Streeter Box Set

by Michael Stone

  Ben and Space were shoved hard against the soft bench-seat back when they first hit the Honda. The force of the impact then flung their bodies simultaneously forward; Ben’s left temple smashed into the steering wheel, and Space hit the dashboard with the right side of his head an instant later.

  When they finally stopped, Space’s body shook in pain and bewilderment. He tried to comprehend what had just happened. Cool, he thought finally as he sat there, and wondered how Ben had done that.

  SEVENTEEN

  When he first got to the garage that Saturday night and saw the damage to the rear end of his prized Town Car, Alphonse looked utterly defeated. But the longer he stared at the car, the more furious he became. He was pale, almost bloodless. Once he finally calmed down, he talked to the owner of the Prelude. Got the guy to take a personal check for two thousand dollars toward fixing the side of his car. That and a promise to come to Al personally if it cost any more. No sense dragging insurance companies into this mess. While he was talking to the Prelude guy, Maria and Sheri took Ben and Nicky to the emergency room at Saint Anthony’s Hospital. A few stitches and a neck brace for Ben, along with painkillers for both of them. Which couldn’t have made the boys happier.

  Just before noon the next morning, he returned to the garage with Sheri. They opened the overhead door and examined the Lincoln together. The damage was minimal: a scraped rear bumper, one broken taillight, and a couple of small dents to the bottom of the trunk. But to Alphonse, even the tiniest ding was monumental. After examining the car for a few minutes, Sheri spoke.

  “Nicholas and Ben could have been killed, Daddy,” she said. “Or you and Mom if you’d driven this to church today.”

  “The thought crossed my mind,” Alphonse responded while still studying the Lincoln.

  Sheri seemed about to say something else when she noticed Streeter and an attractive blond woman approaching. Alphonse had called the bounty hunter earlier that morning and asked him to come out to the garage. Told him things had taken another turn toward the serious side the night before: someone bled his brakes and Nicky smashed his car. He sounded like he was about to cry right over the phone, so Streeter said he’d be there by twelve. He said he might be bringing an assistant with him. Watching them walk toward the garage now, Sheri assumed the woman in the tight jeans and navy T-shirt was the assistant her father had mentioned. Figures, she thought. Big, good-looking guy like Streeter would have a plaything like that working for him.

  “Look at this, Streeter,” the Cheese Man said when they got to him. His voice was as choked and hoarse as that of a chicken with emphysema. “They damn near killed the kid, and my car’s half ruined. I got a lot a history with this Lincoln. Lot a history.” He looked back at the car and opened his mouth to continue, but instead just shook his head and looked down.

  Streeter nodded at Sheri and took a couple of steps into the little garage, which was barely big enough to contain the enormous vehicle, with musty, slightly damp air. Then he turned around and moved back to Alphonse and his daughter in the driveway. For her part, Ronnie just studied the old man and shot an occasional side glance to Sheri.

  “That’s too bad, Al,” Streeter said, “but I think a good repair shop’ll be able to get her good as new. I’m more concerned about why it happened.” He looked at Ronnie and then at Sheri. “This is my assistant, Ronnie Taggert,” he said to Sheri. “She’s been giving me a hand, so I thought she should meet you.” He looked at Ronnie. “This is Alphonse and Sheri Lucci.”

  The Cheese Man moved his eyes in her direction but didn’t seem really to see her. Sheri just studied her in silence. Ronnie nodded at both of them and smiled.

  “How are Nicholas and his friend holding up?” Streeter asked Sheri.

  She rolled her eyes. “They were so high that I doubt if they felt a thing when it happened. Ben stayed overnight at the hospital, but that was just for observation. Nicky’s pretty stiff in the shoulders today and he has a headache, but he’ll live. Maybe this’ll get him back into rehab.” She paused and looked at the garage again, her shoulders moving up slightly. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Heck with those two coconuts, Streeter,” the old man said suddenly, as if he were just waking up to the whole scene. He turned to the bounty hunter and Ronnie. “If those two kids hadn’t come out here last night, it would a been me and Maria in there. Both of us dead, maybe.” His head moved from side to side in disbelief. “Maria dead,” he concluded weakly.

  “Where is she now?” Streeter asked.

  “Inside the house packing,” Sheri responded. “We’re sending her to live with her cousins in Milwaukee until all this is settled. Completely settled.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Streeter said.

  Now Ronnie, looking at Sheri, spoke for the first time. “Have you and Nicky given any thought to getting away for a while?”

  Sheri glanced at her and nodded. “Nicky can’t leave the state, so he said he’d go stay with his father up in Northglenn.” She rolled her eyes. “The man is useless, but Disanto probably doesn’t know about him, and Nicky’ll be safe there. I want to tie up a few loose ends and then I’ll probably join Mom out in Wisconsin.”

  “What else can I do?” the Cheese Man asked. “I myself sure ain’t running nowhere, but I gotta keep the family safe. Hell, we had the cops out here last night and they talked to all the neighbors. No one saw nothing. Freddy did a real professional job out here. The brake lines were drained and the fluid was taken away. No fluid, no prints, no nothing. One of the cops told me that, an old car like this, I musta forgot to keep the fluid level up. You imagine that? Like I’m senile or something. They did up a traffic-accident report and let it go at that. Plus, the kids were so stoned when the cops got here that that was about all they seemed interested in investigating. Nicholas is lucky they didn’t arrest him and his moron buddy.” He paused. “The D. didn’t leave no trail here.”

  “Assuming this was Freddy’s work,” Streeter added.

  “Him or Bosco,” Alphonse said. “Who else?”

  No one spoke for a moment, and then the bounty hunter asked Alphonse, “You given any more thought to selling out to Disanto? It would end all this crap and it might be the smart move.”

  The Cheese Man shook his head. “I gave it nothing but thought all weekend and I still say no!” His little body shook and his head bobbed in rage. “The day I let that jackass run me outta town is the day I might as well lay down and die.”

  “Which Freddy might arrange for you,” Sheri shot in, obviously mad herself. She turned to Streeter. “We went over it again last night. Over and over. He’s not selling and that’s that.”

  Streeter nodded and turned away from them, glancing in the direction of the Lucci house, a few doors to the north. A small white bandage on the back of his head, near the top, covered the glass cut he got Friday morning.

  “The hell happened to you?” Alphonse took a step toward him and reached one hand up in the general direction of Streeter’s skull.

  The bounty hunter turned back and touched the bandage softly. “Someone remodeled my car the other day.” He saw the frowns on both Luccis’ faces and added, “A couple of my Buick windows got shot out Friday morning. I think it was Mitch Bosco, but I didn’t actually see him do it.”

  “What the hell?” The old man backed away half a step. “Where’d this happen?”

  “Out near a junkyard Mitch was visiting.” Streeter shifted his weight from his right leg to his left . “I was tailing him like I said I would. Being pretty obvious about it, too. Apparently, he didn’t care much for that.”

  “He tried to kill you?” Sheri stepped forward.

  He shrugged. “Probably not. Judging from the sounds of the shots, he was pretty close to my car when he fired. Close enough to hit me if he wanted to. I think this was just his way of trying to scare me off.”

  “Did it work?” Sheri asked.

  “No one scares Tarzan here,” Ronnie said. “He
didn’t even call the police about it. Just took his car in to get the windows replaced and shrugged it off.”

  “I’ll pay for the damage,” Alphonse offered. “You followed Bosco, huh?”

  Streeter nodded. “Does Ted Kostas mean anything to either of you?”

  The old man thought about that for a moment. “I hear the name from time to time. What’s he got to do with this?”

  “He’s the guy who owns the scrap yard Mitch went to. It seems obvious that Kostas knew Mitch took those shots at me.” Streeter stared off briefly and then looked back at Al. “First thing tomorrow, I’m going to check out this Mr. Kostas.”

  “I’ll ask around about him this week myself,” the old man said. “So what do we do now, Streeter?”

  Streeter considered that. “Other than get your family out of the line of fire and check out Kostas, I want to tail Bosco again. I have to get back in the saddle. With someone like Mitch Bosco, you let him think he’s won and he has. He and Disanto both have to know I’m hanging in there with you, Al.” Streeter nodded and didn’t say anything for a moment. “I’ve got a few other ideas, but I want to discuss them with Frank first.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Mitch Bosco sat looking out the eighth-floor sliding glass door of his apartment that Sunday afternoon, studying the Rockies. He had an almost unobstructed view, and it always calmed him to stare at the mountains, some thirty miles away. Earlier he’d gotten a call from a conflicted Freddy Disanto telling him what happened to the Lucci Town Car the night before. Apparently, the D. had gone by Al’s place that morning, seen the wrecked Honda, and asked neighbors about it.

  “Lucci’s idiot grandson tried to take the Lincoln out for a joyride last night and they ended up half totaling another car,” Disanto had explained over the phone. “Whoever the hell Ben Champine is, he’s got one fucked-up back this morning. And Lucci’s grandson, Nicky, ain’t feeling just right, either.” He paused and Mitch could hear him wheezing slightly into the receiver. “I swear, that old Cheese Man’s made outta Teflon. Nothing ever sticks to him. This is like West Vail all over again.”

  “Now, wait a minute,” Mitch had come back. “I did what you said, where you said, and exactly when you said to do it. This was no mistake by me.” No sir, he thought. Freddy Disanto set up this boner by himself. Serves the big jerk right. Drives me over to the garage on Friday night like I’m a damned ten-year-old.

  “Am I blaming you?” Freddy said loudly. “Did you hear me blame you? Hell, getting the kid is almost as good as if the old man was in the car. Lucci got the message. Especially after I called him a while ago to say I heard about the accident and that I couldn’t be more sorry. I even hinted that we should get together and talk about his selling price on the pizza joint, strongly suggesting that he had enough on his mind without worrying about his various family members and their general health and safety. He knew it was me that set it up after I got that one in.” The D. paused. “It’s just that the old man keeps dodging the bullets. That’s all.”

  “Okay, then.” Bosco eased off some. “How did the old guy react to your mentioning the restaurant business?”

  “First he sounded like he just found a dead rat in his minestrone.” Freddy was smiling now. “Then he said he’d get back to me on it. I tell you what, Mitchie. Something like this, it first looks like a screwup and then turns out it might be the best thing that could have happened.”

  Mitch considered that for a moment. “It’s like Anthony Robbins teaches: Treat every failure as a learning opportunity. Remember, the people with the most success are usually the ones who failed the most.”

  Freddy frowned into the phone. “Yeah, it’s just like that. I’ll talk to you later this week.” With that he hung up.

  Now, still staring at the Rockies, Mitch contemplated the second call he’d received that afternoon. It was from one of the Arizona financial backers. The guy—he would only give his name as Niles—had called Mitch twice in the past week. Evidently, Freddy the D. had told him he was working with Bosco “on our Lucci difficulties” and Niles called to get a progress update.

  “Our faith in Mr. Disanto has been shaken,” Niles had told him in their first conversation. “You can understand that, given how long it’s taking Mr. Disanto and still he hasn’t come to terms with Mr. Lucci.”

  Mitch played along, especially after Niles mentioned that if he could speed things up the Arizona associates might be inclined to reward him with a piece of the action once the development was finished. He, Mitch, could manage the project rather than Freddy Disanto, as was originally planned. So today Mitch told him that they were sensing some flexibility in Alphonse’s position, now that his family was drawn deeply into the negotiating process.

  This pleased Niles to no end, since Freddy had told him months ago that Lucci’s daughter favored the deal all along. Niles then concluded by saying that, if something fatal were to happen to the elder Lucci and Sheri were to take control of his properties, well, sir, they’d probably get their deal on the spot. The notion of a dead Al Lucci wasn’t wasted on Mitch for a second. But he asked why Niles and his friends didn’t just pass that idea directly on to Disanto. He was reminded, “We simply have lost faith in Mr. Disanto’s ability to get the job done. Besides, it sounds as though you would be the man to do the actual work. No point getting too many people involved in a project like that.”

  Hot damn. Squeeze the D. right on out of the picture. Mitch was all for that. No more being called Mitchie. No more looking at that ugly ape and hearing his guttural orders. Mitch would be the man in Denver. Now, that would be a long entry for his “Prosperity Journal.” And killing old man Lucci would be easy enough to arrange, Mitch realized as he walked to the kitchen for a hit of ginger schnapps. The hard part would be dealing with Freddy the D. if Mitch were to take over his spot with the Arizona financial backers. That would require some serious thought.

  NINETEEN

  Mitch thought he was seeing a ghost that Monday morning. Crazy bounty hunter had his piece-of-junk Buick all fixed up good as new and was back on Mitch’s butt by about nine. Everywhere he went for over three hours: the bank, the supermarket, the downtown library, to T.K. Scrap for a quick stop. All the way to his coffee meeting just after lunchtime. He didn’t think Streeter had followed him into the restaurant itself, and he wasn’t waiting outside afterward. Which was fine with Mitch. Maybe the big man was finally taking a break.

  “How’s your newest bestest buddy?” Ronnie asked Streeter when they settled into Frank’s office shortly before two o’clock that day. “You’re not going to be needing any new windows on that classic vehicle of yours, are you?”

  “Not today,” he answered. “But I think Mitch is starting to warm up to me. At least he didn’t throw any shots at me this morning.”

  “Let’s get down to business, Miss Ronnie,” Frank said softly as he rocked behind his desk. “Did you find out anything interesting when you checked on Kostas over at Denver court this morning?”

  “He’s another winner, only more so,” she answered. “Ted Kostas is every bit as hopeless as the rest of the bunch. Nine arrests. Basically for the same nickel-and-dime stuff that Bosco gets involved in. Apparently Ted is a fence for stolen goods, and he’s proficient if not all that successful.” She nodded to a stack of papers on Frank’s desk. “You can read all about it in there. Only four convictions, so he must have a decent lawyer. But the guy is a twenty-four-karat loser. His most recent bust was a few months ago, when he tried to solicit an undercover policewoman for sex at Big Danny’s on South Federal. He must like strip clubs.”

  Streeter glanced at Frank. “You know Danny Fisk, don’t you?”

  The bondsman nodded. “I’ve written up a few of his bouncers when they got carried away doing their jobs. They get the occasional assault charge. Danny’s an all-right guy.”

  “Anyhow,” Ronnie continued, “Kostas seems to work alone, and he’s run that junkyard or whatever it is for years. Apparently he does a
lot of his fencing out of there. Never been married, at least never divorced, and he’s had two DUIs over the past fifteen years. A lot of assorted other traffic violations, and he’s been sued several times for late payments to different people.”

  “I’m meeting up with Al for dinner at his house, and maybe he’ll have more on Kostas then,” Streeter interjected.

  “So the question to us is, what business does Mitch Bosco have with Mr. Kostas?” Frank asked. He stopped rocking and looked at the two people across from him. “Any ideas?”

  “It might be that Kostas has something to do with Mitch and the cops,” Streeter responded. “Carey said he’s helping the police, and when I followed him to the Rocky Mountain Diner a little while ago, Bosco sat down with a young couple at a booth by the window. I don’t think anyone saw me standing outside of the place, but the woman looked familiar. I’ve seen her in court, at a couple of bond hearings, and if memory serves me, I think she’s a deputy DA. I don’t know her name, but she’s definitely with the DA’s office. It’s interesting that Mitch went to meet her right after he made a short stop at Kostas’s place.”

  “Could be Teddy’s involved with whatever Mitch and the cops are doing, all right,” Frank said, leaning forward.

  Streeter nodded. “I’d sure like to find out.” He thought for a moment. “Could you give Danny Fisk a call today and see if he knows much about Kostas?”

  “Sure,” his partner said.

  “Why?” Ronnie asked.

  “Maybe no good reason,” Streeter said. “Let’s wait and see what Danny says. I might have an idea as to how to get inside Kostas’s head.”

  “That sounds like a lonely place to be,” Ronnie shot back.

  “Probably, but I’d still like to know how he fits in with Bosco,” Streeter said. “If Kostas is a regular at Danny’s, then I think I have a way we can get to him.”