What did surprise me was how quickly I decided to knock Marino out and throw him in the trunk. I was kidnapping the guy who owed us money. Then again, I suspected he was a frigging mobster, so throwing him in the trunk and driving him out into the middle of nowhere to have a candid conversation should have been right out of the Mafia playbook.
Plus, if I had learned anything in the last two years, it was I wasn’t taking chances anymore. I almost got my butt shot off tangling with the Dixie Mafia two years ago. Last year was even worse. Boyd and I left a small path of destruction across several states as we shot it out with crazy, idealistic environmental activists and private security consultants. The experiences had affected me. In every confrontation, you are either proactive or reactive, offensive or defensive. I played linebacker and tight end in high school. I preferred offense.
Marino was fully awake and yelling a string of obscenities by the time I left the parking lot. “You’re dead. You hear me. Dead. You have no idea who you are messing with!” He followed up his threats with more obscenities.
“Shut up, Marino.”
More obscenities.
I turned on the car radio. Elton John was singing about being a rocket man. Not my cup of tea, and not what I had in mind. I turned to 94.7, KSHE 95, one of the most popular rock stations in the Midwest. “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” by AC/DC was playing. That was what I needed. I turned the radio to full volume and left Collinsville heading south.
Finding the right spot to interrogate Marino took nearly 30 minutes. I finally settled on an empty pasture off a country road with enough surrounding tree cover to give us privacy. Marino had long ago given up trying to yell over the rock music. Still, he quickly resumed his colorful tirade of brilliantly woven expletives as I exited the road and drove across the uneven pasture. Hats off to him for being tied up in the back of his trunk and still trying to sound like a tough guy.
I stopped, turned off the Lincoln, and walked to the back of the car. “Marino, I’m opening the trunk in a second. If you try anything, I will put you down. You understand?”
“Fuck you!”
“Not the answer I’m looking for. However, at least I know you’re listening.”
I opened the trunk to find Marino lying on his side. His hands were still tied, but he had managed to untie his feet. A small lump had formed on the side of his head where I hit him. He was understandably angry.
“Alright, Marino, if we do this right, there’s no need for additional violence.”
“You’re a dead man. You know that, right? Dead, I tell you.”
“Shut up, Marino. Do I look the least bit worried about your overly optimistic attempt to threaten me? Now get out.”
Marino didn’t move from his spot. “You keep using my name. Do you know me?”
“Thankfully, no. Get out. Last request.”
“Or what? Do I get a warning first?”
“I’m not the warning type, Marino. I’m more the hitting type in case you hadn’t already noticed.”
“Fuck you.”
I grabbed the seatbelt tied to his wrists and dragged him out of the trunk, dumping him on the ground unceremoniously. “You’ve f-bombed me for the last time. Say it again, and I will make you suffer.”
He said it again.
I pulled him to his feet by the seat belt and punched him in the face.
He said it again.
So I knocked him out. That time, I let him fall to the ground.
I stared at Marino’s crumpled body for ten seconds before the doctor in me forced me to check his breathing and prop him up against the rear tire of his car. He was breathing fine but remained unconscious. After 30 seconds, I was getting a little worried I might have hit him too hard. A full 60 seconds after knocking him out, Marino opened his eyes. He was having trouble focusing, maybe even trouble remembering why he was sitting on his butt in a field with his wrists tied.
“That’s your second concussion in less than an hour. You know concussions are cumulative. Keep this up, and eventually, I’ll turn your brain to mush. You’ll be plagued by memory loss, headaches, visual disturbances, fatigue, reduced comprehension, vertigo, mood swings, insomnia, irritability, depression, and a loss of libido. Do you know what loss of libido means? It means you won’t have the desire to try to please the ladies, Marino. Of course, your memory will be shot, so maybe you won’t remember you ever could.”
He stared up at me, looking dazed. “All this because I interrupted your phone call?”
“You were rather insensitive, and I didn’t appreciate the threats, but no. I’m here about the horses, not your phone etiquette.”
His confused look slowly transformed as the real reason I was there registered in his cloudy eyes.
“Yeah, I’m part of the crew sent here to get the money.”
“Sweet Mary, how many men did Rutherford send?”
“Enough. Do you have the money, Marino?” He didn’t answer. “More importantly, can you get the money?”
“I can get the money.”
“By four today, like you told my associate?”
I could tell by the expression on his face he couldn’t.
“That sucks for all of us. Rutherford wants the money, not the horses. You want the horses but don’t have the money. And I don’t know a damn thing about horses. The only happy players in this scenario are the guys we’re paying to transport them.”
“I could get it by next week.” His speech was slightly slurred.
“Take it up with Rutherford next week. Now for the next question. Who did you call?”
“I can’t tell you that? I won’t tell you that. No matter how many times you hit me.”
I could tell he meant it.
“Alright, I’ll let you have that one. How many are coming, and when will they get here?”
“I guess you’ll find out.”
“Marino, this is not how you want to play this. Trust me. Cooperation is the only thing that can save you from this ending badly.”
“What are you gonna do? Kill me over some horses? I’d like to see you try.”
You’ve created the character of a badass horse repo man; you can’t turn back now. Sell it. Make him think you are worse than the men he called for help.
“Marino, I don’t try when it comes to killing. I succeed. This is about money or horses. Don’t make it more than that.”
“You threw me in the trunk and gave me a concussion. Two for that matter.”
“You lied to my associate and called in back up. I couldn’t exactly let you run around calling in the cavalry. Once again, nothing personal. Save yourself a lot of trouble. We both know you’re not a tough guy. I mean I like the suit. It’s nice. Expensive. It looks like quality material. But Marino, it isn’t enough to dress the part, you have to be the part. Last time, Marino, how many are showing up?”
“Probably two very dangerous guys. You won’t be able to take my horses without a fight. You need to walk away while you can.”
“Thanks for the advice. Let me think about it for a second.” I paused while mockingly pretending to consider his advice. “No, I think we’ll stick to our original plan.”
“Your funeral.”
“Doubtful. Two guys from the St. Louis mob. I didn’t even know St. Louis had a mob,” I laughed. “That’s hardly a challenge.”
“You’re not messing with anyone out of Saint Louie.”
“Must be Kansas City, then. I’ve heard they got some balls over there, even if their baseball team sucks. Maybe Chicago. Their baseball team sucks even more.”
“Chicago has two baseball teams.”
“Yeah, well, they both suck.”
“You don’t know me. You don’t know the kind of guys I can call.”
“I was a little worried about that at first, but now that I’ve met you, not so much.”
“You should know you’ll never be able to get those horses out of there even if my guys don’t show up. They are slotted to race, and any ch
anges to the schedule have to be approved in writing by the Racing Secretary. And the only one who can check them out of the stables is me. All horse departures are recorded at the security gate.”
“That’s right; my partner forgot to show you the paperwork. Repossessing your horses is completely legal. After today, you will need to take up your problem with Rutherford directly. I’m the extremely efficient hired gun in this situation. One last chance, Marino, can you get the money by four?”
He didn’t answer.
“Looks like I need to find a phone. You have a choice — back in the trunk or tied to a tree.” He started to f-bomb me again but quickly corrected himself. “You know what, I’m not sure I could find this place again, so you get the trunk. If you promise to be good, I won’t have to tie you up this time.”
Finding a payphone took nearly 20 minutes. I called Boyd’s pager, and he called me back two minutes later. “L.T, how’s it going? You follow Marino to his bank yet?”
“No, I followed him to a payphone. He called some guys requesting help.”
“So, he’s not showing up at four with the money.”
“He doesn’t have it, Boyd.”
“Shit, what now?”
“You tell me. Marino told me he’s the only one who can remove the horses from the stable.”
“That’s not true. Wait a minute; you talked to Marino? What’s going on, L.T.?”
“I sort of kidnapped him and threw him in the trunk of his car and drove him out of town. We’ve had an interesting time.”
“Sort of? You mean you completely kidnapped him.”
“Okay, so not sort of. I do have some good news.”
Boyd said, “Marino can’t pay us, but he’s agreed to help us load up the horses and drive them down to Texas?”
“No. If those guys I talked to are still there, you need to talk to Ken and Rich, the two wiry ones. They can help us get the horses down to Texas. They practically volunteered already.”
“Marino doesn’t have the money, we have to depend on two strangers to help us transport horses to Texas, and you kidnapped someone. What’s the good news?”
“Marino is not a mobster.”
“How do you know that? Did he tell you that?”
“Quite the opposite. He keeps insisting he can call guys, but no wiseguy would roll over so easily. I hit him a few times, and he gave up.”
“In that case, who’d he call?”
“No earthly idea. And he won’t tell me. He’s more scared of them than he is of me. I got the impression they are coming from out of town, though, so the quicker you can get those horses out of there, the better.”
“I’ll talk to your two new friends and start the process right away.”
“You need any help from me?”
“Keep Marino away from here, and I’ll take care of the rest. Damn it. I was hoping we could avoid driving to Texas.”
CHAPTER 4
Boyd paged me nearly three hours later. I drove to the nearest payphone to learn that Boyd’s documentation was effective in getting the horses out of the Fairmount Park stables. The race secretary was not happy about making last minutes race changes, but he realized he couldn’t stop the repossession and eventually relented. In the meantime, Marino and I had spent the last three hours in the middle of a field. Fortunately for Marino, he had promised to behave himself, and I didn’t have to keep him in the trunk the entire time. He spent a good deal of the three hours sleeping, probably as a side effect of two concussions.
“Are you driving back to the track, or do you want me to pick you up?” Boyd asked over the phone.
“I’d prefer you picked me up at the field I’ve been hiding in. I don’t want anyone recognizing Marino’s car if I drive back in. I’m only fifteen minutes away.”
“I guess I can send the horses on up ahead. I’ll catch up later.”
I hung up after giving Boyd directions, then drove back to the field and waited. Boyd arrived 20 minutes later.
“Marino,” I yelled, waking him as Boyd pulled into the field, “my ride is here. I’ve put your key in the trunk. It’s hidden, but if you take your time, you will find it and can drive out of here. Word of advice, don’t bite off more than you can chew when dealing with rich people with deep pockets. They can afford to hire people like me to make your life a living hell.”
He stared at me through glossy, tired eyes. “Right back at you, dipshit.”
I had to admire the idiot, mouthy right up until the end.
Boyd sped off as soon as I climbed inside his vehicle. “Sorry I was late. I sent Ken and Rich on ahead with the horses. I followed them for a few minutes to make sure they weren’t followed before turning around to come get you.”
“No problem.”
“Three hours in a field with Marino; you guys pals now?’
“Hardly, I knocked him unconscious twice, plus I hid his key in the trunk and disconnected his coil wire in case he finds the key too quickly. Something tells me I won’t make his Christmas list this year.”
“Probably not.”
“You trust sending the cowboys on ahead without us?”
Boyd said, “Are you kidding? Those guys are Boy Scouts. If Boy Scouts were tough, former bull riders, I mean. If we haven’t caught up in two hours, they are supposed to page me and wait for us at whatever gas station or rest area they happen to come across.”
“You keep saying us. Do you need me to come along?”
“I guess I wouldn’t mind. You’ll need to follow me to the airport so I can drop off this rental car. If you’re sure you want to come along, that is.”
“I’m off work until Saturday.”
“I’m not talking about work, you big dork. You’re still a newlywed.”
“Newlywed or not, Jessica practically insisted I come help you.”
“Sick of you, already. I knew it wouldn’t take her long. That, or she needs time to recuperate. You know, because of all the se—.”
“Yeah, I know, Boyd. Just drive, will you. By the way, how much are Butch and Sundance charging you to transfer the horses?”
“Five thousand. Rutherford already agreed to pay them directly, so it isn’t coming out of our money. And he’s giving us 10,000 extra for our trouble. We’ll be 25,000 dollars richer apiece when this is all over.”
“You did all the recon on this one, Boyd, so you keep the extra ten. All I did is knock a guy out and throw him in the trunk. Given my past, today was a walk in the park.”
“Whatever,” Boyd said, which meant he didn’t feel like arguing about it at the moment.
***
“I’d rather be lucky than good” was a saying I had heard more than once in my lifetime. Supposedly, a baseball player named Lefty Gomez said it first. It sounded like something a baseball player might say. Someone who played a game where hitting .300, which meant failing seven out of ten times, was considered exceptional. I had always thought it was a stupid saying. Luck is luck. It’s random. Unpredictable. Good is always with you. Good is something you can obtain, you can improve upon, you can perfect. Yet, I didn’t spot the late model Lincoln tailing us because I was good. I spotted it because I was lucky.
Thirty minutes after leaving Collinsville, Boyd was in the wrong lane as we approached the rental agency near the Lambert-St. Louis International Airport, causing him to pass by the parking lot and do a U-turn at the next light. Boyd had no trouble with the U-turn, turning on a green left-turn-only arrow. I did the same, following him in Jessica’s Supra. A loud, angry honk caused me to look in the rearview mirror in time to see a black Lincoln attempting the same U-turn against the light, only to get cut off by a vehicle approaching from the other direction. The Lincoln sped up behind us, slowed down temporarily as we turned left into the rental car agency parking lot, then sped off to make a right-hand turn at the next light.
I pulled alongside Boyd so he could transfer his bags into the Supra. Even with Boyd’s love of firearms, he had more bags than I expected.
“What are you listening to?” Boyd asked as soon as he entered the car.
“Joe Cocker singing ‘The Letter.’ Don’t wrinkle your face up like that; just listen to it. Expand your tastes. Lynyrd Skynyrd and The Allman Brothers aren’t the only bands around.”
“He’s that guy who twitches like he’s having a seizure when he sings?”
“Yes, that’s him. If you’re done making fun of my music, I think we might have picked up a tail.”
“Really? How long they been back there?”
“Probably since Collinsville, but I didn’t see them until they made an ill-advised U-turn at the light behind us.”
“A few minutes ago?”
“Yes.”
“So maybe the men Marino said he could call showed up after all?”
“It looks that way.”
“Where’s the car now?”
I took a left-hand turn out of the parking lot heading in the same direction as the mysterious Lincoln. “It turned right at the next light.”
Boyd looked to his right as we passed through the intersection. “Are you talking about a big black car? Two guys in front. One in back.”
“Yeah, a black Lincoln, but I didn’t see how many men inside. The side windows were heavily tinted. How could you see that?”
Boyd said, “They were sitting back from the intersection about 50 yards. Lights off, so no glare. Idiots should have left their lights on.” Boyd turned his head and watched for three to four seconds. “Lights are on now. They are turning right. They will probably be behind us soon.”
“You think they know we spotted them?”
“Honestly, I doubt it.”
I watched in the rearview mirror as the Lincoln sped up until it was several car lengths behind us. “You want me to lose them, or do you want to confront them, Boyd.”
Boyd grabbed the map and studied it for several seconds. “Take 270 South up ahead down to I-44. Let’s see how dedicated they are to following us. If they’re still back there when we catch up with the horses, then we’ll have to deal with them. I thought you said Marino wasn’t a mobster.”
Deadly Promise Page 4
