by Dave Daren
“Blamed for what?” Sal asked as he looked up from his computer.
“Annie’s next pick-up line,” the young mafioso chuckled.
“Ah,” the older man said with a shake of his head. “There’s no reining that one in. She makes me feel like Theodore Roosevelt. I can either control Annie, or I can control the family, but I cannot do both.”
“Luckily for you, you’ll be retiring soon,” Anthony pointed out as he sat down.
“I’m going to leave her in your mother’s care,” the head of the Febbo family said. “She knows how to make her walk the line.”
“Yeah,” the older brother laughed. “She has a wooden spoon with slots.”
“Best weapon in the world,” the father said with a grin. “My nonna used to have one. If she couldn’t reach me, she’d just chuck it across the house like a tomahawk.”
“She sounds terrifying,” I said.
“All Italian women are, Hunter,” Sal said. “That’s how we know we can run the family. Annie may be wild, but she’ll make an excellent matriarch one day.”
I decided not to ask why it wasn’t Annie that was taking over for him since she seemed to be more inclined to the work of a mobster, but I knew that the women were not allowed to run families, and I didn’t want to stir up any resentments that either Sal or Anthony might have about that.
“So I’ve been going over the import list for the balsamic vinegar company,” the gruff mafioso said as he changed the subject. “And I think that I can acquire the barrels from a company here in the US. There’s one in Remsen that makes them, and we can ship them to West Virginia for a quarter of the cost of bringing them in from Italy.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said as I pulled out my laptop. “And we can import the olives for the oil. I think there’s enough land for us to have an oil refinery. We can use some of it in the aged balsamic vinegar and sell the rest.”
“And still market it as Italian olives,” Anthony added.
We spent the next hour going over the finer details of the new plan, and I worked out a budget sheet and a contract to send to the barrel company and suggested that we buy our own semi-truck. It was more cost effective to have one of our guys drive it to the West Virginia property than to pay a middleman, and we wouldn’t have to worry as much about one of the other families paying for an accident along the way.
The house smelled like garlic and beef bolognese by the time I finished the last of it. I stood, stretched, and then opened the door to the office to take in the scent of our delicious dinner. My stomach started to growl, and I knew that I’d be plenty hungry for whatever gourmet meal Gulia served us, though I’d need a little more time before I would be ready for dessert as well.
“So,” Sal said as he stood to stretch. “How is the search for the car thief going?”
I expected the head of the Febbo family to sound angrier about someone stealing the two and a half million dollar car that he’d just bought for his son, but when I turned to look at him he had a calm expression on his face.
“Great,” Anthony said. “I told you about calling Jovanni. Well, he already found a name. He gave it to Hunter this afternoon.”
“Hunter?” the older mobster said as he grasped the back of the chair.
His knuckles weren’t quite white, but he was gripping the leather a little harder than necessary to keep himself up, and his cheeks had flushed a light pink as his temper rose.
“Why didn’t you let Jovanni take care of it?” Sal continued. “He’s been doing it for damn near thirty years. You don’t think that he knows how to deal with a car thief?”
“Because I want to give Hunter a chance,” my client said as he picked a piece of lint off of his pants and then looked up at his father with a complete lack of concern for the man’s temper, and I wondered if it was worth the argument to try the legal route.
“To take the information to the cops?” the red-faced man snapped. “Do we just take everything to them now? Is that what you plan for the family after I’m gone? For us to become a bunch of snitches?”
Sal’s rage had become almost palpable as he gripped the back of the chair. His neck all the way up to his ears had turned bright red, and he glowered at his son as he ground his teeth together.
“I didn’t say that we were bringing it to the police,” Anthony replied. “I said that I was going to let Hunter handle it.”
“What’s he going to do, threaten to sue the kid?” the head of the Febbo family scoffed.
“You’d be surprised how often that works,” I said as I came back over to sit down. “People are terrified of being sued. And if they can’t pay it back, then there’s always jail time.”
“And you’re back to snitching,” Sal huffed as he walked around his chair to plop down in it.
“The Brooklyn police are a bit overwhelmed right now,” I said. “But I’ve been informed that there is an investigation into a car theft ring. I can use that knowledge as leverage to convince the kid to talk, and if he doesn’t, then the cops can let him cool off in a cell for a few days until a deal with me starts to sound more appealing.”
“How do you plan to get him out if he’s arrested?” the older Febbo asked with narrowed eyes.
“We bail him out using one of the overseas accounts,” I said. “Or I make sure that the evidence that I have against him is just circumstantial enough that Alessia won’t be able to prosecute.”
“Damn, Hunter,” Anthony said. “That’s pretty sneaky.”
“I use the law to benefit my clients,” I said with a shrug. “Just like I’ll use the police. Either the kid will crack and give them enough information to bust the whole ring and get the Enzo back, or he’ll be so frazzled with the prospect of prison that he’ll answer my questions. Either way, I get the information I want, and none of it ties back to the family.”
“Do you think that the cops can bring down the ring?” Sal asked as his face returned to a normal color.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I only had a chance to glance at the file that Alessia gave me. But the threat should be enough to loosen Chris’ tongue. All I need to know is the location of Anthony’s car. And the cops can be a backup plan if he needs more motivation.”
The head of the Febbo family leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands over his stomach, and frowned as he processed my plan. One finger tapped on the arm of his chair as he thought, and he nodded his head as he came to a conclusion.
“Alright,” the older mafioso said. “I’ll give you the chance. You’ve done well so far. I still think that Jovanni should be the one to handle it, but I’ll give you a few days to get the car back.”
“I will,” I said and already had a plan in place.
All I needed to do was call Hank and make sure that he would be available when I went to confront Chris at the garage. I wanted to go early in the morning before too many people arrived. That way there would be fewer potential threats, and the young man wouldn’t have as much reason to posture and hold out.
“He has done a pretty good job,” Anthony agreed with his father. “And I trust him to get the car back.”
“Thank you,” I said with a smile.
“And besides,” the younger mafioso said with a shrug. “If you fail, then Jovanni will be more than willing to talk to the kid. And you’ve seen his workspace.”
I nodded my head and tried not to think too hard about the fridge and the massive meat hooks.
Or the young thief’s inevitable screams as Jovanni interrogated him.
Chapter 6
“I’ll make sure to convince the kid before you need to involve Jovanni,” I said.
“You saw the meat fridge, then?” Sal said with a smirk, and the old mobster walked around his desk with a knowing grin, patted me on the shoulder, and then strolled through the sitting room just as Annie gave the call to assemble for dinner.
“You didn’t go in, did you?” Anthony asked, and we wandered toward the too-small dining room.
“I wouldn’t tell you even if you asked,” my client chuckled.
I took my seat next to Anthony right as his mother breezed in with a large cherry-red stoneware dish filled to the brim with beef bolognese. The scent of the meat and red wine washed over me as she set it on the table, and I had to swallow hard so that I didn’t drool.
Annie was right behind her with grilled asparagus wrapped in bacon and a bowl of perfectly cut garlic bread. The youngest Febbo set everything down with a grace that mimicked her mother’s, and then flounced into her seat with her tongue stuck out at her brother.
“What was that for?” Anthony asked.
“I’m a force to be reckoned with,” my client’s younger sister said with a flip of her long hair.
“Oh, God,” the older brother groaned. “The last thing you need is a boost to your ego.”
“Too late,” Annie laughed.
“Enough talk,” Sal said with an arched eyebrow. “Let’s eat.”
As if on cue, Gulia swished in with a bottle of red wine, poured some for her husband, and then drifted into her seat like a leaf on a breeze. A bright smile lit the auburn-haired woman’s face, and the stress of the last week seemed to have melted away.
“You look happy,” my client noted.
“I am,” his mother responded. “The construction crew just called, and they’ll be done by Saturday.”
“Three days?” I gasped and glanced over at Anthony, but he only shrugged, and his father smirked into his forkful of pasta. All I could do was shake my head. I wasn’t surprised that Sal had sped up the timeline, but I did wonder how many crews had to be working around the clock to make it happen.
“I am ready to be back in my own kitchen,” Gulia said with a wistful smile. “I’ll have even more space than before. And they’ve guaranteed a little corner that will be the perfect height for the grandchildren so that they can start learning. You know, I could teach you a few things, too, Hunter.”
“I would appreciate that,” I said. “Though, I think Tommaso would be able to enjoy it more than me.”
“Then you’ll both have to come over,” the matriarch decided. “Once you boys come back from your trip.”
“Mom,” Anthony said. “We’re not going on my trip. My car was stolen last night.”
“Don’t be silly,” the beautiful woman said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve made reservations. I know you wanted to test out your new car, but you can just take Hunter’s Mercedes.”
I piled my plate high with pasta and asparagus as I looked over at my client, but he just shrugged and stuffed a piece of garlic bread in his mouth.
“I think I may need to be in town to find the Ferrari,” I hedged.
“Oh, alright,” Gulia said. “But as soon as this business with the car is done, the two of you are going on vacation, and I won’t have any more excuses.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said at the same time as Anthony.
The next few minutes passed by in idle conversation as Gulia talked about all of the changes that she’d made to the house. She’d tweaked the design even more since yesterday, though everything that she’d added was easily attained in the timeline her husband had given the construction crew.
By the time I was finished with my dinner, I knew more about the renovated Riverside estate than I did my own house. I pushed my plate away, nodded as the matriarch offered her signature gelato, and then eyed the last piece of bacon-wrapped asparagus.
“What’s your plan for the kid?” my client asked when his mother and sister had left the table. “If he gets violent, I mean.”
“I’m going to bring Hank with me,” I said. “And I’ll be there early enough that there shouldn’t be too many people.”
“That’s a good plan,” the younger Febbo said. “But Hank has some business to take care of for me and won’t be available.”
“Damn,” I whispered.
I’d really been counting on the intimidation factor of my beefy Italian bodyguard. He could stand there and look like he would bash someone’s head in if they moved wrong, and though I knew how to fight, I didn’t have muscles the size of people’s heads so it wasn’t immediately obvious that I shouldn’t be messed with.
“Worried that the teen will get the better of you?” Sal smirked at me over his glass of wine.
“No,” I said. “But I don’t want to be at the garage by myself with all of those ready-made weapons that he could use. Work smarter, not harder, right?”
“Gabriele could track him for you,” my client suggested with a pointed stare over at his father.
The purple-haired tracker had helped me on my trip to Andorra a few weeks ago, and he’d been the one to set up my security system so that no one could get in. The kid’s phone number and location would be found in less than five minutes, and it would only cost me a couple cans of Monster and a package of red Twizzlers.
“I’ll give him a call in the morning,” I said. “Late morning.”
“Good idea,” the mafioso said. “You’ve seen what he’s like before noon.”
“It’s like watching a zombie movie,” I agreed. I’d seen the young computer whiz at eight a.m. when Hank had woken him up, and I had no desire to see the cranky twenty-something so early again.
The gelato and coffee came out, and I ate my fill before I bade everyone goodnight. I was stuffed to the brim with delicious food as I waddled out to my car, and I promised myself that the next time Gulia cooked that I would have more self-control, though that was becoming an empty promise that I made over and over.
It was only nine p.m. by the time I merged onto the LIE, but most of the daytime traffic had dispersed, and the bulk of the cars were heading into the city rather than out to the suburbs. The few cars that I passed were full of tired-looking men and women in business attire, and none of them paid any more attention to me than was absolutely necessary.
I still checked my rear-view mirrors every time I changed lanes. There wasn’t a new tail that I could see, but I was suspicious of the car that took the Floral Park exit right behind me. I kept an eye on them until they pulled into a gas station, and let out a sigh of relief when a frazzled-looking woman stepped out to pump her gas.
There were no lights on in the house when I pulled into the garage. I tugged my phone out of my pocket while the engine was still running, checked the cameras and alarms, and then shut the garage door while I turned off the car. I hurried inside and flipped the light on in the living room, looked around, and then strolled over to the back porch.
My striped friend was back in the construction materials. The little creature looked up when I turned the patio light on, chittered at me, and then scampered off into the night. There was a huge mess left behind, and I was so focused on it that I barely noticed the shadow move out of the corner of my eye.
I twisted to see what it was, and then sighed with relief when I saw that it was the neighbor’s tree. After another quick inspection of the backyard I figured that it was safe, though my attention lingered on the black tiled pool, and then decided to ask the security system company to add a few extra sensors.
Since I was satisfied that there wasn’t anyone lurking in the shadows of my home I wandered into the kitchen to find something with caffeine. The coffee pot was a serious temptation, and I debated starting it for a few long minutes, but Tommaso had set it up for the morning, and I needed more than three hours of sleep. I decided to grab one of the premade cold brews that my paralegal had been stocking in the fridge, and then made my way back to the sectional.
I kicked off my shoes, plopped down with my bottle of sweetened cold coffee, and then turned on the TV. The news entertained me for a few minutes as I tried to see if there were any updates on the snowstorm, but then I move
d on until I found a cooking competition show. I’d started to watch them since my paralegal had begun teaching me how to cook, and I’d already noted a few different ingredients that I’d heard of that sounded interesting.
Once I’d settled on background noise, I pulled out my laptop, and poked through my briefcase until I spotted the neon pink Post-it with the car thief’s name. I did a quick Google search to start with and did a double-take when I found the kid’s rap sheet in the public records.
He was younger than I’d expected, barely even eighteen, but he’d been arrested fifteen times already. His record showed that he was usually picked up for boosting cars, though it had been over a year since his last arrest. He’d either upped his game, or someone was helping the kid to avoid the cops.
The young thief’s mugshot had been updated after his latest incarceration. A small scar hung above his right eye, high cheekbones, and spotty facial hair that attempted to cover up his weak jaw. He was just shy of six feet tall according to the wall he stood in front of in the picture, and he had the thin frame that I’d come to associate with bike runners in the city.
I read through the public records as I tried to see a pattern in the kid’s rap sheet. He’d been picked up mostly in Brooklyn, but there were a few charges from Queens and Manhattan, too. He had never been charged with a violent crime, so he was less likely to attack me when I confronted him, but I still wanted to find another place outside of the garage to talk.
I retrieved my notepad from the depths of my briefcase and started to write down my thoughts on the young man. He didn’t seem like he was working alone, but there was something about the small smile on his face in his mugshot that told me he was going to be a cocky little shit. I wanted to be as prepared as I could so that he wouldn’t catch me off-guard.
The kid’s home address was harder to find than I’d expected, but I did find his phone number, and I didn’t want to surprise him at his house just in case he had a family member that he wanted to hide his criminal career from. I noted that an older woman paid most of his bail, and looked her up to find out that she was his grandmother. He wouldn’t want to talk where she would be able to hear, so that meant that I would have to call Gabriele after all.
