The Usher

by Will Pettijohn

  “Yeah, and Archer has some explaining to do when I get the chance to talk to him again. Archer has manipulated this investigation from the very beginning, and I am getting tired of being pulled around by my chain.”

  “This makes you wonder if your friend Agent Woburn isn’t right about Archer now.”

  “Well … if she is right, then we need to get Archer off the street and in prison as well. Maybe he and Young can be cellmates!” Rick said as he exited the elevator. He had to talk to Dickie and get to the bottom of this.

  Chapter 23

  Colt continued to search for any signs of a tail that might still be following him as he made his way back to his part of town. It didn’t make sense to him for anyone other than the cops to put a bug on his car and have him followed. He drove the speed limit at times and then drove erratically fast at other times. This would let him see if there was anyone following him. Colt tried to think about who would want him followed. He began thinking of all the people who knew who he was, and the list wasn’t too long.

  Gamboni was the crime boss, and he knew that Colt was the best at what he did, so he wouldn’t place a tail on him. Berto knew he was Gamboni’s favorite, and that made Colt nervous. Berto wasn’t someone Colt would trust with babysitting a cat over the weekend. He was careless and not trustworthy by even organized crime’s standard. Colt didn’t like his business to be discussed in front of anyone, but Gamboni trusted Berto and talked in front of him about a lot of the business—but he wouldn’t have him tailed either. Nevertheless, he knew he’d have to be more cautious about where he was and what he did from now on.

  Gamboni didn’t have to track him from a pieced-together tracking device; he could simply look at his phone’s GPS to track him. He remembered an incident where Colt had finished a job in Kilgore, Texas, and Gamboni called him and asked why he was leaving already. Colt told him he was finished and asked how Gamboni knew about his location. Gamboni explained the GPS option to him then. But that was years ago, and he hadn’t mentioned it since. The FBI was following him … Colt knew they would have used the state-of-the-art tracking devices like Tony’s guy at the garage told him. Maybe the suits in the restaurant were just a coincidence and they weren’t following him like he thought they were.

  So who could it be if it wasn’t Gamboni or the FBI? That would leave only one person that Colt could imagine. But why would Berto need to know where he was? Was Berto working for someone else and filling Gamboni full of shit? Was he trying to get rid of Colt? Was he following orders from Gamboni and making sure Colt could be trusted after his brush with certain capture? The possibilities were making his head hurt. Colt drove back by the docks to see if anything else had happened. He drove past and slowed down only enough to see if there were any unusual vehicles there, but there was nothing.

  Gamboni wanted Colt to make sure that their interests were looked after and that the Irishman’s interests were made public. Gamboni made a lot of money on the illegal gun trade, and Colt knew that he’d be in Gamboni’s favor if he diverted a catastrophe for him. When Gamboni changed the location of the shipment, he had saved himself a lot of grief. After all, he wasn’t shipping drugs into the dry docks like Carmine told him they were looking for. But if the wrong container was opened by accident and the guns were discovered, it would cost him a lot of money.

  It was a good thing Carmine was on Gamboni’s side. It gave Gamboni a heads-up when there would be trouble. But Carmine was a rat, and where a rat can find cheese, there soon will be rat shit next to it. Colt wasn’t sure about all that was happening. But he was anxious to hear from Tony and find out what the drugged-up guy knew. Colt continued to watch for anything out of the normal, but still found nothing that caught his attention.

  He made his back way through the industrial area and then back onto the interstate. He drove past his house and then around the block once to check again if anyone was following him. As he drove back around, there was no one, and he turned into his drive. He pressed the button for the garage door, pulled his luxury sedan in, and pressed the button again to close it behind him. He turned the car’s ignition off, but sat there for a moment and thought again about why Berto or anyone else would want him followed. It continued to escape him, and it was beginning to frustrate him. He leaned his head back onto the headrest and closed his eyes.

  He turned the key backward and then pressed the button on the stereo. A soft sound came through the speakers. Pachelbel’s Canon in D major was his favorite classical piece, and he wanted to hear it now. The music that brought him comfort in times past was now the only thing that could keep his mind off the threat he faced. It helped him to clear his mind and focus. He and Emily had gone to the Dallas philharmonic once and he had also watched the New York symphony play in Times Square a couple of years back, he had been mesmerized by the sounds and feelings he heard and felt that evening when he watched the Dallas Philharmonic play. His beautiful wife by his side, holding hands and feeling one another’s hearts beat, they fell in love all over again as they were captivated by the music.

  After leaving the concert that evening, the two had stopped on a deserted road and made love for an hour. They hadn’t ever done anything like that before. The blood from both was pumping as if their hearts were the drums in the symphony. The gentle moans were the strings, and the cries of pleasure were the brass. They had created their own symphony on the side of the road that night. After they had finished making love in the sweet surrender of lust, they had simply lay there looking up at the stars and leaning against the rear window of his BMW.

  Colt was startled back to reality as he felt his cell phone vibrate and then ring. He opened it to see Tony’s number. “Yeah,” Colt answered.

  “You’re gonna love this one.”

  “What do ya got?”

  “I have one of those posters that you wanted from the theater,” Tony answered in code.

  “Oh man, really? What does it have for the picture?” Colt joined in and followed suit.

  “It has a big fucking Italian guy named Berto playing a violin.”

  “Really? What color shirt is he wearing?” Colt asked to see if he was working for anyone else.

  “He’s wearing a scarlet-colored shirt.”

  “Well, thanks for getting it for me, man! I really appreciate it, and I can’t wait to see the show. I’ll hang that poster on my wall so I can always remember it.”

  “I can’t wait to see it either. I bet it’ll be a blockbuster.”

  “Hey … thanks again.”

  “Nothing but blood is thicker than our friendship.”

  “I know, primo! Same here … Thanks,” Colt said as he hung up his cell phone. Tony wasn’t Colt’s cousin or any other type of relation to him. He wasn’t close to Tony and knew him only through dealings with Gamboni and a couple of other things. But now it seemed that Tony would be a candle in the window, as Colt needed help.

  Colt had just been told that Berto was the one who had him tailed. The brief conversation also told him that Berto was a traitor who was working for someone else when the word scarlet was the answer and that he couldn’t be trusted. The code that these men had wasn’t written down and passed around between members of the Mafia. It was just an understanding that when on the phone with a member of anyone in the business, code talk was the only talk. A simple and general code that got the point across was enough until they were face to face and could discuss things on a more open level.

  After Colt hung up the phone, he turned up the music’s volume and sat there for a moment, trying to think about how to handle this. He thought about going to Gamboni with it and telling him that Berto was a traitor now and was working for another family. But that would enrage Gamboni, and he might kill them both for causing too much drama. Gamboni didn’t like drama at all. He thought life should flow like a river and never have a ripple.

  He remem
bered back to a time when Gamboni had a problem with one of his guys complaining all the time about little things. Several of them were at Gamboni’s niece’s wedding and the guy complained that Berto was being stingy with the wine. Gamboni pulled his gun from his jacket and shot the man in the face. He put his gun away and asked Berto if he’d like more wine. Berto filled his glass and never said a word about it again. The body was cleaned up and the tablecloth was changed. The wedding party acted like it had never happened.

  Colt knew that Gamboni was a hothead who would kill anyone to find the path to peace and quiet. So he had to be diplomatic about the way he handled this situation. Berto was Gamboni’s bodyguard, and that meant they were together at all times. Colt was just a gunman and as good as he was … He could be replaced with a phone call. No, he wasn’t ready to confront Berto yet. He needed to figure out why Berto wanted him tailed to begin with. There could only be a couple of reasons that Berto would have any stake in trying to know where he was or even get him out of the picture. Berto had always wanted to be a gun, but Gamboni wanted him to be his bodyguard instead. Berto wasn’t as suave and put-together as a gun needed to be. He was big and clumsy … He couldn’t sneak up on a tomato.

  Colt was now charged with the task of figuring out what Berto was up to and still trying to keep a low profile so that he wouldn’t be killed as well. He needed to figure out who Berto was working for, and he’d need all his skills to get to Berto without Gamboni finding out what was going on.

  Chapter 24

  Wednesday evening was tense at the Dallas Police Department’s special crimes unit. Carmine sat in the briefing room and listened as Martin and Carnes covered the main points of the discussion and refreshed everyone’s minds one more time. Carnes took the stage and began talking about the points of entry that the tactical team would use for the bust. “We will use the two main entrances when this starts, and everyone needs to be on full alert when the shit hits the fan,” he said, pointing at a rough map layout of the dry docks.

  Martin then faced everyone and added, “The idea is to have our teams separated into three groups. The first team will be primarily Dallas SWAT. The second team will be an FBI tactical and terrorist assessment team. The third and final team will be a collection of investigators from all the agencies. This is the way we’ll handle it: We’ll have SWAT go in first and secure any people and both exits on the premises. Then the FBI’s terrorist task force will go in and find the target containers for the search. The third team will include members of the Dallas SWAT, Carnes, me, Detective Carmine, and Sergeant Former We will search any containers found to have reasonable suspicion and clear the warrant for each container by number and location before entering them. I don’t want anything done without the warrant … This will be a good beginning for our coalition to start working together. So there shouldn’t be any screw-ups in the prosecution of these containers and their owners.”

  Carnes butted in and announced, “We have a federal judge online to issue the warrants as we have the information and should get them in real time. This way, there won’t be any delay in the process.”

  Carmine was taking note of the two men’s excitement and was concerned that Gamboni hadn’t been able to change the shipment location. Gamboni would surely blame him for anything that went wrong during the search. Gamboni told him to search the green containers with white letters. That was sure to be a good bust, right? What was in the green containers? What did Gamboni want the Irishman to get caught with? Evidently enough evidence to take the focus off the guns Gamboni was shipping in, that was for sure.

  When the briefing was over, Carmine made his way to his car and called Gamboni. When Berto answered the phone, Carmine asked to talk to him. After a brief moment Gamboni’s voice said, “Yeah.”

  “It is going to start tomorrow morning and last all day, Mr. Gamboni. But they will have people there through the night to—”

  Gamboni interrupted, “I’ve told you not to say any names, you fucking moron!”

  “I’m sorry! I am just concerned about your property. Were you able to get it moved in time?”

  “Don’t ask me stupid questions! You do your fucking job and let me worry about my own property. I have nothing to be concerned about.”

  “Okay, good.”

  “I’ll be waiting to watch it on the news. I’m looking forward to seeing the look on that fucking Irishman’s face when they bust his stuff and not mine.”

  “Mister … umm … Sorry … but don’t you want the place to stay out of the spotlight? It’s not a good thing to have them snooping around with any of your stuff there.”

  “Is that all you needed, Carmine?” Gamboni asked, ignoring his comments.

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Okay, let me know what they find.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you know as soon as I find any …” Carmine answered, but stopped as he heard the phone go silent. Carmine felt as if he was doing what he needed to do to ensure a spot with Gamboni. He knew he’d be Gamboni’s favorite little rat soon enough. The power of having a man like Gamboni on your side meant he would be taken care of. But with Carmine on Gamboni’s side, it meant that his business was untouchable.

  The next day Carmine met with all the other members of the team at Dallas’s police parking lot, on Oak Street. The teams began to split up and load into the vans and trucks. Team One had the SWAT truck and two black, unmarked Dodge pickups. Team Two had three tactical vans and a Crown Victoria cruiser. And the members of Team Three were in Suburbans and the last to leave the police lot.

  They made their way to the dry docks with four marked police cruisers and two motorcycle cops silently leading the way. As they reached the dry docks, the cruisers and motorcycles parked at the exits and the three teams made their way in.

  Team One secured the two exits and four people who were inside the area. Team Two made their way to the first set of containers. Bobby was picking up the phone to call Colt when Team One rushed him and made him lie on the floor. Team Three made their way into the dock area and cruised around for a bit before stopping at two green containers sitting beside each other. Then Martin pointed at the container and said, “That’s it right there.”

  Carmine was confused. Gamboni had told him that it was the green containers with white letters, but Carmine hadn’t told anyone. What did they know that he didn’t? What was going on now? He was confused but had to act as if he had no idea what was happening. Martin and Carnes made a call to the judge, and before long a printer between the two began to print a warrant for the containers with the specific numbers on them.

  Carmine exited the Suburban, followed the entrance team to the front of one of the containers, and watched an officer use a set of bolt cutters on the lock. As the two pieces of the lock fell to the ground, Carnes and Martin opened their doors to exit the truck. A bright flash of light, a heavy concussion of wind, and a deafening explosion was heard, instantly followed by a blast of heat and flying metal. The door had been wired with explosives and set to go off if anyone opened it.

  Carmine was lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood and couldn’t see or hear anything. He felt his chest squirt blood with every breath he took; he was dying now. Commander Martin and Agent Carnes were killed instantly from the blast. The officer who used the bolt cutters to cut the lock was crawling toward the Suburban and dragging what was left of his legs, trying to get to safety and announce what had happened.

  In just a few minutes the sound of fire engines and police cars could be heard screaming to the scene. Carmine was fading faster and faster as one officer came to his side and said to the others, “Carmine is still alive! I need an ambulance over here NOW!” He reached down and gently placed his hand on the dying detective’s forehead.

  “It’s going to be fine, Carmine … You’ll be okay. The ambulance is here now, and I need you to hold on for just a few more minute
s if you can,” he said as he looked for any response from the bleeding man. But realized that Carmine had slipped away and was gone now.

  He placed two fingers over Carmine’s eyes and pulled the lids down to close them. Carmine had died and hadn’t even known it was coming. Gamboni had told him which color container to check. When they checked them, it was a trap … What did that mean? Why had someone booby-trapped a container to blow when it was opened? Clearly it wasn’t a secret to the others in the bust which containers to check. Who had booby-trapped the container to blow when it was opened? It was meant to kill the men who opened it, the men who were tipped off to this specific container.

  Chapter 25

  Young was led back to his door and the cell was opened. He was gently pushed inside and the guard said, “Face the wall and don’t move.” Young knew the routine by now and did as he was told. He didn’t move and was soon free from his heavy shackles and chains again. The guard opened the door and stepped outside. Young heard the door close and turned to face it. He was actually glad to get back into his cell after the horrible shower and dirty towel.

  He didn’t like the way he was being treated, and after he was acquitted of the charges, he’d make sure the federal prison administrators knew about it. He was sure to be acquitted after the judge found out that the FBI didn’t have a warrant for the audiotape. That’s just the way the system worked. And Young knew the system backward and forward.

  He sat down on his bunk and began to think back to the day he was caught. He had been so careful about everything, every step he took. Every piece of the puzzle was placed exactly the way he wanted it to be placed until that damn Rick Wise stuck his nose in and ruined everything. He wanted to see Wise dead. Deader than the Bennigans were when their bodies were discovered.

  Young held a grudge, and he felt justified in the murders because he was trying to catch a real criminal. He was trying to catch a man who had killed before and needed to be behind bars. They’ll see. They’ll all understand when I’m free and back in service again. I’ll prove that he is a killer if it’s the last thing I ever do. He drifted off to sleep thinking about what he would do when he was set free.