Streeter Box Set

by Michael Stone

  “Yeah,” Mitch said as casually as he could. “It’s coming up soon. Next couple of days. Kostas has his money together, and the cops are really on me to hook them up. Come Saturday, you won’t be seeing Ted Kostas around anymore.”

  “I never see him around now,” Freddy said. “It’s just that I hear things.”

  “That doesn’t concern you, Freddy,” Mitch offered mildly as he picked up his new drink.

  “Don’t get touchy there, Mitchie. I’m just making conversation, is all.” Freddy straightened up from the bar and laid two tens on it. “I probably won’t be seeing you for a good long time.” He waited a beat. “Maybe never again. It’s been weird knowing you. Take care, Mitchie.”

  I’ll just do that little thing, Mitch thought as he watched the D. walk out of the room and into the darkening outside world. Now what? All his plans for working with Niles and the Arizona people were going up in smoke. No calls from Niles in days, and now they were pulling out of the project, leaving Mitch with squat and a few empty promises. He glared at the shot glass in his hand, and then he tilted back his head and drained the schnapps. When he’d put the glass down, he decided to go home and think about a new plan.

  By the time Mitch drove the ten minutes back to his apartment building, he knew that he had one last chance to salvage a job from the Arizona people. His first concern was getting ahold of them, so he was very relieved when he checked his phone-message machine and heard Niles’s voice.

  “There has been a sudden change in plans, Mr. Bosco,” Niles said. “Mr. Disanto is no longer involved in the project, and we’ve decided to take a different approach. Please call me at your earliest convenience to discuss how you might fit in with that.” He concluded by leaving a pager number.

  Mitch quickly punched in the digits, and while he was waiting for the return call, he pulled out his “Prosperity Journal” and wrote out some thoughts. “The key to most success is taking adversity and turning it into opportunity. I’m faced with a golden one right now. Disanto is history, the old man is vulnerable, and I’m motivated to do what it takes. And I mean whatever it takes. Must convince Niles to seize the moment. Must convince him that—”

  Just then the phone rang. Mitch set the journal on his coffee table and crushed out his cigarette. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Bosco. Niles here.” The voice betrayed nothing.

  “Yeah, Niles.” Mitch struggled to keep his voice even. “I’m glad you called. I just got done meeting with Freddy Disanto.”

  “Oh? And did he speak of the development project?”

  “That he did. He tells me it’s stillborn. You guys are pulling out and he’s no longer involved at all.” Mitch cleared his throat. “That puts me out of work, so, when I got your call, it started me thinking.”

  Nothing from the other end at first, and then, “And what did you decide?”

  “I decided that this deal could still be made if Al Lucci was out of the picture. His daughter, Sheri, she’d take a decent offer if she was in control of the restaurant, which she would be if old Al weren’t around.”

  “That’s an amazing coincidence, Mr. Bosco,” Niles said with more life. “We were thinking much the same thing down here. But our first concern was terminating our relationship with Mr. Freddy Disanto. He was useless. Not really a bottom-line kind of man. Plus, he was difficult to control. Impossible, in fact. The story we told him today was merely to get rid of him. Which leaves only the problem of taking Mr. Lucci out of the equation.”

  Mitch cleared his throat again and gulped to get more air. “That wouldn’t be hard to do. That equation business.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “Well, sir, the D. was farting around, trying to scare Lucci to his senses. I’d come at it from a more direct line. I think Lucci was scared half to death for a while there. I propose that we make him totally dead. And now would be a particularly good time, seeing as how he has to be feeling pretty safe, what with the D. telling him the project is over.”

  Niles was silent for a long time. “What would you expect if you were to take care of Mr. Lucci?”

  “Just what we’ve been talking about. Cash up front—twenty-five thousand—and a permanent job as your man in Denver. Project supervisor or manager or whatever you want to call it.” He paused. “At a healthy rate of pay.”

  “How quickly could you move on this?” Niles asked softly.

  “Right away. You get me something in writing about the job, and Mr. Lucci will be taken care of within twenty-four hours.”

  “That soon?” Niles waited a moment before continuing. “I’ll overnight you an employment agreement on the management position. If it’s all right with you, sign it and return it to me. When the Lucci matter is completed, I’ll sign from this end. You’ll also be receiving half the cash as down payment. The other half will come when Mr. Lucci is no longer a problem. Does that sound fair enough?”

  Mitch thought it sounded more than fair. He nodded to his kitchen and then he spoke into the phone. “That should do her.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Bosco. Obviously, discretion is absolutely essential. You will be working alone, won’t you?”

  “Sure will. This here’s a one-man job.” Then Mitch thought of another item. “What if Freddy Disanto hears about it and gets his nose out of joint? Comes after me or goes to the cops? You give that any thought?”

  “Yes, we have,” Niles said confidently. “We’ve compensated Mr. Disanto in the event that we decide to proceed with the development project at some future date.”

  “If you say so.” With that, they both hung up.

  Mitch lit another cigarette and looked back at his journal. He scratched out the incomplete line he had begun before Niles called and continued to write. “Niles is one step ahead of me. We’ve arranged for me to take Al Lucci out of the game and then I get the goodies.” He thought before he wrote the next sentences. “I’ll do it Saturday around noon. Just as the police are doing a number on T.K. Saturday night should be one major celebration. The fruits of planning for success.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  From the moment they met, Todd Janek and Ted Kostas disliked each other. Todd thought Kostas looked like a disgusting old pervert, while Kostas figured Todd for some kind of scrawny San Fransisco fairy. Luckily, they were both able to agree right off the bat that they could do business together. It was the Jaguar—shiny, gorgeous, midnight-blue—that brought them together. Kostas practically went rigid with greed when he saw Todd and Mitch pull into his lot shortly after lunch on Friday.

  “Holy smokes,” he bellowed as he walked out of the shack, wiping idly at the French-fry remnants clinging to his beard. “The other one in this good a shape?” he asked Mitch, who nodded. “Then I do believe we can come to terms here and now.” He leaned in the driver’s window and let out a whistle of approval when he read the odometer. “Less than seven thousand miles.” He pulled his head out and shot Todd a hard frown. “Them honest miles on there, sonny boy?”

  “That they are, pops,” Todd came back. He knew he should try and get along with the fat man, but he couldn’t resist giving him grief.

  The two men stood a few feet apart, savoring the bad vibes. Observing the sour chemistry, Mitch stepped in.

  “Okay, fellas,” he said soothingly. “No need for name-calling here. Right? I mean, we’re all on the same team, basically. Just play nice and everyone gets to go home rich.” He looked at each of the men individually. “Ted, Todd. Todd, Ted.”

  They grunted in unison, and then Kostas turned to the car. Shined up like she was ready for a contest, the motor running so quietly you practically couldn’t hear it unless you popped the hood. He figured, fully loaded like it was, this baby would go for close to eighty thousand brand-new. Then and there, he knew he’d be asking thirty-seven five for each of them the next day. More than double his money for a couple of hours of work. His buyers were solid, and he wouldn’t be keeping the Jags for more than two hours. Three, tops. He’d worked
with Mitch before, so this figured to be a no-risk no-brainer.

  As he flashed on Lesley from Big Danny’s, a quick wave of regret swept over him. Lesley my ass, he thought. What she had been up to, Kostas couldn’t begin to fathom. But he’d gone back to Danny’s the morning after he met her and got some degree of satisfaction when Danny said he’d just fired her for skimming. By now, standing here next to the mint Jag in the cool autumn wind, he didn’t care all that much anymore. He’d buy himself some other little plaything for his celebration the next night.

  Dressed in a black leather biker jacket and tight blue jeans, Todd slowly stepped toward the Greek and extended his hand. “Didn’t mean anything by that ‘pops’ crack.” He forced a smile as he eased himself upwind of Kostas. The man smelled like two months’ worth of foul laundry.

  For his part, Ted glanced over at the hand and just nodded. Then he said to Mitch, “I’ll want a test run.” He paused. “Just you and me.”

  “Hop in, pal,” Mitch said without hesitation. “I’ll ride shotgun.”

  Ted backed the car carefully down the short, wide driveway and onto the street. But once he got there, he couldn’t resist ramming it into first gear and letting the clutch fly out as he leaned into the gas pedal. The resulting squeal of tires, burning rubber, and quick fishtail to each side with the rear end made Todd wince in agony as he watched. “Stupid Jag-off,” the investigator mumbled to himself as he zipped up his jacket. When the car was out of sight, he did a quick walking inventory of the yard. Then he went to the street and studied the layout of the neighborhood.

  Mitch sat in the passenger’s seat, a weak smile plastered on his face, watching Kostas work his way through the gears to third. “I don’t think you want to bang her up out here right about now, Ted,” he said softly to the driver. “Car won’t be worth shit if it’s all smashed in.”

  Kostas frowned but laid off the gas pedal and eased the car back into second. “True enough.” Then he shot Mitch a glance. “What do you know about this Todd guy? You ask me, I’d say he looks like a queer or a fed or something like that. How come I never heard of him?”

  Mitch shrugged. “All I know is he’s got two of these things and he wants to unload them fast. He says the thirty you’re offering’ll work just fine. What else do you need to know? I did some business with him a few years ago and it went all right.” Then he leaned toward the driver slightly. “Besides, there’s lots of people you never heard of that are still good people.”

  Ted considered that for a couple of blocks and then headed the Jag back toward his lot. “Then why aren’t you gonna be there tomorrow when we make the deal?” he finally asked.

  “Like I told you, I’m just getting a finder’s fee for this thing.” Mitch tried to keep his voice patient. “I’m getting out of all this outlaw stuff, Ted. From now on, it’s strictly aboveboard employment for me. I get ten percent of the sale price for hooking you up with the man. For that little, you two can make the transaction yourselves.”

  “Who’s he bringing to drive the other one?”

  “His brother. Ed.”

  “I might want to check them out,” Ted said as he turned up the street leading to T.K. Scrap. “These two guys got a last name?”

  “I’m sure they do.” Clearly, Mitch was becoming bored.

  When Mitch didn’t elaborate for more than a block, Ted turned to him. “So what is it? The last name, I mean.”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care.” Mitch turned in his seat, the better to face Ted. “And you know there’s no way in hell you’re going to check them out. Listen, this is one sweet deal for you. Don’t blow it by asking a lot of questions. I say these brothers are stand-up guys. Just do the deal and count your money.” Then he smiled. “You know I wouldn’t put you in a bad place here, Ted, don’t you? What’s the worst thing can happen? They don’t show up. You’re not out nothing.”

  Ted looked sternly through the windshield and finally nodded. He pulled the dark Jaguar slowly into the lot and shut off the engine. By this time, Todd Janek was standing near the dog pen next to the main shack, watching Ted’s Dobermans. They reflected their owner: both were fairly fat for their breed, slow-moving, and without expression most of the time. When he saw the car roll into the lot, he headed in that direction. As the men got out of the Jaguar, Todd took his best shot at a sincere smile. He didn’t miss by much.

  “Is that a dream or what?” he asked Kostas, who was opening the hood by the time he got to him. “I must be a lunatic, letting them go for that price.”

  Ted glanced over at him and nodded. “You’ll make a buck.” With that he turned his attention back to the engine.

  For his part, Mitch Bosco was lighting a Salem 100 and shivering slightly in his white windbreaker. The clouds were coming in from the west, and the temperature must have dropped to the mid-forties by now. Mitch looked over at Todd and, when he caught his eye, flashed him a quick grin and gave him a solid thumbs-up with his left hand. Todd nodded but said nothing.

  Finally, Ted moved his upper body out from under the hood and shut it carefully. He looked directly at Todd when he spoke. “You say the other one is just as good.”

  “Easily,” Todd answered. “Deep forest-green and only sixty-one hundred miles on her. Every bit as loaded, too.”

  “And you can get them here by noon?” He paused. “Make it twelve-thirty tomorrow. My buyers’ll be coming a little after that, so I’ll need them by twelve-thirty. You can do that?”

  Todd nodded several times, his smile broadening.

  “It’ll be just you and your brother, right?”

  Another series of nods.

  Ted considered that and glanced at his dog pen. “Here’s how it’ll work. You guys pull up and get out of the cars. Then you lay down the keys and paperwork over on the office stoop.” He tossed his head in that general direction. “I’ll be inside, but the money will be in a suitcase with the dogs. Now, your brother turns around and leaves the yard and keeps on walking. I don’t want to see him no more. Then you go in the pen by yourself and get the money. It’ll be wide open. Try any funny stuff and I give the Dobermans there the attack command.” He frowned for emphasis. “You behave yourself and everything’s fine. Just grab the suitcase and walk on out of here. When you get to the front gate, shut it and put on the padlock. Then just keep walking and we never see each other again. Think you can handle that?”

  “You’ve got it, partner,” Todd said. “When do the buyers show up?”

  Ted’s frown deepened and he looked hard at Mitch. “What the fuck is this, Bosco? A quiz show?” He glanced back at Todd. “What the hell you care about the buyers for?”

  “Forget about it.” Todd innocently held his hands up, palms toward Ted. “None of my business, right?”

  “Damned straight, it ain’t.”

  Todd now extended his hand to be shaken. “Then we have us a deal. Thirty thousand for the two hot Jags. Cash. We’ll be here at twelve-thirty tomorrow.”

  Kostas looked down at the hand for a couple of seconds, grunted something that sounded inhuman, nodded, and walked toward the office.

  As Todd backed the Jaguar out of the lot, he was happy. Although he hadn’t gotten much on the wire he was wearing, he was sure that the buyers would show up at T.K. Scrap within an hour or so of his selling the cars to Kostas. Maybe sooner than that. Which meant he and Karen would have an unmarked car and a team of detectives waiting at the end of the block to nail both Kostas and his customers. Not a bad day’s work. As he headed toward the freeway, his thoughts drifted to the dinner he had planned for that night with Karen. And to going back to her place later. Nothing more to be done today about Mr. Ted Kostas.

  Mitch glanced at Todd from time to time, thinking what a boneheaded move it was for him to press the Greek about the time the buyers would show up. Lucky for the DA’s investigator they were dealing with Kostas. Anyone with something close to a brain between their ears would have smelled the cop’s question and probably calle
d the whole deal off. But who cares now? Mitch thought. He’d done his part, and by this time tomorrow, Ted would be heading downtown with the police. That reminded him what he had planned for Al Lucci at about the same time. Yes sir, Saturday was going to be one hell of a life-altering day.

  That morning, Mitch had read and signed the papers from Arizona. Mailed them back before Todd the Clod picked him up in the Jag. In another twenty-six hours, give or take, Mitch’s debt to the law would be paid and Alphonse Lucci would be dead. And by about this time Monday, he’d get the second half of the payment from Arizona and his probation would be a done deal. Then he’d start his new life in corporate management. He couldn’t wait for Todd to drop him off so he could write about it in his “Prosperity Journal.” That and hoist a few victory ginger schnappses.

  THIRTY

  Ted Kostas stared at Freddy Disanto’s forearms—because they were bigger than any he had ever seen before, and because he was afraid to look directly into the D.’s eyes. You couldn’t really blame him for that. Not with the D. sitting there glaring at him like he’d just stomped on his shoes. Ted would have to be a total idiot not to be mildly concerned, at the very least. The D. was out of Ted’s league and he knew his best move now was to shut up, be respectful, and hear the man out. About his only move, in fact. The two men were sitting in the basement of one of Disanto’s restaurants, the D. having summoned Kostas with a phone call a couple of hours after Mitch and Todd left his scrap yard.

  “I’m afraid you’ve gotten yourself into a situation here, and I do believe that I might have a way to help you out of it,” Freddy was saying. “You have any idea what I’m talking about?”