Lawless Measures_Vigilante_The Fight Continues

by Lyle O'Connor

  Cal listed Angelique as a bookkeeper for Joey’s self-employment. He was an earner for the Mob. He took illegally obtained Machine money in and invested it, in legitimate startup businesses. It was the best way they’d found to launder the loot. In return, he received a hefty kickback. Cal said Joey had cut his teeth on pimping, and his real bread and butter enterprise had been a string of whorehouses. The Machine got wind of his business venture, and he was introduced to the Toronto Mob. It was with the Mob connection, he became part of the phony immigration racket. Other mobsters and associates provided the underage girls and made a profit off them. That made him fair game as a Palatini target.

  Joey and Angelique worked out of an office located on the first floor at Musolino’s. Like all good gangsters of the modern era, he had middle men that took all the chances and did all the work. They went out on a limb to impress the Machine and make their mark in the underworld; with the hope someday they’d be rewarded with the family initiation rites. These were nothing but fall guys. You’d have thought they’d been valuable commodities to the Machine, but they weren’t. They served as the link to the family that could be easily broken if things became too hot. Two shots behind the ear and the cops wouldn’t be able to make their case. The connection to the family was gone.

  Mobsters didn’t get their hands dirty on the front line of the game. Cal said Joey was a made man, and never went close to the brothels. Joey directed operations and handled finances that were brought to him at Musolino’s. I had the description of his Ford Mustang and plate numbers. That was a plus for a good recon.

  Mob women didn’t have much to do with the business end, usually. There were exceptions to the rule, and Angelique was one of those exceptions. Cal wrote he’d kept an eye on her because “she was ruthless” and “she would cut your throat at the drop of a hat.” To some people, that’d be a real turn off, for me, not so much so. Anna was like that, and it was one of the traits I’d liked about her. Maybe Angelique wasn’t so bad after all. She might have been misguided by Joey, but maybe she was my kind of girl.

  Angelique wasn’t in the inner circle of family business, but she was an integral part of Joey’s operation. As far as I was concerned she, like her husband, was a target for Palatini assassination. Max and Anna would not have agreed. They would’ve said I was trigger happy or trying to get my jollies. It wasn’t true. I was all about the business end of things. Angelique was not a target, but if she were nearby when I offed Joey, I had no problem sending her to the promised land either. Besides, it was my call.

  I was faced with new issues I hadn’t encountered in the past. Anna had brought me on because she needed someone to pull a trigger, and I was more than willing to lend a hand. That was then. Now, I’d stepped into a pretty messed up pair of shoes. I’d planned out kills before, I wasn’t a novice at the game, but that wasn’t the problem. I’d put my plan together before the game had been in play, not after it started. I had to catch-up, and there wasn’t time for it. I had a set of flimsy notes, and I didn’t know who was who. I had anywhere from days to mere minutes to make decisions and carry out plans. To top it off, I needed time to find a piece of real estate in the Toronto area where I could conduct business, privately.

  I’d cruised by Joey’s house for a couple days, and didn’t turn up his car there or at the Inn. I didn’t have a picture of Angelique, but on one of the days there was a dark haired woman in the driveway. My first impression was she fit Cal’s description of Angelique. She pulled into the driveway of the house with her newer model Nissan 350Z, deep red in color. When she got out I could see she was a real looker. She tugged on the back of her red mini skirt and sashayed her hips to even it out. She was sweet to look at. She swept her long dark hair from the left side of her face and with a hooking motion, anchored it behind her ear. It was almost like she knew I was watching her every move. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, her olive tone skin glistened in the sunlight. She was easy on the eyes, and it broke up the monotony of my day, in a good way. She had a key to the side door and let herself in. I watched awhile, and then watched awhile longer in hopes she might come back out. She didn’t, and no one else showed up to meet her. She was all alone. At that point, I’d hoped it wasn’t Angelique. I had a conflict of interest.

  I took down the Nissan’s license plate number for future reference, and then continued my observation. I moved the recon to outside Musolino’s and continued for two more days. No Joey. No Angelique. No dark-haired beauty either, in the event it had not been Angelique. The recon wasn’t paying off the way I needed. Something was in the mill. Maybe when I took Lippa out, word spread on the street and drove these tough guys into a rat-hole somewhere in the city. I was frustrated. I couldn’t connect with the right people to get heads rolling.

  While I was watching for Joey, I kept an eye out for Carmine as well. I had a personal score to settle with him. I wanted him bad, and I really didn’t care which one I came across first. If Bruno didn’t have the answers I wanted, he knew someone who did. Whoever it was who called the shots on Cal and Anna, that was the “who” I was most interested in. The rest of them I could get later. Carmine was also a no-show at Musolino’s. It seemed the fishing hole had dried up.

  I found the need to back-peddle on my target list and drag out a bottom feeder. Amato Santarossa had a clear connection to Anna’s disappearance, and that was a good enough reason for me to have a conversation with him. According to Jokester, Amato helped abduct Anna from Cal’s place. I didn’t have a dossier on this clown. He didn’t exist in the notes anywhere. He just appeared out of nowhere. I didn’t like that. It was a loose end, an unknown player. It could wreak havoc with an already bad plan.

  I knew Amato caught shifts at Musolino’s, but I didn’t know what kind of work he did. I’d seen him on the video security tape. He looked like a behemoth next to Lippa. There was a good chance I could pick him out of the work force at the Inn.

  I had hung around outside Musolino’s long enough; it was time to check out the joint. The Inn had been around a long time and wasn’t very impressive from the outside. Alfonso Abbandanza made some major changes to the old structure when he acquired it. The facelift had not been solely for the purpose of modernization but served utilitarian purpose, as well.

  Times had changed, and a building frequented by mobsters had to be built sturdy to avoid the pitfalls of modern society, like flying lead. Musolino’s was a three-story 1960s mortar and gray brick exterior with windows set high enough to prevent a drive-by from spraying the clientele, yet it still provided light inside. It was rumored that Alfonso had sheets of steel four foot high placed between the exterior brick and interior wallboard.

  The osteria was located smack-dab in the business center of Corso Italia. A couple blocks away, on St. Clair Avenue West, stood a police station with all the window dressings of a real cop shop, except they weren’t getting collars on the Mob activity. The cops posed no concern for me because they didn’t pose a problem for the Abbandanza crime family. The way I saw it, somebody had told the cops to layoff years ago, and they hadn’t snooped around since. The Mob had free reign, and so would I.

  I’d walked in Musolino’s main entrance. I expected it to be a dimly lit dive, dreary, with dull blackout drapes separating the illegal gambling from view. Maybe I wanted it dark and dingy for the game I wanted to play, but I was mildly surprised. It was in stark contrast with the exterior. Musolino’s interior was modern and sophisticated. Not so much elegant, but neat, clean and well lit. There wasn’t one Capone style gangster in the place.

  I took it all in. The bar played a prominent role stretching across the entire back wall with the exception of a food service area at one corner. The tables and chairs were solid wood with a deep ebony tint. The tables were topped with white table linen and aligned diagonally throughout the dining area. Each of the tables seated four people. I did the math. The place seated ninety-six people in the dining area and another twenty-four at
the bar.

  It was after eleven and if they had a lunch crowd they’d be meandering in the door soon. I took a chair that suited me. As usual, I took a corner seat with my back to the wall. Anna had referred to it as a gunfighter syndrome; I thought it was being smart. With the game we played, you couldn’t be too careful.

  From here, I could scope out the floor activity. I wanted to blend in. Nothing stuck out like a sore thumb. A guy sipping a glass of water for a couple hours was a sore thumb, especially in Mob territory where there were those that watched for the unusual. I didn’t care much for pasta or dago food, but when in Rome…you did it the way they did it. I asked the waitress for a menu. She was pleasant and young enough to be interesting. Her auburn hair, colored from a box, was pulled back into a ponytail. The small crow’s feet radiated out from the corners of her eyes, and were especially visible when she smiled. She smiled a lot. I noticed she wore glasses but had them in her apron. She didn’t wear them when she took orders at a table or out in the dining area, but I caught a glimpse of her in the service area tallying up a customer’s bill with them on. Women lived under a different standard than us Joes, and that was alright with me. I’d developed a liking to pretty women, and they were all pretty.

  She came back to check on me so I thought I’d probe. I was in enemy territory. I assumed the employees were all loyal, so I had to tread lightly.

  “Hey, how you doing” I asked.

  Her expression hinted tired and overworked, “I’ve had better days.” She paused; maybe she rethought her customer service etiquette and followed with a smile. It was a big, beautiful smile that lit up her whole face. Then she cheerfully responded back to the same question.

  “Life is good.”

  I read her name tag, Joyce. I called her by her name and she seemed confused for a moment as to how I knew her name. It was written all over her face when it dawned on her how I’d figured it out, she smiled again. “What’s the best thing in the house?” I baited her for a playful response but she was on to me.

  “On the menu?” She didn’t wait for my response. “All the pasta dishes are excellent. They are the house specialties.” Go figure, an Italian restaurant that had pasta as their specialty.

  I ordered up a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. She suggested a wine to accompany the dish.

  “I’m off the juice, honey. I’m a better man without it.”

  “Good for you.” For the first time, she took a close look at me. I felt we were on our way to the kind of connection I needed in this joint.

  Joyce checked on me from time to time and kept the fresh ice water coming along with smiles, and garlic bread. I planned to stretch lunch out as long as possible without undue attention to myself. As the place slowed down in the dining area, Joyce took the time to chat. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “You’re not either.”

  “No, I came here with my Canadian husband ten years ago, and I’ve been here ever since.” She didn’t come off happy about what she’d just said.

  “Tough break,” I said jokingly.

  “I guess. Someday…”

  “Since you’re still here, I take it you’re no longer with that Canadian husband?”

  She was quick to turn the question on me, “Where did you say you were from?” I liked that. She wasn’t brain-dead. She thought on her feet.

  “I didn’t,” I answered and let mystery waft in the air before I continued, “Oregon.”

  “What brings you to Toronto?”

  “Business.”

  She was starting to take an interest in me. My hope was she wasn’t collecting information. There might be a reason she stayed at a place like this.

  “What line of work are you in?” I sensed apprehension in her voice. I didn’t know why, but I felt it was a good sign. Here was a gal that worked in downtown mobsterville. She’d seen lots of guys come through on business. More than likely most were unsavory individuals doing mob business. The kind of guy and the kind of business she didn’t want to know about because she knew she’d live longer if she didn’t. The type of guy she didn’t want to get mixed up with because there wasn’t a future in it for her.

  “I’m a feature writer for a news magazine.” I took one of my phony business cards I’d been carrying over the past few years and slid it to her.

  She picked it up from the table and read the name aloud, “Walter Eloy Goe.”

  “At your service, my dear.”

  She flashed another broad smile in my direction, “That’s a strange name.”

  I responded tongue and cheek, “So is Joyce.” We had a laugh together.

  Joyce reached the card back in my direction. I said, “Keep it. I’ll be around for a few days taking care of some loose ends. That way you won’t forget who I am.”

  “I won’t forget you,” she said with a smile.

  I asked, “Promise?”

  She tilted her head and with a coy smile this time and answered, “Promise.”

  Joyce left my bill and continued her waitress duties with other customers. She had a great smile that lit up the room; it complimented her body. I wasn’t in a hurry to ask her questions. I didn’t want to scare her off. I had a chance to look over Musolino’s from the inside out and that’s what I was here for. Joyce was icing on the cake. Real smooth icing. In a short time, I’d be able to ask her anything I wanted. As far as Amato went, I’d see him hanging around for myself unless he’d flown the coup too. I needed to get my mitts on him. I needed to pry out a lead.

  On Musolino’s website, they mentioned rooms available by reservation only. I made trips to the restroom a couple times to get a look down the first floor hallway. This was the office wing. The bedrooms were on the second and third floors. Cal said Joey’s office, was the first office on the right in the hallway off the main dining area. The hall emptied out into a fenced parking area.

  I adjusted my eating time the next day to catch the evening crew. I was in around the four o’clock mark. Joyce was waiting tables, it was near the end of her shift, and it wasn’t busy. We had time to chat, flirt, and get personal.

  “Why don’t you give this up and move back to the states?”

  She’d thought about it for a minute before she answered. “I have two boys, five and three. Their father isn’t in the picture so that wouldn’t make any difference. I can’t afford to make the move.”

  I thought she seemed reluctant to mention the kids. Maybe she thought a guy worth his salt wouldn’t be interested in her with the extra baggage. But if he were any sort of man at all, it wasn’t what would make the difference in a relationship. She wasn’t a hard bodied twenty-one year old college preppie, but she was a curvy full figured adult woman. Maybe she’d been around the block once or twice, but I didn’t see anything wrong with that.

  “You should be proud,” I said, “A single mother raising two kids isn’t an easy task. My hat’s off to you, darling.”

  She nibbled on her lower lip and fidgeted with her wedding band that was prominently displayed on her ring finger of her right hand. “You must be married?”

  I took it as a compliment. Maybe she figured a catch like me must have been snatched up long ago. “Once, many years back. It only lasted a couple years and it was over.”

  She pursed her lips, and blew her bangs from the front of her face, “So, you’re not the marrying kind?” She said with a chuckle.

  “I don’t know. I never met the right woman I guess. My career became a mistress and stole all my time.”

  She nodded understandingly.

  “Someday, Mr. Goe, I’ll move back to Missouri. It would be best for my children…” Joyce paused, and I waited. I wanted to hear everything she had to say. She continued, “To be near family, and all.”

  There had been something painful she thought of, but Missouri was the bright spot in her future, so I focused on it.

  “Please call me Walter. Where are you from in Missouri?” I hoped it wasn’t a dirt bag crime ridden
city like St. Louis.

  “You probably never heard of it, Shell Knob.”

  “Shell Knob, Missouri. No, I can’t say that I have. Sounds like a nice place.”

  “I was raised there. When I was a teenager, all I wanted to do was leave; now all I want to do is move back.”

  “I know the feeling, Joyce. It seems like all young people feel that way.”

  “My parents own a bed and breakfast style resort on Table Rock Lake. They are getting on in years and could really use my help.”

  I let her talk all she wanted. It helped to drag out my stay and learn the general flow of things. This was the best recon I’d been on in a while. My thoughts of Anna continued, but I was getting into my element, and that kept my mind busy and focused.

  Talking with Joyce was therapeutic. In some mysterious sense, it helped soothe my pain. When I’d met Anna, I was emotionally cloistered. Why I was shut off from my feelings, I didn’t know. What I did know was through my relationship with her I felt desire awakened, and I didn’t care for the feeling at all. My romance with Anna and subsequent loss had opened me up like a can of worms. I wasn’t as dysfunctional as I once had been. That wasn’t all good news as far as I was concerned. It was a significant liability. My concern had grown about what I felt. How would my new found feelings affect my ability to kill? Was I going to be all soft-hearted and mushy or pull the trigger without remorse?