by Wayne Block
He reached the trailhead, walked to the parking lot, and got into a used car he had purchased earlier that day for a thousand dollars in cash. When he was comfortably out of sight, he removed his false facial hair and clothing, leaving on a tee shirt and a pair of shorts. He combed his hair and parted it neatly on the side. The rugged-looking trail guide transformed himself into a clean-shaven tourist, who quietly disappeared into the desert. The discarded garments were bagged and thrown into a dumpster on the way to Reno, and the gloves were eventually burned in the desert.
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Steven returned to his hotel and took a long, cool shower. Afterwards, he popped four Advil into his mouth and chased them down with a glass of scotch. Prior to running a hot bath, he made reservations to Roatan, traveling through Miami. Then he gingerly immersed his body in the tub. Every muscle in his body was screaming in pain. He grimaced as he did a damage assessment of his lower extremities. The blisters on his feet and ankles were particularly raw. He lay sprawled out in the bathtub, head back, arms stretched out comfortably at his sides, with his feet resting on the edge, strategically elevated above the hot water. He closed his eyes and recounted the events of the day. Billy had been a likeable guy, and Steven believed he had shared everything he knew about the Scorpion. For the first time since leaving New York, Steven thought about the surviving members of his family. He hadn’t spoken with his mother or sister, or anyone from Amanda’s family. He was suddenly homesick.
Steven reached for his new cell phone, and dialed Marco’s cell. The phone rang twice before Marco answered.
“It’s me, Steven.”
“Are you all right?”
“So far, so good.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in a hotel in Vegas. I’ll be leaving for Miami in the morning.”
“Miami?” Marco exclaimed. “You’re not coming home?”
“Not yet.”
“Anything I can do to help you?”
Steven thought about the question. He sighed loudly to convey to Marco that he was in a state of conflict. Marco wanted to spare Steven any additional agony.
“Don’t worry, Steven,” Marco said, “I don’t need to know any details. I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Marco. I don’t know if I’m quite ready to bring you into my world. It’s pretty crazy. All I can tell you is that I’ll be passing through Miami to another destination. Hang in there with me for a little while longer, alright brother?”
Marco smiled. It comforted him to be called “brother.” Marco felt the same about Steven. “I’m hanging,” Marco said.
“How is everybody doing? Is anyone asking about me?”
Marco laughed. “Twenty-four, seven, baby! The real question is who isn’t asking about you? ”
“How’s your father?”
“Not well. Come back soon so you can say goodbye. I don’t think he has much time left.
Steven physically ached thinking about his family’s pain. There was so much suffering everywhere he turned. What a waste, he thought, as anger grew inside him. So many lives have been destroyed. “Okay Marco, I’ll call you real soon.”
“Oh, by the way,” Marco added, “that detective has been calling me. He’s really pissed off that you’ve disappeared. He’s been asking a lot of questions about you and about your relationship with my sister. I think he suspects you, Steven. I almost punched him out!”
“It’s fine, Marco. I know I’m on his short list. Right now, that doesn’t matter.”
“He knows I’m lying when I tell him I have no idea where you are! You might want to call him.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll call him when I get a chance. Take care, and give my love to everyone.”
“Be safe and be smart, Steven. If you need me, I’m only a phone call away.”
Marco hung up and Steven slid back into the bath. There was no reason to remain in Las Vegas.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Detective Johnston was annoyed. As he sat in an undersized seat at the back of a plane, sandwiched between the window and a very ample woman crocheting a bulky blanket, he remembered just how much he hated confined spaces. He was doing his best to be pleasant, but being gracious became increasingly difficult with each poke of her elbow into his ribs. After so many pokes, the woman had simply stopped apologizing and continued crocheting as if jabbing him was part of the stitch pattern.
It had been almost impossible to convince his boss to approve the necessary expenses to follow Capresi to Vegas. After much debate with his superiors, Detective Johnston prevailed by using the “cover your ass” angle. They couldn’t refute that Capresi was under the ostensible protection of the Suffolk County Police Department during the investigation and was also a suspect. If Steven killed someone or was killed, it would create a public relations nightmare for the department.
It was apparent Steven had no intention of returning the detective’s calls. Detective Johnston had researched Steven’s background, both socially and financially, for some sort of patent motive such as a large insurance policy, but had found no economic incentive for murder. Still, Steven’s family could not explain Steven’s recent cross-country travel to Chicago or Vegas, and the detective was wary about Steven’s sudden interest in traveling.
Thanks to Marty Watts, Johnston confirmed Capresi had stayed at the Venetian. Upon landing, the detective took a cab and checked into the Golden Nugget, an older hotel that cost an affordable $63 per night. He then took a cab to the plush end of the Strip where he learned that Steven had already checked out. Undaunted, he began the tedious inquiry process through the hotel’s chain of command about Capresi’s stay. He was ultimately directed to a reluctant assistant manager named Dillon.
Dillon was boyish-looking, with a round, ruddy-complexioned face, and dull eyes. He had thin, oily hair and couldn’t have been older than thirty. The detective stood eight inches taller, which intimidated Dillon. Detective Johnston had been a defensive end in college and made sure to always put his size to good use.
Forewarned of the detective’s presence, Dillon momentarily and foolishly took the offensive. “Look, detective,” he said with a cracking voice, his eyes darting nervously. “I really don’t have time to sit with you. Please come back tomorrow morning and we can talk.”
The detective pressed closer toward the office’s threshold, displaying a menacing grin and prepared to steamroll over this little man. “Dillon, this will only take a minute. It may be a matter of life and death, so let’s sit down.”
As their eyes met, Dillon looked away and reluctantly retreated into his office. “Detective, your man has left. I don’t know what you expect.”
“I’d like to interview the chambermaid assigned to his room. I also want his phone records.”
Dillon shifted uncomfortably. He had developed an aversion to law enforcement since his teenage years, when he and his buddies would get drunk and drag race on The Strip. The sheriff elected to mete out justice the old fashioned way. Dillon and his friends were taken into the desert and beaten. It had the desired effect; Dillon promptly retired from drag racing.
“We have different people working shifts each day of the week. There wasn’t any particular employee assigned to Mr. Capresi’s suite.”
Detective Johnston looked down at him. He now had an unexplainable piece of information. Why would a grieving father be in a suite? “Then let’s start with yesterday. Tell me who cleaned his room in the morning and the evening.”
The assistant manager frowned. His jaw tensed as he tried to muster some courage. “Detective, you can’t just barge in here and expect to interview our employees. Our hotel has very strict privacy policies. Our corporate attorney is in San Francisco and should be back in a few days. Your interview is going to have to wait until he returns.”
Johnston grabbed a photograph, set in an ornate silver and gold frame. “Is this your wife and daughter?”
The assistant manager gave him a suspici
ous look. “Yes. Why?”
The detective stared keenly at him for a few moments, sensing his distress. “Well, Dillon, you remind me of Mr. Capresi. Your family is beautiful. Steven used to have a beautiful wife and a pretty little daughter. In fact, his wife was nine months pregnant when his family was savagely murdered. If more people are killed because you won’t allow me to have a simple conversation with a maid, that won’t be good for you. Your employers will be displeased with your decision to delay my simple request. I will personally tip off the press. This can’t wait a few days; not even five minutes. I will speak with the maids now!” he commanded.
Again, Dillon’s eyes met the detective’s, but this time there was no hint of a smile from Detective Johnston. The officer meant business. “I’ll get the names. But on one condition.”
“What?” the detective asked, quickly regaining his affable demeanor.
“I’m present at your questioning.”
The detective smirked. “You drive a hard bargain, Dillon, but you win.”
Dillon sat down at his desk and began pecking on his computer’s keyboard. “Okay, detective, it looks like Sheila is the one to talk to.”
“I’m right behind you,” Johnston said, following Dillon out of the office.
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JTS Imports, located in a warehouse in Manhattan’s Meatpacking District, had originally been set up as an overseas fencing front for stolen goods from truck hijackings. Tony Olivera was in charge, while Sal and Joey had the menial duty of transporting the items from the warehouse to the docks. They were not employed for their intelligence, for they had none, but because Tony’s mother made her son hire his first cousins.
Other than rent, Tony’s main expense was the 10% commission he paid Alberto Manzione through Alberto’s nephew and captain, Nick, on the monies he grossed as tribute to La Famiglia. The fencing operation was lucrative since Tony had, over the years, developed many worldwide contacts. However, simple fencing did not supply the coin necessary to live in the Hamptons. Since the 10% tribute supplied family protection, it was Nick’s job to find out for Alberto who ordered the unsanctioned hit. Even though Nick had planned to break into JTS before he met Gia, he took this opportunity to pretend it was all for her.
Nick and Giovanna parked on West 13th Street and walked down 9th Avenue toward Washington. The front door and windows were barred and the gate was padlocked. The building was plastered with police notices prohibiting entry. Nick checked the chains that barred their entry. Satisfied that the front door could not be breached, Nick motioned for Giovanna to follow him.
“Nick, it’s obvious that the authorities don’t want anybody snooping around, and by the looks of those chains, I don’t think anyone is getting in without an invitation.”
Nick chuckled. “Invitation. That’s funny!”
“I wasn’t kidding. I’m serious.”
“You’re very cute, that’s all. Let’s see what’s behind the building, and if it doesn’t look good, we’ll leave.”
“Don’t patronize me Nick, I’m not trying to be cute!”
Nick ignored her and made a quick turn down a deserted alley behind the building, which led to a back entrance; a metal door bolted from the inside. The rest of the façade was a brick wall with no windows at street level.
“Well Nick, it looks sufficiently impenetrable. Do you have any more bright ideas or should we just speak with the police? If they’ve searched the records, they might have some information we could use.”
Nick smiled. Damn, she’s beautiful. “Gia, you’ve got a lot to learn about the way things work. I don’t know how they do things in Italy, but in New York, we’re not going to get help from the police. The last thing we want is for the police to realize we’re interested in JTS.”
The building had two floors. Nick knew the top floor was used to store inventory and was accessible by an inside lift. There was a line of windows that aerated the warehouse. Nick’s eyes moved slowly across the wall to the fire escape. He and Steven had scaled many similar fire escapes when they were younger. Nick cautiously glanced up and down the alley.
“Gia, you’ll need to keep a look out, and if any cops show up, walk slowly back to the car. Otherwise, give me five minutes and I’ll be at the back door. If you don’t knock in five minutes, I’ll know not to open the door.”
Giovanna looked at the ancient fire escape and then the roof. “Are you crazy? You could get hurt.”
“Wait here,” Nick said, as he jumped up and pulled down the fire escape ladder.
“I’m coming with you,” she protested.
“Stay right where you are,” Nick commanded, as he reached the top of the building and climbed over a wall, disappearing onto the roof.
Giovanna scanned the alley. Nobody appeared. She checked her watch several times until five minutes had passed. Then she walked to the rear door and knocked. Within seconds the door opened wide enough for Nick to wave her inside.
“We’re not staying long. There are just two places I’m going to look. Walk directly behind me, and stay close,” Nick ordered.
In the dark, Nick led the way into the main area that was slightly lit from the second floor windows. Giovanna could make out a staircase leading up to the second floor. Nick rolled a chair over to her.
“Sit here, wait for me, and keep quiet.”
“I don’t know what kind of women you hang around with, but I don’t take orders. I’m coming with you. Do we understand each other?”
“Suit yourself.” It was too dark for her to see the astonished expression on his face. She followed him up the staircase and waited as he moved some file cabinets away from the wall. She heard banging and scraping sounds.
“Find anything?”
“Yes, I’m bringing it over.” He approached carrying a small metal box. “Tony kept two safe deposit boxes in strategically located hiding places. Let’s go downstairs to find the other one.”
Giovanna followed Nick downstairs into a small office next to the main work area where Nick moved the flashlight slowly around the lower parts of the wall, focusing on a small area. Like a paintbrush, he carefully panned the flashlight up and down, moving it slowly from one side to another. The light passed over a small exhaust vent covered by a painted metal grate. Nick sat on the floor and removed a set of tiny screwdrivers from his jacket. He then removed his jacket and laid it on the dirty floor for Gia.
“Gia, please hold the flashlight on the vent while I remove the screws.”
Gia complied, sitting next to him on his jacket and holding the flashlight close to each screw Nick removed. Nick finally removed the vent and reached inside.
Gia heard a scraping sound and watched Nick remove a metal box.
“Let’s go,” he said. “I’ll open the door and go first. If nobody is in the alley, I’ll signal for you to follow. Walk back to the car and meet me there. I have to go back inside, lock the door, and come out through the second floor window and down the fire escape.”
“What if somebody is out there?”
“Then you stay put until I tell you it’s okay to come out.”
Giovanna nodded and silently followed him to the door, holding onto his dusty jacket.
Nick carefully opened the rear door and stuck his head out. He motioned for Giovanna to exit. She walked by him and playfully kissed him on the cheek, suddenly feeling alive with excitement. “See you back at the car,” she breathed into his ear.
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Detective Johnston and Dillon walked down the hallway to a cleaning cart stationed in front of an open suite. A woman with her back to them was busily dusting the windows. Her earphones, plugged into the iPod she carried in her back pocket, drowned out the rest of the world. She was dancing to the music while she cleaned, which made Detective Johnston smile. The young woman filled out her uniform nicely and he was admiring the way her hips undulated. Dillon, on the other hand, was frowning because she hadn’t snapped to attention.
&
nbsp; “Hard to find good help these days,” he grumbled.
He walked over to the young woman and touched her lightly on the shoulder. She had been oblivious to their presence and practically jumped out of her shoes as she turned around and saw them. She instantly cowered, with a terrified expression on her face, like a dog awaiting a beating.
“Oh, Mr. Anders, I didn’t hear you. I’m so sorry,” she said, as she removed the headphones and turned off her iPod.
Dillon forced a superficial smile in her direction. “Sheila, this is Detective Johnston. He has a few questions regarding one of our guests.”
Again, the young woman looked terrified. Her large, black eyes flashed with fear. Johnston noted that her eyes were framed by jet-black hair and that she was quite attractive. The maid’s outfit and feather duster added to his fleeting fantasy.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked. “Am I in trouble?”
Johnston stepped toward her reassuringly and motioned toward the couch. “No Sheila, you’re not in trouble. I want to ask you some questions about a guest named Steven Capresi. He was staying in one of the Palazzo Suites. I have a photograph of him. Come sit down and take a look.”
The detective handed the photograph to Sheila. Sitting on the opposite end of the couch, she tentatively took the picture, her eyes darting nervously from the detective to the photograph to the assistant manager. She focused on the photograph and a faint smile appeared on her face.
“Do you remember Mr. Capresi?” the detective asked, noting the smile.
“Yes. I remember him. He was very nice.”