“Not a good idea. If either of us answers the door, they might grab us, and they’d have an immediate hostage to bargain with. How about I yell ‘come in’ and see where the chips fall? If you sat in the far left chair, you’d be out of their view from the doorway.” Anna took the seat I’d suggested. I sat at the end of the breakfast counter. Its slight curve and four-foot high counter would provide a small degree of protection. I walked to the door and unlocked it, returned to my seat and waited.
The knock was light and rabbit like. I waited for it to stop before I yelled, “Come in.” The door opened slowly to reveal the silhouette of a tall and broad-shouldered man. With his deep voice, he called out for Anna.
“Come in. Have a seat,” I said.
The large man walked directly toward me. He was all of six-four and carried near three-hundred pounds on his frame. A second man and smaller by far trailed behind the big guy. It was a smart move. I didn’t like it at all.
The big guy moved to the opposite end of the breakfast bar. At that point, I could see he held the same advantage as I did from the curved design. I didn’t like that either. He slowly unzipped his coat while he maintained hard eye contact with me. I eased off my stool and readied for action. For a brief moment, it was possible I’d experienced what old-fashioned gunslingers might have felt before they threw down. It was the rush of adrenaline. I felt an intense surge of power. My senses heightened to the point where I anticipated his movement, if he were so inclined. I read his face as he sized me up—his eyes were cold as ice. From the corner of his mouth, I saw a twitch, followed by a lopsided grin that accented a distinctive Capone like scar on his left cheek. He was cautious. He knew the score.
The second man stepped from behind the big guy, extended his hand, and introduced himself, “I’m Vincent Telese.” I nodded my head to the left, where Anna had been seated until our visitors arrived.
“She’s the one you want to talk to,” I said, but that was as cordial as I got. I didn’t shake his hand. Not as long as the big guy stood too close for comfort. I refused to be distracted or let my shooting hand get tied up in a handshake.
Telese smiled, turned, and addressed Anna. They shook hands, and before they sat in their respective chairs, Telese introduced his associate, John Salcucci. I could see some similarities between the thug and me. He didn’t acknowledge the introduction. Nor did he extend the same cordiality as his counterpart with a handshake gesture. He never took his eyes off me. He only stared.
Anna introduced herself as a spokesperson for an organized community of individuals, drawn together by a common goal. It sounded nebulous to me. It probably sounded the same to Telese. She casually pointed with an open hand in my direction, “This is Walter. He’s a friend of mine.” The informal introduction didn’t bother me. Although, I would have liked her to have mentioned how I’d killed a bunch of his loser friends. That didn’t come up. “One of our goals is to end child slavery in all forms,” Anna said.
“I represent men of business,” Telese said. “Men who stand to make a great deal of money in their ventures when they expand along the New York-Canadian border. They intend to remove some of their competition. To do so, they need things to be quiet.”
“Who is going to expand?” Anna asked.
“I think the most important thing would be to find common ground and work to resolve the issues,” Telese said.
“What would that common ground be?” Anna asked.
“There are occasionally unfounded allegations against the people I represent, but rarely do they end up in a court of law. We do not want trouble…trouble hurts business and interrupts profits. Trouble brings cops around, and they get tied up in business matters. That takes them out of our communities where they fight crime and keep our families safe.”
I could see by the time he was done with his spiel, I’d wished I’d worn a pair of stovepipe cowboy boots.
“What is it exactly you are offering?” Anna asked.
Telese looked around the room, his eyes searching for something that wasn’t there. He leaned forward and said in a quiet tone, “My people have made an arrangement to reorganize business operations in the areas of Toronto and along the border.” He was careful not to say too much, but enough we could figure out what he meant. “Your group wants kids off the street, out of the sex trade, whatever. We do to. We are family men. We don’t like this sort of thing going on in our neighborhoods. It’s bad for business.”
“How do you know what we want?” I piped in. All eyes were on me. It wasn’t customary for the escorts to talk.
“A former associate related the problem as he understood it. If it’s not the case, perhaps you could help us understand.”
Pembroke must have said something either to these grease balls or the Machine’s hierarchy. Regardless, Telese was smart enough not to speak names, or relate anything that would incriminate him.
“Let’s say I have a trust issue when it comes to the Mob,” I said.
Telese frowned at my mention of the Mob. “Détente is good for everyone involved. You may find the people I represent to be despicable, but I can assure you there are worse choices that will fill the void you have created.”
Telese was right. After the street punks fought for the territory, the replacements would be worse. They’d be hungry to exert power and reap profits.
“How will we know or what assurance can you provide us the problem will be corrected? Anna asked.
“Listen to what I’m saying to you,” he said. “I’m not here to give assurances or compromise. We don’t have to compromise anything with anybody, understand. Now that we’re talking, New York families don’t like the kind of thing you’ve alleged has gone on. Our people are coming in. They intend on a change because it’s in the best interest of our business.”
The room fell silent, but the silence didn’t last. “When we expand our business, we will take care of the issue. In return, we expect life to be quiet and peaceful,” Telese said.
“I’m not buying it,” I blurted out. “The mob is going to police the mob?”
“No one is talking about the Mob!” Salcucci retorted.
Telese looked me up and down a couple times then with a touch of shrewdness, he said, “Why is that hard to believe? We rely on our government to take care of internal problems in the government. We are no different.”
Telese was correct when he drew the parallel between mobsters and politicians. However, the correlation failed to prove his point as valid. Everyone knew politicians couldn’t be trusted to clean their own house. How could the Mob be relied upon to maintain a housekeeping regiment better than government?
“Things are not going to be quiet around here for a long time. Haven’t you read the newspapers? I asked.
Telese turned his attention to Anna. “We have some influence in this area. We intend to assemble the right people to make the necessary changes as we reorganize. If by chance, we were to discover a known juvenile engaged in prostitution or other illicit affairs, we will assist them out of the business. As far as your interests go, we will arrange the Rochester bombing to be covered up. We will sanitize the past and look toward a brighter future. You will be in the clear.”
“It sounds too good to be true,” I said.
“I think it’s opportunistic.” Telese smiled broadly as he responded.
“I’ll take the offer to the others and get back to you,” Anna said.
“Good,” Telese said, “We will proceed as planned. It is imperative there be no events that draw attention to your group while we make the necessary adjustments.”
Telese and Salcucci left quietly. I figured I’d see them again, when we came back to clean up the mess, and finish the job we’d started.
We waited to leave until we were contacted by our security detail outside. Anna looked upset. “What’s the problem; you got what you came for, didn’t you?” I asked.
With a sharp intonation, Anna said, “You tried to bait them into a fight
, didn’t you?”
“I only tried to save on gas. They represent organized crime. We’ll be back. You can mark my words.”
Anna called for a meeting that night. The Palatini discussed the offer, and they liked it. However, the decision to end the project wasn’t unanimous. One vote abstained.
*
Two days after our meeting with the “representatives,” confirmations of change showed in the news. A local gang, fresh from the hood, was popped by ATF agents for the Double Decker Lounge incident. Agents supported by police had rounded up a baker’s dozen of the South End Deuces. Media reported on the sweep as the culmination of a yearlong investigation on arms trafficking by the Deuces. Multiple charges were filed against gang members for conspiracy, possession of explosives, illegal weapons, drug charges, and a half-dozen more. According to the news reporters, the Machine and the Deuces had a long-standing territorial feud.
I didn’t know what I felt about the police raid on the Deuces. They weren’t responsible for the demolition job; on the other hand, they weren’t exactly good guys either. They were slimy punks that made a living off stealing from others in their neighborhoods. Maybe the bigger issue with me was credit; I didn’t like to share, and I probably didn’t play well with others either. It had a bright side though. The cops looked good with the quick nab on the Deuces. If the community was satisfied, the cops would be willing to take the credit and leave it alone.
A second confirmation came the next day when underboss, Antonio “Tuff Tony” Giannetti, missed his court date and his sleazebag lawyer was unable to come up with his whereabouts. A mystery that I suspected would remain a secret.
There were changes, but I didn’t believe for a minute it was because some New York City mobsters cared about our interests. They cared about their interests—profits. They had moved in on the Abbandanza crew’s territory swiftly and were supported by the Commission, or at least that was the rumor. Whoever they were, they were big enough to make it happen, and that’s all that counted. Given a little more time, I would have made some of the same changes. Only there wouldn’t have been any replacements.
I guess I’m not as optimistic as my counterparts in the Society. Palatini exuberance was based upon the changes they saw. Me, I had a problem with what we couldn’t see. How would we know if the kids that had been trafficked by the former regime had gotten out of the racket successfully? It was a question that would go unanswered. Max said we’d have to take Telese at his word and have faith in what he’d promised. Evidently, I was lacking in the faith department when it came to trusting gangsters.
We’d spent a week cooling our heels in Buffalo. If we were done, it was time to go. We’d stepped back and were no longer on the hunt. Max received a call from Vincent Telese with an assurance the people he represented had the situation well in hand. “These things take time to unravel. We have, however, made progress in the area and will soon have it cleaned up.” I gave Telese credit; he could have been a politician. He said a mouthful and never said a thing.
If I stuck around Buffalo to keep an eye on things, I knew I’d get myself in hot water, and roll out the project again. Anna invited Seymour, Thomas and me to the sleaziest bar in Buffalo. We knocked down a couple shots of rotgut and told a few meaningless stories before we said our goodbyes. We’d barely turned the corner into the New Year, and already each of us had a destination that awaited our arrivals.
Kuhl headed out first, followed shortly afterwards by Bludd. Where to? I didn’t know. Anna recovered her Lexus from Cal’s parking area, drove it from Toronto to Buffalo, and parked it. She felt safest driving the rental until she left. She planned to spend another couple of days with Max to recap the project, and then she’d drive back to Oregon. I supposed Max would fly back to somewhere in the United Kingdom. Anna invited me along for the trip back to Oregon, but I had more important things to do.
With Kuhl and Bludd having bailed, I got the itch to roll. Anna stood next to my Avenger as I climbed in behind the steering wheel. She looked frustrated as she followed me with her eyes. “Are you in a big hurry?” She asked. Truth was—I was. It was mid-afternoon, and I wanted to get on the road. That was reason enough.
I’d charted a route to Oregon that avoided the larger cities along the way. To me, big cities were just to drive through. There was nothing of interest to see. As I fumbled with the maps, Anna said, “I was hoping we still had plans to get away on a vacation together?”
It was a nice gesture. Maybe she had hoped to repair the damage that was done to our budding relationship. But sometimes, when you’ve ripped something up from the root, it dies.
“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” I said. “It’ll take me a few days to drive back to Oregon. Right now, I need the time and space,” I said.
She leaned forward, and with a hug through the window, she whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry.” At the end of her embrace, she caressed the back of my neck and slowly moved her lips from my neck to the bottom of my ear lobe, and whispered again, “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
I was deeply saddened by the turn of events. It wasn’t what I’d wanted for either of us. I was further saddened that I didn’t feel anything when her lips touched my neck. I thought I should have. I remembered back to when I did. I didn’t know if she still felt something for me or if she’d hoped to breathe life back into our relationship. I fired up the Avenger and said, “Gotta go.” I felt like I had more to say, or should have more, but it eluded me. Anna nodded and took a couple small steps back from the car. She waved and forced a tight-lipped smile. I did the same.
The fastest way from Buffalo seemed good to me, but south and westerly felt especially right. I spent night one of the journey at Mentor, Ohio. It wasn’t far from New York, but still, I’d felt the weight of the project lift from off my shoulders when I crossed the border into Ohio. I logged five-hundred miles the next day, but I wasn’t much closer to Oregon. I’d drifted farther south, just driving where the wheel took me. The cool night air at Bowling Green, Kentucky, reminded me of the Pacific Northwest. The next day I was up early and continued westerly to Springfield, Missouri and spent a leisurely evening. I thought I’d be plagued with thoughts and emotions about Anna, the project, or both, but surprisingly I was void of stress.
On the fourth day I rolled out and drove a little more than an hour south on Highway thirty-nine toward the Mark Twain National Forest. It wasn’t by accident. I arrived in the small community of Shell Knob, Missouri, turned into the Bridgeway Plaza and had an early lunch at Carole’s Restaurant. From there, I crossed the bridge over Table Rock Lake where Shell Knob continued its sprawl.
A few miles further, I located the address I had committed to memory. A small sign hung from a tree limb, which announced the tiny resort. I pulled up in front of the large two-story home that resembled a bed and breakfast that was nestled in the tree line. On the lake’s edge sat four rental cabins. Many people would have commented on the scenic view, I saw peace and tranquility. Something I didn’t have much of.
I put the Avenger in park, left the motor running, climbed out, and stretched. I knocked on the front door. An elderly woman answered the door. “Hello, how can I help you?”
“I’d like a room”
“Did you make reservations?”
“No, not yet.” I grinned an unexplainable smile. The product of a subconscious thought that had slipped through the maze into my realization.
“Why don’t you step right in here and I’ll have you fill out an occupancy card? How long will you be staying with us?”
“That’s up in the air. Could you tell me if Joyce is here?”
“Yes, she is. How do you know Joyce?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, you finish with the card and I’ll fetch her for ya.”
The lady’s behavior was alien to me. In my world, no one would be so careless. Here was a defenseless lady, who’d opened her door to me, a complete stranger. She didn’t k
now me from Adam, and yet, she felt comfortable enough with me to turn her back to me. Maybe her behavior was common practice here in Shell Knob.
The elderly lady slowly made her way up the stairs while two small boys made their appearance in a flat out run from an anteroom, down the hallway in front of me, and toward a backdoor leading outside. They were out of breath, laughing and having a great time.
A few moments later, I could see the elderly woman descending the stairs, and behind her, the framework of a female dressed in tennis shoes and blue jeans.
It was refreshing to see Joyce. She looked relaxed, and I liked that look on her.
I spoke first, “Joyce”
“Walter Eloy Goe”
“You remembered?”
“How could I forget such a funny name?” She beamed a broad smile and giggled. I suppose you’re the one I have to thank for the ticket home.”
“Not really, but, you can thank me if you like.
She reached out for my hand, “Come in.”
“Thanks. I think I’d like that.”
Lawless Measures: Vigilante - The Fight Continues Page 29