by Mark Nolan
He walked past her without comment and went into the kitchen, passing by the cooks, who all stopped what they were doing. They stared in recognition at Jake the Knife and paid him respect.
Jake sent a text to Anselmo.
I’m coming to your office for a meeting. Right now.
As he went to the back room, a bodyguard blocked his path, but Jake said, “I have an appointment.”
Anselmo called out from inside his office. “It’s all right, Jake can come in.”
Jake opened Anselmo’s door, went inside and closed it behind him.
Cody stared at Anselmo’s hands.
Anselmo sat behind his desk and showed no fear of Cody. “What’s on your mind, Jake? Have some grappa. We have four million reasons to celebrate.” He poured two glasses of the liquor.
Jake looked his friend in the eye. “I need my half of the money from the heist, right now, in a truck.”
Anselmo laughed hard. He slammed his hand on the wood desk and shook his head. “Oh man, that’s rich. I haven’t had such a good laugh in ages. So, are you going to drive the truck to Vegas and throw a big party?”
“I’m not joking,” Jake said. “I’ll be driving it to the police station.”
Anselmo’s eyebrows went up at the mention of the police. He reached for his glass of grappa, drank the shot of fiery liquor down in in one gulp, and coughed hard afterward. “You’re a lawyer now. Can’t you fight the cops on whatever charges they have against you? What are they threatening you with? How many years?”
“I’m not being threatened—you are. I’m trying to protect you.”
Anselmo looked skeptical. He tossed a U.S. Marshals badge onto the desktop. “Vito found this badge in your Jeep. Did the feds send you to infiltrate the Family, to betray us?”
Jake sat up straight, aware that his life was in danger. He held eyes with Anselmo. “No, they don’t even know I’m here.”
“But you’re a Marshal, a fed?”
“Not exactly; I was deputized so I’d have jurisdiction to do a one-time job for the government.”
“Let me guess. You killed somebody.”
“Whatever it might have been, it’s classified as top secret. I can’t talk about it.”
“The guy you put a hit on—did he deserve to die?”
Jake stared at Anselmo, held his gaze, and then nodded. He picked up the badge and put it in his pocket. “I’d never betray you, Mo, but I’d never betray my friends in law enforcement either.”
“Do you think you can walk a tightrope between both groups?”
“I’m doing it right now.”
“What are you, neutral? Like Switzerland?”
“I don’t know what I am,” Jake said.
“Honest answer. So, you’re not a traitor to the Family?”
“No. I’m only trying to save my friendship with Terrell, and to protect you from financial ruin and life in prison.”
Anselmo looked over at his wall of framed photographs. He appeared in pictures with celebrities, politicians, businesspeople … and some notorious criminals. “This I understand—loyalty to conflicting interests. Love versus duty.” He opened a wooden box on his desk, handed a cigar to Jake, and then pushed a gold lighter across the desk.
Jake sat down in a leather chair, picked up the lighter and lit the cigar. He knew from experience that this was a sign Anselmo might be willing to talk and negotiate. The two of them smoked in silence for a while, and then Jake said, “Chief Pierce said he wants all of the money from the warehouse, or he’ll seize your bank accounts, real estate and businesses. I’m going to give him my half, and hope he believes that’s all of it.”
Anselmo pointed his cigar at Jake. “What do you have to offer in exchange for half of my money?”
Jake laughed. “Are you joking? It’s all my money, not yours. I gave you half of it for helping me take it away from the Russians. I let you hold onto my half for safekeeping. I promised the cops I’d deliver two million, so maybe you should cough up one million as your share.”
Anselmo shook his head. “No way, I’m not giving a million to the cops so they can use it against me.”
“It’s a cost of doing business, but feel free to keep two mil as my overpayment for services rendered. Unless you piss me off. Then I’ll want my half, a million dollars, immediately.” He puffed on the cigar and blew smoke toward Anselmo.
Anselmo smiled and poured himself another shot of grappa. “Jake, you’re crazy, fearless, and stupidly honest. I’ve always liked that about you, even though it might get you killed someday.”
Jake picked up his glass of grappa. “It has to appear that you gave all of the money to the police, or there’ll be a war. The cops have technology and endless tax dollars to fight you with. You can’t win.”
“We might win. It happened in Chicago when Al Capone was running the city.”
“No, times have changed, and I don’t want to live in a city run by the Family. There has to be a balance between you and the police. Working together, tonight, we got rid of a foreign gang of heroin-dealing kidnappers. The city is a better place to live now.”
Anselmo set his cigar down on an ashtray and crossed his arms. “I was glad to see them go.”
“The Chief is demanding the money immediately or the apocalypse begins tomorrow morning at sunrise. Your restaurant will be the first casualty. Seized under forfeiture laws and closed until further notice.”
“Half of the cops in the city are on our waiting list for dinner reservations.”
“Don’t underestimate Terrell. I’ve seen him kill men with his bare hands.”
Anselmo looked at his hands. A shadow crossed his eyes. “Terrell and I have something in common.”
“Chief Pierce will have your house and bank accounts seized too. You’ll be homeless.”
“I don’t take kindly to threats.”
“This is business. I’ll give my half of the money to the police, and you can keep the other half for the Family as a reward for helping me and Sarah. I get nothing. You’re welcome.”
“Any other demands? Maybe a statue of you in North Beach? Name a street after Cody?”
“Cody would like that, but for now I’d suggest you invite the chief of police to dinner and give him the royal treatment. Have Terrell and me there too, so Pierce knows it’s not a setup.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“Explain to him that you are not involved in addictive drugs, prostitution or weapons—only gambling.”
“Betting on sports is legal in Nevada and in other countries, but here in California it’s a crime. Why?”
“I have no idea. I’ve studied the law, and it often makes no sense.”
“Some of the local cops come here and bet on baseball, football, basketball, golf—you name it.”
“I wouldn’t mention that to the chief.”
“We used to make a fortune from the illegal numbers racket, until the government legalized it and called it the lottery.”
“Sometimes I take the chief out on the Far Niente for fishing trips. You should come along next time. Talk with the big guy, in private, off the record.”
Anselmo ran his hand over his jaw and then nodded. “I accept your invitation.”
They drank their grappa. Anselmo coughed afterward. His face went pale, and he closed his eyes and held a hand against his chest.
Jake watched him, worried.
Anselmo studied Jake’s face. “How is your mother? We all miss her here. Customers come from miles around because they love the lasagna we make with her recipe.”
“She sends her regards. Now, about my truckload of cash.”
Anselmo shook his head and made a phone call.
At police headquarters, Terrell finished a report, then stood up and grabbed his coat. After this crazy day of trying to maintain law and order, all he wanted to do was to go home and have dinner with Alicia and then curl up with her in bed. That woman kept him sane. She made his life worth living.
>
But he sometimes wondered if his life had any meaning. Even though he’d arrested scores of criminals and put them in prison, there were thousands more out there right now. He thought about the thin blue line that the police represented. They kept civilization from coming apart. Yes, what he did mattered, even though he got very little thanks or recognition.
His phone buzzed, and he saw that the call was from Jake. He let it go to voicemail. Next, he received a text message from Jake:
I have the money. Millions of dollars in cash. Look outside, my brother. My life is in danger every minute I drive this rolling bank vault. Tell your fellow cops to hold their fire.
Terrell looked out the windows of the Homicide Detail offices and saw a container truck flashing its lights on and off. It was heading straight for police headquarters at high speed. Several cars were chasing the truck, with men leaning out their windows and firing weapons at it.
Terrell shook his head. “Oh, hell. Jukebox can screw anything up, no matter what it is.”
He alerted the SWAT team to deploy and asked a police sniper to take out the drivers of the cars in pursuit of the “police truck.” Next, he replied to Jake’s text:
Sniper will provide support. Put on the Marshals badge. Stop the truck now. Do not get any closer to HQ, or I can’t save your stupid ass.
Jake replied, Roger.
Terrell saw the truck begin to skid as Jake hit the brakes. The rear tires smoked and shuddered. The truck fishtailed and planed half sideways down the street. Several parked cars were knocked out of their parking spots and a bus stop shelter was mowed down.
Terrell looked through binoculars at the truck cab and saw Jake and Cody in the seats. Cody was barking at Jake, but Jake stared straight ahead with a resigned look on his face. Terrell had seen that look in the past, overseas in the desert, right before Jake had nearly died.
“I should retire right now, before I have a stroke,” Terrell said. He ran out of the room and down the stairwell, yelling at his phone as he went.
Chapter 59
As Jake drove the truck full of money, cars chased him and men shot at his tires. He wondered if somebody had talked, or if there was a spy in the Family.
He downshifted and applied the brakes. The truck shook and the tires squealed as he drifted to the side. The back end started coming around, and Jake fought to keep the truck from going into an uncontrolled skid.
The truck crashed into cars and parking meters, took out a fire hydrant, and then finally shuddered to a stop.
An armored SWAT vehicle roared up to the scene and the team disembarked and got into a shootout with the pursuing cars. The SWAT team blew the lead car full of holes, causing it to crash and flip upside down. The police sniper shot the driver of another car and the rest veered off and sped away, being chased by police vehicles.
Jake ducked down below the windshield of the truck to avoid being shot by an overeager rookie cop. He held on to Cody and kept him safe.
Sirens filled the air. Blue and red lights were flashing. A radio crackled, and an authoritative voice gave commands over a loudspeaker. The broken fire hydrant shot a plume of water high into the air, raining down on the scene. Car alarms wailed, dogs barked, and a news helicopter began to circle overhead.
Jake ignored it all, remaining down and out of sight. He patted Cody on the back. “We did good, buddy. Hopefully we’ll survive our good deed.”
He got an idea, took out his black phone and sent a text to Agent McKay. FYI, I’m about to be arrested by the SFPD. My black phone will be taken as evidence and hacked by Sergeant Roxanne Poole. If you can keep me from being arrested, I’ll do one mission for your POETs group.
Somebody tried to open the locked door handle. Jake turned his head and saw Terrell. He lowered the window. “Grinds, is it safe for Cody?”
Terrell looked around at all the cops. “Hold on a second.” He went to the nearest police vehicle, grabbed the mic, and spoke over its PA system. “This is Lieutenant Terrell Hayes of the SFPD. I am in command of the situation. There is no threat. Hold your fire. I repeat. Hold. Your. Fire.”
Jake ordered Cody to stay down in the footwell. He then sat up in the driver’s seat, feeling like a target. “Here’s the key to the cargo doors.”
Terrell grabbed the key and walked to the back of the truck. He opened the lock, drew his pistol, and swung open the doors. Inside he found two pallet loads of bottled water and nothing else.
He walked back to the cab and yelled at Jake. “Is that water your idea of a joke?”
“They hid the cash in the center, behind the bottled water. Cut the straps and shrink-wrap, and you’ll see it.”
Terrell walked back, climbed inside the trailer, pulled a knife and slashed through the straps and the shrink-wrap on one of the pallets.
The packs of bottled water fell away, revealing a hidden core of vacuum-bagged bundles of cash. He was no expert, but his experience told him the stash probably held a million dollars in small bills. He slashed the other pallet and found a similar amount of money.
Terrell took pictures of the cash with his phone and sent them to Chief Pierce. He closed and locked the doors to the trailer, waved to some cops from SWAT, and went back to the truck window. “Chief Pierce wants to see you in his office, Jukebox. Right now. Get out of the truck.”
“All right, but I’m bringing Cody with me. That is nonnegotiable, unless I’m under arrest. If I am, Cody will take the bus to your house and hang out with Alicia.”
Terrell sighed. “You’re not under arrest, so far. Let’s go.”
Jake carried Cody in his arms as he passed by all of the heavily armed SWAT officers. One of the SWAT guys saw the Marshals badge and slapped Jake on the back.
When they got to the front door of the police station, Jake set Cody down and clipped a leash onto his collar.
They went inside to the lobby, where Terrell pointed to a bulletproof glass window. “You have to surrender any weapons before you can go inside.”
“Understood.”
The uniformed female officer at the window stared in surprise as Jake removed a pistol from a shoulder holster, another from an ankle holster, and his illegal KA-BAR knife from behind his back.
Jake and Cody followed Terrell through a door and walked down a hallway. Jake turned to Terrell. “You know, technically, Cody is a weapon too.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m not a sir. I work for a living.”
The door to Chief Pierce’s office was open. Terrell walked in. “Jake Wolfe and Cody, here to see you, as requested.”
Pierce looked up from some papers on his desk. He was wearing the SFPD dark blue uniform with a gold star badge pinned above his left shirt pocket and four small gold stars on his starched shirt collars. “All three of you Marine misfits come in here and close the door behind you.”
Terrell gave Pierce a questioning look.
Pierce waved his hand. “Sit down.” He looked at Cody. “You too, Marmaduke.”
Cody barked twice when Pierce called him Marmaduke. One of his eyebrows went up and down.
Pierce scowled, took off his glasses, polished them with a cloth, and put them back on. “I want some answers from you cowboys. The unvarnished truth about what the hell has been going on in my city.”
Jake and Terrell sat there in silence. This was a familiar situation to them. In the Marines, Jake had often been NJP’d, treated to nonjudicial punishment, for saying or doing something reckless. He and Terrell had never said a word about what had happened. They’d experienced collective amnesia.
Pierce crossed his arms and looked at Jake. “Let’s hear from you first, wannabe fishing boat captain. Say something, or go back to jail. I guess your former cellmate is asking where he can find you.”
Jake nodded. “Speaking of the boat, that reminds me, Chief. You’re way past due for another fishing trip on the Far Niente. Let’s go out on the Bay this weekend.”
“
You’re damned right I’m going fishing on the Far Niente. Tell me why I shouldn’t just take your boat as forfeiture, now that you’ve joined an organized crime family that I’m dedicated to putting out of business.”
“Because then I’d be homeless and I’d pitch a tent in your backyard?” Jake said.
“Not persuasive, try again.”
Jake leaned forward. “I bring you a truck filled with two million dollars in cash, and you’re not satisfied? You want to steal Dylan’s boat too? No way, I’m an attorney. You can’t just take my friend’s boat without a court battle.”
Pierce glared at Jake. “You never learned when to keep your big mouth shut, did you?”
Terrell raised his hand to his face, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shook his head.
Jake turned his palms up. “Don’t ask me questions if you don’t want to hear the truth.”
“The truth is, I could lock you up and throw away the key for any one of the stunts you’ve pulled. I should do it, too, after that lawsuit you filed last month.”
“That lawsuit wasn’t against you or the SFPD, it was a municipality litigation lawsuit against the City of San Francisco for tortious acts by Sergeant Denton.”
“If you want me to drop all the charges I have against you, you’ll need to drop that lawsuit as a return favor.”
Jake took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ll think it over. And remember, I could file another lawsuit, against Kirby, but instead I delivered a truckload of money to the police department.”
“Never file another lawsuit against the city or any of my cops.”
“Meanwhile, Kirby goes unpunished.”
“Kirby has been placed on paid administrative leave while the allegations are investigated.”
“His so-called punishment is a paid vacation? Did you see my Jeep-cam video of the arrest?”
Pierce ignored the questions. “You’d better explain your membership in an organized crime group we’ve been trying to infiltrate—and make it good.”
“I only took the Family’s oath of loyalty and secrecy. That was so my friends could freely and aggressively seek out, find, and rescue my kidnapped girlfriend—and I would be bound to never reveal the details.”