by Brian Meeks
The corner was three blocks from his house. A black sedan arrived a short time later. Joseph got into the car and was taken to meet the client. He didn't know it, but this wasn't going to be his typical job.
CHAPTER 50
The evening air was chilly. It was above freezing, so everything was wet. An odor of damp despair swirled about. Henry parked his car a couple of blocks from the warehouse. He was two hours early. Henry calculated the number of outcomes that ended with him floating face down in the East River as being considerably greater than the number where he slept in his own bed.
With this fuzzy and upsetting math in his head, he decided it would be best to look over the property, check for all the routes of egress, and generally get a feel for the place. Henry had been in tight spots before, some of which nearly ended in sorrow, but because he was good at seeing the options and reading his adversary, he had gotten through unscathed.
The warehouse was in a part of town that teemed with life during the day as ships brought in goods and trucks took them away. When 5:00 pm arrived, everything ground to a halt. Thirty minutes of chaos would ensue as everyone scurried off to their lives, then it would be quiet.
The city was never completely quiet, though. Henry listened to the city sounds as he walked slowly around the blocks adjacent to the warehouse property. He checked for doors that might be unlocked. He looked for escape routes, which might lead them into a dead end, both literally and figuratively. He covered all the angles as they say.
Henry had a plan A and a plan B. Running away from Tommy and his thugs on foot with a frightened, likely exhausted Sylvia in tow was plan Q. But one never knew; it was best to try to think of everything. There were a bunch of variables, and he counted on a lot of egos in the room. There would be more guns than Henry could imagine. He had his own revolver. It would likely be futile to try to shoot his way out of a jam, but he added it to the plan list - somewhere around letter M.
The far side of the warehouse was next to the river. The docks found a few sailors meandering about, smoking, and securing lines as well as a bum on a bench drinking a bottle of wine out of a bag. Henry chuckled to himself. He wondered if the bum would agree that 'Gallo Brings You Fine Wine.' He shook his head from side to side and brought his focus back to Sylvia.
Henry moved in to take a closer look at the warehouse. He didn't think she was here yet as he imagined Tommy was planning on bringing her here shortly before their meeting. Of course, Tommy wasn't known for thinking things through. Perhaps they had been here all day? The windows were filthy and, at first look, all of the ones on the ground level were impossible to see through.
Henry decided it was too risky to try one of the doors. He looked around for another way to see inside and saw a promising spot. Near one end of the building was a stack of pallets that was in front of a window, and it had pushed out one of the panes of glass. He carefully removed the pallets from the stack, one by one, then looked through the hole. He couldn't see the entire warehouse, but he could listen. There weren't any sounds. It was still.
He looked at his pocket watch; one hour had slipped by, and he now was as ready as he could be. Henry began to fidget. The tension was becoming almost unbearable, and he needed to be calm with a clear head. He walked down a street that seemed like it might have a bar.
The sign said, "Joe's Place"; an ad for Lucky Strikes was in the window. Henry didn't smoke much, but he needed one now. The bartender was wiping the bar with an ancient artifact of a bar towel. He grunted, "What can I get ya, Mack?"
"Pack of Lucky’s," Henry said. He left off the please as he figured such politeness might come off as being a wise guy. Henry's brain was firing on all cylinders. Just the idea that he would worry about a 'please,' and how it might change the dynamic told him he was ready. The meeting would be tense and the slightest blunder could be deadly. The bartender set a fresh pack on the counter. Henry paid him, grabbed a book of matches, and gave a quick look around the bar.
Henry wasn't sure who he was looking for, but there was a point, when facing a possible end, that made one look for the familiar, the friendly. There was nothing familiar or friendly about this crowd. Henry gave a clipped, "Thanks," and walked out.
He tapped the Lucky’s several times, opened it, and pulled a cigarette from the pack. The first match didn't light, but the second did the trick. He walked back to his car. The coolness of the evening, the dampness of the air, and the glow of the cigarette in hand seemed exactly as it should be. Now Henry felt the calmness and clarity that he would need. Forty-eight minutes until the meet.
CHAPTER 51
Henry stood outside the warehouse. It was three minutes before midnight. The door on the right side, near the first loading bay, opened up, and a thick man in an overcoat motioned him forward.
It was probably only 25 yards from where Henry had parked his car, but the walk seemed tiring. Sal held the door for Henry in a very non-threatening way. He didn't snarl or make any comment; he just said, "This way, Mr. Wood." His politeness seemed out of place. Sal towered over Henry. Henry guessed that he must be 6' 8.”
Sal walked behind Henry, directing him past a stack of crates and towards the large open area in the center of the warehouse. Two sedans were parked there. When Henry appeared with Sal, the doors opened up and several men emerged. Two of them held Tommy guns, one had a sawed off shotgun, and two more had pistols. They didn't raise the guns, but it was apparent they were ready for any 'tricks.'
Henry stopped about 15 feet from the front of the two sedans. Sal walked over and opened the back door on the one to the right. Out stepped Sylvia and Tommy 'The Knife.' He had his arm around her waist. She had a frightened and disgusted look on her face. Henry stayed stoic.
"You got quite a girl here, Henry. She is a looker," Tommy said as he gave her a squeeze. He was trying to get a reaction out of Henry. He failed.
"You doing alright, Sylvia?"
"Yes," said Sylvia in a tired voice.
"You have caused me a lot of problems, Mr. Wood. You and your journal."
"It isn't my journal. I am just holding it for a friend."
"I know all about the journal, and that scum, pencil-pushing accountant Alexander who wrote about stuff that wasn't any of his concern." Tommy's voice flashed into angry, which Henry assumed was his normal tone. "I also know how this little chickadee's father helped him."
"Oh, you do, do you? You are so clever. What else can you tell me?" Henry said, stalling for time.
"You want a story, tough guy?" Tommy said smugly. "I bet you think that the cavalry is about to show up and save the day? I have a story for you; they ain't coming."
A door behind Henry opened, and a man walked through alone. Henry turned around for a look. It was the DA. Tommy laughed a deep hearty laugh as Mark walked up and stood next to Henry.
"I stand corrected. Here is your cavalry."
Henry looked at the DA. He wasn't sure how the next few minutes would play out, so he decided to play his part. "You came alone?"
More laughter from Tommy, then he said, "He didn't come alone; he is here with his friends. It's just that you aren't one of them." He gave the DA a nod.
McKinley reached over and patted Henry down until he felt the journal. He took it and walked it over to Tommy, then turned towards Henry and said, "You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?"
"You dirty rat. I can't believe you are in Tommy's pocket. You disgust me,” Henry said, feigning surprise.
Tommy felt like gloating, so he pushed Sylvia towards Henry and said, "Here is your little chickadee. A deal is a deal."
Henry could tell it wasn't over yet.
"The problem is, well, you know my secret, Henry. The cavalry is on the payroll, which means we have a problem. As I see it, you and your little friend know too much."
Sal looked at Sylvia. He knew this moment would arrive and just assumed he would do as he was told. She looked back at him. She held Henry's arm and looked frightened for the bot
h of them. Something else was in her eyes; she looked at him with hope. Sal faced a dilemma. He knew that whatever decision he made next would change his life.
There was the faintest sound from outside. Tommy didn't notice, but Henry did. Since plan A was out the window, Henry moved on to plan B. "You have your journal; there isn't any more evidence. My job is done. Why don't you just let the girl go? We can discuss my keeping your secret."
Tommy laughed, "Trying to negotiate, Henry? From a very weak position, I might add."
"You don't want to kill us. That would be messy and..."
"Messy! Oh, it will be messy. You've caused me all sorts of pain. I've lost good men. I'm going to relish watching you suffer, you little prick. You don't have any idea what is about to happen to you."
The sounds from outside - the faint scuffling of feet - stopped, and Henry said, "I have some idea about what is to happen." A smile worked its way across Henry's face.
Tommy stood just a few feet away from Henry and saw the smile. He didn't understand.
Four of the dock bays opened simultaneously. The relative calm of the warehouse was broken by several hundred men with guns who walked in four groups towards the little meeting. Tommy's boys instinctively drew their weapons. The look on their faces was a mixture of confusion and fear.
The four groups walked in and positioned themselves around the meeting. The top guns from each of the other four families now stood with deafening silence around Tommy, his men, and Henry and Sylvia. The heads of each of the four families walked through the open bays. They eased their way toward the front with their personal guards by their sides. A man from each group found a chair and placed it in front of their respective bosses.
Tommy's voice was unsteady. "Frankie, what brings you out tonight?"
Frankie was the top boss. He had been running the streets of NY for over 40 years, and it was because of the respect and fear he commanded that the squabbles between the families never got out of hand. He was in his 70's, but he was still in fantastic shape. The other family heads were considerably more portly but were not to be taken lightly.
Frankie took off his topcoat and handed it to one of his men. He removed a cigar and lighter. Biting off the end, he slowly rolled the cigar in the flame until it was lit. Once it was lit, Frankie sat down in the chair that was about five feet to Henry's right. The other bosses took their seats.
Henry snuck a peek at the DA. He looked terrified. His eyes were wide, and it seemed like he might have stopped breathing.
Frankie took a few puffs from his cigar and spoke. "Isn’t it awfully late to be doing business down here at the docks, Tommy?" The question was rhetorical, so Tommy just nodded.
"Speak up, Tommy, my boy, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?"
"Just cleaning up some loose ends, Frankie, nothing you need to worry about."
"I see the district attorney, Mr. Mark McKinley, has joined us." Frankie gave a nod to the DA who managed a feeble smile. "Tommy hasn't broken any laws now has he?"
Sylvia, who didn't know who these men were and had no idea what was going on, said, "That scum bag kidnapped me, and the DA is in it with him. He is a ..." Henry grabbed her arm and gave it a squeeze. She stopped talking, realizing that Henry seemed to have a plan.
Frankie stood up slowly and turned towards Sylvia, "He did? Well, that isn't right.” He looked at Tommy, “She is such a lovely young woman." He took her hand and patted the back of it. Frankie had grandkids, and the oldest was a spitfire. Sylvia reminded him of her. "Tommy, why did you take this young woman?"
"Her father was sticking his nose in our business,” Tommy said with a bit too much swagger.
Frankie let go of Sylvia's hand and walked up to Tommy. "He wasn't sticking it in our business; he was sticking it in your business!"
Tommy didn't say anything.
"What we have here is a management issue,” Frankie said calmly while he walked Tommy around the circle. The other bosses nodded and made little noises of agreement. "You made your bones, Tommy, and we rewarded you. But you have not been a good boss. Perhaps it is your youth? But there are rules that we don't break."
He blew a ring of smoke over Tommy's head. Tommy stood silently. Henry doubted Tommy could have moved even if he'd wanted to. Frankie continued, "Rule 1: We don't use the children, especially the daughters of our enemies, to handle our business." His voice was getting louder. "Rule 2: We don't discuss family business with accountants or lawyers!"
Sylvia took Henry's hand and crept in behind him. Henry gave it a squeeze. She looked at Sal who was staring at Tommy. Sal seemed relaxed, or maybe he agreed with Frankie. She didn't know.
"Rule 3: There are certain people we don't mess with. Big Mike is one of those people. He may be a cop, but he is a straight-shooter, and he's from the neighborhood."
Big Mike was well liked by everyone, even the bad guys, and Tommy had stepped over the line when they beat him nearly to death. Henry had hoped Mike could talk to Frankie and persuade him to intervene. When Mike called, he didn't even need to ask.
There was some shifting about. Tommy's guys had lowered their guns, and all but Sal were moving slowly away. A guy in a grey overcoat and hat that was pulled below his eyes now stood behind DA Mark McKinley.
Frankie stopped speaking and made a gesture to one of the other bosses. He stood up and waved towards the back of his group of men. A small man in a dark suit, who wore very thick glasses, stepped forward. He carried a briefcase.
The small man whispered something to Frankie. Frankie smiled, and the small man opened his briefcase and removed a single piece of paper. He held it in front of Frankie to read. The small man wore cotton gloves and held the piece of paper as if it were a treasure.
Frankie looked at one of his lieutenants, and several men stepped forward to relieve Tommy's men of their firearms. One of the lieutenants then disarmed Tommy. He took a revolver and Tommy's prized hunting knife, which he had bought shortly after he earned his moniker. The lieutenant handed the knife to Frankie. After admiring the blade for a long moment, Frankie said, while waving his hand in front of him, "We have discussed how you are handling your affairs. It appears to the other distinguished family heads that you lack certain management skills, which are necessary." The other bosses nodded; one of them spit on the ground.
Tommy tried to keep his cool. "This whole journal mess is behind us. I was about to take care of the last of the loose ends, before you interrupted...er...joined us." Tommy had gone too far.
Frankie shook the knife at Tommy, "Interrupted! I am sorry to hear you feel a visit from the other families is such an inconvenience." Tommy stammered, but Frankie wouldn't let him interrupt. "This is just another example of your incompetence." He lowered his tone and walked a few paces away from Tommy.
Tommy didn't say a word. Frankie continued, "But I am nothing if not a fair man. Let's ask some of your men what they think about your management skills. Who wants to go first?" The silence lasted for about two seconds, just long enough for Tommy to think his men were going to stand by him. Then his first lieutenant spoke.
At 6' 8," Sal's voice was as deep as one would expect, but his tone and eloquence startled everyone. "He is a horrific leader. He lets his considerable temper affect his decisions, often resulting in lost opportunities, difficult situations, and generally causing the family financial distress." Tommy looked both surprised and angry. His other men all turned towards Sal with blank expressions of disbelief. If one were to ask his men, it was unlikely that any had heard him say much more than “Yes, boss” or "Get to it.” The murmuring from the several hundred men with guns was considerable. It lasted until Frankie spoke again.
Frankie couldn't remember a time in his life when he liked being surprised. He associated it with bad things. This time, however, he was both surprised and pleased. Were he alone, he would have smiled broadly. He was not alone and said, "Hypothetically, if there were to become an opening in one of our operations, might you be
interested in..." he paused for effect, "...being considered for the position?"
Sal responded in a more expected manner with a simple, "Yes."
Tommy started to sweat.
Frankie leaned in to whisper something to Sal. Sal stepped over to Tommy, removed his money belt, and handed it to Frankie. It had exactly $50,000 in hundred dollar bills made up of five neat stacks. Frankie had come to the meeting with a plan, which all the other bosses had agreed was the best way to handle things. Now he had an idea, and he gathered the other bosses together for a quiet chat. There was nodding among the bosses, though nobody could hear what was being said. They each returned to their chairs. Some of them lit their own cigars.
When Frankie returned to his spot, he noticed Sylvia who was looking rather disheveled from her experience. "Where are my manners? You must feel awful after your terrible experience. Henry, why don't you take the young lady home? We have things under control." Then he took her hand, kissed it gently, and said, "You and your friends will not be bothered by Tommy any more. You have my word on that."
Sylvia smiled, "Thank you", and then she whispered so only Frankie could hear. “Sal was very nice to me. He brought me food and kept me company. He was a gentleman.” Frankie smiled this time and leaned in and whispered something to her. Sylvia grabbed Henry's hand. Sal looked at her, and she flashed him a quick smile.
Henry didn't like the mob. He didn't like criminals in general, but sometimes it was hard to tell the good guys from the bad, and this was one of those times. He wasn't sure where he stood with Frankie or what the account balance would be, but, for now, Sylvia was safe. He put his arm around her shoulder and walked her out of the warehouse. As he reached the door, Henry let Sylvia go first, and he stole a quick glance. The little man was holding the document that he had shown Frankie in front of the DA's face. McKinley’s face was now ashen.
Henry thought he knew what was going on, but, even if he were wrong, the loose ends were being tended to by the men with their cigars and guns. He would make some calls, read the paper, and use his contacts to verify his suspicions tomorrow. Tonight, he would tend to Sylvia and look in on Luna.
