by Lyle Howard
Banks sat down at the head of the table. The position felt awkward, but good…very good. “Would you gentlemen like to sit down so we can discuss our business?” he asked.
Jimmy Diaz pulled out a chair a few seats away, but Nicky the Knife was mesmerized in place at the window. In the distance, even though it was miles away, he could see airplanes taking off and landing at Jacksonville International. Ships of all sizes traversed the Saint Johns River turning the dark water into a light display that was breathtaking. There weren’t many things in this world that Nicholas Coltello was envious of, but this view suddenly skyrocketed to the top of his list.
“I’m good from here,” Coltello said. “So tell me, Mr. Banks. Other than the threat of loss of life, I have pretty good instincts, and I get the distinct impression that there might be more to your motivation here than just your offer to keep my enterprises looking legitimate.”
Banks looked at him quizzically. “More than a swan dive from the roof? Seriously?”
“I am an excellent judge of people, Mr. Banks, and I can read you like People Magazine. Big conference room, a tiny office, sitting at the head of the table when no one else is around. Banished to lowly Jacksonville instead of bikini hunting on South Beach.” Coltello looked over his shoulder at the accountant. “Sounds like a man who thinks he’s been done wrong.”
Banks shook his head. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what motivates me.”
“Greed motivates you, Mr. Banks. Greed motivates everyone.”
Banks shook his head. He would never permit himself to be jealous of his brother-in-law. But he knew where all of the skeletons were hid. He knew where all the money was really coming from. He saw it every day. It was his job to cover it up. He was Mr. Clean.
“Fucking family,” Nicky the Knife sighed. “You know being the black sheep isn’t so bad, Gerald. Take it from me, the black sheep don’t show as much dirt. Am I right?”
Banks looked over at Diaz who was leaning back in his chair staring at the scale model of the Hydra. “Your boss is quite the philosopher.”
Diaz nodded. “One of his most endearing traits.”
Coltello rubbed his chin as he gazed down upon the roof of his nightclub far below. “This isn’t about opening the family vault and letting the secrets out. I don’t give a damn how Mason makes his money. But you have the look of a man who thinks he deserves more. A man who wants more.” He waggled his finger. “Trust me. It’s in your eyes…they don’t lie. Just the fact that you showed up at my club alone tonight tells me as much. All of this opulence and you’re resigned to working in a broom closet? A member of the family? Fuck that shit. You’re tired of Peter Mason walking all over you, taking credit for the job you do, raking in the big bucks while you stay up in this tower working your ass off until thirteen o’clock every fucking night. Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Banks pounded his fist on the table. “You’re wrong.”
Nicky the Knife smiled with success. “Don’t sweat it, Gerald. I was no different from you. I had an older brother that got all the love from our family. I was the thorn on the rosebush, and he was the flower. He couldn’t do nothing wrong.”
The accountant never looked up. “So what happened?”
Coltello shrugged matter-of-factly. “I killed him, what did you think I did?”
Banks let out an audible gasp. “Excuse me?”
Coltello laughed heartily. “Nah, I’m just fucking with you.”
Banks took a deep breath. “Phew, for a moment there…”
Nicky the Knife’s face tightened. “No seriously, I killed him. Put a gun to his head and blew his brains out on his twentieth birthday. I hated him like cancer. He was the first body I ever buried in the field.”
Banks looked over at Diaz to see if Coltello was actually telling the truth. Diaz shrugged. “Wouldn’t have been my first option,” Diaz supposed.
Without skipping a beat, Nicky the Knife strode over to the model of the Hydra. “So tell me about this thing. It looks pretty cool.”
Banks felt like he was going to throw up. He just realized he was in the presence of an authentic homicidal psychopath. What had he gotten himself into? He slowly rose to his feet and with trembling legs walked over to the model ship. He put his hand on top of the glass case that protected the replica. “This…this is the Hydra,” he stammered. “She’s the flagship of our new hydrofoil fleet. She will sail from Jaxport to Bermuda and the Bahamas. She’s been out on trial runs and is proving to be everything Mason says about her.”
Coltello bent over and pointed beneath the ship. “What’s going on down here?”
Banks tried to maintain his composure in front of the deranged gangster. “Those are turbine-driven fans that raise the ship out of the water and carry it above the waves. They allow the ship unheard of speed and mobility.”
Coltello tapped on the glass. “J.D., you should come here and take a look at this thing. It’s fucking amazing!”
Diaz spun in his chair. “I read about it in the news, Nicky. It’s been all that they talk about.”
“Yeah? Maybe I heard something about it,” he admitted. “I only read the news when it’s about me.”
Coltello nodded his head in approval and walked abruptly to the other side of the conference room. Banks trailed behind him. “And this is the new ballpark, I suppose.”
“Yes, that’s Mason Cruise Lines Field. We’re expecting to break ground in the next few weeks.”
Diaz spoke up. “Really? Have they reached a decision on a location? I thought the city commission was still deliberating.”
Banks shook his head as he watched Coltello study every aspect of the model. “The commissioners are just putting on a show for the press and the city. Peter Mason already knows where the ballpark is going to be built, and it’s none of the sites that the commissioners are considering. He’s using them as a distraction while he works out the arrangements for the parcel of land he really wants.”
Jimmy Diaz leaned forward in his chair.
“So are you going to give us some insider information here, as a sign of good faith on your behalf? If we know ahead of time where he’s buying the land, then maybe we can make a last minute real estate investment and get in on a piece of the action.”
Banks didn’t care. The public was going to find out next week anyway. Maybe this would score some points with the lunatic. “Take a look out the window, and I’ll show you.”
Coltello gestured for Diaz to get up and join them. The lights of the city glistened like it was the winter holidays even though it was only mid-July. “You see that stadium over there,” Banks pointed.
“Yeah, that’s the Baseball Grounds where the minor league Jumbo Shrimp play ball. God, I hate that stupid name,” Coltello complained. “What was the problem with calling them the Jacksonville Suns? What the hell is a jumbo shrimp anyway? That name is an oxymoron, am I right? How can you have jumbo shrimp?”
“Anyway.” Banks continued. “Just to the east of the Baseball Grounds is EverBank Field, where the Jaguars play. Mason wants to make this area a showcase for sports.”
Diaz pointed at the baseball field. “So he’s going to raze the Baseball Grounds and build the ballpark on the old field’s footprint?”
Banks shook his head. “No. The Baseball Grounds have been there since two thousand and two. They knocked down the old Wolfson Park Stadium that was built in the nineteen fifties to replace it. That’s historic ground in Jacksonville. We can’t touch it. One of our minor league teams will probably move in there.”
Jimmy Diaz studied the glistening lights of the city and tried to imagine where the proposed stadium would fit. “So where else is there room down there?”
Gerald Banks slowly moved his finger across the window to a dark patch of land that was hiding like a shadow amongst the lights. “Peter Mason is buying that trac
t of land over there. Just east of the Hart Bridge Expressway, between Bryan Street and the Saint John’s River.”
Nicky the Knife and Jimmy Diaz stared at each other in stunned disbelief as Banks continued to unveil the plans. “There are some old concrete plants over there now. Mason is paying each of those companies more than enough to relocate north of the city. The new ballpark will be the new gem of Jacksonville, perched right on the edge of the city with the Saint John’s River flowing just over the wall in dead centerfield. We’re getting the land for chump change. It’s like the companies are glad to be moving.” Banks confessed.
Nicky the Knife pulled his accomplice off to the side and, in a barely audible whisper, expressed his urgent concern. “First thing in the morning I want to meet with Artie Beckworth.”
“Beckworth—the City Commissioner?”
Coltello seethed. “He’s my commissioner, God damn it. I need to make sure that he understands the importance of this matter to our partnership. If this vote goes through, we all go down…including him.”
Diaz stared out the window at the dark patch of land and wondered about the actual number of bodies buried beneath it. “Consider it done, boss.”
Coltello turned back to Banks with his eyes filled with rage and the veins bulging in his neck. It was plain to see that he was about to lose his shit again. “I have a message for your employer that I want you to deliver personally,” he fumed as he grabbed Banks and pulled him close by the necktie. “Tell Mr. Peter Mason that if he should opt to build his fucking ballpark anywhere near those concrete plants, he’ll never live to see the first pitch.”
11
Summer vacation had come to Florida, and everyone in Jacksonville welcomed it like a long-lost relative. The sky was alive with slowly moving clouds, and a warm breeze rustled between the cars in the school parking lot. You could sense the change in attitude coming on this last day of school. Matt opened the door of his Sentra for Simone and held it open until she climbed in. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of her tennis shirt before pulling the seatbelt over her shoulder. She didn’t care for the heat and hated the way it made her clothes cling to her body.
“Turn on the air to cool it off in here.” She signed as Matt slid in next to her.
Driving down a side street, caught behind a line of yellow buses, they saw an ice cream truck parked off to the side of the road with young children from the nearby elementary school gathering around it. Matt and Simone smiled at each other, but Matt began to feel sad. The happy sounds coming from the truck were something from his childhood he could still remember. She was oblivious to how he was feeling, never having heard the jingling rhythm. It was a simple thing, the old familiar sound of that truck coming down your street every afternoon. It was the simple things like that that ripped him up inside.
The Pizza Palace was the neighborhood hangout, since it was located so close to the school. The pizza tasted like matzo with tomato sauce, but the students paid no attention. It was the hangout where everyone went.
Matt pulled into the second space from the entrance. The first space was reserved for handicapped parking, which he refused to use. His friends might, but Matt wouldn’t. He held the restaurant door open for Simone as she walked through. Fellow students paused from their eating, leaving strings of mozzarella dangling from their chins. Most waved; some who had decided to take the American Sign Language class the school offered signed to him. He returned the conversations politely and even corrected a few of their faulty signs. He appreciated the extra effort, and knew they were making the deaf kids feel as integral to the student body as every other student. No more, no less.
Matt finished his greetings and pointed to a booth way in the back. When they reached the table, the red and white plastic checkered tablecloth looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. There was a small round stain on it by Simone’s elbow. They swore it was a pepperoni that had disintegrated over a week or two of just lying there. Matt handed Simone a sauce-stained menu. He didn’t look at his. The waitress came over, and she ordered for both of them by pointing at the items they wanted on the menu. The waitress walked away and returned shortly with the order. Simone figured the pie had to have been made in advance and was just reheated. She took a slice and placed it on Matt’s dish and took a slice for herself. She gestured for Matt to start eating, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was just staring out the window. She touched his hand to get his interest. “You did well back there,” she signed trying to make small talk. There was something obviously bothering him. “You could have just waved to those kids, but you helped them out. That’s very cool, but what‘s bothering you now? You’re giving me the silent treatment. No pun intended.”
“It happened again,” Matt admitted uncomfortably.
“It?”
“It.” He emphasized with his facial expression.
“Like when you touched my locker?” she signed. “Give me all the details.”
“I was fortunate that I didn’t completely pass out.” He signed to her. “It was over really quick. A minor incident, but it seems to be happening to me with more frequency lately, small stuff.”
Matt turned to look at her, no longer paying attention to the traffic on Baymeadows Road. “I was leaving Hope’s house the other night.”
Simone didn’t like discussing Hope Jannick. She had even created a very nasty name sign for her whenever Matt wasn’t around.
“Her father was going away on a short business trip, and she invited me over for some dessert. Her father and mine used to work together, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. So, how did it go?”
“We had a fight.”
Simone was secretly delighted and sat forward in the grimy booth.
“It was silly, really. I don’t even remember what it was about. I was driving home really pissed at her, and I was gripping the steering wheel much too hard. The next thing I knew, I was watching my car being built and rolling off the assembly line! Luckily, I instinctively hit the brakes and let go of the wheel, which must have broken the connection.”
Simone realized that he was driving at the time and he could have been killed. “Matt, we have to get you to someone who can teach you to control this power. You could really hurt yourself, or, God forbid, someone else if you’re not careful!”
He stared at her with disdain at the suggestion. “And what? Be a lab rat for the rest of my life? No thanks! It’s bad enough that my grandmother is having me tested. I thank God every day that the press has finally left me alone. Can we drop this conversation now? Let’s just finish the pizza and get out of here.” Matt knew she meant well, but there was no way she could comprehend this feeling. He recalled the time he had been in a department store buying a bottle of perfume for his grandmother; he’d taken a delightful tour of Paris before the salesgirl snapped him out of it. There were times the trace could prove enlightening, but more often than not, it was a curse.
“Have you decided if you’re coming next Saturday?” Simone signed.
Matt looked up from his third slice quizzically. What had he forgotten? He cut another slice of pizza for himself. It broke in half before it reached his plate. “Where are we going?”
Simone finished her slice and wiped the corner of her mouth. “To the ballgame,” she signed. “You do remember that my father invited you and your grandfather to see the game, don’t you?”
Matt took a sip from his glass of water. “Sorry, I forgot.”
“You still want to go, don’t you? It’s the biggest event to hit the town since the Jaguars’ inaugural football game! The Commissioner of Baseball wants to see how large the attendance will be. If there’s enough interest, they might consider letting Peter Mason build his new stadium and relocate a team here. This might be the opportunity the city has been waiting for. It’s between Charlotte and us. Everyone who loves baseball will be there. My father’s had
the tickets for weeks.”
Matt looked at the check and pulled out his wallet. “Sure, it should be fun. I’ve only been to the Baseball Grounds a few times. Even when I lived in Miami, I never got to see the Marlins play. My dad was always too busy to take me.” He attempted to shake some coagulated grated cheese onto his last slice, but the shaker was having none of it. “I’m not sure if my grandfather will go. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
Simone was well aware of Matt’s home life; his grandfather would never change. She asked if she could leave the tip as they finished up. Matt said no.
“Try and convince your grandfather to go. We’ll pick you up at eleven, and the game starts at one. If your grandfather gives you an argument, tell him we’ll drop you both back home right after the game. It might be a good thing for the two of you.”
Matt shrugged indifferently. “I can try, I guess. He might go along with it if he knows your father is going too. At least he’ll have someone to talk to.”
Matt seemed mesmerized by the traffic out on Baymeadows Road again. He had a strange feeling, but it wasn’t one of his visions. It was difficult to describe—a sense that something wasn’t right. It was ominous, and not like anything he had ever felt before. Maybe going to the ballgame and being out in the fresh air would do him some good and help shake off the sensation of impending trouble.
They both finished their lunches in silence as a pair of speakers on the far wall played music for everyone else but them.
Treachery has existed as long as there’s been warfare, and there’s always been a few people that you couldn’t trust.
- General James Mattis
12
USCG Station Mayport
Jacksonville, Florida
The specially modified Coast Guard cutter Harry S. Truman sat calmly in her berth as Captain Roy Sowell came onboard. The rising tide slapped a mist of pale green salt spray onto the side of the ship. In the distance, commercial fishing trawlers from Mayport Village were getting an early start on the day’s catch. They puttered out to sea, the men on deck preparing their nets for the day’s bounty.