Class Act

by Stuart Woods

  A woman answered, “Pizza Rumble.”

  “Lemme speak to Solly White,” Jack said, reverting to his old voice.

  The woman yelled, “Solly, for you!” She slammed the phone down hard.

  It took Solly a moment to disengage from his pasta. “This is Solly,” he said finally.

  “This is a voice from the past,” Jack said. “Don’t mention any names.”

  “Gotcha, pal.”

  “Call me back at this number when you’re done with lunch.” He gave Solly another throwaway number.

  “Half an hour,” Solly said, then hung up.

  * * *

  —

  The throwaway rang on schedule. “Yeah?”

  “Well, I’ll be fucked,” Solly said. “I heard you had flown the coop, but I never . . .”

  “You want some profitable work?”

  “Depends on how profitable.”

  “Fifty G’s. Half now, half when the work’s done.”

  “That’s an interesting number.”

  “Can you put your hands on some military-grade fireworks?”

  “Depends. Who do I have to vaporize?”

  “Nobody, just a trailer.”

  “Trailers are in trailer parks. Lots of people.”

  “This one is all by its lonesome. And it’ll be empty of people at, say, three am.”

  “Near here?”

  “A few miles.”

  “When do you want the trailer to go away?”

  “Tonight would be good. Tomorrow night at the latest.”

  “Where, exactly, is the thing parked?”

  “At the south end of the parking lot at Hialeah track. You’ll have to cut through a chain-link fence.”

  “Sounds doable. Let me swing by there and take a look. I’ll call you back in a couple of hours.”

  “Good.”

  “How big a bang do you want to make?”

  “Just big enough to shred the trailer. You can plant the plastic with a cell phone, then set if off from a distance.”

  “Good idea. I’ll call you after I’ve checked it out.”

  “Right. This phone is okay for a couple more calls.”

  * * *

  —

  Jack watched an old movie on TV, then the phone rang. “Yeah?”

  “It’s doable. How about the money?”

  “Give me an account number, and I’ll wire you half now, the rest when it’s done.”

  “Can you do it from offshore?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great, here’s an offshore account number.” He read out a series of numbers. “Offshore to Offshore, that’s secure. I can get it done tonight. I’ve got the goods in stock.”

  “Don’t call me in the middle of the night,” Jack said.

  “Switch your ringer off. I’ll leave a message saying the flight took off on time. Then you wire the rest.”

  “As soon as the bank opens,” Jack said. “Good luck.”

  “If I do my job right, I won’t need luck.”

  Jack called a number in the Bahamas and gave some wiring instructions.

  * * *

  —

  Solly spent a little more than an hour at his workbench. All he needed was some duct tape, a couple of brackets for backup, some wire, and a throwaway. Most of the time was spent setting up the phone to operate as planned.

  Around one in the morning he drove through half-deserted surface streets to Hialeah and found his way to the wrong side of the parking lot fence. He immediately saw something he hadn’t counted on. There was a light burning in the trailer. Somebody working late? Solly didn’t like killing people, and he didn’t take jobs where that was a serious possibility.

  He shut down the engine, took a pair of track binoculars, 10x50s, and sighted through a trailer window. He could see half of a lamp burning, probably on a table or desk. He watched for a full five minutes and never saw a person or a moving shadow. He’d need a closer look.

  Solly decided to cut through the fence there, behind a bush planted on the other side. He used his bolt cutters, and the work went quickly. He took his toolbox, already packed, from the trunk of the car, pressed down on the flap he had created, and stepped through the fence into the bush. Getting through the plant was harder than he had planned.

  Then something happened. A second light went on inside the trailer. Solly crouched down into the plant, becoming one with it. Then came a sort of sucking noise, and the second light went out, then the first, then Solly heard the metallic sound of a door opening and closing, then silence.

  Solly bulled his way through the fence, picked up his toolbox and his bolt cutters, and ran for his car. He got in, started the engine, but did not turn on the headlights. He was pointed toward the trailer, but he didn’t see anything. He opened the car door, stood outside, and looked around. The trailer had disappeared.

  20

  Jack Coulter was wakened from a deep sleep by a muffled ringing sound. He located it in his bottom bedside drawer and struggled out of bed while trying to find the right button. He staggered into his bathroom and closed the heavy door behind him and, finally, found the button. “What?”

  “It’s me,” Solly said.

  “I told you not to call me in the middle of the night. It’s after three.”

  “I’m sorry, but something has gone wrong.”

  “What has gone wrong?”

  “The trailer has disappeared.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean, I installed the fixture and programmed the phone. Then I was getting back through the fence and heard a swooshing sound and saw the lights in the trailer go off. Then I got back to my car and when I turned around, the trailer was gone.”

  “It sounds like somebody was using the toilet in the trailer and then drove off,” Jack said. “What do you have to do to get the thing to work?”

  “I just call the number. When it answers, I press number one, then set a time, like two minutes, and it goes off two minutes later.”

  “Good. Do that.”

  “I can’t do that!”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know where the trailer is. There might be people nearby wherever it is.”

  “There is hardly going to be a crowd gathering anywhere at three in the morning. Do it!”

  “I can’t!”

  “How about locating the phone electronically? Can you do that?”

  “Well, I’ve got that ‘Find My Phone’ app. Maybe that would work.”

  “We’ll never know until you try it.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  “No! Don’t call me back. Text me.”

  “Oh, right.” Solly hung up.

  Jack sucked in deep breaths to get his heart rate down. “Jesus Christ,” he said, to nobody in particular.

  * * *

  —

  Solly opened the app and pressed the find button. The little wheel went round and round for a minute or so, then a map filled the screen with a red dot in the middle. He zoomed out far enough to see the racetrack on the map and figure the red dot was in another parking lot. Somebody who worked for Manny was just relocating it. He pressed the call button for the phone, then chose two minutes, then stared off into the distance toward the track. Two minutes later a fireball appeared off to the right of the track, and a second later, he felt a puff of wind and heard the explosion. Solly hoped like hell that the trailer had not been parked outside someplace where people lived.

  He texted a message to Johnny’s throwaway. The flight took off a few minutes late, but it’s gone.

  * * *

  —

  Jack had just gotten back to sleep when he was wakened by a dull chime. He opened the bottom drawer, retrieved and read Solly’s confirmation message. Now
he could relax. Except he couldn’t get back to sleep.

  * * *

  —

  Manny Fiore was lifted about six inches off his bed by a siren. It took him a moment to remember that the siren was the ringtone on his cell. He found his pants on the floor and groped for the phone. “Who the hell is this!” he screamed.

  “It’s me, boss. Sammy.”

  “Why the hell are you calling me at”—he checked the bedside clock—“three-thirty in the morning?”

  “I thought you ought to know, boss. The trailer’s gone.”

  “Gone? Somebody stole my trailer?”

  “No, boss, I hooked up my truck to it and unhooked the wires, like you said, and I drove it over to lot five. I had just hooked it up and was driving away when the whole thing went up in smoke.”

  “The trailer caught fire?”

  “No, boss, it exploded.”

  “Exploded? Why the fuck would it do that? What did you do to it?”

  “All I did was unhook the cables, hook it up to my truck, drive it over to lot five, hook up the power and stuff, and drive away.”

  “Did you do anything else to it?”

  “Oh, yeah, I used the toilet. You might want to get it serviced. Oh, never mind doing that now, it’s gone.”

  “My whole trailer is gone.”

  “Now you got it, boss.”

  “No, I don’t got it. Did the propane tank explode?”

  “Well, that was kind of the second explosion, after the first big one. It even made a mushroom cloud, and money was raining out of the cloud.”

  “Did you find the safe?”

  “Not yet, boss. Everything’s kind of spread out around the parking lot. One good thing, though.”

  “Tell me something good, please.”

  “My truck’s okay. I got away just in time.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s a big, fat, fucking relief!”

  “I’m glad you feel that way, too, boss. Is there anything else you want me to do?”

  “Yeah, stick around there and see if you can find the safes. There are two of them. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Right, boss. I’ll conduct a search for the safe.”

  “Safes. Two of them.”

  “Both of them.”

  Manny hung up and got into his pants. He was halfway to the site of the ex-trailer when he remembered. Then he called Vinnie.

  “Hello?”

  “You sound sleepy.”

  “Is that you, Manny?”

  “Yeah, why are you asleep when my trailer is gone?”

  “Your trailer? The Airstream?”

  “That’s the only trailer I got.”

  “It was stolen?”

  “It was exploded.”

  “Exploded?”

  “Like, with a bomb.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “I want you to get over to lot five right now and find the safes. They’re both missing.”

  “Manny, I can’t get right over there. I’m in New York, have been for several days. Remember?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Manny said. “How long will it take you to get here?”

  “A while, I’m staying the week.”

  “The fuck you are. Get over there.”

  “Nothing I can do there. By the time I get a plane, the track and the cops will have taken care of it.”

  “Vinnie, do what I tell you. Your guy, Fratelli, musta done this.”

  “Well, I warned you not to try to screw him, Manny. But you got greedy.”

  “I want you over to the track now!”

  “No, thanks. I’m going back to sleep.”

  “I’ll wring your neck.”

  “Manny? Do you remember who my brother-in-law is?” Pause. “I thought so.” Vinnie hung up.

  21

  Manny knew what the next call had to be, and that he should wait until the Big Guy, Antonio Datilla, had finished breakfast. He waited until ten o’clock. Then just as he reached for the phone, it rang. Shit! “Hello?”

  “You know who this is.”

  It was Sal, consigliere to Don Tony. This was bad.

  “Sure, I do. I had my hand on the phone to call the Don with some news.”

  “The Don has already heard the news,” Sal said. “All he needs to know now is who and why.”

  “You remember Johnny Fratelli?”

  “Big, scary guy, who took care of Buono in the joint?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “He gave Vinnie a mil to spread, for five points a week.”

  “And?”

  “After a while, I figured we had paid him enough, so I stopped the vig.”

  “What about the principal?”

  “Principal?”

  “Johnny Fratelli’s mil. Did you give that back?”

  “Yeah. I figured the Don would give it back to Fratelli, if he thought it was right.”

  “Well, if he got his mil back, why is he blowing up our trailer?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Simplify it for me.”

  “I told Vinnie to get it back. I sent Vinnie to New York to find Fratelli, but he couldn’t.”

  “So Fratelli has kept his money? Why was he annoyed?”

  “I guess he didn’t want to give it back to me again.”

  “You know what I would do if you asked me for a mil back?”

  “Ah, no.”

  “I’d blow up your trailer. Okay, Manny, here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to go down to the Airstream trailer lot on the Dixie Highway, and you’re going to purchase a brand-new trailer, a big one, with your own money.”

  “If that’s what the Don wants.”

  “If I had spoken to the Don about this, you would already be floating, facedown, in Biscayne Bay.”

  “Okay, sure, glad to oblige.”

  “And our books show a little under three million in those two safes.”

  “About that.”

  “Then you better pray the safes are found, intact, or you can add that to your bill.”

  “Jesus, Sal, where am I going to raise three mil?”

  “Vinnie will loan it to you, at the usual rate.”

  “I’ll find the safes!”

  “Good luck. I’ll hear from Vinnie about that later today.”

  “You’ll hear from me.”

  “Nah, you’re taking orders from Vinnie, now. He’s got your job. And you’ve got his, hustling down at the track. Tell me you understand me.”

  “I understand you, Sal.”

  “You do this right, and the Don won’t hear about it. You put a foot wrong, and you’re bait.” Sal hung up.

  Manny hung up, too, and he was sweating heavily.

  22

  Manny put away his phone and started looking for the two safes. A car pulled up across the lot and sat there. Someone was watching. Manny redoubled his efforts. He found the larger of the two safes, intact, under a bleacher. A few moments later he found the smaller safe, its door ajar. It was half full of hundreds, the rest were lying about it, like fallen leaves. What Manny needed was a rake, but all he had was his hands.

  * * *

  —

  Vinnie was watching Manny from the car when his phone rang. He hoped it was Johnny Fratelli, because he had a few things to say to him

  “This is Vinnie.”

  “You know who this is.” It was never a question.

  “Sure, good morning.”

  “What are you doing at this moment?” Sal asked.

  “I’m watching Manny on his hands and knees, raking up Franklins. He’s doing a pretty good job.”

  “Here’s the way it’s going to be,” Sal said. “You now have Manny’s job, and he has yours. Capisce?”

&nbs
p; “I’m not sure I want his job,” Vinnie said. “If I had it, I’d be on my hands and knees right now, raking up money, instead of in my box at the track, enjoying the racing.”

  “You can do the job from your box, for all I care, as long as the count gets done and shipped every day.”

  “And who will do that job?”

  “Manny. He’s you now.”

  “Nah, I’d spend all my time watching my back and watching him try to steal your money. I got no interest.”

  “Vinnie, it’s double what you were making, and Manny is making a third of what he was making.”

  “That makes him dangerous,” Vinnie said. “The job is unattractive with him around.”

  “Then fire him, put a cap in his head, and he’s no more worry.”

  “You’ve got people who do that faster and better than I could do,” Vinnie said. “My gift is handling money.” Vinnie knew that he was edging pretty close to insubordination. And certainly, he would never have said this to the Don himself. But Sal’s job was to translate for the Don, then pass down the orders.

  “Done. And he’ll buy you a new trailer today, too. And replace the three mil in the safes.”

  “Don’t worry about that: the big one was not breached, and he’s raking up the money from the little one now.”

  “Fine. As soon as the new trailer is there and hooked up, tell Manny he’s working too hard and to take a few days off. He won’t come back.”

  “I got a kid who’s a runner, could do my old job.”

  “Good. Do it. Pay yourself and him in cash.”

  “I’ll commit for a year,” Vinnie said.

  “What? It’ll take you a year to learn the job.”

  “I learned it in a week, when I came to work for Manny,” Vinnie said.

  “Okay, you got yourself a deal. Start by doing whatever you have to to make Johnny Fratelli a happy man.”

  “I’ve already done that, and I don’t know where he is. If he wants to talk, he calls.”