by David Nees
There didn’t seem to be any abnormal activity, so Dan hailed a cab and had him drive ten blocks to the next station. When the train arrived, he rode into Manhattan. Getting off, he headed into a restaurant, ordered a coffee and went to the rest room. In the stall, he took out the money and put it in a folded shopping bag, and then stuffed everything back into the original bag. After sipping the coffee, he looked at his watch and muttering something about being late, left. Two blocks later he cut into another alley, took out the shopping bag with the money, dropped the courier bag in a dumpster, and headed to the subway. After two transfers, he arrived back at his apartment.
He stretched, and began taking off his disguise. Fifteen minutes later he looked like himself again. He went to the fridge and took out a carton of orange juice. After a long pull, he sighed and dumped the shopping bag onto his bed. He stared at the bills for a long moment; they made a pile three feet wide. Then he started counting. When he was done, Dan sat back, took another pull at the carton. There was twenty-two thousand in the bag.
He sat and stared out of his window, gazing at the nearly constant activity of the streets.
A decision made, he jumped up and put on another disguise. This one had long, dark hair tied in a pony tail and a mustache. He added brow ridges and the enlarged nose. The look was more threatening now. Dan knew of two other courier routes. He left the apartment and headed down to Brooklyn, without a detour into Manhattan.
Strike hard and fast, before they know what’s going on.
He grabbed the next runner just as before. With his grip firmly on the man’s right arm and his .22 hidden in his jacket pocket, pressed against the man’s ribs, he steered him into the alley.
“Drop your bag and slowly slide it over to me,” he directed.
The man leaned over and set down the bag. As he straightened up he pulled a pistol out of his jacket. Before he could raise it, Dan fired twice. The gun made a muffled cough. The man jerked back as the two rounds slammed into his chest. His 9mm went off as he fell backwards. The shot ricocheted off the alley wall.
“Damn!” Dan cursed. Now he had to move fast. Anyone could have heard the shot. He grabbed the bag and headed down the alley just as some people peered in from the other end. He walked as rapidly as he dared in a zigzag pattern across multiple blocks. Along the way he turned his jacket inside out, changing the color from black to tan.
After making sure he wasn’t being followed, he headed for his next target. He caught the courier a half block from his drop-off point as he walked towards Dan. The block was empty on his side. A few people crossed at the intersection ahead, but no one was looking at him. Dan stopped at a car, bent down to tie his shoe. As the man approached he straightened up and, pretending to lose his balance, lurched into him. He jammed his .22 into the man’s stomach.
“Give me your bag or I’ll shoot.”
The man started to struggle, trying to grab Dan’s pistol. Dan held him close with his free hand. The man was strong. He tried to twist away as he grabbed the weapon stuck in his gut. The .22 popped once. The courier slumped and Dan caught him and lowered him gently to the ground in front of the parked car, shielding both of them from the intersection. He quickly took the bag, crossed the street and headed to the far intersection.
The man lay against the parked car gasping for breath. Someone came out from a brownstone and noticed him. “You all right?”
“Help, I’ve been shot,” the courier said in a barely audible voice.
Two blocks away Dan heard the sirens as he entered the subway. An hour and a half later, without the two courier bags, he arrived back at his apartment. From his shopping bag he counted a little over thirty thousand. Over fifty-two thousand for one afternoon—like shooting fish in a barrel. This was going to shake Vincent up, and he was just getting started. Opening a beer, Dan sat back, his mind churning from the day’s events.
Chapter 17
Thursday evening the week after Tommy and Doreen had gotten back from their trip, Tommy was locking up his shop when Joey and Frank Varsa came up beside him. Frank grabbed Tommy and Joey threw a hood over his head. They shoved him into a waiting car.
“What the fuck?” Tommy shouted.
No one spoke. Tommy was jammed between two other men, his arms now tied behind his back. They drove for some time before stopping and parked in an alley in a quiet section of Brooklyn. Tommy guessed it might be a warehouse district. After getting out, they led him into what seemed like a large space and then into a smaller inner room. They tied him to a chair and removed his hood. A single light overhead illuminated him. At the edge of the light stood Joey and a large man Tommy had never seen before.
“What’s going on?” he said.
Frank stepped up and slapped him across the face, splitting his lip open.
“You don’t ask questions. You’re here to answer them. So shut up until I tell you,” Joey said.
“Joey, what are you doing?” Tommy asked.
Frank stepped up again and whacked his head. Even with an open hand the blow almost knocked him out.
“Shit.” Tommy winced as he expected another blow, but Joey held up his hand to stop the other man.
“Tommy, some of our guys was robbed yesterday and a lot of money was taken. People were shot, one was killed.”
“What does that have to do with me? I was at the shop all day long. I got cars to repair.”
Again the man stepped up and this time hit him in the rib cage with his fist. The air burst out of Tommy’s lungs and he slumped over, gasping for breath.
Joey grabbed his hair and pulled his head up. “If you don’t want your ribs broken, you better do what I told you. You don’t talk. You just answer questions. No more smart mouth, understand?”
Tommy nodded.
“Now, like I said, some guys were robbed yesterday. We think Danny’s back. We want to know if he’s contacted you.”
Tommy struggled to regain his breath.
“Has Dan talked to you? Answer me,” Joey said.
Tommy shook his head no.
“I didn’t hear you,” Joey said.
“No, he hasn’t,” Tommy said, his voice barely audible.
“How can I be sure of that?” Joey asked.
“Joey, I don’t know how to prove it to you. He hasn’t called me. I told you I would let you know.” Tommy’s ribs hurt; it was hard to breathe, let alone talk.
“Yeah, but you were being a smart-ass when you said that, showing off in front of Dopey Dorey. No more smart-ass now, Tommy. You tell me the truth or I’ll fuck you up.”
“Joey, I’m telling the truth. I never bother you. I pay my money each week. I just want to run my business. I don’t want any trouble.”
“But now that Dopey’s come back, maybe you got something to prove? Maybe you want to show her you’re a tough guy? ’Cause she’s sure got a smart mouth.”
“No, no. I don’t want trouble. Why pick on me?”
“’Cause you and Dan were buddies. I know he’ll contact you if he’s back.”
“He hasn’t called me. You think he’s back, but I haven’t heard from him. Did it occur to you that he might not have any reason to talk to me?”
Frank struck quick and hard, this time smashing his right fist into Tommy’s left arm just below his shoulder. The blow knocked Tommy and the chair down. The big man reached over and with one arm picked him and the chair up.
“You got to watch that smart mouth. I’m not going to put up with it any more. I expect you to talk respectfully to me.” Joey squinted at him, his face screwed up into an angry mask.
Tommy nodded. His arm felt like it was broken. If that blow had been higher his shoulder would have been dislocated.
“Tommy, I want you to meet Frank. You’ve probably heard about him.” Joey grabbed Tommy’s hair and jerked his head back so he was staring into Frank’s face. “Look close. Frank doesn’t care about you. You’re nothin’ to him but a piece of meat. If we get a reason to kill you, Frank
will do it. But before he does, you know what he’ll do?”
Tommy just stared at Frank. He was dressed in expensive clothes but his face stunned Tommy. There was nothing in his eyes. They were dark. No light, no hint of compassion or reason. He shuddered and felt his bladder begin to lose control.
“Before he kills you, he’ll kill Dorey in front of you…slowly. Then he will kill you and both of you will never be found again. You got that?”
Tommy nodded yes.
“This ain’t high school anymore. I’m not fucking around and you’ll disappear, along with Dopey Dorey if you don’t do what I say.”
Tommy nodded again.
“Now we’re gonna take you back to your shop. You don’t talk to anyone about this and you call me the minute you hear from Dan. If I find he’s back and contacted you and you didn’t let me know, I’ll turn Frank loose on you.”
Frank shoved the hood over Tommy’s head and cut him loose from the chair. He half carried, half dragged Tommy to the car. His ribs and arm screamed in pain as he was stuffed into the back seat. When they got to the shop, Frank opened the door and threw Tommy to the ground. He yanked the hood off of him, untied him, and they drove off.
Tommy lay on the pavement for some time, groaning. Slowly he crawled to the wall of the building and propped himself up. He just sat there letting the pain subside, settling himself down. Then he eased his phone out of his pocket and called Doreen.
“Hey,” Doreen answered. “What’s up?”
“I need you to pick me up.” Tommy’s voice cracked with the effort to talk.
“Where are you? What’s wrong?”
“I’m at the shop. I’m hurt. Hurry.”
“Don’t move I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
Fifteen minutes later, Doreen ran up to him. “Tommy, what happened?” He was still sitting on the ground, his back against the wall of the building.
“I’m hurt. Help me get into the car, and then we can talk.”
As the two drove off down the street, a car parked down the street pulled out and followed them.
“Tommy, what happened? Were you in an accident? Did someone mug you?”
“I was hit by a car.”
“Bullshit.”
“I was.”
“No you weren’t. I’ve seen what happens when a car hits someone and that doesn’t look like this. Were you mugged?”
“No.”
“What was it then? Tell me what happened. Who did this? We’ll get the son of a bitch and put him in jail and sue his ass off.”
Tommy just leaned against the window and stared out at the traffic.
“Tommy, talk to me,” Doreen said.
“Not now. It hurts. Can I stay at your place tonight?”
“Of course. I’ll take care of you. Do you think you have any broken bones?”
“Maybe ribs.”
They drove to the parking garage in silence. The car followed them at a discrete distance, unnoticed by Doreen and Tommy. The men in the car watched the two walk into the apartment complex. They drove by the car and wrote down the make and license number. Then they headed back to the Sicilian Gardens.
Chapter 18
Dan got into his car in the long-term parking garage in New Jersey. He turned the key and was relieved to hear the engine come to life. The new battery had been a good investment. He was headed to Pittsburgh. From there he would mail a prepaid cell phone to Tommy and use that to contact him. After seeing that Doreen was back, he had to figure a way to give Tommy some cover. Doreen could be vulnerable. If Vincent got to her he could use her to turn up the heat on his friend. That could drive Tommy to help Vincent and possibly get both of him and Doreen hurt, or worse.
As before, he drove carefully and slept in his car, washing up at truck stops and purchasing gas with cash. There would be no record of his trip. Tommy would see the package coming from Pittsburgh. Dan could call him from his apartment and pretend he was in the Midwest, or anywhere else; the call could not be traced. He set a limit of a dozen calls and then he would leave town and send Tommy another phone from another city. Dan needed to communicate with his friend, but he also needed to find a way to keep him out of danger. As he escalated his attacks, the threat to Tommy would grow.
Doreen got Tommy up to her apartment. He insisted on trying to take a shower so she helped him undress. She made no comment when she noticed his wet pants. The shower didn’t go well. He nearly fell with the pain as he tried to step into the tub.
“Tommy, just let me get you to bed. You need rest more than a shower. I’ll wash your clothes while you relax.”
He didn’t argue and she helped him back to the bed. After making sure he was breathing well, she gave him some left-over Percocet, and he lay back with a long sigh.
“Can you tell me what happened now?” she asked.
“I got beat up.”
“I see that, but how did this happen?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why? To protect me?”
Tommy just stared at her from the bed.
“If you think I’m not involved, you’re wrong. I picked you up and took you here…to my apartment. I’m involved, Tommy, so you better tell me the whole story.”
Tommy sighed. “It’s the mob. They beat me up.”
“Joey did this to you? I want the whole story.” Her voice rose in anger.
Tommy looked at her for a long time. “I shouldn’t have called you. I didn’t know what to do. I could hardly move. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Do you think I would just let you keep me out of this? Even if you didn’t call me I’d know something was wrong. I was there when Joey was asking you about Dan. I’m no fool, Tommy Battaglia, and I care what happens to you. After all our time together, I think I deserve to know what happened.”
Tommy smiled. His growing romance with Doreen never ceased to cause him to smile. And last weekend had been nice. He and Doreen had gone out to the Hamptons, stayed in a motel and spent the weekend either in bed, walking on the beach, or eating. He had never enjoyed doing so little so much. His affection for her now had grown into a passion. Whatever she saw in him, he was glad of it. She slipped back into his world so effortlessly from the high powered world she inhabited during the week. She seemed happy to be with Tommy, happy to be part of his life. One thing was certain, where Doreen was involved no one could ignore her presence.
“Tommy, I’m waiting, don’t you dare drift off until you tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s about Danny.” His words were beginning to slur. Doreen waited. “Joey and this guy, Frank, grabbed me after I closed the shop. They put a hood over my head and took me to some warehouse, I don’t know where.” He went on to describe the interrogation. “I was scared. I’m still scared.”
“Joey’s such a damn punk,” Doreen muttered almost to herself.
“Doreen, you keep saying that, but this is serious. Joey has friends…friends like this Frank. Joey didn’t beat me up, this guy Frank did. Joey’s a dangerous guy now.”
Doreen didn’t say anything.
“Frank, he scares the hell out of me. Doreen, I looked in his eyes, there was nothing there. Like I was staring at an executioner. There was a deadness in his eyes…not something dangerous, something missing. I can’t quite describe it, but it scared me.” Tommy shuddered. “If Joey or his boss gave the word, he’d come for me and kill me in a minute. Joey said as much.” Tommy started to choke and caught himself. Pain exploded from his cracked ribs.
“Easy, Tommy, it’s all right.”
“No, it’s not.” Tommy fought to get himself under control. “Joey said if I fucked up they would come for you too. They’d kill you in front of me before killing me. I really fucked up, Doreen, and now you’re in danger. Shit, how did this get so screwed?”
Doreen reached over and hugged him as best she could. “You didn’t fuck up.” She stroked his uninjured cheek. “They figured, right from the start, that Dan would
reach out to you. Joey said that to you before. You didn’t do anything. You’re Dan’s friend, so you’re the target.”
“I’m supposed to let them know if Dan contacts me, but I don’t want to set him up. Jesus, I hope he doesn’t come back, but I’m afraid he already has…those bag men robberies. The mob’s pissed off and I’m stuck in the middle. And now you’re involved.”
“I’m involved because I want to be involved with you.”
“Looks like you picked a bad time to hook up with me. I’m sorry, Doreen.”
“Don’t be. We’ll figure this out and if Dan does get in touch with you, you’ve got to let him in on what’s happening. If he’s doing this he’s got to know how dangerous it is for you. You two are good friends, he’s got to protect you.”
“I hope you’re right.” Tommy began to doze off.
Later, after Tommy had gone to sleep, Doreen made a call to Larry Moore. The firm used Larry when they needed hard-to-get information—information that you didn’t find in the regular places.
“Larry, can you find out something for me? I need some info on a couple of mob-type guys in Brooklyn.”
“You doing some work on the side, Doreen?” Larry responded.
“I’ve got a friend who may be in trouble. I need to know about some of the people giving him a hassle.”
“What you got?”
“A Joey Batone, lives in Brooklyn. I need to know everything about him, especially who he works for. There’s also a guy named Frank. I don’t know his last name but he’s a big, scary guy who hangs out with or works with Joey.”
“That’s a pretty tough order. Am I getting paid?”
“Larry, we pay you way more than we should, you know that. I also know you pass on insider trading info for some of our lawyers for some extra bucks. We turn a blind eye to that, so I think you can do me a small favor.”
