While I contemplated the increased difficulty the extra men posed, good fortune smiled on me. The two men stood up and with a rollicking performance, made their way to the door. Lippa was alone at the table. I knew he wouldn’t stay that way long, he had business to pursue; so did I.
I struck up a conversation with the barkeep in order to get this joker’s attention. I was disturbingly loud as I engaged, “Hey Bud, you know anyone looking for a good deal on a couple cars?” The barkeep’s eyes shot a glancing look in Jokester’s direction. The bait was cast, now I had to wiggle it a bit. “I got a couple I need to get rid of quick. They’re all legit, papers and everything.”
The barkeep smiled and courteously responded, “You’re, not from around here are you? You sound American?”
“Yep, I’m from Oregon my friend. My girl and I split the sheets and going our own directions. I’m selling everything I have left and heading back home.”
Lippa had made his decision; he couldn’t let an easy, transient mark, get away. An unknown person with no ties to the community and in a foreign country, it doesn’t get much better. I remembered what Vaquero had said about Jokester hanging around in parking lots, and he thought he was trying to steal vehicles. Here, I was practically giving him an opportunity to steal from me. Wiggle the bait—it was fish on!
Lippa reminded me of a Timber Rattler. He slithered up next to me like a snake in the grass. He was close and cuddly at the bar. He took in every word as I described my Avenger. There didn’t seem to be much interest generated in my car, but he kept listening. I laid out the description of Anna’s Lexus and his eyes sparkled. He obviously didn’t know Anna had a car the day he escorted her from the apartment house, or it would have been in his possession already. Jokester soon invited himself into the discussion. Lippa and I dickered about car values. I didn’t believe for a moment he planned to pay if we struck a deal. When I felt the time was right, I set the hook. “Do you want to see the Lexus?” Now it was my turn to play along as he set his trap for me. It would provide the advantage I needed in the game.
“Maybe I could take it for a test drive?” He asked.
“Absolutely. Heck I wouldn’t expect anyone to buy it sight unseen.” I laughed. I sounded like a country bumpkin, naïve, and honest. I felt it sweetened the con for him. The more he enjoyed the rip-off he’d planned, the easier he fell into the trap.
Since I was willing to oblige, he thought he would push it a little further. “I’d like to run it by a friend of mine to look at; he’s a mechanic and has his own garage?”
Again, it was not unreasonable, but deceptive. I surmised, his plan would be to strong-arm me to sign over the title or worse, but Walter was busy reeling in his fish.
“Well sure,” I said. “Why don’t I give you a lift to the Lexus? Then I’ll follow you to your friend’s garage.”
Lippa couldn’t have been happier. If I were Lippa, I would have set the trap the same way. It was the easiest way to get possession of both vehicles at the same time. His own transportation only served to add steps to his plan.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“No,” I responded. “It’s my pleasure.” And it was.
Jokester introduced himself, “I’m Nunzio Lippa.”
I replied, “Walter Eloy Goe, glad to make your acquaintance.” We were in business.
It was nightfall when we walked outside to the Avenger. I’m sure the timing was to his liking, as well. I recognized darkness as my friend as did he, and for the same reasons. The things people like Lippa and I do are done best in the cover of darkness. He was inquisitive about the Avenger’s mileage and such before he asked how far we would travel to see the Lexus. I assured him it was not far. Lippa climbed in the passenger side and carried on incessantly about buying the cars—I suspect to put my mind at ease.
We pulled out from the alehouse eastbound. What Lippa couldn’t have known was the Lexus sat a half-mile or so to the west. We travelled about fifteen minutes when I began to feel a tugging on the wheel. It was only Walter.
“I need to check a shimmy in the front end. I think I might be getting a flat. Can you hang on a minute?” I didn’t want to alarm Lippa when I pulled off the road. No sense getting his hackles up.
Lippa was all smiles when he replied, “Sure, do what you have to do.”
I intended on it. I spotted a vacant lot on the outskirts of town. I pulled off the main drag onto a frontage road and doubled back around to the lot. I politely excused myself which further disarmed his concerns, if he had any. He was too busy plotting how he was going to take me for everything I had to think in terms of his own safety. I walked to the front of the car and kicked the tires a couple times while I kept a close eye on my prey. There was no way I could take him across the border—I had to do the deed on the Canadian side.
Lippa appeared occupied with making a phone call. He focused his attention on the phone with his head bent down while pushing the buttons. He should have been more observant. I expected better from a wannabe mobster. I charged the receiver on my Glock near his right temple and convinced him it was in his best interest to hang up on his call. Following my directions to the tee, he disconnected the call and handed me the phone.
“Turn and face the drivers’ side window with your back toward me,” I said. “Do it now!” I watched for any fancy hand movement that might telegraph a concealed weapon. The search would come later after I had better controls in place. I opened the passenger door and secured his hands behind his back using zip ties. I used handcuffs once, didn’t care for them. Zip ties were fast, cheap, and easy, but best of all; they could stay on the body. I hooked his zip tied hands to the back of his belt and belt loop with an additional zip tie. I wanted him secure.
It may only have been my perception, but he seemed to be out of sync with the events as they unfolded, and unable to grasp the gravity of circumstances as they pertained to him. He threatened to do unspeakably cruel things to me unless I released him. He might have been more convincing if he hadn’t waited until he was tied up and defenseless. I rapped him in the mouth with my gun to get his attention. I felt I’d impressed upon him I meant business and reminded him I controlled the situation. I strapped a piece of duct tape across his mouth and pulled him from the Avenger. He seemed reluctant to comply with that request. I assisted him with a couple nudges into the trunk. Maybe he’d caught this act in a movie or had seen a similar situation in the past. Regardless, he clearly became more frightened by the minute. I was gratified.
My actions were chancy. I didn’t like to operate off the cuff. I couldn’t afford to be seen by passing motorists, so I made the necessary moves when no other cars were visible. I secured his feet together with duct tape and closed the trunk lid. As I pulled from the lot, a police cruiser turned onto the frontage road and passed my Avenger as it traveled in the opposite direction. The patrolman gave me a good hard look. I flipped my hand up in a waving fashion but didn’t look in his direction. I pulled out onto the frontage road and kept a watch in the rearview mirror as the officer continued his patrol. Lippa and I were off to an unknown destination.
I turned south and drove about an hour, travelled through Caledonia, and continued until I came across a hardtop road alongside a river. I turned onto the road and continued east until I found a welcomed turnout on the edge of a river basin. The remoteness of our location coupled with natural tree-lined embankments provided for an added sense of seclusion. I popped the trunk to share it with Lippa.
My eyes adjusted quickly to the moonlit night. I helped my passenger into a sitting position. That’s when I noticed the expression of fear etched on his face. Lippa had been brought out in the boondocks for a reason. I didn’t have to educate him as to what it meant. Punk wannabe’s engaged in gangster lifestyles frequently heard the stories of these types of one way trips, and on occasion participated in them. My best guess was his memories were his haunting. In a restrained and polite manner, I explained the rules of how our conv
ersation would ensue.
“I’ll ask a question and you answer. I don’t want to hear a bunch of mumbo jumbo or chit-chat. Am I clear?”
I ripped the duct tape from his lips. He let out with a wretched howl. As it turned out, this joker wasn’t very loyal to the crime family. He was just another junkie trying to make a buck and get by. I asked a few preliminary questions to break the ice and insure we had a cooperative union between us. We went over Capo De Luca’s structure of who’s who, and then we got down to brass tacks. I had specific details I wanted the answers to, and willingly or not, he would provide them.
“Who is Cal Alonzo to you?”
“He’s a dirty-stinking fink, a rat—some kinda snitch. That’s what I heard.”
I didn’t interrupt him as he went on a rant. I was interested in everything he had to say, whether fact or fiction, real or imagined.
“That punk got nabbed for hiding some runaway hookers. Just like he was a somebody, you know. He ain’t nobody—nobody, you hear me.” He scowled as if the message was directed more at me than for my understanding. I could have taken exception to his forlorn conduct, but why debate his behavior, he would be put out of my misery soon enough.
Lippa continued, “One of those little crack ho’s were tweaking, you know, she needed a fix. She went running back to her sugar daddy. He took care of her needs. Then she came clean. She ratted that punk Cal out to Bruno to get back into De Luca’s good graces.” Lippa looked me in the eye and said, “You can’t trust no hooker, you know.”
“What’d you have to do with Cal?”
“I did what I was told, that’s all. Just like you do what you’re told to do.” My thoughts flashed back to my conversation with Max. Lippa speculated wrong. I don’t follow orders very well at all. In fact, Lippa was in the predicament he was in precisely because I’m a rogue element, and before we’re done, he’ll pay for my misbehavior.
Lippa continued, “We caught that nark at Joey’s place. He wasn’t ready for it. He had no idea what was up. Then we took him to see Bruno. That’s all I know.”
“Joey who?”
With reluctance Lippa groaned out a barely audible name, “Naccarella.”
“Who ordered him brought to Bruno?”
“Hey, it comes from above, I don’t know.”
I knew Cal had been beaten and tortured before he was killed, but I wanted to know what had made the rounds in this joker’s circle about it. “What happened to Cal?
“Joey is a standup guy, you know. He took it personal, like—real bad, you know. He was a sucker and got himself played. Joey wanted to do Cal, but Bruno wouldn’t let him.”
“I thought Bruno didn’t like Cal?”
Lippa chimed in on cue, “He hated that dude, man. He wanted to find out who this stoolie worked for, you know, but Cal wouldn’t give it up.”
“Cal didn’t talk?”
“That’s what I just said. Cal made it harder on himself than it needed to be. He tried to pass himself off as a crumb, but Bruno wasn’t having it. He had to educate him, you know, and if you keep messin’ round here you’ll see too?”
“Were you there when Bruno talked to Cal?”
“Nah, I heard about it, that’s all. I heard they iced him when I went to get the girl.”
I knew Nunzio was one of the two culprits that grabbed Anna, but I continued the faux discourse, “What girl?”
“The one at Cal’s place, you know. He was keeping that whore to himself.”
“Were you alone or did others go with you to get her?”
There was a slight hesitation in his voice before he answered, “I went alone.”
I thought to myself, we were doing so well up to that point. Why is it, some people have to lie? The fact he wasn’t alone didn’t amount to a hill of beans in the broader scheme of things, but now I can’t trust what he’s telling me to be true.
“What happened to her?”
“Cal tried to protect her, you know. She was staying at his place, they were all involved with each other or whatever, you know. This Cal dude didn’t think Joey knew about her, but he did. Joey checked him out real close like, you know. Tuff Tony sent in some muscle from outside to scope Cal out.”
“So what became of the girl?”
“I heard she didn’t cooperate at first, but she came around after Bruno showed her what happened to Cal. She was real broken up and spilled her guts I hear. Bruno messed her up a bit and had taken some liberties with her before he whacked her. She got more than she bargained for if you know what I mean,” Jokester smiled with a sheepish grin.
I was sidetracked momentarily as I envisioned Lippa’s words. My thoughts presented a most disturbing scenario. I struggled to stay focused. He must have noticed my pause and decided to play a little hardball. He looked me in the eyes, grimaced and said, “I ain’t talkin’ no more. You better take advantage of the time you have and run. You better hope you don’t get found.”
Evidently, he forgot who had the gun. It took a few minutes to convince him how I thought the process worked best. The glancing blow with the polymer grips of my Glock had ruptured his skin. A stream of fresh blood ran from the corner of his left eye.
“I saw you and another guy, escort the lady from Cal’s place, now tell me about it?”
“I was just doing what Joey said do, you know. That’s the way it works. Santarossa and I did just what we were told to do.”
“Who’s Santarossa?”
Lippa realized he had erred. He had said a name he never intended to get involved. “He’s just a guy, you know. He’s a nobody.”
“Yeah, well I think he’s a somebody.”
“What’s the difference to you anyhow? He didn’t have anything to do with anything, you know.”
“Why are you protecting this guy? You’re out taking care of business, family business, and you expect me to buy you carried out orders with a nobody?”
“Why are you so interested in the girl anyhow, huh? What’s she to you?”
Again, with a little persuasion that resulted in a trickle of blood to run from his left ear, he provided a more appropriate response. Amato Santarossa was Lippa’s ex-wife’s brother-in-law or some meaningless concoction of that nature. Supposedly, if he could be believed, Amato was only helping out that night. According to Lippa, he picked up work here and there for a couple of the mobsters who had placed trust in him. He also worked a couple shifts a week a neighborhood tavern in Corso Italia District. Lippa was kind enough to provide me with the establishment’s name so we could have a chat.
I’d left Jokester’s cell phone in the front seat of the car. It rang a couple times, so I checked the phone messages, but no such luck. I looked at the call he made, it was Amato he had conspired with. “Why did you call Amato on the way out?”
“I didn’t.”
I took the opportunity to demonstrate how cell phones worked and showed him the last number he called. He responded, “Oh yeah, I was calling to see if he needed a car, that’s all.” It was getting to the point where there wasn’t much I could believe of what he said, not that I expected better from him. I jotted down the few numbers he had in his phone and the incoming call numbers, as well. He was getting restless during the wait. The anxiety was getting to him.
It was time for this joker to come clean about Anna. We had beaten around the bush for more than thirty minutes, and I still didn’t have the answers I’d come for. It wasn’t likely he’d be forthcoming. If I continued to inflict pain, he’d fabricate a story. That wouldn’t be helpful and probably sidetrack me and slow my efforts to find Anna. When faced with what Lippa had told me, I sensed she was still alive.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.” Lippa flinched and ducked his head, shouting, “Don’t hit me again.” It was more of a begging than a demand. He gathered his thoughts and continued, his tone was stressed but calmer. “I left Bruno’s when I was told to, you know. Man you got to understand, Carmine Bruno is the right hand of God.” Lippa squirmed
in the trunk of the car in an attempt to get in a more comfortable position. “He’s the enforcer. He takes care of business.”
Lippa wriggled and begged more dramatically, “Hey, how about loosening my wrists, it’s cutting off the blood flow.”
“Who’s Bruno a henchman for, who’s he answer to, what’s his boss’s name?” I threw out the questions in rapid succession as I lifted him out of the trunk and on to his feet. He sighed in relieve.
“Bruno is in charge of family security. He’s the main go-between with the capos.” He turned his back toward me, “Can you loosen these a little.”
As I cut the zip tie that held his wrists to his belt loop I asked in a friendlier tone, “He answers to someone, who?”
“He takes his orders from above, probably Tuff Tony.”
“Antonio Giannetti?”
“Yeah, that’s right. You already know everything, so why you jackin’ me for info when you already know. How about unhookin’ me here, and give me a break, huh?”
Why not, I thought, he’s been a good stoolie so far. I moved behind him to cut the zip ties that bound his wrists together, but I left his feet duct taped together.
“Where’s Bruno live?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think anybody knows. He’s always on the move. You won’t find him unless you’re connected.” Lippa paused, “Maybe I can work for you, like free of course. I can help you find him, you know.”
“I have other plans,” I said.
Lippa turned back around toward me while he rubbed his wrists. My Glock was still in my hand and pointed at Lippa’s gut.
“You can put that away, man. I’m here to help you.”
“Like I said, I have other plans already.” The weapon discharged, and the round I’d jacked into the pipe, roared out. Lippa bowled to the ground, he screamed in agony from the gut shot. Both hands were clenched tightly over the stomach wound. Blood oozed out through his fingers and ran freely. It was a miserable way to die.
Lawless Measures_Vigilante_The Fight Continues Page 5
