King Con (1997)

by Stephen Cannell

  Almost the same time that Tommy was landing in Nassau, Victoria Hart got on the red-eye connecting flight from Chicago to Atlantic City, which was where Joe Rina was. Beano had kissed her good-bye at the Fresno Airport loading ramp and told her not to overplay her hand. He told her about his moment of pure terror in Duffy's houseboat when Tommy had lost it and almost shot Beano with the automatic, before Roger-the-Dodger saved him from the Grifters' Hall of Fame and a place under a cemetery stone.

  "Don't worry," Victoria said. "I spent almost six months in pre-trial with Joe Rina. I know exactly how that handsome little shit thinks. He's not like Tommy. He doesn't lose his temper... for him, that's a sign of weakness."

  They stood in the jetway for a long moment, holding hands, while the rest of the passengers streamed by them. Victoria had the developed photos, of Tommy with Beano and Duffy, under her arm. Beano kissed her a second time; he could smell her fragrance, and she could feel his heart beating under his shirt. They held on as if they were afraid to let go, until a flight attendant touched Victoria, and she pulled away and moved down the jetway and onto the L-1011.

  She found her seat in Business Class and settled down, stuffing her overnight case under the seat, then opened the Foto-Mat folder. The shots of the Summer-lands she tore up. Then she studied the six or seven shots she had of Beano, Duffy, and Tommy coming up the houseboat gangplank by the limousine. In one, Tommy seemed to be smiling, and Beano had his arm almost around the little mobster. Beano had posed for that one, turning toward the camera and smiling, to give Victoria a better shot. She selected the four photos she liked best and destroyed the others. She could read the slightly out-of-focus Fresno Herald on the dash in the foreground. The blurred headlines, barely discernible, announced: CONGRESSIONAL BUDGET CUTS IN DEFENSE FUNDING. It would be enough to establish the date of the pictures.

  The plane took off and she laid her head back on the seat rest. Tomorrow she would lay the trump down. That should be the beginning of the end for the Rina brothers. Finally, she was going to confront the little monster with the wavy hair who had killed Carol Sesnick, along with her friends Tony Corollo and Bobby Manning. She could hardly wait for revenge and retribution. Then she thought of Beano and about all that had happened in the last ten days. It was almost too much to contemplate. Her emotions were rolling, her senses struggling to hold on to her shifting feelings. She could still feel the afternoon sun on her skin.

  Beano left the Fresno Airport and headed back to the parking lot. He got into the Winnebago and looked at Roger, who was curled up on the sofa in his white bandages, looking like a molting caterpillar. He stared at Beano with wise eyes.

  "I never felt like this before," Beano told the little dog, who wagged his tail in expectation of something more.

  "Don't give me that look," Beano said. "I can barely take care of us. How will I be able to take care of her? Would she even want me to take care of her?"

  And then he got behind the wheel and, while his mind worked on that problem, he put the motor home in gear and began the three-hour drive to San Francisco.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven.

  KNOCKING THE MARK

  SHE MOVED INTO THE HANCOCK BUILDING, WHICH WAS on the Strand in Atlantic City. The Rinas had built it with Organized Crime proceeds four years back. It was known in the D.A.'s office as the Pasta Palace because every crooked union official and trucking boss had his office there. The building was one-stop shopping for syndicate bag men. A huge bronze statue of John Hancock was on display in the lobby. Victoria took the elevator up to the twenty-third floor.

  She expected to be stopped by Security, but she sailed right past watchful cameras, down the hall, and into the executive offices of Rina Enterprises. In another startling lapse of security, there was nobody in the reception area. The check-in desk was empty and Victoria waited with her manila folder under her arm, not sure what to do next. Then a mail boy buzzed the electric lock and came out through the inner office door. Victoria rushed and caught the door before it closed. It was almost noon, and she wondered if Joe Rina was still in the office, or perhaps had left for an early lunch. She moved down the hallway, where several secretaries were typing. They never looked up at her as she moved to the end of the hall, where she could see a magnificent pair of antique doors which, she assumed, fronted Joe Rina's office. She opened the doors without knocking and walked in.

  The room was magnificent. It had picture windows that overlooked the Boardwalk on the south, and the Atlantic Ocean on the east. She could see the famous Atlantic City Pier jutting into the raging surf two blocks away. She quickly surveyed the office. The mandatory grip-and-grin photographs dominated the west wall: shots of Joe Rina with sports celebrities and movie stars; two Presidents were up there, grinning stupidly in the presence of a known Mafia Boss while Joe had his handsome face turned toward the camera, his electric smile lighting every shot. The art in the office was priceless, some of it under glass. A few pre-Columbian Aztec treasures dating back to the thirteenth century were on the antique sideboard next to a golfing trophy. She moved over and looked at the trophy. The plaque said BEST BALL FOURSOME, GREENBOROUGH COUNTRY CLUB, 1996. Victoria moved to the desk and laid her best photo there, front and center. Then she moved over and sat in the high-backed wing chair and waited.

  Twenty minutes later he hurried into the office, rolling down his sleeves. He seemed late for something and was moving fast, carrying his suitcoat. He moved to his desk, saw the picture, and picked it up.

  "That was taken by an FBI Electronic Surveillance Team yesterday in Fresno, California," she said.

  He spun and saw her partially hidden, sitting in the huge wing chair. She got up and faced him.

  "What are you doing here?" he said, his voice surprisingly soft, considering the intrusion her presence in his office represented.

  "I came here to see if I could wreck something." She moved to the table with the Aztec treasures and picked one up.

  Joe moved protectively toward the tiny statue but stopped short of trying to grab it.

  "Don't worry. What I want to wreck has more value than this." And she put it carefully back down on the table.

  "I asked you how you got in here."

  "'The place was empty. I just walked in. You need to get a few more Indians up on the rocks."

  "I'll give that some thought."

  He was still holding the picture. It was the one where Beano seemed to be smiling at Tommy with his hand on Tommy's shoulder. They were beside the limo at the Mud Flat Marina. "What's this supposed t'be about?" Joe said, indicating the picture. His eyes were hooded. Victoria surmised he recognized Beano as the card cheat Frank Lemay. She knew it bothered him to see Tommy with the man Joe had beaten with a nine-iron, but Joe knew he could not be tried for that crime again. Victoria let these thoughts simmer before moving on.

  "I've been let go from the D.A.'s office or I'm quitting. ... We're still arguing about which it's gonna be."

  "Good news from an unexpected place," he grinned.

  "Here's the bad news from the same place," she grinned back. "I went by there this morning to clear out my office and I got those photos from the FBI team that's been covering Tommy's activities...."

  "Tommy's being followed? I wasn't aware there were any pending prosecutions. He's not wanted for anything."

  "Maybe they just got tired of him beating up every hooker he's slept with and dealing drugs outside of all those high schools. I don't know, but the Feds have a three-man Weedwhacker team on him. They took these pictures. They also told me that Tommy financed that card cheat in the picture there. They tell me he's been stealing from you for years. The Feds think that's funny. Supposedly, he's into you for millions but since I'm leaving the office, and since I know firsthand you're a hard guy to get a conviction against, I thought I'd just come over and dump that fact on you and let you deal with it yourself. Might be more fun to watch this way."

  Joe smiled at her. "Tommy's stealing money from me? That's the ang
le?" he said; his gorgeous movie-star smile was widening. "He tells me you're the thief.... He tells me you scammed a hundred thousand dollars from our jewelry store here in Atlantic City."

  "Think about it, Joe.... Does that make any damn sense at all? That sounds exactly like some kinda dumb thing your brother would come up with while he's the one doing the stealing."

  "Why would he need to? Half of everything I own is his."

  "Why?" she shrugged. "Why do male timber wolves eat their young? Why did Cain murder Abel? Why do pigeons shit on statues? Some things have no answers, Joseph."

  "I see. And this picture is supposed to upset me in some special way?"

  "That's right, because aside from being the guy who cheated you six months ago, those two guys your big brother is yucking it up with are also the two dice cheats that knocked down your casino in Sabre Bay for a million dollars two days ago."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because the Feds were down there taking pictures. They're everywhere your psychotic brother goes." She smiled. "I'm sure your casino has pictures of all the big players, especially the cheaters. Have your casino Manager fax one up to you. These are the same two guys. You can see Tommy's having a pretty good time with them in that shot."

  The office door widened and two men came into the office; one was a tall accountant named Bruce Stang, the other one Victoria had never seen before.

  "Hey, Joseph," Bruce said, "we gotta go. They'll only hold the table for twenty minutes."

  "Leave me alone for a minute, Bruce," Joe said softly.

  Bruce looked over and saw Victoria. He hesitated. "Want me to call Gerry?" he asked. "You shouldn't be talking to her without an attorney present."

  "Get out of here for a minute," Joe said more forcefully and both men left, closing the door. "So these are the two who hit the Sabre Bay Club. That's the story?"

  "That's the fact, Joe. That picture was taken the day before yesterday. You can read the headline on the paper. According to wire taps we've been getting, your brother hates your guts for pushing him around."

  "So this picture, which could have a lot of other explanations, and your word, are supposed to get me all lathered up?"

  "Yep, that's the idea." She got to her feet and moved to the door. Then she turned, "Oh, yeah, there was something else.... I'm not supposed to know this, but I have a few friends in Justice and, since I have more than a passing interest in you and your family, I cashed a few chits."

  Joe stood waiting.

  "According to the FBI surveillance, your brother was down in Nassau last night. He took four or five million dollars out of your SARTOF Bank. Got it out of the dead-drop you've got down there. You might sweep that bank if you get a chance. It's got more bugs than a flea circus."

  "And just what, exactly, is a dead-drop?"

  "Call the lizard you've got running that French laundry. ... Ask him if your big brother didn't just rob you of millions yesterday." She took the rest of the photos and dropped them into the chair. "Some of these others aren't bad either, but basically, they're the same shot." And she turned and walked out of the office, past Bruce Stang and the other man, through the door and over to the elevator, her heart pounding and adrenaline flowing. She knew she had sunk her hook deep.

  Before she hit the lobby, Joe Rina had Tony Vacca on the phone at the SARTOF Merchant Bank of Nassau.

  "I'm gettin' word that my brother Tommy's been down there," Joe said softly.

  "Uh ... how? Who told you?" Tony Vacca said, and then he fell silent. The sub-Atlantic phone cable crackled.

  "I'm gonna say this once," Joe said, slowly and without anger, to the bank President he had hand-picked and put down there at a quarter-million dollars a year. "I want t'know ... was my brother, Tommy, down mere? Simple question: yes or no?"

  "Yeah, Joe, he was here."

  "Did he remove any money from the dead-drop?" Joe asked.

  "Uh, Joe, you know I'm loyal t'you ... you know that?"

  "Tony, I'm asking this once more, for the last time! Did Tommy take any money out of the dead-drop?"

  "Yes."

  "How much did he take?"

  "Five million dollars," Tony Vacca said.

  "And if I could inquire, why did you see fit to give it to him?" Joe asked reasonably.

  "Uh, well, Joe ... you know Tommy...."

  "Okay, I know Tommy. But I'm wondering why you gave it to him. I gave you strict instructions... that money is never to leave the dead-drop until it's been washed, and then only by my instructions. So, why did you give Tommy the money?"

  "Joe, he threatened me. He said he'd kill me with a hammer, said he could do it so it would take three hours for me to die. I've heard the stories. I was scared."

  "I see. And so you gave him my money, because you were scared?"

  "He said it was his money too."

  "So you gave him our money, but you didn't even call me and tell me."

  "He said if I told you he'd kill me, Joe. What'm I supposed t'do? You know how Tommy can get."

  "You're fired. Put Carlo in charge and pack up and get out. I ever see you again, you're gonna need medical attention. Good-bye." And he hung up the phone as Bruce Stang brought in the pictures that Arnold Buzini had just faxed up from the Sabre Bay Club. Buzini had already moved the pictures of Beano and Duffy off the Deadwood Players' Board and had put them into the Tat Cheaters' Book in the Security room.

  Joe held the black-and-white fax of Duffy and Beano up next to the pictures that Victoria had just left. They were the same two men. He could read the newspaper headline and he knew that Congress had cut back Defense funding just a couple of days ago. That meant the pictures were current. He looked up at Bruce Stang.

  "So, what the hell is Tommy doing?" Joe said softly. "Looks like he's hanging with this guy I beat up, and who stole a million from us at Sabre Bay. Then he forced Tony Vacca to give him five million of my money and not tell me. What's he doing?"

  The pungent question hung in the room like the painful smell of death.

  Bruce shrugged. "You know Tommy," he said weakly.

  "Everybody's always telling me I know Tommy. Well, y'know something...? Maybe I don't know Tommy at all."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight.

  BLEATING TO THE HEAT

  WHEN VICTORIA LEFT THE PASTA PALACE IN ATLANTIC City, she was being observed by two FBI Agents in a gray sedan. The lead man was Stan Kellerman. He was five months from retirement with over forty in. He'd seen it all... but the thing he hated most was when "one of ours" turned bad. He had his binoculars up as Victoria hailed a passing cab.

  Seated beside Stan Kellerman was Sheila Ward. She was in her rookie year at the Eye. She and Stan had nothing in common, from their opinions about the job to the music they listened to or the movies they liked. She had been hoping to get some experienced training from Stan, but he was a miserable son-of-a-bitch who barely ever spoke to her unless he was ordering her to do something.

  "Get Greg on Tac Two," he barked. "See if he got her."

  Sheila picked up the mike. "This is Red Dog to Lazy Boy. Did you pick up the female target in there?"

  "Roger that."

  The FBI Electronic Surveillance Team had cut into the Rina office video security and had been using Joe Rina's own security system to watch him. They had an E.S.T. man in the basement watching three pirate TV monitors. Tommy and Joe Rina had been priority targets since the blown state trial. The FBI had been startled when Victoria Hart, the Prosecutor who screwed up the case, walked into the Pasta Palace and showed up in Joe Rina's office suite on the video monitors. Unfortunately, they didn't have a way to see inside Joe's office because he would never allow a security camera to be placed there, but they had the hall camera that showed her going to his office, carrying a folder, and then they saw Joe hurry in carrying his coat. Ten minutes later the cameras showed Victoria leaving without the folder, a very strange and troubling occurrence.

  Stan reached over and snatched the mike away from Sheila, w
ho gritted her teeth in anger but said nothing.

  "Whatta you think, Greg?"

  "I don't know. You tell me what the Prosecutor who was trying this shithead is doing paying him a visit and leaving off a package. I think we got runny poo here."

  "Me too. I'm on her. Let's see what happens."

  They followed Victoria to the Atlantic City Airport and watched as she went to the United counter and bought a ticket. After she left they edged to the front of an angry line of customers and badged the agent. They found out that Victoria was on the next direct flight to San Francisco. It was scheduled to leave in an hour.

  It was then that Stan Kellerman called Gil Green's office and found out that the D.A. was in Albuquerque, at a law enforcement conference. Stan was Federal and Gil was State, but Vicky Hart worked for Gil, so Stan stayed jurdisdictionally in bounds by making the call. They got through to Gil's hotel room and caught the colorless D.A. just as he got back from a round of golf. After they filled him in on what was happening, Gil Green remained silent, his mind weighing the potential downside possibilities.

  "What do you want us to do?" Stan asked. "I can't leave Atlantic City without a district transfer approval, but we could have some guys pick her up on the other end. We've got her flight number. We can fax an I.D. photo to the agents out there. They can pick her up in San Francisco and run a tail."

  "Hang on a minute," Gil said, and he put the phone against his chest and tried to analyze the situation: It was hard for him to believe that Victoria Hart had gone sour, but then he would have bet a year's salary that she wouldn't have gone on TV and accused him of job malfeasance either. Maybe that on-air threat against Joe Rina wasn't as stupid as he'd originally thought. If you had just given up your own witness to a mob hit, what better way to cover your tracks than to attack Rina publicly? Technically, Victoria still worked for his office. That could be politically embarrassing. He had finally maneuvered his way onto the "short list" for Lieutenant Governor. A scandal in his office would be devastating, unless somehow he could make it look like he had orchestrated the investigation to uproot the corruption. Then he could go wide with it. Play it out in front. He could already hear himself reading the press conference copy: "This is not about politics, it's about clean government." There could be great TV exposure here if he could control the spin.