by Cenarth Fox
Larry needed a plan. He could say the manhunt was ongoing, but for how long? No way could he admit the truth. He planned another solution—kill Cam. So both Mafioso refused to honour their respective part of the deal, and to get out of same, each planned to kill the other.
Larry’s people called Cam’s people and a meeting was agreed between the drug lords in a fabulous condo owned by a politician who happily took money from both mobsters.
‘The place is yours,’ said the politician. ‘The housekeeper lives in the cottage. She’ll let you in.’
It was like a scene from a gangster movie with men in swish suits, hiding hardware under garments. With each Mafioso bringing three goons, it was too dangerous for one side to produce their weapons and start firing. That way equals bloodbath. It was the nuclear deterrent.
Larry’s team arrived early and cased the joint. No CCTV inside so they munched on nuts while waiting for the other party.
Cam arrived as a loser. He lost his cash and coke in the jungle, and agreed to give Larry half his future stash in return for fixing Vlad. So when leaving this meeting, Cam was determined to lose the loser tag. His party arrived and all six heavies were ready to rumble.
The two Mafioso sat outside catching the breeze. The goons relaxed inside not interested in discussing climate change. Cam wanted news about Vlad. Larry, having thought of various answers, decided to come straight out with it. He opted for the truth at least for the first part.
‘I’ve got good and bad news.’
‘I hate bad news,’ said Cam. ‘What happened?’
‘You owe me zip, none of your coke shipments. The deal’s off.’
Cam worried. ‘And this is because of the bad news.’
Larry looked grim. ‘My man got topped.’
Cam was expecting lies, bullshit and threats. What he got threw him, big time. ‘Your man is dead? The hit man got hit?’
Larry nodded. ‘My loss, your gain—you keep your coke.’
‘How come, and don’t tell me that rat Vlad did it?’
‘Not sure what happened but your man’s not involved.’
‘And he’s still alive?’
More nodding. ‘So I make no claim on your future shipments.’
Cam sniffed and asked. ‘You got another guy?’
Larry switched to head shaking. ‘Yeah but not in the same league.’
The gentle breeze flicked the curtains. The goons kept their guns under wraps. The tension rose in tippy-toe fashion.
Cam whispered. ‘I gotta kill that rat, Vlad.’
There was now a beat or two between each speech.
‘You sure he’s guilty?’ Larry wished he’d never said that.
Boy did that grab Cam’s attention. The one thing he never doubted was Vlad’s guilt. ‘Waddya mean?’ he snapped. The goons twitched.
Larry pushed it. ‘I heard something.’
‘What?’ Cam was champing at the bit. Heavies felt for their pieces.
‘You shot y’self in the foot, pal.’
Cam was on his feet. His men copied him. Larry’s men copied them. Larry did nothing. Cam seethed. ‘Tell me.’
Mr Calm replied, matter of fact like. ‘You upset one of your team, they wanted revenge, and they screwed you.’ Cam emitted steam.
This was hell. Cam’s life was devoted to the annihilation of Vlad. Now comes the news that Vlad survived the assassination, but worse, horrifically worse; Vlad may not be the guilty party. Cam demanded specifics. He sat as his mood bristled. The heavies stepped back from the brink. Larry milked the moment than gave Cam both barrels. He told him about the young worker bee and his grandfather, a resident in one of Cam’s nursing homes. Larry called Kris, Joe—fake names to protect the innocent. Protect Larry more like.
‘You stiffed the old guy to get his bed.’ Cam couldn’t speak. It was oh so true. He designed and approved the policy. ‘His grandson, one of your team, heard about it and stitched you up.’
The pain for Cam was intense. His ulcers could not control their glee. He struggled to speak. When he did, the US official with the starting gun for World War 3 shouted, “On your mark!”
‘Who told you this?’ demanded Cam. Larry stalled. ‘Come on, how come you know this?’ Cam screamed. ‘Tell me!’
Larry tried to change the subject. ‘Vlad survived the killing and my man got wasted. But Vlad had nothin’ to do with the raid.’
Larry didn’t think Cam would join the dots. He did. He twigged. Larry knows about this because Larry’s involved. Larry did it!
Steam or smoke or both arose from Cam’s body. The goons smelt blood. Armageddon was no longer a prophecy.
Cam screamed again. ‘Who told you about the grandson?’
‘I heard,’ said Larry as a throwaway line.
Cam dropped his volume. ‘You heard? Who told you?’
Larry shrugged. ‘Word got out, people talk.’
‘Well how come I never heard?’ Larry shrugged. Cam twigged. ‘You heard because the grandson, my guy, told you.’
‘Bullshit,’ replied Larry thinking dark thoughts.
The penny dropped. Cam pointed. ‘It was you!’
‘Bullshit,’ snapped Larry, now desperate to escape conviction.
Cam lost it. He didn’t whistle for his team. They knew what he knew. Larry screwed Cam.
He hit the loud button. ‘You whacked me. It wasn’t Vlad in the jungle, it was you.’ Cam went to withdraw his weapon. ‘You …’
He was unable to finish the sentence because one of Larry’s team shot him—short, sharp and straight, three times. Cam’s white shirt and suit turned red, and he auditioned for the Olympic diving team using a self-choreographed, windmill-in-a-storm dive with the splash of a drunken whale. Degree of difficulty was at least 4 with pike.
The gunfight was brief but intense. It’s not the sort of activity you can plan. Being armed and able to shoot is essential. But the problem is not the timing because the time to shoot is yesterday. The who you shoot is obviously relevant as the participants were not planning on having a beer together after the game. Shoot first, ask questions later.
Both drug lords and five of the six goons were dead. One of Cam’s goons survived. He copped two slugs which both missed vital organs. This survivor was the only living person, apart from Kris, who knew how Cam was ripped off by Larry. Mind you sharing those secrets could get a guy in deep trouble. Say nuttin’, buddy.
The cops sat by the surviving goon’s bed, and chatted in vain. The medical staff added a new condition in the patient’s file—amnesia.
Chapter 25
DI ROSE CALLED THE SQUAD to order. This was their first meeting since the slaying of Kevin Grande and the death of an American near Melbourne Airport.
‘One at a time,’ said the boss. ‘North Melbourne and Kevin Grande, what do we know?
Before anyone could speak, DI Blunt jumped in. ‘As co-ordinator of the two homicides, ma’am, I believe they’re related.’ Rose looked puzzled. Billy Hughes wished she’d spoken to DI Rose about the “new” co-ordinator position, and Jo worried for Billy. Blunt was unaware he’d delivered a statement of the bleeding obvious.
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ said Rose and turned to Billy. ‘DS Hughes?’
Blunt looked miffed as Billy explained. ‘Our only suspect for the Frankston homicide was shot and killed outside the flats where he was staying, in a flat rented by his mate, Cooper Yale. Cooper seemed genuinely shocked to hear about Kevin’s slaying.’
‘Cooper had a motive to kill his mate,’ said Rose.
‘True ma’am, but we’ve arrested a Canadian who was in another of the flats when the murder took place.’
‘What’s he got to do with it?’
‘Not sure at this stage,’ continued Billy, ‘but he’s using a false name, knows bugger all about Canada, and has had plastic surgery. When we got heavy with him, he clammed up and asked for a lawyer.’
The DI wanted more. ‘But how does having Botox and failing Canadian geogra
phy make him a murder suspect?’
‘Not so much a suspect, ma’am, more a target.’
‘A target for whom?’
‘For debt collectors who may be assassins and who both died near the airport about an hour after Kevin was gunned down in North Melbourne.’
A buzz raced around the room. Blunt ground his teeth. He’d missed most, no, all of that. It was a lot to digest and if even half were true, it made for a ripping yarn. DI Rose spoke for several detectives.
‘I’m confused.’ She turned to DI Richelieu. ‘Can you enlighten us, Inspector?’
‘Oui, Madame.’ He stood and explained his findings. Jo watched him with an inner yearning. ‘The man shot in the car near the airport is an American who landed in Sydney this week. We ‘ave contacted the US authorities and await their input. The vehicle in which ‘e died was ‘ired only a day before by a man who was killed in an ‘it and run 200 metres from the murdered driver.’
‘Whoa, hold it,’ said Rose raising her hands. ‘The two dead males by the airport are possibly connected because of the same hire car?’
‘Absolument. One hired the vehicle and the other died in it.’
‘And Billy, you’ve got a Canadian who may not be Canadian, in disguise, and who is supposedly fleeing from irate debt collectors?’
‘Spot on, ma’am.’
‘Bloody hell. So is there a connection between all three deaths, and if so, what is it?’
DI Blunt saw an opportunity to re-join the human race. ‘If I may, ma’am, the two murders are …’
‘Three,’ said a voice from the rear.
Blunt was thrown. ‘Three?’ he asked, fuming. Rose smiled.
Richelieu took over. ‘We ‘ave not finished dealing with Traffic re the death of the ‘it and run victim, ma’am. If ‘e was deliberately killed, then indeed we do ‘ave three ‘omicides.’
Rose felt pressure. There were unknowns, even known unknowns. ‘Right, we need answers. Did anyone want to kill Kevin Grande because of what he did to his wife? Who are the dead men near the airport? Were they murdered? Who is the confused Canadian, is he connected to the three deceased victims, and if so, how? Questions?’
‘Are we still looking for the weapons, ma’am,’ asked Jo.
‘Good point, Senior. Find out.’ Jo nodded. ‘Right, share your findings via … DI Blunt.’ He beamed. ‘DS Hughes, a word.’
As the detectives broke, Richelieu manoeuvred to cross paths with his favourite senior constable. ‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle.’
‘Sir,’ replied Jo, being glad to see him up close yet keen to escape.
‘Several ‘omicides at once is always a challenge, n’est-ce pas?’
‘Oui.’
‘And ‘ow is your grandfather? Well, I ‘ope?’
‘Thank you, he’s making the best of a sad situation.’
‘Of course. Please remember me to ‘im, s’il vous plaît.’
Jo began to move. ‘Of course, merci, I will.’
A few of her colleagues observed the behaviour of the DI and the young senior constable.
In the corridor, Jo bumped into DS Hughes who kept walking. ‘With me,’ she said, and Jo tagged along. ‘I’ve just explained to DI Rose about the new co-ordinator of the two homicides.’
‘And?’ asked Jo.
‘She laughed. She called him a Clayton’s Co-ordinator and suggested it becomes a permanent position. Now this way, Senior, our Canadian mystery man awaits.’
Vlad was dragged out for another interview. For the last two hours, reclining on his cell bed, he wondered what to do. Damn those female cops; they cut through my baloney with ease. How did they pick my nose? He thought that could have been expressed better.
‘How are you, James?’ asked Billy.
‘I wanna come clean.’
‘No, I asked how you were.’
He turned angry. ‘Can we stop with the bullshit? I wanna come clean.’
The detectives looked at one another.
‘Sure,’ said Billy. ‘Let’s start with your real name.’
He sniffed. He knew they’d find out sooner or later. Better to control the situation. ‘It’s Vladyslav Davydenko but everyone calls me Vlad. I’m an American citizen and was given a new name and identity thanks to the Victim Witness Assistance Program better known as VWAP, which is part of the DEA.’
Bang. His words packed a punch. The detectives absorbed the details, and both were inclined to believe him.
‘What’s the DEA?’ asked Billy, already knowing the answer.
‘It’s a federal US body known as the Drug Enforcement Agency.’
Billy reckoned it was crunch time. ‘So what did you do to get into Witness Assistance?’
Vlad blew air, his cheeks puffed. ‘Ask them.’
‘Now Vlad, it was you who asked if we could stop with the bullshit. If you want to get out of here, you need to tell us everything.’
The females locked eyes with the male. He blinked. ‘Okay, here goes.’ He took another deep breath. ‘I was running coke for the Mob from Colombia to Florida via Venezuela. A shipment got hijacked and I was blamed. It didn’t matter that I was not involved. I became a dead man walking, but got lucky when rescued by the DEA. For singing like a canary about my boss, I got a ticket to DEA-VWAP.’ The detectives struggled to keep up. ‘Part of the deal involved a new ID with this crappy nose job, some bucks and a plane ticket to anywhere this side of Mars.’ He opened his arms and sang. ‘Da da!’
Jo liked him. He was good looking with a sense of humour or, as Vlad the American would write, a sense of humor.
‘Thanks for the story, Vlad,’ said Billy.’
‘It’s all true,’ he fired back, miffed. ‘Just ask the DEA. And because I’ve helped you guys, I’d like a little mutual back scratching, if you please.’
‘We don’t necessarily do please here at Victoria Police, Vlad.’
He was angry and a tad worried. He’d spilled his guts and expected a little reciprocity. He knew cops all over the world could lie like the best crims, but he’d never dealt with only female cops before. They were smart and hard to pick. But despite his situation, he pressed the angry button.
‘Hey? How about we get the US consulate in here?’
‘How about we chill and get something down in writing?’ Vlad pulled back. ‘We start with a written statement, which we then verify.’
‘And how long will all this take?’
‘Vlad,’ said Billy trying to help. ‘We’re homicide detectives with three stiffs to sort, and you’re up to your neck in one, two or possibly all three of them.’
‘I never killed nobody.’
‘Anybody,’ corrected Jo, surprising the others and even herself. ‘Sorry, that was my Pop speaking.’
‘And how is the DCI?’ asked Billy turning to her colleague.
‘Okay, I think. I’ve been neglecting him since the funeral.’
‘Give him my best,’ added Billy and Vlad lost it.
‘Oh come on, what is this, old home week?’
‘Sorry,’ smiled Billy, and Vlad sucked on angry pills. ‘Right, I’m going to ask Senior Constable Best to take a detailed statement from you, and then we’ll see what sort of support you get from your colleagues stateside.’
‘Brilliant,’ spat Vlad sarcastically, thinking the police showed him little respect.
‘But I must add you’re still under arrest on suspicion of murder so there are several balls in the air, so to speak.’
‘Including mine,’ said Vlad who was returned to his cell.
Hughes gave Jo an order. ‘Grab someone and take the Yank’s statement. Remember we’re investigating at least two homicides. Vlad’s criminal past with drugs may be irrelevant. What is relevant is who killed Kevin Grande and the guy in the car by the airport. Copy?’
‘Yes, Sarge,’ said Jo and went looking. She found Charlie Baldwin and gave him the background on Vlad.
Baldwin was curious. ‘So is he connected to any of the three bodies?’
‘No idea, Charlie. Let’s get his statement and find out.’
Vlad was keen to get on with things, and pleased to see at least one of the cops not wearing a bra. Jo led the interview.
‘You talk, Vlad, and if necessary, Detective Senior Constable Baldwin and I will ask questions. We’ll make notes and from those type up a statement. If you’re happy, you sign it.’
‘And then?’ asked Vlad.
Jo looked at him and shrugged, ‘One step at a time.’
He sighed and spoke. The detectives didn’t ask questions because Vlad was a good storyteller; was he ever? He revealed the South American jungle massacre, the theft of cash and cocaine, snakes and spiders, his ocean escapade, chance rescue and rolling over, telling the DEA about his boss, about how he, Vlad got a new name, nose, notes and ID, about arriving Down Under, and then fleeing Sydney when he realised his cover was blown. Wow. It sounded like a movie script.
Jo scribbled then asked her first question. ‘Who was the dead man outside Dani’s flat in North Melbourne?’
‘No idea.’
‘Who was your boss, the drug importer in Florida?’
‘Camilo Gonzales.’
‘How would he try to kill you?’
‘Slowly.’
Jo reprimanded him. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘He would send a top killer from the States.’
‘An American?’
Vlad nodded. ‘Probably, I doubt he’d use a local guy here.’
Jo and Baldwin exchanged glances. The guy in the rental car with the bullet in his head owned an American passport. Jo asked Charlie if he wished to ask any questions. He addressed Vlad.
‘Just one question, sir, if I may.’ Vlad liked the respect. ‘How much did you pay for your nose job?’ Vlad sucked in air and Jo wished Charlie hadn’t asked such a ridiculous question.
Then Vlad expelled air. ‘It was free, part of a DEA package but it was still too damn much,’ he said and laughed in a self-deprecatory way. ‘Never go cheap on plastic surgery, officers. You get what you pay for.’