by R. B. Conroy
Louie nervously adjusted the neck on the black turtleneck. He glanced down at his protruding belly. He was hoping the generous sweater he was wearing would cover as much of the huge outcropping as possible. Finally, he pushed his glasses up on his nose and tapped lightly on the door. Using the doorbell was out of the question for the reserved Louie. A few seconds later the door cracked open.
“Louie! Come on in my boy! Come in!” The stylishly dressed greeter swung the door open wide waving toward the bar. “Have yourself a drink!”
“Thanks, Tommy—good to see you,” Louie replied.
Tommy “The Greek” Chaconas, owner of the condo, also owned the entire Tower Complex, as well as thirty other condo developments, in the greater Chicago area. He was an extremely wealthy man by anyone’s standards.
“Make yourself at home, Louie!” Tommy smiled warmly and went back to his lady friend, whose long shapely legs extended from beneath the deep V in her evening gown as she sat precariously on the arm of a nearby leather chair.
Louie scanned the stunning room. It was decorated in mainly black and white décor, with lots of glass shelving, expensive lighting effects and delicate knick knacks on the shiny shelves.
Several people nodded or mouthed a quick “hi” to the likeable Louie. From the corner of the room, Louie received a long range grin and nod from Frank Miller, owner of Miller Brothers Inc., the largest brewery in Chicago and a long time customer of his bank. The room was full of Chicago’s finest.
Attractive ladies in long evening gowns—their ample bosoms exposed for the consumption of the male guests—worked the room, smiling and making small talk. A man in a plaid vest stood behind the long bar at the back of the room, busily creating the requested elixirs for the guests.
As Louie made his way to the bar, he noticed two ladies in long gowns leaning over a glass table in the corner of the room. They giggled as they pushed a white powder into lines on the table top. Occasionally, they leaned over for a quick snort. This didn’t surprise Louie; many of the party goers used cocaine as their escape mechanism for the night. Others chose not too. The casual demeanor of the young ladies was an indicator of the total acceptance of this behavior by the others. Cocaine, or blow, as most users liked to call it, was part of the night scene on Rush Street and Louie knew it.
“Whiskey and water?”
“Yeah, thanks Nick.”
The cherubic banker looked at his watch; it was now 11:17. He would stay until 1:00 A.M. and then make his way back to the parking garage near Butch McGuire’s, hoping to be home in Elmwood Park around 2 o’clock. Contrary to most of the others in the room, Saturday was a work day for Louie. If Louie got lucky and paired off with one of the lovely “escort” ladies, he would, of course, have to adjust this schedule. So far, after several years of attending these gatherings, Louie had only got lucky once, but it was a doozy. The unexpected event gave the lonely man a fuzzy feeling for several days afterward. Unfortunately, the intriguing lady had never shown up again. Self-deprecating by nature, Louie assumed it was because she didn’t want to have to spend another night with him.
“Here you are, sir.”
“Thanks.” Louie dropped a five in the tip glass, wrapped his thick fingers around the drink and walked over to one of the many large windows in the expansive living room and looked out at the dazzling lights of the big city below.
Chapter 12
“What the hell’s the name of that lake?”
“It’s like I told ya Jake, Wawasee, with the accent on the ee. ‘Wa-wa-see’. Got it?”
Slightly aggravated, Jake leaned on the stirring wheel and looked away from his partner. “Alright, alright, calm down a little.”
Hawk knew that Jake didn’t like following some family around a lake in Indiana anymore than he did. They were trained to go after bad guys, like the legendary Al Capone or someone who was trying to do harm to our country, like the infamous Aldrich Ames. This assignment was chump change, even for a young agent.
“It’s only 8:30. Maybe we can catch a little of the Cub’s game. How far is the motel?” Hawk asked.
“Just up the road.”
“There’s a Walmart over to the right; stop for a minute. I need some toothpaste.”
The turn signal flashed on the side of the road as they turned into the huge parking lot just as the song, Chicago, blared out from his cell phone.
“Hmmm…kind of late for a call.” Hawk lifted the phone from the small tray in the middle of the armrest.
He shot a glance at Jake. “It’s Wade. Wonder what he wants?”
Jake shook his head and pulled to a stop at the back of the lot. “We’ll soon find out. I’ll activate the hands-free so we both can hear.”
Hawk nodded and then spoke, “What’s up boss?”
“I’m calling you and Jake off this assignment for now.”
“Oh yeah, what happened?”
“Dunno, got a call from D. C.”
“D. C. you say!” He threw a surprised glance at Jake.
“Finish your report and head back home. Try to get a refund for the room. If you can’t, just forget it.”
“Okay, you’re the boss.”
“See ya Monday, unless something comes up.”
“Okay.”
Hawk turned off his phone and loosened his tie. “I guess this is a little bigger operation than we thought. First time in all my years that I’ve been called off a job from D.C.”
Jake smiled. “Can you do the report on your laptop on the way home?”
“I don’t know why not.”
“Still want that toothpaste?”
“No, let’s stop at the motel and see what we can do about the room and then get out of here.”
“10-4.”
Chapter 13
“Come on, baby! Come on down!” Vito screamed. His face was flushed and sweaty and covered with a big, swarthy smile. The dancer moved sensually down to her knees in front of him. He pulled back on the G-string and carefully stuffed in the five spot. The loud, pounding music seemed to ratchet up a few decibels as the all but naked dancer stood and wiggled her way down the runway to the next customer.
“I think she likes me!” Vito bragged.
“She likes your cash, that’s all,” the man seated next to him shouted over the music.
Vito felt a vibration on his leg. “I’m getting a call,” he laughed. “Hope it’s not the old lady!”
“Better not answer it.”
“I won’t if it’s her.”
Vito chuckled nervously as he checked the screen. He put his hand over his ear and moved away from the bright, flashing lights of the long runway. “Barnes, is that you?”
“What the hell’s all that music? Where are you?”
“Uh…I just stopped for a few drinks after work. What’s up?”
“Are you in some topless bar, Vito?”
Vito featured himself a tough guy from the mean streets of West Chicago. He had been an associate for the mob since his youth and he didn’t like the way the older Barnes talked to him. Sometimes it bothered him more than others—this was one of those times.
“Yeah, so what? You’re no angel yourself, Barnes! Besides, it’s none of your business what I do in my spare time!”
Barnes, apparently agitated by the strong response from a person he had so little respect for, paused. He finally spoke, “Listen up Vito, this thing is escalating.”
By now Vito had made his way out of the noisy bar and was walking toward the back parking lot, “Escalating, what do you mean?”
“Alex sent Josh Dulin up to Elmwood Park for a surprise audit and a couple of guys, probably Feds, are following Crane around at the lake.”
“What? An audit at the Chicago office! I knew it, damn it I knew it!” Vito couldn’t believe his ears. He slammed his fist against the fender of a nearby pick-up. “Now you listen to me, Barnes! I didn’t bargain for any of this. I got involved in this mess just to make some quick cash, that’s all. I’m just
a securities dealer; this isn’t my problem!”
“The hell it isn’t, Vito! You’re involved in this up to your eyeballs!”
“That’s bull and you know it! Don’t call me again unless it involves me.”
Barnes was becoming angry. “This was your baby from the get-go, Vito. I wouldn’t even know Ed Moretti if it wasn’t for you!”
“I asked you to help Moretti with his campaign, that’s all.”
“Why’d you ask me, Vito? Why did you ask the Chairman of the Board of the biggest bank in the Midwest? You know why—because you wanted me to skim money from my bank for your buddy’s campaign. So cut the crap!”
“I know nothing about that!”
“What about that night at the club, Vito?”
“What night?”
“That night you and I were having dinner at the club with Montrose and you laughed and said that we could take funds from the Elmwood Park office and big Louie would never know the difference.”
“I must have been drunk.”
“You weren’t that drunk. You’re the one who strong-armed Louie’s controller, Paul Rizzo, into quitting so Montrose would have free reign at Louie’s office.”
Frustrated by Barnes right on assessment of the situation and no match for him intellectually, Vito abruptly ended the call and angrily clicked off his phone. He began pacing back and forth in the parking lot. The ramifications of their little game could be far reaching, and like Barnes, he was very worried. He punched in another number and pushed the phone to his ear.
“Yes Vito, what is it?”
“Barnes just called and told me that a couple of Federal guys, probably FBI, have been following Crane and his family around at their lake home.
“Hmmm…the FBI—doesn’t surprise me.”
“Why do you think the feds are following Crane and his family around anyway?” Vito asked.
“Intimidation.”
“For what reason?”
“Midwest Consolidated is key to the President’s reelection plans and the bank has a huge presence in Missouri, Illinois, Michigan, Indiana and Ohio. Moretti carried Illinois and Michigan pretty comfortably in the last election, so they should stay in his camp. But it was close in Missouri, Indiana and Ohio and if he doesn’t carry those states in the next general he won’t get reelected. And, all three states have a history of voting Republican in the Presidential elections.” There was a pause.
“Go on.”
“In addition to their corporate center in Indianapolis, Midwest has major offices in St. Louis, Cleveland, Cincinnati, and Columbus, along with scores of smaller branches spread throughout all those states, as well as hundreds of mortgage originating offices. Plus, in addition to the offices, there are all those ATM machines and electronic banking centers tucked all over the place. If Midwest fails, the party in power is going to look real bad in those states. Thousands of people could be laid off and tens of thousands of account holders could be affected. The media would have a field day; they love to demonize the banks. It would bode poorly for the Presidential election. Barnes feels that the only way Midwest is staying afloat is to keep the bailout money and Crane wants to pay it back.”
“But why the goons on Alex?” Vito said quizzically.
There was a long, exasperating sigh. “Well, my cerebral friend, because the current administration, including the President, is watching Midwest Consolidated very closely. If Crane insists on repaying the bailout money, the party feels the bank could fail—Crane feels otherwise. The fall mid-term elections don’t look good for the Democratic Party and Moretti is desperately afraid that he will lose the general. Alex Crane has a great big bulls-eye on his back right now and they want him to know it. They are attempting to intimidate him so that he will keep the TARP money—at least until after the Presidential elections.”
“Makes sense and thanks for the info.”
“Anything else?
“Naw and I better run, got some people waiting inside.” Vito was mum on the audit. As far as he knew, only he and Barnes and Montrose knew about it and he wanted to keep it that way.
“Okay, Vito, and tuck one for me, will ya?”
“Smart aleck,” Vito snorted.
The bright lights flashed along the runway, the loud music pounded as the anxious broker wiped his forehead dry with his handkerchief and re-entered the seedy nightspot just in time for his favorite dancer’s next set.
Chapter 14
Red lights reflected across the crowded room, but the party-goers paid little attention as the corporate helicopter drifted slowly past the large thirtieth floor window. The two men inside the glass bubble leaned forward to try and get a better view of the festivities in the lavish top floor condo. Still standing by the window, Louie smiled at the curious gawkers. After a few seconds, the chopper rose and darted away. Louie felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Louie, my friend! How are you?”
Louie wheeled around at the sound of the familiar voice.
“Fine, Ben,” a surprised Louie replied. “What are you doing in town?”
“Ed sent me home to take care of a few loose ends from the campaign. The women are looking pretty hot here tonight. Tommy must be doing his homework.”
Louie nodded at the powerful Ben Ramsey. Ramsey occasionally made an appearance at Tommy’s get-togethers, much to the dismay of the others. Cocky and abrasive, he rubbed a lot of people the wrong way.
“You makin’ any money over there in Little Italy, fat boy?”
“I’m trying, Ben, I’m trying.”
“Good. I better move on, Louie, I got some catching up to do.”
Alone again, Louie headed for the nearby guest bath for some necessary relief. The sound of the soft music faded as he closed the door to the small room. A short time later, with drink in hand, he opened the door and reentered the party. As he made his way to the big room, he hesitated in the darkened hallway just outside the half-bath. Certain no one was watching, he did what he so often did. He slid his cell phone from his pocket and snapped several one-handed pictures of the party. It was a nervous habit of his—a way for an introverted guy to pass some time at a party. He didn’t do anything with the pictures. When the memory card filled up, he would print the pictures and throw them in a catch-all drawer in his den.
Suddenly, the mouth-watering scent of teriyaki marinade drifted into the narrow hall. Louie dropped the phone back in his jacket pocket, stepped back into the light of the room and made his way to the hors d’oeuvre table.
Chapter 15
Early morning dew glistened on the rod iron fence as the silver Mercedes pulled onto 116th Street. It was 7:30 A.M. on Monday morning and Barnes was beginning his daily commute to his law firm that was located just west of the circle in downtown Indianapolis. An early riser, he took pride in the fact that he was always the first partner to arrive at the office each morning. That meant being there no later than 7:50. The drive from Carmel to downtown Indy was no more than fifteen to twenty minutes, unless there was a delay, so he was leaving in plenty of time. The powerful engine of his Mercedes revved as he shifted from first to second and raced down the road, slowing occasion-ally for the annoying round-abouts as he made his way to North Meridian Street and the final leg of his journey.
Barnes felt conflicted as he drove past the lavish estates on North Meridian. The events of the past weekend were not to his liking. Barnes looked at the world as a game or a contest—like prize fighting—or an even more accurate description, ultimate fighting. He would do almost anything to gain the advantage in the rough and tumble world of politics or business. He’d take someone’s best shot, bounce up and kick them in the groin while smiling from ear to ear. But he drew the line when it came to family—or the family of anyone involved in his iniquitous games.
As it was with the mobsters he had grown up with in Boston, families were off limits. That’s why, as requested by Crane, he had called Party Chief, Bill Worthem, to try and get the goons off Crane’s family.
Worthem had contacted him later that evening, leaving a terse message on Barnes’s phone, “Request granted on temporary basis.” A small player in a big game, Barnes realized that he was pushing his luck with the request, but true to his own sense of values, he knew he had to try. And as the message implied, he had won—at least for now. But inside, he knew that much bigger challenges lie ahead. The audit in Chicago could cause him terrible harm; the whole house of cards could tumble down if the scheme to divert funds to the Moretti campaign was uncovered. He would face personal humiliation along with possible jail time. Everything he had worked for all his life would go up in smoke. It was a terrifying thought.
………
The room felt a little muggy. It was 7:53 and the air conditioning didn’t kick on completely until 7:50 each day. The room was just beginning to cool down as Barnes made his way to his desk. His office was surprisingly small and cluttered. As the main partner in the firm, Barnes could certainly have a large, expensively furnished office—the other partners did. They had turned their expansive offices into small living rooms with separate conference areas, but Barnes felt more comfortable in his little office. “Everything is just an arms-length away,” he would explain when asked about his modest surroundings. Then he would add, “And that’s the way I like it”.
Smoke soon filled the air as Barnes lit up his one and only cigar for the day. Although he promoted a smoke-free office and was banned from smoking at home by a health conscious wife, he managed to get a few drags from his cigar every morning before the rest of the staff arrived. Everyone, including his many clients, knew the harmless dance and thought nothing of it. The smell of stale cigar smoke would hang in his office for half the day, but Barnes could honestly say that he never smoked during normal business hours. After one last hard drag, he punched out the cigar in a small metal ashtray and then put it in his bottom desk drawer.
