by George Nagle
James gave a weak smile. Normally, he wouldn’t truly care about Judy’s problems, but as it was Carissa explaining, he actually had some interest. “No worries.”
“It’s just hard for her is all,” Carissa said, feeling a need to explain but not wanting to violate her friendship with Judy.
“It must be hard to have a mum who is ill with her dad passed on. I am sure the treatments at hospital will help the cancer,” James said to be reassuring.
Carissa took a step back, puzzled. “How der ya know that then?”
Oops, he thought.
“Ah, well I saw the papers on the counter in the flat for cancer treatment from two weeks prior. You had talked about her coming back from the hospital the day you asked about moving in. Just put it all together,” James said in a humble, but sort of dismissing, way.
“Doesn’t explain that you knew it were for her mum, though,” Carissa said.
“Aye, that is true. Well, the photos on the wall show Judy with her parents every year on her birthday. The last two are missing her dad, so I was thinking he had already passed. Judy looks rather healthy, and she wouldn’t if she’d had chemo just a fortnight ago. So I just guessed her mum has breast cancer, because that last picture shows she had a breast removed based on how the fabric was on her chest,” James said.
Carissa just stood there. This didn’t make James feel any better. He should have just said he’d guessed instead of trying to explain everything, but he hadn’t wanted to lie. He felt guilty enough about all the lies he’d already told her.
Finally she spoke. “I knew you tae be brilliant, but can you go on pretending tae not know, please? Just in case Judy were to say something ever. She doesn’t want others tae know.”
“Of course,” James said, relieved. He was even happier when Carissa didn’t go on and on about it, but just let it go.
Three hours later, Carissa and James walked through James’s apartment so Carissa could get her bearings. James had done most of the packing of the vehicles on the front end and had strategically placed most of the things he felt would make it into the apartment where they could easily be off-loaded.
After looking around, Carissa turned to him. “Well now, John, what lass you have in this place ‘sides me?” Her tone was serious, but she had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“Oh, you got me. There are half a dozen a week, you know. What gave it away then?” James asked, smiling.
“Simple,” she said, walking over to the table and setting down the box she was carrying. “Never seen a lad that had a place in order like this before. And this wasn’t a last second dash tae clean, neither.” She gave him wink. “I pay attention to things myself, you know.”
They both laughed.
They walked through the rest of the apartment, discussing what they should bring up. When they got to her queen sized bed, Carissa thought it would be too much trouble.
“Well, I can just kip on the couch,” she said.
“If anyone is sleeping on the couch, it’s me. I sleep there a fair amount of time as it is. Didn’t you notice the bed was made? I never make the bed.” The last part was true, but given the rest of the apartment, Carissa didn’t believe him.
“John, this is your place. I can’t be having you put out like that in your home, now. And this is just tae I am able to find me own place, you know. Honest, Love, that is sweet, but I can’t,” Carissa said.
“It doesn’t make sense. I travel, and you are paying on the rent. No, I am taking up your bed and setting it up after I take the other down to storage.” James began to dismantle the bed.
Carissa paused a moment, then walked over, straightened James up, and kissed him. Two hours later, they returned to unpacking the vehicles, a bit exhausted, but invigorated. From the moment of that kiss, her bed became their bed and his apartment their apartment. Carissa was there to stay, and they were a couple.
Chapter Sixteen
Walking out of the major’s office in Pittsburgh, carrying the folder labeled “Operation Joshua,” James couldn’t help but smile. The prior months had been some of the most confusing, inefficient, and frankly illogical of his entire life, yet somehow he was still moving things along and managing to everyone’s satisfaction. For once in his life, that included his own. He knew he could keep it up for a while, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Work was progressing as it needed to. He found he didn’t have to try too hard and was still ahead of most of his colleagues. In fact, Todd had told him it was his goal “to find something James can’t do.”
There was a lot of truth to this, as James was involved in some regulatory work that just so happened to require him to be in Aberdeen a great deal. The North Sea restrictions for chemicals were some of the most stringent in the world and took a lot of time and effort to work through.
For her part, Carissa was getting used to the idea that James would be gone for weeks at a time. She, too, was traveling for business for the RBS, or Royal Bank of Scotland, but not nearly as much as James. She was very sensible and didn’t complain about the time they were apart. She also didn’t feel the need to talk to him every day while he was gone about a lot of nothing. Her view was to enjoy the time they had together, and work hard when they weren’t. Every time James thought about this, he grinned.
The Anthony Spara operation was progressing slowly. To explain why, James used the excuse of work making things difficult. In part, working a real job was why most individuals stopped participating in the group after graduation. Another reason most stopped was to take care of personal interests they’d developed using the skills they’d acquired. That, and they’d been trained to get out while they could, before too many “coincidences” developed. Besides, age brought with it more acceptance of advanced skills, and that removed a useful tool for members of the group.
After securing the file on Operation Joshua, James picked up Daen from the group complex near Johnstown in a rental car from a pay-in-cash place. They were on their way to see Patrick Scalpini, the uncle of his friend Patrick from his college days.
Turned out it wasn’t too difficult to get a meeting with him. James hadn’t even had to contact Patrick to do it. He’d simply walked up to a few individuals who looked rather strung out and had track marks at a fast food restaurant. Their dealer was there and had taken them to get some food. James thought it was a smart approach to retaining customers; at least they didn’t starve to death.
He told them he was trying to get a supplier so he and a partner could arrange a new distribution arm. Patrick Scalpini had called him personally two hours later on the throwaway phone number James had given the drug dealer.
James filled Daen in on the conversation as they drove to the meeting location.
“So you’re telling me, man, this dealer just called Scalpini, and Scalpini accepted what you said and agreed to see us?” Daen asked.
“Yup.” James prepared to make a left turn.
“That is crazy. What if you were a cop?” Daen said in a confused manner.
“Seriously, that crossed my mind. If we can extract enough information on the Spara target, I’m thinking of letting Jake take this guy down,” James said.
“Nice man, nice. Why didn’t you just bring him instead of me?”
James shrugged.
“I’m calling BS on that, you had a reason, man. Don’t even try to play with me like that. I’ve worked with you way too many … Oh, I know. This Scalpini thing feels too easy. You’re on your guard and need someone you know and who knows how you operate.” Daen smirked at James, who gave no reaction but drove on.
“No reaction huh? So I’m on the right path, but there’s more. Hmm, Spara is a reason, but not a major one.” Daen’s eyes narrowed. “I’m just guessing, but you’re thinking of saying Virginia and D.C. right? It will give enough distance, and I know the area, right, man?”
James remained silent but was impressed with his friend.
“Right,” said Daen.
/> A few minutes passed, and then Daen turned to look at James. “It’s simple. It always is with you. What is this music?” Daen turned the radio off as some annoying song came on. As he did, he glanced at his hand, then at James.
“That’s good. Real good. Ha ha ha, man, I didn’t think of that. Bring a black guy to a drug deal, like that’s a rarity.” Daen laughed, and James smiled. He knew full well that Daen wouldn’t be offended, but it was one of the reasons he wanted him there.
They pulled into the parking lot of an Italian restaurant. James shook his head as Daen commented, “Talk about stereotypical, but I guess that’s why it’s a stereotype.”
James slowly turned his head to look at Daen.
“What, man? You’re banking on stereotypes,” Daen said defensively, throwing up his hands.
James gave a slight tilt to his head as his eyebrows went up to acknowledge that fact. “True.”
Walking in the front door, James prepared to do his normal scan, but was amused by the décor. It was like something right out of a gangster movie. That is, if gangster movies went out of their way to have checkered tablecloths, wax candles in wine bottles, shabby curtains, and a speckled tile floor.
Daen leaned into James and whispered, “There’s your stereotype.”
“Indeed,” James whispered back.
“Can we help yous?” a man said, approaching them. There were three other guys in the place. They all looked like they could use a shower and possibly a pacemaker, given the state of their bellies and forced breathing.
Daen gave an extremely brief snicker that sounded like he was stopping a sneeze. There’s your stereotype, thought James, knowing that was why Daen had snickered.
“We have a meeting with Mr. Scalpini.” James spoke in an even, but nonthreatening, tone. He didn’t want to give them any cause to feel disrespected or threatened. He tried to get his brain to stop noting the stereotypes, but it was just too easy.
“Oh, Mr. Scalpini, is it? I am sure he is ‘spect yous.” The man did a weird bow and motion with his arms. He and his cohorts laughed at this.
Daen and James stared ahead, silently waiting for the man’s next move.
He checked them both for weapons and presumably wires as he ran his thumb, hard, down their sternums.
“Sit there.” He directed them to a table to their right in a corner. “I’ll get him for yous.”
Daen and James took a step as the man turned around and shouted, “Yo, Patrick, you gots some guests and whatnot out heres. What do yous want I should do with ‘em?”
The other men looked in the direction of the back, too, which was a good thing, as James and Daen both cracked wide grins as they hurried to the table.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute,” came a voice from the back.
A teenage boy walked out carrying a video camera and a stepladder. He looked familiar. He spoke to the man who had shouted, saying, “Can you not yell all the time?”
“Hey, Albert Einstein, do the fancy video stuff and mind your business, eh?” The man raised his hand as though to strike the teen, who was clearly out of reach. The boy just shook his head as the man sat down with a grunt.
They waited about a minute before the same man yelled again, “Yo, what’s yous doing? Going make these guys wait here all day or what?”
A string of swear words flowed from the back, followed by, “I’ll be there in a minute.”
After a good five minutes, the faint sound of rushing water could be heard and out came a middle-aged man with a rather bad hairpiece. As he rounded the corner, he nearly tripped on the stepladder, mainly because he wasn’t looking where he was going as he adjusted his pants.
“Why you gots this out? Could hurt somebody with this thing here!” Patrick Scalpini said, yelling at the teenager on the ladder.
“You asked me to install this now, so that’s what I am doing. How else do you think I can get up here?” the boy asked through gritted teeth.
Patrick looked at him and shook a finger. “Don’t get too smart there, genius boy. You are my nephew and I love you, but I will kick this ladder right from under yas.”
The man hitched up his pants one more time and then put a plastic smile on his face as he walked over to greet James and Daen.
They stood up to shake hands and introduced themselves. Daen used Bryan Douglas, but James had changed to Christopher Macker because he’d burned the Stephen Lewis name.
Patrick pointed to each man in turn. “That there’s Fat Tony, next to him is Nicky, then you have Big Tony and his brother, Bobby.”
Bobby turned out to be the man who had greeted them.
Patrick swung around and said, “And the genius with the video camera is my nephew Andrew. His mother is my sister, but she did right and had him with an Italian named Sebastino.”
“Nice, glad you approve of my dad for being Italian, even though he’s in jail for beating my mom,” Andrew growled at his uncle.
Now James confirmed the teen’s identity in his head. Andrew was his friend Patrick’s little brother, based on the last name. Patrick had mentioned him a few times.
“Yo! Don’t talk about the family like that, ever. You hear me? Just do your magic, video wizard,” Patrick barked as he turned to face his guests.
“I keep telling you, I don’t know how most of this works. I’m into computer graphics and gaming systems. This is just hooking up wires,” Andrew told his uncle, rather exacerbated.
“One more word, and I swear by the Holy Mother and her son, Jesus, I will break that pizza paddle over your head!” Patrick said, making a motion toward his nephew.
“Mr. Scalpini,” James said, drawing Patrick’s attention to him and Daen, “we have a long drive ahead of us, so perhaps we could start?” He couldn’t believe how this was playing out. It was almost surreal.
“Yeah, right, sorry. You know kids, gots to keep them in line.” He adjusted his pants again and sat down. “How can I help yas?”
“As you may recall, we are in need of a supplier. We do not like to source locally as it tends to lead to complications if the network is somehow breached. I’m sure you understand,” James said.
Patrick nodded. “Yeah, ‘course. You don’t play too heavy in your own yard. Smart. I like smart business associates.”
James laughed in his head and Daen jumped in.
“We are looking for a reliable source. Looking to do five kilos a week to start. If business is …”
“Hold on, let me stop yas right there,” Patrick said. “I don’t do black tar like that.”
Daen glanced at James, and James stared ahead, his mind working furiously. Stereotype: Italians didn’t like black people. Still, Scalpini’s body language didn’t indicate it was a racist comment. In fact, his body language—tight muscles and dilated pupils—indicated he was fearful. That was interesting.
“Mr. Scalpini, we discussed what we’re looking to buy over the phone. I don’t underst …”
“Yeah, and I don’t move that kind of volume,” Patrick said in a more casual voice.
Daen kept quiet, still staring in a deadpan way at James.
This was why James liked to work with Daen; he didn’t overreact. At the moment, Daen needed to play the cold dealer who was holding James accountable and the stare was giving that signal loud and clear.
“I indicated we would be looking for substantial amounts. Perhaps you can facilitate a connection. We would certainly be willing to share in the profits.” James followed up his words with a hard smile.
“No, I ain’t gots those kinda connections. The little I do I get from a guy that sometimes pays me with it to feed his coke habit. No way he can get that volume, and besides, he ain’t zactly professional, if yas know what I mean,” Patrick sat back in his chair defensively. “Now if yous want coke or pot source, we can do that business.”
Patrick was lying for some reason about his connections, and James knew it. Perhaps this explained the former fearful reaction.
Da
en, however, made one last ditch effort.
“You sure you don’t have that connection? I can pay a month in advance. We would be selling into the D.C. area,” he said firmly.
“I said no.”
The physical reaction, the man’s fear, was even more pronounced.
“How many times you need to hear that?” Patrick stood and put both hands on the table, staring them down.
“We’ll be going, then,” James said quickly, standing up. Daen followed, but lifted himself using his hands on the table.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Patrick suddenly blazed at them.
There was a sudden scraping of chairs, and the four other men stood.
“This is my place of business! Who the fuck do you think you are? Get out, get the fuck out!” Patrick was furious, and his friends held him back.
Daen and James made for the door while Patrick’s tirade of screaming and foul language trailed them. Once outside, they picked up the pace until they made it to the car and were off.
“What was that?” exclaimed Daen. “Damn man, he just freaked out!”
James took a few quick turns to get out of the immediate area and make it harder to be followed. After a moment, he answered, “I think it was two things. One, he was lying about a connection to heroin and we pressed the topic. The second was your hands.”
Daen looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean my hands, man?”
“When you stood up. You placed your hands on the table. I think he took it as a challenge or something. I don’t know. I’m not looking to go back and ask.” James headed back toward the group’s headquarters.
“Well, shit,” said Daen.
The two men sat quietly for a moment before Daen asked, “Man, did you get the sense like they were trying to be all mafia in there? Like, it was a point to be like that?”
“Yeah, or they’re just really stupid and have no idea how to operate. Let’s face it; Andrew was by far the smartest in the room. But that’s not what concerns me.”
