by Dave Daren
He seemed like the type of guy to have victims.
Then I looked up front and realized Jovanni was in the passenger seat. Anthony’s capo was also dressed in all black and smelled like strong, cheap cologne that made my eyes water. He gave me a nod but remained just as silent as his buddy next to me. I’d already seen him in a fit of rage, but his quiet mode made me feel like I’d seen a whole other beast. I got the distinct feeling I had no idea what I was in for.
Anthony plopped into the driver’s seat and cranked the key in the ignition. The jalopy didn’t exactly roar to life, but it finally turned over, and Anthony puttered down the driveway. I cranked my neck around to see Hank’s car remained parked behind mine, and the thought of my giant bodyguard staying behind made my stomach turn.
One less witness to whatever was about to go down.
I turned around to stare at the dark sky ahead as we bounced along the gravel drive, and I was reminded of riding in my grandparents’ car when I was a kid as I nearly hit the roof as the old car hit a pothole. Apparently, the shocks in the Plymouth weren’t exactly up to par.
Anthony drove through Riverhead and then hopped on the LIE. The Plymouth struggled to reach the speed limit, but it stayed even with the other traffic, and no one rear-ended us, so I’d take that as a win. We drove along the highway, and I watched as we passed through Long Island while a haze of cigar smoke filled the car. The soldier eventually cranked the handle to crack his window, and the smoke disappeared but the whistle of the wind took its place. It was loud and obnoxious, and I almost preferred the cigar smoke, but I decided my lungs were better off with the whistle.
Still, no one spoke, and I found myself picking at my nails and then pulling invisible threads on my jeans as I tried to find a way to make this trip go a little faster. I had to think there was something better at our destination than my torturous, untimely death. And I didn’t particularly want Long Island to be the last thing I ever saw.
“So, this isn’t exactly a Chrysler 300,” I said and choked out a forced laugh.
“Not my usual car, no,” Anthony agreed. “But my preferred cars are a little too flashy for our plans tonight, so I had to switch things up a smidge.”
“Ah, yeah, flashy cars are more memorable for, um, potential witnesses,” I murmured. “Where did you get this, ah, antique? Not a car show, I hope.”
“One of my clients had a loan payment due,” he answered with a casual shrug. “I gave him a free month in exchange for tonight’s use of his vehicle. Don’t worry, Counselor, I didn’t steal it.”
“Well, if you were going to steal one, I’d hope it at least had working seatbelts,” I muttered as I let the useless strap fall back into place. “This thing is a turd. And it smells like one, too.”
I realized maybe that was why I didn’t mind the cigar smoke. It did a good job of covering the rancid odor of a forty year old car that had apparently survived at least two generations of diapered children.
“I wouldn’t have chosen it for myself, but it suits my need today,” Anthony replied with a dismissive wave.
“Which is?” I wondered.
“Flying under the radar,” he murmured.
My mind raced with possibilities as I sat back against the seat, but I tried to avoid any of the options that ended with my death or anyone’s death, for that matter. I knew he’d been working on a plan to get the laptop from Vlado, but he hadn’t told me what he’d decided to do. He hadn’t even given me a hint.
There weren’t many good reasons I could think of for him to keep me in the dark, which only left the bad reason. I had a sinking feeling he’d decided on something illegal, and he’d just made me an accomplice.
On the flip side, bringing me on this endeavor meant he trusted me, so hopefully, that also meant I wasn’t about to get stabbed and tossed in the Hudson River. I supposed that would be the silver lining.
“So, this car can’t be tied to you, then,” I mused as the rest of the situation fully registered. “You aren’t related to this guy at all?”
“No.” Anthony shook his head. “And he knows if he says I borrowed it, he’ll owe the remainder of his loan in full. He doesn’t have that kind of money. Trust me. I’ve seen his books.”
“Especially if he keeps betting away what little profits he does make on the ponies,” Jovanni cackled. “Idiot.”
“Like a dealer who uses his product,” the soldier added with a smoky laugh.
“It’s a good way to make sure you never end up rich,” Anthony agreed. “Some people like to stay small-time, but at least I’ll never lose him as a customer.”
I cringed inwardly at their amused conversation. It seemed Anthony had kept his father’s loan shark business intact, even with all the changes Sal had made to go legit. I briefly wondered if it was an old loan or a new one, but the thought didn’t last long.
Anthony exited the freeway in Queens, and I soon realized we were entering the Astoria neighborhood. Row after row of townhouses lined the street until we hit a gap in the housing, and Anthony turned right into an apartment complex. The buildings stood several stories high, but the population of the residents really caught my interest.
The people who lived in these apartments appeared to be in their late teens and early twenties, maybe college-aged kids or fresh graduates. The parking lot was full of a variety of vehicles from new-ish Lexus sedans to twenty year old sports cars, and the Plymouth didn’t draw a single second look. Even with its rackety motor and puke-green paint job, no one seemed to care about the junker rolling through the lot. I couldn’t tell if they were used to seeing crappy cars in and out or if it really didn’t look that bad under the minimal glow of the lights that barely lit the parking lot.
Either way, it seemed Anthony’s plan to stay under the radar was already going well.
My concern was what we were doing here.
The apartments were clearly not a place Anthony and his buddies normally went to hang out, but he seemed to have a destination in mind. We passed several tall buildings with a variety of flags and posters in their windows that boasted their support for civil rights, and plenty of marathon runner and mountain climber bumper stickers decorated the cars in the parking lot. It felt like a typical gen-Z hangout, not a place the Italian mob would be interested in visiting.
We drove toward the last building, and a handful of young men stood out in the yard smoking cigarettes and chatting over what I could only assume were craft beers, possibly micro-brewed in someone’s kitchen.
Anthony slow-rolled past them, and I thought we’d have an issue when they paused their conversation. Instead, they took the last few drags of their cigarettes, flicked them out to the parking lot, and headed back into the ground-floor apartment. Then the back parking lot was completely empty. A feeling of unease settled in the pit of my stomach, and I started to ask what we were doing here when the soldier next to me opened the door to get out. He handed his cigar to Jovanni before he grabbed a duffel bag from the floor where his feet had been and shut the door behind him.
Holy shit, was that a torture bag?
“Nasty habit,” Jovanni muttered as he held the smoking cigar away from his face.
I ignored his remark while a thousand scenarios raced through my mind. Should I close my eyes while he was beating the tar out of me? Or watch him until he felt guilty?
Would a guy like that even feel an emotion like guilt?
I had nearly driven myself into a crazed stupor before the old Plymouth began to roll forward again, and I realized the soldier had walked far away from the car.
“Are we just dropping him off?” I asked carefully once I’d caught my breath again.
“And picking him up shortly,” Anthony replied in a flat voice.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I leaned back against the seat as we drove around the other side of the complex. Anthony reached the main road and hung a right that took us back toward the entrance to the apartments. I furrowed my brow in confusion as
we took another lap past the tall buildings and stopped in the same place at the end. The cigarette-smoking party hadn’t returned to the yard, so all was clear when Anthony put the car in park.
The soldier opened the door and slid back onto the seat beside me, sans duffel bag. He took his cigar back from Jovanni, inhaled a long drag, and released it out the window with a sigh. He glanced over at the apparent confusion on my face and chuckled as he shook his head and muttered something in Italian.
“Hey, don’t pick on him too much,” Anthony laughed. “He doesn’t know the details.”
“Okay, okay.” The soldier held his hands up in surrender and grinned.
The man’s smile did nothing to alleviate my concerns. In fact, it reminded me of every serial killer documentary I’d ever watched. Even though I knew Rossi was an enforcer, this guy seemed more like the cleaner and about a million times scarier.
I was completely bewildered at the situation, but Anthony made the same trip around the other side of the complex and exited onto the road. This time, he didn’t re-enter the parking lot but continued deeper into Astoria. I didn’t have to wait long before my role in the plan came into play.
“Hunter, call your fed buddies,” Anthony ordered me.
“Uh, and tell them what?” I asked in confusion.
I stopped myself before I said anything about his crew dropping off a duffel bag at a random apartment complex and squirmed uncomfortably in my seat under the dark eyes of the mobster next to me.
“You tell them about an 80s model Chevy Camaro that will be leaving the city soon and heading to Atlantic City,” he explained. “It’s black with a red racing stripe down the side and a cracked windshield. You didn’t get a plate number. That might be too… helpful.”
He smirked at the windshield part of his description, and I pursed my lips as I recalled our legal discussion a few nights ago when Liz and I had agreed a cracked windshield was guaranteed to get someone pulled over. It seemed Anthony had found a way to put my information to use in his plan, and I didn’t want to ask more, but I needed enough intel to give the feds, or they wouldn’t take the call seriously.
And I really didn’t want to be arrested for obstruction, so that was some good motivation, too.
“Well, I can’t just tell them to look for a car for no reason,” I replied in a dry voice. “Anything else I can give them?”
Anthony glanced over his shoulder at the guy next to me who frowned but didn’t say anything.
“You can let them know the driver of the Camaro is a well-known drug dealer in Astoria,” Anthony said after a moment. “We have reason to believe he’s heading to a party in Atlantic City with a batch of fresh product known as ‘gel.’”
As the realization of what must have been in the duffel bag dawned on me, I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth. I truly hoped Anthony and his soldier hadn’t just planted evidence on an innocent person. Not only would it be illegal, it would also be insanely wrong. A duffel bag that size could hold enough drugs to put someone in prison for a long time, and it wouldn’t be easy to get out of it, no matter how innocent the person was.
Not to mention, I had no idea how getting some random person arrested for drugs would help us get Vlado’s laptop, and unless I had missed some key information, that was the whole point of making any of these plans.
I felt like my mind was running a hundred miles an hour, and I couldn’t figure out what to do next.
Did I make the phone call and possibly ruin this random person’s life?
Were there other factors I didn’t know about?
Would Anthony really put me in a position to call the feds with false information?
My answer to the last question was a resounding no. Anthony did some messed up things for the mob, but he’d never made me question his respect for me and what I did for him. He always made sure others understood how much I’d helped him since we met, and he didn’t let anyone disrespect me, so he had no reason to start disrespecting me, either.
Plus, arguing with him in front of his capo and soldier seemed like a really good way to make my worst fears come true.
“Alright,” I finally agreed. “We can get a drug dealer off the streets.”
“I’m glad you’ve seen the light,” Jovanni chuckled without looking at me.
I rolled my eyes and pulled out my phone. I dialed Agent Hisashi and waited for him to pick up.
“Mr. Morgan, your deadline isn’t for another few days,” the agent answered coolly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I have information that will be useful to you,” I said.
“About which politician?” he jeered. “Chatel? Webber, I hope?”
“No,” I replied and took a deep breath. “It will all be clear to you soon. Look for an 80s model black Camaro with red stripes on its way from Astoria to Atlantic City. The guy is loaded down with his newest product and headed to a party to unload.”
“What the hell does this have to do with our case?” Hisashi demanded. “And how do you even know all this?”
“Like I said, agent, it will be clear soon enough,” I answered. “He’s got some stuff called gel.”
“Gel?” he repeated in a surprised voice. “Fresh stuff?”
“That’s what I’m told,” I confirmed after Anthony nodded.
“Local guys have been trying to find the source of that stuff for months,” Hisashi muttered. “How did you hear about it?”
“Don’t worry about that,” I dismissed his concern. “Just know the info is good.”
“You’re talking in riddles, kid,” the agent growled. “I want to know what good this does to keep you out of an obstruction charge.”
“Well, I suppose if it doesn’t pan out, I still have a few days to find something to your liking,” I retorted. “I told you I’d give you what I had. Take it or leave it.”
I saw Anthony’s shoulders tense up at my bluff, but I knew the federal agent wouldn’t ignore what I said. I wasn’t stupid, and Hisashi knew it, so he might put up a fight, but he’d still find a way to stop the vehicle, especially if they’d already been on the hunt for this gel stuff.
“Fine,” Hisashi grumbled. “But it better make sense, kid. What about when I get asked where the tip came from?”
“Anonymous caller said that the vehicle is driving erratically and has a cracked windshield,” I replied. “Easy probable cause.”
“Good God, you have an answer for everything.” The agent let out a whistle. “Typical lawyers, I suppose. Alright, Morgan, I’m putting this in motion. You better be right. You know what happens if you’re not.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said with a scowl. “I’ll be fine.”
Hisashi clucked his tongue before he hung up, and I leaned back into the seat with a sigh.
“Is he taking care of it?” Anthony asked.
“Yeah, he’ll do it,” I confirmed. “I knew he would. He can’t resist going after a bad guy, even if it’s not the one he was planning on.”
“Cops are all the same,” Jovanni said with a laugh. “All black-and-white, no fun. The gray area is much more exciting.”
“I’m starting to notice that,” I murmured, though none of the mobsters heard me as they all laughed and joked around.
Anthony continued along the dark road until we reached a neighborhood. This one was barely lit by streetlights, and there was no foot traffic along the sidewalks on either side. A few cars were parked in front of houses, but it mostly looked empty.
My client turned onto a side street and then made two quick right turns until we were in an alley. Anthony turned off the headlights and put the car in park. The Plymouth faced the road we’d driven in on, as well as a large house across the street. It was bigger than most of the homes on this road with a sprawling green lawn and a wide front porch. It looked out of place among the other cookie-cutter houses, but I’d never seen it before. One jet-black Tahoe was parked in the driveway, while two more were parked on the street out front.
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Anthony and his buddies didn’t offer any explanation as to our incognito parking job, and we sat there in silence for at least thirty minutes.
I’d finally gotten past the fear they had taken me somewhere to kill me, but I still wasn’t sure why we’d made the second stop. The duffel bag had been dropped off, the feds had been called, and yet, now we waited somewhere else for a reason I couldn’t begin to guess.
The driver of the Camaro wouldn’t likely be coming this direction to head to Atlantic City, so there wouldn’t be any reason to wait for him here. Not to mention, Anthony didn’t typically enjoy meeting with law enforcement after some dirty cops had tried to frame him for murder last year, so it didn’t seem likely he’d want to watch the bust and risk being seen by the cops.
So, what were we doing here?
While the feeling of impending death had left, there was still a sense of foreboding in the air. I wasn’t sure what we were waiting on, and I had no idea whose house we watched. It looked like someone was home, but I couldn’t tell who. I could only see two or three shadows occasionally pass back and forth in front of a large picture window that was covered with a pale curtain.
After a while, a tall figure appeared in front of the house, but he walked across the lawn and circled back behind the house.
A security guard?
Whose house was this?
My heart started pounding in my chest, but I didn’t have to wonder for much longer.
Suddenly, three men stormed out of the house and climbed into the black Tahoe parked in the driveway. It was too dark to see their faces at first, though I could hear them talking in angry voices as they piled into the vehicle. I couldn’t make out their words from this far away and inside our car, but the tone was obvious.
The Tahoe backed out of the driveway and squealed its tires as it zoomed away from the house with the other two Tahoes from the street driving right behind it, but as the lead vehicle drove under the streetlight, I caught a glimpse of the passenger in the front seat.