by Drew D'Amato
The Ecuadorians were drug-dealing bourgeoisie. Higher ups, old men, who really just cared about the bottom line. They knew the Cincos crossed them, but if Rios gave them more money, they can at least believe those Cincos went rogue. It they got more money they would call off the dogs, and just call it business. If they got nothing, they would burn the Cincos in the streets of New Haven. Old men still had their principals.
Rios was an older man. He also extrapolated that Jose and Hiram were in some way responsible. He would turn them over to the Ecuadorians if he had too. Jose and Hiram’s life depended on getting that money back.
Jose and Hiram parked in the opposite lot, but had a clear line of sight through the trees and buildings to O’Keefe’s condo’s two parking spaces. They saw when he pulled in. They made their move.
They would not break into a cop’s house. However, they would follow a cop into his house. They didn’t want to risk any neighbors noticing them breaking into his house, or O’Keefe himself noticing someone was inside. But once they knew O’Keefe was in there, they could move fast. Everything would happen fast—even quicker than they expected. O’Keefe, in his panic, forgot to lock the door behind him.
O’Keefe was upstairs in his bedroom getting his things. His anxiety had started to decrease. They hadn’t gotten here yet. They would have made their move by now…by now—now. But they had made their move, and with an unlocked door the two Cincos were able to enter the condo without making a sound. O’Keefe grabbed his bags, walked down the stairs and started to smile. He thought he hit the home stretch. He put his hand on the knob of his front door, when the butt of a gun came down on the back of his skull.
“All you need to know right now maricón, is that there is still a chance of you making it out of this alive.” Hiram’s words were the first thing O’Keefe heard when he opened his eyes. He found himself on his ass, handcuffed around the support beam dividing his living room from the kitchen, with a massive headache. No light was turned on in the house, but he could see one Latino—Hiram—standing in front of him looking down at him.
“Where is the money?” Hiram demanded.
“I don’t have it.”
O’Keefe then felt the arms of a second man come down on him from above. It felt like it was some kind of garrotte, but it was just duct tape that covered his mouth from ear to ear.
“I told you there was a chance for you to get out of this alive. That, of course, depends on you giving me what I want.”
O’Keefe then felt a fishing line slither over his neck. Both ends of the line were then tied to Jose’s Mag-Lite. He was now in a garrote.
“I’m not some stupid spic, Lieutenant O’Keefe. I know about Spanish history. I know about methods of execution. Garrote, it’s a Spanish name. It is not just something mobsters used to whack someone. It was also a formal execution. The prisoner would still be strangled, but seated, around a long pole or chair that was head high. The rope, or eventually a metal band, would be placed around both the neck and the pole. Behind the prisoner, at the end of the band, was a stick that turned and tightened the rope. Sometimes the jugular would be cut or even the neck broke before the actual strangulation. The conquistadors used this on my people, the Taino.”
O’Keefe felt the line tighten as Jose twisted the Mag-Lite one full rotation behind him.
“Now, I know I’m not giving you much time to talk. So you have a few precious seconds to prolong your life. And if you scream, we’ll choke the scream out of you.” Hiram bent down and ripped the tape off his mouth.
“I don't have the money,” O’Keefe said.
Jose turned the Mag-Lite.
“Where is it?”
“My partner has it.”
Jose tightened once more.
O’Keefe actually felt more confused than anything else right then.
“I’m giving you what you want!”
Hiram nodded to Jose. Jose relaxed.
“We had a problem finding your partner,” Hiram said.
“He just moved. But the money is not at his house.”
Jose tightened the line again.
“I’m going to tell you,” O’Keefe said with what air he had left. Jose relented. “It’s at the police station.”
Jose tightened it one more time around and held it.
O’Keefe’s eyes bulged. He threw up his hands as his only defense. It was too tight to talk.
Hiram nodded again to Jose. Jose relented.
Jose spoke his first words to the O’Keefe. “Why would you do anything as dumb as that?”
“It’s fucking smart if you know anything about police stations besides jail. It’s a really smart idea if you are in with the cop in the evidence room. You think this is our first rodeo? Our boy puts it in the room, gives us some bullshit logging number that leads to nothing. There is so much money in there, no one notices stacks of money spread all over the place as long as it has a tag.”
“So it’s in the evidence room?”
“Yes.”
Now you’re going to decide to let me live. Probably use me as ransom for Marco to get the money. That’s okay, once Marco knows you got me, he’ll send the entire force after me. And every cop when they get to the scene will be shooting to kill. No punks do this to one of us. People will want an explanation. They wanted revenge for killing their buddies. Who on the force would argue that? It would work.
“So your partner can get the money for us?”
“Yes.”
Hiram got up from the couch and nodded to Jose.
Jose tightened the garrote. The line cut O’Keefe’s neck.
“You don’t believe me!” he managed to scream.
Hiram looked down at O’Keefe. “I do, that’s why you’re going to die.”
“You said I had a chance to live!”
“I did, but in this scenario I don’t need you alive. This wasn’t your chance.”
Jose turned and did not stop until O’Keefe’s struggling did. Blood ran down his neck. His life was gone.
Hiram scrolled through O’Keefe’s phone.
Marco’s cell rang. It was from O’Keefe’s phone.
“Hello, partner.”
“No, but we got your partner. Bring all the money to his house and we’ll let him live.”
“Let me talk to him.”
“I’ll do ya one better.”
Hiram hung up.
Marco stared at his phone confused. His phone got a picture message.
O’Keefe was handcuffed around the pole in his living room. It looked like a fishing line was holding his neck back against the pole, and there was blood around the wire. His eyes were open. On the cell phone pic, Marco could not tell that the life was drained from them.
His phone rang again.
“I don’t bullshit,” Hiram said. “Go to the station and get us the money now. We know it is in the evidence room.”
Evidence room? It must be some bullshit O’Keefe told them to buy some time. Marco was going to have to buy some more. “You’re going to have to wait until noon.”
“I’m not waiting at all.”
“Look I’m not going to the station this late, to grab two duffel bags filled with cash, in a place filled with detectives. Someone might question it. My shift starts at eleven tomorrow morning. Let me come in then, get it out, and no one will suspect anything.”
“You got until noon.” The line went dead.
Gloria woke up. She did not expect to find Marco staring at her from across the bedroom. Oh my God, he knows. But as she looked closer at him sitting at the desk across from their bed, she saw there was no hate in his eyes. That could not be it.
He was nervous. His leg was shaking. He moved to the bed.
“Gloria, this morning is a chance of a lifetime.”
“Why, what’s going on?” She was nervous. This was not like Marco.
“Ten million dollars. Downstairs, in two duffel bags. It’s ours.”
“How?”
“No clean w
ay. That big bust O’Keefe and I pulled, it’s from that. It's all ours, but we gotta get out of here now. Today.”
“I’m in.” She was surprised that there was not an ounce of hesitation in her. Illegal money, leaving town. Her life, her family, all of it gone. From court reporter to fugitive of the law. She signed on for ten mill. “What do we have to do?”
“Call out of work today.”
“What time is it?”
“A little before seven. You got time. Look, you rarely call out, no one will suspect anything.”
Gloria got out of bed. Marco was distraught. She wasn’t feeling comfortable herself. She started to tell herself to just bail. She’s not going to get out of this. Marco will fuck this up. He’d never done anything like this before.
“There is a big case today, the judge really needs me.”
“GLORIA! This is ten million fucking dollars, and a shit storm is about to come this way. We either get on a plane and get out of here today, or we never have this chance again.”
Gloria made her decision.
“Fine, I’ll call out. But tell me your whole plan.”
Marco left for the station 8:30 A.M., his normal time if he wasn’t working on a case.
Compartmentalize.
O’Keefe was dead. If he wasn’t, he would be soon enough, no matter what Marco did. Sorry partner, but you were going to fuck me anyway. Since that was an absolute, there was no reason to make any moves to try to prevent it. He bought some time by giving that bullshit that he wasn’t going into the station until eleven. He had until noon to rendezvous with the Cincos. That was fine. By noon he would be on a plane to Brazil. No extradition laws, and from there they would be gone.
As he pulled up to the station at Union Avenue, he had second thoughts he if should even do this part of the plan. It would make no difference to anyone if he left after less than an hour in. Detectives picked up and left all the time to follow leads. The main reason he came in was to see what people had heard about O’Keefe. He knew for sure O’Keefe wouldn’t be in, but if Marco was also a no-show that would arise suspicion that he didn’t need. So he decided to go in, tell everyone his partner was sick, and no one would think anything more about it.
As he walked through the front door of headquarters it dawned on him that his life as a cop is never another day in the office. He could walk in and his commander could have some crime scene for him to go to. Usually the mornings in the Elm City were quiet unless you worked the night before and were finishing up some loose ends—but there was still that chance. He had to roll the dice with this. If he and Marco were both absent, someone would wonder. His police brethren would be concerned, and check to see if they were alright. Who’s to say which house they got to first? He couldn’t let them find O’Keefe.
He needed no attention on his partner for the next few hours.
He rolled the dice. He went in. He told the sarge O’Keefe came down with some stomach bug. Sarge made a bitch joke. Marco went to the break room to grab some coffee. He brought it to his desk. He drank some coffee. He shuffled some paperwork. He paid no attention to the forms he filled out. He couldn’t keep his nerves in check. He started to worry that O’Keefe might have told the Cincos where he lived. Maybe they would go there to wait for him? He had set a goal to leave at 10:37. He checked the clock. He made it to 10:01.
He told Sarge he was following a lead on the LSD sold out of a house on Clinton Avenue. Sarge was on the phone. He waved him off, and let him leave.
Marco drove away from the station. He started to relax.
A grey Accord parked down the street followed after him.
Gloria didn’t give a shit about missing a day from work. In fact, she had already planned to call out today. The mayor’s schedule was clean, and she planned to spend the day with him on his boat. Even with $10 million dollars around, Gloria still wanted to see Thompson one more time. But Marco was persistent. So she listened and compartmentalized.
Marco’s plan would never work. It vibed desperate, ignorant, naïve. You couldn’t just get a private jet, not within a few hours. She objected to that when he mentioned it. Well, we have to get out of the country today, he told her. He was right about that point. He suggested a commercial flight out of Tweed New Haven Airport. They will notice the money, she objected.
“Not if we check it. They just put our luggage through an x-ray. Load it into our bags with some towels. Paper won’t show up on their scanners,” he said as he paced around their bedroom nervously, while she got dressed. “Just get a flight out of Tweed.”
“Tweed only has public flights to Philadelphia.”
“Then from Philly we’ll go to another country.”
“Flying to another country, we are going to have to explain all that money when we go through customs.”
“Then we won’t go to another country. From Philly we’ll go to Arizona or New Mexico, then cross the border in a rental car. You saw what it was like when we drove to Toronto. They don’t check anything, we’re Americans. Once in Mexico we can disappear.”
Gloria scanned her mind for more objections.
“God forbid our luggage gets lost,” she said between brushing her teeth.
“Look, no move we make is not without risk. Just get a flight out of Tweed by noon.”
“And what do we do with the money once we get to Mexico? Convert it over to pesos?”
“Maybe, maybe live our days out on a beach in Mexico. Or get to the Cayman Islands and launder the money.”
“You know anything about laundering money?”
“I’m a cop.”
“So, does that mean you know people to launder the money for us down there?”
“No. I’ve never done this shit before. But it can be done down there. Ten millions dollars will buy you some friends to help you out.”
“And find you some scumbags to rip you off.”
“Just get a damn flight, okay. We’ll worry about the rest once we are out of this country.”
She saw the panic in his eyes. Were the police on to us already? She had no idea about the Cincos and the fate of O’Keefe, so she didn’t understand his sudden panic. Sure we will go away, but let’s take our time and do it right. That was when she compartmentalized. She just agreed with him and let him finish getting ready for work. When he left around 8:30 she got out her phone. She had no intention of calling Tweed, New Haven Airport.
She called Thompson.
He was smart. He had a boat. He knew how to get things done.
She could get out of the country with the $10 million dollars, but she couldn’t do it with Marco.
Thompson had just made it to the boat when she called him. He answered with a smile. She talked quick. He didn't believe her.
“Look, we can leave today with ten million dollars or we never can,” she told him. “What do you want to do?”
It was hard to believe, but even harder to think she would be lying about this. This was too crazy, too risky, to be bullshit. He knew about the bust, and he knew no money was reported at the scene. He had always felt that one detail didn’t make sense. As crazy as what Gloria explained sounded, it also made sense.
“Okay, I believe you,” he told her. “I’ll send Reggie to get you.”
He hung up. He compartmentalized.
Marco pulled up to his house to find Gloria's car still there. The door was locked. He didn't think much about it.
He made his way in. He called out her name. He got nothing.
He searched the house. He ran upstairs. He didn’t find her. He didn’t find the money. His life slipped out of him. That bitch. O’Keefe was right about his wife. Everyone was right about his wife. She was a cheating whore. She left him and took the money. He only allowed himself a moment of despair. She couldn’t have gotten too far. He ran back down the stairs.
He found two men at his front door. Latinos. Guns drawn.
“Marco Gambardella, you have something of ours,” Hiram said.
�
��No, I don’t. My slut wife has it. She is on her way to Tweed right now. Kill her.”
Hiram was taken aback by this confession. It was too easy.
“Okay, sure, we’ll just leave right now. How could she have taken the money, I thought it was in your locker?”
“And I thought you were waiting for me at O’Keefe’s.”
“Well it appears we were both bullshitting. Your partner is dead. Now if you don’t want to join him, there is a chance that you can get out of this alive. Where’s the money?”
“Like I said. Right now that bitch is on her way to a flight out to Philadelphia with your money. Her name is Gloria Thompson. Kill her.”
It was a real easy confession. The only thing that could explain it was that he was telling the truth. The cop had hate in his eyes. The cop was betrayed. The cop wanted revenge. The cop didn’t even care about the money.
“You know what, I believe you.” Hiram looked over at Jose. Jose nodded back in agreement. He believed him too.
Jose aimed his silenced .9-mm. He plugged two shots into Marco’s skull. The sound of the bullets into flesh sounded soft. Blood sprayed on the stairs behind Marco. The two Cincos left.
Collude.
Reggie didn’t say much to Gloria on the ride to the docks. Thompson told him the plan. It made sense. $10 million dollars was a lot of money. Thompson trusted him. Thompson needed him. He would play ball, but for now as he drove, he just wanted to think about the task at hand.
Thompson’s boat would make it to the Caribbean. The plan would work, but that didn’t mean Reggie liked it. People would notice a missing mayor. Reggie would have to be the one to fill the boat up with gas as they made their way down. Mayor Thompson had to stay missing. Reggie would run the risk if anyone started to ask questions about the boat. He was the one exposing himself, but for a taste of the loot, it was worth it.