A Sense of Justice

by Jack Davis

  “Good,” said Alvaro. “You write down everything. And make sure it’s simple; I don’t want to have to make a hundred calls to you to figure it out. Write it all out, no shortcuts. I’ll have someone pick up the sheet tomorrow.”

  There was a pause, as if Alvaro was thinking, then, “The King tomorrow will have something else for you. You have to be patient a little longer.”

  “Si, you can count on me.”

  The next day, Tejada had the second biggest surprise of his young life. He had spent the evening writing step-by-step instructions for Alvaro. Every time he thought he had it simple enough, he read it to a King named Carlo. If Carlo understood what Tejada was saying, he moved on to the next part; if not, he would start that section again. He finished the tutorial at about two a.m. and was up at eight a.m., going through the instructions one more time with Carlo.

  At eleven a.m. he was told he had a visitor. He followed the guards to a small room with a table and chair. To Tejada’s surprise, sitting in the chair was a woman. Alvaro had sent her as a messenger and present, all in one. Once she had the paperwork in her purse, she undressed.

  22 | Killing the Golden Goose

  Mexico City, 12/02/08

  Since the day in the Store when Diamond had mentally prison-fucked him, Philippe had been consumed with rage. While some was directed at Diamond, the dangerous part was reserved for Alvaro. After that day he hated Alvaro more than any man alive. He hated him more than any man he had ever killed. While some of the hatred was because he knew Alvaro was responsible for his humiliation at Diamond’s hands, at least as much was due to the fact he felt impotent. The source of all his anger was untouchable. It consumed him, and everyone around him paid the price. It took a week for him to calm down enough to start to plot rationally again. Up to that point, everything he came up with involved either a dull-knife and flaying, or a metal baseball bat and a savage fatal beating…that was it, beating him.

  “Lupe, my friend. How are you,” asked Philippe in a cheerful manner.

  “Me? How are you and your balls doin’?”

  Philippe took the phone away from his ear and stared at it. My balls are still swollen and black-and-blue, you senile fucking moron, how do you think I’m doin’? “I’ll survive,” said Philippe, all happiness removed from his voice. “I have a question. You know Diamond loves the credit card shit. I was thinking we should start doing that too.”

  “Philippe, you have to be very careful. Diamond’s still mad as hell,” said Lupe.

  It took every ounce of self-control for Philippe not to yell Fuck him over the phone. “I know, but with all our territory and men, we could do twice the amount that piece of shit Alvaro’s doin’.”

  “We should wait awhile. Let things cool down more. You mention credit cards to Diamond now, it will just make him explode again.”

  “Of course not me, you,” said Philippe. “After all you two have gone through together, if you tell him you’d like to start doing credit cards, he won’t have a problem with that.”

  “I don’t know anything about the credit cards. I know protection, gambling, drugs, prostitution. Credit cards are complicated. I don’t want to know them.”

  “You won’t have to. I will do everything,” assured Philippe.

  “No, this is too soon. The boss is still too mad. I…”

  “Lupe, how about I just find out how to do it. I won’t do any credit card crime until we talk again, probably in, say a month or two. Things will have calmed down by then, right?”

  There was a long pause. “You won’t do anything other than learn how Alvaro’s doin’ this shit? Nothin’ else.”

  “Nothin’. Diamond can’t have a problem with someone other than Alvaro knowing about how to do credit card crime, can he?” Philippe didn’t wait for the answer. “Then when things are calm, if it looks like we can do it, you can go to Diamond and ask him. I’ll stay completely out of it.”

  “Okay, see how to do it and we can talk after that,” said Lupe.

  Philippe put the word out through his lieutenants that same day. He wanted to know how to start a credit card fraud operation. For safety, he was careful to stress to his men to be discreet and not mention who was looking for the information. For two frustrating weeks he heard nothing of any substance. He was able to get some general information, but not enough to give him a clear picture of what was needed or how he could compete with Alvaro. That was until one of the Kings, who had been recently released from jail, told him about a skinny kid who had taught Alvaro all about credit cards. It only took Philippe a day to find out who Jose Tejada was, and more importantly that he had never been initiated, and therefore wasn’t a King.

  Tejada was sitting by himself in the yard when two Kings he had never met before approached him and told him he had to come with them. Hoping it was a phone call from Alvaro about his release, he set down the week-old newspaper he had been reading and followed. He was dangerously lost in thought about the status of his appeal and his recent present as he walked into the shower area. It was only then he first feared something was wrong.

  Had Tejada realized he wasn’t completely protected by his friendship with Alvaro, he might have told Philippe’s men everything they wanted to know earlier in the beating. In the long run, it wouldn’t have made any difference. The men, in their ignorance of the intricacies of the crime their boss was trying to learn about, had been told to kill him after they had gotten the information.

  The inquisitors asked Tejada a few questions but didn’t understand his answers. With a limit on time before someone might come in, they decided to accomplish what they thought was their main objective. They slit their captive’s throat and let him die quietly on the tile floor. They agreed to tell Philippe that Tejada wouldn’t talk. That was safe; no one could contradict them.

  Alvaro was devastated by Jose’s death. The young non-criminal criminal had blindly trusted Alvaro to keep him safe. Alvaro had failed him.

  Alvaro wept as he thought of the helpless youngster, bleeding out on the cold shower floor, no concept of why his life was ending.

  Why? There was no reason for anyone to kill the young non-criminal criminal.

  Who? Jose hadn’t had any enemies.

  I will find out why, and who. People will pay for Jose’s death!

  Part Six

  23 | Clydesdales Quick Out of the Gate

  New York, New York, 09/25/09, 1141 hours

  As Morley anticipated, it didn’t take his Clydesdales long to get results. Initial calls to their contacts at Visa and American Express produced quick and discreet listings of where the cards had been used. Six larger-ticket IT items had been purchased online. Follow-up calls to the security departments of the victim companies revealed the merchandise had been delivered to one of three different Mail Boxes Etc. stores in Staten Island.

  The former Marines were en route to the first location within twenty minutes of walking out of Morley’s office. On the drive they agreed to employ the tactics Tate taught them. “If you have to do something that a jury might not,” he used air quotes around the next word, “understand, move in quick, be vague about who you are, who you work for, and why you’re there.”

  “Good morning, Federal Agent Murray, this is my partner.” The two held up their badges as they approached the counter but put them away well before either employee could have seen their names or agency.

  “We have an investigation that leads us to believe box 3011 is being used for criminal activity. We need to speak to whoever is in charge here this morning.”

  “I’m…I’m Anita Pascurello, I’m the day-shift manager but I can’t….”

  “Ma’am, we don’t have time for I can’ts. If you can’t help us, who can?” demanded Murray.

  At the same time Kruzerski brushed past the second stunned employee and walked behind the counter.

  “You’re not allowed back there.” protested Pascurello.

  “Ma’am, you don’t want to be guilty of obstruct
ion, do ya?” Murray distracted the flustered clerk.

  “What? But, uhm, but he can’t be behind the counter.”

  “Ma’am, you need to focus—we need to see the files for box 3011, the contract, the logs, and any video you have. Get us that information and we’ll be outta your hair.”

  “Don’t you need a warrant or something?” asked Pascurello.

  “Ma’am, if you want us to get a warrant that will take at least six hours.” Then lying, “We’ll have to close you down while we get it. Do you want that?”

  “No…no, of course not.”

  “Nothin’” yelled Kruzerski after looking in box 3011.

  Pascurello jumped.

  “I didn’t think so,” said Murray to a still startled Pascurello, “so let’s start with the paperwork used to open the box, and then all the logs for pickups from the box.”

  As Murray joined his partner behind the counter, the bell rang and a female customer entered the store. Kruzerski looked at her and then the flustered second employee. Without hesitation he moved to the counter and smiled. “Welcome to Mail Boxes, can I help you?”

  The surreal situation continued for the next ten minutes as curious customers, unsure of the large man in an ill-fitting suit behind the counter, continued to file in and out of the store. All the while Murray obtained the necessary information from Pascurello.

  After determining neither employee had ever seen the box holder, a Mr. Jack E. Chan, Murray obtained the original paperwork opening the account and the signature forms for package pickups. He placed them in evidence envelopes.

  Next, he asked for the log for all packages for box 3011. Here he caught a break. Amongst the numerous packages delivered to the box, one had been too large to fit, requiring the customer to come in during normal hours and pick it up in person. It had been the previous week.

  To save time, and against all protocol, Murray had Pascurello rewind the tape to the date in question.

  The video showed a reasonably clear ninety-second exchange between a male with sunglasses and a ball cap in his mid-to-late teens getting his mail, then going to the counter with a slip in his hand. The clerk retrieved five packages, which the man signed for before leaving. Between the angle of the camera and the hat and sunglasses, Murray knew it was going to be difficult to positively ID the individual from this single piece of evidence.

  “Krusher, we got something from last week. Head outside and look for other cameras.”

  As Pascurello handed over the tape, Murray wrote out an evidence receipt. He scribbled the NYFO undercover line number on the back, “My telephone number is on this receipt. We’ll need to talk to the employee who gave the package to Chan. If Chan gets any packages or shows up, call us immediately.”

  “Is Mr. Chan dangerous?” asked Pascurello

  “Chan’s involved in child pornography. He’s not a danger to you or any employee,” Murray explained. This was a story Tate had taught them. It relayed a sense of urgency to the recipient but didn’t make them feel that they would be in physical danger. It invariably worked.

  As Kruzerski moved out into the sunlight, even with his sunglasses, it took a second for him to focus. When he was finally able to see clearly, he saw what he was looking for. There was a Chase Manhattan Bank with an ATM almost directly across the street. As he continued his scan his initial enthusiasm waned. There were no other cameras, traffic or otherwise, that might have picked up their suspect leaving the store. He leaned back into the store and told his partner that he would be across the street at the bank.

  When Murray entered the bank, Kruzerski was talking to the manager. “This is a priority investigation; lives may be in danger. You wanna live with that hangin’ over your conscience?”

  “I understand, but unless you have a warrant, I can’t do anything without authorization from our security department or legal division.”

  Even with the mixed metaphor Kruzerski hadn’t been able to browbeat the bank manager. He looked at Murray. “Any retired agents working in Chase security?”

  “I think George Cheroes is over there somewhere.”

  “You give George a call? I’ll call Morley and fill him in,” said Kruzerski as he started thumbing through the addresses on his phone.

  Within a half hour, Murray and Kruzerski were watching the film from the ATM camera. Without enhancement and based upon the distance, the only new physical characteristic they were able to determine was that their suspect was Asian; this after he took off his sunglasses to clean them.

  The real bonus was the fact the suspect had parked within view of the bank’s camera. The tape showed the individual leave the mailbox store and walk to a dark, two-door Honda with spinning rims and a spoiler. He unlocked the driver’s-side door, put the packages in the back seat, and got behind the wheel. As the car pulled away from the curb, the angle changed slightly and they were able to make out a New York State license plate, starting with the letter L.

  The fact the suspect had been driving led both agents to the assumption that their man was at least seventeen and didn’t live in the neighborhood. From the pictures he also didn’t appear to have any ink that would associate him with a gang. These facts eliminated several avenues of approach. The agents decided while it would be worthwhile sending the photo over to the Asian Gang Task Force, they wouldn’t make that their primary focus, which was going to be the car and the license plate.

  The keeper of the keys when it came to the New York Department of Motor Vehicles was Morley. That arrangement had been a constant source of friction between Morley and Brown since the latter’s arrival. Morley knew it bothered Brown that anytime anyone in the office needed something quick or “unofficial” from the DMV, they went directly to him. Brown viewed the DMV source as an office resource who should have had more than one point of contact in the NYFO. Morley correctly saw his contact as a confidential informant. He knew if his CI’s name was revealed, she would lose her job and the Service would lose an invaluable tool. He also knew Brown couldn’t keep a secret. Morley politely but firmly refused to provide his boss any information about his contact. He introduced Mak to his CI her second week in the office.

  Within fifteen minutes of receiving the information from Kruzerski, Morley had passed the parameters to his DMV contact: New York State plate beginning with the letter L. 2002 or 3 Honda Civic, dark (blue, grey, or black). To narrow down the search, Morley added two suppositions: registered in the metro area under an Asian surname.

  Ten minutes later Morley furiously copied down the names and addresses of seventeen potential matches. He thanked his contact and set to work.

  Pulling up a map of the city on his computer, he plotted the seventeen locations. There were four in each of the boroughs of Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, and Staten Island. One was in the Bronx. With most everyone from the squad up at requals, Morley only had two other agents available; he’d send them to the Manhattan and Bronx addresses. Kruzerski and Murray would take Brooklyn and Queens. He would check out the addresses in Staten Island, then go to Sean’s game.

  He called Mak on his way out of the office and got her voicemail. “Hey, wanted to give you a quick update. We went to the locations where the merchandise was being sent. We have some video of an Asian male picking up the packages, and a partial plate for his ride. Trying to match addresses to the car this evening. Hope to have a live body to question by later tonight. I’m gonna be outta pocket in Staten Island for a while. While I’m out, I’ve told my folks to report anything regarding this case directly to you. I should be back by seven.”

  By the time Kruzerski and Murray were on the sixth address, they were batting five hundred. Half of the cars had been at the addresses, but didn’t have the spoiler or rims; the other half were nowhere to be seen. They figured that unless they or some of their colleagues got lucky with the other addresses, they would have to come back later in the evening when people were home from work or school.

  They had two remaining addresses in Que
ens, and 901 115th Street and 4th Avenue was the closest. The Honda at this address was registered to Ms. Sue Chin-Lake.

  After driving past the address and not seeing the car, they decided to grab a slice of pizza before going to the last house. As they turned onto 4th Ave looking for a local pizzeria, they saw PS 241. Both men registered the same thought. They would use another technique Tate had taught them.

  Driving into the faculty parking area, they asked the off-duty cop at the gate where the security office was located. Like many of the schools in the five boroughs, the security office was right next door to the principal’s office. It had nothing to do with the Department of Education acknowledging the need for police support, and everything to do with fear on the part of the principal and the staff.

  The security supervisor, a retired NYPD detective, met them as they entered. Murray told the old-timer they had a case that might involve a student or former student of the school, and they would like to see a few yearbooks to review some of the pictures.

  Once the detective was comfortable that the suspect wasn’t a danger to the school, he agreed to hand over the yearbooks, with the caveat, “We’re clear you were never here, right?”

  “Where?” came the knowing response.

  They reviewed yearbooks from the previous three years. In the 2008 book, a junior, Anthony Chin-Lake, looked a lot like the person from the surveillance film.

  Driving past the address a second time, Kruzerski and Murray paid much more attention to the particulars of the house. It was a typical single-family, two-story house on a typical tree-lined Brooklyn street. The aluminum siding was probably white, but it looked light grey in the fading light, the result of not having been washed for years. In keeping with the previous generation’s motto that good fences make good neighbors, there was a three-foot chain-link fence around the sides and back.