“How are relations between the US and the UK?”
“All fine as far as I am aware,” replied Mumford to my question. I scanned both faces, trying to discern what thoughts were flickering behind each pair of eyes, but those same eyes stared back at me doing the same thing too. A visual Mexican stand off.
I smiled and shrugged.
“Beats the hell out of me. And if it was the CIA, what would the Don have that was so important to them, they’d shoot us in public?”
“Dunno, Jake, but we’d better get out of here before the locals show.”
McNamara was right and his comment was prompted by the sound of sirens in the distance, getting closer by the second. We ran down the street - I followed the other two - until we reached a saloon with both front doors open. They’d hot-wired the car as soon as they’d heard the gunfire. Nice.
McNamara jumped behind the wheel and Mumford rode shotgun, so I took the driver’s side rear seat because it was the nearest.
Before I had closed the door, we were off, cornering loudly and hightailing it round to head away from the bedlam we had caused. The journey to the station took twenty minutes. McNamara tried to avoid the main drag, hoping not to be stopped in a stolen vehicle, which meant we missed the traffic too.
The parking lot was vast, so we hid the car in plain sight in a long, full row and ambled into the station complex. We bought three tickets for the next train out of town; didn’t care where. So we ended up getting on the 10:47 to Austin.
HUNKERED DOWN IN one of the compartments, we kept checking all around in case the CIA had followed us, but we had paid cash for our tickets and we were sure the car hadn’t been spotted on the way over. After ten, fifteen minutes we relaxed and sat back in our seats.
“Reckon we’re safe. At least for the moment.”
“For sure. The Don’ll be pleased with us.”
“You think?”
“We’ve survived, haven’t we? And we’ve still got the case.”
“True. Anyone got any idea what’s in the case?”
I bridled again, because the Don’s words of warning were still ringing in my ears, but said nothing.
“No idea, but I’m more interested why the Don wants the case. How often does the Mafia spend this much effort using outside help to get something it wants?”
“I know. I mean, the tentacles of his organization must stretch wide enough for him to have got hold of the case by the time Dakila Valdez got his grubby paws all over it.”
“Yeah. If the Don knew about low level pond scum like that, you’d think he’d have been able to extract the case without the three of us needing to get involved.”
“True, but maybe that’s the point. That Valdez had possession of it points to this being a lot more complicated than it appears. We think the CIA wants the contents and instead of using his usual goons, here we are on a train to Austin.”
“You think it’s no accident we’re here?”
“Has to be. Whatever is in there, the Don trusted us over his own people.”
“Do you think the FBI has an interest?”
“Hard to say. I’ve not seen it in any reports come through, so it’s not on general release. But that doesn’t mean it’s not on a watch list for the hierarchy. Bill Webster might have it as his number one priority, but I’ve not heard about it.”
“All this cloak and dagger stuff makes me nervous. I’ve not heard the British Secret Service has an interest either, but the top brass tend not to broadcast these things. We’re more circumspect than our American cousins.”
“But if it’s important enough for the CIA, why has no-one got any idea about it? We are reasonably well connected guys, but we’ve bupkis on this.”
“Perhaps the CIA wants it because it is all about the CIA. Maybe it’s like the Watergate tapes.”
“Or just some incriminating pictures of the Don with a male hooker.”
That permeated our skulls and as each of us tried to make sense of it, McNamara shook his head.
“Sorry, I was only thinking out loud.”
“Jeez, keep your thoughts to yourself in that case, bud,” I wheezed. We all laughed because the truth was we had no idea. We hardly knew each other and the only connector between us was the Don. The randomness had to be more than mere coincidence. There’s never that much coincidence in life, which meant it had to be part of some plan.
“The Don is a wise man with a tremendous amount of power. Perhaps he needed guys he could trust who weren’t part of his empire to get the job done.”
Mumford and McNamara looked at me and shook their heads.
“You are a dreamer, my boy, if you genuinely think that.”
I knew I was wrong as soon as I’d said it, but that didn’t mean I had any clearer idea what was going on. My thoughts flashed back to a week ago when I was sat in a casino waiting for Aaron to come up for air with Rachel and the world seemed a lot less complicated then. His dealings with the local mob felt benign compared to the shit we were in and I wondered if the Don had any connection to that deal: on that train I felt as though he was touching every aspect of my life. Didn’t sit well with me, like he was controlling my passage along life’s rich pageant.
46
THE TRAIN PULLED into Austin and we waited at the end of the carriage to let as many others off before we disembarked. This would give us the best chance to prevent anyone following us if we were at the back of the line. We couldn’t see anyone hanging back so we jumped off after waiting as long as we could when the conductor got to the point of saying: “Get back in, guys, or get the hell off my train, but you’re stopping us from moving!”
Said with a smile, but by the curl of his mustache, you could tell he was not a happy man. Goes with the territory, I reckon.
There we were on the platform, scouting round like three penned pumas with paunches. Out the barriers and onto the station exit to find the line for taxis. Stood in line like all the other schmucks and hopped into the one allocated to us.
“Where d’you wanna go, guys?”
“Airport.”
“Gotcha.”
We didn’t utter another word until the cab pulled up at the terminal. Nothing we would say was for the driver’s ears and Mumford’s accent was too noticeable to allow him to speak out loud, anyway.
Then we strode into the terminal and joined the line for the United sales desk. It was a long line.
“And what’s your firm’s interest in all this?”
Mumford looked at McNamara, staring into his eyes for a second.
“None I’m aware of, dear boy. What have you heard?”
“Jack shit. But you haven’t mentioned how you got acquainted with the Don, if you see what I mean.”
“You are right. I did not.”
Mumford let that sentence hang in the air with no attempt at elaboration. I saw McNamara grinding his teeth with annoyance.
“Perhaps it has something to do with oil or water interests?” I proffered to ease the tension between the two.
“There certainly are shared interests in those two commodities,” he acknowledged but added not one jot.
“You can let go of your stiff upper lip, y’know?”
“I am aware, but I am not prepared to discuss this matter in public. So that needs to be the end of it until later.”
We were at the front of the line but we only had enough cash to buy two tickets. Given the recent tension, we left Mumford to go back to the station and follow us by train as quick as he was able.
With the case still firmly in my left hand, I walked with the other two up to the departure gate where we said our goodbyes to Mumford. The chances were this wouldn’t be the last time we’d meet. It never was.
I SCURRIED OVER to a food concession and grabbed a coffee, no milk and I sipped it while we sat waiting for the plane. McNamara and I sat in silence for about fifteen minutes: we’d spent so much time together there was nothing much left to say and the only topic remaining was the
damn case in my hand and we were none the wiser about that than when we had started.
The last swig of coffee hit the back of my throat and I thought about hitting the head before the flight, but the announcement came out a speaker right above our heads and everyone stood up to get in line. So we did the same.
Then we were at the front and showing our boarding passes to the ground crew. We walked onto the tarmac, over to the steps and up into the front of the plane. Our seats were in the fifth row so that made perfect sense. Just as we entered the fuselage, I turned my head back to the terminal and thought I glimpsed Mumford scurrying past to the back set of steps. Shook my head and craned back to check again, but if he was there, he had gone.
A man behind me tapped my shoulder and ushered me into the plane. Another peremptory check and then we made our way to our seats. McNamara headed in first to the middle seat and I took the aisle.
The seat belt sign was already on and the third passenger in our little row was already in by the time we turned up. So we both did up our belts and waited for the plane to taxi.
Ten long minutes later and the plane entered the sky and banked hard right before reaching its cruising altitude and the seat belt sign finally switched off. We had about three-and-a-half hours in that tin can before we hit the Big Apple.
“Back in a minute,” I said heading straight for the john because I had been desperate to take a piss ever since that last sip of coffee.
I came back to sit down and before I did, McNamara stood up and hit the head himself. Then he returned and we both settled in. The in-cabin screen showed we had a little under three hours to go.
In only a short while, I’d be in LaGuardia handing over the case to Simone Lambretti. I hadn’t seen her since our time together in Seattle when we were sitting on a tiger fur rug waiting for a pile of money for me to free her friend, Sally from a gang of bad guys.
MY PREVIOUS DESCRIPTION of our time on the rug had missed out a few details. When I said I had made sure there was a respectable gap between our bodies, I overstated the situation by several inches. In reality, I had dropped right next to her so that our hands touched. She had turned with her skirt hitched above her knees and I moved in to kiss her.
Simone responded in kind and, shortly afterwards, we were lying on the rug with her skirt around her ankles and my pants unzipped near my knees. She rolled on top of me and kicked off her skirt. I undid her blouse and played with her breasts while she unbuttoned my shirt and then she lay down on top of me with her legs either side of my hips and we kissed some more.
Simone could tell I was getting hard because she must have been able to feel me pushing through my shorts and her panties. She sat up and, using one of her hands, she pulled down my shorts and dragged her panty gusset to one side so she could sit on me until we both came.
Afterwards, curled around each other, we had enough time for cooing small talk. She was young, but she was legal.
“You are my little Fuckabubba.”
“Watch it, Jacko,” and she nibbled my ear, while I put my hand in between her thighs again. Then I snapped out of my reverie and wondered why the Don had allowed Simone to get so closely involved in his business. There had never been an occasion since I first met him when he’d have put his daughter at the center of his affairs. Yet he was the one who suggested Simone should be the point of contact. How did she get so embroiled in the family business? She had spent the whole of her life trying to avoid the Lambretti legacy. She had said as much to me when we were lying on that tiger rug before we put our clothes back on. The screen flashed we had ninety minutes to landing.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Nah, just daydreaming. It’s been a long hustle, these last few days.”
“Sure has. What do you reckon is in the case?”
“Not a clue.”
“Me neither.”
“Does your organization have an interest?”
“Could be. I mean, we have a huge number on our watch list. The chances are slender of any interstate bad guys getting up to something without our knowing.”
“But which bad guys?”
“Well there’s Don for the get-go.”
“Yes, of course, but he has many business interests as we both know. And if it was just something within his organization what the hell are we doing here?”
“Yep, I know. Most of our attention nowadays is on the KKK. It’s the only other form of highly organized crime we have if you ignore the likes of the ... if you ignore the likes of Don.”
“I met some low order guys once. I was in the South but those dudes scared me more.”
“Correct response. Bunch of motherfuckers. In the good old days, they were flag-proud Christians wrapped in a misplaced zeal for the Lord and the white man. Now they’re a money-making mob who kill blacks for fun.”
“So what would a bunch of Kluxers want that is almost in the hands of the Don?”
“Beats the bejeebers out of me.”
The Klan and that the CIA were after the case and I shivered at the thought one might do the bidding of the other. Sounded a little too far fetched, even in a post Watergate world.
THE CONVERSATION DIED and we returned to our respective thoughts. One thing I knew the mob had dipped its fingers into was water. I remembered the treatment plants out in LA in Bomp’s territory and just last week Aaron was involved with some mobster and what sounded like another water deal. Perhaps that was it: the missing link.
“We’ll be landing in twenty minutes, so please return to your seats as the captain will shortly be switching on the seatbelt signs. At that point, the washrooms will be locked and will not be available until after we land.”
Water rights in California. Is that what this has been about? I looked down at my lap and wondered if people have died over a drop or two of water.
And if I was right then was the Don’s guiding hand so strong to steer the FBI, the CIA and the British Secret Service toward his aims and goals? To be honest, I couldn’t think of anything so mightily important where that could be true. The only idea that flashed through my mind was it had to have something to do with the President. Who else was so important to bring everyone together on this? If that was the case, I was in much deeper than I ever thought possible.
The tires bumped the plane onto the runway and we shot down the tarmac until we heard the air brake kick in and a few seconds later we had dropped to a taxiing speed.
We hung around near a gate for a lifetime and then trundled forward a few more feet until we were parked in the right spot. The seatbelt light pinged off.
As I stood up, I looked back down the plane and, again, thought I saw Mumford in the sea of heads behind me. When I’d gone to the washroom, I’d had a look around and had not seen him. Curious, but still wasn’t certain he was on the plane.
The door opened and all the passengers shuffled forwards. Something about being cooped up in a plane makes everyone desperate for a dash for freedom. But the only way for us all to get off safely was for everybody to chill out. We took our turn waiting for some free space in the aisle to go towards the exit. Our lungs filled with the cold, fresh air of New York. Well, fresher air than the stale stuff we’d been gasping at the last few hours.
Finally, we were at the front of the aisle and I turned left to disembark. A steward smiled and said goodbye and I smiled back. I looked out the door and made out Simone at the bottom of the stairs. The Don had said she’d be there but I couldn’t figure out how she’d make it onto the runway, but she had, all while wearing a black ball gown.
I smiled and she acknowledged me with a flutter of her eyelids and a half-nod of recognition. We were almost at the end. I knew I had to play it cool for a minute longer and everything would be all right.
Just as that thought crossed my mind, I walked forwards, out the plane and onto the stairs. My right foot planted itself on the top of the stairs but my left foot got caught on the rim of the plane’s door. I was looking at Simone a
nd not at where I was going.
I stumbled, lost my balance and fell down hard. Because I’d been staring at Simone, I had slowed down and a small gap had formed in front of me as the other passengers had carried on making their way down to the ground.
My body twisted as I fell to stop myself landing on all fours, so my left shoulder was the first to hit the metal steps. Then my left side and the rest of me followed - with the case, still in my right hand.
And that was the last time I held that case because, in an act of pure instinct, I let go of the damn thing and it bounced twice down the steps until… the lock broke and the case burst open. Paper belched out and sprayed upwards for half a second and, at that point, I thought I could rescue the situation. Instead, a gust of wind grabbed everything and threw the pages sideways.
Sideways into the open arms of one of the engines from our Austin plane, which guzzled up every sheet and mulched them into confetti.
PART NINETEEN
FLORIDA 1999
47
ALL THAT WAS twenty years ago and here I am lying in my bed somewhere in the state that became my home.
You’re probably wondering what the hell happened once the papers flew away. Answer: a total shit storm. McNamara watched me fall and assumed I’d been hit by a sniper. Too much training on his part, I guess. So he covered my body while trying to shoot any damn thing that moved. Crazy.
Simone turned around and walked straight out of sight, vanishing into the darkness like any Lambretti would. I haven’t seen her since that night but I can still recall her scent if I close my eyes and inhale deeply. The Don? Now that was a man who was far from pleased.
“You are lucky to be alive,” he told me in his study a few hours later, “but I believe the accident was truly that.”
I nodded, unable to utter a single word, because I couldn’t think what to say to make the situation any better.
The Case Page 26
