Kingfish

by Frank Perry

and the Coroner spoke first. “Okay, Detective, the body was locked inside the trunk of the car. It’s pretty decomposed and – eaten – but it’s clearly a homicide.”

  “Any idea how he died?”

  “I couldn’t say yet. We need to x-ray for possible bullet frags or bone lacerations, but I don’t think that’s it.”

  “What do you think, doc?”

  “Well, there’s a lot of duct tape and tie wraps, and from the contours of the body, I’d say the victim was alive when the car sank in the ocean.”

  John wasn’t taking notes yet. “So they drown him.”

  The Coroner shook his head. “That’s my preliminary assessment, but there’s not much to base it on. Do you want to see the body?”

  “Not particularly.” Kasey didn’t say anything but looked away, also not interested.

  She spoke, “John, we need to identify the victim.”

  “How much is there to identify?”

  The Coroner said, “From the suit and hair, we think it’s a man.”

  John looked at him. “So, you need his dental records?”

  “Yes, I suppose we do.”

  Kasey spoke up, “John, let’s go out of here and get Claire to sign a release and give us their dentist information.”

  He shook his head, and they went back through the curtain. John walked slowly out of the warehouse to get Claire but felt sick for her. He wasn’t sure what he would say. She saw his fixed expression and opened the car door when he came into sight. She walked briskly past him without speaking.

  Inside, they all sat at the table again, and John spoke first, looking directly at her. “Claire, it looks like José was in the car.”

  She gasped and looked around, trying to decide if she should rush inside the curtain. “What...what do I need to do? Can I see him?”

  Kasey responded, “Claire, it’s not a good idea. The sea...well, try to remember him as he was.”

  John spoke, “Claire, we’re going to need Jose’s dental records.” There wasn’t any gentle way to say it.

  Claire couldn’t speak as tears cascaded down her face. She took some tissues from her purse and said. “I’ll get it. Can we go now?” She didn’t want any more details.

  High Morals

  His office door was closed as he spoke on the speaker phone, “Yes, Senator. I appreciate the draft Fisheries Bill sent by your staff. My lawyer is looking at it now.”

  Senator Jenson replied, “You know, Luca, I’m really looking forward to your response. Some of our state’s fishermen are complaining about quotas and shorter fishing seasons.”

  “I know about their complaints, Senator. It doesn’t affect my captains much. They fish mostly south of American waters.”

  “Well, Luca, we want to keep our friends happy, so anything you want to add -- just let me know.”

  “I will do so, Senator.”

  Jenson asked, “So, are you coming to my fundraiser in Los Angeles next month?”

  “I will not be there, but I am buying three complete tables, so you may give the dinners to anyone you wish.”

  “My, oh my, Luca, that’s very generous. I think my campaign is asking five thousand a seat, and there are eight seats per table. You’re extremely generous.”

  “Not at all, Senator. We need you in office to carry on the good work.”

  “Well, I’m flattered. Is there anything else I can do for you, Luca?”

  “How’s the Appropriations Bill coming – does it still try to liberalize drugs? You know my family has always been against such ideas. Drugs are our number-one menace to society and must be stopped at all cost.”

  “From what my staff tells me, Luca, the language is still in the bill coming out of committee. I think this is a good thing, as we’ve discussed before. My staff watches it closely and will let me know if anyone tries to delete it before we vote on the floor.”

  “Good, I want it to get out of committee this time for sure.”

  “You know, Luca. I can’t guarantee it, but I’ve got a lot of leverage with some of my colleagues, so we’re pretty confident it will make it to the floor of the Senate.”

  “That’s what I like to hear Senator. I have a son and a daughter and want them safe from drugs.”

  “You’re a great patriot, Luca. One problem, though. Once this sees the light of day, it will be all over the media, and the chance of it surviving in conference with the House will be impossible, if you get my drift.” Both understood the strategy to kill the initiative.

  “That’s reassuring, Senator. Once these hippies get shot down through national publicity, no one will try this stunt again for a hundred years!”

  “If, by some miracle, it makes it through the Senate and House Bills without the press attention, I’m on the conference committee, and it won’t survive.

  “That’s important to me, Senator (and why I pay for your services).”

  “Have a good day, Luca.”

  “And you, as well, Senator.”

  Jenson didn’t have enough horsepower on his own, so Peña needed everyone he could buy to protect his business.

  After the call, he left his office on the Embarcadero, in the financial district and had his two body guards drive him in his Bentley to the wharf, under the Oakland Bay Bridge to meet with the captain of “Ocean Queen,” his smallest and oldest trawler. Small was a relative term since the ship was still over a hundred feet in length and carried twenty tons of net stacked fifteen feet high on the stern ramp, which had been useful hiding the Mercedes.

  As always, his personal guard, Ramon, went up the ramp first checking the route to the bridge, where the Captain, Jess Cregan, was waiting. Peña stormed into the bridge house after Ramon checked for any unwanted spectators. Cregan was usually defiant, but followed orders. He stood five-ten weighing two hundred twenty pounds. He was late thirties, single with shoulder-length red hair and full, unkempt, facial hair. When he rode his Harley, it all streamed behind. Prison tattoos covered both arms. He grew up on the Peña boats between prison stays, proving his loyalty many times to his boss.

  Luca by contrast, was shorter, slightly older with dark neatly trimmed hair and beard. His had no tolerance for mistakes and had grown brutally sadistic after years as a syndicated criminal. He stopped short of Cregan and adjusted his suit coat before speaking. “Okay, Red. You tell me how they found Rivera’s car?”

  “Boss, I did everything right. I dumped him way out at sea. Nobody should have found him.”

  Luca stuck a finger into Cregan’s chest. Normally, the captain had a hot temper and didn’t tolerate any physical contact, but Ramon was standing nearby and would break his arm or worse if he moved. Ramon was a head taller, weighing over three hundred pounds of muscle, developed after years of workouts in the Folsom Prison yards. Ramon and his men did most of the dirty work for Peña. Cregan often disposed of the waste.

  “They did find him, Red! You fucked up.”

  Cregan stepped back a few inches. “Boss, please. I did everything right.”

  “It wasn’t right if two abalone fishermen (divers) found him! How come you didn’t dump it in deeper water?”

  “Boss, I couldn’t drop him in the channel. Fishing trawlers would snag him. I had to use the islands where the rocks keep them away.”

  “How deep did you drop him?”

  Cregan was familiar with Peña’s temperament and had seen him kill his most loyal men for small mistakes. “Boss, that’s just it. The rocks are steep and I had to get close to the cliffs to be sure the car landed on the slopes, not on the bottom. It’s hard to maneuver so close. I checked the charts and sonar, it was a couple hundred feet under the bow, but I guess it wasn’t deep under the stern. We were tangled in kelp and I didn’t want to wreck the ship, especially with our load still aboard.”

  “You fucked up, Red.” Peña stepped forward and put his hand behind Cregan’s neck, trying to sooth him while the burly man sobbed. “
You know I can’t let others know that it’s okay.”

  Cregan just cried as Peña moved close to his face. “Thank you for all your good service, Red.”

  Luca turned, glancing briefly to Ramon before exiting the bridge. He heard muffled screams as he walked down the gangplank. Ramon followed a minute later folding a knife.

  The two men sat in the back of the motionless car, deciding what to do next. Then Peña ordered, “You should see your buddy from Folsom on Sea Fury (another Peña ship). Tell him he’s now promoted to captain of the Queen. Tonight, he should go shark fishing down toward Monterey. Tell him to sink Red’s motorcycle with him.”

  Managing a drug distribution network was one of the most dangerous jobs for Peña. In the final analysis, everyone in his business was a criminal, most were heartless murderers. This required ruthless measures to control them. After dealing with Red, Peña called his mistress, “Hey baby, how ‘bout we go to Vegas for the weekend? I got a little business there that won’t take long, and we could do some gambling and take in a show or two.”

  “Luca, I’m off at noon today and have all weekend free, I’ll be ready.”

  “Okay, doll. My driver will pick you up at two.” Peña always kept extra clothing in the luggage compartment of his jet. He called his wife and explained that he would be going away for a couple of days to negotiate a distribution contract and would be back late Sunday night. Melanie never questioned his actual purpose. She was content under the illusion of his busy schedule and high-level business transactions that took him away often on weekends. She