Fatal Odds

by John F. Dobbyn

“Will Victor do it?”

  “Not alone. He’ll ride in the race and keep tabs on the other jockeys. But it’s the Italians, the mafia in the North End. They’re in this too. There’s a man called Fat Tony Cannucci. He’s the mafia expert in fixing races. The insectos need that expertise. It’s not as easy as it sounds. I’m sure the profits from the animals will be split between the insectos and the mafia. From what I hear, there’s plenty to go around.”

  “So if we get Victor to refuse to go along with the fix . . .”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I could see an instant reaction in his eyes. “Why not?”

  “Because we haven’t seen the bottom of this well yet. The animals came into the Mayagüez port on a ship. They could have sailed on to the Florida coast once they’re paid for. Or they could have been loaded onto another ship for transport. They weren’t. They were loaded onto trucks and taken somewhere inland.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s the question. I don’t know that either. Yet.”

  That last word raised his eyebrows in the obvious question. I leaned closer. “I may know soon. Before we talk about that, could we discuss something else?”

  He raise his hands in a “why not?” gesture.

  “That night Paco was killed at Jamaica Pond. Manuel told me that he got word to you that I was meeting Paco there at midnight. What happened?”

  I could see the pain in his eyes when he thought of it. “When I came here that evening, I got the message Manuel left. He was concerned that you were meeting Paco secretly to do him harm. Clearly, he didn’t trust you. You and I had never met. I had only his word.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I sent a man to Jamaica Pond to be there at midnight to protect Paco.” There was a pause. “He got there too late. Before midnight, Paco had arrived. When my man got there, Paco was tied to a bench, bleeding. He was too far gone to save. You found Paco a couple of minutes later.”

  “And that same man who killed Paco, that insecto, he was about to kill me. It was your man who fired first.”

  “Yes.”

  “And saved my life.”

  “I say ‘Thank God’ now. My man could see that you were trying to help Paco.”

  “I’ll never forget the debt I owe you, Mr. Garcia.”

  He just smiled and patted my folded hands on the table. I reached over and took his arm in my hand. I stood and urged him to his feet. In the blink of an eye, a major domino had tumbled in my mind.

  “Before I leave, my car’s just down the street. It’s sort of a classic. A Corvette. I’ve heard you have a great interest in special cars. You might find it interesting. Would you like to walk with me?”

  “Of course, Michael.”

  I hesitated. “One last thing. You asked about Victor. Let me explain. I think we should tell Victor to go through with the fixing of the race.”

  “And give them the money they need to do this thing with the animals?”

  “Yes. Even so.”

  “Why?”

  “I know these people, Mr. Garcia. I know of this Fat Tony Cannucci. If Victor does anything to block their plans, he’ll die. His family will all die. I needn’t tell you how. I think you know that Victor is not just my client. He’s my cousin. He’s my blood. I can’t let that happen to him. Don’t lose hope. I may have another way to upset their plans.”

  I could see that something was not sitting right with him. He thought for a moment before getting it out. “But Victor defied them before. They tried to force him to pull his horse in that first race. And yet he rode to win. His horse was disqualified, but he rode to win. Why didn’t they kill him then?”

  “I’m sure they would have, but they needed him to make the deal for the animals with his cousin Chico’s gang in Puerto Rico. That saved his life.”

  “I understand. But what about now? How can they trust him to play their game in the next race?”

  “This time they use both a carrot and a stick. The stick is still the threat of death for him and his family.”

  “I could protect him.”

  I held his arm and looked in his eyes. “Mr. Garcia, you know better than I do that if people like that want a man dead, there is no protection.”

  He met my look for several seconds before nodding.

  “And the carrot?”

  “They’ve promised him a small cut of the profits. To Victor, it’s a lot of money. Especially for his family. There’s not much financial security in a jockey’s life. They’re counting on that.”

  I could see he was still having trouble with supporting any plan of the insectos. But for reasons I could not reveal at that moment, I needed him on board with my idea.

  “I’m meeting with my cousin, Victor, tonight. We’re meeting at that same place by Jamaica Pond at ten o’clock. I plan to tell him to do whatever Fat Tony Cannucci tells him. Do I have your agreement?”

  There was no smile now. I could see hesitation in his eyes. He finally nodded again. “You have to follow your conscience, Michael. I know you feel no disloyalty to my interests. We’ll talk again.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Mr. Garcia and I stepped outside the door of the restaurant. We both tipped up our coat collars against the chill wind. At my lead, we began walking east on Cummins Highway. We got three steps before I heard the querying voice beside me.

  “Michael?”

  “Yes, Mr. Garcia.”

  “Would you be offended if I told you—and this is no reflection on my feelings for you—I don’t give a damn if your car has six wheels and flies. My interest in your car is nonexistent. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why are we out here in the cold when we could be inside opening a bottle of fine Puerto Rican wine?”

  “That wind from the east is good, bracing, ocean air. It clears the mind.”

  “My mind was clear where it was warm. You have something to tell me. What is it?”

  I said it low but distinctly. “I should know in a day or two why they’re taking the animals inland in Mayagüez.”

  He stopped me with his hand. “Tell me.”

  “Nestor must have told you about the two native Brazilians who were stowing away on the ship that brought the animals to Mayagüez. They were keeping most of them alive with water, no thanks to the crew of the ship.”

  “He mentioned them. Go on.”

  “They hid out on the trucks that are taking the animals inland. When they see where they’re taking them, and why, they’ll use a phone we left with them to call Nestor. That’s assuming they’re still alive. Nestor will call me. It may be that we can put together a plan at that point. We may have some help. I’m afraid I can’t be more explicit right now. I just want you to know that much.”

  “Will you keep me informed?”

  I needed a deep breath to think. The air came out as vapor. “I don’t know, Mr. Garcia. If I can, believe me, I will.”

  “Why wouldn’t—”

  “I’m thinking three steps ahead. It may be that whatever I learn will be in a confidentiality I can’t break.”

  I was thinking of the meeting ahead with Deputy D.A. Billy Coyne. I could sense his mind making the connections. “I see.”

  “This much I can promise you, Mr. Garcia. I’ll never betray any confidence between you and me. No matter what.”

  He was looking straight into my eyes. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him. He nodded. He started to turn back to the restaurant. I held his arm.

  “One last thing. If anyone beyond you and me hears about the Brazilians, those two men will be dead on the spot.”

  My eyes were searching for assurance. He gave it in a nod.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  AT LAST, I was getting the feeling that if I were not on solid ground, at least I was not treading in quicksand. I had one clear straw to grasp at.

  On my walk back to the C
orvette, I speed-dialed Tom Burns’ private line.

  “Tom. This one is major. I’m literally putting my life in your hands. Do I have your attention?”

  “Completely. What’re you getting into this time?”

  I told him my plan for the evening.

  “You do have a proclivity for the insane. Why this?”

  “I need to nail down an answer. It’s critical, and I can’t come up with a plan B. It’s back-to-the-wall time. I need the best man I can think of behind me.”

  “That, of course, would be me. That aside, listen to me. This could put you beyond even my considerable ability to keep you alive. Do you know who you’re playing with?”

  “Probably better than you do. I have no choice.”

  “Then at least carry a gun like I’ve been telling you.”

  “No good, Tom. I’m still not a shooter.”

  “That’s too bad, because you have a hell of a habit of being a target. I don’t like this. You’ll be like a staked goat.”

  “That’s why I need your man’s eyes on my back. Are you in?”

  There was a pause that I read as concern. “Always.”

  “Then there’s one last detail. Without this, it’s all for nothing. Here’s what I need.”

  I gave him his final marching order.

  “Damn, Mike. Why don’t you just commit suicide and be done with it?”

  “Because I have confidence in you and your man. Come on, Tom. Tell me it’s a piece of cake. Tell me he’s the best there is. I need all the false courage I can get here. By the way, who’ll I look for?”

  “I want to think about it. Whoever it is, call him ‘Marty.’ He may have to do something that he doesn’t want linked to his real name.”

  “Roger that. Thanks, Tom. I feel better about it.”

  “Just don’t feel so good that you ever think of doing it again.”

  * * *

  It was past three in the afternoon when I was driving along Commonwealth Avenue on the way back to the office. I thought I might field a few of the more pressing calls that had been plaguing my faithful assistant, Julie. It would fill the time until dinner with Mr. D. and Billy Coyne at six. More to the point, it would take my mind off my ten o’clock rendezvous that evening.

  I was between Clarendon and Dartmouth Streets when my cell phone came to life. I checked the caller ID and pulled over to the curb. I needed full concentration for this one. It was from Nestor in Mayagüez.

  “Nestor, what’s up?” I remembered to honor his disdain for polite niceties.

  “I have the answer we were looking for. It’s not a good one, but it finally makes sense.”

  “You heard from the two Brazilians. Are they all right?”

  “So far. I just got the call. The three trucks with the animals went inland from the docks about an hour northeast of the city. They said it felt like a dirt road. They stopped in a clearing in the trees in front of a large warehouse-type of building.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “They described the country around it. I know the area. I’m sure I can find it.”

  “Go on.”

  “The men in the trucks unloaded the animal cages. They carried them into the warehouse. Ansuro and Ancarit stayed hidden under a tarp in the truck. After dark, they sneaked around the building. There was a back door.”

  “Unlocked?”

  “They don’t need security. There’s nothing out there but trees. When they got in, they were able to conceal themselves behind the cages that were stacked inside.”

  “And?”

  “You remember what I said when we went down into that hold on the ship?”

  “Hard to forget. You said that it was hell.”

  “Yeah. If that wasn’t, this is.”

  My mind braced to visualize the picture I could see coming. “Tell me.”

  “When they brought the cages into the warehouse, there was a crew of six other men waiting there. They pulled the birds and monkeys, all of the animals, out of the cages. They were still taped up. They threw all the dead ones into a big pit for burning.”

  “Were many dead?”

  “Yeah, but the workmen kept saying not nearly as many as usual. The two Brazilians were praying they wouldn’t figure out it was because they’d been feeding and watering them. That would have led to a search.”

  “But it didn’t?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What about the animals still alive?”

  “That’s the real hell. They had other cages in the warehouse. Just as tight. Maybe tighter. They stuffed the animals back into the new cages. Our two men said it took them most of the night.”

  “Why change cages? Certainly not for the benefit of the animals.”

  “Not a chance. But it does make sense. Finally.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Let me say this first, in case we lose contact. The Brazilians heard them say they have to keep the animals there for a few more days before they ship them.”

  “Why?”

  “The insectos need time to raise the rest of the money to pay for them. Victor’s cousin Chico’s gang isn’t about to release them before they get the cash.”

  “That means they’ll have Fat Tony and Victor fix a race at Suffolk Downs in the next day or so. Then what?”

  “Ansuro said he heard one of them say they’ll take the animals back to the ship in Mayagüez. Then they get shipped to the coast of the mainland.”

  “Where will they smuggle them into the mainland?”

  “Ansuro said he heard they have two places they use on the coast of Florida. They’ve greased the customs people so it’s a smooth run at either place. He’ll keep listening to get a fix on which place they’ll use and where it is. He and his grandson are still hiding out in the building.”

  “Did he say—”

  “Listen to this. We may lose contact. There’s one bright spot for the animals. Before they stuffed them into the new cages, they gave them some food and water.”

  “That’s out of character.”

  “Not so much. It’s not for the animals. Since they have to keep them at least a few days longer, they want to keep their investment alive. No one buys a dead monkey.”

  I had to pull myself back from a distracting vision of the animals in that warehouse. I needed full objective concentration for what was coming.

  “So end the suspense. What’s the piece of the puzzle we’ve been missing?”

  “It’s about the only thing that could make this thing worse than we thought.”

  I got a mental grip to take it in. It did no good. When he laid it out, I was blindsided and numbed anyway. What Nestor described raised the stakes higher than I could comprehend.

  “My God, Nestor. This thing has no limits.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Give me a second.”

  “That’s about all I have.”

  I rested the phone on my lap. My eyes were on the Boston drivers pushing the speed limit on Commonwealth Avenue without really seeing them. I was forcing every brain cell to get the tumblers to fall into place for a plan.

  It was a new game, with a completely new deck of cards. It took about thirty seconds, but out of the floating jumble of possibilities, a barely rational idea began to take shape.

  “Your second’s up, Mike. I’ve got to move.”

  The voice brought me back to the phone. “Move in what direction?”

  “The only one possible. We don’t have the firepower to take on the insectos and Chico Mendosa’s gang at the same time. I don’t like it, but there’s only one choice.”

  “Hell no, Nestor. If you’re thinking of taking it to anyone in the government down there, don’t do it. There’s no one you know you can trust. You’ve got the scars to prove it.”

  “And you have a better idea?”

  “Yes. Stay close to the phone. Just sit tight, and keep quiet.”

  “Now there’s a hell of a plan. Why didn’t I think of that?”
<
br />   “That’s not the plan. I have a dinner meeting with the deputy district attorney tonight here in Boston. Let me try to put something together on this end.”

  Silence.

  “Listen to me, Nestor. What you just told me could be the best news we could get. When you hear from the two Brazilians, see if they’ve heard where the two points of entry are in Florida. I need specifics. And which one they plan to use. If you hear anything, get back to me as soon as possible. You listening?”

  There was a pause. It could have been the total vagueness of my so-called plan, or the fact that he’d be taking orders from this junior associate. Or both. Eventually he came back with a disgruntled but vaguely positive, “Yeah.”

  I decided to go with that and hung up.

  It had been so long since I’d felt the vaguest twinge of optimism, I hardly recognized it. When I rethought the scant hope it was based on, it ducked its little head back undercover.

  Instead of driving to the office, I parked in the underground lot under Boston Common. I walked to a bench beside the swan boat pond in Boston Garden. Some of my best plan formulation over the years has been done in the almost mystical peace of that setting. And I was in need of some magic. I was pulling strands of ideas from some far-flung reaches to amass something I could sell as a plan to Billy Coyne.

  The sun was well set, and I was chilled to the bone without realizing it when I checked my watch. It was time to walk to the Marliave for dinner with Mr. Devlin and Mr. Coyne. I rehearsed one last time what I was about to propose.

  * * *

  Our little trio was escorted again to the private room at the top of the stairs. Chef John presented the bare outlines of a suggested menu to Mr. Devlin. When he began describing his recommended choice of wine, I moved my hand close enough to give a light touch to Mr. D.’s elbow. He read me instantly and told Chef John that we’d be foregoing the wine. Billy Coyne caught the signal and glanced at me. My expression must have conveyed the fact that what was to follow was not casual conversation.

  As soon as we heard the click of the lock behind Chef John, Mr. Coyne leaned closer.

  “What is it, kid? What’ve you got?”

  Mr. Devlin stepped in with one sharp word. “Billy.”

  It brought Mr. Coyne’s eyes up in surprise. “What?”