bank withdrawal was totally tied up in the cashier’s check.

  That’s what credit cards are for. I’ll pay it off when I get back to Andorra.

  He made the card withdrawal at an ATM. Three hours later, he called it an evening, and took his modest winnings back along the beach to his hotel room.

  Madrid, Spain

  “Inspector,” the officer manning the terminal called his supervisor over to his station.

  “What do you have, Carlos?” the inspector asked.

  “We had a hit on a credit card last night in Barcelona. I just received the notice from the Command and Coordination Centre. It is for a Paul Beretta out of the United States, and the card was used at a casino. It’s the same one he used to purchase his plane tickets out of the U.S. There is a Red Notice out for Beretta.”

  “Good work,” the inspector said. He reached for a telephone and asked to be connected to the police in Barcelona. “Carlos,” the inspector said. “See if the card was also
used in any hotels in Barcelona, and make sure we have a photograph of Beretta ready to transmit.”

  “Si, Señor.”

  Barcelona, Spain

  “I’ve changed my mind, driver,” Beretta told the cabbie. He saw the two police vehicles parked at the curb in front of the airport.

  I have no idea what they’re here for, but those are not airport police vehicles. Why risk it if there’s a chance in hell?

  “Take me to the car rental facility please.”

  Lee’s Summit, Missouri

  “We had three good days, Jeff, but she’s stopped eating again,” Lynn said. “She barely touched her breakfast.”

  Trask nodded. “She didn’t want the treats last night when we did the school session, either.” He shook his head.

  He opened the sliding door to the deck and walked outside, looking down over the railing into the back yard.

  Boo was sitting next to the fence at the rear of the yard, staring at the cove of the lake. Tasha walked up behind her and prodded her with a front paw, but the big dog did not react to the invitation to play. Trask watched as Boo finally stood and started to walk to her left. She took six or seven steps, then began vomiting.

  Trask felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He felt Lynn beside him touching his arm. She was sobbing, but she caught her breath enough to speak.

  “It’s time,” she said.

  Trask nodded. “I’ll call ahead,” he managed to say. “We’ll put them all in the car.” He tried to smile. “I’m glad the doc works on Saturdays.”

  They took the dogs to the garage. Trask lifted Nikki into the back seat before lifting Boo in.

  When she feels good, she usually jumps in. She didn’t even try today.

  He looked at Boo as she settled into the seat.

  She’s so gray, now. Almost white. So thin, too.

  They didn’t really speak during the drive. When they reached the vet’s office, they walked inside slowly, the pups all on their leashes. Trask saw that the receptionist was unable to speak as well, and that she had tears in her eyes. Lynn noticed.