Sissy came in Monday evening to work and gave us all hell for not calling and telling her about my car being blown up. Once she calmed down, she began to exhibit the same type of concerns for my safety that Marge did. I came to the conclusion that in the face of my deteriorating situation, the men, Moe and Justin, were focused on action, while the women, Marge and Sissy, were focused on worry. Very sexist Jack!
When Sissy was yelling at me about my not caring if she learned about the bombing on the news, the way she had learned about the murder of Allison, one of our waitresses, a few months earlier, it dawned on me that the car bombing hadn’t been on the news. Replaying the day through in my mind, I realized that no news crews showed up at the fire and no one had been around asking questions. Into Wednesday, this was still the case. I was pleased, but somewhat baffled. I could only guess that the original call went out as a car fire and that didn’t warrant a news crew response. The lack of news coverage was fine with me. Cars being blown up in the parking lot didn’t seem consistent with the friendly neighborhood bar image we were trying to project at Cap’s. One ray of sunshine in this otherwise dismal mess.
I had just returned from what I hoped to be my last errand of the day and was climbing onto my favorite bar stool, with visions of Landsharks dancing in my head, when my cell phone buzzed. The number came up Elena Wilson. I answered, “Well hello, this is a pleasant surprise.”
With that honey bourbon purr, “Hi Jack. How are you doing?”
I hated to start a conversation with a lie, but I did, “Great. I’m great. How about you? How are you on this beautiful afternoon?”
“To be honest, I’m bummed. I’m driving up to Boca Raton to look at a potential project for Mr. Mancuso. I hate road trips alone.”
It took me a couple of seconds to catch on but I finally did, “Well, if you’d like some company I could probably tear myself away for the afternoon.”
The purr, “I wouldn’t like some company, but I’d love your company.”
“Great. Are you coming up I-95?”
“I am. I can pick you up at your bar.”
“That’s not necessary. It’s way out of your way. There’s a McDonald’s on the north side of Sheridan just west of I-95. Let’s meet there. Couple of other restaurants at that location, plenty of parking. We can leave a car there.”
Another purr, “Wonderful. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes, but no need to rush, I’ll wait.”
I pulled into the McDonald’s and immediately saw Elena walking toward the restaurant. She looked stunning in a peach colored business suit and matching peach heels. Her platinum blond hair was glistening in the sunlight. I stopped in the driveway, put down my window, and called, “Hello there Good Looking.”
She turned, looking confused, then when she realized it was me, a radiant smile blossomed on her face. “Hi there Jack. Great timing.”
She walked over to my car and I said, “If you would like I can drive, it’s a rental but it’s pretty comfortable.”
“Hey, never let it be said I’d turn down being driven.” Then wrinkling her nose, “You’re not offering because you’re afraid to ride with me are you?”
“Not in the least. Just attempting to be chivalrous. I certainly believe you’re a modern woman capable of driving herself.”
Smiling again, “Capable yes, desire no. Just let me get my bag from my car.”
I watched her walk to a candy apple red Ferrari convertible and retrieve a leather shoulder bag. I don’t know what I found more mesmerizing, the car or her walk. Well I do know. I’ve never been much of a car guy.
Once Elena was settled into my rental, I started to pull around the building, but stopped and said, “Oh, this is rude of me. Did you want to get something before we head north? You were going inside.”
“No. No. I was just going inside to wait for you. Didn’t know how long before you’d get here. My car’s fun to drive, but not much room to just sit and wait.”
I started driving again and she continued, “We can stop somewhere when we get back and have a drink. Unless, of course, you have other plans.” I caught a not so subtle twinkle in her eye with the last line.
“Well, it’s a jungle in the bar business today, but I can probably tear myself away for a few hours.”
As I headed for northbound I-95 I noticed the floral perfume Elena was wearing. My ability to discern the exact fragrance was limited to knowing that it was most appealing. Of course, what was there about her that was not appealing. Well, there’s the organized crime guy she works for, but I’m getting over that.
The conversation was light and cheerful as we made our way north to Boca Raton. Elena asked why I was driving a rental car, but I deferred the answer, telling her it was a long story and that we could talk about it when we got a drink later. I needed time to figure out exactly how to portray my situation in a light that might prompt her to suggest to Mancuso that he help me.
The project Elena was looking at was a ten story building with retail on the first floor and office space on the remaining nine floors. A small parking structure was situated behind the building. Elena told me that the occupancy rate had fallen in recent years, probably due to a failure of the present owners to keep the building updated. I had to agree that as we walked through the lobby it looked very dated. Not exactly run down, but certainly tired.
We stopped into several of the retail businesses, toured the entire exterior of the property, walked several floors of the office space, and every floor of the parking garage. Everywhere we went Elena turned heads. No one asked why we were there and I doubt anyone cared. People, at least the men, only wanted to watch her. Elena took several photos with her phone and jotted notes on a small pad she had retrieved from her shoulder bag. It was obvious she was making a critical analysis of the entire property.
When we were in the car on the way back south I asked exactly what she was looking for. She replied, “Not looking for anything. Just looking to see what’s there, you know, what it is, so I can envision what it could be. This trip is the first step in a process Mr. Mancuso employs when evaluating potential acquisitions. I’ll go back and tell him what I saw and give him some ideas about how the property could be improved. If he thinks it has potential, he’ll send mechanical and structural engineers to go through it with a fine tooth comb. If they don’t find any show stoppers, the business analysis folks crunch the numbers. If everything looks good, he’ll make a purchase offer.”
I observed, “I didn’t see a for sale sign. How do you know it’s for sale?”
An impish smile crossed her face, “Everything’s for sale Jack. It’s just the price that’s unknown.” Then the smile faded and her business look, the look she had displayed the entire time we were touring the property returned, and she said, “Often buildings like that have no sign posted because it will deter new tenants. No one wants to sign a lease when you don’t know what changes a new owner might bring. This particular building is somewhat different. Mr. Mancuso knows from business contacts that the building’s earnings are slipping. He believes that with the right offer the owners will sell to get out from under what they see as a building on the decline.”
I quipped, “You mean, he’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse.”
Elena looked at me sideways, but didn’t respond to my play on the famous Godfather line. She replied, “Mr. Mancuso will tender an offer that he believes will be attractive to the owners while leaving us the necessary money to make our changes to the property, all within the earning potential of the property. If he cannot purchase it within those parameters, he’ll walk away.”
Elena’s rendition of Mancuso’s business model certainly didn’t make it sound like organized crime. Of course, she may be telling me only what she wants me to know. Conversely, she may be relating the process exactly as she understands it. There could certainly be elements of Mancuso’s business model that are unknown to Elena. I wouldn’t think that the feds would make him such a target if ther
e was nothing there. Would they?
During the return drive, Elena regaled me with self-deprecating stories about her adventures traveling about the country in the early years of her career. From airline problems, to rental cars that quit running, to commuter trains stranded in tunnels. To hear her tell it, every time she had the opportunity to make a decision to alleviate a travel glitch she had encountered, she made the wrong decision. She had me nearly in tears with laughter.
By the time we were getting back into Hollywood it was after 6:00 p.m., so I followed up on her earlier comment about a drink and suggested we stop at Lola’s on Harrison. Lola’s is a couple blocks from Hollywood Boulevard in the general area I think of as the original Hollywood. I describe it as a comfortable, somewhat upscale, boutique restaurant. Not a beer and burger joint, like Cap’s.
It was early enough that the crowd was light and we secured a quiet table in a back corner. We each ordered a cocktail. I realized that I was the most relaxed I had been since Anthony Bracchi entered my life. All good things must come to an end and this one didn’t end, but certainly sputtered, when Elena asked, “So, why are you driving a rental car? You said it’s a long story.”
The waitress arrived with our drinks giving me one final minute to organize my thoughts. I decided to tell her the story of Bracchi from the start, omitting any references to Justin, culminating in the bombing of my car. By the time my story ended, Elena was visibly impacted. I couldn’t exactly discern from her demeanor if she was more shaken or angry. Her first words were, “Who does something like that? He’s not a businessman, he’s a gangster.”
We ordered another round of drinks and three of the appetizers. That’s another thing I like about Lola’s, you can sample a number of the entree dishes through the appetizer menu. We munched on our appetizers and sipped our drinks and I attempted to steer the conversation away from my problems with Bracchi, simply because I was tired of thinking about them. Unfortunately, Elena kept coming back to me being beat up and my car being bombed. She kept repeating, “That’s not business, that’s criminal.”
The upside of our conversation was that I was confident that she would mention the situation to Mancuso, as she knew that was the whole reason I came to meet with him, and that she would stress the peril I was in. The downside was that in illuminating my plight for Elena, I had been required to again focus on what a mess I was really in.
After finishing our appetizers, we discussed dinner, but neither of us was really hungry enough to order an entree, so we opted for another round of cocktails and one more appetizer. Thankfully, the conversation began to drift away from Bracchi with Elena asking a whole string of questions about Cap’s Place. I endeavored to remember my dating etiquette and asked questions about her life, but she kept steering us back to Cap’s Place.
I was enjoying myself more than I could remember in recent history. From the vibes I was receiving from Elena I felt she was enjoying herself as well. It was one of those situations where I didn’t want the evening to end, but knew we couldn’t just continue sitting here eating and drinking. I was starting to feel the three cocktails myself and knew Elena still needed to drive back into Miami Beach. I suggested we take a stroll around downtown Hollywood.
Elena linked her arm through mine and we strolled arm and arm. We stopped into a small cafe and bakery, split a brownie and had coffee at one of the sidewalk tables. As we were finishing our coffee, Elena reached across the table and placed her hand over mine while purring, “I’d like to see Cap’s Place. Take me there . . . please.”
I replied, “I’d love to, but I must tell you, that by this time of the evening midweek things will be pretty slow at Cap’s.”
“I don’t care about that. I just want to see your world.”
I laughed, “Well, it’s not my entire world.”
Elena smiled, “Sure it is. You should listen to yourself talk about it, and the people. Cap’s Place is your world Jack, whether you know it or not.”
At her request, I drove Elena back to her car so she could follow me back to Cap’s Place. As I was dropping her off at her car, I joked that it would probably be the first time a Ferrari had been in our parking lot. With a mischievous grin, she looked me directly in the eyes and said, “And it won’t be the last time, I would bet on that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
As I expected, the parking lot was nearly empty, with the exception of several vehicles belonging to boaters in the marina parked at the rear. My mind was still replaying Elena’s last comment, so I forgot my new protocol and pulled into my usual spot in front of the now charred dumpster. The trash company told me they would exchange it for a new one, but that hadn’t happened yet. I started to move the car to another spot, but decided it was probably pointless, so I pulled back into my spot.
As I stepped from the car, a figure emerged from the shadow of the dumpster and lunged toward me. Before I could react he grabbed my arm, spun me around, and slammed me down onto the hood of my car. I tried to raise up, but a hard object pressed against the back of my head. I had no previous experience in this position, but I was reasonably certain it was a gun barrel pressing against my head. The figure confirmed it with, “Don’t move, you piece of shit, or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”
By now, a second figure had appeared. He grabbed my free hand and jerked it around behind me. Suddenly my wrists were bound behind my back. The second figure spoke and I recognized it as the growl of the guy who worked me over two weeks ago, “Let’s get him out of here.”
Now standing, I realized they were both wearing black ski masks over their faces. I demanded, “What the hell are you doing? Who the hell are you, anyway?”
The gun jabbed into my still recovering ribs, “Shut up or you’ll bleed out right here in sight of your precious bar.”
With one of my masked abductors on each side of me, we started toward the rear of the parking lot. We’d only gone a couple of steps, when a vehicle came around Cap’s from the opposite direction catching us directly in it’s headlights. It turned abruptly and parked. My heart stopped. It was Elena. She was a couple of vehicles behind me when I pulled into Cap’s and she must have driven around the building the opposite direction I did.
Elena stepped from her car a few feet away and said,”Hey Jack, for a minute I thought I lost . . .” Evidently, she now realized what she was looking at because her next words were, “What the hell? What’s going on?”
One of the thugs closed the distance like a cat after prey and grabbed Elena’s wrist, twisting her arm behind her like he had done to me. She screamed and he clamped his hand over her mouth and growled, “Shut up little lady or I’ll shut you up permanently.”
Even in the dim light I could see terror flash through Elena’s eyes. I took a step toward her, but was paralyzed as the gun barrel burrowed into my ribs. My thug said, “What the hell are we going to do with her? We better call Mr. B.”
The thug with Elena growled back, “We’re not calling Mr. B to ask how to do our jobs. She goes with us.”
My thug, “What’ll we do with her?”
Elena’s thug, “Whatever we do with him. If he lives, she lives. If he dies, she dies. It’s not rocket science you moron.”
With obvious practiced efficiency, Elena’s thug pulled a zip tie from his pocket and clasped her hands behind her back like mine. We were led to a black Ford Expedition parked at the rear of the lot. Elena and I were pushed into the back seat and belted into place. With our hands bound behind us we weren’t going anywhere.
It wasn’t until after we’d pulled out onto the street that the two thugs in the front removed their ski masks. Now I was certain, one of them was the guy who had used me for a punching bag. I was fairly certain that the second one had been his partner on that night as well.
I looked at Elena, she seemed frightened, but calm. She turned toward me and said, “Guess I’ll have to see Cap’s Place another time.” With that a single tear ran down her cheek.
I shook my head, “We’ll be fine. I’ll give Bracchi whatever he wants. Serves no purpose to kill us.” I was almost sick to my stomach thinking I’d pulled Elena into this mess.
The pug faced thug who beat me up was riding shotgun. He punched a number in his cell phone and when someone answered he said, “Tell the boss we’ll be there in twenty minutes.” After a pause, “Yeah, I’ll remember to pull around back. You just open the damn door when we get there.”
So we weren’t going that far away. I guess that was good to know. Having never been abducted before I really didn’t know what was good and what was bad. Well, I did know that still being alive was good. I just had to make certain we stayed that way. What concerned me was that I wasn’t certain that whether we lived, or not, was in my control.
The windows in the Expedition were deeply tinted, and that, coupled with the meandering route we were taking, made it impossible for me to know exactly where we were, but I thought we were still in Hollywood. I didn’t know if the driver was trying to confuse me with the route he was taking or if he was having a difficult time finding the location he was looking for. Then it occurred to me that they weren’t attempting to hide their faces from us. The masks must have been for the cameras at Cap’s. Nor were they preventing us from seeing where we were going, as they hadn’t put hoods over our heads as kidnappers do on television. A wave of terror swept through me. They weren’t hiding anything because they knew we’d never be testifying against them.
My mind was racing trying to put this abduction in the context of Bracchi’s efforts to take over Cap’s. How could he get control of Cap’s if I was dead? How could he know what would happen to Cap’s if I died? I didn’t even know the answer to that. I don’t have a will. I don’t even know anything about Florida inheritance law. Cap’s would probably go to my parents. They wouldn’t want it, so they would sell it. Probably cheap. Possibly to Bracchi. Damn!
Okay Jack, think positive. Remember the statement the thug made a few minutes ago about us living or dying. Bracchi’s primary intent must not be to kill you. He could have had that done in the parking lot. His intent must be to increase the level of terror in your life. Blowing up your car didn’t do the trick, so he’s upping the ante. He wants you to think he might kill you.
Nimble Be Jack: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 2) Page 18
