‘These came into my possession.’
‘Do I want to know how?’
‘I doubt it.’
The time and date was printed on the first picture. He studied it at arm’s length, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. ‘My. You were up late.’
I shrugged my shoulders.
He looked at me. ‘Pity we couldn’t use this. Illegally obtained evidence.’
‘My bet, there would be nothing there now. He’d be cremated by the morning shift. I guess they wait to do cost-effective twofers, as I don’t think the furnaces were used yesterday.’
‘Be a well-ashed fucker by now then,’ he said.
I like cop speak. So precise and devoid of extrinsics such as emotion. ‘He your missing man?’ I said.
‘He had a goatee so I guess so. I’ll check.’
He held a Polaroid towards me. ‘I keep this one?’
‘Sure. It’s yours.’
‘A nice little niche earner. Mule disposal,’ said Dooley.
‘Wonder why they didn’t do it to Mr Tatt?’ said Detective Pino.
‘Probably happened late at night? In a hurry to get the drugs out? Couldn’t get into the funeral home? Who knows?’ I said.
‘I’m surprised that Quaranto would get himself involved in something like this,’ said Dooley.
‘Maybe he’s not. Maybe Maria Viscione moonlights.’
‘Yeah. Dressed in a flowing cloak, Bach organ music, Vincent Price on the keyboard, dark shadows whirling around the walls,’ said Dooley.
Jonah smiled. ‘The music’d more likely be Mule Skinner’s Blues.’
When he stopped laughing, Pino said, ‘How are you getting on with South Federal?’
I said, ‘How do you know about that?’
‘They’re local so they asked us about you guys. For a reference.’
‘What did they tell you?’
‘About you?’
‘No. About their problem.’
‘That there’s some shipping scam. A lot of dough. The Feds are nosing around. My Federale contact tells me that Quaranto may be involved.’
I said, ‘He’s probably right. We’ve started some enquiries.’
‘So let me know.’
‘Sure.’
He said, ‘Anything else I should know? Or you want to tell me?’
‘No.’
As Pino was finishing his Danish to leave, Tonique came into the room holding a FedEx package.
She handed it to me. ‘Just came for you.’
I looked at the box. The consignor was a Mr A Capone of Miami. The address on the waybill would be as creative. Popcorn used as protective packaging spilled out as I opened the package. Someone was trying to be environmentally friendly. How ironic.
I pulled out an object of glass and wood.
Detective Pino leant over. ‘The fuck is that?’
‘An hourglass. As yet unashed.’
Attached to it someone had scrawled on a yellow post-it note: Watch this space!
I said to Jimmy Pino, ‘Maybe I do have something more to tell you.’
He leant forward and I told him about the hourglass on Maria Viscione’s desk and the others on her shelves. I couldn’t tell him about the FBI witness protection guy’s cremated dog as it was privileged information, but I gave him my informed theory.
‘Jesus H Christ. And I thought I’d seen and heard everything.’
I said, ‘I like its macabre side. Own a crematory so you get to add this elegiac touch.’
‘Let me take it, to see if there’s any prints on it.’
‘Fine. You won’t find any.’
‘You never know. Everyone fucks up sometime.’
‘Don’t lose it. I’d like it back for a souvenir,’ I said.
‘I like your optimism, Milo. You ain’t gonna let them ash you.’
‘Not if I can help it. Over time I’ve developed an urge to preserve my constitutional right to breathe.’
‘So what you going to do with it?’ said Dooley.
‘It could be a conversation piece on my coffee table.’
‘You don’t have no coffee table, Milo,’ said Jonah.
I said, ‘I’ll buy one specially. A black satin-lined casket on legs.’
16
Dooley handed me two sheets of yellow legal paper of symmetrical handwriting in precise script. It was Dario’s report. It covered the period 11.17 am until the subjects left the warehouse at 12.43 pm.
Photographs were attached on similar yellow paper with more detailed annotations.
Sayers and Irish had arrived at 11.17 with two Caucasian males. At 11.25, three Hispanic males had arrived. At 11.27 they entered the building, with the exception of one Hispanic who maintained a watch outside. I recognised Michael Mullan from photographs taken at the Irish pub. Dooley recognised the two Cubans who’d been on the last visit to the warehouse.
The recording started at 11.29. It was mostly audible. Dario had done his job well.
Sayers and a heavily Irish-accented man called Sean did most of the talking. A Cuban, Jesus, explained the technical points. A couple of crates of 9 mm semi-automatic Brownings were also part of the transaction.
The Cubans were sent out of the office while Sayers and Mullan got down to the delivery details. We missed parts of the conversation when Sayers stepped out into the warehouse to ask the Cubans whatever.
It was clear from the recording that Sayers was buying from the Cubans and selling to Mullan, who was then selling on. Sayers wanted the payment wired to an account in the Bahamas. Sean however was insistent on paying cash. The price was therefore raised eight percent to one point eight million to cover the extra cost of washing the notes.
In my world you were given discounts for cash.
The deal was to be finalised in a week. Sayers wanted the cash transfer and the arms transfer to take place in different places, distancing the two parts of the transaction, obviously not wanting to be anywhere near the arms handover. It was agreed that Irish would supervise this with the Cubans and with Mullan’s representative. Simultaneously a call would be made to Sayers and Mullan and the cash would be handed over. It was taking place at a Commodore Motel in Florida. Static masked the name of the town.
Sayers would then confirm the transfer had taken place and the arms could leave the warehouse. It was apparent from the conversation that this was not the first deal between them.
Sayers’ distance between himself and the warehouse was a smart move for him. Not so smart for Irish. I wondered who would be the muscle bagman for Sayers in Irish’s absence. He could hardly hire Brinks.
The arms transfer would happen in the warehouse. Three refrigerated containers were to be prepared for the purpose with crates of frozen orange juice concentrate loaded in the back behind the weapons. This had evidently worked in the past. Sean would supply the drivers. The deal would happen at midday.
A large van had arrived at 12.20 to collect the arms from the warehouse.
The recording stopped at 12.40. Everyone left the building at 12.43.
I said, ‘We need to know where this Commodore Motel is and the exact date.’
Dooley nodded. ‘I’ve got Tonique working on a list of motels with that name in Florida. Dario’s also going to diffuse some of the recording noise to see what else he can decipher.’
‘What do we do with this?’
‘Apart from give Dario a bonus?’
‘We could give it to the Feds,’ said Dooley.
‘Except Sayers has to go down with the deal. Without some smartass attorney getting him off if the Feds make a cock-up.’
Dooley nodded, and frowned. ‘We can’t screw up on this.’
‘I’ll talk to Cza.’ I smiled reassuringly. ‘Without giving her too many of the details.’
I called Cza and left a message for her to call me back as soon as she could and I’d buy her a cocktail as promised. She must have been thirsty as my call was returned in a few minutes. ‘I’ll have to
see you right now so unfortunately booze’s out. There’s a place I know that’ll be good for your liver. I’m near there at the moment.’ She gave me a South Beach address.
She was waiting for us in the juice bar in Espanola Way. ‘Hola. It’s healthy time today, Milo. I noticed you like fruit so I brought you here.’
She wasn’t a trained agent for nothing. I let the remark float away.
The hard-core healthy girl serving at the shop’s counter was peeling carrots, wearing rubber gloves. She was studiously tanned, the shade of a well-baked gingerbread man. Her chestnut eyes suggested a healthy touch of humour. Jonah said something to her in Spanish as they ate grapes and she burst out laughing. His face remained serious so she laughed more.
Cza and I ordered a beetroot, carrot and celery mixture with a taste of ginger. She told me it was great for detoxing. I didn’t argue. We sat in the back and left Jonah to his counter duties.
‘How’s Jay?’ said Cza.
I said, ‘Haven’t seen her in a couple of days.’
‘She your girlfriend?’
‘A client of mine.’
‘A travelling one?’
‘She came with bonus miles.’
‘OK. It’s none of my business.’
‘Why not. She wanted to know about you and me.’
‘You and me?’
‘I’m always the last to know these things.’
Cza hung her head and gave me a measured look. We clinked our plastic glasses when the drinks arrived.
We were naked on a sheepskin rug in front of a fire in a small ski resort in the Voralberg, and Cza was sipping a fruity cocktail.
She said, ‘Where were you just then?’
‘When?’
‘Then. You had a dreamy look in your eyes.’
‘Fruit juice heaven.’
‘You had your weekly fruit quota. These are vegetables, Milo.’ She smiled. ‘It looked a great place to be.’
‘We’ll maybe go there one day. So, what you got for me?’
‘First, those details on Vittorio. He spent a lot of R & R time in Detroit.’
‘I noticed that. What would he be doing there? Any ideas?’
‘Milo. I can’t imagine anyone, even an untutored wiseguy, wanting to spend quality time in Detroit. But I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘He looked familiar somehow. Don’t you guys have a way of ageing pictures by twenty-five years so we can see what he looks like now?’
‘We do, but not at the drop of a hat. I have a friend in Washington who maybe can have a look for us. She owes me one. Let’s see what she comes up with.’
‘Thanks. I’d be grateful.’
‘What did you come up with for South Federal?’
‘We went to the downtown accommodation address. Smart offices. They paid cash a while ago for a year’s rent and seem to have used the office in person, once only. To meet some Orientals, no less, about six months ago.’
‘Who’s they?’
‘The receptionist identified Ricky Bezzant. You’ll like this. He used the name Henry Hill and they called the company WPP Corp.’
Cza thought a little then burst out laughing. ‘That’s very amus… very funny. I tell you, Milo, these are excellent crims we’re dealing with.’
‘There’s no way you’d get her to testify. Bezzant would see to that.’
I gave her one of my Polaroids from the funeral home.
‘Another mule was going AWOL and ended up in Sweet Chariot-land.’
‘Where did you get this?’
‘I plead the Fifth.’
A precisely measured frown. ‘OK. It’s better I don’t know.’
‘What’s happening with Tomas?’
I said, ‘They want him to trade his way out of his problems with them. I’m working on a solution.’
‘Which is?’
‘If I knew, I’d tell you. But I’m certainly continuing to keep their undivided attention. They sent me a calling card this morning.’
‘Tell me.’
‘An empty hourglass.’
‘Must think you like your eggs soft-boiled.’
‘Something like that.’
‘I’m getting worried about you, Milo. These boys don’t mess around.’
‘I’m getting worried about me too. But I’ve got my big bro with me.’
Jonah was feeding a stick of celery to the tanned girl behind the counter. It looked a good thing to do so I went up and took one out of a bowl and offered the stalk to Cza. She chewed for a while before taking it from my hand and did the same to me. We might have been starting a trend here.
Cza said, ‘There anything else I need to know?’
‘Jay’s English friends. You find anything on them?’
‘Still looking.’
‘I’ve a hunch there’s an arms deal about to go down with these guys. Maybe some Irish republicans and Cubans involved.’
‘What you heard?’
‘Just they’ve been mixing with people in that business, and I don’t think just ‘cos they enjoy each other’s company.’
I got the Quantico stare. A full ten seconds’ worth. ‘That all?’
‘Might have some details soon. I promise I’ll give them to you when I’ve got something.’
Thoughtful for a moment. Then the stare again. Only five seconds this time. ‘Thanks. Just remember, Milo. We’re equipped to cope with deals like these. You’re not.’
‘I have that very much in mind.’
We finished our healthy drinks.
‘As much as I’d like to eat your celery all day long, I have to go.’
‘That’s the best offer that I’ve heard in a long time,’ I said.
‘Some other time. I swear. When you’re not otherwise engaged, of course.’
‘Of course.’
She handed me a stick of celery. ‘Eat more of this. You look as if you need your vitamin F.’
She left the juice bar. Jonah checked outside and we left as well, while I pondered vitamin F.
17
Tomas told me he’d recently started smoking again after a break of twelve years since the proverbial had hit the fan.
‘Can you believe this shit. I was a forty-a-day man then went stone cold turkey. Took me a couple of years to lose the urge. Now, screw it.’
He ground out his cigarette in his saucer ashtray and then sat back in his chair before he lit another, and reloaded his mouth. He took a deep pull and held the smoke awhile before he exhaled. He studied its drift to the ceiling.
‘This is a non-smoking building. We’ll have cigarette cops here shortly. They’ll have some electronic device to pinpoint the scene of the crime.’
I was sitting in his office reading the revised prospectus for the offering of stock in MCP Incorporated, a Michigan company. It had arrived by courier from New York this morning from Tono Roach, compounding the felony across interstate lines.
‘You found anything more about Hendrych’s company?’
‘A chop shop. A here-one-day-gone-the-next boiler room. They take a grand sounding name like J P Malcolm in the hope the financially dyslexic will confuse them with J P Morgan.’
‘What about this MCP Inc?’
‘I’ve called them a few times. All I get is an answering machine.’
I said. ‘Is this prospectus properly drawn up?’
He laughed. ‘No. A few details missing. Like a blank where the amount of money to be raised should be. Plus ten other breaches of securities laws before you get to the second paragraph.’
‘Have you asked about the total amount being raised?’
‘I’ve tried to. He hasn’t returned my call. But Moresco called and said that my sales target has now been revised to five mil. A special bonus because of you,’ he said.
He took a couple of long draws on his Marlboro and blew rings into the air and followed their progress to oblivion. He contemplated the inch of burning ash he’d created before he flicked it into a saucer, then blew a series of Ch
erokee Chief Rain Cloud smoke rings, sending an SOS.
‘I’ve checked with the SEC. Nothing’s been registered there of course.’
‘Do all companies have to register offerings like this?’
‘Even for smaller offerings they have to register with a Form D or under Regulation A. My guess is they’re raising about ten mil plus, so a lot of shit has to be filed somewhere.’
He blew another circle of smoke into space and contemplated his cigarette’s lit end, viewing it from all angles as if it were an objet d’art.
‘They want to use us as an independent sales office. We’re nicely distant from their operations. A reputable company. We sell the stock. The funds get wired to them to some account where they get wired somewhere else etcetera and become untraceable. Quaranto’s name appears nowhere. The crapola hits and we’re the ones with only our fingers to wipe our shit-encrusted asses with.’
He lit up again – he was rushing to join the class action suits in Florida against the tobacco companies.
‘Shit, Tomas, You’re smoking’s making me –’ I said.
‘Have a drink then.’
I poured us each a couple of fingers of premium scotch with a splash of water. Jonah popped a can of Grolsch. “Plus if they pay me a commission I have to declare it to the buyers. People would then be cautious about buying. If I don’t declare and accept the commission it’s another Federal offence.’
I said. ‘What else is illegal here?’
Tomas laughed nervously and blew more rings. He was getting good at them. The cigarette squad still hadn’t arrived.
‘Violation of SEC Rule 144 relating to reporting requirements and market manipulation of the price. Concealing the fraudulent activities by using foreign banks to launder the monies. Section –’
‘That’ll do for now.’
Tomas stubbed his cigarette in an ashtray lifted from The Waldorf. ‘Like in Watergate you follow the money. These guys have now found the money’s on Wall Street so they’ve gone there.’
‘Via Fraud Central Station and they want a season ticket. First class all the way,’ I said.
‘So what do we do now, my friend,’ said Tomas.
‘I’ve been giving it some thought. Jonah and I might take a plane ride tomorrow. To listen to some Motown music.’
Kill City USA Page 17