The Conway's Conspiracy

by Joubert Richardson

  The detective took a paper, examined it for a moment, and said, “Do you know a man named Chalat Cassoti?”

  Girard jerked and reacted abruptly to the question.

  “We’ve the gun you sold to the gangsters,” revealed Galiss. “Chalat passed it to you… He is in our jail and will testify.”

  The arms dealer stood up and made a gesture as if he wanted to collar Galiss. Posturing and mimicking the delega-

  te’s demeanor, he screamed unconvincingly, “You’re crazy, man… I killed nobody. Yeah, I killed nobody…”

  “You insist needlessly,” replied Galiss. “The truth is that you contributed to the killing of eight officers and the theft of eleven million dollars.”

  “I didn’t do anything. I swear...” he replied bluntly.

  “You’ve done a lot, Girard… ” Galiss was relentless. “On the scale of legal responsibility, you’re as guilty as the killers.”

  Faced with the prospect to being charged with first degree murder, the individual became frantic. In an apparent effort to impress the detective, Girard jumped around the room. “You keep accusing me...” he yelled forcefully. “I tell you I’m innocent…”

  “Innocent?” Galiss answered impassively. “Responsible for the death of eight officers and still innocent…?”

  With a threatening gesture, the bandit moved toward Galiss. Graham was following the interrogation through a one-way mirror; he quickly entered the room. Going straight at Girard, he forced him to show restraint. “Thief... Stay on your seat and keep quiet…”

  The robust intervention cooled the smuggler down.

  “You’ve twenty-four hours,” said Galiss. “You’ll then be treated like the bloody criminal you’re... Call me if you decide to talk…”

  Standing up, the delegate left the room. Graham struck Girard with a terrible glare and shouted that memorable exclamation: “Oh, you, rogue of hell…. What a leech on society’s flank…”

  * * *

  It was a dull morning of September. The aurora of autumn covered Miami with a somnolent soberness. At its dawn, the season projected a fusion of light and shadow opalescent. In the quadrilateral, north of Miami Beach, a car drove slowly. Behind the wheel was Jonathan Conway. A strange glow lightened his eyes and a deep smirk convulsed his face. He parked in the lot surrounding the Post Office and got out of the vehicle; he then went straight to his mailbox. After removing a large envelope, he walked back to his car and drove away.

  Arrived home, he undressed, drank a glass of water, and sat down with the envelope in his hand. After a moment of seeming meditation, he tentatively opened it. Inside was a black plastic bag. He pulled it open and got a note and a pack of 50-dollar bills. Calmly, he counted two hundred. He placed them on a stool and started reading. “Be careful and think about tomorrow…” the note said succinctly. “Gigi is our big preoccupation... Two hundred and fifty thousand can turn a saint into a devil… Is it possible to finish the job? Let us know... It would be wise to loiter about... You’ve the address... Call us.”

  Jonathan remained a long moment in the same position; he then jumped up and walked to the bathroom. After taking a shower, he dressed up and carefully combed his hair. A few minutes later, he prepared a plate of scrambled eggs, vegetables, and bread, which he ate greedily. For dessert, he took a bunch of grapes and savored silently. A while later he retur-

  ned in the living room, grabbed the two hundred 50-dollar bills, and went to hide them in a box, under his bed. Looking tough and confident, he walked out, went to his car, and left.

  He drove to Fort Lauderdale and cruised in the area of 35th Avenue and Broward Boulevard. After parking at the intersection of Geronimo Street and Thirty-fifth Lane, he got out and strolled around. He stopped briefly at 3512 and quickly moved forward.

  Here, he recuperated his car and drove east, toward the city’s central jail; there, he walked pass the prison’s lateral gate, seemingly skulking about. Now, we caught him, hidden behind a pole and scrutinizing a group of people who stand in front of the main entrance. Among them, we distinguished the remarkable face of Steven Pozy, Girard’s older brother.

  On visiting day, a number of anxious relatives assembled in front of the massive jail. Parents, children, spouses, mistresses of all shapes and sizes, stood in tight ranks, hopping up and down, and showing their teeth. Dubious moans, screams, and jokes emanated from the compact lines. When the iron door finally opened, a squad of officers appeared. Going straight ahead, they walked out and pushed back the visitors. “Women, to the left… Men, to the right…”

  In brouhaha, they reluctantly complied. The officers intervened with an iron fist and brought order in the melee. The lines being well formed, the visit began.

  Steven was among the first to enter the jail. Sitting down behind a glass wall, he waited patiently. After more than thirty minutes, Girard emerged, escorted by two guards. Steven stood up and waved with both hands. The trafficker sat down on the other side of the wall and, using a telephone, started a strange dialogue with his brother.

  “They want to kill me...” said Girard. “I must get out as soon as possible…”

  “We need money,” Steven answered suspiciously. “The judge fixed the bail at one hundred thousand dollars.”

  “A tenth of it...” yelled Girard. “That’s all you need…”

  “We’re putting it together…” Steven replied as if he was afraid to say something wrong.

  “When will I get out?” asked Girard.

  “In about a week,” Steven answered reluctantly.

  “Did you see Marcia?” Girard stared at him.

  “She is trying to find money... Ten thousand dollars, that’s what it takes…” Steven sounded nervous and annoyed.

  “Did you talk to my lawyer?” asked Girard.

  “Yeah… He asked you to keep silent…” said Steven.

  “What is he doing to help?” inquired Girard.

  “There is nothing to do, bro... You need ten thousand dollars to get out...” Steven was blunt and impatient.

  “Steve, please help me…” implored Girard.

  “You know I will... Be patient, man…” replied Steven.

  “I spent three days in the interrogation room,” said Girard. “They want me to testify… They asked me to lie…”

  “Why, in the name of God, did they fuck you so bad?” Steven shook his head nervously. “They want to trap you…”

  “Did you go to the house?” asked Girard.

  “They sealed it off…” Steven answered hesitantly.

  “Oh, my God, they did that…” Girard was furious.

  “Calm down, bro… Calm down…” Steven said quietly.

  “How can I be calm in such a situation?” replied Girard.

  “You’ll get out, Gigi... We’ll find the money…” promised

  Steven.

  “You’re my brother, Steve...” Girard mumbled dubiously.

  “I know you’ll do anything to save me…”

  “We already have seven thousands… We’ll soon put it together...” Steven was now calm and confident.

  “Steve, you’re my savior…” Girard screamed restlessly.

  “Don’t talk to the detectives,” said Steven. “They’ll crack you like a nut…”

  “I’m inflexible...” he answered with a boisterous voice. “Nobody can force me to lie…”

  At this point, an agent approached and touched Girard on the shoulder. It was time to return behind bars.

  “Got to go, Steve …” yelled Girard.

  “Be firm, bro… You’ll hear from me,” replied Steven.

  That day, as Steven walked out of the jail, Jonathan’s menacing shadow loomed behind him.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Scare

  His shaky tone commanded total attention. He sounded alternately loud and impatient, imploring and fearful.

  “We’re facing great danger…” he wailed in a deep exclamation. “We’ve got to do something.”

 
“Joe, you said he was caught?” Jonass’ voice was strangely calm.

  “Now I’ve to repeat every word,” he replied irritably.

  “Joe, don’t be so agitated…” said Jonass. “Please, slow down! Go see Jaffett… Do you’ve the address?”

  “Yes…” he could hardly contain his emotion.

  “Tell him you come on my behalf, but don’t say anything else…” continued Jonass. “If he can’t do it, he’ll give you the piece... You’ve got to move, Joe... Now, it’s life or death, okay?”

  “Okay…” he replied nervously.

  “Say nothing to Jaffett...” said Jonass. “Good he stays in the dark… If he asks questions, just lie, okay?”

  “Okay,” agreed Jonathan.

  “It’s a grave moment…” mumbled Jonass. “Time to kick some butts... If it doesn’t work with Jaffett, you’ve to do it.”

  “I understand,” he answered dubiously. “I’ve to see what can be done...”

  “You agree?” inquired Jonass.

  “I’ve to think,” he replied in a fearful tone.

  “Dammit, Joe…” exclaimed Jonass. “We’ve no time!”

  “Okay. I’ll see...” the baby sounded moody and confused.

  “What about the job…?” asked Jonass.

  “I’ll leave soon…” he replied jumpily.

  “Be careful, man!” warned Jonass.

  “Don’t worry…Everything will be okay…” Jonathan’s voice was scarily anxious.

  “Did they find the kickers (guns)?” asked Jonass.

  “Nah…” he replied awkwardly. “They’re in the mud...”

  “That was a brilliant idea, ain’t it…?” said Jonass.

  “Yeah,” mumbled Jonathan with a bit of pride. “It was perfect…”

  “When will you get away?” asked Jonass.

  “After getting rid of Gigi…” he sounded rash and unsure.

  “Dangerous, Joe…” said Jonass. “Very dangerous…”

  “I’m going to loiter...” Jonathan replied restlessly.

  “We love you, baby…” Jonass’ voice was loud, almost emotional.

  “I love you too,” he answered with a shivery voice.

  “Be good with Jaffett,” said Jonass. “He can be of great help…”

  “I know,” the baby sounded surprisingly subdued.

  * * *

  In Coconut-Palm Villa, twenty-five miles west of Montego Bay, Jamaica, the Conway brothers lived like Croesus. Built on a mountaintop, the villa gave view to a panoramic splen- dor, a heavenly décor where the bandits exposed their opu-

  lence.

  Around a pool made up with Italian marbles, on a majestic ornamental stage, a dozen naked young girls strutted about under the masters’ sarcastic jubilation. Five exhilarated male domestics ran back and forth with plates full of victuals.

  The Conway brothers’ style of living gave way to slavish exhibitions. The girls went through hell to satisfy their barbaric sexual appetite. It was a relentless binge perturbed, every other hour, by Joe’s alarming calls.

  Lying on his back, Edward received the care of three girls. One had her tongue in his mouth; another massaged his legs while the third sucked his navel. Eyes pushing up their sockets, he winked at brother Garry, seated alongside of him.

  His right hand manipulating the breasts of a teenager, Garry moved slowly underneath a naked woman sitting on his shoulders.

  Pallid and exhausted, Jonass waddled in an armchair, with a girl sitting on each of his laps. Alongside of him were two men: one of about forty years old, short and fat; the other, around the same age, thin and tall. Jarrig Propilo, Sergeant in the city’s Police Department and his cousin, Garth, officer in the same division. The first savored a turkey leg while the latter sipped a glass of rum. Garth’s lusty eyes focused shamelessly on the superb baby who took care of Peter.

  Brown eyes, sensuous lips, curly hair, Miriam was a sparkling beauty. Her laughter was magnetic and her attractive body displayed a captivating spectacle. Peter met her the day they arrived in Jamaica and fell in love. Showing remarkable restraint, the Atlanta vagabond spent long hours with the young woman and spoiled her in every way possible. Any-

  thing nice should belong to Mimi.

  Jonass said that Peter risked his life and plunged in a bloody mess to land in the arms of a wonderful girl. Debauchery was of no interest to him. Completely absorbed in a happy bind, the vagabond had neither the time nor the desire for meaningless adventures.

  The other brothers were at it on a rampage. Left to themselves in a villa with incredible architectural configuration, they lay back and lived as if the standard of conventional order was no more. Right in the middle of civilization, they created a world of gargantuan frolicking.

  The huge booty snatched from a pool of blood carried the malediction of evil. Without a clear notion of their true circumstances, the brothers had serious doubts about the durability of their murderous adventure.

  * * *

  Seeing Steven in front of the jail, Girard smiled and waved wildly. The smuggler crossed the boardwalk, ran toward his brother, and hugged him. Steven had finally got the bail deposit and the arms dealer was free.

  “I love you, Steve... Oh, I love you…” Girard was exhilarated.

  “We did our best… It wasn’t easy…” answered Steven.

  “Where is Marcia?” Girard asked anxiously.

  “She is preparing the house. The authorities took off the seal...” Steven shook his head and smiled cunningly.

  “What did my lawyer tell you?” inquired Girard.

  “He is not optimistic,” replied his brother. “Your name is

  on the front page of every newspaper. He fears that such a wide publicity will destroy you…”

  “But I’m innocent… I did nothing wrong…” said Girard.

  “It’s not so simple,” answered Steven. “It’ll take more than words to save you…”

  “What do you mean?” asked Girard.

  “As of tomorrow, you’ll face the sharks...” Steven replied nervously. “You won’t be able to stay at your house.”

  “I’ve to move?” Girard seemed incredulous.

  “Yeah…” Steven stared at him. “You must hide in a corner…”

  “But I did nothing wrong…” Girard screamed jumpily.

  “You repeat the same thing,” said Steven. “I told you, it’s not so simple…You’re an illegal arm dealer… There’ll be a trial... Chalat will be pitiless… The lawyer said it’ll be almost impossible to exonerate you.”

  “We must find another lawyer...” rumbled Girard. “We need someone who can defend me.”

  “I consulted several of them,” his brother answered mockingly. “They all affirmed your case is hell...”

  “But I did nothing wrong…” Girard was vehement.

  “Jesus...” yelled Steven. “You keep saying the same thing… The lawyer said you should cooperate with the police and try to get out…”

  “When do I’ve to move?” asked Girard.

  “As soon as possible,” answered Steven. “Marcia’s brother is preparing a corner...”

  There was a brief moment of silence; then, Girard said, “The detective told me it’s possible to get complete exoneration...”

  “What exactly did he say?” asked Steven.

  “That a cooperation leading to the bandits’ arrest and conviction can pull me through,” Girard revealed nicely.

  “He said that?” Steven stayed wide-eyed.

  “Yes,” nodded Girard.

  “Maybe we should consider things at another angle,” said

  Steven. “We’ll talk about it with your lawyer… He is a good attorney. He seems to know what he is doing. What you just said can change the whole picture. What was your answer?”

  “I rejected the offer,” Girard answered haughtily.

  “Why?” Steven looked at him.

  “It sounded like a trick,” said Girard. “I played along to get a good deal; but the cop
was elusive. He didn’t want to commit... He doesn’t have the authority to engage the government. Only the District Attorney can take that responsibility.”

  “It’s true and you did the right thing,” mumbled Steven. “This is a tight game... They’ll go far to identify the killers… The information you’ve can save your life; but time is running both in your favor and against you… The alternative of an accidental resolution is an aspect of the situation we must assess carefully... It would be catastrophic if they reach their goal without your help...”

  “What do you suggest?” Girard asked anxiously.

  “You should explore the possibility of a deal in exchange for your cooperation,” said Steven. “If you can’t get total satisfaction, you should accept to spend a few years in jail.”

  “No... I’ll not…” Girard yelled stridently.

  “What the hell do you want to do?” asked Steven.

  “I’ll flee... I’ll go away…” Girard replied wildly.

  “They confiscated your passport and other pieces of identification,” said Steven. “I’m quite sure police are spying

  around… It would be suicidal to follow up with this stupid idea… You would worsen a difficult case. The wise decision is to cooperate and get the best out of a dreadful collusion. You’ve to act quickly... You’re exposed to severe prosecution...”

  “What do you’ve in mind?” asked Girard.

  “We’ve to talk to your lawyer,” answered Steven. “He’ll advise us…”

  * * *

  Despite the investigation complete failure, the Hauss & Caust affair remained on first page. The agents’ brutal killing and the crime complicated ramifications offered political grounds motivating journalists to keep people on the edge.

  Girard had been released and was now subjected to all kinds of social harassments. Doing his best to attenuate the negative impact, Steven became a pawn for the tabloids. The two brothers had to move out in the middle of the night and go hide in Key West.