Rossi looked even worse than the overworked and frightened accountants. He was half drunk from the martinis of the previous evening. He was having difficulty accepting the loss of his empire, much of which he had inherited from his father and grandfather and great grandfather. All his scheming, in the end, had resulted in a grand failure.
The attorneys began stacking piles of documents on his desk, all marked with small pieces of red tape indicating where he should sign. He looked at the documents, then at Kiettisuk Jetjirawat and Abdul Rahman.
“This isn’t right,” he said in one final attempt to save himself. “I didn’t take your money. We have always had trust among us.”
“Yes, Jonathan,” Kiettisuk Jetjerawat agreed, “‘had’ would be the proper word.”
“What about the Dutchman?” Rossi asked. “I don’t see mention of him here.”
“That’s something else we suspect you know more about than we do,” Abdul answered.
Rossi didn’t pursue the issue. He had a sickening feeling that the Dutchman’s fate preceded his own. He didn’t know who was responsible for that either.
He spent the next two hours signing whatever document was placed before him. He didn’t argue. He didn’t even bother to read what he was signing. He had lived in this world long enough to know it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
Abdul asked if he and Kiettisuk Jetjirawat should be signing as well. Kiettisuk said they could add their signatures later. At the moment, it was important for Rossi to sign.
“In such situations,” Kiettisuk Jetjirawat said, “one never knows what the future will bring.”
In Miles’ Marina district condo, the cleanup crew had done a good job. All the damaged furniture had been removed. Paintings rehung. Files and papers straightened and returned to the desk, which Miles had decided to keep.
He had asked them to remove Scott’s clothing from his closet and take them to the Salvation Army. He even wanted all the bedclothes removed. While he didn’t want to erase Scott from the home they had shared, he didn’t think he could bear looking at his clothing every day. He didn’t think he could sleep on the sheets they once slept on together.
The first trucks arrived soon after Darcey and Miles got there. They spent the next several hours directing the placement of furniture. They unpacked the new bedclothes and decorative items they had picked out on their shopping trip.
By late afternoon, the home looked livable again. There were pictures of Scott and Miles. Other mementos from their life together.
“I love the new things we’ve picked out, Darcey,” he said, “but I also love the memories of Scott. The pictures of us together are especially comforting to me. Is that weird?”
“Certainly not, Miles. It’s normal. It’s healthy. It’s all part of the grieving process.”
“It’s like he’s still here with me somehow.”
“He is, Miles. He will always be with you. I still feel my dad’s presence and he’s been gone for almost five years. Be open to Scott, Miles, and you’ll feel him with you.”
There were fewer tears today.
At last Rossi signed the final document. The attorneys picked up the piles of papers and filed out.
Kiettisuk Jetjirawat and Abdul Rahman stared at Rossi. Neither showed sympathy or encouragement.
“This is all regrettable, Jonathan,” Kiettisuk Jetjirawat said, “and so unnecessary.”
He and Abdul left Rossi alone with Pietro.
It was quiet in the room after Rossi’s former partners left.
“Why?” Rossi asked. “Why did you turn against me?”
“Your arrogance became unbearable,” Pietro replied. “But more than that, it became apparent to me you weren’t a good business partner. I saw things. I saw you double-crossing your partners. If I could see it, eventually they would, too. I had to protect myself.”
“The Dutchman,” Rossi said. “What happened to the Dutchman?”
“Apparently you ordered a hit on him.”
Once again, Rossi was caught by surprise.
“I ordered no hit on the Dutchman,” he protested. “You would have known if I had. I didn’t order any funds transferred to my bank. Someone set me up. I don’t know who or how. But someone set me up.”
“As Kiettisuk Jetjirawat said, that’s regrettable. Sogni d’oto,” Pietro added. “Sweet dreams, Don Rossi.”
He raised the Heckler & Kock, with the sound suppressor still attached. He pulled the trigger and traced a line of bullet holes beginning with Rossi’s left hip, continuing upward diagonally across his body to his right shoulder. Rossi’s body jumped like a puppet on a string as each piece of lead struck home.
He slid down in his chair. Half sitting; half lying. His eyes were open but beginning to glaze over. He was struggling to take shallow breaths. Pietro let him struggle.
Then he fired a single shot into Rossi’s head.
After a century of ruling a criminal empire, the Rossi Family ceased to exist.
In the Nob Hill condo, Trent got out of bed and joined Preston Johnson in the living room. Preston was careful to speak very softly when he asked if there was anything he could get for Trent, or do for him. Trent shook his head no.
Suddenly, Trent turned to the entry door. Preston heard nothing. With his finger to his lips, he motioned to Preston to be silent. He stepped to the door, jerking it quickly open.
Jean Philby was walking by carrying a small bag. She ignored him. He assumed the slight noise he had heard even with the sound suppressing muffs was the elderly woman shuffling down the hallway. He stepped back inside and closed the door.
The face in the small glass pane of the emergency stairs alongside the elevator watched. Fortunately, Burgess had heard the elevator stopping at the 15th floor in time to get out of sight.
He had managed to get on the elevator to the secure floor without being seen when the concierge took a bathroom break. It wouldn’t do for anyone to remember seeing him in the building, especially on this floor, when he carried out his plan to take his own revenge on Trent Marshall.
Trent returned to bed.
Preston Johnson sat quietly, holding the ever present cane. He was thinking about how he had spent his life. For the first time in his memory he was beginning to have regrets.
After a while, he quietly opened the door to Trent and Darcey’s bedroom to check on his charge. He found Trent sleeping soundly.
As he watched his ailing friend sleep, his concern deepened.
There was no cocktail hour.
Darcey scrambled some eggs and crisped up some bacon when she and Miles returned. Trent ate some of the eggs but declined the bacon. He went back to bed after the meager dinner.
Miles told Darcey he thought he would move back to his condo the next day.
“Are you sure you’re ready, Miles?” Darcey questioned. “You know you can stay here as long as you need to.”
“I’m ready,” he said. “I need to be alone there with the memory of Scott. And don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I won’t drink. I won’t do anything stupid.”
Darcey nodded. She understood.
“If you don’t mind, I would like to take some more time off work. I need to get through this process before I can focus on the job.”
“Take as much time as you need, Miles,” Darcey said.
Wednesday, August 10th
The day dawned peacefully.
Darcey was awakened by her husband bringing her coffee with a kiss. She enthusiastically, and gratefully, accepted both. She raised her eyebrows questioningly before speaking.
“It’s ok,” Trent said in a normal voice. “My hearing is back to normal. These symptoms seem to last no more than a few hours.”
“The doctors say that’s a good sign,” Darcey noted, optimistically.
“They’re still unpleasant though,” Trent said. “So far we’ve been lucky. Nothing debilitating has shown up at a critical time. In fact, the dilated pupils helped us capture the men who trashed M
iles’ home.”
The day they had planned was uneventful.
Trent would take Miles to the police impound lot to retrieve Scott’s Mercedes. Or as they learned the day before, Miles’ Mercedes. Then he would accompany Miles home to be certain that all was well.
Darcey planned to spend at least part of the day in the office. With all the events of the past few days, neither she nor Miles had been able to tend to business. It was time for her, at least, to get back to work.
And, yes, she assured Trent, she would take the pink and black gym bag with her.
At ten o’clock Abdul Rahman appeared in Kiettisuk Jetjirawat’s top floor apartment in Little Saigon. He was there at the Thai gangster’s invitation. He believed they would be adding their signatures to the papers dividing the Rossi empire between them.
Abdul had become leery of recent events and who might be behind them. He had at first believed Rossi ordered the hit on the Mad Dutchman. That assumption was based on the bodies of two of Rossi’s soldiers found at the scene. Since discovering that Kiettisuk Jetjirawat’s source within the Rossi family was the don’s underboss and consigiliere, Abdul was no longer sure that the Mafia leader had ordered the hit.
It was not clear to him who had attacked Rossi’s compound. He was certain he had not ordered it. But the Mad Dutchman might have and Rossi could have ordered the outlaw biker gang wiped out in retaliation.
He didn’t see how anyone else but Rossi had siphoned off $200 million of his partners’ money. That was the one event for which he could think of no other possibility. Yet the question of the death of Scott Douglas remained. Why would one of Rossi’s men kill Douglas? Unless Rossi wanted to be sure the transfer couldn’t be undone.
Clearly there were many questions.
For that reason, Abdul again wore his ancestral robes to the day’s meeting. The M4 was hidden within the folds. The rifle had a telescoping buttstock. Abdul folded the stock down, reducing the weapon to a size that allowed it to be easily strapped to his leg.
For the first time, he was accompanied by three of his men. He had armed them with USAS automatic shotguns, the powerful weapons designed in South Korea. Each of the weapons was fitted with a magazine containing ten 12-gauge shells.
Seeing no one but Kiettisuk Jetjirawat in the room when he entered, Abdul instructed his men to wait outside the door
The two surviving members of the fiduciaria first enjoyed a cup of jasmine tea. It was one of the things Abdul appreciated about doing business with Kiettisuk Jetjirawat. Their meetings were always very civilized occasions.
Abdul spoke as Kiettisuk poured each of them a second cup of tea.
“Shouldn’t we begin the signing?” he asked, waving his hand at the stacks of documents lying on the table.
Kiettisuk Jetjirawat continued pouring.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Abdul.”
Abdul was immediately alarmed. Alarm escalated to apprehension as Pietro entered the room, the Heckler & Kock submachine gun with sound suppressor still attached in his hands.
“I believe you know Pietro,” Kiettisuk Jetjirawat said. “His full name, by the way, is Peter Greco. He is a most talented and useful man.”
“Good morning, Abdul,” Pietro said, pleasantly. He leaned against the wall near the door.
Abdul forced himself to turn back to Kiettisuk Jetjirawat.
“I don’t understand. Why do you say no signatures are necessary?”
“Because these stacks of forms we forced Rossi to sign are worthless, Abdul.”
“Worthless?” Abdul was taken aback. “How can they be worthless? How can we assume ownership of the Rossi properties without them?”
“Jonathan Rossi has met an unfortunate fate,” Kiettisuk said. “The same fate the Mad Dutchman met a few days ago.”
Abdul looked from the Thai to Pietro and back.
“Rossi didn’t order the hit on the Dutchman,” he concluded. “It was you. Pietro was working for you. He carried out the hit and left two of Rossi’s men dead at the scene to make it appear it was done on Jonathan’s orders.”
“Perhaps,” Kiettisuk Jetjirawat said.
“Maybe it was you who ordered the attack on Rossi’s home also.”
Kiettisuk only smiled.
“But what does all that have to do with our current situation?” Abdul asked. “I ask again. How do we assume ownership of the Rossi properties without formalizing the new arrangement with our signatures on these documents?”
“We already own them, Abdul.”
“We own them? How can that be so?” Abdul’s bewilderment showed clearly on his face.
“You didn’t investigate thoroughly the terms of the fiduciaria the four of us entered into, Abdul.”
“The fiduciaria? The fiduciaria no longer exists. We eliminated it when we required Rossi to sign these documents.”
“That was done, Abdul, simply to get a complete inventory of the Rossi properties. These documents are worthless. To assure that they don’t linger and complicate matters at some future date, I shall have them burned before the day is done.”
“But…but…” Abdul was reduced to stammering mindlessly.
“The fiduciaria, Abdul. The fiduciaria is alive and well. Only it is much more than a fiduciaria.”
Abdul sat dumbly, waiting for Kiettisuk Jetjirawat to explain.
“Rossi thought he was being extraordinarily clever in constructing the fiduciaria. He established it as a tontine.”
“Tontine?” Abdul was unsure what meant.
“A tontine is an ancient legal device whereby partners in a business venture agree that as one partner dies the others inherit his interests. When all but one has died, that one remaining partner has legal ownership of all properties.”
“Surely that can’t be legal,” Abdul objected.
“It is a vehicle seldom seen in business these days but I assure you it is quite legal. Since it is a rarely used device, Rossi was counting on his partners overlooking it.”
Abdul again looked from Kiettisuk Jetjirawat to Pietro Greco and back.
“So now there are two of us,” he said.
“For the moment, yes. We are the two surviving partners. Which reminds me, to commemorate the occasion I have a gift for you. I had it made especially for you. Pietro, if you would, please…”
Pietro laid his submachine gun against the wall. He stepped briefly into a side room, returning quickly with a strange appearing vest.
Abdul turned pale. It was not strange to him. He recognized a suicide vest when he saw one. He tried to access the rifle hidden in the folds of his robes. It was too late.
He felt the press of the barrel in his left ear. From the corner of his eye, he could see the subcompact but deadly Ruger in Kiettisuk Jetjirawat’s hand. Pietro laid the vest on the table before Abdul. He reached into the robes worn by the leader of the Scourge and retrieved the weapon hidden there.
Pietro opened the door leading out of the room. Abdul’s astonishment grew as he saw the three men who had accompanied him with their arms bound tightly to their bodies. Six of Kiettisuk Jetjirawat’s men pointed their lightweight, heavy caliber rifles at the prisoners. One of the Thais tossed the three automatic shotguns into the room to join the M4 taken from Abdul.
“So you intend to eliminate me and then you will control all that I have.”
“You’re partially correct, Abdul,” Kiettisuk Jetjirawat said. “I do intend to eliminate you. But you have nothing that I want. I already have a prominent position in all the lines of business you have pursued. You have siphoned your profits to the Middle East rather than investing them here.”
“Then why is it necessary to eliminate me?” Abdul asked, in a last desperate attempt to save himself.
“While you possess nothing I want, Abdul, you do possess something that worries me. You have a warehouse on the Oakland waterfront that is filled with explosives. I don’t know what you intend to do with that much firepower. But in this regar
d, I’m much like any other San Francisco businessman. It makes me nervous.
“Pietro, let’s get Abdul fitted with his new vest,” Kiettisuk Jetjirawat said. “Please stand up, Abdul.”
“Why should I cooperate in my own assassination?” Abdul challenged.
“Pietro, please help Abdul understand.”
The room went black just after Abdul felt the blow on the back of his head.
Trent followed Miles from the impound lot to the condo on Capra Way in the Marina District. They had first stopped at police headquarters where Miles was quickly granted a release.
Miles was solemn as he entered the condo in which he now lived alone. Trent wasn’t sure what to do. He wished Darcey was there. He silently watched Miles wander from room to room. He thought Miles and Darcey had done a nice job of design, leaving memories of Scott scattered among the beginning of Miles’ new life.
“Well, what do you think?” Miles asked.
“I think y’all did a great job, Miles. The more important question is, ‘What do you think?’”
Miles looked around one more time.
“It feels good,” he said. “It feels like home. It feels like Scott is still here with me on some level. I can live here with his memory.”
“And that’s all that’s important,” Trent said.
“Thanks for all you and Darcey have done for me, Trent. I don’t know how I would have made it through this without you guys.”
“Hey, Miles, that’s what friends are for. You can call on us anytime. You know that.”
“Yes,” Miles agreed, “and I know the grieving process has a long way to go. I have no doubt I’ll be calling. Now there’s one more thing I’d like to ask you to do for me.”
“Whatever you need.”
“I want you to help me buy a gun and teach me to shoot.”
“Whoa, Miles,” Trent said, taken by surprise. “That’s serious. What do you have in mind?”
“No worries, Trent. I’m not planning on doing anything foolish. Not to myself or to anyone else.”
“That’s good to know.”
Tears were flowing from Miles’ eyes. He took a moment to compose himself.
Neighbors and Other Strangers Page 21