Lawless Measures_Vigilante_The Fight Continues

by Lyle O'Connor

  Tuff Tony had a tough job. He was responsible for the Machine’s day-to-day operations. His brother, Sal was a recluse who’d handled the interface with the other crime syndicates in New York, as far south as Florida and Texas. He was rarely seen by the media. Tuff Tony was the face of the Machine.

  I’d followed the satchel of loot here, but I doubted it had found a home. The money had a destination, and Bruno had a responsibility to get it there. The road trip wouldn’t be over until it made it to Rocco Colansante. Tuff Tony got the cut after Rocco did his thing. This was all according to Cal, and it was possible he was wrong.

  I had to speculate why Bruno was here instead of Rocco’s. Maybe they were pulling some shenanigans on the drop. Skimming from the take wasn’t unheard of, and after all they were criminal types. More likely their meeting had to do with other business; the recent killing of mobsters might be a hot topic, I hoped so. Bruno was responsible for the security of the business, and it was threatened. I’d given them plenty to talk about, mostly in the way of dead bodies strewn about, and I wasn’t done giving the family hierarchy a motive for secret meetings.

  I waited. What choice did I have at this point? I wanted Bruno in the bag, and the drop in my pocket before the day was up. He was a primary player in the Mob, more important than Rizzi by far, but he was still an errand boy. If I pulled it off right, Marco Camerota would be the fall guy. If it didn’t go smooth, it would still crank up their paranoia a notch. If the local crews thought someone put the muscle on them, they might lash out and start a gangland war. There was always plenty of tension on the street over territorial ownership. The ethnic drug cartels were struggling for dominance and didn’t like the “street tax” structure where they had to pay the Mob for protection to conduct business.

  As I sat on the observation, a police cruiser pulled in close to where I parked, then a second car, then more unmarked cars with an unmarked van. It looked like a meeting of the minds. I sat low in my Avenger. The marked cars pulled into the condo parking lot and sealed off the entrances. Moments later the unmarked police vehicles pulled up to the condo entrance while officers in commando styled vests from the van took up positions at the condo exits. Officers walked quietly from their unmarked cars and entered the building.

  Time stood still. Bruno’s SUV was parked at street level in clear view. I hadn’t seen hide-nor-hair of him. Officers exited in three small groups a couple minutes apart. Each group had a man in custody. The prisoners were placed into the back seats of the unmarked cars. Bruno was in the first group.

  The show went on; gawkers crowded the street while news reporters were held at bay by the police. As night closed in, I decided to head back to sanctuary. I was disappointed, I’d hoped to end the day with a higher body count, but I wasn’t without a way forward. There was tomorrow, and there was Rizzi.

  Chapter 9

  “I know other criminals will fill the void the dead will leave.”

  —Walter

  I awoke in a panic. I didn’t know what had triggered the alarm that I sensed, but it caused me to leap from the couch. I knew it was early in the morning, but not much else had registered. I heard music playing in my head that reminded me of the old black and white television series Twilight Zone. It was another nightmare of sorts, the kind I’d had over the past couple weeks. I’d had nightmares before and found ways to enjoy them, but these were different. They were about Anna as this one had been, and increasingly unpleasant. The strangest part of the dream that had awakened me was the harsh sound of knocking. It didn’t connect in any meaningful way.

  Before I could return to a prone position on the couch, I had to check the house. I didn’t think it was any different from what most people would do; if they’d been startled awake. I knew I wouldn’t find a rational reason why something went bump in the night while I slept, but I had to make sure the house was safe before I closed my eyes again.

  Then I heard it again; a thumping on the safe house entry door. I quickly retrieved my .40-caliber from its resting place on the end table next to the couch. I ran the slide, and it snapped back charging a round into the chamber, loud enough a person with an ear to the door might have heard. While I waited, I picked up two fifteen round magazines, and slid them into my back pants pocket.

  I thought to myself, the knocking noise might have had another origin, a sound from something else in the complex, but it sounded like knocking. Who was the question? There was no maid or room service, and no one knew I was here besides Max. Management had no reason to knock on my door unless the rent was due. Max said he wasn’t funding the project any further, maybe he’d stopped the money flow, and I was on the hook for the stay. For a fleeting moment, I hoped to hear Anna’s voice from the other side of the door. If she were still alive she would come to my safe house, but in my heart I knew it wasn’t her. We had protocol. She wouldn’t have made that mistake.

  The knocking had not repeated again since I’d picked up my weapon. Whoever it was might have left. Still, I couldn’t think of a good reason to open the door to see. They might be waiting me out. Whatever the circumstance, there was a slew of reasons why someone might stop knocking, not the least of which would be to avoid drawing attention.

  It could be cops, but again, no reason to answer the door. I wasn’t in the mood to talk voluntarily with detectives. If they wanted in bad enough, they knew how to get in, but knocking was hardly their style. A police raid would swarm the place with S.W.A.T. or snag a pass key from the desk attendants. Whatever the purpose of the knockers on the other side of the door, I wasn’t buying in.

  Thump, thump, thump. The “Whoever” I’d been concerned about, was still there. I could hear my heartbeat hammering away in my ears. Thoughts of the previous night came rushing at me. The Machine might be wise to me? Three were in custody, and I assume they were all family members since Bruno was the first one hauled out in cuffs. But, I still didn’t know what their meeting was about. It might have been about me. Maybe they’d issued some orders to take me out. The worst case scenario played in my mind. Anna, under extreme duress, had given up sanctuary to the Mob. Did I believe that was possible? It would be understandable. Most people rapidly broke down under torturous conditions. At my door, there was silence. Anticipation had become worse than the knocking.

  If they wanted a war, they’d come to the right place. They might get me in a rush, but it was going to cost them. Thugs would have to breach the door to get me. I intended to make it difficult. I moved back into the bedroom. The hostel was from an era when they built buildings thick and heavy. The doors were solid core, and the door jamb where I took up position was sturdy, and thick enough to protect from smaller caliber weapons. The type of guns most mobsters carried, cheap, Saturday-night specials, the famous throw-away guns.

  I didn’t live prepared for a standoff; I quietly made a suitable barrier in the doorway with a light-weight metal book shelf. I kneeled to conceal myself and waited with my weapon poised and ready. I didn’t have time to think about the endless possibilities at my door, not anymore. I had the necessary response for whatever tried to come through.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. The thuds became more pronounced. It was reminiscent of a hammer pounding on the door instead of the knuckles of a balled-up hand. “Mate, are you there?”

  No way! How could it be? I was dumbfounded at the likelihood of Seymour Bludd at my door. I stood and inched my way to the door, still unsure of the right course of action. Bang. Bang. Bang, “Open up mate, I know you are in there?”

  Standing to one side of the door as I cracked it open slowly, I asked, “Bludd?”

  I was met with a resounding, “Giddaymate!”

  I opened the door further. Standing before me was a barrel-chested fellow, sporting a ball cap and smiling ear to ear. “Sorry for the intrusion this way, mate. Can I come in?” Seymour gently pressed his way through the door opening and into my living quarters.

  I was relieved to see it was Bludd at my door, to a point. I was
still hyped with a lot of adrenaline; it would take a few minutes to work through my system. Until then, I wouldn’t be able to talk much. Bludd seemed aware of my condition and didn’t press the conversation. I peeked down the hall then closed the door. Bludd clamored about in the little kitchenette apparently looking for something. As I stood with my Glock still in hand, he pulled out a teapot, filled it with water, and placed it on the stove. I looked out the security viewer peephole, I wasn’t sure why, an instinct I suppose. The million dollar question sat poised on the tip of my tongue. Why was he here?

  Still digging through cupboards, Bludd asked, “Where’s your tea, Mate.”

  “In America we drink coffee.” It was a mindset. Everyone knew Americans drank tea, too, but where I was reared, we drank coffee year round and iced tea in the summer when it was hotter than blazes. The only time I recalled having hot tea was when we ate at a Chinese restaurant.

  “So it is.” Bludd laughed, and continued to scrounge around in the cabinets until he came upon a cache of tea in a plastic container. Anna had stocked sanctuary with items she thought we might need. I’d bet my bottom dollar she didn’t have Bludd in mind when she bought the tea.

  It was a nerve-wracking way to start the morning. Bludd was still rummaging through the pantry when I put my gun back on the end table. I placed the two extra magazines from my pants pockets next to the Glock and aligned them in such a way they could be retrieved quickly should the need arise. It was a habit, a good habit.

  Captain Seymour Bludd was how he was introduced to me in Houston, Texas. He was a skilled and dedicated Palatini operative with years of service—I was a rookie. He sported a solid reputation amongst the knights of the Order and was responsible for the Brazilian project, my first joint operation. The more I thought about it, the more I realized, I really didn’t know jack-squat about the guy or why he showed up here. I chide the Mob for their paranoia, but I guess any of us with a stake in the game, would be a little distrustful considering the same circumstances. He had questions to answer before I relaxed my guard.

  I watched Bludd as he lollygagged behind the kitchenette-counter while he presumably waited for the water to boil. I had to ask myself, what if Max sent him to tie off all the loose ends on this project. I was probably the only real loose end Max would have been concerned with. Nothing else of the project remained. Had Max directed Bludd to dispose of me and thereby safeguard the Society? With my comfort level challenged and deteriorating, I slipped my Kydex paddle holster on my belt and placed my Glock securely into it.

  Bludd eyeballed the bedroom barrier and said, “Were you expecting guests?” He laughed and continued, “I don’t want to interrupt anything if you are.”

  “No, it’s the way I keep house.”

  He removed his cap and hung it on a protruding cabinet handle. His receding hairline exposed, he wiped his hands over the tuffs of hair covering his temples. I caught his eyes as he carefully followed my every move. I tightened my belt.

  “Do you always put your gun on before your shirt?”

  “Always.”

  Bludd nodded, I don’t know what it was, a posture or a particular gesture, but something non-verbal was communicated that brought emphasis to our uneasy scenario. A moment later, Bludd turned his attention to the boiling water. He remained at the counter while he poured a small cup full of steaming water. Nonchalantly he dipped his tea bag; more notable was the avoidance of eye contact. His decision not to engage in a stare down, precisely at that moment, was the right choice. Any face to face encounter would have transmitted a distinctive threat. I’d seen it before with animals on the farm. Stare them in the eyes and they would react to the anxiety that was created. People were the same way, although they don’t like to admit it. It was as if the reaction was a bad thing and meant to be denied rather than utilized for survival. It was an instinct. There was nothing wrong with having them. It helped to recognize a threat when it was present. I felt the tension subside. We had managed to get through a mutually uncomfortable situation.

  “I suppose you’re curious as to why I’m here?”

  That was the understatement of the day, and he knew it. I’d come to understand communication worked like a game. For equal players, there were rules to be followed. I walked around behind the kitchen where Bludd stood, filled the coffee pot with water, added enough coffee, from a can I kept on a shelf, to insure it would produce a strong brew and then switched it on. Bludd smiled with a big toothy grin and said, “Touché.” He wasn’t drinking coffee, I wasn’t drinking tea.

  Bludd took a seat at the little two-person dining table with his back to the wall. I would have done similar and wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. He sipped his tea slowly and repeatedly rubbed his hands over a seriously balding head. A subconscious behavior I’d seen before. Bludd had something on his mind. I waited for the idea to pop out like a Genie from a bottle. The coffee aroma filled the air.

  I poured a cup of the cheap drip-grind java and topped it with skim milk. As I stirred the blend together, Bludd interrupted my thoughts, “Have a seat mate.” I slipped into the chair opposite of my visitor and stirred my coffee. A peaceful quiet sat in. Only the spoon clinking against the sides of my cup and the sound of Bludd sipping his tea broke the stillness.

  “So, to what do I owe this pleasure my friend?” My tone was lighthearted and noticeably insincere. Although I was relieved to see Bludd at my door, I was filled with contempt and mistrust for anything Palatini. I trusted no one.

  Bludd stood to his feet; my hand left the spoon and moved toward my holstered weapon. He turned his back to me as he reached across the counter to retrieve the teapot. “You are not one to trust very much, are you,” he said.

  “A guy might live longer if he didn’t.” I waited for him to respond with a different opinion. I didn’t care if he did. He could have his opinion, and could have argued the point until he was blue in the face; it wouldn’t have changed my mind one iota.

  Bludd sat down in his chair and with a fresh tea bag began the ritualistic dunking into his cup of water. I intently watched the dip, dip, and squeeze of the bag. He replied, “Good, I like that in a person.”

  “So why are you here?”

  Bludd peered over the top of his cup as he took a sip. “You can’t keep all the fun to yourself, mate. You have to share.”

  I felt better. His words were sincere. He was the kind of guy that lived the Palatini lifestyle to the hilt; he lived to kill. I wanted to hear more.

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “Maximillian, of course.” Bludd held his cup level with his lips and continued, “He rang me up and asked if I was interested in lending a hand.” He smirked as he continued, “He said it was apt to be sporting. What say you mate.”

  “It might be too late to do much about the project.” The way I saw it, the original project had died with Anna. The only remnant left of the plan, was the killing, and I’d expanded on the idea.

  “I doubt that mate. I’ve heard reports. That’s why I’m here; to finish it.”

  His sincere response and warm smile lifted my spirits. I had a sense of rejuvenation. I was not alone. That would make a difference on how the end game played out. If he was in it for the long haul, two Palatini could wreak havoc ten-fold over what one could do.

  Bludd leaned forward, lowered his cup and whispered, “Frankly, Maximillian was surprised you stayed the course. He feared you’d give it up. Kudos mate.”

  I presented the project scorecard, “Before Anna disappeared I’d taken out three targets on her list. It undoubtedly put a damper on the sex slavery trade in Buffalo, but I doubt it’d be a long standing deterrent. Since Anna disappeared, I’ve taken out a few low-level players. Honestly, I’ve had a hard time with leads. I was used to having had my homework done ahead of time, not playing catch up in the middle of the game.”

  Bludd erupted in laughter, “I’d bet Maximillian you’d have downed a hundred of them by now.” He wipe
d his forehead, and said, “Glad you left some for the rest of us mate!”

  “Rest of us? What rest of us?

  “You have the lead on this project. Maximillian has made that clear. He has also fully funded the project regardless of how long it takes.”

  “I count you and me. What rest of us were you talking about?”

  “Maximillian put out a call to all knights of the Order. There will be other lads show, I know it.”

  I had my reservations. Why hadn’t Max called me and let me in on the bigger picture? He knew Bludd had committed to show up, how many more Palatini operators were en route? Manpower was a game changer. Management of assets would be new to me; I wasn’t sure I wanted the responsibility. I didn’t have a plan that included others. It would take time to construct, time I didn’t want to waste; it was time that wouldn’t involve killing. It would be a slow process to get a new asset on board with the information to be efficient. I gathered up the exposé and laid it on the table.

  “This won’t be the extensive briefing you’re used to on a project. It’s an ongoing process with new developments every day. I intend to dismantle the Machine. It’s rather plain and simple. I’m going to inflict as much damage as I can on their resources and kill as many of them as I can. I know other criminals will fill the void the dead will leave. I can’t do anything about that. Anna is dead. She’s not coming back, but they will pay. If you don’t want any of this, we can part ways now, I won’t think any less of you for keeping to your oaths and bond of righteousness.” Bludd said nothing. He opened up Cal’s writings and began to read. I let him have a few minutes to grasp the scope of the operation.

  “What are you driving?” I asked.

  “I bought a ‘97 Chevy Tahoe in Corpus Christie where I moored The Haphazard until I return.”

  “While I’m gone, store your gear, and park your rig in stall number two-zero-five.”