Once a Thief (Gentleman Jack Burdette Book 3)

by Dale M. Nelson

  “Jack, any idea on where they’d try to sell the diamonds?”

  “We’re totally shooting in the dark here. Our assumption is that Reginald is trying to sell this on the open market to maximize their profits. Now, most large transactions with precious gems happen at the wholesaler’s office or at trade shows. There are several large ones each year, Tucson, Vegas, Los Angeles, and I think something in New York. But in those instances, people aren’t usually bringing millions of dollars’ worth of product into a convention center. They’ll bring a small sample, and then the deal will be conducted elsewhere.”

  “So where do we find these wholesalers,” Enzo asked.

  “LA’s Jewelry District. On the West Coast, that’s where most of the action will be. Honestly, I’m surprised that they aren’t trying to do this in New York City, but Reginald has never worked there and doesn’t have any contacts that I know of.”

  “All right, what do we do?”

  “How quickly can you both get to Los Angeles?”

  “Jack, I’m not coming to the US, you know that.” The details on Rusty’s past were still vague despite all the years they’d known each other. Jack knew Rusty had been an FBI agent and was either forced out or quit because of some scandal. But Rusty had admitted when they were together last in Rome that he’d been a counterintelligence officer and an operation against the Russians had gone very, very wrong. Rusty, whose real name was Scott Donners, was a fugitive just for that. Special Agent Danzig had also identified him as far back as the Carlton job and then later tipped Rusty to the State Department’s Diplomatic Security Service, who was now after him for passport forgery. If Rusty was ever captured, he was looking at two decades in prison, and that was if he found a particularly benevolent judge.

  “Rusty, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m taking risks here too.”

  “It’s not—”

  “It’s not the same, you were about to say?” Jack said, tension and challenge rising in his voice. “I’m on fucking parole, Rusty. We’re talking about stealing, again, eighty million dollars. If I’m caught, I go to jail forever. Look, both of you, the diamonds are here, or they will be soon. If either of you want to walk away, tell me now. Rusty, I haven’t worked in the US in twenty-five years. I have no contacts here at all. If I was looking for a clean gun or a clean car, I wouldn’t even know where to start. But I’ll figure it out if I have to. We’re all risking a lot here.” Jack paused, took a moment to breathe. “If you want in, you need to be here when the job goes down. Otherwise, our partnership ends now. You’ll still get your cut. No hard feelings, but I have to know what I have to work with. Think on it, and let me know by tomorrow.” Jack regretted his tone a little, but the sentiment was the same. Jack had been traveling internationally since he was twenty-five years old and never once on a passport issued under his real name. He wasn’t really interested in someone being afraid to do so now, not if they wanted to be a part of this. They all risked exposure and arrest.

  This would be a dangerous and risky endeavor, even under the best of circumstances. Escape in Europe was relatively easy. National borders were, at most, only a few hours away, and that always added complexity to any pursuit. It was much easier to disappear. European police forces, even national ones, weren’t nearly at the size and scale of their American counterparts. But to do this in the US was a different order of magnitude entirely. Jack would need a full crew and half a dozen specialties. They wouldn’t have those things, of course—they had the three of them. But there was no way they could pull this off with Rusty operating from the other side of the world.

  “You’re not pulling this shit, Jack, not now,” Rusty said, his tone uneven. “And you can’t have it both ways. For two years we’ve been hearing that we can’t go after the diamonds because you won’t leave the country. Now that that’s flipped and it’s me taking the risks, it’s okay. You don’t get to do a job like this only on your terms. If we’re going to do this, it’s equal risk. You need to be all in. You need to be a goddamn thief. You can’t do this and have a foot in both worlds.”

  “Obviously, I am,” Jack said.

  “Are you? Or are Enzo and I going to put ourselves out there, and then halfway into this you decide that it’s too dangerous, you don’t want to risk your other life, and you pull out.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Jack snapped back.

  “Wouldn’t you? You need to tell us both, right now, that you’re a hundred percent committed. If it comes down to it, which one do you choose?”

  6

  “Would you like a drink, sir?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Vito Verrazano said, and he had a Campari and soda in his hand before the aircraft had completed taxiing to the runway. Vito dressed the part. He wore an off-white linen suit and a bright blue shirt, with a black pocket silk featuring white dots. He understood the Americans had some stupid rule about not wearing white or linen this late in the year, and he had also read that they don’t drink Campari after August. The Americans added to the stupidity because it wasn’t their drink to begin with. Then again, Vito was flying in on the kind of aircraft that would allow him to make the rules up as he went.

  Reginald had chartered him a Gulfstream 650, and it was a magnificent aircraft. Soft Berber carpet and buttery soft leather seats, each with its own window that had the shape of a squashed grape. Vito was seated in a chair with a small table unfolded in front of him. The flight attendant gave him a card with the menu selection for his meal when she returned with his drink. Vito chose to sit by himself. His two companions, Tommaso Moretti and Lucio Bianchi, were hired security. They dressed the part as well, black suits and crisp shirts without neckties. Their weapons were in the checked baggage beneath the plane, but they had forged permits to carry them for when they arrived at US Customs as well as identification showing them as being licensed private security for a company that didn’t exist. In reality, both of them were out-of-work bodyguards for a Turin-based mafia don that Vito used to work for named Alberto Longo, who had been gunned down recently (no fault of theirs), and so when Vito found himself in need of protection, he contacted Tommaso and Lucio to see if they’d like to make a million each for a few weeks of easy work.

  Vito selected his meal and wine pairing and then relaxed into his seat, taking a sip of his drink. He was trying to appear much calmer than he actually was. There was a lot that could go wrong on this. First of all, he and Reginald hadn’t spoken in fifteen years when first Vito contacted him about Bartolo’s diamonds in 2019. Reginald was just getting out of prison, and Vito was afraid he wouldn’t want to take any chances. Then he learned that it was Jack who put Reginald in there, and Vito knew he was in. But there was the matter of Reginald being fresh out of prison and several years out of the game. Reginald admitted that his contacts were gone or they wouldn’t talk to him. Vito also knew from the street that Reginald had been an informant for a long time. He didn’t care about that, that shit could be useful in the right circumstances, so long as Reginald understood where that left the two of them. Vito was taking no chances. If Reginald tried anything, Vito wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him.

  The next challenge was the passports and the customs paperwork. Reginald hadn’t forged so much as a driver’s license in ten years, and now he was going to get Vito and six pounds of finished diamonds through customs as part of a made-up diamond wholesaler company for them to be part of? Vito wanted Reginald to be on the flight with him so that he would be there when they cleared US Customs and Immigration, wanted Reginald to be responsible for bluffing their way through, but Reginald told him it was all handled. The Gulfstream had the range to go from Rome to Los Angeles, so all they’d need was an overflight permit, which the charter company got. Reginald said he had someone to handle the customs process when they landed. He’d be there and it wouldn’t be a problem.

  Reginald said he just needed Vito to play his part.

  Reginald also said he had US Customs handled. The paperwork,
he said, hadn’t been very hard to doctor. Reginald would be waiting on the other side. They were flying into a small airport that frequently—and quietly—handled high-profile passengers. Six pounds of diamonds probably wouldn’t be the strangest thing they’d see that day.

  The story they’d concocted was pretty good, and Vito believed he could sell it. Their legend was that Reginald and Vito owned a diamond import business and were attempting to undercut the larger, established names. They had been able to get a very large quantity of finished stones in late 2019 and were poised to make a fortune when the global pandemic hit and the market fell out from under their feet. Now they were sitting on this literal fortune and had nowhere to take it. They were both heavily leveraged and were just wanting to make their investors whole, take care of their employees that they’d had to let go—about fifty people. It was just believable enough, which was all that mattered. The story meant that they weren’t knowingly trafficking in stolen goods and it was the kind of thing they could tell themselves to justify it.

  Reginald did not want to get into detail on the phone. All he said was that they had several meetings set up in Los Angeles and they weren’t putting all of their eggs in one basket. But he was cagey on what, exactly, the baskets were and said he wouldn’t provide any details until he saw the diamonds for himself. Vito understood that too, and it didn’t upset him. Neither of them owed each other anything.

  Reginald told him that he’d made connections and he didn’t think it would take them long to move the diamonds. A disrupted market was a hungry market, and Vito didn’t need Reginald’s constant reminders that America’s appetite for diamonds would never be satiated. He felt they had a good plan, but Vito wouldn’t be certain of it until Reginald made good on his promises. And if he didn’t, well, Vito had two mafia hit men with him, and they would even that particular score.

  Trust only went so far in this business.

  The flight attendant refilled his Campari and soda as he waited for dinner and the aircraft leveled off.

  They’d cleared the first hurdle. The diamonds were on the plane, and the passports that Reginald had made for Vito, Lucio, and Tommaso had worked. Vito could push those specific stressors to the back of his mind.

  Then there was the matter of whatever the fuck had happened at his house. The Carabinieri in Stresa contacted him yesterday saying that someone broke into his house and that there was a dead man found there. Did he have any idea who would want to break in or how a man came to be shot? Vito, as retired Fiat executive Romano Valentini, told them that he was out of the country on business and had no idea who would do such a shocking, horrible thing. The Carabinieri could be in touch with his attorney, however, to manage the details. Vito’s attorney, Carlo, had been cooking documents for him for years and helped him buy off the judge in Turin all those years ago. Carlo was the one who made it look like Vito spent five years in prison when in reality he’d disappeared to the house in Lago Maggiore. Carlo could make this go away. Vito wasn’t planning to return to that place, anyway. Carlo was supposed to arrange it to be put up for sale before all of this bullshit happened.

  Vito didn’t tell the Carabinieri this, of course, but he knew exactly who broke into his house.

  It wasn’t an easy thing to sit on six pounds of diamonds for any length of time, but two years was interminable. When the world turned to shit and Italy, in particular, appeared to be leading that charge, Vito found himself in a dark place. A year ago, he and Reginald had a plan to move these stones, but that plan quickly fell apart. Neither of them knew if they’d survive or what the world would look like on the other side. So, Vito started working on a backup plan. He contacted Salvatore Cannizzaro and said he had a large score that he needed help moving. Vito had known the don from the old days, back when Salvatore’s father ran the organization and they moved from Sicily to Rome to take advantage of the power vacuum there. They’d always been cordial, and Don Cannizzaro was happy to hear from him. The don told him he would look into it, would get back to him. Vito knew it was risky and, on a level, stupid. It was, after all, Salvatore Cannizzaro’s bank that they’d stolen the diamonds from in the first place. Not that the don had any idea that there had been a hundred million in diamonds in his safe-deposit vault.

  The don came back with an offer. He could move the score and take them all at once; for this, he generously offered twenty-five million. That was a fortune by any measure, though a fraction of their market value. The only thing was the don told him they had to wait until the world cleared up and it was safe to travel again. Vito never actually accepted or rejected the terms, but to Don Cannizzaro’s mind, he’d made a gracious offer and therefore, the deal was done.

  The don must have gotten tired of waiting for Vito to get back to him and decided to come get the stones himself. Well, that was fine. Don Cannizzaro couldn’t affect things on the Amalfi coast, let alone in Los Angeles, so Vito wasn’t worried about reneging on the deal. The don had called several times that day, but Vito hadn’t answered. And wouldn’t. In fact, he didn’t even have that phone anymore. Vito didn’t understand how one of the don’s people came to be shot and killed in his house, however. That part didn’t make any sense. But as far as he was concerned, it was now Carlo’s problem to sort out. Vito had no intention to return to Italy after this.

  Either way, Reginald didn’t need to know about whatever happened back home. That was Italy, and Italy was the past.

  Vito nursed the bottle he had with dinner over the course of the rest of the flight. He needed to be lucid when they cleared customs. He switched to coffee and water for the last hour before they landed in New York to refuel. They were ushered off the plane and into a private lounge, where they waited until the plane was ready. Tommaso slept most of the flight, and Lucio watched movies. Vito didn’t think that either of them had ever been on a plane before. Lucio spoke English, though it was heavily accented, and Tommaso only spoke Italian, so Vito would have to interpret for them as they went through customs and immigration, though according to Reginald, that was all happening in a private lounge. They wouldn’t have to go through the process like everyone else because it was a private plane and because they were importing diamonds. One of the reasons that Reginald selected the Van Nuys Airport just north of Los Angeles was that was where many of LA’s elite flew their private planes out of, the movie stars, the rock stars, the athletes. Customs was a little more…forgiving there.

  Somewhere over the vast swath of mottled greens and browns that made up the central United States, Vito slept.

  Vito was shaken awake by a violent jolt, and it felt like God had slapped the aircraft himself. The pilot came on the intercom and explained that they would be experiencing a difficult landing because of turbulence from the Santa Ana winds, which he apologized for. He asked the flight attendants to take their seats for the remainder of the flight. True to his word, it was not smooth. But it was over quickly, and Vito tried to occupy his mind by watching them descend below the mountains that flanked the airport. They looked like someone had crumpled a giant piece of green-and-brown paper and then attempted to smooth it out.

  The Gulfstream touched down, and the flight attendant welcomed them to Los Angeles. The pilot and copilot stood in the doorway, uniforms still crisp, and thanked them for flying as well. Both of the pilots had short, styled hair, dark tans, and square jaws and looked like recruiting-poster fighter pilots. Vito emerged from the aircraft and was immediately hit by the blast-furnace heat of an LA afternoon. Vito first found his sunglasses and then descended from the aircraft. There were two more flight attendants at the bottom of the stairs. They hadn’t been on his flight, but they looked just like the ones who had served him the last thirteen or so hours—beautiful, elegant in their navy-and-white uniforms that showed just enough skin to edge the line between provocative and professional. “Thank you for flying with us, Mr. De Angeles. Welcome to Los Angeles. I guess you’ll be right at home with a name like that.”

  �
�Buona sera, my dear,” Vito said and smiled, then took her hand and kissed it. The flight attendant blushed and laughed. He smiled as he watched her cheeks darken. Vito was on the shorter side and slightly stooped, too many years hunched over things that he wasn’t supposed to be getting into, he supposed. His once black hair was now mostly silver, but from the side looked almost like a metallic sunrise, silver-gray on top and fading to black around the temples. His skin was the color of a walnut, and his eyes, though hidden by the sunglasses, were just as dark as the lenses. Vito was still handsome and looked about ten years younger than he was. He was fit as well, having taken to swimming in Lago Maggiore, which stayed quite warm through the late fall. Vito was charming when he wanted to be and did well with the tourist women that frequented his town.

  Vito looked back over his shoulder to see Tommaso and Lucio emerging from the aircraft. He apologized to them in advance before the trip began, hoping to mollify their fiery egos and quick tempers. The part they needed to play was servitude, they were security guards, the hired help, and Vito would be ordering them around when they were in public. Having worked for a mafia boss for so long, both were used to that and didn’t think anything of it. Lucio said for what they were being paid, Vito could do anything short of question his mother’s honor. They laughed at that, but there was a darkness in Lucio’s eyes when he said it that told Vito there were indeed lines and those lines shouldn’t be crossed.

  As they’d agreed, Lucio and Tommaso waited for the luggage to be brought around. Charter company staff would handle their bags, and Tommaso would carry the case with the diamonds in it, which was a triple-locked Pelican. Lucio would walk next to him. Their weapons were locked in a separate case, and they wouldn’t be permitted to retrieve their weapons until they cleared security.

  The flight attendants who greeted them at the bottom of the plane escorted the three of them to the terminal entrance. The doors opened, and Reginald LeGrande appeared.