Nimble Be Jack: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 2)

by Robert Tarrant

  “Yeah, yeah, we’ll talk about that in a minute, but first I want to talk about the scam you’re running on all of us around here.”

  Moe cocked his big head as if trying to hear me clearer, “I don’ts know whats yu talking abouts.”

  “That. That’s what I’m talking about. You go around here talking like you’re just one generation removed from the plantation, but that’s bullshit and we both know it. Why do you do that Moe? I don’t understand.”

  Moe looked into the drink he had placed in front of him on the table. I wasn’t positive but it looked like a rum and coke to me. I was positive it didn’t have the answer to my question, so I prodded, “Moe, tell me what’s going on. You toying with all of us?”

  Moe looked up at me and hurt flashed across his face, “No Boss. Nothing like that. Really.”

  I pressed, “Well, why the charade then?”

  Moe took a deep breath, followed by a long drink, finally he spoke, “People see a large black man like me and they have certain preconceived expectations. Life is just simpler if you fulfill those expectations. No sense in rocking the boat, so to speak.”

  “What are you talking about? A black man was elected President!”

  Moe scoffed, “A Harvard lawyer who’s about your size, not an ex-con from Detroit who’s my size.”

  Now it was my turn to take a drink and think. Intellectually, I understood what Moe was saying, but it just didn’t comport with my view of the world. Then it struck me. My view of the world wasn’t anywhere close to Moe’s view of the world. I said, “I’m surprised Uncle Mickey would have gone along with it. You demeaning yourself like that.”

  Moe seemed to reflect on my comment and then said, “I don’t know that I think broken grammar is demeaning, but we can leave that debate for another day. Of course Mickey knew, he had interviewed me for hours during his investigation and visited me several times in prison. It was in prison that I started restyling my speech. It was in prison that I learned the true value of flying under the radar. Of being what people expected you to be. When I got down here and Mickey asked me to stay, I thought it would be easier for me to fit in around Cap’s. Mickey said he didn’t think it was necessary, but he didn’t interfere.”

  I was a bit incensed, “So you think this charade is necessary to fit in with me, with Sissy, with Marge?”

  Moe took another drink, “No . . . probably not.” Gesturing around the bar, “It’s them I’m talking about. You don’t notice many black folks coming into Cap’s do you?”

  Now I was getting wound up, “All the more reason for you to show all these white people that their preconceived notions are not true. Don’t play into their uninformed prejudices.”

  Moe sighed, “Once upon a time I felt that was an important role. It still is an important role, just not for me. Once I was proud to be the first one from my family to go to college. I had my Associates Degree from Henry Ford and was accepted at Wayne State. All this while holding down a full time job. I was a role model. I was proud to be a role model. Then one night I joined a poker game in my old neighborhood, and in defending my life I became just another ex-con from Detroit. No Jack, my role model days are over. I’m just trying to get along in this life the simplest way possible.”

  I asked, “I heard your story from Uncle Mickey. He certainly believed your account about the guy having a knife. Just couldn’t break any of the other witnesses. I always wondered though, why were you carrying a gun that night anyway?”

  “Obviously, you don’t know my old neighborhood. If I hadn’t had a gun, I would’ve been the one dead.”

  We both stared at our drinks as if our conversation was now with them and not each other. I took a long pull on the fresh Landshark Moe had brought me. I made a decision and rolled the dice, “Well Moe, Uncle Mickey may have gone along with your little charade, but Uncle Mickey’s gone and I won’t tolerate it. I won’t tolerate you making it easy for people to think you are less than the man you are. Even if it’s something as simple as your vernacular. If you want to continue to be a part of Cap’s, and I certainly hope you do, then you’re going to begin to represent yourself to your entire potential. No more games.”

  Moe’s face reflected a look I’d never seen before. I would like to think it was relief. In his low rumble he said, “You’re the Boss. If that’s what you want that’s what I’ll give you.” Then he smiled.

  “One more thing Moe, quit calling me Boss.” That brought a chuckle from Moe. A sound that reminded me of a diesel truck at idle.

  I took another long pull on my beer and Moe finished his drink. I said, “You want another? I think we earned a couple of drinks this afternoon. How about an order of those new loaded potato skins Juan has been touting all week? Being confronted by Godfather guys makes me hungry.”

  “Sure Boss, I’ll have another drink. I tried the potato skins. They’re actually pretty good. Didn’t tell Juan that though. With all of the changes Marge is letting him make to the menu, he’s started to fancy himself as some sort of chef. Got to keep his ego in check, next thing you know he’ll want a raise.”

  “Wow Moe, you’re spending way too much time around Marge. It’s all about the bottom line.”

  “Well Boss, we are running a business around here.”

  I attempted my sternest look, “I told you to quit calling me Boss.”

  “Sure Boss. It’ll just take time.” I had the distinct feeling by time Moe meant something on the order of a lifetime. Oh well, can’t win ‘em all Jack.

  I got Renee’s attention and asked her to bring us a couple of orders of potato skins and another drink for Moe. It occurred to me that Moe and I had never eaten together even though both of us ate most of our meals at Cap’s. I usually ate at the bar and Moe usually ate standing up in the kitchen or at a small two-top somewhere on the floor. I’d never seen him eating with anyone else around here.

  Once Moe’s drink arrived, I asked what possessed him to confront Bracchi and his thugs like he did. Moe replied, “Guys like Bracchi only understand one thing, power. Where he comes from, just like where I come from, power is defined by the violence that backs it. I know you dealt with lots of dangerous people in your days as a prosecutor Jack, but it was different. It was at arms length. This is up close and personal. Bracchi plans to take over Cap’s, and beating you up and delaying our produce delivery were just his way of getting your attention.”

  “I know. I’ve already talked to PJ . . . Detective Johnson, about it. She’s already talked to their organized crime investigators. There are other ways to deal with Bracchi without us stooping to his level.”

  Moe chuckled and took a sip of his drink, “So what are they going to do? Wire you up? Try to get Bracchi on tape making some threat? Try to get some prosecutor to indict him? Even if that does happen, the case will drag out two years. You want to have this hanging over your head for the next two years? In the end, win or lose, Bracchi may just decide to burn Cap’s down. No Jack, the only way to deal with a guy like him is to show him that you’re definitely willing to stoop to his level. Violence, that’s the only thing he understands.”

  I didn’t agree with Moe, but I did know that he was right that I’d always dealt with dangerous people from a distance, not up close and personal on the street like he had. Maybe I did need to listen to him, I just wasn’t ready to admit that we needed to resort to the sorts of threats and intimidation Bracchi employs. I said to Moe, “Well I hope it doesn’t come to violence, but I do appreciate your help. How did you get Justin here to play his role?”

  “Oh, that was just luck. I saw Bracchi arrive from the kitchen. I’d talked to Marge about everything going on and figured he was behind having you beat up and the threats to the delivery guy. Him showing up just pissed me off. I knew I had to do something. I knew I needed backup to make it seem real. I came out of the kitchen to look for somebody to help, when Justin came wandering in the back door. Sissy told me once that he had helped you protect her, I know she wasn
’t supposed to tell anyone, but she did. I figured if he had done that, he would be willing to help today. Otherwise I was going to recruit one of those skinny ass fishermen.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of some of our regulars playing tough guy. Not really knowing what I wanted the truth to be, that Justin was armed or that Justin was bluffing, I said, “Justin did a nice job of acting like he had a weapon.”

  Moe shook his head, “I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think there was any bluff about it. When I asked him to help he said to give him a minute and he went back outside. When he came back in, he was carrying a small duffle bag. Didn’t you see it on the floor next to his table? I didn’t see him take anything out of it, but it sure looked like he was holding something under that jacket.”

  Duffle bag on the floor. I hadn’t really focused on it when Bracchi was here, but as I replayed the image of Justin sitting there at the table I could see the duffle bag clear as day. I’d seen that bag before, when he helped protect Sissy at Lighthouse Point, and I knew for sure then that it was full of weapons. The same feeling washed over me as it had back then, the potential for violence comes with Justin, whether you want it or not.

  Our potato skins arrived and the conversation drifted off to the upcoming Marlins’ season and general gossip around Cap’s. I tried to relax but my mind was spinning.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Justin timed the traffic light perfectly, positioning himself as the first vehicle stopped at the crowded intersection of Sheridan Street and Highway US 1. The darkly tanned, heavily tattooed, man selling Sun Sentinel newspapers to the vehicles at the intersection waded into the stopped traffic. Justin’s was the second vehicle he approached.

  Justin lowered his window and held out a dollar bill. “Afternoon Eddie. How are you doing today?”

  Handing the newspaper to Justin, the man squinted and replied, “Hi there Buddy. Didn’t know you were back in town.”

  Justin spoke quickly, “Probably not for long. Listen, I think I’m sprouting a tail. Take a look will you? Call me. Burner number on the bill.”

  Turning to start toward the next vehicle in line the man replied, “Will do. Take care brother.”

  Justin waited the obligatory five minutes for the light to work through all of its cycles and give him the green. Through the mirror, he watched the peddler make his way through the vehicles stopped behind him. In his long practiced methodical dance, the peddler was able to reach nearly every stopped vehicle in all three lanes.

  When the light changed, Justin drove on and pulled into a small parking lot in front of a deli. He took the last available parking space. He walked into the deli and took a table in the front window affording a clear view of Sheridan Street. The waitress had just taken his order, when the burner phone in his pocket vibrated. He answered, “Talk to me.”

  “Two cars back directly your six. White Chevy Impala. White male early thirties. Gray golf shirt. Back seat brimming with various jackets and ball caps. Fast food wrappers on the front floor. Definitely been in the car awhile. Second was eight cars back in the curb lane. Pale blue Ford Taurus. Black female mid twenties. White sleeveless top. Fancy camera on the seat beside her. Probably a newbie, wouldn’t make eye contact with me. That’s all I found.”

  “Thanks. I owe you.”

  “No sweat brother. You got troubles?”

  “It would seem so.” Justin ended the call and turned to gaze out the window. White Chevy Impala and a pale blue Ford Taurus. There had to be at least one more and probably two. They’re no doubt running parallel streets in a box formation waiting their turn to take the “eye”.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  As Special Agent in Charge of the Miami Field Office of the FBI, Vince Cremonte had little free time, thus cherishing every moment he could garner. This Saturday evening out with his wife, was one of those cherished times. That was why tonight he carried the cell phone with a number few people knew. When it vibrated in his suit jacket pocket, he rose from the table at his wife’s favorite restaurant, gave her a little peck on the cheek and said, “Sorry Honey, I’ll be right back.”

  Stepping out into the South Florida air, cooling after the sunset, Cremonte answered, “This better be important.”

  “Vince, you know I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t. I know you’re out with Molly. You wanted to know if anything developed with our Phantom. Well, surveillance took him to that bar . . . Cap’s Place . . . he frequents up in Hollywood. He was only there a few minutes. Actually, he went in the back door, but within a minute he came back out and got a duffle bag from the trunk of his car and carried it inside. He was inside for maybe ten minutes and then he left carrying the duffle, put the bag in the trunk and drove off.”

  Cremonte interrupted, “So you think he dropped something off or picked something up at the bar?”

  “Don’t know. Didn’t have time to get anybody inside. What set off bells in my head is the fact that Anthony Bracchi was at the same bar at the same time. He arrived five minutes before Phantom and left no more than a minute before Phantom left.”

  Cremonte exclaimed, “Really . . . sure looks like a meet of some sort. You think there was an exchange? Be very unusual for a guy of Bracchi’s status to actually be present for any type of exchange.”

  “I honestly don’t know. The crew on Bracchi said it didn’t appear that Bracchi or either of his two bodyguards were carrying anything either in or out.”

  Cremonte scratched his head, “Intriguing. Why the duffle, if not for an exchange?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know. We might never have realized the meet even happened if it hadn’t been for our comms center. They noticed the two crews at the same location at the same time. Neither crew even knew the other was present.”

  Cremonte chuckled, “Well, I guess that’s a good thing. If we can’t see ourselves, the targets probably can’t see us.”

  “Yeah, but you can bet that Bracchi expects surveillance most of the time. I’m confident though that Phantom is clueless.”

  Cremonte said, “He may not be aware of surveillance, but he sure goes to ends to conceal his identity. Different rental car every week with a different identification. This guy is no slouch. Any luck on pinpointing a residence?”

  A deep sigh, “No, not really. We keep taking him to that same apartment complex, but with the huge parking structure we can’t get close enough to follow him to a unit. The crew has explicit instructions not to get burned.”

  “Okay. Stay on it. Thanks for the call. Let me know if anything else unusual happens with either of them, Bracchi or Phantom.”

  “Will do. You do know we’re burning through mucho budget trying to keep tabs on this Phantom?”

  “I know, but it has to be done. Request from on high.” With that Cremonte ended the call and returned to his wife and dinner. He was going to need to make a phone call, but it would just have to wait until after he finished his dinner with Molly.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  When my alarm went off at 8:00 a.m. on Sunday morning it took me a minute to recall why I’d set it for such a ridiculous hour. Then I remembered, I’d volunteered to open up for the installers who were going to come in and begin work on the additional taps for our plunge into craft beers. They weren’t going to arrive until 9:00 a.m., but I was bright enough to allow time to have coffee on the balcony before attempting to impersonate an engaged business owner.

  After the encounter yesterday afternoon with Bracchi, I’d come back up here to stretch out on the bed. While overall I was feeling better, and never once thought about my ribs during the time Bracchi was here, or even when Moe and I were talking afterwards, I was running out of energy and decided a nap was in order. Maybe Sissy was right about mixing the pain meds and beer.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t really rest during my attempted nap. My mind was spinning. There was no denying it now, Bracchi has decided to muscle his way into Cap’s. How in the world could a chance encounter in a barber shop
lead to a mess like this? Just my good luck I suppose. Maybe I need to work on the karma I’m emitting. In any case, I need to figure out a strategy to get out of this minefield, preferably with no further damage to my body.

  As I viewed the situation, I had two options. Option one was to utilize law enforcement to attempt to ensnare Bracchi in some action that would support charges with the theory that these charges would somehow insulate me from his retaliation. I knew exactly what the investigators and prosecutors would say to me and the sincerity they would project. I had done it enough in my days as a prosecutor to know the drill by heart. For the most part, they would believe what they told me. They would believe they could protect me. Protect Cap’s. In many instances they would be correct. Unfortunately, in other instances they wouldn’t be correct and a key witness would disappear and property would be destroyed. I had seen it play out both ways. Since I was the key witness and Cap’s was the property at stake, I didn’t want to experience it first hand.

  My second option was to follow Moe and Justin and meet force with force. I just couldn’t envision how we could muster enough force to realistically expect to defer Bracchi. Even beyond that, I was struggling with the thought of choosing a course of action so counter to everything I had previously believed I stood for as a lawyer. While most people look at the rule of law as an implement for controlling the actions of government, it’s also the foundation on which organized societies resolve disputes between individual members. The lawyer, whether representing plaintiff or defendant, is a tool by which the rule of law is administered for the peaceful resolution of these disputes. This system, flawed as it may be, is the alternative to gunfights in the streets. My second option seemed more akin to the gunfight in the street form of dispute resolution.

  Although my body ached, it was obvious my mind wasn’t going to allow me to rest, so I had gotten up and gone back downstairs to embrace a cold Landshark. Saturday evening business was good so I stuck around and even pitched in to help once in awhile. Simple tasks like clearing tables or fetching liquor from the store room to replenish bar stock. Cap’s isn’t one of those places that roars until they flash the lights, but rather slowly calms down until closing. As business slowed toward closing, I settled in at the end of the bar to survey my kingdom in the company of several additional bottles of Landshark. Sissy and Marge were neither one working, but in deference to their wishes, I passed on the pain meds and simply doubled up on the beer.