He whispered back, “Damn, Michael. What’s the Spanish word for ‘No’?”
“It’s ‘No’.”
“Remind me of that next time you call and it’s not Thanksgiving.”
We each stepped out of the car on our own side. Two other goons appeared and frisked us for weapons. They led us up a path through the trees to the front steps of what in Montana would be called a hunting lodge. Inside, we climbed a second set of steps to a door at the top of the landing.
Goon One knocked. Goon Two responded to the voice from inside and opened the door. For all we knew, we were prisoners of the man who sat at the head of the large oval table in the center of the rustically decorated room. He sat in the high-back chair at head of the table. I was sure that the regal chair and the cigar he smoked while seeming to ignore us were props to convey to us who was in charge.
Prisoners or not, Harry strode, rather than walked, to the only other high-back chair at the table, directly facing our host. I sat in the low-back chair beside Harry.
Harry pulled his chair up to the edge of the table with what seemed to be a maximum of thumping sounds. I knew it was intended as an annoying counter to our host’s air of authority. He clearly took it that way. His glare moved from Harry to me.
He indicated Harry with his chin. “Can that one do it in Spanish?”
Before I could answer, Harry addressed the man sitting to the right of our host, whom I assumed to be Chico Mendosa. “Can that one do it in Chinese?”
A taut silence settled in for about five seconds. Finally, our host addressed Harry directly in English. “Let’s get this on the table. You’re here at my allowance. I could have the both of you shot right now with one word. Understand that.”
Harry faced him with a stare I’d never seen before. He pounded his fist on the table. I was halfway into a solemn prayer, when Harry fired the words. “Then do it!”
Another silence, more frozen than the last. “Do it! Do it now! I have no time for this juvenile posturing.”
Our host had the firepower on his side, but still seemed to be the one grasping for control. “Do you know who the hell—”
“Do I know who you are? Of course I do. Why do you suppose I came here?”
Before our host could reload to fire another verbal volley, Harry settled back in his chair with a sense of calm that went beyond impressive. “Let’s start making sense here. You have two choices. You could go on playing the big shot for your peons here. You could even get your jollies ordering the killing of two men you know are unarmed. Or . . . you can stop playing a pissant gangster and act like a businessman. I came here to make a deal that will bring you more money than you could imagine in your wildest dreams.”
That last part seemed to gain an edge on the rest. Our host was chewing at the end of his cigar with narrowed eyes. “I hear you already made a deal with the insectos and the Italians back in the States.”
“You heard right. Those people couldn’t even pull off a fixed race. I had to put money into it to get those animal crates moving. Without me, you’d have a warehouse full of dead animals and no way to move what this thing is really about. Now, if you’re through wasting my time, let’s talk about what’s going to make the real money. For both of us.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“I’m talking about what’s in those cages besides animals. I’ll say it if you won’t. Heroin. Pure. White as the driven snow. Probably more than ever came across the mainland border in one load.”
The cigar-chewing became more intense. “Where did you hear that? Who told you that? I don’t even know who the hell you are.”
Harry matched the penetration of his eyes. “And you never will. Unlike you, I belong to an organization that has the discipline to keep its identity to itself. I’ll give you a name. The Chinese tong. Say it to most people, they’ll say it hasn’t existed for decades.”
Another pause before he spoke. “Then why would I want to do business with this tong that maybe doesn’t even exist?”
“I’ll give you the only reason that matters. You have buyers for the heroin after it’s smuggled in. A few mafia families. The Russians. The Irish. Whatever. How much are they offering for it?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“You don’t have to. I know what they can afford. Get your head out of a hole in the ground and listen. Take what they’re offering for the drugs . . . and triple it.”
I could see our host’s eyes bulge involuntarily. “The hell.”
“No. Not ‘the hell.’ The fact. There’s a reason I can pay this and still make more money myself than you ever dreamed of. I can cut it, package it, and distribute it through every Chinatown in every city in the United States and Canada. The demand is something you can’t even comprehend.”
Our host sat in silence running mental calculations. Harry gave him the space by slowly checking his watch and looking at his cell phone. When he looked back at our host, he leaned forward as if he were ready to stand.
“I’ll add one element. This is just the first time. If I find your organization reliable . . . This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
My respect for the depth of Harry’s cool just doubled with his tossing off that last line from the movie Casablanca.
Our host was beginning to swim in dreams reaching fantasies. “How does this work?”
“The simpler, the better. As planned. The gang you call the insectos will do the smuggling into the mainland wherever you have the connections already greased. I assume somewhere on the coast of Florida. The bribes will still work because everyone will still think they’re just smuggling animals. My people will have no part of that. When it’s in and unloaded, you tell us where it is by phone. I’ll be waiting. I’ll check it out. If it’s what it’s supposed to be, I’ll wire the first payment to be sure it goes through. You acknowledge receipt. Then I wire the rest of the payment in full.”
Harry took a pen and piece of paper out of his pocket. He wrote a dollar amount per kilo on the paper, folded it, and slid it across the table. Our host grabbed it and opened it.
Harry stood. “I want to hear just one word, and I leave.”
Our host had the cigar chewed down to the wrapper. “I need to talk with my people.”
“No, you don’t. You knew what this meeting was about. You’re the man in authority or you wouldn’t be here. Either you have the rocks to make a decision right now that will make you the wealthiest man in Puerto Rico . . . or you’re just the pissant gangster who sat there preening himself when we came in. One word. Yes or no.”
I was very nearly in need of a bathroom for the next five seconds. If the word was “no,” there was no reason not to order both of our heads blown off forthwith.
Our host tossed his masticated cigar into a wastebasket. He stuffed the paper in his pocket and nodded in the affirmative.
My feet were nearly on the way to the door when Harry gave my blood pressure one last bounce.
“I’d like to hear the word. Out loud.”
Our host seemed to regain some sense of control from the decision-making process. I could see him chafing at being given an order in front of his men. He spoke calmly, but the underlying threat was clear. “Be careful. The day may come when you will cross the line. In spite of the money.”
Harry returned the calm. “I’m sure you’ll let me know if that day comes.”
“Oh, you’ll know. You’ll know. In the meantime . . . may we both prosper.”
Harry nodded, and the deal was sealed. Our host began to stand. Harry cut short any thought of an uncomfortable parting word on either side. He preceded me directly through the door, down the stairs, and into the waiting car. The instant we were aboard, Nestor put the car in motion for the drive back to the airport.
“I don’t have to ask how it went. You’re both still alive.”
When we cleared the post of the two armed guards, I looked over at Harry to shake his hand. He had held it to
gether as long as necessary. In the ten seconds since we had gotten into the car, his breathing rate had doubled, and the hand I took was trembling enough to mix paint. I looked at his face, now bathed in rivulets of perspiration.
“You were magnificent, Harry.”
He managed a weak smile. “Piece of cake, Mike.”
THIRTY-FOUR
EVENTS WERE NOW up to sprinting speed. All the dominoes were set to tumble. The trick was to keep up with them, stay alive, and not miss any important turns.
As our flight back neared Logan Airport, I called Fat Tony to set up a meeting with him and Paulie Caruso at seven that evening to complete the deal for the animals—$900,000 in cash. Fat Tony was with Paulie waiting for our call.
They suggested we meet at Paulie’s restaurant, D’Angelo’s, in the North End of Boston. Harry was listening on the speakerphone. He grabbed my hand with the phone, put on his Chin An-Lo voice, and yelled into the phone. “What have I ever said that would suggest to you that I’m that dimwitted? Mr. Knight and I will be in a private room upstairs in the China Pearl Restaurant on Tyler Street in Chinatown at precisely 7:00 p.m. If you’re both there, on time, alone, without so much as a nail file in your pockets, we’ll do business.”
Before I could speak to soften it, Harry reached over and tapped the “end call” button on my phone. He had apparently more than recovered from our last hairy episode. I was afraid he was beginning to enjoy this altogether too much.
“Harry, could we remember that we’re still dealing with people who would kill both of us—emphasize both—with sadistic joy.”
“I’ve got it, Mike. I’m in total control.”
“Hmmm.”
* * *
With Harry’s connections at the China Pearl Restaurant, we had the privacy of a top-floor room, well adorned in Chinese décor with a profusion of rich red accents that clearly implied that it was Harry’s bailiwick.
At 7:00 p.m. precisely, Paulie and Fat Tony were shown through the door by the owner. Harry had the two Chinese muscle men who had been with us at the Ritz-Carlton in attendance by the door.
Harry and I were seated at the table when they arrived. Harry pointed to two empty seats as an invitation. Fat Tony walked to the chair with a strut that looked more self-assured than natural. Paulie looked around for someone to give him the expected frisk. Harry nodded to a chair.
“Sit, Mr. Caruso. I trust your discretion. If you were foolish enough to bring a weapon . . . well, I needn’t describe the consequences in these pleasant surroundings. Sit.”
A few words in Chinese from Harry to the proprietor ensured the same privacy we would have had at the Marliave, minus the dinner. The proprietor withdrew, followed by the two muscle men—whom I later learned were actors Harry had engaged from a Chinese theatre group.
Harry took the lead. “Gentlemen, to the point. To review, I am financing a shipment of live cargo, to be passed through customs at your risk. It will be delivered onshore in the mainland to wholesale buyers with whom you have an arrangement. I understand that they will pay on delivery, and, lest we forget, I shall receive forthwith 35 percent of the agreed price. Are we still in agreement?”
Paulie looked at Fat Tony without speaking. Fat Tony began shifting in his chair. “I don’t know. Thirty-five percent. It seems we take all the risks and you—”
Harry’s fist came down on the table with a resounding smack that could be heard in the North End. I should have been getting used to Harry’s outbursts, but I still came three inches off the chair and grabbed the table. One glance told me that the other two were frozen in place.
“Before you say another word, all bets are down. You play the game as agreed, or I recover my expenses in cash—or pain—before you leave. I do no business with weasels. Speak now!”
Paulie began nodding immediately. Without his army of thugs around him, he was no superhero. Fat Tony was a tougher nut to crack. I could see his mind running numbers. Perhaps it was the promise of reaping the somewhat diminished profit on many future occasions that swung the balance.
“All right. Done.”
Harry was a human roller coaster. He could go from a volcano of erupting emotion to a sedate businessman in a flash, once his feathers were smoothed.
“Done indeed.”
Harry stood and clapped his hands once loudly. Poor Paulie flinched again. Fat Tony just looked curious until the door opened and one of the muscled actors entered the room. He placed the fine leather briefcase in front of Harry.
Harry produced a key, unlocked the case, flipped it open, and spun it around to face our guests. Their eyes were riveted on the fresh, green, bound stacks of presidential portraits.
Harry gave the briefcase a shove. It glided to a halt under their noses below two sets of staring eyes.
“Nine hundred thousand dollars, as agreed. Count it if you like.”
Fat Tony pulled it toward himself. He dug through the top packets to see that the cash ran straight through to the bottom layer. He looked up at Harry with a slick smile and closed the case. “I think we can agree that the unpleasant results of any deception here would flow both ways.”
Harry smiled. “It’s a pleasure to do business with gentlemen who understand the parameters.”
Fat Tony snapped the clasps on the briefcase and placed it at his side.
“Now, gentlemen,” Harry said, refocusing their attention. “To conclude this pleasant meeting, when will the ship with the live cargo sail?”
Fat Tony locked eyes with Harry while he hit one button on his cell phone. He said three words into the phone. “I have it.”
He listened for several seconds and ended the call. He turned back to Harry. “The ship sails this evening. It will dock in two days. Early morning.”
“Good. Where will it come ashore?”
Fat Tony looked at Harry with a wary eye. “I don’t know. What difference is that to you?”
“Just a curiosity. However, my 35 percent is not a curiosity. I’ll expect your call in two days. I’ll give you instructions then to wire the money to my account.”
* * *
I noticed that the two stayed close to each other as they descended the steps of the China Pearl Restaurant. I watched through an open window upstairs. When they hit Tyler Street, they were engulfed in the dinner hour sea of Chinatown denizens. There was a large sprinkling of tourists in the crowd, but after my planting thoughts of the Chinese tong in their minds, every Asiatic face that crowded them on the sidewalk drew them closer together. Fat Tony was carrying enough cash in that fine briefcase to make anyone paranoid under the circumstances.
Fat Tony hailed the first on-duty taxicab he could find parked by the sidewalk. They hustled their fat butts through the cab door, slammed it, and gave orders to the driver to get them the hell out of there.
I have to admit, it tickled me to the point of the first actual out-loud laugh I could remember. Harry gave me a quizzical look.
“You seem jolly after just giving away $900,000 of taxpayers’ money to two of the lowest parasites on earth.”
“I don’t know, Harry. Maybe it’s being in your fine company. Maybe it’s having those parasites out of our sight. Or maybe it’s the fact that the driver of that cab they got into is one of the few Chinese members of the Boston Police Force. They don’t know it, but their next stop is the Eighth Precinct station house for booking on race fixing and smuggling charges. That fine briefcase of taxpayers’ money is actually on its way back to the office of Deputy District Attorney Billy Coyne.”
Harry was grinning now. “The hell you say.”
“I do say, Harry. And, as far as the mafia in the North End is concerned, neither you nor I had anything to do with the arrest. We can still go to dinner at Lucca’s anytime we like.”
I couldn’t help thinking of the joy and relief the arrest of those two would bring to my client, Victor. With the heads cut off of the race-fixing organization, he could not only come out of hiding—he and every other jo
ckey at Suffolk Downs from that day on could ride every race to win.
* * *
Our next move was to get Harry back to his sumptuous digs at the Ritz-Carlton. On the drive, I got a call from Nestor. He had heard from the two Brazilians. Ansuro had told him that the whole crew at the warehouse was suddenly busy loading the new crates, repacked with the animals, on the three trucks. They’d be pulling out for the trip to the docks in Mayagüez sometime after midnight.
“Has Ansuro heard where they’ll come ashore on the mainland?”
“He heard them talking about two sites. One is just north of Boca Raton on the east coast of Florida. The other is on the east side of Key Largo. There’s an inlet off Garden Cove inside of Rattlesnake Key. He couldn’t hear which one they’ll use.”
“Don’t worry about it. If it’s down to two, I can find out which one. It’s time, Nestor. We need you in position to lead the people we talked about to the warehouse area.”
“I’m ready.”
I hung up and dialed Billy Coyne. He was waiting for my call at the federal building office of the U.S. attorney.
I gave him all the information, including Nestor’s number. “It’s on, Mr. Coyne. Are you ready to put it in gear?”
“Soon as I get the word.”
“You’ve got it. Right now. Go.”
I dropped Harry and drove directly to the El Rey de Lechón Restaurant in Roslindale. It was close to closing. This time I came in through the front door. Ben, the chef, was just carrying out the last dish from in front of the lone diner, Mr. Garcia, at his usual table. He and I had the room to ourselves.
Mr. Garcia seemed surprised to see me. He waved a gracious hand toward a chair at his table. He called to Ben to bring more wine and another glass. He did, and returned to the kitchen cleanup for the night.
I sat and accepted both the wine and the toast to my health from Mr. Garcia. I told him that my time was short, but I had some news. I told him that the animals were about to be shipped from Mayagüez. It was too late for anyone to stop it.
He asked if I knew where they’d come ashore. I took a deep draft of the wine and looked at him directly. At this point, we switched to Spanish. “Yes, It’s a point just north of Boca Raton. They’ll smuggle the animals ashore there. The customs people know about it, but they’ve been bribed before.”
Fatal Odds Page 28
