The Lagotti Family Series

by Leopold Borstinski

  August came over and replaced his cocktail.

  “Thank you, but no. Get me a coffee.”

  Too many drinks this early in the night would not help Frankie's head the following morning. And clarity was king. As August walked away with his drink returned to her tray, he stared at her powder blue hot pants and the way her ass cheeks moved in a wonderful rhythm and bounce.

  Two minutes later, she came back with his coffee which appeared with milk, sugar and three biscuits on a small plate.

  “Thanks for the meal.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “When does your shift finish?”

  “I’ve got another six hours, Frankie.”

  “Anyone else working the tables right now?”

  “Only me. It’s a quiet time. But March starts at eight.”

  “Come back and see me once she’s arrived and we can have a private conversation.”

  Beat.

  “You got it, Frankie.”

  He took another opportunity to stare at her body but this time watched her back and her hair. Then returned to her best feature: that ass.

  After ten minutes, Frankie was bored by the floorshow. There was nothing wrong with April and May’s performance but with little energy in the room, everything was dull. And he didn’t like the shape of their tits either.

  He wandered into the office to look at the books. If semi-naked girls weren’t working for him, counting cash would. The Kitkatt Club represented a mountain of money because no-one paid for the girls’ services with a credit card. When Frankie took over the joint, one of his first acts was to improve security: girls, bartenders, everyone were taking from the till and nobody had a clue. That stopped within a week. One barman lost a finger and a girl was thrown out after her face was slashed. No-one dipped their beaks in his register anymore.

  The Kitkatt was a regular depositor of large quantities of notes and Frankie also withdrew huge amounts too. This was a simple and easy way to launder money for the mob. Dirty money goes into a bank and clean comes out. It was a useful method for laundering drug money but not great for the proceeds of robberies because those notes had known serial numbers.

  Frankie checked that cash was flowing and went back to his table at the rear and sipped some water. September and November were on stage now but had done nothing more than a few dance steps. The warm-up would soon be over.

  August padded over with a coffee and some liquor on her tray.

  “Which would you prefer, Frankie?”

  “I’ll pass, dear, and stick to my water.”

  “Okay. March has arrived.”

  “Let’s go.”

  He stood up and headed to the side of the auditorium leaving the girl to carry his tumbler. She followed him into a private room and watched him slump into the red leather couch with his legs apart - wide enough for her to fit in between his knees.

  She shut the door and placed his drink on a small table next to the couch, knelt down and unzipped his pants. August was only too aware how rough he would be but she had no choice. Besides, if she handled him right, there’d be a Benjamin for her though she wouldn’t be able to take a piss for three or four days without it hurting.

  32

  FRANKIE LEFT A Jackson on the small table after he’d finished with August, who lay on the couch tired and in pain. He collected his water on his way out and reminded her to get back serving tables in a minute.

  He was bored. The sex had been all right but not as enjoyable as he had hoped. Frankie returned to his table and watched the girls on stage for five minutes but got restless. He nodded at his driver who stepped out of the auditorium. Soon after, he stood up and left: the car pulled up outside the entrance as he walked into the night air. Perfect timing. Although it caused him no pleasure to think this, new Luigi was so much smarter than old Luigi.

  “Take me to the auto shop.”

  Frankie never liked talking in the vehicle, instead preferring to melt into the silence in the back seat and watch life unfurl around him. This was his only opportunity to see the normal world - he spent all the rest of his time huddled with crooks, poor gamblers or failed businessmen.

  In his office, Frankie grabbed a magazine from his desk drawer, swung his feet up and sat back to enjoy the contents of his latest journal. For fifteen solid minutes, he considered each of the pictures before him with great intensity although none particularly aroused that evening. Then the phone rang next door.

  Luigi popped his head round the door and waited, knowing Frankie never responded immediately to anyone appearing to get his attention.

  “Yes?”

  “Call for you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Says he’s Frank.”

  “Put it through for fuck’s sake.”

  Beat.

  “Hi, Uncle Frankie.”

  “Hello Frank.”

  “How are you?”

  “All the better for hearing from you. It’s late here and you’re lucky to catch me still in the office.”

  “I'd forgotten the time difference.”

  So the boy had been in the same location for a day or two.

  “Four hours?”

  “Just the three.”

  Useful to know.

  “And why are you calling me now? It’s been a while.”

  “A lot has happened since we saw each other last.”

  “Sure has. And how’s what’s-her-name?”

  “Mary Lou is fine.”

  “Pleased to hear it, dear boy.”

  “I wanted to speak with you.”

  “Otherwise you’d have sent a telegram.”

  “Seriously, Uncle Frank. We need to talk.”

  “I am being serious, dear boy. You have something which does not belong to you. You are a thief.”

  “Under the circumstances, I don’t think there’s any point in name calling - else I’ve got a few choice ones to throw at you. What you made Luigi and Paul do was not right for an uncle.”

  “Step uncle.”

  “It wasn’t right, Uncle Frank.”

  “And what do you propose we do about all this?”

  “I was hoping we could come to some form of arrangement.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “Well, we have merchandise you want.”

  “You do.”

  “And we must get away from all this.”

  “So?”

  “If we give you back most of the merchandise, we’ve had to incur various expenses along the way, can we agree to go our separate ways?”

  “What constitutes ‘most’?”

  “All but a hundred grand. The rest is yours. If you believe the radio, we took more than we were expecting.”

  “That's full of shit: we gave them the insured amount. The take was around half a million. Right?”

  “How well informed for a man who hasn’t seen a single red cent of the cash since it left the vault ten days ago.”

  “Let’s say I have friends whose business interests include using a small town bank for laundering.”

  Frank whistled.

  “Nice. Funny because Mary Lou and I picked that branch as the easiest to steal from in the whole of Baltimore.”

  “Your whimsical nostalgia is noted but irrelevant. I want it all because it is mine and you have my belongings. This is not a negotiation.”

  “Uncle Frank, you seem to forget that if I put the phone down now, you will never see any of your money again.”

  “The Feds and our friends in New York might have something to say about that.”

  “They might. Or they might not. Truth is they’ve been after us for quite some time but have not got close to catching us. And that means you’re no closer to getting your money back. We are your best chance of that.”

  Frankie knew his step nephew was right. Despite Pentangelo’s men and the FBI following them, the nearest they got was in Vegas and that had gone horribly wrong.

  “I can be satisfied with ninety p
ercent of the merchandise.”

  “Eighty. That’ll leave us with enough to keep going for the rest of our lives. We’ll never need bother you again - or the guys from New York either.”

  “Accepted. Eighty percent of something is better than a hundred percent of nothing. Where shall we meet?”

  “Los Angeles. Sunday. I’ll call again to arrange the drop.”

  “I hope you understand this is purely business.”

  “Sure is, Uncle Frankie. On Sunday, you’ll have the money I’m promising you and the mob will have no need to find us. That’s the deal.”

  “I promise on the souls of my grandchildren, if I get the money I will call off my men.”

  “Speak Sunday. Bye.”

  “Goodbye dear boy.”

  The phone purred in Frankie’s ear until he replaced the receiver. He laughed. Frank wasn’t very bright or not a good listener. Lagotti Senior had only promised to call off his men; nothing about the mob.

  Frankie threw his magazine back into the drawer and called for a mug of coffee. When it arrived, he told Luigi he could go home. Then Frankie dialed New York.

  CHARLIE PENTANGELO HAD managed the affairs of his Family for many years. While he was not the man in charge, he held a significant role in the organization. Frank Senior had promised him delivery of half a million dollars from the First Bank of Baltimore - and it hadn't arrived.

  This state of affairs fell far short of ideal. More vexing was Lagotti’s constant barrage of calls. There had been two in less than a week and each time, there was only bad news. Failure was not something Charlie wanted to be associated with - if matters carried on as they did, he might take action against Lagotti. For now, the man had three or four more days before Charlie would need to make a phone call. As if to reflect how often he was being harangued by the man, Frankie Lagotti chose this moment to put another call through.

  “I have news.”

  “Talk.”

  “Frank Lagotti has approached me to return the money he has stolen from us.”

  “And?”

  “I've arranged for a collection in Los Angeles in a few days’ time.”

  “You know he killed one of my men. In Vegas.”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Well, you should bear this in mind when dealing with your nephew.”

  “He’s my step nephew but we cannot allow him to live.”

  “You cannot. Robbing from us and murdering our members is unacceptable and you must send a clear message to everyone about the consequences of such decisions.”

  “I shall.”

  “Do you think you will recover all the money?”

  “I intend to get every red cent they haven't spent.”

  “That is all I ask. And you will make up the shortfall. It was your project and I’ve lost a man along the way so that’s the least you can do.”

  “Understood.”

  “I hope you do, Frank. We are not pleased with the situation you have placed us in and we expect you to resolve this matter.”

  “I will, Charlie.”

  A whir and a click in Frank Senior's ear and the phone went dead. Pentangelo rarely behaved that way. When he’d been angry in the past, Charlie explained the reason for his anger and what Frank needed to do to sort out the problem. But he never slammed the phone down on him before. He must be real pissed about losing one of his goons.

  His step nephew was more resourceful than Frank Senior had thought him capable of. But now he knew where the fool was heading and would play that hand out to the full as he had a crooked deck.

  He wanted his money back - no-one likes a thief, but he also felt cheated. Frank Senior had set himself up with the perfect playbook: either the step nephew grabbed the cash or Carter the bank employee hustled out with the take. A win-win for Frank but it didn't pan out that way. And Frank resented that Mary Lou had screwed everything up for him. She had Carter in the clutch of her hand and her talons were into the boy Frank too. They would both need to pay - and not with greenbacks.

  The Shylock put a call through to Anthony and told him to get his sorry ass over to City of Angels. He pulled out a magazine and checked out the pictures again in case he’d missed any details earlier on.

  FRIDAY JUNE 27

  33

  THEY WOKE AND hit the road early, not wanting to stay in one place any longer than they had to. Mary Lou took the first turn behind the wheel and they hoped they'd get to LA and strike a deal with Frankie.

  “Do you think we’ll make it?”

  “Yes, babe, but not with all of the money.”

  “He’s got to let us keep some of it. That was the deal before he double crossed us. That’s at least the deal on the table now.”

  “And if Frankie disagrees?”

  “We must help him change his mind.”

  Mary Lou turned briefly at Frank to judge his mood beyond his deadpan intonation but she had to turn back as she carried on staring at the road ahead.

  “Any idea how we'll do that?”

  “Not right now but we’ve got time: first we hit the city and contact a guy who can help us. Afterwards, we deal with Frankie.”

  “He’d kill us if he had the chance.”

  “Sure would. Our job is to make certain we don’t give him the opportunity.”

  Mary Lou fixed her attention on the four hundred feet in front of the car and stayed in lane, five miles below the speed limit. She had faith in Frank but his uncle would do anything in his power to keep the money and end their lives. She swallowed hard to rekindle the saliva in her throat.

  Frank’s hand maintained its position on her thigh and his touch put her at ease - the stress in her stomach abating. They’d been through all sorts over the years and had come through fine. But this time Mary Lou was less certain about the future than she had ever been in her entire life.

  The car hurtled onwards until the needle on the fuel dial pointed to the empty position. Ten miles later, a gas station beckoned them onto its forecourt. They both got out to stretch their legs and Frank instructed the attendant to fill her up.

  Mary Lou walked away and to the side of the small convenience store with its cash register, newspapers and snacks for the hungry motorist. Behind the register was a small black-and-white TV with a local news channel. She wandered inside in search of chocolate and grabbed some chips for Frank. As she looked outside, the attendant finished dribbling the last drops of gas into the fuel tank. Frank pointed at her to tell the guy to take payment from her.

  Carl walked behind his counter and waited for Mary Lou to complete her purchases. As she idled along the aisles, nothing tempted her. Down one aisle away from Carl and back up the other. As she sauntered toward him, she caught sight of the TV above his head. There were two photos on display: one was a mugshot of Frank and the other was her. The only good news was the sound was off, but she stopped short of the counter and let her jaw drop.

  She twisted around and grabbed some gum to hide her unusual behavior. Mary Lou dropped the items for purchase and put on her sunglasses to cover her face. Money swapped for goods, she smiled a thank you and left the store.

  She got into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.

  “Drive, Frank. Drive.”

  “What?”

  “No questions. Drive!”

  He did as he was told and sped out the gas station.

  “Keep it steady, Frank. Five miles remember.”

  “Sure thing, babe. What happened?”

  “We’re on TV.”

  “Huh?”

  “Our faces are all over the local news.”

  “What the...”

  “Exactly.”

  Frank kept at a constant pace and the car lurched along the highway.

  ANGELO SPENT AN entire day trying to find Rico, only to discover the guy had his neck snapped at the railroad station by person or persons unknown - according to the local news. Angelo realized as soon as he saw the broadcast: Frank Lagotti.

  Wi
th that information and another call from the East Coast, Angelo's instructions were clear: it was time to head west and grab Frank and his wife when they reached LA. Dead or alive - but bring back the money. A short conversation with Paulie and they agreed to go together - with Charlie’s blessing - but the dude took half a day to get the Flamingo’s count room sorted with a trustworthy overseer.

  They had one of Paulie’s men to drive while he and Rico sat in the back of the black sedan and stared out the window. In their line of work, small talk was unnecessary and led to people knowing more than they should about the other guy. So there was no false tension in the vehicle. Three guys on an afternoon spree to the west coast to chase down two bank robbers.

  As the journey would take five hours, they agreed to stop off along the way to grab a bite to eat. The sedan pulled into a hick town with one main drag with nothing of note apart from a cinema and a row of storefronts. Paulie and Rico walked the half-block to a diner and sat in a window booth.

  “You reckon they stopped here too?”

  “Might well have done. Who’s to say, Angelo?”

  “Yeah.”

  The tumbleweed of their conversation span out the door, leaving the two men with nothing to talk about. With so many hours spent together since they left New York, Paulie and Rico felt little need to supplement their food with idle gossip. Two professionals sat at a table with burgers and fries for company. Rico punctured the silence once their plates contained only crumbs.

  “Where are we going to go when we get to LA?”

  “What you reckon?”

  “They like stations.”

  “But are they likely to repeat the same game?”

  “Maybe not.”

  Rico stared at his mug of coffee, hoping for inspiration from the brown liquid and white crockery.

  “Airport lockers?”

  “Possibly. They’ve got to put the take somewhere.”

  “Yep. But they also need to launder the money.”

  “Lagotti has contacted the Shylock to arrange a meet. We should save our legs and turn up to the rendezvous to grab the cash.”