And De Fun Don't Done

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ he yelled.

  ‘Just keep an eye on those doors underneath. Make sure they don’t pop.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  Ricco shook his head grimly and stared ahead into the storm. ‘I’ll ride this out. Christ!’

  Les settled up against the doors beneath the cockpit and kept an eye on them and anything that looked like it might come loose as the full fury of the storm lashed the boat; it was even worse with Ricco belting the thing along as fast as he possible could. The only good thing was that Norton’s teeth were chattering and he enjoyed feeling freezing cold for a change. Laverne settled down opposite Les; from somewhere she’d found a white plastic jacket. Ricco was still lashed to the wheel in his designer T-shirt and shorts. Norton had to give it to him, he had balls and he handled the boat admirably under the circumstances; of course a bad result if you blow things, like getting shot or going to gaol, certainly gives you a bit of incentive. Although you could hardly see ten feet, Norton looked up at the pitch black sky and hoped the bloke upstairs wasn’t that dirty on him to leave him floating in the murky warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

  Ricco made it to the Main Pass as the flash storm continued. Although the thunder and lightning was just as horrendous as ever and he was cold and soaked to the skin, Les felt a noticeable sense of relief. They turned left and seemed to be heading north towards downtown; although visibility was still atrocious Les thought he could make out some tall buildings in the gloomy distance. Ricco slowed the boat down. There were no other boats around and certainly no sign of either the plane or the helicopter. You could bet they’d be halfway to Louisiana by now. Norton decided to get to his feet and see what Ricco was up to now. Ricco still had his eyes peeled across the rain-lashed water then he switched on some sort of a scanner in front of the wheel. It looked like a spider’s web of white lights and one bright red dot. Les noticed Ricco smile as he picked up the red dot and turned the boat in the direction it was showing up on the scanner. They went about two miles and Ricco began slowing down the boat some more. The light on the scanner got stronger and despite the wind and rain still howling around them Ricco managed to bring the boat to almost dead slow and keep it steady on course.

  ‘Hey Laverne,’ he yelled. ‘Get your ass up here and take the wheel.’

  Laverne was on her feet now also. ‘I’m there, Ricco. I’m there.’

  ‘And keep it steady. Dead steady.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Laverne took over the wheel, Ricco grabbed a boat hook and stood on the right hand side of the boat, one hand on the rail, the other holding the boat hook as the wind threatened to blow him overboard.

  Les thought for a second then walked unsteadily over to him. ‘You need a hand?’

  Ricco looked at Les impassively for a moment then nodded his head. ‘Yeah. Get ready to open those two doors for me.’

  ‘Righto.’

  Les got ready next to the two doors beneath the cockpit. A minute or so later Laverne yelled out to Ricco. He reached over the side with the boat hook and dragged in a thick, green, canvas bag; flotation rings were attached to the side and there was a waterproof red light blinking on top. It was about a metre and a half long by about a metre square. Ricco hit a switch and the light stopped blinking. As soon as he did that, he slung it to Les who had the doors open, Les slung it straight inside and quickly locked them again. Laverne handed the wheel over to Ricco, who wheeled the boat straight around in the direction of the marina and motored along with the storm now running behind them. Les heard Ricco laugh and saw him rough up Laverne’s rain-splattered hair in a friendly fashion. He sensed Les watching him, turned around with a grin on his face and winked.

  With the storm running behind them it was much smoother now. They travelled on, not going too fast, then of all things the storm seemed to disappear as quickly as it came up. The further they went the calmer it got till eventually the wind died away completely, the water in the keys glassed over and the sun came out again. Next thing Norton was almost sweating. He was about to say something to Ricco when three dolphins began circling the boat. Ricco was travelling at the speed limit of eight mph and one came right up alongside the boat, so close that Laverne was able to reach over and pat it as it ‘whooshed’ air and water up at them. Laverne squealed with delight, even Ricco laughed and Norton laughed too as he looked straight down the dolphin’s mouth at its big pink tongue, its row of tiny white teeth and the pink fleshy mouth almost like a duck’s bill. If Les wasn’t mistaken, the way the dolphin had its mouth open and the look in its eye it was almost as if it was laughing back at them. Then the dolphin joined the other two and they started leaping up and down in the calm waters, almost as if they were putting on a display especially for the visitors. This went on for a while till a motor cruiser went past, going faster than it should, and they moved off further up the key.

  There was an all-round sense of relief in the boat now. Not only had Ricco retrieved whatever was in the bag, but they’d come home safely through the eye of a violent mini-cyclone and in a sense were lucky to be alive. Les had half an idea what was in the bag and was entitled to start calling Ricco a bit of a dropkick for getting him involved. But right now he was happy to be heading back to dry land and into some dry clothes. So for the time being Norton opened the ice-box and proposed a toast to both Ricco’s seamanship and the dolphins. This was readily accepted and from there it was a merry drink all the way back to the marina. There was no sign of cops or anything, no helicopters, no one at all really. Ricco berthed the boat, Les and Laverne moored it and they proceeded to get off.

  ‘What would you like me to carry, Ricco?’ asked Les, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. ‘The canvas bag with the light or the ice-box?’

  Ricco kind of smiled. ‘You can bring the ice-box.’

  ‘Aye-aye, skipper.’

  Although the coast appeared clear it barely took five minutes to have everything off the boat and into the boot of the Mercedes, including the green canvas bag. Norton figured it was going to be a fairly quick getaway because Ricco didn’t bother to comb his hair, neither did Laverne. Ricco dropped the boat’s keys in at the office and they drove off.

  They didn’t appear to be heading back towards the highway, instead Ricco went left at the marina back along the water’s edge. The road was fairly narrow but the houses, set among trees and landscaped estates on either side, were impressive, especially the ones overlooking the ocean. Every now and again they’d splash through huge puddles of water, so the flash storm must have dumped plenty of rain on this part of town too as it passed over. Ricco and Laverne weren’t saying a great deal, though they certainly seemed happy enough about something. Norton had a fair idea what and he was going to have to say something or Ricco would think he was a complete and utter goose. He was also going to have to be a little diplomatic and give Ricco an out. Les thought for a moment before catching the Mafia man’s eye in the rear vision mirror.

  ‘Okay, Ricco. I think we’d better get something straight between us, and don’t bullshit me, either. The least you could have done was told me you went out there to do a bloody dope deal. Thanks a lot — mate.’

  ‘Hey,’ Ricco sounded genuinely offended. ‘What are you talking about? Dope deal?’

  ‘Well, what are you going to tell me’s in that bag? Your bloody laundry?’

  Ricco and Laverne looked at each other and it was all they could do to stop from bursting out laughing. ‘Well, in a way, Les, you could say that. Yeah, you could say that.’

  Now it was Norton’s turn to look and act offended. ‘Anyway, whatever it is, it’s none of my business. So don’t worry about it. But next time, just bloody tell me — alright?’

  Ricco had to concede that Les had a point. Les also hadn’t panicked and he’d done the right thing. ‘Hey, Les, don’t sweat it. Things just went a big wrong, that’s all. I’m sorry. But I said I’d take you boating. And I got you back alive, didn’t I?’

  �
�Yeah,’ nodded Les. ‘You’re a regular Indiana Jones. So where are we going now?’

  ‘Round to my buddie Angelo’s house. I gotta call in for a moment.’

  And odd look flashed across Laverne’s eyes when Ricco mentioned his buddie Angelo. ‘Angelo?’ inquired Les.

  ‘Yeah. Angelo Licavoli. You heard of him in Australia?’

  Les looked at Ricco for a second then turned to the window. Yeah. Just a bloody bit. If it was who Les was thinking of, he’d been on the news just about every night for the last two weeks before Les left Australia. Angelo ‘Big Lick’ Licavoli. He was the biggest Mafia Godfather in New York and controlled everything. They also called him the ‘Teflon Don’ because the cops could never make anything stick to him. But now the FBI had him on conspiracy, tax evasion and a whole host of other charges, mainly through an informant taking witness protection, and this time it looked like they had him. This was his last appeal and if he lost he’d get thirty years to life. The media had turned the trial into a bit of a circus because his daughter kept bobbing up on TV to say what a great man her father was and how all the cops were ‘nuttin’ but doity finks’. Plus all the people in Licavoli’s neighbourhood were rioting outside the courthouse, turning over cars and punching up TV cameramen and journalists, etc.

  Les turned back to the rear-vision mirror. ‘No. I never heard of him.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would,’ replied Ricco.

  Ricco didn’t bother to turn the radio on so they drove, not quite in air-conditioned silence, because Ricco was happy enough rabbiting on to Laverne about what a good skipper and how clever he was; Laverne agreed wholeheartedly. Les got sick of the air-conditioning again, flicked the power button and wound his passenger side window down behind Ricco. They were driving right along the water’s edge now, Les could quite clearly see the Keys through the now very lavish houses. Then Ricco slowed the car right down as they approached a monster on their left. It seemed to take up an entire block and looked almost like a Spanish fortress painted green on white. There were brick arches and parapets all over the mansion built up over a surrounding ten foot brick wall that looked thick enough to stop a tank. Every ten feet along the wall was a TV security monitor and although it was completely walled off Les noticed a private jetty with a monstrous white cruiser moored to it out the back. Ricco pulled up in a driveway set off the road in front of two massive wooden and iron gates. He reached out his window and pushed a button on an intercom set in the wall.

  ‘Yeah?’ a throaty voice crackled over the intercom.

  ‘Is that you, Tony? It’s Ricco.’

  ‘No it’s Frankie. Stay there, Ricco. I’ll be right out.’

  Ricco looked at Laverne for a moment, then got out of the car and leant against the front. Les seemed to sense another odd vibe in the air, so he sat back, not looking at Ricco, not saying anything, but keeping his wits about him. A smaller door set in the massive double gate opened and out stepped a man in a white shirt and slacks smoking a cigar. He looked like a shorter, stockier version of Vinnie. He didn’t say anything to Laverne and he didn’t seem to notice Les in the back seat. Whoever it was had a worried look on his face that was more than just worry and, looking at him, Les somehow figured the guy wasn’t all that bright.

  ‘Hey, Frankie,’ said Ricco. ‘What’s the matter? You look like shit. Where’s Tony?’

  Frankie squinted his piggy eyes at Ricco. ‘What are you talkin’ I look like shit? Ain’t you heard?’

  ‘Heard? What the fuck would I hear? I been out the fucking gulf in a hurricane half the fucking day.’

  ‘Ohh yeah, I didn’t think for a minute.’ Frankie’s face dropped further. ‘Angelo went down. That sonofabitch judge gave him thirty years.’

  Ricco was speechless. Laverne gave a double, triple blink. Norton made out he didn’t hear anything, but the big Queenslander’s hearing was good at any time and after sitting next to two pounding Evinrudes coming through a storm, he was now picking everything up crystal clear.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ exclaimed Ricco. ‘Thirty fucking years. You’re bullshitting me.’

  ‘I wish to Christ I was,’ replied Frankie. ‘Tony flew out to New York before lunch with Henry. Anyway where’s…?’

  Ricco seemed to hesitate for a moment but Norton could sense his brain tap-dancing at about a hundred miles an hour. ‘Well that’s what I was about to tell you. We got fucked over too. A coastguard helicopter arrived so the plane kept going. Then that fucking storm hit us like you wouldn’t fucking believe. I managed to get back and I been searching up and down the Keys for hours. Look at me. I’m half drowned already.’

  ‘You don’t mean…?’

  ‘Yeah. It wasn’t there. The fucking coastguard then the fucking storm fucked everything up.’

  ‘Oh Christ!’ Frankie threw his hands up in the air. ‘That’s all we fucking need on top of that other shit.’

  ‘Hey!’ Ricco looked helpless. ‘What the fuck could I do?’

  Frankie took a heavy puff on his cigar. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Anyway you’d better split.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll call Tony in New York and give him the rest of the bad news. Shit! That’s bad, really bad about Angelo.’

  ‘Yeah. Everything seems to fuck up at once, don’t it? Okay. I’ll see you, Ricco.’

  Frankie disappeared back through the door, Ricco got back in the car and looked at Laverne who was staring back at him. Then they drove off. Les just looked out the window like he was miles away, before catching Ricco’s eye again in the rear-vision mirror.

  ‘So where to now, Ricco?’

  ‘Huh? Oh yeah, right. I’ll take you straight home, Les. I got a few things I got to take care of.’

  ‘Suits me,’ answered Norton nonchalantly. ‘I’m dying to get out of this wet gear.’

  Not a great deal was said on the ride home. Ricco put the radio on this time but seemed to be driving a lot more carefully than before, obeying all the traffic laws, though at times he looked like he was going to lay an egg. Laverne looked at him every now and again as if she was getting ready to lay it for him. Norton kept his thoughts to himself. However, he did thank Ricco for the ride in the boat, made a comment about how nice his buddie Angelo’s house looked and half pie apologised for blowing up a bit earlier. Ricco said that was okay and to make sure he came down the coffee shop at lunchtime tomorrow. Trying his best to sound enthusiastic, Norton reluctantly agreed. Before long they were at the condo.

  ‘Okay Ricco. Thanks for the day,’ said Les, closing the car door behind him. ‘I’ll see you around twelve tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah. See you then.’ Ricco was fairly abrupt at the best of times. This time he was starting to reverse the car as he spoke.

  ‘Goodbye, Les.’ Laverne pressed the automatic switch, the window hissed back up and they were gone.

  Back inside the condo Les got out of his wet clothes and had a shower, then, with a towel still around him, got a Corona from the fridge and sat on the lounge drinking it steadily while he had a think. You didn’t need to be a Rhodes scholar to work out what was going on.

  Ricco had gone out in the gulf to pick up a bag full of mob money, probably to pay wages and bribes or do deals with back in America. It could have been laundered money or it could originally have been counterfeit to be exchanged overseas for the real thing. The plane had pontoons on the bottom so normally it would have been a smooth transaction and Les, the dumb Australian tagging along, would have been fed some bullshit and expected to be none the wiser. Plus Ricco and Vinnie considered him a fairly cool-headed guy, who’d keep his mouth shut anyway. This time round though the coastguard had got onto the plane — it was more than likely just a routine patrol — and picked it up, because there was no back up. On top of that, the storm came up out of nowhere. They would have had some sort of contingency plan or code in case the plane couldn’t land because of rough seas or such. They wouldn’t use a radio so the code was more than likely the pilot waggling his wings twice as he went
over. The pilot, knowing the helicopter couldn’t stick around in a storm like that, dumped the bag with the homing beacon on it in the Keys, fairly confident Ricco would be able to find it, then kept the helicopter on his tail. When and if they did pull the plane over or land next to it the pilot would say he was just running from the storm. With visibility as bad as it was and the distance between the plane and the helicopter, the coastguard wouldn’t have seen the pilot throw anything over, so when they searched the plane what would they find? I understand your concern, officers, but are you sure you’ve got the right person? Les swallowed more beer. Ricco, being on the ball as well as having some, and despite the mini-hurricane, had found the bag then delivered it as usual like a good little mafioso. But when he’d found out the Godfather in New York was in the slam he had taken advantage of the situation, the storm, the confusion in the mob, half of them out of town, and clouted on the loot. And who would dispute him? Frankie? Frankie would probably think Levi jeans was a Jewish folk singer. He looked like pure muscle and nothing else, plus he’d witnessed the storm and seen Ricco arrive half drowned. Ricco would ring Tony, or whoever it was in New York he was supposed to deliver the money to, tell him what happened then say he went out again in the afternoon and he’d have another look all day tomorrow. But the dough’s gone. Arrivederci denaro. It would be the first time it had happened, plus Ricco already had money so he could splash some more around if he wanted to and still cover his shifty arse without attracting any attention. Then one fine day he and Laverne could just go and do their thing anywhere in the world and live happily ever after. How much was in the bag? Les shook his head. Millions — at least. But stealing money from the mob? Les swallowed some more beer, shook his head again and reflected into the bottle. He’d heard, and seen, enough things with the mini versions of the mob back in Australia. No, Ricco. I’m glad it’s you and not me, old son. Maybe it was a good thing that bloody storm did come up. When I think back about some of the things Lori baby said, and didn’t say, you can bet he’s under some sort of surveillance. And I’ve got to go and have a cup of coffee with him tomorrow. Oh well. It’s only for an hour or so. Christ! I hope he doesn’t still want to go out for dinner tomorrow night.