Little did he know that some of the same people he was relying on to find them were friends of Randy’s, who, because of Randy’s line of work, often ran with individuals of questionable character. Those friends tipped Randy off that a dangerous man, by the name of Giovanni Carlucci, was coming to look for him and Charlene. As Giovanni was flying to New York, Randy and Charlene were winging their way to LA.
The flight from Los Angeles International Airport to Newark was normally 4 ½ hours when the jet stream was blowing its standard west to east track. Today, however, the jet stream had slipped down from Canada and was running north to south making the flight extremely turbulent and irritating. He left at 8 AM on United flight 135 but didn’t arrive into Newark until 6:30 pm. He picked up his rental car at 7 pm and drove straight to Hans Morgenstern’s office, calling his boss on the way.
Hans was working late and was not very happy Gi was late, but when Giovanni walked into Han’s office, Hans got up and greeted Gi, hugging him and kissing him on both sides of his cheeks—a typical Italian greeting.
“So, Gi, here’s their portfolio.” He handed his friend a folder. “It’s everything I know about this Randy Chappelle. He hangs out at Charlies’, an upscale sports bar in lower Manhattan only a few minutes from here. I’ve gone in there several times and identified two or three people that know him. The problem is none of them knows where he lives. I want you to do whatever is necessary to find this scumbag and his slut whore girlfriend. When you find him, I also want you to rough him up. You can break his legs or whatever. I don’t care. I just want all the copies of the photos and no more trouble. You got that!”
He showed Giovanni the pictures of him and Charlene in intimate poses.
“Wow boss, she’s hot!”
“No shit! Don’t hurt her. Just bring her to me. I’m going to extract my revenge the best way I know how to, but there won’t be any pictures this time. I guarantee. But I’ll make her remember me. Trust me. I don’t care if she’s hot or not. I can’t have these pictures getting out in the press. I’m under an SEC investigation and that’s not the only problem.”
“What else, boss?”
“Well, my wife and I are going through a rough patch, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I get it. The Missy is giving you a hard time because she’s living in a fucking mansion and you’re not spending enough time with her.”
“No, it’s not like that!”
“Then what is it?
“She found my secondary Facebook account I registered under another name.”
“You’re shittin’ me boss. You have a Facebook account? How stupid is that?”
“Well, you’re right. It is stupid, but I did it. I was hooking up with a bunch of old girlfriends and have had many interesting experiences because of it. I may be 62 years old, but I’m not dead.”
“Okay, so you’re a high-tech geek motherfucker who got caught cheating on your wife!” Giovanni was grinning.
“That’s about it.”
“So I want you to find this Randy. I want you to find Charlene. And I want you to take care of it. I don’t want to have to pay $100,000 as a first installment, and then have to pay $10,000 a month to these people. My wife is about ready to file for divorce anyway, and I’ve already talked to my lawyer. With my net worth, it’s going to cost me over $80,000 a month when she gets through with me. I’ll be broke in 10 years.”
“I see what you mean, boss. Does that me if I don’t find them quickly you’re gonna’ cut my salary?”
“No, I’m not going to cut your salary. If you don’t do this, you’re off the payroll. I fucking mean it!”
“I got it, boss. I’m on it.”
Giovanni opened the folder. In it, there were several cellphone photos of the people Hans had met that knew Randy. There was also a yellow sticky with the address of Charlies’.
“I’ll get back with you, boss. I got some phone calls to make and some people to see. I’ll find this scumbag and his scumbag whore as well.”
Hans got up, walked over to Giovanni and gave him another hug and a kiss on each cheek. Then, he walked over to his desk and pulled out $5000 in cash and a Beretta with two extra clips.
“You’re going to need these. I know you didn’t bring any firearms with you. With the TSA screenings, it’s impossible to get any guns on planes anymore. Take this and use it if you have to. It’s unregistered.”
Giovanni took the gun and put it in his sweatpants, turned and moved toward the door.
“I’ll find out where these guys are and be right back with you.”
Hans said nothing. He only glared at his minion. It spoke volumes.
Chapter 18
Giovanni got into his car and typed the address to Blondie’s apartment into his GPS. He’d start there first. If he couldn’t make Blondie talk, he’d follow up on the leads at Charlies’.
Fifteen minutes later, Giovanni left the elevator on the sixth floor, walked down to Francis’ apartment, and pounded on the door.
Francis was inside watching the nightly news. Lester Holt, the new black newscaster who replaced Brian Williams, could be heard in the background.
“I’ll be right there,” Francis said as he went to the door to look through the peephole. He didn’t recognize the fat little Italian with a bad comb over.
“What do you want? I don’t know you,” Francis said still curious and a little annoyed.
Giovanni didn’t like his tone. He pulled the gun out from his sweatpants and fired at the deadbolt. It split in half and fell to the ground. Francis was moving away from the door when Giovanni shoved it open with his shoulder. The door offered no resistance to his 220 pounds. It flew open knocking Francis to the floor.
When Francis got up, he was staring into the barrel of Giovanni’s pistol. (This must be the person that Hans had warned him about earlier.) Two times in three days, he’d had a gun pulled on him. Maybe it was time to relocate.
“I’m going to give you five seconds to cooperate,” Giovanni said as he pulled back the slide on the pistol chambering a round. The metallic click sent shivers through Francis’s spine. He said nothing. All he could do was bob his head up and down in agreement. His head moved like a bobble head on a board when the car came to a screeching halt. His eyes were wild and wide with fear. He started sweating.
Giovanni leaned over and stared directly into Francis’s eyes. Francis could smell the garlic on his breath and in a whisper, Giovanni spoke softly and menacingly. “I need you to tell me where Randy Chappelle and Charlene Messenger are. I need to know it right now! If you don’t tell me, you’re not going to be able to say anything to anyone again because you’ll be dead. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“Yes sir, perfectly…perfectly clear.” Francis stuttered. His voice was trembling. Tears were welling up in his eyes and began to run down his cheeks.” Francis was hyperventilating. He was terrified. He began to feel lightheaded.
“Okay. Now that you understand, tell me where Randy and Charlene are. He started counting backward from 5…4…
Giovanni didn’t even get to three when Francis blurted out through sobs,
“They aren’t in the city anymore. They left on a flight to Los Angeles yesterday. I ta ta took them to the airport in the morning.” He was stuttering and sobbing at the same time.
“Did they say where in LA they were going?” Giovanni pointed the gun between Francis’s bloodshot, tear-filled eyes.
Francis nodded. “Randy has a friend that lives in Hermosa Beach, California. His friend’s name is John Larson. That’s all I know. I don’t know where in Hermosa he lives. I know he said he was going to visit an old friend named John Larson, but nothing else. Honestly, man. That’s all I know. John Larson. Hermosa Beach. Larson, Hermosa Beach.”
Francis couldn’t catch his breath.
“Okay. I believe you. What’s this Larson look like?”
Francis, still shaking wracked his brain.
Giovanni held the gun t
o his Francis’s head again.
The cold steel of the barrel against his temple caused such a release of adrenaline; Francis recalled only one thing Randy had told him about his friend.
“He has red hair and freckles. That’s all I know.”
Giovanni stood up, put the gun down, turned and started to leave. However, before exiting, he stopped in the doorway abruptly, pointed the gun at Francis right knee and pulled the trigger.
The bullet shattered his kneecap. Blood and bits of bone splattered on the floor. Francis screamed out in agony
Giovanni put the gun back into his sweats and then pointed his finger at Francis. “Thank you for the information. I won’t be seeing you again.”
Francis grabbed his knee, rolled over on the floor and moaned in agony. He wouldn’t be playing tennis anymore, but he was thankful he was alive.
Giovanni got into the elevator and left as Francis desperately crawled to his cell phone and dialed 911.
Chapter 19
Before leaving New York City, Randy closed his bank account and got out every dollar he had in the bank. That was $30,000 in cash. He didn’t know how long he was going to be in Los Angeles, but given the description of Giovanni by his friend, Larry, who was the bartender at Charlie’s, he knew he might be there an extended period. When Larry called Randy to warn him someone was looking for him, he gave Randy Giovanni’s complete backstory, even the rumor about Giovanni having rumored to have been blackmailed and Giovanni offing the guy who did it, burying him out in the desert between LA and Palm Springs.
Although Giovanni hadn’t been in New York for over ten years except for an occasional trip to help out Hans, his story had been told and retold by those who remembered him.
Bottom line: he was not the type of man anyone wanted to cross.
Randy got the message.
After Randy had cleared his bank account, Francis picked him and Charlene up at her apartment and drove them to LaGuardia.
Charlene didn’t need to go to the bank. She was in a constant state of being broke and had been supported by Randy for the past few months. She clung to his arm as an abalone clings to a rock.
He was her lifeline.
He was her sustenance.
Randy and Charlene arrived in Los Angeles in midafternoon. As soon as he was on the shuttle to the rent a car center, he called his friend, John Larson, to let him know they arrived safely.
He hung up the phone, and Charlene who had been listening to the one sided conversation asked, “So tell me again how long you’ve known John?”
In their haste to leave town, she wasn’t paying attention when he told her earlier. Charlene often did this: the not paying attention thing. She was into her own thoughts a lot and often didn’t hear when others were talking. Not that it was a problem for Randy.
It wasn’t.
He did the same thing, but not because he was into his own thoughts, he often tuned her out because he wasn’t interested in what she had to say. After so many failed relationships, he was able to do this compartmentalization very efficiently and left few little clues that he was doing so. He was a master at deception. Charlene was simply another bimbo to him, albeit at the present time, a special one that offered other benefits.
“Like I said earlier, we’ve been friends for a couple years,” Randy acknowledged half-heartedly.
His tone was clipped, but Charlene didn’t notice.
“He used to be a bartender at Charlie’s. He had a sister that was living in Southern California and she got sick and died. He went out to take care of her the last couple of months of her life and he never came back to the East Coast.
Charlene leaned forward. Her interest was piqued. “What did she die of?”
“An overdose, Charlene.
The chick was a mess. She was in way over her head with heroin addicts. She was trying to come clean. When John got the call, she was very sick and in rehab.
John went to her to help her through it.
Two weeks after she was released, she went right back to her old habits, and was found dead on the beach after a two-day party.”
“That’s horrible,” Charlene remembered the toll alcoholism had taken on her father and that she and her mother had had to push him down the stairs to end the abuse.
That memory was painful, but she felt no remorse for her father.
She did feel sorry for John’s sister, however.
“Yes, it’s awful. Drugs will fuck you up. That’s why the only drug I do is alcohol. John never came back here, but we kept in touch on and off over the last couple of years. He’s a good friend. I’m sure you’ll like him. When I spoke to him before we left, he said we could crash on his couch in Hermosa Beach.”
“Where’s that?”
“Like I told you before, Hermosa Beach is about eight miles south of the LA Airport. It’s an upscale beach community. Lots of young professionals who work in the studios in Manhattan Beach live there.”
“What does John do for work?”
“He’s doing the same thing he did back at Charlie’s. He’s a bartender at a place called the Hermosa Beach Yacht Club.”
“It sounds impressive.”
“Not really. It’s not as good as that. According to him, it’s a small little dive bar only two blocks from the beach in South Hermosa. It opens early and closes late. It has some regulars who walk there, drink all day and then stumble home. Anyway, I told him we were coming to visit, but I didn’t tell him why. I said we might be there a while and he didn’t have a problem with that. His girlfriend lives in Palos Verdes and he spends a lot of time up there at her house overlooking the ocean. He said we could stay as long as we want. He even offered to help us find jobs.”
“You mean real work?”
“Yes, Charlene. I mean real work. I’m out of the blackmailing business. It’s too dangerous.”
(He didn’t tell her about Giovanni’s past. Instead, he had told her he owed Giovanni money for a loan that he couldn’t pay and needed to leave. He wanted to shield her from the truth.)
Hearing this, Charlene bought his story in its entirety. Randy was never that good with money. That’s why he did what he did for a living, but the marginal benefits of him paying her bills out ruled her common sense. Had she thought about it for more than an instant, she could have seen through his charade, but, at the present moment, she was only concerned about her own well-being. Women who are desperate grab onto the first sure thing they can find, and that’s exactly what Charlene did.
She needed him and moved closer, grabbed his arm and kissed him. Maybe Randy was her knight in shining armor.
She could always hope.
The shuttle bus driver, an overweight black female in her forty’s smiled when she saw the couple embracing. It brought back memories of her when she was married and couldn’t wait for her old man Horace to get home.
He had died three years earlier and now all she had left were sweet memories. Still smiling, she pulled to a stop in front of the rental counter and opened the doors.
“You kids have fun in LA. Honeymoon? Vacation?” Not that it mattered to her. She was making small talk and remembering her husband, nothing more.
“It’s not like that,” John replied. “We came here to look for work and are staying at a friend’s house in Hermosa.”
“That’s where I met my husband,” She said wistfully.
The sentiment was lost on Charlene and John.
They exited the bus and got their car.
Chapter 20
It was nearing dusk when Todd, Stephanie, and John pulled back into the Redondo Beach Harbor. During the lesson, Todd had gone down below to drink his vodka at least four times if not more. When you add that to the Bloody Marys he had on the way to Redondo from Marina Del Rey, he was feeling no pain as they slowly motored past the break wall. He had let both Stephanie and John drive the boat for the last two hours teaching them how to turn, drive in reverse, stop and point the sailboat into the wind. They wo
uld need to know all of these basic maneuvers before they took the boat out themselves. They needed to understand how the wind pushed Arachne around both under sail and under power.
Today’s lesson emphasized the under power part.
After they mastered that, Todd would teach them the more difficult “sailing” part.
Both students were well educated and picked up the basics quickly. After two hours, Todd felt confident in their ability to steer without hitting the rocks or another boat, something that rarely happened in all the years he had been teaching novices. (Lucky for him, because he was in no shape to steer the boat himself after he had so much to drink.)
As they rounded the Bell buoy outside the harbor, the bevy of seals barked as they passed. The king sea lion was still in his perch atop the buoy and fought off the younger pups as they tried to gain a warm spot out of the water.
“Okay, John, you’re going to take it into the slip. I think you can handle it,” Todd slurred.
John nodded in agreement and slowed the engine remembering the command “Red, Right Returning” as he guided Arachne between the center buoy and the red channel marker on his right.
The wind was coming from the mainland and was pushing them to port as they headed down the main channel towards their side tie slip which was all the way at the end of the harbor, about a quarter mile away. Arachne was slowly drifting away from the rocks near the Portofino when Todd grabbed the wheel and made a small correction to keep it centered in the channel.
“There. See how she’s responding to the wind? You’ll have to steer to starboard to compensate for what the wind is doing.” Todd turned the wheel to the right and Arachne veered back on course.
John observed and then took the wheel, letting the boat start to drift to port and slowly brought it back to starboard until it was motoring right down the channel.
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