Nimble Be Jack: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 2)

by Robert Tarrant

  Justin was standing on the catwalk at the door to the office Mancuso indicated held Bracchi. As we paused before entering the office, Mancuso held his hand out to Justin. Justin produced a large semi-automatic pistol with a silencer on it and placed it in Mancuso’s outstretched hand. Mancuso nodded to Justin, opened the office door, and walked in with me trailing behind.

  The office was much like the one I had been held in except that it had a small table rather than a desk and six of the straight back chairs. Bracchi was sitting in one of the chairs at the table. A guy dressed in black fatigues that I had never seen before sat in another chair in the corner of the office with a semi-automatic rifle of some type resting across his legs. The rifle had a large sound suppressor on the end of the barrel. The pops I thought were fireworks must have been gunshots.

  Mancuso nodded to the guy. The guy got up and left the office. Bracchi started almost babbling, “Lorenzo, I had no idea the woman was an employee of yours. We would never have inconvenienced her if we had known.”

  Mancuso held up his hand in a stop motion, “My friends call me Lorenzo. You have demonstrated that you are not my friend. You will call my Mr. Mancuso.” With that, Mancuso pulled one of the chairs to a position on the opposite side of the table and placed the pistol in his lap. He motioned for me to pull a chair up alongside him.

  Bracchi took a deep breath, and struggling to control his voice, said, “Mr. Mancuso, this has been a large misunderstanding. I meant no harm to the woman. It was a mistake to get her involved in this. I admit that mistake, but I had no way of knowing she works for you.”

  The stop sign hand came up again, “Understand, you are talking about my daughter.” His voice bellowed, “Not just an employee, my daughter.”

  Bracchi looked as if someone had just hit him in the gut with a baseball bat. The color was gone from his face, but he finally found his voice, “Daughter? Daughter? My God, I had no idea. I swear on my mother’s grave. I had no idea she was your daughter. I would never allow anyone to harm your daughter.”

  No hand was necessary this time, the glare from Mancuso halted Bracchi’s stammering. Mancuso’s voice was strong and steady as he said, “Anthony, you know the penalty for involving innocent family members in business disputes.” With that, he lifted the pistol from his lap, steadied it on the table, and pointed it directly at Bracchi’s face.

  Bracchi raised both hands, “Please. Please. I didn’t know she was your daughter. I swear. I swear.”

  As previously discussed with Mancuso, this was the point where I said, “Lorenzo, I think he’s telling the truth. I don’t think the two morons, who snatched us up, had any idea Elena even worked for you, much less that she was your daughter.”

  Mancuso said to me, “This man is trying to take away your bar. He beat you. He blew up your car. And you want me to spare his life?”

  I hesitated. Bracchi’s eyes pleaded as he said, “This whole thing has been a huge mistake. I should never have taken an interest in the bar. It was all a mistake. I . . . I’m sorry. Please. Please don’t kill me. You’ll never see me again. That I promise.”

  Mancuso scoffed, “Either way, I’ll never see you again.”

  Mancuso started to tighten his finger on the trigger. Bracchi closed his eyes and begged, “Please don’t. Please don’t.”

  I said, “Lorenzo, let’s just send him back north, never to be seen down here again.”

  Mancuso relaxed his finger and raised the muzzle of the gun toward the ceiling, “All right Jack. I will do this for you. This one time.” Glaring at Bracchi he said, “Now, you and all of your morons will be on I-95 within the hour headed north. None of you will ever set foot south of the Florida-Georgia line again. Do you understand?”

  Bracchi looked as if he wanted to leap across the table and kiss me, “Yes, yes, I understand. We will be gone before the hour. You’ll never see us down here again. Thank you. Thank you.”

  Mancuso stood first, then I followed suit. As we were walking out the door he turned back to Bracchi, “One of those morons of yours is laying in a field across the street. Don’t forget to take him with you. Otherwise, he goes in the dumpster.”

  The last time I saw Anthony Bracchi, he was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. I wasn’t positive, but I thought he was quietly sobbing.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  As I had promised, as soon as I got back to Cap’s I called Elena. We talked for thirty minutes. She apologized for not telling me that she was Mancuso’s daughter, but said it had been her standard practice since she came back down to South Florida. She said she didn’t want the stress of trying to figure out if someone was friendly because they liked her personally or because she was the daughter of someone wealthy. I told her I understood her tactics. I didn’t tell her that the fact her dad was an organized crime boss would probably have a chilling effect on many relationships.

  I’d ridden back to Cap’s with Justin and Moe. They explained how Mancuso had arrived at Cap’s looking for Elena, and how he had used the tracking device in Elena’s necklace to locate us, after they had seen us abducted on our security footage. Once again I patted myself on the back for having the camera and alarm system repaired and updated.

  Justin told me that it wouldn’t be necessary to mention anything about our rescue to the police. It seems to go without saying that nothing involving Justin gets mentioned to the police. Since I couldn’t figure out how to tell PJ about out abduction, without an explanation of our release, I decided it was best to just remain silent about the entire evening. I didn’t expect that I would ever see Anthony Bracchi again, so I wasn’t really concerned whether PJ could pin anything on him, even the bombing. I just wanted him out of my life and that certainly seemed to have been accomplished.

  When he dropped Moe and me off, Justin said he needed to meet Barbie at a storage facility he rented and help stow the equipment they had used. He said he would see us in the morning sometime. I surmised that Barbie had some more furniture that needed rearranging.

  As Justin was pulling out, Eddie, who I had been told at the warehouse was Mancuso’s number one driver and bodyguard, pulled in with another of the guys who had been involved in the rescue. The other guy got out of the car and got into Elena’s Ferrari. As the two vehicles were pulling out, Eddie stopped near where Moe and I were standing and put down his window. He called out, “Nice working with you tonight Moe. I’m sure I’ll see you guys again soon.” I didn’t know what that meant, but wasn’t sure it was good news. Had I just traded one organized crime boss for another?

  Moe and I went into Cap’s and I mixed him a strong rum and coke. I picked what I recalled to be one of our better scotches and poured it over ice. I needed something stronger than beer and I might as well see if I can acquire a taste for scotch. Of course, maybe I should wait until I find out what Mancuso drinks before I put too much effort into this scotch thing. Maybe he’s a bourbon guy, or a cosmopolitan guy? No Jack, he’s definitely not a cosmo guy.

  The alcohol, coupled with the adrenaline crash that both of us were experiencing, had Moe and me sitting side by side at the bar in silence. We were both lost in our own thoughts. Finally, I turned to Moe and said, “Moe, I can’t thank you enough for what you guys did tonight. You literally saved our lives. I really think that once Bracchi discovered Elena was tied to Mancuso he would have killed us just so there could be no link back to him.”

  Moe nodded, “That was exactly why Mancuso didn’t want us alerting the police. He was afraid it would leak out that his daughter had been kidnapped and Bracchi would kill her for exactly that reason. I guess it takes one gangster to know how another thinks.” This comment was followed by another long period of silence while we both internally speculated what it would mean to Cap’s to have traded Bracchi for Mancuso.

  Moe finished his drink and told me he was going to go home. He said he’d be in by the time we opened. I looked at my watch for the first time since the whole abduction mess started. It was
nearly 4:00 a.m. I told Moe he should go home, go to sleep, and not worry about coming in until he woke up. He shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck, and said, “Thanks Boss. See you at ten when we open.”

  I locked the back door after Moe left. Before trudging upstairs, I poured myself another scotch. I hadn’t acquired a taste yet, but I’m tenacious if nothing else. I only got half way through that second scotch before collapsing on my bed in exhaustion. I slept in my clothes.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Moe was probably there when we opened, but I wasn’t. I slept like I was dead, probably because I had come so close to actually being dead. I didn’t get downstairs until noon. Moe was in the office when I came down. I stopped in the open doorway and said hello. He told me that he had made a copy of the security footage from the time surrounding our abduction last night before erasing it from the recording system. He told me that he thought it best if we didn’t mention the incident to anyone else around Cap’s. Too much opportunity for it to leak out to the cops. I agreed. Seemed like Justin had thoroughly converted Moe to his lifestyle of flying below the radar.

  I asked where Marge was and he told me she had taken the deposit to the bank since it had been several days since I’d made a deposit. Marge doesn’t like to have too much cash around. I knew I hadn’t been to the bank in a few days, but didn’t know we were making enough money to qualify as too much cash. I should pay more attention around here, maybe I’m a more successful businessman than I realize.

  I wandered into the kitchen and bantered with Juan for a few minutes while he cooked me a burger and fries. We had a moderate lunch crowd and watching Juan in the kitchen when orders are coming in steadily is like watching an orchestra conductor. His movements are continuous and energetic, but with the disciplined efficiency of a true maestro. I mused that this would probably be an opportune time to discuss Marge’s thoughts that Juan could use some help in the kitchen, especially on the weekends. Then, hearing him curse under his breath when the deep fryer spit hot oil on him, I decided the conversation could wait. I took my lunch and headed for the bar.

  My usual seat at the bar was open. Dana was tending bar. She saw me arrive with my burger and fries and before I could even get settled she set a Landshark in front of me, “Hi Jack, how’s things?” Dana’s a vivacious little thing, about 5 foot 4 inches with glistening shoulder length raven hair. What I like most about her is that she’s always upbeat. She never seems to be out of sorts. She’s a little sassy sometimes, but that’s okay with me. I like her spunk. She’s also a rabid pro football fan and can talk football with anyone. I’ve seen her win more than one bet with guys who made the mistake of judging the book by its cover. She’s originally from Pittsburgh and insulting her precious Steelers is grounds to be cut off at the bar.

  I replied, “I’m doing great today Dana, how about you?”

  “Ah, it’s a great day to be alive.”

  “Amen to that sister.”

  Dana went down to the other end of the bar to get the check for a couple of guys who had just finished their lunch and I settled in on my burger.

  I’d just finished eating when Marge came in the back door. She stopped to say hi as she walked past heading toward the office and I told her that I thought as soon as the lunch business slowed I’d take a shot at convincing Juan to let us hire him some help. She was visibly impressed that I was taking on the issue. Sometimes I think people don’t realize how darn much work I do around here. Marge told me that she had broached the idea of help for him, at least Thursday through Sunday, but Juan had emphatically said it wasn’t necessary. She wished me luck and disappeared down the hall toward the office.

  I took my time finishing my Landshark, as I waited for the lunch crowd to dissipate. Then I picked up my empty plate and headed back to the kitchen. Juan was busy cleaning the griddle. I casually sidled up to him and opened the discussion about having help in the kitchen with, “Juan, I don’t think it’s fair that you have to work so darn hard during the lunch and dinner hours. We should get you some help for those peak hours. Maybe noon ’til seven on the weekends. You know, Thursday through Sunday.”

  His response stunned me, “Yeah Boss, I was going to go to Marge and ask her if we could give extra hours to Billy. You know, let him continue to work on my two days off, but bring him in on the weekends to assist me. I know he’d like the hours because the other place he worked at closed. He could really use the money, and to be honest I need the help.”

  “That’s a great idea Juan. Why don’t you talk to Marge this afternoon? I think she’ll buy into the idea.”

  Juan replied absently, “Yeah, I’ll do that.” With that he turned back to scraping the griddle.

  I put my plate in the dish rack and wandered back to the bar. I decided that my successful mission had earned me a beer. Who says this personnel management is so tough?

  I bantered with Dana through my reward beer and then decided, in an effort to make amends for not making the bank deposit, that I should run a couple of errands I’d promised Marge I’d do days ago. I did have a perfect excuse for my negligence, after all I’d been abducted, but I couldn’t tell Marge that.

  While I was out running errands, PJ called to update me on the investigation. I listened and asked a couple of simple questions to show an interest. It would have been so much simpler to tell her there was no need to worry about Bracchi anymore, but of course I couldn’t tell her. Justin may be accustomed to this covert lifestyle, but I was already worrying I couldn’t keep my stories straight.

  By the end of the day, I was feeling pretty good. My errands were complete, Marge was pleased that I had convinced Juan to have Billy help during weekends, and no one had tried to kill me all day. Just as I completed that thought, my world took a dramatic left turn.

  The back door opened and in walked Lorenzo Mancuso. He was alone. I looked toward the front door expecting some of his people to come in that direction but the door didn’t move. He was dressed in slacks and a golf shirt. Much more casual than he had been at his office.

  Mancuso strode up to me and stuck out his hand, “Hello Jack, I thought I’d stop in and see how you’re doing. Is this a bad time?”

  I shook his hand and replied, “No . . . no it’s fine Mr. Mancuso.”

  “Enzo. My friends call me Enzo, and given what we’ve been through together I believe it qualifies us as friends.”

  “Sure. Sure, Enzo. Would you like to sit down? Are you alone?”

  He nodded his head, “Yeah, Eddie dropped me off. We were on our way back from looking at the property you and Elena looked at yesterday. Eddie had to get back to take his son to ball practice, so I had him drop me off. I’ll take a taxi or an Uber car back. Elena wanted to come with me to look at the property again, but I told her if I saw her around the office I’d turn her across my knee like I did when she was a little girl. She needs some time to get over what happened, or more accurately, what could have happened.”

  I ventured, “I’m impressed that you’re back to work today. It wasn’t like you didn’t go through some significant stress last night.”

  Mancuso released a deep breath, “Oh, that’s right. Been a long time since I’ve been as frightened for Elena as I was last night. But the way I deal with my emotions is to dive back into work. Just like you.” He gestured around the bar, “You’re right back at it today.”

  I nodded, “Guess you’re right. What about Elena, maybe that’s why she wanted to come to work today?” As soon as it was out of my mouth I wished I could have taken it back. Who was I to question Mancuso’s approach to dealing with his daughter? I still remembered how he glared at Bracchi when he talked of Elena.

  He patted me on the back like we were old friends, “Oh Jack, she’ll be back in the office tomorrow just like usual, but women process things differently. Women are actually better at getting over trauma because they process emotionally. Men hold their emotions inside regardless of the situation. So, I told her to stay home so sh
e could let her emotions flow without needing to hold back because she was at work. She’ll be emotionally drained by tonight and by tomorrow morning she’ll be ready to be around people again. She’ll need to be around people again.”

  I wasn’t certain I totally agreed with his logic. It sounded a bit sexist to me, but who am I to talk. I did know better than to critique his parenting further. I gestured toward a booth, “Shall we sit down? Would you like a drink?”

  “Yes, by all means let’s sit. I’d love a Coke. I’ve got a business call later tonight, so while I’d love a drink, I need to stay sharp. Can we take a look at a menu? Somehow, Eddie and I missed lunch.”

  I walked to the bar to get two Cokes while Mancuso made his way to an empty booth. I also opted for a Coke. His comment about staying sharp seemed applicable to my immediate situation as well. I was beginning to think I’d definitely traded one gangster for another.

  I set the Cokes and a menu on the table and slid in across from Mancuso. He picked up the menu and asked, “How’s the food Jack? I mean honestly, how’s the food?” He had a twinkle in his eye that reminded me of Elena.

  “Ah, it’s bar food. Good bar food, but bar food just the same.”

  His chiseled face softened into a warm smile, “Elena told me your were an honest straight-shooter, and she’s a pretty good judge of character. I just wasn’t sure if it was her head or her heart talking, but any guy who’s honest about the food in his own place is probably okay.”

  My mind was racing, her head or her heart talking. I knew Elena and I enjoyed ourselves the couple of times we’d been together, but I really hadn’t had time to think about where a relationship might be headed. Even if there was going to be a relationship. I certainly wasn’t prepared to talk about it with her father, especially not one in Mancuso’s line of work.