Chapter 7
Andy stood in the Waffle House parking lot and took in the Grand Junction, CO buttes, snow rapidly melting along their ridgelines. The sun crested the distant mountain range to the east and illuminated the valley’s spring foliage in a blaze of floral brilliance. The aspens swayed as the breeze swept across their branches. Andy fumbled his left hand through his blazer jacket’s front pocket and fished out a prepaid cellular telephone he picked up before beginning the trip. In his right hand rested a business card. A silver star sat in the upper right hand corner. The circular perimeter of the star read United States Marshal, emboldened in blue print against a silver background. A single telephone number printed in the lower right hand corner provided the only contact information other than a generic federal office building address on the opposite lower side. The name Christos Gionelli leapt off the middle of the card, at least four font sizes bigger and typed in bold, block print. Underneath the name read the title, Chief Inspector, Witness Security.
Andy glanced up at the Waffle House window and saw Sylvia sitting in a front booth, speaking to a waiter. The waiter poured another cup of coffee and returned to his other tables. Andy did not see any food orders ready on the counter and figured he had a few minutes to place a discrete telephone call. The wind picked up and a few forgotten fall leaves swirled around the parking lot. Andy turned his blazer’s collar up against the wind and lowered his chin into his chest, conserving as much body heat as possible as the morning sun inched above the mountains. He punched in the numbers and waited for the ringing on the other end of the line. He was not sure if he hoped for voicemail or the opportunity to explain himself to a live person. After six rings Andy began to pull the cell phone away from his reddened cheeks. Before he could hang up, a voice echoed on the other end.
“Gionelli and Associates. How may I help you?” Andy brought the phone back to his ear. He paused a few seconds, listening to the breathing on the other end.
“Sounds more like a shady law firm than somebody with my best interests at heart,” Andy said.
“Who is this?”
Andy paused again, contemplating whether he wanted to answer. He tapped his right foot against a curb and looked up at the sunrise. Andy took a deep breath and exhaled, watching the frosty air billow out of his mouth for several seconds until the mini cloud disappeared.
“Andy O’Fallon,” he simply stated.
“Andy, where the hell are you?”
“Safe. Thanks for asking.” Now the voice on the other end paused before responding.
“O.K., fair enough. How are you? Is Sylvia O.K.?” Andy knew it shouldn’t make a difference, but he felt some relief hearing Christos Gionelli acknowledge his wife. Especially since she had absolutely no idea what transpired three weeks earlier. Sylvia just thought Andy got a wild hair up his ass and finally decided to go visit their son in Pine Valley, CO.
“That’s better, and yes, we’re fine,” Andy said.
“That’s great to hear,” said Chief Gionelli. “Now back to my original question, where the hell are you? We can’t protect you if we don’t know where you are. Do you understand how that works? It’s simple geography. We have to be in the general vicinity to provide any level of security.”
“I’m not sure we’re interested in your protection, Chief,” Andy replied. “I don’t have anything against the government, but maybe they should find somebody else to help them with their case. I really don’t want to relocate to Montana under an assumed name, always looking over my shoulder for a button man waiting to snuff me out.”
“You sound like you you’ve been sitting around watching the Godfather trilogy. Andy, there’s no button man coming to snuff you out,” Gionelli said, rolling his eyes.
“I’ve got a wife and son to think about, too,” Andy defensively blurted out. “And you don’t know what these people are capable of. You’ve never dealt with this organization before, have you?”
“Andy, it’s a civil litigation. Nobody’s even facing jail time. And yes, this is the first time I’ve had dealings with the hotel industry’s international linen union. As a matter of fact, I didn’t even know they had a union, let alone that they were worldwide.”
“See. That means they’re a big outfit, and all unions have mob backing. Do you think for minute Las Vegas, of all places, is any different? Especially when you throw in the international piece?” Andy knew he sounded desperate and not particularly coherent, but he didn’t care.
“I’m sure there may be a nefarious component somewhere lurking in the shadows of the thread count world, ready to suffocate any resistance in a cheaply woven percale blend.”
“Oh, that’s cute. Did you save that one up for me?”
“Seriously Andy, you’re blowing this out of proportion. The fact of the matter is there’s a substantial number of dollars involved in this litigation, and that’s what’s driving the train. It’s not so much that the U.S. Attorney’s Office or the United States Marshals Service feels you’re in danger. There’s just a lot money at stake, so people within the Department of Justice and elsewhere are taking notice of this case. Nobody wants anything to fall through the cracks and cost them a huge liability. We’re just doing the attorneys a favor by making sure they’ve got all their ducks in a row.”
“You mean sitting ducks in a row,” Andy quipped.
“Quit fooling around, Andy. You’re not in danger, but the U.S. Attorney’s Office is quite serious about your deposition next Monday. So much so, they’ve requested the U.S. Marshals Service’s Witness Protection Program to facilitate your safe and timely appearance. It’s Tuesday, and I’ve got people looking for you. Please don’t make us get a material witness warrant issued for your arrest. That would be unpleasant.”
Andy had not contemplated the prospect of arrest. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he smelled a bluff. “Well, if that’s how you want to play it, come on and get me. But I gotta warn you, my memory might get real bad if your little charm bracelets crank down on my wrists, and I see the backseat of a cop car or the inside of a jail cell.” Andy hit the end button and let his threat dangle on Gionelli’s end of the line.
“Hello?” Gionelli asked. “Hello, Andy? Son of a bitch hung up on me!” The chief set the phone down on his desk and thought about his options, while Andy walked back inside the diner and ate a heaping plate of blueberry waffles and bacon.
The Bernie Factor Page 7