Gangster's Court

by Adam Van Susteren

  The man jogged back behind the counter and pressed a button.

  Rose pulled again and walked outside to his Honda, muttering, “Fucking questioning my fucking business. I fucking question his business. Fat fucker’s sitting in that crap-ass store looking all broke as fuck. Question me about my money.”

  Rose opened his trunk, pushed a tarp, grabbed a seam of felt liner and pulled. He revealed a little compartment, opened it, stashed his gun and ammo, repacked, and slammed the trunk.

  The engine roared to life and powerful a/c poured into the car. Rose looked at his steering wheel. Nine-fucking-grand. The smell of the nine-thousand-dollar leather upholstery seemed sour right now. Umberto, Jimmy, and the boys were kicking up good protection money until they got busted. Rose opened the door and spit on the ground. He slammed it shut. “Mierda.”

  Rose felt his chest tighten when he realized there would be no money for killing Marcos Omar. Umberto and his crew couldn’t kick up money to him from jail or prison. Rose stared in his rearview mirror, feeling overwhelmed. He’d have to find Omar. Stalk him. Kill him. Without pay. And Omar’s fucking smart.

  With heavy thoughts weighing on him, Rose backed out of the lot and drove to the highway on-ramp.

  A BMW blew by the pace of traffic in the left lane. Rose floored the gas pedal, jerked left behind it, and gained on it. He smiled for a second then backed off, watching his speed drop under ninety. He moved over a lane and noted his speed was under eighty. “Gotta be smart,” he whispered.

  Rose slowed down to seventy. The little jolt of adrenaline he got from chasing the BMW, and knowing his car was faster, let him breathe a little easier. He slapped the steering wheel with excitement. “I’ll fucking rob him first!”

  10

  “You think we’re almost done with him?” Jo asked as they drove back from the taco shop.

  Dzuy glanced at her. “Maybe. I’m kind of torn, though. I know he’s scary, but he gets things done. I kind of like him.”

  “Me too,” Jo said sullenly. “That scares me. We should be running away from him as fast as we can but it seems like our lives keep intertwining with his.”

  “I probably shouldn’t have given him my number and offered to help him with the security cameras at his law office.”

  Jo sighed. “He helped get Mel’s stuff back when the cops didn’t. He helped us, in his own way, back with Brad. I just wish...”

  “He wasn’t a criminal?”

  “Yeah.”

  A BMV zoomed past on their left. A second later an old Honda Civic zoomed past them. “Jesus,” Dzuy remarked at their haste.

  The Honda Civic’s brake lights flashed and it changed lanes right in front of their car.

  “I hate when people do that,” Dzuy said.

  “What?”

  “Pass by, then go in front and slow down. Thoughtless a-holes.”

  “Speaking of thoughtless, I’d like to see Dad today. I haven’t been much help during his recovery and I’d like to spend some time with him today. What do you want to do?”

  “I want to take those-” he nodded to the back seat where the laptop and phone were, “-into the office to see if any files were downloaded. I’ll need Mel’s help with that.”

  “Can you drop me at my parents’? Then come back there for dinner tonight? Maybe I’ll cook something with Mom.”

  Dzuy looked at the time on the car radio. “Sounds great. But don’t hold up dinner if I’m still working. If anything was compromised, I could be there all night.”

  “Okay.”

  “Talk about a wild Saturday night for us. Work and hanging out with the parents.”

  After ten minutes of driving, they parked in her parents’ driveway. Jo paused, her hand on the door. “Thank you, Dzuy.”

  “I love you too.”

  A calm warmth washed over Jo. She smiled and bounced her way to the front door.

  * * *

  “So we’re safe?” Mel asked, relief in his voice.

  Dzuy unhooked Mel’s laptop from a computer. “Yes. But you can’t take anything from work out of the office. If you memorized it, you have to pretend you don’t know it unless you’re in the office.”

  “Okay.”

  Dzuy looked at the monitor for the time, he could easily make it for dinner. He pulled out his phone to call Jo and was startled to see his phone displaying an incoming call. “Hello?”

  “I’m in a bit of a bind,” the unmistakable voice of Omar stated.

  “How can I help?”

  “That security stuff you were talking about, I can’t get anyone to install it today and I need it running for tomorrow.”

  “It’s almost five on a Saturday. I’m not surprised you can’t get anyone. How can I help?”

  “Can you do it?”

  Dzuy looked at Mel. “Uh, I’m at the office with someone. Supposed to do dinner at seven. Hold on.” Dzuy held the phone down and softly asked, “Hey Mel, want to thank the guy who got these back by helping me set up a security network for him?”

  He nodded with excitement. “Can we get sodas? And snacks?”

  “Sure.” Dzuy held the phone back up to his ear. “Where is the place?”

  “El Cajon. I’ll text you the address.”

  Dzuy tapped keys on Mel’s laptop to confirm everything sensitive was deleted. “We can be there in half an hour. Do you have tools? A drill? Screwdrivers? Those sorts of things?”

  “I will.”

  The phone sounded different. “Okay. We’re on our way.” Dzuy looked at the phone and saw no active call, Omar had simply hung up. He handed Mel the computer and phone. “No work stuff outside of work, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And we don’t tell anyone about helping our friend tonight, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Dzuy watched Mel stuff the laptop into his backpack. His mom would kill me if she knew who Omar was. He sighed. Jo might kill me, too.

  As they walked down the long hallway to the parking lot of the modern office complex, Dzuy texted, [Hope things are going well. We might be working until 8 or 9. Can you just save me a plate?]

  Dzuy pressed his fob device to a scanner and the door to the outside world unlocked. His phone buzzed, it was Omar with the address. His phone buzzed. [Okay. We’re making Princess Tofu.] He smiled, thinking about Jo making “their dish” for her family. Ground meat, ginger, garlic, soy sauce, tofu, green onions, chili and garlic sauce; a meal fit for a princess and her family.

  “Tacos or burgers?” Dzuy asked Mel as they approached his car.

  “What about a taco burger?” Mel joked.

  “I think they call that a torta.”

  “Really?” Mel asked with wide eyes.

  “We’ll go for that another time, I had tacos for lunch. Let’s drive through and pick up some burgers on the way.”

  “Okay,” Mel responded, hopping into Dzuy’s car.

  After the short detour to a drive-thru, and a new ketchup stain on Mel’s Captain America t-shirt, Dzuy pulled into the little strip mall containing the Law Office of Brian Hogan.

  Omar and Brian Hogan stood next to the open trunk of Omar’s black Audi. They were the only people and car in the eight-spot lot. Dzuy parked a spot over.

  “Hi, Omar,” Dzuy said as he approached. “This is my friend Mel.”

  Mel smiled. “Hi.”

  Brian took a long step towards Dzuy. “Brian. Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.

  Dzuy shook it. “I’m Dzuy.”

  Brian reached his hand out to Mel.

  Mel looked up until he stopped at Brian’s eyes. “You’re like a giant.” He looked at Omar and tilted his head. “And you’re like a midget.”

  Dzuy stopped mid-stride, he couldn’t move or think. “Mel!” he finally exclaimed. “What the?”

  Omar took an assertive step towards Mel and reached out his hand. “I’m Omar.”

  Mel shook it. “You have strong hands.”

  Dzuy felt like Omar was s
canning and assessing Mel. He wanted to explain that Mel was special but didn’t know how to interject.

  “You say what’s on your mind. I like that,” Omar said.

  “Uh, Mel,” Dzuy said, snapping back into the moment. “Mr. Omar got your computer back. Thank him.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Omar.”

  “Dzuy,” Brian called out in his deep voice, showing Dzuy his cell phone. “I had this system put in like a year ago. He wants to expand it with cameras up there.” He pointed to the roof. “And in back. Can you guys do that?”

  “Sure, but I’d probably change systems soon. I don’t think yours can handle more than two more cameras. You need more processing power to store the data.”

  “Two?” Omar asked.

  Dzuy nodded. “You risk crashing if you put much more data through.”

  “Then try to get wide shots so I can see who is outside. Can we get all the way across the street?”

  Dzuy picked up a camera box. “Yes, but the resolution won’t be great if you want to have such a wide angle set up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Come on Mel.” Dzuy handed him the camera box. “Let’s do this.”

  Omar pulled Dzuy aside, whispering in his ear, “No functioning camera in the back, just for show.”

  Dzuy nodded. “You sure?”

  Omar smirked. “One hundred.”

  11

  Maggiore darted her eyes back and forth between the dashboard clock and the business card she held in her hand. She looked at the parking lot of the Law Office of Brian Hogan, sighing as she pulled out her phone to dial the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Can I speak to Filthy Rose?” Maggiore asked.

  “Hold on.”

  Maggiore scanned all three of the businesses in the little strip mall, wishing she had an infrared device to peer inside.

  “Yeah?”

  “Rose?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve been tracking Omar but need to go into work. He’s been parked in back of either a glass repair place, that’s closed; a law office, that’s closed; or a bail bond place for over two hours. Something’s up, I can feel it. I don’t have time to sit out here all day. If you can watch him, then call me back if anything happens. It’d be a huge help.”

  “Where?”

  Maggiore gave the cross streets. She looked at her dash clock; she had to leave now or she’d be late for work. “Are you coming?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Something’s up. I can feel it.” She put on her seatbelt. “I’m SDPD and can’t come out to the city of El Cajon to watch during my shift. It was a bitch to follow him here.” Her heart pounded as she waited. She called in a favor to have a friend help her follow Omar, she didn’t want it to go to waste.

  The silence lingered a few long seconds. “Lady, it’s on you. I can’t help you.”

  Maggiore closed her eyes. “Fine.”

  “But, just curious, where you say it is?”

  “I think he’s in Buffy’s Bail Bonds,” Maggiore responded with excitement in her voice. “But he could be in the closed glass shop or law office in the same center. Take pictures and call me with information on where he goes next. I’ll be back after my shift. At like midnight.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Thanks.” Maggiore flopped her phone on the passenger seat and shifted into drive with a smile. She thought she might have help in following Omar. Finally.

  * * *

  A cell phone displayed a video of Maggiore’s car driving away. “She leaving,” Milk called to Omar.

  Omar got up from the large leather desk chair behind a folding table covered with a black tablecloth. He walked over to a couch where Milk was seated to take a look at the video feed. “About time. Can’t believe I didn’t spot her.”

  Milk shrugged. “It matter?”

  “No. I set the hearing when she’d be at work.” Omar handed the phone back to Milk. “She had a white SUV. I was looking for that while that other damn cop followed me. When he got off my ass, I missed the silver sedan.”

  Milk nodded to the other couch with a black suit coat resting on it. “We set?”

  Omar scanned the furniture arrangement. He would be seated behind the table that was close to a wall in the center of the office. Bao and Trung would each sit on their own black leather couch, set at an angle so they could face each other as well as Omar.

  “Primo,” Omar yelled toward the back of the office.

  Santiago bounced out of Brian’s separate office. “Yeah?”

  “Is there a fan or something? It’s hot over in the middle of this office.”

  “I’ll check.”

  Omar fell into the couch next to Milk. “Half hour. Then the next chapter in our business starts. You excited?”

  Milk nodded. “Easy money. But ain’t much.”

  “Big picture, Milk. Big picture.”

  Milk shrugged.

  Omar stood, pressing his hands against his black shirt. He looked at a wet spot on Milk’s white shirt. “At least my shirt doesn’t show sweat.”

  “Damn suit.”

  “To be the part, gotta look the part,” Omar said with a glance at the surroundings.

  Santiago walked into the main office wearing his black suit, carrying a tall plastic fan. “It is hot in the middle. Nice in that little office.”

  “Put it over there, where the AC is, so it blows that cold air over here.” Omar pointed to the window near the entry.

  He looked at the sparse surroundings, pomp and circumstance severely lacking. The black couches, suits, table cloth, and bluish carpet made the room somber. Good. Not quite the formality of a courtroom, but not bad. The heat and darkness further contributed to a serious mood. He adjusted his black tie under his black vest. He pulled the knot tight to the neck of his black shirt. “Thanks. That’s a little better.”

  “Be nice if we had more air in here,” Santiago said.

  Milk grunted.

  “What?” Santiago asked.

  “You get to sit in the cold office playing lookout,” Milk responded, holding up the cell phone.

  Omar held up his hand. “Enough.” He put on his black suit coat. “I’m going to the back office. Primo, come get me when Trung and Bao are seated. Milk, when you see me walking in, say your thing.”

  Milk nodded.

  “Got it,” Santiago responded.

  Omar walked to Brian Hogan’s personal office to wait where the air conditioning worked much better.

  * * *

  “They here,” Santiago said.

  Omar stood in front of the air conditioner without moving.

  “They’re here,” Santiago repeated.

  Omar nodded, turning slowly. “I want them to wait on me. Let them know how much power I have right now.”

  “Smart.” Santiago pointed at Brian Hogan’s chair. “Can I sit there?”

  “Keep your eyes on the screens. Come whisper in my ear if Gordita or anyone else shows up.”

  “K.”

  Omar counted, trying to keep his focus away from Gordita— he hoped she would back off. If not, he would deal with her soon. He exited the office and strode with confidence across the large room toward his table.

  Milk’s voice boomed. “Remain seated. The Gangster’s Court is coming into session. By agreement, Marcos Omar is residing over this dispute.”

  Presiding, Omar thought, otherwise pleased with his introduction.

  Omar unbuttoned his suit coat and sat behind his desk. “Welcome to Gangster’s Court. You have submitted to my jurisdiction and my decision will be final. I will most likely make the decision today before you leave, but I reserve the right to continue the hearing to see more evidence or perform my own independent research. We are not a Court of law.”

  Omar smirked. “Because we’re criminals. But that does not mean we can’t come to a reasonable resolution without going to war. So, I thank you both for engaging in this process. The way it will work is
Bao, the plaintiff, will tell his story. Then Trung, the defendant, will tell his story. Afterwards, I will direct questions to Bao, then to Trung. During that time, I will ask if either of you have any questions for the other. Then Trung will get his final statement. And Bao will get the last say. I will give the plaintiff the last say because the plaintiff needs to prove to me his claim is valid, backed up by facts. If I believe the dispute ends in a tie, the defendant will prevail.”

  “Do you understand and agree?” Omar asked Bao.

  The old man sat up in the couch. “Yes.”

  “Do you understand and agree?” Omar asked Trung.

  Trung nodded.

  “Last rule. I can interrupt for follow-up questions. You cannot interrupt each other.” Omar ran through a mental checklist, thinking he hit all the key points. “Bao. Why are we here?”

  Bao struggled against the couch to stand up.

  “You can stay seated.” Omar raised his hand to stop Bao from standing.

  “Thank you.” Bao settled back into his couch.

  “It simple. He find out who I use to bring medicine from Canada and get him to bring in Oxy. That get my guy busted. I get no more medicine. Cost me forty thousand seized. Three hundred sixty lost profit. That one shipment. My profit near one million each year.”

  “How many years have you used your guy?” Omar asked.

  “Five year.”

  “Always the same guy?”

  Bao nodded.

  “Do you have a replacement in Canada yet?”

  “No.”

  “Anything you want to add?” Omar asked.

  Bao shrugged. “It his fault.”

  “Trung?” Omar asked.

  “See? It’s bullshit. So his guy got busted. That’s part of the business,” Trung said, crossing his arms.

  “Do you agree that some contraband is riskier to smuggle than others?”

  Trung looked confused.

  Omar inhaled. “Do you agree that bringing a nuke across the border is more risky than a Cuban cigar?”

  Trung uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his knees. “Yeah, so?”

  “Bao’s claim is that Oxy is checked more carefully than arthritis medicine. Do you agree with that claim?”