Gangster's Court

by Adam Van Susteren

  “I guess so,” Trung replied softly.

  How the fuck did the OJ trial last eight months? We’re almost done in eight minutes. Omar looked at Trung. “What particulars do you want to tell me?”

  “I don’t know.” Trung shrugged.

  Omar shook his head. “Then I’ll conclude openings are over. I will now question Bao.” Omar looked at Bao. “How did you first find your guy?”

  “My nephew’s friend. He work on a cargo train that bring oil from Canada to United State. I meet him at wedding. He say he can bring me arthritis medicine from Canada, cheaper. We do it. I ask if he can bring more. Eventually, he bring a lot and I give him ten percent of profit.”

  “So, it’ll be hard for you to find someone else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who pays for your guy’s legal fees?”

  “He is. So no trail to me. But I pay him back when he get out.”

  Omar rapped his fingers on the table. “How much will that be?”

  “Twenty.”

  “And he was getting ten percent of your profit?”

  “Yes.”

  Omar glanced at Trung, then settled back on Bao. “Did he ever have a close call when bringing your medicine down to you?”

  Bao nodded. “One time, he loading his car in U.S. and they ask him what he got. He open a box and show it arthritis medicine. He say for parents, they let him keep drugs.”

  “Do you know if he ever brought other drugs with him?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know why he brought the Oxy for Trung?”

  “More money? Maybe scared of Trung? I don’t know.”

  Omar leaned forward. “And you’re out of the prescription drug import business now?”

  Bao nodded. “Until I can find new person to drive down. Not easy. They need contact in Canada to buy. And bring across.”

  Omar turned to Trung. “Are you still in the Oxy business?”

  “Yeah. I mean, when I can get it. Supply is low. Demand is high.”

  “So, you thought you’d take a risk on Bao’s guy?” Omar asked, staring at Trung.

  “Yeah.”

  Omar leaned back in his chair. “It seems to me that Trung was a proximate cause of Bao’s loss of income. My tentative decision would be to award Bao damages, but those would be hard to calculate. I think I have a proposal for you both.”

  Both men scooted forward in their couches in anticipation.

  “Bao. If I can find you a supply of Remicaid from south of the border, would you be interested?”

  “Sure.”

  Omar turned to Trung. “If I can find you a supply of Oxy from south of the border, would you be interested?”

  “Yes.”

  “I propose we come to an understanding before reaching a decision in Gangster’s Court. I propose we all go into business together,” Omar said with a sly smile.

  “How?” Bao asked.

  “I find a guy to deliver medicine to you. Same terms as you had in Canada where you pay for costs, but you give him twenty percent of your profit, not ten.”

  “Trung. I find a guy to deliver Oxy to you. You cover the order costs and give twenty percent of your profit to him, and ten percent of your Oxy profit to Bao for the next ten years.” Omar held up his hand. “And, you pay the guy who got pinched twenty thousand when he’s out of prison. You also pay Bao twenty-five thousand today. And you repay Bao this Court’s fee of five thousand, today.”

  Trung nodded. “That’s a lot of money.” He leaned back, chewing over numbers. “You sure you can get me a big supply of Oxy?”

  “No problem.” Omar smirked.

  Bao asked, “What if he stop selling Oxy? No money for me?”

  Omar leaned forward. “There is a doctrine called frustration of purpose. Basically, it’s like an impossibility doctrine. If you have a contract to farm, but can’t produce crops because it doesn’t rain, it’s impossible. His Oxy business is highly profitable. I imagine he’ll be in it until he’s dead. Even if he’s in prison, his crew will continue it. But let’s say he’s out of the game. If it’s impossible to get a payout for ten years, he’ll owe you a half million dollars, minus whatever he paid to you so far.”

  Bao frowned.

  Gotta close. Omar put his hands on the table and stared at Bao. “Bao, your guy was almost busted once. You had a great thing going. Trung is partially at fault. But you have to understand why you are here. You are in Gangster’s Court because you can’t go to Superior Court. There’s risk in your business. By working together, all of us,” Omar circled his hands to indicate the three of them, “we can make the best of a bad situation. We can create a partnership where we all look after each other and all make money together.”

  Trung and Bao looked at each other, then at Omar.

  “Trung, how much can you make off Oxy?” Omar asked.

  “With enough supply, taking care of my guys that sell it, fifty, maybe a hundred k a month.”

  “Five or ten thousand a month for ten years, Bao. To make up for one lost shipment is probably more than I would rule if we don’t settle this.”

  Bao nodded slowly. “You say we work together. All of us. What that mean?”

  Omar leaned back. “That if someone hassles one of us regarding this business, they hassle all of us. If you have a big accounts receivable with a doctor, Trung or I will help you collect on it. If Trung has a dealer who’s getting pushed around at a club, all of our guys will support him.”

  Trung smiled.

  Omar gave a slight shake of his head. “I’m not saying we all go to war over nothing. But we all agree to support each other, so long as it involves our joint business venture.” Omar watched Bao’s eyes travel to Milk standing quietly in the corner by the air conditioner.

  “Your whole crew protect me?” Bao asked.

  “As it comes to our joint business, yes.”

  Trung stood up. “I’m in. Do I sign something? Shake hand?”

  “Bao?” Omar asked.

  Bao pushed against the side of the couch with both arms to stand. “Okay. I agree.”

  Trung excitedly shook Omar’s hand. “We going to make lot of money. I have big demand. This great.”

  Trung reached out his hand to Bao and spoke in Vietnamese. “I am sorry to have hurt your business. We make lot more money together.”

  Bao shook his hand and responded in English. “Hope so.” Bao extended his hand to Omar. “Thank you.”

  Omar spoke to the men as he spotted Santiago striding across the long office towards him. “You’re welcome. I’ll have someone get in touch about your supply.”

  He straightened and buttoned his suit coat. “Because of a settlement agreement, Gangster’s Court is not deciding this matter – but will retain jurisdiction over the agreement.” He nodded to Milk.

  “Court is out of session,” Milk commanded.

  Santiago handed Omar a phone showing a video of a man pacing around the parking lot. “Someone’s here.”

  12

  Filthy Rose cupped his hands against the window of Penn’s Glass Repair, peering inside. He felt the afternoon sun on the skin not covered by his white tank top, especially on his tattoos. Fucking Omar, hiding in there while I burn out here.

  Rose stepped back and looked at the lot. There were two cars. All the doors were locked. This second time trying to look into the businesses was as fruitless as the first. The windows were deeply tinted and had curtains on them. Impossible to see in. Bitch cop lying to me?

  Rose’s anger built with each drop of sweat. He was ready to kick in the window of the glass repair shop when the law office door opened up. Some Asian dude held it open for a really old Asian dude.

  Rose jogged towards them. “I’ll get the door.”

  “Thank you,” Bao said with a head nod as he slowly shuffled out the door.

  Trung shook his head, holding the door. “I got it.”

  Rose wanted to knock the old man over to push past, but composed himself. “Hot
, huh?”

  Bao nodded as he cleared the step and was at the curb. Trung followed, pushing the door open behind him so Rose could enter after he cleared.

  Rose watched Bao and Trung leave, then closed the door and looked confused at his surroundings. He turned the knob of the heavy door to the office. Locked. He took a step back to the center of the little room and stared into the glass window. Fucking hot.

  Rose stepped back and tried the door again. His frustration brewed. He paced the tiny entry for a few seconds and put his hands inside the exchange divot under the thick plexiglass window and pulled. No give at all. He leaned into the window and pushed. No give. He held his breath as he strained with all the effort he could muster. He exhaled and stepped back, larger beads of sweat formed on his skin.

  He took two calming breaths. He opened the door to the outside, ready to ask the Asian guys how they got in, but both of their cars were pulling out of the parking lot. Rose slammed the door shut. When he turned, he felt a rush of cool air and saw Marcos Omar lunging towards his legs.

  Rose slammed against the wall. He looked down at Omar pushing against his legs and overrode his instinct to punch at Omar, instead thrusting his right hand into his front pocket. He could feel the hard stock of the pistol. His fingers wrapped around it. His eyes jolted up as a giant presence grabbed his right arm with vice-grip force.

  “Gun,” Milk grunted.

  Rose felt a searing pain in his forearm as he tried to move his arm. It was stuck like the damn window. The giant was strong, and Rose’s legs were bound by Omar. With every ounce of strength and all the rage he could summon, Rose swung his left fist into Milk’s shoulder. The giant didn’t budge.

  Rose was looking up at the giant when he saw a third man’s fist coming at his face. He took the punch. And another. And another. The third man couldn’t get a lot of power behind the punches because of the tight quarters. But they hurt.

  Rose raised his left hand to try to block the punches to his face. Somehow, his legs felt different. Another short punch to his face stung. He wrapped his right finger around the trigger. If he could tilt the gun just a little, he could shoot Omar or the giant from inside his pocket.

  Rose felt Omar’s hands on his right hand. His fingers were pinned an inch away from the trigger. If he could just reach. He raised his foot to kick Omar, he was off balance, his right arm was free. The giant released him.

  Rose pushed his right hand down, straining against Omar’s grip. His fingers moved, his index finger was inside the trigger guard. “Thud.”

  Rose slumped, unconscious.

  Omar pulled Rose’s hand from his pocket and fished out the gun. “Uppercut?” Omar asked.

  “Yeah,” Milk said, holding up Rose’s limp body.

  Omar and Santiago patted Rose down for other weapons.

  “Nothing else,” Santiago said.

  Milk pulled Rose’s slumped body up and carried him into the office, dropping him on a couch. Omar looked at Rose’s neck and tensed.

  “What?” Milk asked.

  “Get out of here. Both you guys.” Omar pulled off his suit coat and threw it on Rose’s head.

  Without question, Milk walked to the back of the law office towards his car.

  Santiago asked, “Who this?”

  Omar shook his head. “You don’t know. You weren’t here. Go.”

  Santiago’s eyes opened wide. “Should we call Primo?”

  Omar shook his head, looking at the unconscious man.

  The tattoo. He’s Filthy Rose. La Eme. Omar sat back down at his table, the weight of the world on his shoulders. MS-13 and the Mexican Mafia were at his doorstep. Omar inspected Rose’s pistol. Serial number filed off and loaded. Rose was here for a reason. Omar set the gun on the table in front of him and pulled out his cell phone.

  Omar looked at Santiago. “If we get in over our heads, we’ll call Tomas. I’ll figure this out. Just go.”

  “Okay.” Santiago darted after Milk.

  [You busy?] Omar texted to Jo.

  Rose stirred, swiping the coat off his head. He let out a slight groan and looked at Omar.

  Omar sat silently, spinning Rose’s gun on the table.

  Rose pushed the coat onto the side of the couch and glared at Omar. “Why you attack me?”

  Omar picked up the gun. “Why you here?”

  “You kill Umberto Salazar?”

  “No.” Omar watched Rose seethe with anger. “Why would I?”

  “Money. He held out on his crew.” Rose eyed the gun. “And me.” Rose balled his fists tight.

  Gotta calm him down, don’t want to kill him here. Omar shrugged. “I’m sorry. But it’s got nothin’ to do with me.”

  “Not what I heard.”

  Omar tapped the gun against his head. “I know better than to mess with Thirteen or La Eme.”

  “You know who I be?”

  Omar nodded. “Filthy Rose. You went to juvie and prison doing work for MS-13. Did a lotta work in prison, got made in to La Eme.”

  Rose grunted. “Salazars kicked up to me. You know that, smart guy?”

  “No.” Omar set the gun on the table. “I would never try to keep you from earning.”

  “Fuckin’ right. You going to shoot me? Huh, Puta?”

  “Only if I have to.” Omar shrugged. “We should talk business instead.” He watched Rose try to compose himself with a series of shallow breaths, then asked, “Why you think I messed with your guys?”

  “A cop told me.”

  “Gordita?” Omar asked.

  Rose let out a small chuckle. “Yeah. How you know?”

  “She’s trying to get me. How she get you to make a hit?”

  Rose looked confused. “Why she coming for you?”

  “See where we are? I’m setting up something big.”

  “With the Asians?”

  Omar smirked. “Them. And everyone.”

  With an even more befuddled look on his face, Rose asked, “What you got going on?”

  Omar sized Rose up by piecing together his crappy car, white tank top, blue work overalls, his anger because Salazar can’t kick up money from jail, and the fact that he was only out of prison recently. “Big money.”

  “Really?” Rose asked, leaning forward with interest.

  Omar nodded. “I need to get Officer Gordita off my back. Especially if she’s hiring Thirteen to come after me.”

  Rose leaned back into the couch. “How much to take care of her?”

  Omar matched Rose’s posture. “You’d turn on her?”

  “She a cop.” Rose let a grin slide across his face. “And wasn’t like that.”

  “Like what?”

  Rose pulled his foot onto his thigh, looking comfortable and relaxed. “She go see Umberto in jail, saying she wants to pin the murder on you. He tell her to talk to me. I maybe get a little ahead of myself by coming out to see you. But you understand, I can’t let someone off one of my guys.”

  “Of course.” Omar looked him straight in the eye and lied. “But I didn’t do it.” Omar looked down at the gun on his table.

  “Shit man.” Rose chucked. “I should have called. You and your boys got me pretty good.” Rose rubbed at his jaw. “Who were they?”

  “I don’t know. I won’t ever know.”

  Rose smiled wide. “Protecting your crew. Respect. How much for me to kill that gordita cop?”

  Omar shook his head. “I don’t really do that in my business. I know I’ve got a rep for the bat, but I don’t really go all the way. And against a cop?” Omar looked at the ceiling in thought. “She needs to go, but I don’t want to be part of that.”

  “That what I do,” Rose nearly shouted. “I’ll take care of it for you. Make an offer.”

  “Twenty?” Omar asked.

  “Twenty-five,” Rose said calmly. “She think I’m watching you. This be easy. I just tell her you went somewhere, she go to follow you,” he said, looking at the gun on Omar’s table. “I pop her.”

  “That
could work. Gotta find a place wit no camera. They everywhere these days.” Omar matched Rose’s clipped language.

  “Where?”

  “Can’t be too far.” Omar scratched at his chin. “Mission Trails Park?”

  “Where that?”

  “Ten minutes north from here. I run there sometimes. It’s never busy.”

  “Like in the woods?” Rose said with curiosity.

  Omar nodded. “In the parking lot. You talk wit her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Meet her at the trail. Say you saw me go in. Then you can see if it looks clear. If not, don’t do it then. Find another time and she’ll trust you.”

  “You smart, Omar.”

  You’re dumb as shit. Omar shrugged.

  “Where you really be?”

  “Barona Casino. You come there when you’re done. I’ll give you twenty-five in chips in the bathroom.”

  “You careful as fuck,” Rose said with admiration in his voice.

  Omar gave the gun a quick spin. “You got a suppressor for this?”

  “No,” Rose said softly, recognizing his oversight.

  Omar feigned extreme concern.

  “Maybe I just stab the bitch?” Rose offered with a shrug.

  Omar tapped the table. “Fucking smart!”

  A grin came across Rose’s face. “I just have the piece as backup.”

  “Good.” Omar’s smile faded as he furrowed his brow.

  “What?”

  “Should I leave my car there? Or you want to drive it there so she thinks I’m there?”

  Rose looked up above Omar for a moment. “I’ll take your car.” A small smile betrayed his poker face.

  Dumb fuck thinks it’ll insulate him and make me the suspect. “Okay. I’ll leave the keys in the car at my office.”

  With a confused look, Rose waved his hand. “This isn’t it?”

  “This my lawyer’s. I’ll give you the address.”

  “Okay.”

  Omar looked down at the gun. “Make sure you get latex gloves. Don’t handle the knife or gun without them. Leave the knife or gun at the scene. Don’t risk getting caught driving with the weapon.”

  Rose shrugged off the suggestion as a trivial detail. “What kind of car you got?”