Lawless Measures_Vigilante_The Fight Continues

by Lyle O'Connor

  “You can come back when you’re done,” a voice rang out.

  I was poised to shoot. A cat dropped to the concrete looking disheveled from being ousted from his lair. The glass door slid shut while the cat walked to the edge of the landing, sat and twitched its tail. The cat continued a disgruntled look as I reached over and pulled slightly on the handle, it moved. I pulled a little more, and it continued to open. I moved the blind back slightly in time to see Gallo with his back toward me, opening a door to what appeared to be a basement entrance.

  Cal had nothing in his notes to indicate Gallo was a family man, but he might not have known since he didn’t have Gallo’s physical address. At this point, I no longer cared. I wouldn’t kill a wife or a child, I wasn’t that kind of killer, but I would deprive them of his existence.

  I’d learned early in life, through the school of hard knocks, how to fight. Skill had its place in fighting style, but in the end, a fight boiled down to one basic factor—attitude. I learned never hesitate. If violence was the option, strike first and strike fast. I wanted to be the one on top doing the damage. I’d rather throw the first punch than wait for the other guy to throw. That would’ve been plain stupid. My approach to a fight was different from a lot of the other people. They saw a fight as some form of contest and honor; I saw it as combat and survival. There was no honor to be won or lost, only life and limb.

  I inched my way in through the glass door and slid it closed. With my thumb, I threw the lock to “on.” I didn’t need any unexpected interruptions. I didn’t like being in the light, but I didn’t want to make any unnecessary noise that turning off lights might bring. I had an immediate concern, depending on the integrity of the floor; Gallo might be able to hear my movement from downstairs. The door to the basement was ajar, I could see stairs, and there was no way to walk down them without being seen, legs first. I would wait. If he started up the stairs, I’d waste him then.

  It wasn’t long before I heard Gallo’s voice again. This time, he wasn’t talking to the cat. It was a female’s voice I could hear, and from the sounds of it, she was in distress. Gallo came to the foot of the stairs, but before he climbed the stairs, he looked back and said, “Don’t go away, I’ll be right back.” He laughed then continued, “We’re going to party tonight.” He laughed again, but he didn’t get the last laugh. It wasn’t more than a stair or two when his laugh got to me. He was still looking in the direction of the female, when I stepped around the doorway corner.

  We’d stood momentarily silent before I barked my orders at him. “Get on the floor, Face down, Get on the floor.”

  He shrugged and responded, “Okay pig.”

  I cautiously scanned for any threats as I descended into the basement. When I was sure I was in control of the room, I bound Gallo with nylon zip ties and sat him up against the wall. “Hey, if you’re a cop, where’s your badge?”

  There was a work bench in the basement with a few household tools and a roll of duct tape. I picked up the tape and started for Gallo.

  “Wait a minute. Listen to me. I paid for protection. You’ve overstepped your bounds flatfoot.”

  I slapped a strip of tape over his mouth then turned my attention to the female that was chained to the basement wall directly under the stairs. She was a young woman, petite, and physically battered.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Chloe.”

  The chain and restraint straps on her wrists were locked with a slide key. “Chloe, do you know where the key is kept?”

  She was notably anxious when she said, “I think on him.”

  “I am not going to hurt you. I’m going to get you out, okay?”

  “Hurry.”

  Hurry was a good idea, but Chloe complicated matters. I came for information. Now, I didn’t have time to extract it unless he talked quickly, and that wasn’t likely. It would be easier to shoot this guy, and start over with a new target.

  “I’m going to find the key, but I need a little time with this guy first, do you understand?”

  She began to cry. I felt bad I couldn’t set her free right then, but I needed Gallo to talk. I ripped the tape from his mouth. He greeted me with a slew of meaningless profanities.

  “Where’s the key?”

  He spat at me and laughed. I popped him in the mouth. I put my Glock down on the work bench and beat the hell out of him. The knuckles of my leather gloves were wet with his blood. He spat again, this time he aimed at the floor. In the background, I could hear Chloe as she reacted to the beating I’d given Gallo. She cried with a loud outburst when I put the boots to him. It became chaotic, so much so, I was distracted by Chloe’s shrieks. I didn’t have time for her, and Gallo—I had to make a choice.

  I took the key off Gallo and unlocked Chloe. “Get yourself together, cleaned up, and gather your stuff. I’m taking you out of here.” I helped her from the floor to her feet, and guided her to a bathroom in the basement. “Take your time; I’m going to clean up the mess.”

  “Who are you mister?”

  “I’m a friend you didn’t know you had.”

  “What about him?” She pointed to Gallo.

  “He will never bother anyone again.”

  She nodded and closed the bathroom door. I turned my attention to Gallo. Over the course of the next few minutes, I tried to extract backfill on Mostarda’s crew. He wasn’t cooperative. He broke down and begged for his life, but that wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted him to beg for death. I craved it.

  I had to admit, I worked him over because I reacted to the scene. Had I found him reading a newspaper or watching television, I doubt I would have felt the same way. I would have approached him in a sterile, surgical manner. But I was not willing to overlook Chloe. I made him pay severely for his actions.

  Max had thought it was madness to continue the assault on the Abbandanza Machine. He’d been concerned the mobsters had the upper hand, and that Palatini secrecy had been compromised. He didn’t see a way to win. He didn’t see it my way. I was a shooter, an assassin; I killed to make my point. Every round I fired was a win. Max saw too many gangsters to succeed, I saw so many I couldn’t miss. Max was concerned the Mob knew too much about the Palatini, and rightfully so. Anna might have talked, under duress, anything was possible. I was concerned too, but my approach was opposite of Maximillian’s. I felt the “all hands on deck” approach was the way to go. Max liked to declare victory when we finished a project. I had news for him—this was a war. I didn’t see the end to the hostilities, yet. Maybe never. There was too much money for the Mob to give up, and there was too much hatred on my part to stop. In my book, it boiled down to the simplest of terms, kill or be killed. What happened to the original mission of damaging the Mob’s illegal immigration racket? Anna happened. Now the project was annihilation.

  Chloe came out of the bathroom, picked up a couple of clothing items, and stood by the steps. Her head hung down as if she were embarrassed.

  “Chloe, take a look at this guy.”

  She lifted her head, her eyes watery, and tears streamed down her face. Gallo made no attempt to look in her direction. “Do you want to do the honors?”

  “Do you mean kill him?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Still looking in his direction, she said, “I just want to know he’s not coming after me.” I picked up my Glock from the tool bench and plugged him a couple times with Chloe watching. I had her start up the stairs while I spread an accelerant of paint thinner on the wood support beams and stair casing. At the top of the stairs, I lit the trail of fluid that spontaneously ignited the stairs.

  We walked down the block to the Avenger and drove from the area. Chloe was young but looked well-seasoned, for her age. She’d seen more years on the street than she was old. I’d hoped she would relax now that she was out of the house, but that would not happen. She’d been physically abused, witnessed a murder, been rescued, and didn’t know where I’d planned to take her.

  �
��Where are we going mister?”

  “I’m taking you to a clinic in Buffalo. You need to be checked out.”

  “Do you have a cigarette, mister?”

  “Don’t smoke.”

  “That’s too bad, I could use one right now.”

  I stopped the Avenger at the first convenience store I spotted and bought a pack of the brand of smokes she’d asked for, and a couple bottles of water.

  “So how did you get hooked up with Gallo?”

  She tore open the pack of smokes while I handed her my lighter. “It’s a long story. I was working the street in my neighborhood to pay rent and make enough money to get through school.” She paused to lite up and handed my lighter back. She cracked the car window and inch and blew a stream of smoke toward it. She turned and looked me in the eye. I could see her study my expressions. She wanted to know if I accepted how she made money. It wasn’t up to me to judge. She wasn’t any less of a person because she’d chosen to be a hooker. Girls like Chloe didn’t need a PHD behind their names to tell what someone was thinking. It was a skill she’d learned the hard way, and was good at it. Her money depended on it.

  “Were you working for the Mob?”

  “I don’t work for anyone. Maybe that’s what the guy had in mind. Either that or he would have killed me. You said his name was Gallo?”

  “Forget about him. What’s your last name and where’s home?”

  “I live on the Buffalo University campus, my last name is Page.”

  “Are you a college student?” I tried not to look surprised.

  “Yes—full time.”

  “I’m going to drop you at the clinic. They treat walk-ins so make sure you tell them you’re a rape victim.”

  “What do I tell the cops?”

  “Marco Camerota settled a score.”

  Marco was a rising star for the crime family. He was ruthless and notoriously hungry for power. If I sowed a little strife, it might pay dividends. I swung the Avenger next to the curb to let Chloe out. “You have to walk a few feet to the entrance, but some of these places have cameras, and I don’t need the attention.”

  “Thanks mister. Maybe I can do something for you sometime.”

  The emphasis she spun on her words made it sound like a generous offer, but I had to decline. “Find another line of work Chloe. It ain’t a smart deal.”

  She nodded, said thanks again, and walked toward the entrance. I turned my car around and headed for sanctuary. In the quiet isolation of the Avenger, a thought came to me, random and roving. In the military when presented with a target rich environment you could be opportunistic. Why spend a lot of time on planning when there were plenty of targets to keep a guy busy. It had its drawbacks, but I was not in a position to set up a domino effect. There were too many ducks to get lined up to make a row. I wouldn’t be able to take out all the top brass in unison as a single assassin. No matter how motivated I was, there were limitations.

  I’d had a good start exterminating some of the low level hoods. But, I would save the Boss, Salvatore Giannetti for last. He owed me, and I wanted to collect on the debt. I wanted him to watch his crime syndicate come apart at the seams and crumble. I wanted him to feel loss, pain, and destruction of his Mob family, especially his own flesh and blood brother, Antonio. I wanted Sal to feel as helpless as I’d felt when Anna disappeared.

  I wanted him to have time to think about death—his death. I’d beat him down then put the boots to him. When I was done, I’d beat him some more. Maybe then he’d understand what he did was wrong. Before he died, I wanted him to know what it was like, to be a victim.

  It might seem bold to say, but, I had the upper hand on the Machine. I had an extensive dossier on the crime family. I knew every major player and some of the crews. It was a good hand to play. The bosses hadn’t reacted with signs of concern, but human nature had taught me, they would when the threat was great enough. Nothing terrorized people more than being hunted to extinction for an unknown reason. Disorder in their rank and file would signal the beginning of the end.

  Chapter 8

  “There would be no negotiations—only judgment and death.”

  —Walter

  I wanted my message to be clear, organized crime was no longer welcome in New York, Toronto, or anywhere else I encountered it. Anyone remotely associated with mobsters deserved the lawless measures of my resolve. For those that protected the Mob, from the corrupt lawyers to the politicians, my intentions were the same. There would be no negotiations—only judgment and death.

  Before I became a member of the Palatini, I worked alone. It never bothered me. The camaraderie I’d had with the Palatini knights when I was invited to participate on a joint operation, I enjoyed immensely. It also made me realize the value of a well-executed plan on a much larger scale than what I was able to do alone. We hit three continents almost simultaneously, ripping the tentacles off a monstrous child pornography ring. Any criminal effort could be destroyed if men would take a stand and kill it.

  As far as the Palatini project that Anna had envisioned, the writing was on the wall. I had no way to contact any of the other Palatini operators. Max was the go-between for the Society members, and he’d made it clear, I was on my own. Without Max, the others had no way to know the predicament I was in. Max had defunded the project and wanted it shut down with all Palatini assets out of the area. I was alone.

  No matter, I managed to get along pretty well with myself. When I began to freelance, I was a one man death squad. I didn’t like the limelight—I preferred the shadows. With the Abbandanza mobsters, there would be enough to keep me busy for ten lifetimes. I saw only one drawback; I would have to stay in the northeastern cities where the Machine lived.

  Enforcer Frank Rizzi was an integral part of Capo Carl Mostarda’s Rochester crew. He was my next target. By whacking Rizzi, I would expand my kill range to three of the four Family factions. That left one loose end, Marco Camerota.

  According to Cal, Camerota ran a crew on Toronto’s East-End. He was a Lieutenant who operated separately from Capo De Luca. There had been meetings held to establish Camerota as a capo and separate the Toronto faction into two crews, but it hadn’t happened by the time Cal ended up face down in the dumpster.

  I was building upon the rumored strife in the Toronto underworld; I would spread the dead around to all the crews, except Camerota’s. Maybe Chloe told the cops what I said that Gallo was killed by Camerota. If the Mob got wind of an internal power grab, or a suspicion, Camerota would eventually be called to a sit down and asked to explain why everyone else was getting hit besides him. Suspicion, a basic human behavior, would go hog-wild. It was easy to create and easier to exploit. One mobsters trying to upset the balance of power for a greedier take of the pie. That’s what business was about—the pie.

  Rochester’s Capo, Carl Mostarda, ran satellite operations along the smaller border towns in the area. He was the youngest and newest of the Abbandanza Capos; a tall, lanky man in his early forties, with short cropped coal black hair, wearing thick lensed eyeglasses. He was a hustler that earned his way to his position in the family. He ran a legitimate business in Rochester, the Double Decker Lounge—a two-story social club frequented by a host of New York State uppity mucky-mucks. From the pictures Cal had of Mostarda, he would be easily identified in a crowd. He had smarts, money, and connections. Evidently, that was enough when you’re an “earner” for the Mob.

  Mostarda’s crew had a specialty when it came to making money. They had well established brothels spread up and down the border, but that was old news. It was also the old ways which he’d inherited when he ascended to the Capo throne. It was a lucrative crew, but Mostarda felt it could be improved. He’d found himself influenced by some of the up and coming criminals of a new generation. The brothels under his crews’ tutelage found new ways to scam ignorant clientele with phone sextalk and internet webcam sex shows. They made a link between prostitution and cybercrimes. It was the new thing. It made them a t
on of money.

  I wasn’t so much in the fog about the scam, but I boned up on Mostarda’s slant. Cal’s cop friend provided the low-down. It was a side note, but once again, rumors of paranoia surfaced. The Machine’s factions had concerns about his operation being too large scale and strung out too far. The chief complaint centered on Mostarda’s business bordering on other capo’s territory. He was pushy and wanted more of the pie.

  His prostitution business had gone unscathed by the Feds. However, it wasn’t the usual case of payoffs or blackmail. It was a lack of interest. The attitude of “who was it harming” was customary in government circles. If it wasn’t illegal drugs or arms smuggling, they didn’t care. Besides, everyone knew it was the oldest profession in the world.

  Mostarda was a businessman. He didn’t like his assets waiting around in a whorehouse not making him a profit, all the time. Like any good entrepreneur, he had a solution. His girls would make money through cybersex. When they didn’t have a trick to turn they would make their talents good in other ways. If they didn’t go along with his idea, he had a solution for that too. It didn’t take more than a couple of hookers to suffer his brutal consequences before the word got around what would happen. Obedience followed.

  Cal laid out what he’d heard or knew about the cybercrime gig. Mostarda’s associates and wannabes canvassed the red-light districts of border towns looking for suckers. As they say, there’s one born every day. In New York, there seemed to be a disproportionate amount born every day. A lot more. An endless supply. “Peephole Sex” was the newest vice on the internet, and guys were lining up for it.