Kill City USA

by Warren Roberts

  ‘They legit?’

  A shake of the head. ‘Is Clinton horny? They have an accommodation address and phone number. That’s all.’

  ‘When does the bank have to pay them?’

  ‘After they’ve had time to inspect the documents. But in a few days time the documents’ll be stale, and the LC, the letter of credit, will have expired.’

  ‘Stale?’

  ‘No longer negotiable.’

  ‘That must be before the ship gets to China.’

  ‘Sure. That’s the beauty of this sort of scam. You set up the con with a couple of legit deals and then you land the sucker punch. The ship’s still in port so we inspected one of the containers last night – pallet loads of crates of empty bottles. By the time the buyer receives and checks them at their destination, the bank’s paid out and the exporter’s disappeared.’

  ‘So what’s all this got to do with Quaranto?’

  ‘We lifted some prints off some documents way back in ‘85. On the Paul Castellano scam. They belonged to Johnny ‘Steaknife’ Vittorio, one of Castellano’s crew. From his rap sheet he’s another psycho. We got a couple of hits we think we can pin on him.’

  ‘He the one who disappeared?’

  ‘Missing presumed dead.’

  ‘Maybe he died of natural causes.’

  ‘Yeah, right. To these guys dying naturally is being shot in your sleep. But we’ve just lifted the same prints off these latest documents. It’s the first we’ve heard of him in twenty plus years.’

  ‘And he was thick with Quaranto.’

  ‘They were kids together, but then drifted apart and he worked for another of Castellano’s capos,’ said Cza.

  ‘The New York families – they still have this offer out for the money they were ripped off?’

  ‘You thinking of turning bounty hunter?’

  ‘A thought. So what happens now?’

  ‘The bank won’t pay out but they’ll stall as long as they can. String them along that they’re going to pay, while waiting for our instructions. They’ve been told by the bogus shipper to wire the funds to an account in Monaco. We’ll try and find out more in the meantime.’

  ‘The bank have details on whoever opened the account for the shipper?’

  ‘Dark complexion. Mediterranean type maybe. But that’s where you come in.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘The bank wants to hire someone to look into this, apart from us Federales. They’ve been given your names as someone who might get things done for them. Probably been in touch with Dooley by now.’

  I said, ‘Thanks for the business. I might even pay for this coffee.’

  ‘All off the record, of course. They showed us a list of investigators and asked which we could recommend. Which we can’t do officially but we did so on the QT. And you can probably get things done we can’t. Just don’t tell me how.’

  ‘I won’t if you don’t.’

  She pointed at me. ‘But let me know what you find out.’

  I nodded. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go. As you haven’t yet asked me out anywhere for a drink, let’s meet after your meeting with the bank.’

  ‘I’ll make our next meeting at the cocktail hour. Far more civilised.’

  She said, ‘And you take care out there,’ as if she meant it.

  She gave me a kiss on my cheeks and stopped to say goodbye to Jonah before she left. I asked for the check.

  We drove back toward South Beach to file a report on the shooting.

  Set amongst palm trees, 1100 Washington Avenue is a gleaming white Art Deco building with a graceful circular frontage which could be a fashion store. Instead it’s home to South Beach’s finest.

  In its front courtyard were a couple of long haired twenty-ish brunettes in injection-moulded shorts and little else. They were having their photos taken with the PD in the background. The photographer was a girl in a tiny black bikini and an Audi TT convertible to match. She had long strippers’ tassels dangling from her bikini top. The car’s top was down but she kept hers up, so we went into the building.

  Inside, the PD looked cleaner and brighter than the hospital I’d been in. The reception desk was like a fashion catwalk where healthy looking designer cops in their crisply creased and starched shirts were posing and policing and being super cool.

  We asked for Detective Mendoza at the information counter and were sent up to the second floor of the atrium lobby, where he was waiting for us. Missing was a resident pianist, or maybe he just came for Friday cocktail hour.

  ‘You’re looking better, Milo,’ he said. ‘Staying out of trouble?’

  Mendoza did not have the designer look about him, his bulky frame somehow atop a small office chair without arms, his legs astride for balance. Probably why he was kept out of sight upstairs.

  ‘Yep. Feeling better, too. Any news for me?’

  ‘The perp’s out of intensive but we’ve still got him under guard in the hospital. As soon as we can, he’ll be moved to a holding facility in Miami-Dade.’

  ‘He told you anything?’

  He grinned. ‘Just that he was walking past your building on his way for an afternoon’s shopping. To buy new stamps for his collection. That he was using your parking lot as a shortcut when completely unprovoked, you rode your bike at him, calling him a noxious nigger.’ He was reading from a notebook.

  ‘What’s he say about the gun you found? The museum piece Glock.’

  ‘Denies all knowledge of it. That he wasn’t into antiques being totally non-retro. Said it must be yours as you sound like some ancient dude. It’s now with forensics along with his gloves.’

  ‘What’s he say about them?’

  ‘He wears them to stop the sun and prevent skin cancer of the hands. ‘Cos the ozone layer’s being destroyed by racist whiteys like you.’

  I said, ‘So he’s got a sense of humour.’

  ‘I don’t think he thought he was being funny. Just showing he was dissing us. That streak of piss would pop someone with the same emotion as the man from the utility company reading your meter.’

  ‘The other shooter?’

  ‘He said he was alone. That he don’t have no friends since he was abused by the KKK in a foster home as a child.’

  Jonah said, ‘He got a name?’

  He looked at his cop issue notebook again. ‘Delroy DeLeon Denton aka Rankin Dread aka Three Ds aka D cubed. Jesus.’ He looked up. ‘One more alias he could form his own basketball team.’ He chuckled and went back to his notebook. ‘Age twenty-three. Ex-Shower Yardie currently with the Fireblades. On account of the Honda Fireblades they ride once they been initiated.’

  I said, ‘Tell me about them.’

  ‘Cheap and easy rent-a-guns. Extremely violent. Live and die by the gun. When they’re not busy dealing Charlie, Harry or E.’

  ‘What about the Beemer?’

  ‘We think we found it.’ His notes again. ‘A red five series ‘97 BMW was found abandoned downtown this morning. Torched. Your other shooter may have been on his initiation test. Can’t use the Honda till he’s been blooded. But this Denton guy – he’s more bloody than Dracula.’

  We had coffee, and he took a brief statement from me which I signed.

  ‘Have a look at these and see if you can recognise the other guy,’ he said.

  He handed me a thick book of mug shots taken in some photo booth from hell. There were some pug-ugly bad asses in there for sure. I couldn’t identify anyone. It had all happened too quickly. And the Hall of Infamy snaps were giving me eye-ache.

  ‘Some truly memorable faces here but sorry, can’t help,’ I said.

  ‘We’ll want you down for a line-up to ID Mr Rankin Dread when he’s available.’

  I nodded.

  Detective Mendoza put his arm on my shoulder as we left. ‘You take care out there. They might use a newer piece next time.’

  12

  We arrived at Dooley’s house at nightfall in time for drinks.

  He lived in North M
iami Beach, a residential area near the Dade-Broward County line that despite its name, had as much beach as Denver. His large two-storey home had been built in the Art Deco period around a courtyard and a pool. Guest quarters were at each end of the lower floor. It made my small World’s End apartment look like a small World’s End apartment.

  Jay greeted me. ‘Welcome to the invalid. Anyone been using you for target practice since I’ve last seen you?’

  I laughed. ‘We’ve kept on the move, makes us difficult to hit,’ then told her a bit about our day.

  Gloria appeared with a jug of martini. Fidel, their African Grey parrot, was in its cage. It had been taught to talk with a stutter, Dooley’s warped sense of humour. They’d found it dishevelled one afternoon, perched in their courtyard after a very heavy thunderstorm. It was on Castro’s birthday, hence its name.

  Dooley arrived as we were starting our second jug of martini. He said something in Spanish to Fidel who replied in kind. They chatted for a while, shooting the breeze.

  ‘Que pasa,’ I said, when his conversation was over.

  He said, ‘The Brits spent the morning at The Delano and went to the Irish bar on Flagler for lunch. They met two others there, both Irish-Americans. The four then went to Hialeah for most of the afternoon. To a warehouse. They went out of their way to make sure they weren’t being tailed.’

  ‘Do you know who they met?’

  ‘One of them is Michael Mullan. A wannabe bad guy. Tries to be a big noter. Likes to hang around with some of the New York Irish who come down here. The sort who’d stuff a C note in a dancer’s G, so his friends’d notice. She’d find out later it was counterfeit, like him. We don’t know who the other guy is. Yet.’

  Jay gave it some thought. ‘I’ve never heard of this Mullan guy. But he sounds the sort Sayers would hang with.’

  ‘Some Cubans arrived at Hialeah around four. One of them we know, José De Jesus. He’s well connected in Cuba and handles illegal shipments from there. Stuff like Extasis, their ecstasy drug, manufactured by moonlighters in government labs, probably harder drugs, cigars, arms, you name it. A whore. There’s money. He’ll do it.’

  Jay’s eyes had widened. ‘Sayers’ type. He’d be a fuck-happy rabbit around these villains.’

  Dooley said, ‘They left Hialeah at five, with Sayers, Irish and Mullan going back to the hotel. They had champagne there.’

  Tailing people. Cuban gangsters. Jay was mainlining. ‘Sounds like Sayers was celebrating.’

  I said, ‘Well, we’ll just have to see what we can do to spoil the party. Then we’ll have some of the expensive stuff as well. On them.’

  We were eating dinner al fresco and drinking chilled Rioja rosé. Jay and Gloria went indoors to do what women do indoors together at such moments. Ah, sweet mystery of life.

  I turned to Dooley. ‘That’s the sublime. Now the ridiculous.’

  ‘Tomas had a call from Ernie Moresco. He asked about the meeting with Hendrych and he hoped the deal was all go. Tomas said Moresco spoke cryptically, thinking the call might’ve been bugged.’

  ‘Good for them to think that.’

  ‘Moresco asked about you. Assuming you’re the Limey asspeddler. Tomas told him you’re fine. Maybe he heard what happened to you – or arranged it – or not? I dunno.’

  ‘What’d Tomas say about the deal?’

  ‘That he’d let them know. Moresco said just do it, like the Nike ads. Leave a message saying yes, he said, and hung up.’

  I told Dooley about my meeting with Cza, and the shipping scam.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve had a call from the bank. I know some of their security people and’ve done a little work for them before. They want you there to talk about this letter of credit business at 10 tomorrow. I extemporised and told them you know all about international shipping. So we’ve agreed prime rates for your expert time.’

  Dooley’s cell rang. It was The Hound, our euphemism for whoever was on tailing duty. Sayers and Irish were currently in a topless dance club on Collins. Dooley interrupted his call. ‘It’s Lapland night there, lap dancing with a Christmas theme. In summer.’

  ‘Ho ho.’

  Dooley told the tail to go home for the night unless he wanted to stay on his own dime. We’d have someone else at The Delano in the morning. Jay had paid enough to us in London to cover our costs to date, but this was now more personal than a question of fees. I would think of a way to recover expenses and make crime pay. One for the good guys.

  Jonah and I left for the Shelborne after Jay made us promise not to go lap dancing. I said OK with my fingers crossed behind my back just in case. Martinis and Rioja told me to go to the Lapland night, to add to my bad taste night’s memory bank, but Jonah’s common sense told me to go back to our room. I need a minder often.

  We sat up and solved the problems of the world until our mini bar started to empty as much as our minds and our reasoning. I fell asleep on the sofa in front of some late show, and I dreamed of Cza and Jay pole dancing with naked elves in the Arctic snow.

  The Coral Gables branch of South Federal was in Alhambra Circle which is not round at all, but is a wide straight street with tall reflecting windowed buildings fronting expensive office space. We arrived at 10 for our meeting.

  I drove while Jonah rode in the back seat of Dooley’s Jeep, keeping an eye out for Honda Fireblades ridden by Yardies or hearses driven by Italians. Overtaking Eyetie undertakers, J put it.

  Dressed in Wall Street cute, Lori Reichardt, senior vice-president for security, was waiting for us at the bank in a meeting room long enough to play cricket in. Her shiny black sling-back shoes had a gold strip around their sensible heels. Ms Reichardt seemed the sort of girl who would eat her bananas sideways, at least until she got to know you a little better.

  ‘I bet she’s personalised her license plate with PMT 1,’ I said quietly to Jonah, as she approached us.

  ‘You just leave Miss Prism to me.’ He loves a challenge.

  ‘Lori,’ she said, accenting the ‘R’. She shook my hand. I have to do this bullshit intro stuff so let’s get it over with, as she dismantled me with a calibrated glance.

  I introduced Jonah who was in his banker’s outfit of a linen and silk suit and shirt. Dressed in his basic business black, he still carried more menace than Paladin in Have Gun Will Travel. He held back from giving her a high-five. She arranged coffee and took a seat opposite us at a conference table the size of a helipad. I could have shaved at its shiny top.

  She slid us each a couple of sheets of paper. ‘First, I want you to sign this. It’s an NDA preventing you from repeating today’s discussion or disclosing any confidential documents that we may give you, to any third party without our express permission. This is a sensitive matter for the bank.’

  I said, ‘NDA?’

  ‘Non-Disclosure Agreement.’

  Jonah said, ‘Don’t you know nothin’, bro?’

  We both signed, without reading its contents. Jonah took a little longer to sign than me. He was adding his hotel phone and room number, I guessed. A hint of a smile crossed her face as she looked at his copy.

  She came back to reality. ‘I’ve written a summary of the transaction we want you to investigate for us.’

  She handed me a slim folder. Inside were various photocopies of invoices and shipping documents. A one-page summary of the transaction was also enclosed. I read it and nodded as if I fully understood the technical details, glad I’d been briefed by Cza.

  ‘A fairly new customer has negotiated some shipping documents with us against an irrevocable letter of credit. As you know, an ILC is a standard means of settling international trade transactions. Our documentation department noted some discrepancies in the bills of lading – er… the shipping receipts – presented to us. The details and copies of the documents are in the folder.’

  I had another brief glance at the papers. ‘You dealt with these people before?’

  ‘Our third transaction. The first two went without a hitch. Th
e goods were shipped. Documents were presented to us. They seemed in order so we paid out. We were reimbursed by the opening bank in Hong Kong so we never thought any more about it. Nice straightforward transactions.’

  ‘They all with the same buyer?’

  ‘Yes, but a lot smaller – twenty and thirty thou. This one’s for nine sixty grand. The first two shipments were of premium high octane bourbon at twenty bucks per bottle. This latest shipment’s for the same stuff at fifteen bucks. Buyers probably think they’re getting hijacked booze. Which the first shipments undoubtedly were.’

  ‘Still tastes the same.’

  ‘Sure. The buyer is a large Chinese company based in Fuzhou. Normally we would pay against the presentation of the shipping documents if they’re presented in accordance with the ILC. It’s the way this business works. In effect the seller gets payment before he receives his goods, and the buyer is guaranteed payment if the goods are evidenced shipped per the documents.’

  I said, ‘What do you know about the seller?’

  ‘They opened a checking account with a five thou deposit a year ago. They have a downtown address and gave us some New York and other references which we routinely checked. They’re in your file.’

  I had another look at the documents in the folder. Under the referee’s details was a J P Malcolm Corporation, with a Long Island, New York address.

  I looked at the file again. ‘See who opened the account here?’

  She looked at her papers. ‘A Mr Henry Hill of WPP Corporation.’

  I thought about this for a minute.

  ‘You a movie fan?’ I said.

  She looked exasperated. Get on with it. ‘When I get time.’

  ‘You see Goodfellas?’

  ‘I rented it once. A movie about the Mafia. Based on a true story.’

  ‘You remember the main character, the one who turned informer?’

  ‘Joe Pesci?’

  ‘No. He played another character. Tommy Devito. The movie was the story of Henry Hill. A wiseguy who grassed to save his own skin. Played by Ray Liotta.’