The Jake Boulder Series: books 1 - 3

by Graham Smith

  It’s just as I had thought. Part of me would like to have been mistaken, but the more primeval part of my psyche is glad he’s mixed up in this. It means I’ll have a chance of following up on my offer to Taylor to recalibrate his sensibilities.

  Jason Tagliente, is the drunken lech from the wedding and, according to what Alfonse has told me about him, very much more than that.

  A beep from my phone alerts me to more news from Alfonse.

  I read the details, with frequent looks up and down the street to check nobody is observing me.

  Tagliente is a second cousin of Genaro Chellini, and features on several lists compiled by various law enforcement agencies. While he is not thought to be directly involved in mafia activity, he’s known to be a shrewd investor on the stock markets, and has thrice been investigated after accusations of insider trading were made.

  None of these were upheld, but I suppose someone with a talent for making money on the stock exchange may well face such finger-pointing as a matter of course.

  The picture in my head is clearer than the pope’s conscience. Chellini will tip off Tagliente regarding a deal, hit, or some other move he’s going to make.

  Tagliente will act based on his own predictions as to how the company’s share prices will react. He’ll buy when the price is low, only to sell at the peak of the market when Chellini’s influence has been felt. In other cases, he will know to sell before huge losses are incurred, and then he can swoop in and replace all his sold shares at a fraction of their original value.

  For these financial sleights of hand, Tagliente won’t just be using his own money, he’ll be using the money of whichever corporation Chellini has set up for such purposes.

  With this information stored for a better examination at a later time, I take a casual walk up the tree-lined street, with my phone pressed to my ear, and peek through the various gates at the supercars on the drives.

  I see plenty of Ferraris and Lamborghinis, and a couple of Rolls Royces before I pass Tagliente’s house.

  His gates are solid timber, with the same studs you’d see on a medieval castle’s door. There are no chinks I can peer through, and the last thing I want is to be caught spying by The Mortician.

  As I’m passing the next house along, I hear the muted putter of an engine kicking into life behind me.

  I slow my pace and wait to see what kind of vehicle appears.

  A small Ford comes out of Tagliente’s drive and passes me as it heads to New York. I snatch a glimpse at the driver and see a short man who can barely see over the steering wheel.

  His face is unremarkable and has a general meatiness to it that suggests the man has muscle that’s turning to fat.

  I dismiss the man as a staff member who’s just finished work. There’s no way he looks dangerous enough to be The Mortician.

  I’ve covered less than a hundred paces when I get a message from Alfonse telling me The Mortician is on his way to New York.

  That I’ve been in close proximity to him doesn’t worry me. He doesn’t know what I look like, or that I’m tracking him. I dare say if he has tried to track me, the same way Alfonse has tracked him, he’ll have figured I ditched the phone after getting his message instructing me to leave town.

  Whether I ditched the phone or smashed it in a fit of temper is neither here nor there. It’s no longer with me.

  His choice of car is interesting. It’s by no means a base model, but at the same time it’s not a fire-snorting racer that announces its passing with a grumbling exhaust and a paint job a six-year-old could design.

  He’s gone for something innocuous, yet pacy. The little Ford will be good in the city and will have a decent amount of grunt should he find himself in rural areas. It’s the kind of car I’d have given my eyeteeth for when that SUV was chasing me and Cameron.

  I’m left with two choices. I can either follow The Mortician back to New York, so I can attack him in his lair, or I can do something intelligent instead.

  Intelligence wins out. After my attempt to lure him into a trap, The Mortician will have raised his security levels and general awareness. I’m guessing, but I’m pretty sure that as a professional hitman, his base level of home security is akin to Fort Knox’s, lest he be attacked by those seeking to avenge a fallen comrade or family member.

  Now I have to choose between asking Tagliente a few questions, and learning more about what I may be facing should I go and knock on Tagliente’s door.

  78

  Cameron’s head snaps up when he hears a key turning in the lock. He pulls on his shoes and waits to see who comes in.

  First through the door is Ivy, and she’s followed by six guys – their presence forces him back, onto the bed.

  His first thought is that she’s organised a beating for him. His second thought is that the beating is coming because Jake has failed.

  ‘Good news, bawbag. The hospital has called John with your results. You’re a match.’

  ‘Excellent, I’m so relieved.’ Cameron tries to make his voice sound like he means what he’s saying.

  An arched eyebrow shows her disbelief. ‘Of course you are.’ She waves a hand at the six guys. ‘Some of Jake’s friends have come to help you get to the hospital. Isn’t that nice?’

  Cameron sees the sense in what she’s done; he’s a definite flight risk and he can’t help but admire the way she’s thwarted any attempt at escape he may try. Or, he would do, had he not spent the best part of his life working for men who were devious, underhand and downright violent.

  Everything about this situation makes him afraid: from the grim, silent faces, to the twitching gait of the six guys with Ivy. Maybe twenty years ago he might have managed to put a couple of them down and have it away on his toes, but there is no chance of that now. He will be going wherever they decide to take him.

  Ivy positions herself in front of him and looks him in the eye.

  ‘You look scared, Cameron. Are you afraid these fine gentlemen are here to harm you? That you’ll be taken into the wilds and killed?’ She gives a little smile. ‘Once, I might have wanted you dead, but I’ve moved on with my life. I’ve healed from all the pain you caused, and found happiness again. There’s no way I’m prepared to spend the rest of my life worrying about going to jail for your murder. You took my happiness once, I won’t let you take it again.’

  Cameron sees the truth in her eyes, and his fear seeps away.

  This might be for the best anyway. Sure, having to hang around and donate to John will delay him getting on with the next phase of his life, but at the same time, the sooner it’s done, the sooner he can leave town.

  With luck, he’ll be long gone by the time Jake returns. Cameron knows his son carries a lot of anger about what happened with the girl, and once he’s donated to John he’ll no longer be of value to Jake.

  He doesn’t think Jake would go so far as to kill him, but he does believe his son would use fists, where his ex-wife had used words.

  Sometimes, the best defence is not to be on the battlefield.

  79

  My journey back to New York is a train ride that costs about one eighth of what I paid the cabbie to get out here.

  Neither time nor money are what’s on my mind though. My thoughts are somewhere else altogether.

  Jason Tagliente’s half-cousin is Genaro Chellini, the notorious mafia head. The wedding I’d met Tagliente at, was that of his brother to one of Taylor’s cousins.

  Therefore, knowingly or not, my girlfriend’s family are connected to the mafia by marriage.

  A part of my mind is wondering if there is any way that Tagliente was in contact with The Mortician; whether he’d offered a bonus to the hitman if Taylor were to die as well as Cameron.

  While it seems far-fetched on a train in daylight, I know the question will nag at me as darkness falls. I’m aware I may be pointing fingers at everyone I dislike, so I can justify killing them as an act of vengeance, but I do wonder about the possibility. Until I reali
se there’s no way that Tagliente could have known who the girl on the boat was.

  I get off the train and make my way across town until I’m back in a familiar area. It’s too late for me to make my planned visit so I hole up in a cheap hotel for the night.

  Gavriel is opening the pawn shop when I arrive. His expression when he sees me is one of surprise. He goes to speak, and then his mouth closes.

  I follow him inside.

  Once the door is locked behind me, he takes me to a small office, which has two chairs and a desk that’s covered with invoices and bills of sale.

  He looks at me with expectancy, and a docile expression. I know he’s prompting me to speak and I have no problem with that. I’m here for help – from him and his father. Not practical or physical help; all I want is information.

  ‘I’m here because a situation has developed and there are questions that I need answered. Nothing I’m going to ask will put you or your family in danger, but I would very much appreciate honest and full answers.’

  Gavriel stays silent and stares at the wall above my head.

  I match his silence and let him have some thinking time. He’s smart enough to guess that my questions are about the mafia.

  ‘We have heard some things that we think you may already know something about.’ His lips purse as he stifles a yawn. ‘I think my father may be a better person to answer your questions.’

  He casts me a strange look. It’s like he’s waiting for me to say something and his manners are preventing him from asking me whatever he wants to know.

  I could play games and stay quiet to wait him out. If his name was Alfonse, I most certainly would keep my mouth shut, but you can’t be an asshole with people whose help you need.

  ‘What is it, Gavriel? What’s going on?’

  ‘You haven’t heard?’ There’s incredulity in his voice.

  ‘Heard—’ I stop talking. There’s only one thing he can be talking about. Alfonse has released Ms Rosenberg’s evidence. ‘It’s out there?’

  He nods. ‘It’s more than out there, it’s everywhere. The police have been rounding up lots of people. Lots of important people. People who think they are either above the law or out of its reach.’

  ‘Sounds perfect. Has the source of the information been identified?’

  ‘No. There are lots of theories floating about, and the most popular is that it’s an ex-cop who has spent years compiling the case.’

  To my mind, the idea of an ex-cop doesn’t just sound plausible, it goes louder and shouts probable.

  I start to picture some grey-haired guy, poring over dusty files, but I stop myself. I know who built the case – over a forty-year span. Ms Rosenberg wasn’t close enough to me to be called a friend, but I enjoyed her company, and found her to be a decent person who expected the world to share her values and not impede her progress.

  ‘I guess we’re going to have a lot to discuss then.’

  While I’m pleased that Alfonse has broken Ms Rosenberg’s story, I’m worried what effect this new state of play may have on my own mission.

  If the guy I’m after is running scared, or incarcerated, I may never get to deliver the justice that Taylor’s killer deserves.

  The sooner I find out what has happened, and is still happening, the better.

  ‘I will take you to my father, but first you must leave here. I don’t know if I’m being watched, but after hearing what you may have done, I can’t be seen with you.’

  ‘How will I get to meet your father?’

  Gavriel gives me directions to a diner four blocks away. I’m to go there and wait until he passes.

  80

  As instructed, I wait for Gavriel to pass the diner and fall in fifty yards behind him. He’s not setting the fast pace of someone who is in a hurry, or is fearful. Rather, he’s adopting the gait of someone who has neither purpose nor urgency.

  He leads me a few blocks worth of detours until I feel a hand on my shoulder. I glance behind me and see the largest of Halvard’s three nephews. For him, the laying of his hand and the squeeze of my shoulder probably has gentle as the intent, but to me, it feels like the jaws of a vice have attached themselves to me and a maniac is winding them tight.

  ‘Come with me, please.’ His voice is as deep and melodious as befits his bulk.

  I follow him into an alleyway where he leads me to a doorway.

  The door opens at his first knock and I see his two brothers.

  Two minutes later I’m sitting round a kitchen table that is big enough to seat twelve. Or in this case, just large enough for me, Halvard, Gavriel and the three bruisers.

  Halvard’s eyes are weary, and belie a lot more than his age, as he tells me about the arrests that have been made and the chaos that has been brought about by so many mafia men being arrested.

  I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that there have been moves made by most gangs against others, as they use the arrests as an excuse to muscle in on new territory. Halvard hasn’t gone so far as to describe a full-on turf war, but I’m sure it isn’t far away.

  ‘My Fifi really did a number on him, didn’t she?’

  I shrug. ‘I guess she did.’

  I’d say more, but I’m still playing catch-up on the implications and don’t want to speak out of turn.

  ‘Gavriel says you want to know more about the mafia connections.’ Halvard breaks and glances at his son with fondness. ‘I can only tell you about those I know, but what I do know, I’ll tell you.’

  ‘Thanks. First off, Genaro Chellini is a big noise and he’s not been implicated in this business with Gabbidon’s corruption. Does that mean he’s clean, or not connected?’

  Halvard chuckles. ‘He’s clean, so far as Gabbidon is concerned. He has many city officials either in his pocket or under his thumb, therefore he has no need to get involved with the mayor as he’s already got the other key people on board.’

  ‘Fair enough, what about Jason Tagliente? Is he just a money-man or is he in deeper?’

  ‘He’s deep. Chellini has no sons and those in the know, say Tagliente is a definite candidate to succeed him.’

  ‘Interesting. What do you make of that?’

  Halvard screws up his face. ‘Tagliente will be good for the business side of things, but he won’t be as committed as Chellini. He needs to grow up and quit the party life.’

  ‘What connection will he have to The Mortician?’

  ‘Tagliente?’

  I nod.

  ‘He’ll know him. Perhaps he’s even used him.’ Halvard’s eyes narrow. ‘Tell me, Jake, why do you want to know about The Mortician?’

  Both Halvard and Gavriel close their eyes in sadness when I tell them about how Taylor died, and my quest to bring justice to her killer.

  After I finish speaking, we all sit in silence until one of the cousins speaks. It’s not the massive guy, just one of the huge ones.

  ‘Baruch, Yerik, I think we should help out here. If Mr Boulder is going to take on The Mortician, he’s going to need all the assistance he can get.’

  Massive nods his head and looks to the huge guy who hasn’t spoken. ‘I’m with Ike. What about you, Yerik?’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘No. I can’t allow it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Uncle, but you can’t stop us.’

  Halvard’s face drops and his jaw tightens as he looks to me for support.

  I keep my face implacable as I work through the idea of having them alongside me.

  If there’s any kind of fisticuffs, having Halvard’s nephews on my side will be enough to guarantee success against any opponents who fail to bring less than a couple of dozen friends to the party.

  A counterpoint to this is the glaring fact that the three brothers take up one hell of a lot of space. If bullets start to fly, there’s a better than average chance they’ll be hit. I’m not by any means a good shot, but I’d be confident of hitting any one of them at twenty paces.

  Another point is, being of averag
e height and build, I can use subterfuge and sneak in and out of places. The chances of sneaking these guys in or out of anywhere are zero, unless I find myself storming the elephant enclosure at the zoo.

  On the other hand, the extra muscle would be helpful if The Mortician is as deadly as his reputation suggests.

  I look at each of the men in turn, assess their resolve, and see only determination. ‘What I’m planning is very dangerous. You could end up being killed, having to kill, or being imprisoned if things go wrong.’

  It’s Baruch who answers for them. ‘The Mortician threatened our father and made him sell his business to Chellini. We’ll take whatever risks are necessary. You did what you had to do with Kingston, we respect that and want to help you take out The Mortician.’

  I give them another good looking at, making sure I hold each of their stares. ‘If you’re coming with me, you must do as I say, when I say it.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  The three deep voices, speaking as one, almost create a sonic boom.

  81

  Dusk is falling as Ike drives us out to Long Island in a silver SUV. I’d have preferred something a little less conspicuous, but at least it has tinted windows to hide the men-mountains we’ve shoehorned into the back seats.

  I’m in the front passenger seat and it’s been pulled all the way forward to better accommodate Baruch’s bulk. I’m more than a little cramped, but the SUV isn’t big enough to accommodate three bodies as large as those belonging to the Weil brothers. Perhaps a stretch limo would be big enough, but it would be a close thing.

  The SUV smells of testosterone and sweat, with a hint of lavender coming from the air-freshener. For big, silent guys, they’re making a lot of nervous chatter.

  I shush them and lay out my plan of attack. They agree with it in the main and their suggestions are a mixture of insightful and downright suicidal.