Lawless Measures: Vigilante - The Fight Continues

by Lyle O'Connor

  “I am more than happy to help her. What is the second condition?”

  “There is a lady in Toronto, Joyce Farmer, she has a couple young kids and needs help to move to Missouri. I have ten-thousand bucks to pay for her move. I need you to get the money to her and help her get out of Canada.”

  “Okay. I’ll do what I can. It sounds as if you meet quite a few unfortunate people.”

  “Yeah, more than my fair share, I guess. Why don’t we meet up somewhere? I can give you Joyce’s work address and the money.”

  “Will tomorrow work? I have to be downtown in the afternoon.”

  “You call it?”

  “About three-ish at Pearl Street Grill, do you know where it is?”

  “I’ll find it.”

  “What’s your name or how will I find you?”

  “If I don’t see you come in, ask for Walter.”

  While I was finishing my conversation with Gladys, Bludd had come to an abrupt halt in front of the television. A newscast had broadcast a report that covered the police raid from two days ago, the one I witnessed at Tuff Tony’s place. The reporter said, “Thirty-two-year-old Antonio Giannetti, reputed Mafia Underboss for the Toronto based Abbandanza crime family had been arrested at his condominium in Niagara Falls, New York, on charges of firearms trafficking and participating in a criminal organization. Five other members were also in custody all stemming from the same criminal charges.”

  The reporter covered a slice from an afternoon press conference held in front of Buffalo FBI Headquarters that featured an array of law enforcement agencies from local police to Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms (ATF) officers. The FBI spokesman took his turn at the cluster of microphones to report, “Five search warrants were executed in the Buffalo, Niagara Falls and Rochester areas resulting in six suspects arrested. All were members of the Abbandanza crime syndicate.”

  Next to speak was an ATF spokesperson, “The investigation started more than a year ago with the goal of cracking down on firearms trafficking along the border.” The reporter was quick to seize on the lack of specific details on the investigation, however, a small cache of unregistered firearms, a yacht, and two exotic cars, were seized. IRS Agents were looking into bank accounts, as well.

  The local Police Chief followed suit with his statement, “We will do everything in our power to remove illegal gun trafficking from our streets and dismantle the organizations that are responsible for bringing those guns into our community.” The reporter finished with a list of alleged key members of the crime family arrested with Tuff Tony including, Carmine Bruno, Rudy Cantu, Paul Favassa, Fred Millar, and Lucan “Spooky Luke” Russo.

  Why is it I find myself suspicious of the raid? Why did law enforcement, after a ten year moratorium on crackdowns, choose now to exercise their power? For a yearlong investigation, they barely scratched the surface of what these guys were guilty of. It had the smell of a political agenda all over it. Somebody needed a score. Maybe it was the State prosecutor who was up for re-election that needed to show the populace he was effective at controlling crime, or perhaps it was as simple as, law enforcement needing a morale boost from the collar? Whatever was really going on was all behind the scenes. They moved fast and got nothing in return.

  “Did you notice no one from Toronto was indicted?” I said.

  Bludd added, “Police didn’t nab the head guy either.”

  “It’s a flimflam, you can bet on it.”

  The phone rang.

  “Criminy!” I yelled. “What am I, PBX central?”

  Frustration had gotten the best of me. I wanted to kill a mobster and everybody and their dog wanted to talk to me. I snatched up the receiver. My “Yeah” was curt and tense.

  “Hello, this is Maximillian again, sorry about the intrusion, but I have terrific news. My Crown contact, who is a very prominent fellow in the Provincial task force of Ontario, wants to assist our project. He is in the know concerning the Abbandanza crime family. We have spoken daily since Anna disappeared. He wants these gangsters out of Toronto. I have kept him apprised of our progress and he has likewise kept me informed on happenings.”

  “Somebody else knows what we are doing?”

  “He is aware. He knows our interests are in what happened to Anna and Cal, and for justice to be served, our way, for those responsible. He is supportive of our direction on this.”

  “Did he tell you about the police raid?”

  “No, there was no mention of it.”

  “Mob arrests were made in Buffalo, Rochester, and Niagara Falls. Maybe he doesn’t know as much as he says he does.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I was setting on a target when the raid went down. It’s already been covered in the news. It’s out there in the open, Max. I’m surprised this guy hadn’t mentioned it.”

  “I will check with him and see what happened. Sit tight until I get back with you.”

  I hung up the phone. I had a bad feeling about someone other than Palatini knowing we had an operation in progress to kill members of the Machine. It made me uneasy. I turned to Bludd, “Lets rock-n-roll.” We jumped in the Avenger and lit out to find Frank Rizzi.

  We were too late in the day to go by the shipyard where the drops had taken place previously, besides, the police raids would have forced some change to what I saw go down last time. The collar on Bruno might have set us back to square one with Rizzi.

  Bludd and I swung into Rochester and stopped at the Double Decker Lounge, Mostarda’s social club. I wanted to see who’s who in their neck-of-the-woods. I entered, followed by Bludd a few minutes later. As far as anyone was concerned, we were just a couple regular guys that had met up for a beer; unofficially, we cased the joint.

  As much as I’d like to think I’m not easily noticed, when I stepped through the front door, I felt every eye in the place on me, and there were plenty of eyes. The lounge was dimly lit, and shadows filled the booths that were against the wall. The bar was short holding about a dozen people if all the barstools were filled, but they weren’t. One man sat at the end farthest from the entrance door. Of the forty or so people in the place, not one had their backs to the door. People sat semicircular around the tables in groups of two or three.

  Bludd joined me as planned. We tossed down a couple cold ones and watched the clientele. We hadn’t been there long, when I saw a young woman descending the spiral staircase from the second level, her hand gliding confidently on the railing. She held my interest, Bludd’s too. As she reached the bottom stair, she paused and scanned the barroom from side to side. I didn’t send her a green light gesture, but I had a chair open on either side of me at the table. With eye contact made, she began her approach. Bludd was big, bald, and barrel-chested. I hoped his presence at the table wouldn’t scare her away. She was a classy looking gal with sex appeal. Her dress wrapped tightly around the package she advertised. She was a platinum blonde with long-legs, even without the heels she wore.

  “Is this chair taken?” She asked.

  Before I could answer she pulled the chair and planted herself, next to Bludd. I didn’t figure on that. I was considerably more athletically built than Bludd and better looking too. The only thing I could come up with was he had “sucker” written all over his face.”

  “Buy a gal a drink?” She said to Bludd. How could he resist the temptation of her thick wet lips?

  “Reckon so Sheila.” She didn’t have a nametag on, and I was sure he didn’t know her by name; it had to be an Australian slang of some sort. He motioned to the waitress for service.

  “I’ll have my regular,” the gal said. When the waitress walked away, the Sheila started in with questions.

  Bludd chose to introduce us; I couldn’t have cared less, now. “I’m Seymour, and this is my mate, Walter.”

  “Mate,” she said. “Are you guys—together?”

  “It’s not like that,” Bludd said. “I’m Australian.”

  Well, that explained to her a lot about his weirdness
right off, I thought. She politely told us her name was Candy and casually asked us another dozen questions. I couldn’t put my finger on what she was trying to find out if we were cops, running some kind of game, or run-of-the-mill citizens, but she was pumping us for information and wouldn’t stop until she was satisfied.

  “Are you fellas interested in some action?”

  “What kind of action?”

  “I have my own live webcam show I star in; I’d love to have you watch. That is if you’d like to watch me perform.” She leaned close to Bludd, and in a whisper said, “I’m really amazing.” Candy had given Bludd the browser address and a kiss on top his bald head before she made her rounds of the barroom. While Bludd was busy paying full price for Candy’s watered down drinks, I’d broke off and wandered around the lounge. I had plans to visit here again and wanted to see the security features and layout of the building. I slipped upstairs to the second level. It had the customary bar station for social clubs and a young man taking care of a couple tables. Huddled in the corner was Carmine Bruno. He was a guy that gave the term, potbellied slob, a bad rap. Bruno wasn’t alone. Capo Carl Mostarda sat with him. If you counted the four hired guns he had nearby, he was far from being alone. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was scared of something or someone. Gunslingers come in different sizes, but some of the most notorious of the mobster’s gunmen weren’t big muscly guys, but average to small in size. The gun made everyone the same size. The exception was in the behavior. The smaller guys had fewer options and had a tendency to use extreme violence to make their point. I wasn’t going to be able to get to Bruno here, not under the current conditions. On a positive note, he’d bailed out of jail, exposed himself, and was vulnerable.

  I went downstairs, passed by Bludd, and said, “Come-on, Camerota wants us.” I said it loud enough for Candy and the barkeep to hear.

  We jumped in the Avenger, Bludd asked, “What’s this all about?”

  “I didn’t want you to end up with a disease penicillin couldn’t cure, and besides she’s one of Mostarda’s girls peddling the webcam scam, maybe she’ll hightail it upstairs and rat us out as part of Camerota’s crew. That should put a burr under their saddle. By the way, Bruno’s not in jail any longer.”

  “Wow, do you know that for sure?”

  “He was sitting next to Mostarda upstairs.”

  Chapter 11

  “Suspicion and doubt had given way to chance.”

  —Walter

  We had slept late into the morning since Max wanted us to stand-down our operation until he’d heard from his Crown source. Of course, we didn’t, and were out to all hours of the night casing the Double Decker Lounge in Rochester. Capo Mostarda and Carmine Bruno had crawled into a gloss-black Hummer and left together with a convoy of vehicles in tow.

  We’d barely started our morning routine when the phone rang, it was déjà vu. Bludd and I stopped in our tracks. A small voice spoke to me and said, “To hell with that,” but a subconscious prompt, one I’d rather have kicked to the curb, took over, and against my better judgment, I answered the leash.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hidey-ho,” Max said. He sounded chipper, more than I felt for sure. Max dished out the usual cordiality followed by a few formalities, and then we got down to brass tacks.

  “I spoke with the Crown source about the police raids. He said he was unable to transmit the information to me; it was a total blackout on their end. He was apologetic but recommended a solution to the glitch.”

  “Go ahead, shoot.”

  “If you are agreeable, the Crown contact would like to meet with you and Seymour face to face in an effort to work more efficiently together.”

  “I don’t know, Max. It seems risky.”

  “The attorney I’m speaking of has been very helpful. He is not aware of our Society as such; however, he has been made aware of the Machine’s culpability in Cal’s and Anna’s death. His hands are tied. He has no choice but to follow the law. He has told me he understands that my interest is purely a case of revenge, and he fully supports us. But, he has an ulterior motive for helping us work outside the confines of the law to get things done. I would caution you, he is not aware we initiated the project. That is very hush, hush. He might feel differently if he discovered information he provided was used for assassinations without his knowledge. It is best not to divulge too much.

  “What did he think the information was for?”

  “What we had discussed previously was routine mob information. He believed we were engaged in data research.”

  This set me to rethinking the proposed meeting, and the more I thought about it, the less I liked it. Palatini assets did not share contacts. To my knowledge, it was a cardinal rule. Anna shared Nontawat in Thailand, but he was a pawn, not a contact. He took an active role, with or without Palatini involvement. Contacts were treated as confidential informants, CI’s, and their identities were closely guarded.

  Palatini members were always after Intel for missions. If they sought information in an area, they’d let Max know, and he would put the word out. If operatives had viable sources, they would collect the information then pass it back through Max. In this scenario, Anna had not mentioned a CI. I assume she had not met with him.

  “Why is he in such a hurry to have contact with us?”

  “He said arrest warrants had been prepared and were ready to be served on the Canadian side. This would likely trigger additional arrests in the United States. He said he would have fluid information that would need to be passed rapidly.”

  “Give me a couple of seconds, Max.” I held my hand over the receiver while I ran it by Bludd.

  “If the bloke feels it’s necessary, we should go with it.”

  I related his opinion back to Max. “Good, his name is Talbot Pembroke of the Crown Attorney Offices. I know you don’t hold lawyers in high regard, but there are good attorneys who are good people. He is a key player with the Provincial task force on organized crime. Talbot and I have been friends many years, we are fortunate to have him in our corner. I will give you his private cell phone number to contact.”

  “Okay, we’ll do what we need to do on this end.”

  It was early winter in the eastern states. Bludd and I had been blessed with good weather up until now, but we were forced to fight off the blistery cold wind of a nor’easter that was centered further south. Nonetheless, we were catching some of the snow and winds. The converging air masses rapidly brought blizzard warning conditions to the area. A city like Buffalo would be paralyzed in a matter of hours if power outages occurred.

  We made it to the Avenger and dove inside. We thought we’d warm the car up before we braved the cold once again to scrape the ice and snow off the windows. Once we succeeded in that task, we took off. As expected, it was a slow-go around town, but we made it to Pearl Street to meet with Gladys Louise Mitchell. Bludd sat this one out and remained in the car to keep it warm while I made the deal with Gladys. I arrived earlier than expected at Pearl Street Grill, thanks to the storm putting the skids on traffic. Gladys hadn’t mentioned anything out of the ordinary about our meeting place, or for that matter, how we would meet up. I assumed the grill would be a dinky little place, and all I had to do was watch for a single lady looking around for someone, and it would probably be her. I was surprised to see the grill was located in a brewery, a large, four-story corner lot brewery, with multiple terraces for dining and leisurely drinking when the weather improved.

  I stuck to the ground floor and went exotic with an order of burger and fries. I topped it off with a draught beer. I was about half way through with the meal when Gladys arrived. She looked cold, and she had good reason to. Her double breasted Peacoat might be classically chic for winter wear, but not for blizzard wear. We gestured a “Hi” by a wave of the hands, and she pulled off her coat and hung it on the back of the chair, to drip dry.

  “Hello,” she said as she formally extended her hand, “I’m Gladys Mitchell.”
r />   “I’m Walter, nice to meet you.”

  She shivered a bit and asked the barkeep for a light brew. After brushing her hair with her hands a couple times to get the wet snow out of it, she smiled a warm and caring smile in my direction, and then asked, “How do you know who I am?”

  “Everyone knows about your work. You’re a legend.”

  “I don’t think I’d go that far, Walter, but thank you. I do suppose we’re fairly well-known around the area.”

  “You’re, not from around here, are you?” I asked.

  “Yes and no. I’ve lived all over from North Carolina to California, and Arkansas to Alaska.”

  “So how did you get into this line of work?”

  “I saw a need mostly, and I acted on it.”

  I finished off my beer and lifted Angelique’s leather handbag to a chair that was between us. I pulled the zipper across the top as it opened, stacks of money were revealed.

  “Twenty-grand, just like I said. You’ll find what information I had on Chloe and Joyce in the side pocket.”

  She said, “That’s it. No receipts or tax credit, nothing? I’m just going to walk out of here, and you’ll never know what happened to the money?”

  “I’ll know inside because I believe you are an honest woman.”

  “We’re done then,” she said.

  I nodded and said, “That’s it.” I sat back and folded my fingers together. I could see she didn’t trust the deal; I could see it in her eyes, they were questioning me, without saying a word. I didn’t blame her; I might have been an IRS agent trying to set her up on tax evasion. Maybe, since she was a down to earth type, she was mulling over the old adage, “If it’s too good to be true, then it probably is.”

  Gladys got up, slipped the straps of the handbag over her head so that the handbag was secure under her left arm while the straps rested on her right shoulder. She shook the water from the fiber mesh of her Peacoat, donned and buttoned it. The bulge underneath her arm was obvious, but a mugger would most likely pass her by, snatching the handbag would be difficult.