by Dave Daren
The cafe was crowded enough that I didn’t think anyone would be paying much attention to my conversation, but I still tugged my headphones out of my briefcase as a precaution. I dialed the number for the hacker and then shifted so that no one would be able to see the video that was attached.
“Hunter!” the purple-haired man exclaimed. “You’re never gonna believe what I found.”
“Is it in the video?” I asked. “I’m still downloading it. It said it wouldn’t play unless I did.”
“Oh, yeah,” the young man chuckled. “It’s way too big a file to just play. Unless you want to lag out. Or you have a rig as awesome as mine. And no offense, but your gear is seriously not built for that.”
I rolled my eyes at the jab and wondered how many Monsters the computer tech had consumed. It was only three p.m., but that didn’t mean anything when it came to the night owl. He’d probably just woken up a few hours earlier, so the caffeine would just be kicking in.
“I did buy it for work,” I said. “And that usually just includes paperwork.”
“True, true,” Gabriele said, and I could almost picture him nodding. “Anyways! You’ll never guess what I found. So, I started doing some digging into that import company, right?”
“Right,” I said to let him know that I was still there.
“Okay,” the hacker said and paused dramatically. “So we know that they’ve been shipping stolen cars overseas, right? Right. Well, I thought that they were loading them into containers designed to ship frozen or cold products. Something like they use for importing seafood from other countries.”
“I do remember that,” I added when he took a breath. “Were you able to confirm that?”
“Oh, yeah,” the purple-haired man said. “He’s definitely using them. And I found a guy who knows exactly what Dian is doing. It’s pretty genius. My source works for a different company that’s based in Japan, but it’s the same process. So Dian loads the stolen cars onto the shipping containers, right? Then he sends them off with some bullshit manifest. And then somewhere along the way the ship meets up with another cargo ship, and they trade products. The cars go onto another shipping container, and then the refrigerator containers are filled with whatever cargo they’re supposed to be holding.”
“That sounds excessive,” I glanced at the man that scooted by to go to the bathroom. “Why don’t they just keep it in the same ship?”
“That’s the thing,” Gabriele said. “The port authorities barely ever check the outgoing ships. They just look at the records if they do an audit. But, they do look at what comes in. And that’s pretty universal no matter what country it’s going to.”
“But what about the containers with the cars?” I asked. “They have to be docking somewhere.”
“Oh, yeah,” the hacker said. “But my new friend says that they bring the illegal stuff into very specific ports that are already bought and paid for. Places that no respectable import company should do business with.”
I leaned back in my chair and tapped my fingers on the table as I processed. If Gabriele was right, then Dian could be shipping anything that he wanted out of the US. All he had to do was trade it in the middle of the ocean and then pretend that he’d been shipping what was on the manifest. He’d get paid for the cargo that came into the declared port, and then get a second payday when the cars arrived at their destination.
“Damn,” I said. “We need to find out where things are actually ending up.”
“Already on it,” Gabriele said. “My friend gave me some ideas of where to start looking. I should have it by Monday at the latest. It’s a little harder to track this stuff down since most of the business is off the books. They don’t like to leave much of a digital footprint.”
“Right,” I said. “Okay. Keep me updated on your progress. And good work.”
The video was finished downloading by the time that I hung up, but I decided to watch it at the house instead of in an open area where anyone could see. I packed up my laptop, grabbed my briefcase, and then headed back out to my car with a new pep in my step.
The sun had already begun to fall toward the horizon when I made it back to my Mercedes AMG. I tossed my briefcase into the passenger seat as I climbed in, and then pulled out into the beginning of rush hour traffic. Cars were backed up for miles with various wrecks along the way, and by the time I finally reached the LIE it was already sunset.
I managed to weave through the cars that were parked at the exits, and soon I could see the exit for Floral Park. The off ramp was only a mile away, and miraculously clear, when I saw the telltale blue and red lights of a cop car behind me. I slowed and pulled over to the right lane so that he could pass, but he changed lanes with me.
I racked my brain for what I could’ve done to get pulled over. My turn signal had been on whenever I changed lanes, and traffic was too congested for me to speed. I reached for my wallet as I pulled over to the shoulder and slipped my Glock into the middle console.
The last thing I needed was to give an NYPD officer a reason to shoot. My conceal carry permit was in my wallet, just in case, but I wouldn’t be giving the cop a reason to search my car and find my gun. I knew that I should warn him about having a weapon in the car. But since I was being pulled over without cause, I wanted to keep that to myself so that he wouldn’t use it as a reason to confiscate everything in the car, including my laptop.
The guy that strolled up to my driver’s side window looked like the most stereotypical cop that I’d ever seen. His uniform barely managed to stretch enough to cover his round belly, and he had the beginning of a scruffy beard underneath a full mustache. He had mirror sunglasses like he was on CHiPs, and I was pretty sure he was chewing gum.
“You know what I pulled you over for?” the man asked.
“I don’t,” I answered. “I wasn’t speeding. And I’ve been using my turn signals.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the officer said. “It seems you have a busted taillight, though.”
I knew that I didn’t have one when I left the city. It had become routine for me to check for any damage when my car had been alone for too long, and the AMG had been in perfect condition when I’d come back from the cafe.
“I apologize,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “I didn’t see it when I left. I’ll get that fixed as soon as possible.”
“Sure,” the cop leaned over to look at me with his mirrored sunglasses, and he had one hand on his nightstick and the other on his gun.
One hand reached up to turn off his bodycam, and I swallowed hard as the little red light went off. He was definitely up to something, but I didn’t recognize his name or badge number from the list of cops on the Serbians’ payroll.
My hand twitched toward the center console and the Glock inside, but I held myself back. I didn’t want to give this guy any reason to pull out his weapon, and at the moment, he was just trying to intimidate me.
“Do you know who I am, son?” the officer asked with a wide smile.
“No,” I responded. “Should I?”
“No,” the man said. “And you should keep it that way.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said and held my wallet in my hands to keep myself from reaching for my protection, and I cursed myself for leaving my phone in my pocket. If I tried to reach for it to get a picture of him, then he’d shoot me and say that I was going for a weapon, so I repeated the guy’s badge number over and over in my head as I waited for him to finish giving me whatever message he had.
“You’re a real smartass, aren’t you?” the cop said. “People don’t like that. But, I guess people don’t like lawyers, either. Even their own clients. You know, a defense lawyer like you could easily be killed by one of the criminals he represents. Especially working for the Febbos.”
“I think I’ll be alright,” I said and forced my posture to remain relaxed.
“Sure, sure,” the officer laughed. “You know, why don’t you get out of the car, and I’ll show you the broken taillig
ht.”
“I think I’ll stay in the car,” I said.
“Suit yourself,” the man said. “How about I show you a picture instead?”
I narrowed my eyes as the portly man straightened and sauntered toward the back of my car. He glanced around the freeway and the cars that passed by like he wanted to make sure none of them would pay much attention to what he was doing, and then he tugged his nightstick out of his belt.
The black club slammed into the back of my car and the sound of shattering glass filled the air. I watched in my side mirror as the shimmering pieces of taillight cascaded to the road. The cop pulled out his phone, took a picture, and then walked back up to me as he put away his nightstick.
“You see,” the corrupt officer said as he showed me the picture. “Completely busted. That can be a real hazard to your health. Especially when people don’t know which way you’re going.”
I nodded my head and pursed my lips to keep myself from saying anything stupid. The guy was almost finished, and a broken taillight was easier to fix than a gunshot wound, so I just had to get free of the guy, and then I could call Anthony.
The mafioso would be able to use the badge number and description to find out everything that I needed to know about the cop. I just had to be patient, and then I could come up with a plan to make sure I didn’t run into him again.
“Thanks for letting me know about the taillight,” I said. “Did you want to give me a ticket?”
“And document our little conversation?” the officer chuckled. “You’re smarter than that, Mr. Morgan. If I wanted the NYPD to know about this, then I wouldn’t have turned off the body cam.”
“How will you explain that to your superiors?” I asked.
“Easy,” the large man shrugged and slipped his phone back in his pocket. “It’s my lunch break. And I have friends that will back me up if I need it.”
“Naturally,” I said. “Well, you should probably hurry along. I wouldn’t want you to keep your bosses waiting. Although I’d think that you’d try to distance yourself from the Serbians given their recent bout with the media and Rikers.”
A booming laugh filled the air as the cop doubled-over and slapped the top of my car. He took a few seconds to get himself under control and wiped the tears from his eyes without removing his sunglasses.
“You think I work for those bastards?” he said. “No, Mr. Morgan. My partners are smarter than those Serbian dumbasses. Though your antics did take quite a few of my friends off the job.”
He’d given me something, at least. I knew that he didn’t work for the Serbian mob, and that likely ruled out the former mayor, too. He was in someone else’s pocket, and the only person I’d pissed off lately was Dian.
“So sorry,” I muttered. “It’s such a shame that corrupt cops lost their jobs. And their freedom.”
“It is,” the man said as he sobered up. “It’d be a shame if something were to happen to the lawyer that did that to them. I’m sure there wouldn’t be much of an investigation from the NYPD.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “But then again, New York is changing. There are a lot of new DAs that are chomping at the bit to root out all of the corruption.”
“Oh, yeah,” the officer said with a nod. “But will they get to us before we get to you? Now that’s a good question, counselor. Of course, all of this unpleasantness can be avoided if you’d just learn to mind your own business.”
“I do mind my business,” I countered. “It just so happens that involves outing corrupt cops that target innocent civilians.”
“Innocent,” the large man scoffed, and his face grew bright red. “Those criminals that you represent are far from innocent. If anything, it should be them behind bars instead of my fellow officers.”
I was going to respond, but I really wanted to de-escalate the conversation and get on my way as soon as possible, so I just stared straight ahead in silence.
“But I’m getting offtrack,” he said. “I’m just here to deliver a message. And our time is almost up.”
The corrupt officer tapped his body cam to show what he meant and then flashed a smarmy smile.
“I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to threaten me,” I said. “I’ll make sure to take your advice under consideration while I’m looking into Phoenix Imports.”
The big man stiffened at the mention of Dian Pham’s company, and my suspicions were confirmed. I’d struck a nerve with the Vietnamese man, at least enough that he’d sent a cop to warn me off of him. He’d shown his hand, and I’d use that and the information that Gabriele gave me to bring him down.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the cop said when he’d recovered. “I don’t work for an import company. And I don’t work for the Serbians. It must be exhausting having so many enemies that you don’t know which direction they’re coming from.”
“It is tiring,” I said. “A lot like this conversation. So, if you’re quite done, I think I’ll head home and get some sleep.”
“Sure, sure,” the officer tapped the roof of my car and looked out over traffic. “You just make sure to get that taillight fixed before you go back out on the road. And Mr. Morgan, I suggest that you learn to keep your nose out of other people’s business, or you’re going to be seeing my beautiful mug again.”
“An experience I think that I’ll be fine without repeating,” I responded. “Though, are you sure that you want to spend more time around me? The last cop that tried to come after me ended up with a few bruises, and that was before he was arrested and thrown into Rikers.”
The man’s lips pressed together to form a thin line as his face flushed red with anger. He took a few deep breaths before he could form a sentence, and the hand on his nightclub tightened like he was debating whether he wanted to hit me, or if it wasn’t worth the risk with so many cars still out on the road.
I was glad that traffic was in full swing, although he’d been able to bust out my taillight without anyone noticing. And if they had seen anything, they’d just kept going. I doubted someone was going to stop and help me if he took a swing at me, especially with all of the corrupt cops that had been on the news for the last week.
“He was a little shit,” the cop said in a tight voice. “It was his fault that he got caught. And I’m not as pathetic a fighter, so you’ll be the one walking away hurt. If you walk away at all.”
I balled my hands into fists to keep myself from saying anything that would provoke him, and watched as he took his hand off of my roof to rest it on his gun and nightstick.
“Suspects run all the time,” he warned. “And sometimes it takes deadly force to stop them. But, like I said, it can be avoided if you just learn to keep your nose out of other people’s business.”
“Sure, sure,” I mimicked. “A piece of advice, though. Maybe you should look into different employers. Someone who won’t be going to prison soon.”
“I think I’ll be fine, Mr. Morgan,” the officer reached over and turned on his body cam before he gave me a bright smile like he was the one on video. “My bosses aren’t planning on being taken down by a lawyer.”
I forced a smile on my face for the camera and nodded my head like we’d just been having a normal conversation.
“Now, you take my advice and get that taillight fixed,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to get into any accidents.”
Chapter 9
“Asshole,” I muttered and rolled my window up.
I waited until the corrupt cop had pulled back out into traffic before I made my own move. He waved at me as he drove by, and it took all of my self-control not to flip him the bird. I had his badge number and last name, and Gabriele would find everything on him in ten minutes flat. But Anthony would want to know about the encounter right away, so I pulled up his number as I merged into traffic.
“Change your mind about dinner?” my client asked on the second ring.
“No,” I said. “I have a few new things on the agenda.�
��
“Oh?” the mafioso asked, and I could hear him start the espresso machine.
“I was just pulled over for a broken taillight,” I said and turned off on the Floral Park exit.
“What happened to your taillight?” Anthony asked. “Don’t tell me that it got broken in my neighborhood.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “The cop was nice enough to do that for me.”
The silence that followed was so absolute that for a second I thought that I’d lost the line, but then I heard the screech of the milk steamer and knew that Anthony was still there. I recognized the sound of a spoon against a ceramic mug and waited for the mafioso to respond.
“How generous of him,” my client said in a harsh whisper that revealed how pissed he really was. “I assume that you got his badge number so that we can thank him properly.”
“I did,” I said. “I was thinking of calling Gabriele, but he’s busy tracking shipping containers. I’m debating calling Alessia and seeing if she can tell me anything.”
“I’m sure she would love to give you anything you need,” Anthony chuckled, and for a moment his temper seemed to calm. “Did the cop say anything? Or did he just break the taillight?”
“He said that I should mind my own business,” I said with a sigh. “Nothing new. But he’s definitely working for Dian and not the Serbians. He made it clear that his bosses are smarter than the politicians and mobsters that have been on the news lately.”
There was another long pause, and I took the opportunity to switch the call over to my wireless earbuds. It took a few seconds to work since my phone’s bluetooth seemed to prefer the car’s speaker system, but I’d just pulled into the garage and was about to go inside. I checked to make sure that I could still hear Anthony’s end of the line before I shut off the Mercedes and headed into the house.
The smell of paint washed over me the second that I stepped into the hallway, and I pressed my lips together to keep myself from letting out a string of curse words. The painters were supposed to make sure the house was locked up before they left, but they’d left the patio door and some of the back windows open. I tossed my briefcase on the table as I walked over to the sliding glass door, and I did a quick scan of the yard before I shut the door with a huff. Another call came in as I turned around, and I checked the ID quickly.
