by Rick Pine
On the opposite side of the building was a smaller blue door that Casey had to assume this was only for the Mafia members to come and go, who wouldn’t want to risk fighting with punters to get off the premises in an emergency, one that Casey might have to create. No, they’d need their own quick exit.
Casey walked by the door without stopping or looking around, casually surveying the area as he did. He couldn’t stop or draw any attention to himself, knowing they had to have a camera on that door somewhere. Acting casual seemed a little awkward. I’m rusty, he thought, and started to doubt himself a little.
He was about ten feet past the blue door when it suddenly swung open, and Casey had a burst of adrenaline. His back was turned, and he couldn’t see who was opening the door. Were they after him? Maybe he was even rustier than he thought.
He carried on walking towards the end of the alley, listening for following footsteps but heard none. He decided to risk it and turned to look behind him. As he turned his head he saw two armed men standing outside of the door, which remained open. Both were dressed in unmistakably tailored suits and holding automatic weapons. It wasn’t a gun Casey recognized. He had been away for ten years, so it could have been a new model. The two men stood perfectly still. They hadn’t seen him. Casey realized that they were getting ready to receive guests.
As Casey reached the end of the alleyway a limousine pulled up in front of him. He quickly turned to his right, now walking away from the building. Had he turned left he could have made it back to his truck, where the Glock remained. But Casey felt this was safer.
It was late afternoon and there were a lot of people on the main streets walking home from their day’s work, or walking back to one of the many Mafia run hotels after their day’s shopping. It would be easier to get lost in the crowd than to win a firefight with a handgun. Casey made a point of not looking back at the limousine and continued walking to the end of the block. He stopped and faced to his left as if waiting to cross the street. He looked down the street toward the car and saw two more armed guards climb out of the limousine and survey the immediate area.
Ciro DeLuca stepped out of the huge sleek car and fastened the button on his pinstriped suit jacket. The swarms of people walking on the street instinctively knew to stop short and wait until Mr. DeLuca had safely passed, like the water parting for Moses.
They were now out of sight, but Casey knew they were heading to the blue door. That would be his escape. He was seriously outgunned, so there was no use in trying to gain access outside of opening hours. He would wait and join the crowd of regular punters, which would at least give him some cover and anonymity to begin with, and hopefully an element of surprise.
He decided to take a walk around the city to help fill the time. It had changed so much in the ten years he’d been away. The neon billboards that used to shine so fiercely were now just a faint glow. Casey remembered the city being a lively place, but now everyone was walking around with their heads down, as if they’d had their souls ripped out. Had things gotten that bad? He’d heard the occasional rumor over the last ten years of his isolation at the Orchard, of how taxes were higher than ever, especially on amenities. Casey had to assume that either the Mafia bosses were getting greedy, or their other “business ventures” were diminishing, leaving the public to pick up the slack and line their pockets further.
Maybe some of the rumors are true? he thought, and Casey could certainly see how the IA was apparently gaining in popularity. Would there be a rebellion? Casey dismissed that idea, but not before questioning which side he’d be on if there was one. The thought of not knowing the answer troubled him.
Now in the shopping district of the city, he looked around and headed for a clothes store. It said “Old Navy” above the door. I need something with a hood, he thought, before heading inside the glass-fronted store.
Chapter 12
Ciro DeLuca got out of his limousine and stood still for a second. His bodyguards stood ready. The busy foot traffic had come to a stop to allow him to pass. He loved this part. It made him feel presidential.
Ciro started walking with the guards, but not before adjusting his pinstriped jacket and buttoning it. This was his favorite suit. Tailored, of course. They all were, but this one felt a little more special than his others. Pinstripes had not been in fashion for some time. That alone was part of the allure, but there was more to it. It made him feel like a true member of La Cosa Nostra, not least because it made him look like one of the classical age members he was used to seeing in the relic movies from the early 1900s. Most Caporegime liked being part of the new age of the Cosa Nostra. They were proud of it, as they should be. But Ciro had always thought himself as more of a traditionalist. His colleagues knew this, of course, not least because he’d mentioned it on numerous occasions. That’s what made him so dangerous.
Ciro completed his walk to the blue door at the side of the building where he was greeted by his two armed guards that protected the door at all times. He stepped into the holding room. In front of him was the door to the main room in the building, the stench of sweat still lingering from the night before.
Next to the door stood the weapons rack. No weapons were allowed in the Pits, apart from the occasional blade Ciro had thrown into the Pits for his own amusement. This was not a rack made for bladed weapons. Instead it held FBG-1S assault rifles. These were not normal rifles, though. They had two modes: kill and stun. The kill mode shot hollow point bullets, which was nothing new. But the stun mode was new technology, still experimental. It sent electric pulses towards the target and worked much like those old tasers the police used at the turn of the century. Ciro found them excellent at crowd control. There had only been one riot in the history of this particular Pit, and the new stun technology had proved itself very effective.
The killing was easy, but in his eyes it was also a waste. If they were dead, people couldn’t repay debts, or, in the case of the riots, couldn’t come back to bet away their wages. Ciro preferred living clients, the kind made him richer. And if they didn’t pay their debts he could have more fun with them alive, as they made good Pit fodder for his Warriors. Business came only second to family.
He took a seat at his usual table inside. His guests were already seated, talking amongst themselves when he entered. Johny, Lou, and Little Franky sat one side of the desk, while the other side was occupied by Nicolas Cali, and Roy, the trainer for his Warriors.
Everyone stood when he walked into the room. There’s that presidential treatment, again, he thought to himself. He smirked, basking in his own ego. Ciro sat at the head of the table and began.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
Each of them wished him the same.
“I’ve just got back from my meeting with Don DeLuca and Mr. Gotti,” Ciro announced.
Don DeLuca was the head of the Gambino family that ran the Northern District. He was also Ciro’s father. Ciro, of course, loved the man dearly, something he could not say about Joseph Gotti, the family Underboss. Ciro despised him. He was brash, uncivilized, and, by Ciro’s standards, unkempt. His tattoos especially irritated Ciro; he considered them unprofessional. There was no love lost between the two of them, and Ciro simply hated the man his father had chosen to succeed him to run the family.
Why would he pick him over his own son? Just the thought of him and the mention of the name Gotti was enough to raise Ciro’s blood pressure.
Ciro took a sip of wine before continuing. “As you all know, our shipments of petroleum are being interfered with. In the last month alone we’ve lost six tankers to those IA—” He caught himself before he swore. “So Don DeLuca came up with a new plan. One that might help find out who the snitch is.”
“What do you mean snitch, sir?” Nicolas asked. Not being present for the last few meetings, he was eager to catch up on the current situation.
“Is it not obvious, Nicky? Someone is leaking the shipment details to the IA. Someone who is privy to the mission details is
leaking the route and timings. We take a different route each time, but they still know when and where to be. We’ve swept everywhere for bugs, including you guys, so we know they aren’t getting the information that way. Besides, they don’t have the tech we have. They have to be doing it the old-fashioned way. Someone is being manipulated, or worse, dishonest and disrespectful.”
Nicolas nodded to confirm his question was answered.
“So what’s the plan this time?” Johny asked.
“Well, my father felt that instead of Mr. Gotti and I knowing all the details of the shipment, we would each just know one part. Mr. Gotti will set the routes, and I will know the time of departure from our refinery in Whiting. As always, it will depart from there and arrive here in the city thereafter.”
Ciro has long suspected Joseph Gotti was behind the leak. He hated him, yes, but distrusted him even more. But he couldn’t speak these thoughts out loud. As loyal as his men were to him, he couldn’t risk it getting back to his father. If he was to find out Ciro had a vendetta against Joseph, then Ciro could find himself being tried for treason if he wasn’t careful. Joseph was too smart for that. If he suspected Ciro was onto him, he’d cover his tracks for sure. No, catching him red-handed was the only way to prove to his father that Joseph was the snitch.
“There will be three tankers leaving Whiting at different times. We should assume that Mr. Gotti will have them take different routes, so their arrival times may vary. I want four of you to meet the tankers at Whiting, with one of you riding in a separate tanker with each driver, and the fourth man to follow one tanker in the car. Don DeLuca is nervous about having the new FBG-1S rifles on board, due to the tankers being full of a highly flammable liquid. But I think this time it’s a chance we have to take, so we agreed this time to proceed. That means, of course, if there is a leak…” Ciro raised his arms with his palms facing the ceiling as he shrugged his shoulders, “… then they’ll know we’re bringing a special treat for them. I’m sure they’ll be prepared for that. So this could get messy, boys.”
No one at the table flinched as he spoke those words. He knew they fully understood what was implied.
Johny looked to his right, towards Lou and Little Franky. “We’d be happy to take this one, right?”
Lou and Little Franky both nodded.
“Thank you for your eagerness and loyalty, as always, Johny. But, my friend, I need you to do something else for me at that time. I want Lou, Little Franky, and Nicky to ride in with the tankers. Roy, I need you to drive the boys up there and follow one of the tankers in the car, providing support if needed. If all the boys don’t make it back to the city, then you’ll need to go get them, regardless of their status.”
Roy nodded his head and remained silent. They all knew what he meant by status. It wouldn’t be the first time a soldier of the Cosa Nostra was brought home in a body bag.
“When do we leave?” Nicolas asked.
“The tankers are due to drive out of Whiting at 5pm tomorrow. You boys need to be there before three, so you can make sure there’s nothing funny going on. Give the vehicles a check over, you know, that sort of thing.” Ciro knew that they had to be careful and be there early, as that was when they would most likely be hijacked. If Joseph Gotti was the leak, he had no clue when they’d leave. He’d probably have a good guess or have people watching the place.
Trying to retrieve the tankers before they left Whiting would be risky, even for the IA. They’d no doubt sneak in and put trackers on the trucks so they could find them as they split up. At least that’s what he’d do. And as brash as Joseph could be, you didn’t get to be an underboss for any family without being smart. Ciro would just have to be smarter.
“Any questions?”
Everyone at the table shook their heads and stood up.
“Johny, you stay,” demanded Ciro.
Johny sat back down while the others left them alone.
Ciro spoke quietly. “I need your help with something, but no one can know. Understood?”
Johny nodded, and Ciro’s smirk widened.
Chapter 13
Casey’s alarm went off and woke him with a jump. Still groggy, he rubbed his eyes and shut off the alarm on his watch. It read 9pm. He’d been asleep for a few hours. Casey gathered himself and stepped out of the truck, which was now hidden off a side street close to where he first saw Ciro enter the blue door. If things went wrong, he guessed that would be his best bet for a quick escape.
He walked around to the other side of the building towards the entrance, making sure to keep to the crowded main streets, making it easier to blend in and hide from any potentially hidden cameras on the property.
The line to enter the club was now a healthy length as Casey joined it. He looked down the line and saw a huge guy manning the door. He was easily over six and a half foot tall, and all muscle. Has to be on the juice, Casey thought. He worked his way down the line, and was pleased to see the ID chip scanner was “out of order”. Casey smiled to himself and hoped they didn’t bother checking everyone's chips with a handheld device, betting on the fact that they were slow and would hold up admissions, which wouldn’t be good for business.
Now Casey was next in the line. He looked at the staff ID badge on the huge dude manning the door: “Ben”.
“Arms up,” Ben grunted.
Casey obliged while he was scanned for weapons. “No pat down?” Casey asked jokingly. Ben’s expression remained unchanged. After he’d finished, Ben simply nodded his head sideways towards the door. Casey stepped inside.
Deloris was watching her tablet, completely unfazed by everyone coming and going. Next to her stood another man, collecting entrance fees, but he was no soldier of Ciro DeLuca. He was too fresh-faced, and looked more like an associate to Casey, an eager apprentice looking to join the ranks and become an official member of the Cosa Nostra.
Casey caught the conversation of the two men in front of him as they paid the man their entrance fee.
“You had some trouble?” said the first man.
“Yeah, that ID scanner is all busted up,” added the second man.
“Just some punk kid with a baseball bat a few hours ago. Nothing to worry about,” replied the associate.
“Did you catch him?”
“No, I’m afraid not. He was on a bike and long gone before we could get outside to him. Not to worry, though, you’ll be quiet safe here. We’ve got extra staff to ensure it.”
Casey was glad to hear they didn’t pursue the boy. He would have felt guilty if he’d come to any harm for doing something Casey had paid him to do. He was doubly glad that they didn’t use the portable scanner to ID check him. There was no way he was getting inside to bargain for Billy otherwise. Though the sound of extra staff worried him.
Casey stepped inside the main part of the building. There was a fight already taking place in the Pit in front of him. After checking to make sure it wasn’t Billy fighting, he starting walking slowly around to scout the place out. He knew as soon as he entered where Ciro would be, but he had to check out the rest of the place before he approached him. He only had one shot at this, and couldn’t afford any nasty surprises. He hated surprises.
The place was getting crowded, the stench of sweat and cheap beer growing by the minute. The main part of the building was surprisingly simple. The Pit was about twenty feet long and was directly in the middle of the room. Either side was standing room for the betting punters, and to the left were the bathrooms and the betting booths while to the right was the bar as well as raised VIP seating. Directly in front, beyond the pit, was Ciro’s annexed room, which held a large table and several guests, already seated.
As he walked closer he could see a door at the back of the annexed room, and beyond it what looked like a holding room with two armed guards and a blue door.
Bingo, thought Casey.
There was one other door, just to the left of that room, which Casey assumed was the fighter’s entrance. This was confirmed mom
ents later when the victor of the current fight left with a bodyguard and exited through the door.
It’s now or never, Casey thought, preparing himself to approach Ciro.
As he made his way toward Ciro’s table two guards stepped in front of him, blocking the way. Casey smiled at them. “I’m here to see Mr. DeLuca about a deal. Would it be possible to speak with him?”
Another man appeared. Casey recognized him immediately. It was Johny, the scumbag that took Billy.
“How may I assist you, my friend?”
Casey had to choose his words carefully to appeal to the idiot's ego if he was ever to get past him and reach Ciro. “I would like to pay my respects to Mr. DeLuca… Sir.” Casey almost cringed as he spoke the words. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smile off Johny’s face.
“That’s gracious of you, but Mr. DeLuca is a very busy man. I’ll be sure to pass on your respects. I didn’t catch your name?”
“Casey. Oh, and there is one more thing…” Casey wasn’t sure how to best phrase the next sentence without getting under his skin. “I’d like to talk to Mr. DeLuca about the possibility of a deal. I believe he has a boy in his care by the name of Billy. I’m here to see if we can come to some arrangement that would allow me to take him home. Tonight.”
Johny scowled at him. Someone coming to make a deal for the boy he took would not look good to his boss, and Casey knew this. He just had to hope the man standing before him didn’t completely block his efforts.
“I think you have the wrong place. Casey, was it?”
Before Casey could reply a voice interrupted.
“It’s okay, Johny. Let the man in. I always have time for someone who has traveled far to pay his respects.” It was Ciro. He appeared from behind Johny. He’d heard the whole thing.
Johny stepped aside looking sheepish.
“Come on in, have a seat. Can I get you a drink?” Ciro pointed to the table and gestured for Casey to join them.
