Lawless Measures_Vigilante_The Fight Continues

by Lyle O'Connor

  “Mob wars have gone on for centuries,” Bludd said, “and they are rarely able to shut one another down. How do you suppose we can do it with force and violence?”

  “That’s a fact; mobsters are always in competition with each other for a bigger piece of the pie.” I let it sink in for a minute. “We aren’t mobsters, and we aren’t interested in the pie. We want to destroy the market. We have to bring their reign of terror against young girls to an end.”

  “Even if we take down the Machine, another brand will move in, and we’re right back in the same boat,” Bludd said.

  “You’re probably right,” I said, “but it’s no different than the child porno ring you busted up less than a year ago in Brazil. We disrupt the business and slow their progress, and maybe in the end, we’ll weaken their structure enough for the cops to further damage their organization, the lawful way. It’s a crapshoot, but if we don’t try, more kids will end up in misery at the hands of organized crime.”

  I didn’t know if I’d convinced them we had a chance, or not, and maybe I didn’t need to do either one. We were Palatini; we had chosen to engage in the battle. These knights weren’t afraid; they just weren’t used to a non-specific goal. I thought, “Kill them all wrapped it up just fine.”

  While I had their attention, I thought I’d drop a bombshell in their lap, “Everything is fluid in this project. I found out today, Anna is alive.” Kuhl leaned back and blew out a sigh which unmistakably contained nasty fragmented words. Bludd reacted in a similar fashion. His words were coupled with a deep bellied laugh. Anna had been the reason, the only reason, both men came to Toronto.

  Kuhl was quick to compose himself and asked, “What’s the story?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “We haven’t talked about it yet. I wanted all of us to get together and hash out the mess. I can tell you this. It had something to do with Pembroke being ferreted out, but I don’t have the full story yet. We’re in this together. Anna can address us together.”

  I knew they respected my decision to include them when we met with Anna and Max. We sat quietly. Glances were tossed around from person to person like a hot potato, but no one maintained eye contact for long. Kuhl waved his hand back and forth in a motion for silence to an already silent audience. I watched as he adjusted his headset, leaned forward, and picked up his pencil. He reached for a sticky Post-it notepad, pulled it close, and prepared to write.

  Suddenly Kuhl said, “He’s checking out.” His voice had notably gained in pitch; excitement replaced silence as if it had never existed. Bludd and I watched the SUV through the back window of the van. Bruno was cautious. He used his remote auto start from the corner of the Galaxy Icahn to crank up his vehicle. In the Mob world, vehicles had been known to explode. A safe distance was a smart move. He approached his SUV and continued with a complete circle around his vehicle, stopping to inspect each wheel well. He opened the driver’s door, slipped inside, and closed the door. He warmed his vehicle for the next fifteen minutes.

  I made an abrupt decision. Bludd and I would run a loose tail while Kuhl monitored the SUV’s movement through the tracking system.

  “You’re at the wheel,” I told Bludd. Why not? It was his vehicle.

  We climbed through the van and out the driver’s side door. It would have been easier to unload through the back door, but that would have exposed us to Bruno’s view. Watching a couple guys crawl out of a van might tip him off to our presence. He might think we’re cops. However, more than likely, his first thoughts would be that we were the killers he’d been warned about. As I stepped from the van, I said to Kuhl, “Don’t blow up the SUV—not yet.”

  Kuhl chuckled, “I’ll try not to, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

  Bludd climbed behind the wheel of his Tahoe, and I rode shotgun. I kept the cell phone close by. Modern society had made the old fashioned “tail” obsolete. “Let Bruno get out of eyesight, and we’ll rely on directions from Kuhl. The lojack will track him,” I said. I then placed a call to Kuhl.

  We travelled northwest, and soon entered the familiar neighborhood of Corso Italia where Musolino’s osteria was located. I told Kuhl over the phone the restaurant would likely be our destination. Minutes later my hunch proved correct.

  He pulled into the parking area of Musolino’s and sat in his fancy, pimped-out ride for a couple more minutes before two thugs appeared from inside the restaurant, and walked to Bruno’s vehicle. He got out of the SUV, hugged both men, and then accompanied them back into Musolino’s. We sat on the observation for more than two hours. You could learn a lot by watching behaviors, and it was evident, security had become an issue. One of the two thugs, who had greeted Bruno in the parking lot, pulled security checks in the lot. He walked to the SUV, checked the surrounding areas, and then returned to the restaurant.

  Bruno went through his routine again when he was ready to leave. The lights flashed when he hit the remote start and announced his impending departure. He and his two mobster buddies walked to his SUV, scanned the parking lot, and did a 360 degree check of his vehicle, inside the wheel wells, the whole bit. There was a brief exchange of affection between the three men before Bruno climbed behind the wheel and drove off. I called Kuhl and gave him heads up. We waited for Bruno’s pals to go back into Musolino’s before we pulled out.

  The tail was mobile in the direction of the border. It was thirty minutes past midnight. I felt we had plenty of time left before daybreak to do what needed to be done. All it required was opportunity. We proceeded to Burlington, hung a course to the left, and traveled to the border crossing. At the massive six-lane entry point at the Lewiston-Queenston Bridge, we picked up the visual on Bruno’s SUV. I called Kuhl, “We’ve got an eyeball on the target and are tightening the noose.”

  “I’ll close up shop and head in,” he said.

  “Anything changes, we’ll touch base.”

  Once upon Niagara Thruway southbound, I figured we’d cruise for a while, but Bruno had a different idea, and took the exit toward Lockport. We followed. I surmised his destination would be Rochester, but couldn’t take that chance. We needed to take him before he reached his destination. Traffic would become heavier if he passed through Lockport. Morning commuters started early.

  It had been my experience; people who committed criminal acts were guarded and overreacted to anything that caught their attention. On the other hand, people who lived a criminal lifestyle didn’t. They conducted themselves in a normal manner, as any other law-abiding citizen, on any given day. It was their habit. We rode close to Bruno, but he didn’t appear to notice. We hadn’t travelled far on this stretch of the road when the SUV brake lights came on. We were on the outskirts of Sanborn, New York. As we entered the hamlet we passed a couple gas stations alongside the road. He swung a U-turn and headed back to the nearest one.

  You had to love old habits because they really did die hard. You could count on it, and Bruno was living proof. He swung his rig in by the west side of the building, near the rear of the station, and parked where the lot was poorly lit. Bruno and criminals of his ilk avoided light like it was the plague. Whether it was daylight, limelight, or spotlights, they hated them all. Light exposed their presence, and they loathed being known because of what they were—criminals. Bruno was called the muscle of the family. He was notorious for extortion, intimidation, and murder. When I looked at him, all I saw was another slimy, belly crawler, who needed a gang to impose his will on others.

  We pulled past the front of the station and went down the east side of the building. We circled around the back and parked.

  “Drop him or take him?” Bludd asked.

  “Take him alive.”

  “Okay, mate,” Bludd said. “I’ve got ether in my bag. I’ll get a rag out, and soak it.”

  “What…in the car?” Ether was not to be used in a confined space. We’d likely succumb to the vapor before we got it on Bruno’s mug, and then we’d probably end up dead.

  “Nothing to f
ear, mate, I’d planned to do it outside the vehicle.”

  I felt better about the ether with Bludd one step ahead of me with the working knowledge of the product. I’ve led an isolated life and was pretty much a shooter type assassin, but I dug the idea of new tricks to the trade. “Where do you pick up stuff like that,” I asked.

  “Well, I tell you, ether is inexpensive and super available in overseas countries. I picked this bottle up in Brazil when I finished that last project.”

  “Okay, what’s my part? What do you need me to do?” I knew enough to ask the right questions. I knew with ether the induction was slow. It varied so much between individuals; there was no way to know how long we’d have to hold him. There was also a chance he’d die by accident when we applied the rag. A risk I could live with.

  “When Bruno comes around the back of his vehicle and before he gets to the driver’s door, we’ll go for a grab. You pin the arms, and I’ll put the rag on him,” Bludd said. “When he’s out, place cuffs on him, and we’ll push him in his SUV then I’ll drive him out of here. We can meet down the road.”

  We didn’t have to wait long. Bruno started his vehicle with the remote start. It was a signal to us he was near his car. Bludd hurried to soak the rag with ether while I went to the corner to watch Bruno approach his car. I scanned the area and there wasn’t a soul in sight. At two in the morning, this stretch of the old highway wasn’t busy at all. I heard the automatic door locks, unlock. I was about to meet Carmine Bruno in person.

  I heard the slam of Bruno’s portly body; face first, into his SUV. He’d gotten the door partially open when I tackled him into it. He’d managed one pudgy arm, inside before I was able to get to him. He tried to reach the horn, he swatted and missed. His bulging frame made him extra hard to handle, he was as wide as a door. My arms could reach only part way around him. Gentle wasn’t on the agenda for the day, so I pressed his body against the car. I wrapped up his arms any way I could hold onto them. Bludd had his problems, too. Bruno lacked a neck. His head sat flat on his shoulders. Bludd had gotten Bruno’s mouth covered, but struggled to get the rag over his nose to make a good seal. However, the more he struggled, the more he inhaled the vapors, and the weaker he became. I pulled his hands behind his back and slapped on the cuffs.

  I opened the back door to his vehicle, and we pushed him in face down. Bludd climbed in behind the wheel while I jumped in the driver’s side of the Tahoe. Bludd followed. We traveled State Highway Thirty-One, backtracking about ten-miles until we got to a frontage road along the east side of a reservoir. We took it. With no houses in sight we dumped the vehicle.

  We pulled Bruno from the vehicle and stuffed him into the back of the Tahoe. We’d locked up Bruno’s rig, and drove off. As soon as we reached the Interstate, we crossed under the road and up the access ramp. Every fifteen minutes, I gave Bruno a few sniffs from the ether-doused rag I’d placed in a plastic zip-lock bag. I was careful to roll down the window for ventilation. The cold night temperatures wouldn’t kill us. We were headed for Buffalo. I called Kuhl.

  “We have the package wrapped up and en route to the hut.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” Kuhl said.

  “I need a favor. Punch the button and touch off that pimpmobile?”

  “Stand-by,” Kuhl said. A couple minutes later he said, “Done deal.”

  I was semi-relieved. It was another piece to an enormous puzzle that spelled trouble for the various task forces and government agencies engaged in the fight with organized crime. Every new piece of evidence we’d provided created coordination and jurisdiction issues, and we gave it to them as often as possible. We wanted them knee deep in puzzle pieces. When Pembroke was alive, he had the inside track, and led the task force members astray or notified the Mob when something was brewing. They’d lost that barrier and were free to interpret the puzzle pieces for themselves.

  Any vehicle, abandoned in the boonies and blown up with explosives, brought higher levels of concern to the law enforcement community. When it was a well-known mobster’s vehicle, it involved more agencies and greater concerns. On top of that, Bruno would be a missing person, and it was to our benefit to keep him that way. Pembroke, then Bruno, would have government agencies hopping with excitement. News agencies would consume much of their time.

  At the hut, we strapped Bruno in the chair and waited. Kuhl called, “I’m twenty-minutes out.” The timing was right. Bruno was coming around and was about to discover the truth to the age old question; was there a hell? “Hey, Bludd,” I said, “I don’t want to do what we did to Pembroke.” I was loud when I said it, intentionally loud; I wanted Bruno to hear me. I wanted him to remember. Psychobabblers called it side talk. I didn’t care for most of the crap they regurgitated on a regular basis, but this was human behavior. Bludd shook his head, “It was a bloody mess, a big bloody mess for sure. I’ve never seen anything like that.” The Machine had people on their payroll. Cops, judges, and politicians would tell everything they knew to the Mob. Not only were they aware of Pembroke’s death, the mobsters had probably seen pictures of the Crown attorney already. It’s the way it was.

  I planned to exploit Bruno’s knowledge. He would have to be stupid to think we wouldn’t do the same to him. I glanced in Bruno’s direction, and said to Bludd, “I want him to talk. If I have to, I’ll take every inch of skin off him.” His reaction told me he heard and understood what I had said. I could see it in his eyes.

  I hovered over Bruno, face to face. “You’re a little bit stupid, aren’t you?” I asked. He gave me the cold shoulder and turned his head away from me in disrespect. Who’d he think he was talking to, a choir boy? He knew the shoe was on the other foot. He’d doled out similar harm and torment to others in his past, or ordered it done; now it was his turn. He knew exactly where he was at—his end.

  I shot a brief look at Bludd, “My bet is riding on stupid,” I said, “but I’m gonna educate him.” Bludd pulled Bruno’s chair near the old military style metal desk. He looked as if he’d be a hard nut to crack. The biggest nut-cracker I had was a one-pound single-jack sledge hammer. It was a great hammer that I used for breaking through anything the bump keys wouldn’t open. Its value would take on a new dimension with Bruno—a not so gentle persuasion.

  Kuhl arrived, “Where are we at with this clown?”

  “Have a seat, kick back and relax. Carmine Bruno thinks he’s a tough guy. We’re going to soften him up a bit, then see how tough he is.” I told Kuhl.

  “Hold grease balls’ hand out there,” I told Bludd. He cut one hand loose from the chair and after a brief tug-o-war with Bruno’s arm, Bludd flattened it against the metal table. Bruno was a dangerous man—in a round-about way. He was a killer. Ruthless and cold-blooded. He’d been known to work guys over as long as the guy was held by a couple of Bruno’s goons, and he’d ordered the murders of others, but he wasn’t physically capable to take care of business by himself. He was obese. He lacked muscle tone and endurance. His resistance didn’t last long. With his arm stretched out and held flat against the old military type desk, I asked my first question, “Why’d you kill Cal, what threat was he to you?”

  “Go to hell.”

  My single-jack slammed down on his left index finger. He shrieked and bellowed; his payment had begun. “I want the answer, and you’re going to give it to me. We can do it the hard way or the easy way, it’s up to you. Why’d you kill Cal?”

  I could see Bruno made a quick study of my face, flashed an impudent grin, and responded with a tirade of foul language that included references to my mother, dogs, and disgusting sex acts. I might have been offended by his words, but I took the high road and slammed the single jack down on his little finger. He let out a loud ear-piercing scream. I grabbed a greasy gob of hair, pulled his head toward me, and callously said, “I can work my hammer all the way up to your collar bones, and break every bone along the way, unless you talk.” Bruno cried in response, but he wasn’t ready to talk. I lifted the single-jack aga
in, took aim on his thumb, to which he cringed and cried out, “Wait…I’ll talk, I’ll talk.” Bruno wasn’t too stupid, after all.

  It made sense to most people if you’re going to die, why endure hours of torture, then get whacked. Make it easy on yourself. Bruno knew his fate. All he could avoid was the additional pain. It was up to him, but it was only the mental ascent to the idea of cooperation. I could go either way on the deal. Bludd wrapped a couple paper towels around his mashed fingers while Kuhl cut Bruno’s other arm loose from the chair. He wasn’t free to move around, his feet remained secured by zip ties and his legs and chest remained taped to the chair.

  Bruno’s mouth was hanging open and his tongue protruding slightly, “Could I get something to drink?” I nodded to Bludd, who unscrewed the top from a plastic water bottle and handed it to him. He took a long, slow drink, put the bottle down on the table, wiped his lips with his shirt sleeve, and kept his end of the bargain.

  “Cal was Joey’s boy. I never liked the guy; I didn’t make any bones about it. I didn’t want this cat around.” He took another sip of his water and continued, “He snooped around, asked too many questions, and got his nose in business that wasn’t his. I had him figured for a Fed at first, you know like FBI or ATF, something like that. I couldn’t figure out his angle until I talked with him one-to-one.”

  “You figured him out, did yah?”

  “Yeah, I found out he was no big deal. He was just a writer that wanted to make a big splash with a book.” Bruno polished off the bottle of water and asked for another. “Why not,” I said and signaled to Kuhl to grab one since he was standing nearest the case of water. He put it down in front of Bruno. “This guy Cal got all wrapped up emotionally over a couple hookers who were looking for a Sugar Daddy. You know, they just wanted off the street, and didn’t want to work for their keep anymore. Cal was the sucker that fell for it. He should have stuck to writing books.” Bludd reached over and popped the top on the fresh bottle of water for Bruno. He took a quick swig and continued, “He was a do-gooder and was going to save the world or something. He told me about it. He thought these girls were being held captive or forced to be hookers.”