The Mangled Mobster (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 7)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  "Oh, Nick." I could hear the exasperation in his voice. "I know what you want to do but it's three hours down there." He sighed. "And three hours back."

  "Then get some coffee to go at that diner by your building and meet me at the corner in front. I'll be by in about ten minutes to pick you up."

  He sighed again. "Fine."

  I put down the phone.

  . . .

  Carter was driving. He had insisted on going. We were waiting for Mike to get another cup of coffee for him. And some sandwiches.

  "What if this is a trap?" he asked as Beethoven was playing on the car radio.

  "I thought about that. But... Carmel? A trap?"

  "Well, it's the end of the road."

  "If you don't count Big Sur."

  "Still." He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and looked at me. In the light of the diner's windows, I could see his forehead was wrinkled with worry.

  "I can see being lured to an empty warehouse in Dogpatch. But Carmel?"

  Just then, Mike got in behind me and slammed the door closed. "Damn, it's windy out there. Let's get this rocket ship going."

  . . .

  By the time we were on Potrero, Mike was finished with his sandwich. I knew this because he was rolling down his window. Over his shoulder, Carter said, "Just throw your trash in the floorboard." Mike didn't say anything but he did roll up his window.

  I turned around and looked at him. "So, what happened with Ray?"

  "Well, I guess I know why I had a bad feeling about him."

  "What?" asked Carter.

  "He went to confession."

  "And?" I asked.

  "His priest told him to repent. And so he is."

  Carter said, "Well, good for him."

  "This is what you two fought about?"

  Mike sat back and crossed his arms. "What we fought about was the fact that he wants to go back to work for the City."

  Carter said, "Well, shit."

  Mike nodded. "Not that they'll have him."

  Carter said, "They might. He was good."

  We sat there in silence for a moment. I could feel the car speed up. I turned and noticed we were now on the Bayshore Freeway. I looked at the speedometer and saw that Carter was now pegging 70.

  "OK, speed demon."

  Mike leaned forward and said, "You're fine. There's a construction zone further south. But this part is done."

  I noticed that the new six-lane road was smooth and perfect. The car, however, was moving around a bit.

  "Still windy?" I asked.

  "Yeah," was Carter's terse reply.

  I turned back to look at Mike and asked, "What did you say to him?"

  "I reminded him what happened when he turned his back on his true nature before."

  "When he got married?"

  "Right. I told him to really think about it. He told me he had thought about it. I asked him if he was thinking about it the last time I fucked him 'cause he didn't act like he was thinking about anything else but me right then. He had no comment."

  Carter and I both burst out laughing.

  Chapter 19

  Standard Gas Station

  N. Main at E. Laurel

  Salinas, Cal.

  Thursday, June 24, 1954

  Half past 2 in the morning

  The wind was so strong that I had to hold on to my hat as I walked back to the car after using the restroom in the back of the service station. We had plenty of gas, but decided to fill up at the all-night station in the middle of Salinas and use their facilities. They didn't sell coffee, but they had a Coke machine and I grabbed one for each of us.

  Once we were all back in the car, Carter pulled out back onto Main Street. We were watching for the turn-off to Monterey. After a couple of blocks, I pointed at the sign. As Carter made that right, he said, "I think we're being followed."

  Mike asked, "What makes you think that?"

  "There's a black Mercury 8 that I've seen several times. First was when we got on the Bayshore Freeway. It was about ten car lengths behind us. After we were on the south side of San Jose, I noticed it again. It just followed us at the turn-off. Might be a coincidence, but I'm pretty sure I saw it parked behind the Standard station when I went to the bathroom."

  Mike said, "How fast you going?"

  "About 45."

  "Slowly speed up to 60. Then slow back down to 45. Do it like you're not paying attention. Watch what the other driver does. And, Nick, don't turn around."

  Carter did what Mike suggested. "He sped up and slowed down in tandem."

  Mike asked, "Who do you think it is?"

  I said, "The Keller brothers."

  Mike said, "Yep. You bring a gun?"

  I opened the glove box and pulled out the revolver I had stashed there the Thursday before. "I have my revolver." I looked at it. "It's loaded."

  I could hear Mike eject the cartridge on his pistol. "Mine, too." He inserted the cartridge again.

  . . .

  We were about halfway to Monterey when we came to a spot in the highway that was a flat straightaway which curved sharply to the right and narrowed as it passed through two hills. Mike said, "See that?"

  Carter said, "Yeah." I heard the transmission purr as he put his foot down on the gas pedal.

  I said, "This is a straight eight. That Mercury can outrun us."

  "I know."

  I couldn't help it. I turned around and saw the lights of the car behind us getting closer. I turned forward, put my hand on the dashboard, and watched as the curve approached.

  As Carter began to turn into the curve, I saw something bright jump out in front of our Buick. It was a deer. I sucked in my breath.

  Reacting instinctively, Carter slammed on the brakes and the car began to skid on the concrete road. Carter turned into the skid and managed to quickly straighten us out but, by this time, the Mercury was right on us. It rammed the back of our car.

  I saw Carter put his foot all the way down but the Mercury stayed right on us. We were now on another straightaway. The Mercury came around on our left and slammed into the rear of the car.

  I heard the crash of metal and glass. Carter moved over to the right and let the Mercury come up about halfway. He turned the steering wheel sharply to the left as it came up on the passenger door.

  There was an awful scraping sound. The Mercury's chrome bumper was pushing into the side of our car. The driver moved over to the left. Carter said, "Hold on!" He pressed down hard on the brake, causing the Mercury to shoot past us. He sped back up and began to weave back and forth on the highway, making it difficult for the other driver to do the same thing to us. The Mercury sped up.

  We passed a sign that said we were five miles out of Monterey. I could see a brightness reflected by the cloudy sky that confirmed we were almost there.

  Soon the Mercury's tail lights were gone. After a couple of miles, we came to another curve, this one to the left. As Carter turned the wheel, I could see something shiny on the roadway that was illuminated by our headlights. Big pieces of sharp metal, like shrapnel, were scattered across the concrete surface of the road.

  Before any words came out of my mouth, Carter swerved onto the rough shoulder. The car shook and bumped as we drove over gravel and shrub. I heard a big pop and the car began to wobble. I didn't know which one, but one of the passenger-side tires had blown out. Carter brought the car to a quick stop. As he did so, he turned off the engine and killed the lights.

  Mike said, "Roll down your windows about two inches."

  We both did this as Mike did the same in the backseat. The wind was strong, cold, and tangy. We were close to the ocean, that was for sure. It was also whistling.

  "Down a little more until the sound stops." We did that.

  As we sat there, we listened. My gun was ready. Mike quietly asked, "Can you disable the dashboard lamp?"

  Carter reached over, banged off the cover, and forcibly pulled out the bulb. I knew there was a button somewhere, but that wa
s simpler.

  "Slump down below the window level." We did that. "Nick, slowly open your door but don't get out. Let's see what happens when you do that."

  I pulled on the handle and let gravity do the work. The car was on a slight incline to the right from the blowout. The door swung open on its own weight.

  From behind us, a bullet shot out. It didn't sound like it hit the car. I whispered, "Sloppy."

  "Yeah." That was Mike.

  "Good." That was Carter.

  Mike opened the door behind mine and let it swing out. Two more shots rang out. I definitely heard one of the bullets hit a rock. The twing sound was distinctive. The other one hit something, but it wasn't our car.

  "What now?" asked Carter.

  "We listen and we wait."

  As we sat there, I could hear the wind whistling through the trees on our side of the road. In the faintly reflected light, I could see that the trees were on the side of an embankment that was probably twenty or thirty feet high. I saw something blink in the sky. I wondered what it was until it happened again.

  "The airport is over that ridge. I'm seeing the white and green lamp flash on the right."

  Mike said, "Here's what we do. You two noisily walk up the hill--"

  Carter hissed, "Noisily?"

  "They're lousy shots. You just need to let them know you're on the move. Stay low and you'll be fine."

  "What about you?" I asked.

  "I'm gonna wait and, as they pass by, and they will, I'm gonna pop 'em."

  "You sure about that?" I whispered.

  "Yes. Go."

  Carter slid over next to me as I fell out of the car and began to make my way up the side of the hill. As I did so, I said, "Come on." And I said it loudly. Sure enough, several random bullets flew through the air. None of them were anywhere close.

  As we moved in a diagonal away from the car and up the hill, Carter replied, "OK," which launched another volley of shots. When we got to the crest of the hill, I pulled Carter down flat and we watched.

  Sure enough, two figures were walking along the side of the road and were about twenty feet behind the car. I reached for a rock and put it in Carter's hand. Then I grabbed one of my own and threw it towards the road. Carter followed my lead. As we watched, one of the guys began to wildly shoot until his gun was empty. The other said, "Damn it," and loudly. They were walking along the right side of the car when there were two loud pops and a whole lot of screaming and cursing. Mike had gotten them both in the legs.

  We scrambled down the side of the hill. Mike had picked up both their guns and was searching them. He tossed me their billfolds as he found them. I said to Carter, "Take off your tie," as I began to pull mine off.

  Mike used our ties to bind the men's arms. They weren't gonna be walking anywhere. Carter had a bag of clothes from the gymnasium in the trunk. He'd managed to go to Ike's place a couple of times since the fire. We used his t-shirts as tourniquets to help stop the bleeding from the gunshots. We also put their feet up, which would help as well.

  Mike asked, "Where's your car?"

  Vernon Keller spat out, "Not gonna tell you, faggot."

  Mike shook his head. "If you wanna bleed out, that's fine with me. But, thanks to you, this car isn't--"

  Randolph Keller, the egghead who'd built the secret mechanism for our safe in the basement, moaned and said, "It's about 200 feet back, pulled off. Just past the shrapnel."

  "Thanks." Mike, who already had the keys, sprinted off to get the car. I reached into the glove box and pulled out a flashlight. I clicked it on and shined it in Vernon Keller's face.

  "Who torched our house?"

  "I don't know what you mean, faggot."

  Carter walked over, put his feet on either side of Keller and squatted down. "You want to rethink that answer?"

  "You can't do anything to me. You're not a cop."

  Carter pulled back and smacked the guy hard on the face. "You're right. I'm not a cop. I'm an aggrieved citizen whose house fucking burned to the ground thanks to you."

  Keller tried to spit up at Carter. Gravity didn't help. Carter pulled back and hit him again. Not quite as hard this time, but still...

  The egghead said, "Vern, you're a fucking idiot. Of course, we did it."

  "Where's my Peacemaker?" I asked. I shined the flashlight on him. His nervous tic was happening so fast, it was contorting the left side of his face and beginning to look like a palsy.

  The egghead replied, "At the bottom of the bay. I threw it and the bullets off the Bay Bridge last night."

  "Why'd you kill Rutledge?" I asked.

  Mike pulled up right then. I walked over and opened the passenger door. I said, "Go get help. I don't think it's safe to move them. Do you?" I was feeling vengeful right then, so it probably wasn't the best move. Mike smirked and nodded. I shut the door. The tires squealed on the pavement as he sped off.

  I walked back over to the two clowns on the side of the road. The wind was cold and blowing hard but I hardly noticed. "I figure you have about fifteen minutes to make a very important decision. Either you tell us everything." I made a point of looking at my watch, which I couldn't see in the dark. "And you start in the next minute. Or we remove those tourniquets and let you bleed out. Your choice."

  Carter stood up and kicked Vernon's leg close to but not on the bullet wound. The man howled.

  The egghead said, "I'll tell you everything, man."

  I nodded as Carter walked over next to me. I pulled out my revolver and pointed it. "Go ahead."

  "It was all Vern's idea. He wanted to start his own mob. To compete with Abati."

  I laughed and then said, "Go on."

  "I told him I knew where we could get the cash to bankroll things."

  In frustration, I shot the gun above the man's head. The bullet went into an otherwise innocent tree.

  Carter said, "Nick!"

  "Better that poor tree than one of these guys. Go on."

  The aroma of urine floated up in the air from where the two brothers were laid out. I felt bad. But not that bad.

  The egghead said, "Vern knew he was being squeezed out of Universal when that guy from Connecticut arrived. So, we decided to murder Russell and try to somehow pin the blame on you or on Abati."

  I said, "Too bad there isn't a mobster school."

  "Yeah, we should've left his body up on the top floor."

  "So you planned on killing Russell and then skimmed the payoff after inflating the amount to also get more outta Henry?"

  "That was Vern's stupid idea. I told him the newsprint idea was idiotic. But, no, he's gotta be a fancy-ass mobster."

  "Shut the fuck up, Randy."

  Carter walked over to the trunk and grabbed something. In the dark, it looked like a sock. He walked over to Vernon and stuffed it in the guy's mouth. He made a big fuss until Carter kicked him again.

  "Go on." That was Carter as he walked back over to where I was standing.

  "Then I called Henry Winters to threaten him. You had talked to both of us, so we couldn't call you. But Winters hadn't heard my voice. Using the money from Universal's payoff, we hired a couple of blockheads." Vernon started making a noise again. "They were supposed to just tail you and let us know. I dunno why they decided to break and enter. That wasn't what we told them to do. What did they tell the cops?"

  "I haven't heard. Must not have been much. Probably too embarrassed. How did they know my father's name?"

  "I gave them a dossier."

  I laughed. "In writing?"

  "Sure. Why?"

  "Well, I'm not gonna give you tips on how to be a better mobster, if that's what you're thinking. Then what?"

  "The next night we broke into your house and went through your stuff. That's when I found the Peacemaker. And the bullets. I thought that was a nice touch."

  Carter growled, "I'd move on, if you don't want another bullet in you. I'll do it myself."

  He swallowed. "Yeah, OK. While we were there, I opened the safe."


  I asked, "How'd you know the combination?"

  "You never changed it. I had cracked it when I was installing the--" He was interrupted when I shot off two more bullets into another innocent tree.

  "Sorry. Gun just went off."

  "Um, yeah." He had already emptied his bladder. I hoped he could hold everything else in until an ambulance arrived. "So, we poured gasoline over everything."

  "How many gallons did you use?" asked Carter.

  "Five."

  "Overkill."

  "Remember, Chief, this isn't a mission report. Then what?"

  "We laid low over the weekend. Then, early Monday morning Vern stupidly went to Rutledge to try to shake him down."

  I wanted to mention how the silver bullet was a dead giveaway, but I decided not to.

  "What about Lysander Blythe?"

  "That was all Vern." His brother began to fidget and make noise again. "He went over and threatened to torch their house unless the guy copped to doing it himself. Truth is, I don't know why the poor guy agreed to do it. Vern isn't that scary."

  This really pissed his brother off. Carter walked over and kicked him one more time.

  I asked, "Then Vernon strangled him when the police wouldn't believe him and left his body on the porch?"

  "Yeah."

  I couldn't help myself. "Sloppy."

  In the fifteen or so minutes that we'd been standing there, the wind had died down somewhat. No one had passed in either direction. Suddenly, I could hear a car coming from Salinas and realized there was still shrapnel in the road. I handed my gun to Carter and ran down the highway waving my arms like a damn fool while Carter called after me to stop.

  Epilogue

  Hide-A-Way Motel

  Highway 1

  Carmel-by-the-Sea, Cal.

  Thursday, June 24, 1954

  Just past 10 in the morning

  It took a while to get everything straightened out at the police station in Monterey. We each had to give sworn statements. And then Mike and I helped the sergeant interview the Keller brothers. Vernon wouldn't stop screaming at his brother, so they finally put him a holding cell while the sergeant finished running down Randolph's story. He provided more details, but his story was basically the same.