by Greg Enslen
Tony walked into the room where Vincent and the other men were working. He stood for a moment and then spoke up.
“How are we doing?” Tony asked Vincent, smiling nervously as he eyed the men arrayed around the room.
Vincent looked up at him from the table—they were in one of the larger rooms of the warehouse at the casino boat dock, using the secure location as a temporary processing room where they would prepare the cocaine for distribution. There were seven other men in the room setting up tables and packaging materials and stacking bags and baggies at several stations. Two men were in charge of setting up twenty scales, zeroing them out and getting them ready to measure the coke for bagging.
Next to each station were two large bags of dextrose powder, a white sugar substance made from cornstarch that would be carefully measured into the coke to cut the intensity and increase the yield. It was an old-school ingredient—most modern operations used baking soda because it was cheaper. Some used amphetamine sulfate or talcum powder or even powdered vitamin B-12, which lent the coke a faint pink color.
“Good,” Vincent said, pointing at the tables. “We’re set up, and the car is ready.” There was a large open area in the middle of the room next to the garage doors where they would unload Vincent’s car.
Tony nodded, looking around. “Do you want to count the money again?”
Vincent shook his head. “No, brother. You’ve counted it twice, right?” He could see the sweat on Tony’s brow. “You nervous?”
Tony nodded again. “Incredibly,” he said quietly, looking around to see if any of the other men were within earshot. “This has to go well.” It was 3 p.m., less than two hours from the buy.
“I know,” Vincent said. “Go for a walk or something, okay? Work out the kinks. Things will go fine, and we’ll have the stuff in here in no time, processing it. And then you’ll have a lot more money to count.”
Tony nodded, taking the hint and heading outside.
He came out of Warehouse Two, which sat next to the large parking lot that would service the new riverboat. The boat was nearly finished. Visiting the Princess Margaret always made him feel better, more relaxed, and he strolled in that direction.
Tony was proud of the Pier 32 dock and its facilities—he’d grown them from a stretch of broken-down industrial buildings that had sat abandoned for decades on the waterfront into what it was today. It had been a lot of work, negotiating with the locals and bringing in his own contractors and keeping the security level high enough to permanently discourage petty criminals and the like from trying to steal from the facility. He’d lost a few cars and some equipment before the large fence, topped with barbed wire, had been completed. That fence, along with the massive lights, kept the criminals away. Or the other criminals, Tony thought, smiling.
Directly across the wide expanse of the Mississippi River stood the glittering buildings of the St. Louis skyline. Tony loved the view from here.
Tony Luciano’s first gambling riverboat, the Princess Anne, was just shutting down business for the day—Saturdays were very lucrative, and he hated to be closing early on a Saturday evening, but having the buy at the warehouses made sense—it was the most secure location they controlled. It was announced that the Anne was closing early tonight to hold a large private party and boat cruise—Tony had decided that if he were going to have to close the ship, he’d make it a publicity opportunity.
He watched as the last of the paying customers left the parking lots and headed home. Tony had given the staff of the Anne the evening off, even the cleaning staff. They all thought he had staffed the private party with an outside catering service. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
The second riverboat, the Princess Margaret, was docked a hundred feet downriver next to the new gangplank building, which would provide easy access and funnel guests onto the ship. The Anne used a simple walkway up and onto the boat, and they’d had to fish a few drunken customers out of the shallow river after they had stumbled off and fallen between the boat and the loading dock.
The simulated smokestacks for the Princess Margaret stood at the dock, right next to the boat—they were to be lifted into place by large cranes next week, capping off the last of the exterior construction. Tony strolled over to the temporary gangway that led over the shallow river and onto the Margaret.
The interiors were not nearly as close to completion as the exterior—there were bare studs where the last walls needed to be installed. In the finished areas, poker tables and roulette tables were in place, and most of the carpet was down, but some of the areas, like the restaurant and upstairs lounge, were still several weeks from completion.
He walked through the boat, checking the facilities, liking what he saw. Tony was sure the Margaret would be a huge moneymaker, but it was also simply beautiful. Tony hoped the Princess Margaret would turn things around for them—his family would be able to get away from the cocaine business. It was distasteful, something that he’d hoped to avoid, but Vincent had told him over and over about the vast amounts of money they would be able to make.
If this worked, Tony would have all the money he needed to finish the Margaret, and then he’d talk to Vincent, give him the good news. After a lot of thought, Tony had decided to allow Vincent to run that side of the familia, separating the drug side from the areas Tony was more interested in—the gambling boats, the clubs, and the other entertainment-related businesses. It was smart to compartmentalize the business anyway, and Vincent seemed born to do what he was doing right now—setting up drug buys and pressuring existing distributors out of business.
He headed up the stairs to the top deck of the Margaret. This would eventually be an outside dining and dancing area, and on one end of the top deck was a small bandstand. When he’d worked with a designer to lay out the boat, Tony had immediately seen the possibilities of a rooftop dance area—his customers would drink and dance their nights away while enjoying a stunning view of downtown St. Louis across the river.
That was the kind of business he enjoyed doing—making money while bringing people something they liked.
He walked to one end of the boat and looked over the edge, where it was tied up with two large ropes. The boat would have operating engines and be able to move up and down the river—Tony planned to offer daily cruises down to Louisville or up the river to Hannibal, Missouri. But for now, the ropes and a series of large underwater supports kept the riverboat in place. When the dock area was complete, the underwater supports would be adjusted to hold the boat more tightly, reducing the boat’s movement, and then released when it was time to take the boat out onto the open water.
Near the back of the Margaret, secured to the top deck, was a small emergency motorboat that could be lowered into the water by a winch. A small emergency craft was required by law on any ship as large as the Margaret for passenger evacuation, in the unlikely event the riverboat would founder.
Tony had it stowed up here on the back of the top deck, behind the bridge and out of the way. The motorboat could also be used for quick jaunts to and from shore without docking the Margaret, or to visit areas on shore that didn’t have a riverboat dock.
He headed back down into the riverboat, weaving back and forth inside the main casino areas and walking down the gangplank to the dock.
Directly in front of him was the brand-new large parking lot that would serve the Margaret—in some places, the paint and concrete were barely dry. On his left was the smaller current parking structure. On his right were Warehouses One and Two—One was the staging area for all the interior construction on the Margaret, and Warehouse Two held the riverboat offices and the new processing area for the drugs.
Tony’s walk had made him feel better—if they could pull this off, he could use the money to finish construction of the Margaret and begin the process of distancing himself from the new and very lucrative illegal activities Vincent had planned for the familia.
A glance at his watch told him that D.W. woul
d arrive in less than an hour. Tony walked back toward the entrance to Warehouse Two, hoping that all the preparations were finished.
Chapter 47
Gary was depressed.
He looked over at Mike sitting on the other bed, watching TV. It was getting later and later in the day and he didn’t have a clue where to go from here.
They’d gone out this morning with such high hopes, but nothing had come of it—the incident at Wood Bakery had sent Gary on his way to discovering more about his past, and the visit to the psychiatrist had helped. The drive to her home had been the ultimate anticlimax—he’d been all keyed up to see her, preparing his mind for the shock of it, and there had been no one home. The headaches had come and gone and come again, all day long.
They’d left and driven around for a while, directionless, and then come back to the motel for a late lunch.
Gary had no idea what to do next. All he wanted to do was sleep and try to forget everything. Even though he was sitting perfectly still in the chair, looking out the window, his mind was racing—he was still thinking about that odd burnt fragment of what, to him, looked like a painting of Point Vincenté.
After they’d left her house, he’d had Mike drive around for the past couple of hours, looking for anything that triggered a memory, but nothing had come. There were new memories, and places he’d remembered, but nothing gave any clue what to do next.
“Well?” Mike asked, shutting off the TV and looking over at Gary.
Gary set the tarot cards down—he’d been endlessly shuffling and shuffling them, laying them out on the small table by the window. They had afforded no insight, either.
He looked over at Mike.
“I don’t know,” Gary said. “This isn’t...I’m not getting answers, and it’s getting more and more frustrating. I don’t know what to do next, or where to go.”
Mike nodded. “I know you’re frustrated. Maybe you need to relax for a few hours and stop trying so hard to remember.”
Gary nodded. That sounded good to him.
“You want to go to that ‘Mayfest’ thing?” Mike asked, suddenly inspired. “I’ve seen posters for it all over town—it’s going on all weekend. It sounds like fun.”
“It is fun—it’s O’Fallon’s claim to fame. Every year it’s a big deal, and just about the only time you can ride a carnival ride. Actually, you might be right,” Gary said, relaxing already. “That might be fun.”
Chapter 48
D.W. pulled up in his car at precisely 6:00 p.m.
Tony loved punctuality. He walked over with Vincent and greeted D.W. warmly—he might find the whole business distasteful, but Tony was smart enough to see a money-making venture through. A quick glance around told him they were alone, except for the Lucianos’ eight security guards patrolling the perimeter of the parking area. D.W. had, evidently, trusted the Lucianos enough to not bring along his own security, only one associate, who climbed from the car and followed D.W. at a respectful distance.
“Thank you for seeing us.”
D.W., nodded, smiling. “You are good for business, my friends. This is one of the largest purchases anyone has ever made from us—it was very exciting, getting this order from you. I have to say that we are surprised things are going so well for you, and so quickly. I hope we will be able to do this type of business in the future.”
Tony nodded and glanced at Vincent, seeing the smile on his face. Vincent’s part of the family business was booming—Tony could see he was practically drooling at the idea of how much money would be made from tonight’s shipment.
“We’re glad you could provide us with such a valuable service,” Tony answered. “Do you want to begin?”
D.W. smiled and nodded. “Yes. The product is in the trunk.”
They walked over together and D.W. nodded at his associate, who popped open the trunk of the shiny Volvo as the two brothers and D.W. walked up.
The trunk was stuffed full of cocaine.
Every corner of the Volvo’s trunk had been stuffed with bags of the white powder, stacked on top of each other like small sandbags.
Tony shook his head—it was almost impossible to believe.
Vincent took one long, admiring look at the piles of bags in the trunk of the Volvo and left to go get his car. So far, no one had mentioned that all of the buildings and parking lots around were part of the Luciano complex, and Tony thought it better not to mention that fact. D.W. surely knew some aspects of their operation, but they didn’t want him to know any more than necessary. Too much information could become a valuable commodity for D.W.
Vincent’s Mustang rumbled up next to D.W.’s Volvo, and Vincent climbed out and walked over carrying a large duffel bag from the Mustang’s front seat.
He handed it to D.W.
“One and a half million dollars,” Vincent said quietly.
D.W. smiled and handed the bag to his associate, who knelt down to the asphalt, opened the bag, and began confirming the contents.
D.W. looked at Tony. “Do I need to be worried about what’s in that bag?” he asked, carefully studying Tony’s face. Tony knew that this could still all go very badly, and surely D.W. knew that it paid to be cautious.
“No. There’s nothing in there except for your money. I counted it myself, twice.” Tony shared, and then, seeing the look on D.W.’s face, continued. “But if you prefer, I can have my brother ride with you until you’re out of the city. If that makes you feel more comfortable.”
Vincent eyed Tony strangely, and Tony knew why—this had not been part of what they had discussed.
D.W. shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Just your offer assures me there will be no trouble.” D.W. nodded at his associate, and he and Vincent began transferring the bags of coke from the Volvo to the Mustang. When the job was finally done, Vincent joined Tony, nodding.
Tony smiled. He’d been worried that something might go wrong, but now the deal was done. He turned to D.W. and put out his hand to shake. That was when the first shot rang out.
Vincent dove behind his Mustang, pulling out a handgun. Tony and D.W.’s reflexes were a little slower—Tony dove behind the Volvo, but the coke distributor spun and fell hard to the ground next to him. A gaping, bloody hole took up what had been, only a moment before, the entire right side of his head.
“Who is it?” Tony shouted at his brother as full automatic fire plowed into the passenger sides of both cars.
“Must be Shotgun’s boys,” Vincent shouted. “I thought we got all of them!”
Tony looked around, trying to assess the situation. Logical, calm action—that was what he needed, not panic.
“They’re on top of the parking structure,” Vincent shouted. “We’ve got to get to cover—come on!” Vincent stood suddenly, slamming the trunk of the Mustang. He ran past the Volvo, and as Vincent went by he bent and grabbed the duffel bag of money, then raced toward the warehouse, shouting at Tony to follow him.
D.W.’s associate yelped and took off after Vincent, leaving Tony unarmed and alone in a hail of gunfire.
Tony peeked over the edge of the Volvo when the gunfire ceased for a moment. On the top level he could see several men with automatic weapons, and he knew Vincent was right. It made sense for Shotgun or whatever was left of his crew to hit them now, right in the middle of the buy. If they played it right and killed everyone, Shotgun and his guys could get away with over three million dollars in cash and high-quality cocaine.
Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, as they said, but Tony could have kicked himself for not increasing security more—he thought eight would be enough, but he hadn’t thought to station people on the roofs of nearby buildings. He saw several of his security guards running toward the four-story parking structure.
As Tony watched his brother try to make it to the warehouse, a hail of automatic gunfire sparked off the parking lot around Vincent and D.W.’s associate. Vincent and the other man dove behind a car. The associate tried to return fire, but Vincent sudde
nly changed tactics, bolting away from the warehouses, running to the unfinished Princess Margaret, docked at the waterfront fifty feet away.
Tony heard the strange bark of a completely different type of gun and saw D.W.’s associate crumple to the ground. The gun didn’t sound like any of the other automatic weapons, and the range and accuracy were too precise. It had to be a long-range rifle with a scope.
Which meant Tony and his brother were next.
Chapter 49
Mike was starting to really like this place.
Gary was moping around like a zombie, and Mike couldn’t figure out what to do to get him out of his funk except to set an example. Maybe if Mike had a good time, he could distract Gary from his memories.
A loud, buzzing fair should be able to get anyone out of a funk.
The O’Fallon Mayfest was like something out of a movie—it was exactly what Mike would have described if he’d been asked to imagine a small-town fair in a Midwestern town. There were cotton candy vendors and bumper cars and a Ferris wheel.
Gary was sitting on a bench nearby, absently eating a snow cone and watching the crowds—Mike got the impression Gary was worried that someone at the Mayfest might recognize him. Of course, it was so dark and busy that Mike didn’t think anyone would notice him, but he kept his opinion to himself. At this point, Mike just wanted Gary to relax a little bit and let his hair down. Arguing with him wouldn’t help.
“Crazy, huh?” a voice asked Mike—he’d been staring up at the Pirate Boat, a ride he’d heard about but never actually seen in real life.
He turned to look at her—she was young woman with long brown hair and even longer legs. Mike smiled.
“Yeah, I’ve never seen one in real life,” he said.
She looked up at the Pirate Boat and he noticed the curve of her neck—she was amazing. “The Pirate Boat?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve seen them in movies. And I’ve had a funnel cake before, but what is that thing?” he said, pointing at her plate. She was holding something that looked like a folded-up pancake with powdered sugar.