Shakedown

by Gerald Petievich

  Lorraine, who was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a halter top, sat at a redwood picnic table reading the notes he'd made at the office. Finally she handed them back to him.

  "Okay. Now I know that every case against Parisi and his organization has resulted in a zero. Not one of his people has gone to jail."

  "What do you make of it?" he said.

  "Organized-crime cases are difficult to prosecute," she said. "Parisi has himself insulated so that no one can give direct testimony against him."

  "I read every file," Novak said. "Parisi lucked out in every investigation. Either a witness backed out of testifying, or the evidence was tainted. Technicalities."

  "Prosecutors make mistakes. Investigators make mistakes. People are incompetent. Incompetency is the motto of the federal government," she said.

  She stood up, moved close to him, took the beer from his hand, sipped. "I thought you weren't going to take all of this so seriously anymore."

  "I persuaded Bruno Santoro to talk," Novak said. "I gave him my word of honor that he would be protected. That's probably what he was thinking the moment his car blew up and he became human pizza. My promise. That makes it personal."

  Novak took the meat off the grill and put it on the picnic table, which Lorraine had set with a white tablecloth and napkins. They gorged on steak, baked potatoes and salad.

  "I talked to the Attorney General," Lorraine said. "I made up a reason to call, then got around to the Santoro bombing. I think he sensed I had an ulterior motive for calling, so I just came out with it. I told him that the investigators on the case should be allowed to continue."

  "How did he respond?"

  "He told me he knows that Elliot is a bureaucratic climber and is trying to show off by offering to take over the case. And he's going to leave you and Haynes on it."

  "Thanks, Lorraine. I really appreciate-"

  "Eat your steak and shut up."

  After dinner he helped her carry the dishes into the kitchen and put things away. "You've been preoccupied all evening, Agent Novak," Lorraine said as she closed the door to the dishwasher and turned it on.

  "Sorry. I guess I haven't been very good company."

  "I didn't mean that."

  "I want to solve this case more than I've ever wanted anything else."

  "Men are never satisfied. They always want to solve one more case, make one more big deal, build one more bridge."

  "This isn't like pinching one more car thief"

  "If Parisi disappeared tomorrow, someone else just like him would take his place."

  "Maybe," Novak said. "But nevertheless this one is between him and me."

  She took him by the hand. "You'll make the case," she said. They kissed passionately. He picked her up, carried her to the living-room sofa. There in the semidarkness, they undressed each other. Then they made love for a long time. Afterward, they lay in each other's arms, breathing heavily. Novak was exhausted.

  Lorraine rolled over onto her back. In the dim light she looked mysterious. Dark eyes, lips, nipples.

  He kissed her again.

  "Please be careful," she whispered.

  "I will. It would help if you could set a high bail on Monica Brown."

  "Since I was a youngster my goal in life was to become a federal judge-a fair and honest judge like my father was. I scraped and scratched to make it. Now, for me to be anything other than fair and impartial in any case would be something I couldn't live with, no matter what the personal consequences."

  "I'm not asking you to break any rules. The bail can be legally justified. Trust me."

  She nuzzled his neck. "I'll see what I can do," she said sleepily. "I want you to stay the night. I want to be with you."

  "Okay." He put his arms around her.

  They woke up the next morning on the living-room floor.

  Eddie Sands and Monica sat at a table near the stage of the Tiffany Showroom, a cavernous theater restaurant in the Tropicana Hotel. On the stage, a spotlight shone on a young hatchet-faced comedian attired in Italian-cut casual clothing.

  "You know how you open the refrigerator and stare in looking for something to eat? Like what could change?" he said. There were a few scattered laughs. "You know how you always get a headache after watching an aspirin commercial?" Light chuckles.

  "Who said this jerk was supposed to be funny?" Sands said.

  "This is yuppie humor. Everything relates to television," Monica said. She gave him a playful pinch on the cheek. "You have no imagination."

  "In the joint I used to imagine jumping your thighs," he whispered.

  Monica leaned close, kissed him tenderly. She returned her attention to the stage.

  The comedian continued. "You know the commercial with the walking raisins?"

  Sands finished a drink. "This guy had to know somebody."

  "That's the way it works in this town. Juice talks."

  "That's the way it works everywhere. Money. The green shit. Gold. That's power."

  "Sometimes you sound so cold."

  After the show Sands and Monica wandered through the busy Tropicana Casino. They stopped at a crap table and Sands rolled a few numbers.

  They were slightly tipsy going home. The car radio was tuned to a Las Vegas talk show whose host was interviewing Mr. Enterprise, Harry Desmond, about his plans for purchasing the Desert Inn and building a convention center on its golf course. Desmond, who had a resonant Clark Gable voice, spoke confidently.

  "My experience as a member of the Federal Reserve Board taught me that in this day and age the development of new jobs and capital is the responsibility of men like myself One day I just realized that entrepreneurship was really where the buck stopped. Risk-taking was what started Las Vegas."

  "I understand you are considering entering the entertainment field, also," the host said.

  "When I complete the Las Vegas projects I intend to make an offer to purchase one of the major movie studios. I'm going to see to it that more good old-fashioned family-style entertainment gets on the air. You see, I'm a risk-taker and a family man ... and damn proud of being both."

  "There's some reason why Tony wants me to shake down Desmond," Sands said. "The Desmond play has been there all this time, and all of a sudden he wants to give it to me, knowing that I get half. Doesn't make sense.

  "Maybe he looks at you as the expert at shakedowns. He wants it done right."

  "That's what he said," Sands mused.

  Monica touched his thigh. "I don't want you to do anything dangerous, Eddie."

  "Desmond is a tempting play. I could go back to him more than once."

  "Why is Tony stalling on paying you for the chips?"

  "I don't like it either," Sands said. "He has the juice to dump the chips for face value anytime he wants to."

  "Of course, everybody stalls when it comes to money.

  Sands slowed down with the traffic. "I was a cop for a lot of years, hon. I learned that most things in life are exactly what they appear to be. That's the difference between me and the suckers that send you their money."

  "You mean you see things clearer."

  "I mean I know the difference between chicken salad and chicken shit."

  She laughed softly. "My suckers are all so greedy. I play to the greed." She covered her mouth as she yawned and laid her head on his shoulder. There was nothing but the sound of tires on pavement. "Sometimes I get tired... tired of everything. Like maybe there's some other way."

  "You've had too much wine," Sands said as he pulled up to a stoplight near the Thunderbird Casino. The casino's facade, a million-watt display in the shape of a huge silver bird, flashed intermittent daylight. The signal light changed. He drove on.

  "Sometimes I think I'd like to get out of this town," she said. "We could move away."

  "What would we do?"

  "I could sell real estate in L.A. My clients would be Arab sheiks, rich Jews. There are million-dollar deals done every day in Malibu, Beverly Hills."

 
"And I could work as a security guard for -three bucks an hour," he said sarcastically. "It'd be a great life."

  "Leo knows I'm the one who set him up."

  "Leo is a piece of shit. He's probably still in Nassau waiting for Ray and me."

  "One of our deals could backfire," she said.

  "Whatever happens, I'll handle it."

  She turned to him. "I love you, Eddie," she said as a statement of fact.

  Without slowing down, he reached out, pulled her close to him.

  Back at the apartment, they held hands on the way up the stairs. Sands unlocked the door. They stepped inside into darkness. Playfully, Monica reached between his legs, pulled him close to her. Their tongues met.

  John Novak, who stood near the door, touched the light switch. Sands whirled in a fighter's stance. Monica shrieked. Novak showed his badge. He kept a hand on his gun as Red Haynes shoved the door closed, frisked Sands efficiently.

  "You people have a warrant to be in here?" Sands said.

  Novak took his hand off his gun, reached into his suit jacket, and pulled out a legal-size document. He handed it to Sands. Sands examined the paper. He read: "Search warrant for items relating to wire and mail fraud committed by Monica Brown." Sands showed the document to Monica. Her jaw dropped.

  "What does this mean?" Monica said.

  "We've completed our search," Novak said as he nodded to the kitchen table. "We found the telephone and banking records we were looking for."

  'What is this all about?" Monica said.

  "It means we have evidence on the phone scams you've been pulling," Novak said.

  "Am I under arrest?"

  "Why don't we sit down?" Novak said. Sands and Monica looked at each for a moment, then quietly moved toward the table.

  As Monica sat down, Novak noticed she was shaking.

  They took seats at the table. Warily, Haynes leaned against the wall.

  "Eddie's familiar with our operation," Novak said to Monica. "We're working a case on someone he knows."

  "Just exactly what is this all about?" Monica said.

  "Tony Parisi," Novak said.

  "Tony Parisi?" Monica said. "I've never even heard of Tony Parisi. I mean, I've read about him in the newspaper, but I've never so much as-"

  "Sometimes we get a little far afield in our investigations," Novak interrupted, "but some way or another things usually get back on track. Sometimes it depends on what's at stake ... what's at stake for those concerned." Novak was staring directly at Sands.

  Monica fidgeted, picked at her face.

  "Our main job is finding people who know Parisi ... potential witnesses, like Eddie here, who might be willing to testify for the government."

  "Do you have an arrest warrant for Monica?" Sands said after a long silence.

  "We didn't want to have an arrest warrant issued until we could talk with the two of you. But we have a solid felony case... a slam dunk."

  "A case for what?"

  "Fraud by wire," Novak said. "Monica scammed a nice old lady named Mabel Kincaid out of her savings. Because she used the telephone in the commission of the crime, it's a violation of federal law."

  Monica fidgeted again. "So help me God I've never heard that name before in my life. And I swear I've never scammed anybody out of anything. I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Eddie, what is this?"

  Sands maintained eye contact with Novak. "When I was a cop, sometimes I used to bullshit people into giving me information. I would tell them I had a case on someone when actually I didn't have shit."

  Novak nodded at Red Haynes. Haynes, wearing a Cheshire-cat smile, reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small tape player, set it upright on the table between the two men. He pressed the play button. There was static, then the sound of a phone ringing, the click of a receiver.

  "Nevada Gold Mining Trust. Monica Butler speaking."

  "This is Mabel Kincaid."

  Monica folded her hands. "That was a perfectly legitimate investment opportunity," she said. "I can explain."

  "Okay, you have a case," Sands cut in.

  Haynes pressed the off button on the tape player. Monica bit her lip, turned to stare at the wall.

  "They don't really care about you," Sands said without taking his eyes off Novak. "They're here to hammer me.

  Neither Novak nor Haynes said anything.

  Sands pushed his chair back, stood up. Haynes moved from his place by the wall as Sands paced a few feet. He stopped. "What happens now?" he said.

  "We leave with the evidence ... and unless something happens to make us change our mind, next Wednesday, when the grand jury meets, we indict Monica. Three felony counts of fraud by wire. She'll have to do some time."

  "And if I agree to testify against Parisi you'll forget about the case against her?"

  "We can't make any promises," Novak said.

  "That would be unethical," Haynes chimed in.

  Sands folded his arms across his chest. "But if I testified, her case might suddenly be dismissed, right?"

  Casually, Novak straightened his necktie. "That's a safe bet. A very safe bet."

  Sands stared at Monica for a moment. He turned to Novak. "I need a few days to think about it."

  Novak stood up. He nodded at Red Haynes. Haynes reached into his back pocket, pulled out handcuffs. He motioned for Monica to stand up.

  "You're going to book her?" Sands said.

  "That's right. You can let me know if you change your mind," Novak said. Haynes snapped handcuffs onto Monica's wrists, led her to the door. Novak picked up the evidence on the table.

  "What's the bail?" Sands said.

  Novak moved to the door. He stopped. "The bail hasn't been set," he said.

  "I'll have you out as soon as the bail is set, hon," Sands said as Haynes led the frightened Monica past him and out the door.

  "I know what you're doing," Sands said.

  "You can ask around about me," Novak said. "I'm known as a man of my word. If you testify truthfully in front of a grand jury, Monica walks. That promise won't be written down in any report, nor will I ever admit to having made it. But it's exactly what will happen."

  "I don't know much about Parisi anyway."

  "Then why not take the stand and say just that?"

  "Because once I begin to testify you can get me for perjury. I know that game," Sands said.

  "Not if you're telling the truth."

  "The cemetery is full of federal snitches," Sands said.

  Novak shrugged. "And the penitentiary is full of prisoners," he said. Then he left.

  Eddie Sands, feeling clammy and slightly nauseated, watched through the window as the agents led Monica past a streetlight to a sedan. At the sink, he turned on the faucet, filled a glass with water. He drank, set the glass down on the countertop. In his memory he felt Monica's hands wrap around him from behind.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The next morning, Sands sat in Courtroom Three at the federal courthouse. At the defense table, Monica conferred in low tones with the on-duty federal public defender, a fragile-looking young man with a wispy beard and spectacles. Elliot sat at the prosecution table.

  There was the sound of a buzzer.

  A husky bailiff wearing a shiny blue sport coat with a U.S. marshal's badge affixed to the breast pocket stood up. "All rise." As those in the courtroom came to their feet, the chamber door opened. The judge, a well-groomed woman whom Sands remembered as a defense attorney trying cases at the county courthouse when he was with the police department, entered the courtroom.

  "This United States District Court is now in session," the bailiff said. "The Honorable Lorraine C. Traynor presiding. Please be seated."

  The judge took the bench. Sands sat down.

  Judge Traynor referred to some papers in front of her. "Case Number 95756, Monica Brown, for the setting of bail," Traynor said.

  The public defender stood up. "Lyman B. Kabekoff for the office of the public defender present as counsel
for the defendant Brown, your honor."

  "Good morning," Traynor said.

  The prosecutor stood up. "Ronald Elliot for the government, your honor."

  "Very well," she said without looking up from the papers in front of her. "The court has reviewed the financial statement prepared by the defendant, her arrest record, and an affidavit signed by FBI Agent..." She referred to the affidavit in front of her. "Uh ... Agent Novak," she said, "which reflects the probable cause for the arrest. Mr. Kabekoff, would you like to be heard?"

  Kabekoff rose. "Your honor, the recommendation of no bail in this case is not based on any facts which tend to show that this defendant will not make all of her required court appearances. I submit that the defendant is a longtime resident of this community and has never been convicted of a felony crime."

  Judge Traynor turned to Elliot. "Mr. Elliot."

  Elliot stood up. "Your honor, the government stands by the recommendation of no bail. This defendant is involved in a scheme to defraud the elderly and others of their life savings. She was the subject of an investigation concerning a similar crime six years ago and apparently has not changed her ways. The government considers her a danger to the community, and because of her obvious access to false identification, which she uses to perpetrate her schemes, she is a definite flight risk."

  Kabekoff asked to be heard again. Judge Traynor nodded.

  "Your honor, this is the same litany we always hear when the Organized Crime Strike Force appears at a bail hearing. This defendant is not a danger to anyone, and, in fact, has a history of making all her court appearances.

  Judge Traynor removed her eyeglasses. "Does the government have anything to add?"

  Elliot stood up. "This defendant uses various false identities, your honor ... business fronts, mail drops," he said.

  "Thank you, Mr. Elliot," she said. Elliot sat down, folded his hands.

  "Very well," she said. "The court finds that the government has not made a sufficient showing to prove this defendant a danger to the community. Thus, the government's recommendation of no bail is denied.... But it also finds that the defendant has access to false identification, is not regularly employed, and has an arrest record which reflects sophisticated fraud activity involving the use of counterfeit documents and business fronts. These factors lead the court to deem the defendant a potential flight risk. Therefore, a corporate surety bond is considered appropriate."