The Usher

by Will Pettijohn

  Rick shook it off, opened the door, and climbed out of the car. He walked up the long steps of the Dallas County Courthouse and then through the doors. He walked into the area where two Dallas County sheriff’s officers were waiting. He showed them his badge and credentials and then bypassed the screening and metal detector. He walked to the elevator and looked at the directory on the wall. He located Judge Mathews’s name and the appropriate floor and pressed the “up” arrow beside the elevator.

  He made his way to Judge Mathews’s office and knocked on the door. There was no answer; he continued to knock a few more times. He knew he had to get this information to Judge Mathews today or there wouldn’t be a warrant issued tomorrow morning as promised. He continued to knock with no success. He paced the floor in front of the office and became distraught. But after ten minutes or more, Rick gave up and left the courthouse.

  He made his way back to I-35 south and proceeded to his exit. He continued on his way home, pulled into his driveway, and got out of the car. He walked up to the front door and used his key to open it. He walked in and placed his keys on the table by the front door. He heard a faint bell in the distance getting closer and louder. Before long his large male tabby rounded the corner and nudged his leg. He knelt down and rubbed him on top of the head, scratching a few times. He slowly stroked the length of the cat’s body and then set the briefcase on the floor by the table.

  He picked up the cat and placed his nose to his small friend’s. The cat responded with a loud, steady purr. “You miss me, Captain Jinks?” Rick asked as he continued to hold his furry roommate in his arms. “Yes, sir, that’s a good boy,” he continued as he pressed the cat gently under his chin and then rubbed a moment.

  He locked the door and carried Captain Jinks into the living room. He sat Jinks down in the chair and made his way into the kitchen. He opened the freezer and found what he would call dinner. “It looks like Salisbury steak tonight, Mr. Jinks,” he said, placing it in the microwave and heating it up. After his dinner was ready, he pulled it out of the microwave and found the only clean fork left in the drawer. He made his way over to his recliner and sat down with a sigh. “Ahhhh!” he exclaimed.

  He leaned his chair back and gently patted Jinks, who was lying beside his chair on the floor. “Let’s see what’s on the tube, Jinks,” he said reaching onto the end table for the remote. He hadn’t eaten more than a few bites in six days and was finally regaining his appetite. The smell of the food rose in the air as he pressed the power button. A click followed, and then, the light from the box filled the room.

  He began surfing the channels as he ate his overcooked dinner until he found Forensic Files. “Yeah, this is our favorite, isn’t it, Jinks,” he said as he stared at the television. When he was finished with his dinner, he sat his empty plastic plate on the table and reached for Jinks. The two sat in the chair until Rick realized that it was after eleven o’clock. “Well, Jinks, it’s past your bedtime. What do you say we call it a night?” he said, picking up the cat. He pulled the lever on the side of the chair and was soon sitting upright.

  He made his way to the bedroom and set Jinks on the bed. He then untucked his shirt and removed it. He unbuttoned his jeans and removed his shoes. He picked up a set of pajamas lying on the floor by the bed, slid his jeans off, and put the pajamas on. He walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth out.

  His routine hadn’t changed much for several years, not since he got Captain Jinks from the Dallas County Humane Society. Before Jinks came along, he would simply sit in his chair until he fell asleep. He would sleep there until he felt the unmistakable urge and pain of needing the restroom. Only then would he go to bed. This night was like so many before except for one thing.

  Rick came out of the restroom and walked over to the bed. He didn’t crawl in right away, not this time. Rick got on his knees and folded his hands. Jinks jumped onto the bed, made his way over to Rick, and gently rubbed his hands with his body. He began to purr loudly as Rick began to speak.

  “Dear Lord … it’s been a while since we’ve talked, but I need your help in the worst way. If you can see to it that Judge Mathews gives me that warrant, I’ll do my very best to make sure that Young doesn’t ever see daylight again. I’ll do my best to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else. I’m a pretty good guy, Lord; I think you can help me take care of this guy for good. And with Archer maybe being a bad guy too … maybe you’ll give me the answers I need to figure it all out, Lord. And I promise I’ll try to keep Jinks happy too … Amen.” Rick climbed to his feet.

  He crawled into bed and clicked the light switch off. As he lay there in the comfort of his bed, his furry friend lying beside him, he couldn’t help but think about the events that had led him to this point. In the past six days, he had stared down the barrel of his own gun, which had been held by a madman. He had been threatened with certain death. And now he had found out that the good guy is really the bad guy who is acting like a good guy. On top of all that, he begged a district judge to break the law to help him put a killer away for life but couldn’t get the information to him that he had asked for.

  Chapter 11

  Berto, Gamboni’s bodyguard, walked into the dining room and said, “You have a phone call, Mr. Gamboni.” Gamboni placed his fork on the plate and finished chewing a bite of salmon before taking the phone from Berto.

  “Hello,” Gamboni said.

  “Mr. Gamboni, it’s me, Carmine,” the voice said in a scared tone on the other end.

  “Carmine … What’s goin’ on?” Gamboni asked.

  “It’s your shipment on Thursday; I think it will be a problem, sir. I wanted to tell you that it was in the briefing today. Everybody’s gonna be there,” Carmine said.

  “Why will it be a problem? How do they know it is mine, Carmine?” Gamboni asked as he pushed his plate away from his large gut.

  “Because they are gonna find it, and then they will have enough evidence to arrest you. I need to know which containers are yours, Mr. Gamboni.”

  “But I have you, Carmine … And I’m not telling you all of my business. You don’t need to know which containers are mine. I thought you were gonna take care of this kind of problem for me. Besides, I don’t have any worries. I don’t ever go down there, so no one is able to place those containers in my possession, or me anywhere around them. You will just have to fix the problem.”

  “Mr. Gamboni, I can’t simply stop them from investigating you, and if they get tips from other people, they have to check it out.”

  “Okay, Carmine, what do you suggest I do?”

  “Well, maybe you could change your shipment to another day, or choose another route to bring it in.”

  “I can’t just change the fucking day that a thousand guns are being delivered, Carmine!” Gamboni screamed. “I can’t change the route; we’ve used the same route for a long time now. The dry dock is huge; they can’t go and search all of the containers. There must be two thousand of them out there.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand that. We need to figure out a way to stop them from finding it. I don’t even know how they found out where it is going to be.”

  “What do they know right now?” Gamboni asked in a calmer voice.

  “I got a memo in my duty box that said there would be a mandatory meeting for a select few and that I have to attend. The list said several agencies will be there. The main discussion is a large shipment of illegal merchandise that is to be delivered to the dry dock on Thursday sometime. They said it would be a very big bust and that all of the other agencies would be involved in the bust as well. I will be briefed on it more this afternoon sometime.”

  “Okay, I will let my guy in Chicago know that they know it’s coming and see what he wants to do. If you go to the docks, persuade them to search the green containers. There is an Irishman I’d love to have out of my way. He deals in
drugs and sells them to kids.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you know as I find out more information about what they plan to do.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you then—and Carmine?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I trust that you’ll do everything you need to do, right?” Gamboni clarified.

  “Of course, Mr. Gamboni, I’ll do whatever I can to make sure your shipment is safe. What you’ve done for me will never be forgotten, Mr. Gamboni.”

  “Okay, I’ll be waiting for your call,” Gamboni said, and hung up the phone.

  Carmine hung up the phone and walked back into the building. He made his way up to the appropriate floor and then to his desk. He knew that the crime boss “Don” Michael Gamboni was not the kind of man who took these things lightly. Something would have to happen quickly to keep the shipment from being discovered and confiscated. He sat at his desk until his commander’s office called.

  Carmine took his usual notebook and pens into the briefing room with him. As he entered the large room, he found a seat next to his sergeant and sat down. Carmine looked around the oval table and recognized only a few people. Most of those who attended were from other agencies, and he had not ever seen them before.

  Before long, the doors were closed and the commander stood at the head of the long table and began to speak. “Gentlemen, we are all very aware of the crime wave that has hit Dallas, and it is getting worse. I have asked the DEA and ATF to join us in this meeting.” Commander Martin looked around the room for a moment. “This is Special Agent Carnes; he will be in charge of the DEA’s special tactics team,” he said as he pointed to an average-size man wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt, a Dallas Cowboys baseball hat and his badge hanging around his neck.

  Carnes raised his hand in acknowledgment. “This gentleman here is Special Agent Regar,” Commander Martin continued. “He will be in charge of the ATF’s team as this bust takes place.” Commander Martin pointed at a large redheaded man on the other side of the table. He wasn’t a typical cop … He had a full beard and wore long hair. His clothes looked as if he had purchased them at a thrift store and thrown together the cheapest of his purchases. He also wore his badge on a chain around his neck. Commander Martin took his seat and opened a large white folder. “Have all of you gotten a briefing folder yet?” Martin asked as he scanned the room. Several people sitting at the table nodded. The other people shook their heads. “Would you please pass these down so that everyone has one?” Martin asked as he handed Carnes several folders.

  After everyone had received their folders, they opened them and looked at the contents. “Okay, gentlemen, you’re probably wondering why you’re just now finding out the details about this project,” Martin said. “Most of the people on my staff have had a short briefing about the target of this investigation, but some have not. The other agencies and I decided it was best to wait until the last minute to disclose any information for fear of the investigation being compromised.”

  “Is everyone here, Commander?” Carnes asked as he looked at Commander Martin.

  “Yes, sir, this is everyone I needed to be here, I guess,” Martin answered. “The men in this room are the only people who will know about what is going to happen, and that is because you are the most trusted of your departments. If anyone of you has a conflict of interest, or any concerns about this project, please excuse yourselves now.” Martin took his seat again.

  “Okay, gentlemen, this is the scope of our intense investigations over the past few months,” Carnes said. “This has not come from tips or an informant. The reason this task force has been assembled is that we have busted several people with large quantities of cocaine and methamphetamines in their possession, in and around the warehouse distribution center. None of these perpetrators are talking, so we began to put the pieces together and have found a central point for these people.” Carnes opened his briefing folder.

  The sergeant raised his hand and waited for them to look at him. “Sergeant Former, you have a question?” Martin asked.

  “I’m just wondering, Commander, how would they find a central point and make a decision based solely on the fact that these busts were around this place?”

  Carnes answered in place of the commander. “Well, Sergeant … ya see, none of the drugs were ready for distribution, and they were in their transportation form. So we can tell from experience that the fact that this has been happening over a long period of time means they must be getting it from either the same source or the same general area.”

  “Oh, I see. I just couldn’t imagine you catching several people in a short time and not being able to place the main shipment. What makes you think they’re all connected?” Former asked.

  “No, sir, it was over a seven-month period,” Carnes said. “These busts were not just small quantities, either; a couple of these offenders had several pounds of drugs in their possession at the time of arrest. So we investigated the options and came to the conclusion that it must be the dry dock by the train station in East Dallas. These drugs busts all have one thing in common: they all have the same chemical composition. Drugs have an almost DNA trace to their chemical makeup not unlike human DNA, and these drugs were all from the same manufacturer. A pound of this very pure cocaine holds a street value of around one point six million dollars, and we believe there is much more to be found. The major players in this game are big money, and they’ll protect their investment at all costs. Naturally, we are after the supplier as well as the distributors.”

  Carmine listened carefully as the men conversed back and forth. He knew that with all the information these agencies had, the shipment would have to be stopped or rerouted to another place. Even though they weren’t looking for guns, there was a chance they would search the wrong containers and find them.

  “So how do we think we want to play this one out, gentlemen?” Commander Martin asked.

  Carnes looked at his notes and then at his investigation folder. “This is what our plan of attack will be, guys,” he said, turning the folder upside down so that the sergeant and commander could see it clearly.

  The two men gathered closer to see, and Carmine followed suit. With all of the men looking, Carnes explained the operation in great detail. They would make their move at dawn on the morning of the day after the day Gamboni’s containers were scheduled to arrive.

  “There will be constant surveillance throughout Wednesday and then into Wednesday night, until the bust on Thursday,” Agent Carnes explained. “It is imperative that no one outside of this conference room learn of our plans.”

  Chapter 12

  After Colt was comfortable for a few minutes, his cell phone rang. Its ominous translation of the ring tone shouted the message through and through as he heard it … It was Gamboni’s ring tone, which meant either that he wanted to check on him to ensure he was enjoying his short-lived break or he wanted to talk business. Colt assumed that the latter was more likely. He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled the cell phone out, and opened it.

  “Yeah,” Colt answered.

  “I need you to check on the pig farm in East Dallas for me,” Gamboni answered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, I’ll be expecting your call when you see how the pigs look and how things are going,” Gamboni said, and then he hung up.

  Colt closed his phone as well. He sat in the chair and remembered that Gamboni had told him that “the pig farm” was code for the shipping containers from which he collected his guns and other illegal shipments. Gamboni called it a pig farm because there were always cops patrolling the area. Colt knew there were many trucks in and out each day and that the cops, if they weren’t tipped off, would be hard pressed to catch a controlled shipment. Some of those trucks were legitimate and some were not so legitimate. Gamboni used one spot to keep his stuff in and paid the dock supervisor and other people very well to ma
ke sure that it always happened the way it was supposed to. Gamboni was a narcissistic person, yet a very careful and very smart criminal. And everything had to go a certain way to satisfy him.

  Colt got to his feet and made his way to the hall closet. He took out a light jacket and went to the garage, where he opened the door to his BMW and climbed in. He placed the key in the ignition and cranked up his powerful V8. After pressing the button and checking his mirrors, he backed out of the driveway and then into the street.

  He placed the car in drive and pressed the button on his sun visor to close the garage door. He looked forward as he sped off on his journey. It was only thirty minutes or so to the dry docks, and he knew them well. He had worked as muscle for Gamboni on Thursday nights when shipments came in. There was a lot of money involved in the shipments, and Gamboni wasn’t going to let anyone ruin it for him.

  When Colt worked the dry docks, it was always dangerous. Several people ran drugs and guns from the dry docks. None of them wanted the others to know what they were shipping. The Germans and Russians had shipped guns as well as drugs—lots of drugs. They were the main suppliers of cocaine and methamphetamines to the Dallas area. The Chinese brought in illegal electronics as well as stolen motorcycles and cars. Then there were the Irish—they were Gamboni’s main competition. A couple of years earlier they were almost all killed in a freak accident at the dry docks. Their shipments of drugs were never found that night by the investigators who came to the fire. Four men died and the investigators ruled it a chemical explosion because of the stench and the color of the smoke. The docks were a very dangerous place, especially after dark.

  Gamboni was a very competitive businessman and would crush anyone who got in his way or proved to be a threat to the dry docks. After all, he made a lot of money having his stuff brought into the dry docks. As long as no one brought trouble and didn’t cut into his share, Gamboni left them alone. There were, however, the ever-present lookouts, from each person’s interests, at the dry docks. Gamboni paid one man five hundred dollars a day to work at the docks. His name was Bobby Vercelli. Bobby ran the gate and took care of the shipping manifests and sign-in sheet for everyone who entered and left the dry dock facility.