Two Jakes

by Lawrence de Maria

  CHAPTER 43 – EPTATRETUS STOUTI

  “What the hell was it?”

  Scarne had been both fascinated and horrified by the story the homicide detective told him. He took out the pack of cigarettes and walked over to the bookshelf in the corner nearest him. There was a small ashtray on the top shelf. He put it on the table and then offered the pack around.

  Valledolmo said, “Isn’t that illegal in this city?”

  “A local law. Another jurisdictional problem for you boys.”

  “Screw that,” Sealth said, looking at the pack like it was a life preserver. “Gimme one of those. Every time I think of that slimy thing, I need a smoke.”

  After lighting up, Scarne threw him the pack and the lighter and slid the ashtray between them. Sealth greedily pulled a cigarette, lit it and took a deep drag. The two Feds looked at each other but didn’t say anything. Scarne assumed they started each day with a run around Manhattan.

  “It was a hagfish,” Sealth said. “Eptatretus stouti, the scientists call it,” Sealth said, smoke hissing between his teeth. “I’d never heard of it in Latin or in English. But after it popped out of Maria Brutti I became the department expert on the fuckers. They’re like eels, but without the personality. You heard of lampreys, those things that killed all the trout and salmon in the Great Lakes? Attach themselves to the outside of a fish and suck out blood and other fluids. Leave terrible circular scars on what they don’t kill. Kissin’ cousins of the hagfish, but much more lovable. Everybody I talked to about hagfish looked like they wanted to throw up. Did you know they have five hearts, no eyes and no stomach? They work from the inside, slithering into dead fish and sea mammals on the ocean floor and then eat their way out. They can pump out a quart of slime in less than a minute.”

  Sealth took a long drag.

  “They’re a big delicacy in North Korea, which is all you have to know about North Korea. Fisherman run into them every now and then when they pull up their nets. And there have been rare cases of them being found in human corpses pulled from deep water after a ship or sub goes down. But we had the first recorded case of a hagfish found in a dead Mafia princess. I think it’ll probably stand for a long time.”

  “Why was it still alive?” Scarne dreaded asking the next question. “And how did it get in her?”

  “Probably by accident. Maria Brutti was killed only a couple of hours before the viewing at the morgue. Ice pick through her pump. Then she was covered by hundreds of iced fresh fish leaking seawater. I spoke to a guy at the Seattle aquarium. He said hagfish can live quite some time inside a dead body before running out of nutrients and oxygen. Said human blood is a lot like seawater. This one did quite a bit of damage to her internal organs. Probably thrashed around looking for a way out. It didn’t come out the way it went in.”

  “My God,” Scarne said. His jelly donut didn’t look quite so appetizing. “Her brother must have gone crazy seeing that.”

  “We all went a little nuts. It took my partner and three lab techs to control Brutti. Dispatch got so many calls they sent a S.W.A.T. team for Crissakes! Somebody had seen Alien once too often. Although I got to admit the thought did cross my mind. Brutti went completely off the reservation. Nobody, and I mean nobody, fucked with Carlo Brutti, inside or outside the family. He was not just muscle. He was sharp enough to realize that his family was facing a lot of competition from the Hispanics, Russians and even the Viets. Because of him, the Eye-tals made some shrewd deals. Some of the other crime kings value them for their financial expertise. There is a lot of revenue sharing.”

  “That fits with what we heard,” Valledolmo said. “A confidential informant told us Victor Ballantrae became the banker for the Ukrainians based on a recommendation from the Bruttis. Carlo may even have handled the transfer of hot funds out of the country.”

  Sealth automatically reached for his coffee cup, which had been empty for some time. Scarne went to get the pot but the cop waived him off.

  “Forget it. I don’t need anymore caffeine. I’ve had about 20 cups since midnight. I’d probably have a cardiac.” He grabbed another cigarette instead. “Brutti loved his sister, who by all accounts was a nice lady. He wasn’t married; she was always trying to fix him up. They were very close. When that damn fish came out of the girl, he went right after the Ukrainians.”

  “I thought they were in business together. Why would he assume they killed his sister?”

  “The body was found in a building owned by Andriy Boyko, the Uke warlord,” Casey said. “The relationship between Brutti and the Ukrainians had been going sour. Our C.I. told us that for some reason the Ukes couldn’t access their funds in Ballantrae’s bank. He kept stalling them. They apparently suspected that Carlo double-crossed them. Boyko went to old man Brutti about it and that pissed Carlo off. He prided himself in always keeping his word. In fact, in his circles he did have a reputation as a straight shooter, or straight-stabber, if you will. He lost his temper at a meet and told Boyko to go fuck himself. Boyko took umbrage.”

  “Still, you don’t go after family.”

  “You’ve seen The Godfather too many times,” Sealth said. “We’re talking Ukrainians here. But, you’re right. I can’t see Boyko stepping over that line. Not to mention keeping a body in a fish cooler in his warehouse. He’s actually become a real businessman.”

  Valledolmo slid another photo over to Scarne.

  “When he has to, Andriy can dress up. Favors three-piece suits. Looks like he could fit in at a bank board meeting, don’t he?”

  Another shot taken outside a courthouse.

  “Don’t you read the papers,” Sealth said. “He’d fit in perfectly at a bank board meeting. They’re fucking thieves.”

  “Brutti wasn’t thinking straight after the morgue fiasco,” Valledolmo said. “He went right after Boyko. Sliced and diced one of his lieutenants in the warehouse where Brutti’s sister was found. That’s when he probably found out that Boyko didn’t kill her.”

  “How?”

  Valledolmo sighed.

  “Would you believe the Boyko lieutenant Brutti killed was our informant! Took us years to get him that high in the organization. He’d told us Boyko had nothing to do with Maria Brutti’s murder and he undoubtedly also told Carlo.”

  “I don’t want to burst your Federal bubble,” Sealth said, “but your man’s days were probably numbered anyway. When I spoke to Boyko I got the distinct impression he wasn’t too devastated by the guy’s death. I think he wondered what he was doing in the warehouse to begin with.”

  “There a huge difference between having your days numbered and having the M.E. numbering your body parts,” Casey noted. “The poor bastard was probably snooping through Boyko’s office when Carlo found him.”

  Valledolmo slid another photo over to Scarne. It was a crime scene shot of what was probably a body on a table. It was hard to tell. It could have been a salmon spread at a buffet.

  “Not much you wouldn’t say when you’re being turned into laboratory slides. Our informant would have also told him that Garza was in town.”

  “Garza killed the sister,” Scarne said, without hesitation

  “Yeah, that’s what we think,” Casey said. “Both sides knew him. In addition to his other duties, he was the go-between and bagman for Ballantrae and knew his way around both operations. He’d even been to the warehouse before. Our C.I. said he showed up unexpectedly and acted like he wanted to mediate the dispute between the two mobs but we think he was really sent out to start a war between them, maybe to buy time for Ballantrae. We figure that when Brutti found out Boyko didn’t kill his sister, he put two and two together. He headed East to settle scores.”

  “Then it was Brutti who was the sniper at the pool,” Scarne said. “He was after Garza.”

  “He was probably after anyone he could get,” Casey said. “After missing his chance in Miami, he must have tailed you and Loeb to Antigua. He wasn’t thinking straight. Making it up as he went along. Didn’t even have
time to arrange for a gun in Antigua. Lucky for you and Loeb.”

  “Listen, Jake, I think you’ll agree we’ve been forthcoming with you,” Valledolmo said, pulling out a notebook. “We did check you out. Your friend the Commissioner said we could level with you, and we have. Now we need your help. Our informant is dead, Brutti is dead. The West Coast families have clammed up. Ballantrae’s offshore assets are well hidden behind a phalanx of lawyers and some bought-and-paid-for American Senators and Congressmen. What can you tell us?”

  ***

  For the next hour, Scarne told them about the initial contact by Sheldon Shields and the blond-haired man in the church in New York. (The three cops looked at each other, and Casey mouthed “Keitel.”) He told them about the Miami M.E.’s suspicions about the death of Josh Shields and his talk with the editor of Josh’s paper in Miami. He told them about Josh’s relationship with the intern at Offshore Confidential and their shared suspicions.

  “I went to one of Sink’s conferences,” Valledolmo said.

  He again went over the pool shooting and the trip to Antigua, and the fight with Brutti. He told them about the cloning of his cell phone. His burgled apartment. When he told them about the death of Sheldon Shields in the subway, they just stared at him.

  “Keitel was in New York when Sheldon died,” Scarne said.

  “Son of a bitch,” Sealth said. “Father and son. Whatever happened to just shooting people?”

  “Goetz was shot,” Valledolmo pointed out.

  “And Brutti was strangled,” Casey rejoined, shrugging apologetically to Scarne. “But they could be the proverbial ‘innocent bystanders.’ I bet that’s a designation Carlo never expected to earn. Where does your gir—I mean, the Loeb woman, fit in all of this?”

  Scarne hesitated. But there was no getting around it. Alana was no fool. Or an “innocent bystander.” He took a deep breath.

  “She has to be aware of his activities. At the very least she knows he stretches the laws in every country he operates. She might even do the stretching. But a killer? It just doesn’t fit with what I know of her.”

  “When are you seeing her again,” Sealth said.

  “Look, I’m off the case. I don’t have a client anymore. You guys take it from here. I have to earn a living.”

  The other three men exchanged glances.

  “Haven’t you fucked up enough?” Valledolmo said.

  ***

  As they walked out of the room, Sealth stopped and turned to Scarne.

  “Sorry I gave you such a push early on,” he said quietly.

  “Dickwad?”

  “The jury’s still out on that, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Maria Brutti’s murder jerked my chain. You can’t feel too good about screwing up either.”

  When Scarne said nothing, the detective went on.

  “Be careful with the Loeb woman. She’s a player. But even if she isn’t, there are a lot of dead bodies piling up in this case, or whatever the fuck it is.”

  “When do you go back to the left coast?”

  “Tomorrow. I got as much from these guys and you as I need. Nothing I can do here and my chief ain’t gonna send me traipsing around Florida or the Caribbean. My partner is pissed enough at me that I got to make this trip on seniority. I should have told him to go. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep or a decent meal since I got here.”

  “Are you free for dinner tonight? I can get us a good table at Sparks.”

  Sealth recognized the invitation for what it was. Quid pro quo time.

  “That’s the steak joint where Gotti set up the hit on Big Paulie Castellano.”

  “Don’t worry. I have a rib-eye in mind, not a rub out.”

  “It ain’t that. I’ve got a hankering for a good French meal.”

  Scarne grinned.

  “Jean Georges? Eight o’clock?”

  “Jean Georges will be just dandy.”

  As they got to the door, Sealth stopped.

  “I was looking at your map. I know it ain’t politically correct, but I think the Belgian Congo had a sexier ring to it, don’t you?”

  ***

  Scarne closed the door in his office. He stared at the photo of his grandfather, taken when he was about the same age as Scarne was now. He thought of all the man had accomplished after being defeated and imprisoned in a strange country. What would he say to his grandson about this fiasco? He was sure his grandfather would tell him to set it all right, no matter what it took. There was light tapping on his door and Evelyn stuck her head in. She was carrying her pad.

  “Jake, I’m sure you will figure a way out of this.”

  He gave her a brief rundown of what had happened, leaving little out.

  “Perhaps I spoke too hastily,” she said when he finished.

  “Call Dudley and see if he’s free for lunch tomorrow. Then book me a late afternoon or evening flight to Miami. Get me a room in South Beach, preferably the Delano.”

  “I take it this time you won’t need your golf clubs.”

  CHAPTER 44 – THE FINAL ONE KILLS

  Jean Georges was in the lobby level of Donald Trump’s International Hotel and Tower at 1 Central Park West. With floor-to-ceiling windows facing the park, its airy, modern décor was all angles and light. But what set the restaurant apart was the food, simple dishes elegantly prepared by Jean-George Vongerichten himself. Scarne and Sealth ordered the prix fixed dinner, which featured venison with spring fruits and vegetables. Sealth asked if he could see the wine list. He looked up at the hovering sommelier and said, “Let’s have the 2002 Hawks View Pinot Noir.”

  “You came 3,000 miles to arguably the best French restaurant in New York,” Scarne said, “and you want a California wine?”

  “It’s from Oregon, Willamette Valley. You’ll love it.”

  “Your friend knows his wines, sir,” the sommelier remarked. “It is perfect for the venison. We only have a couple of bottles. I’ll put them aside.”

  “I spent a year in France on an Interpol exchange program with the Sûreté Nationale,” Sealth said. “I got into wines over there and try to keep up back home. Turns out Oregon has pretty ideal climate for the Pinot Noir grape, which is very cantankerous.”

  “How did you like working with French flics?”

  “I liked it fine. Tough guys and smart, most of them. Not like Inspector Clouseau. More like that detective in Day of the Jackal, the first one. Anyway, it’s a different legal system, but the French police are first-rate. Their Government can be stupid, but they don’t have the monopoly on that, do they? People are nice enough if you make the effort. I tend to give the frogs a bit of a slide just because I think I might have a bit of French trapper blood in me. Course, the women are wonderful. Almost married one.”

  Scarne raised his eyebrows.

  “I met her at a party the Interpol guys gave us. We went out for almost the whole time I was in Paris.”

  He paused while the waiter returned with their wine. Sealth tasted it, and nodded. They both drank after the man left.

  “So what happened,” Scarne said. “Great wine, by the way.”

  “Seattle ain’t Paris.”

  Sealth stared into his wine, lost in thought.

  “Any chance you’d trade Seattle for Paris?”

  “Not then. I was an up-and-comer, poised to make the great leap to Homicide, a real coup for somebody like me. Hard to throw that away. Timing is everything, ain’t it? Anyway, that ship has sailed. It’s been five years. We exchange Christmas cards.”

  “May mean you’re not the only one carrying a torch.”

  “Who says I’m carrying a torch?”

  “It’s written all over your face, Noah. Don’t be defensive. You didn’t mention her boobs, or how great the sex was. She still means something to you. I’m the last guy to be giving advice, but why don’t you go for it? How many hagfish homicides do you want in your life? I don’t see a wedding ring.”

  Their food came and they made small talk.
It turned out that Scarne was right about Sealth’s bloodlines. When the big cop found out that Scarne had Cheyenne in him, he loosened up again.

  “Jesus, between the two of us we could start a casino,” he said. “I’ve got some Duwamish or Suquamish in the woodpile. The original Noah Sealth was Chief Seattle, who signed the treaty that gave all the tribal lands to the white man before the Civil War, not that he had much choice. I don’t know if I come by the name Sealth legitimately or it was adopted by one of my slave ancestors who went west and married a squaw. Like I said, the Injun’ blood had been diluted by French trappers somewhere along the way, hopefully voluntarily.”

  They skipped dessert in favor of Armagnac and coffee.

  “I want to tell you something I didn’t tell the feds, Noah.”

  “Here it comes. I hope I don’t have to arrest you. I’m getting to like you.”

  “You keep forgetting your jurisdictional problem. Besides, if stupidity was a crime, you’d already have cuffed me.”

  Scarne told him about the sex video. Sealth’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

  “I’m sorry, but you just made my day. And you’re giving me advice about women! Somebody has got you by the short hairs. What now?”

  “I’m going to find out why they don’t want to whack me outright, just get me off the case. The video not only discredits me, it also provides a rationale for Sheldon’s suicide.”

  “You don’t think it’s possible that the video, pardon the expression, sent him over the edge?”

  “Why would he be carrying it around? I don’t believe he ever saw the damn thing. Keitel must have planted it at the scene after he killed him.”

  “You think the broa – I mean Loeb – knew about the video?”

  “If she did, I’d like to think she would have told me after I saved her life. I’m certain the room change was news to her. If she were in on it, why the charade? But I guess I can’t be completely sure. She’s an unusual woman.”