“Now, stand still and raise your arms,” he ordered.
While standing there, arms spread, the lacky swept us with a hand wand. Apparently satisfied, he led us into another room where four other men were seated around a table. Thankfully, I didn’t recognize any of them.
At that moment, Fats waddled into the room.
“Now that everyone’s here, let’s get the ball rolling. Your buy-in is five thousand. Pay Morey and he will give you your chips.”
After everyone had paid, Fats said, “Here are the rules. Morey deals every hand. The games are five card stud, seven card stud and five card draw. We’ll go around the table and you each get to choose which game you want to play. One final note, if I catch anyone cheating, there will be a penalty.” He motioned to Morey who pulled his jacket aside so we could see the automatic tucked in his pants. “Any questions? No? Then let the games begin.”
I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not much of a gambler. I’ve played lots of poker with friends, but it was always the penny-ante variety. Nickels, dimes, and quarters. Twenty-five cent maximum bet, no more than three raises. You could play all night and the big loser might be five dollars down and the big winner five dollars up.
Another interesting part of game night with my friends was that the dealer could call what game was to be played. Poker purists stick to the same games we were ordered to play tonight. Straight poker, no wild cards.
My friends would always moan when it was my turn to choose. I prefer the more exotic games like Follow the Kings, No-peeky, Baseball, where threes and nines are wild, and Dr. Pepper, where tens, twos and fours are wild. In my games it was not uncommon for the winning hand to be five aces, three of which were wild cards.
Poker purists grumble just like my friends who are wine aficionados when I tell them my favorite vintage is Arbor Mist.
Needless to say, my play was very conservative. I’m not a great bluffer, so if I got a crappy deal, I folded. Kevin, on the other hand, can lie and con with the best of them. More than once he won a pot on guts alone. After an hour, I was about even, but Kevin was up several thousand.
Finally, the game was seven card stud in which two cards are dealt down, four cards up, and the seventh card down. Bets are placed after each card is dealt.
By the time six cards were played, there were only three of us left. The guy on my left had four diamonds showing. It didn’t take a genius to figure he was holding a flush. Kevin had two aces, a jack and a six showing. I figured he probably had another ace in the hole. I had a three, an eight, a king and a queen showing. My hole cards were a pair of kings.
When the seventh and last card was dealt, I picked it up and nearly fainted when it turned out to be another three. I had a full house, kings over threes and I didn’t have squat showing. I figured with this hand, it was now or never. I was either going to lose big or be a very big winner.
When it was my turn, I shoved my chips to the middle of the table. “I’m all in.”
The guy with the flush, thought for a moment, then tossed his cards. “Too rich for me.”
I looked at Kevin. He smiled and shoved all his chips toward mine. “I’ll see your all in and raise you ten thousand.”
“But ---,” I stammered, “I don’t have another ten thousand.”
“Then it looks like you’re out of luck,” Kevin said, starting to reach for the pot.
“Hang on a minute,” I said, turning to Fats. “I can beat this schmuck. Will you loan me the ten thousand?”
This, of course, was exactly what Fats had been waiting for.
“Yeah, I can spot you the ten grand, but the payback is twelve.”
I thought for a moment. “If I win, there’s way more than enough in the pot to pay you back and still be way ahead. Let’s do it.”
Fats nodded to Morey who put ten thousand worth of chips into the pot.
“Okay,” Kevin said, “let’s see what you’ve got.”
I turned over my hole cards. “Full house. Kings over threes.”
He nodded. “Pretty good hand, but you lose.” He turned over his hole cards, another ace and two tens. “Full house, aces over tens.”
As Kevin was raking in the pot, Fats tapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s go talk about how you’re going to pay me back.” Then he turned to the other players. “That’s all for tonight, boys. Beat it!”
There was a lot of grumbling as the remaining players cashed in their chips. Kevin had definitely finished the night the big winner.
I gave him a questioning look as Fats led me away. So far, our plan had worked perfectly except for one thing. I had lost big, borrowed from Fats, and was being led away to be threatened. The only hitch in our plan was that the cops hadn’t been listening and had no idea that my fat was in Fats’ fire.
The moment Kevin was out the door, he hurried to where the members of the organized task force were waiting.
“What the hell?” Wheeler said as Kevin approached. “What happened? We couldn’t hear a thing.”
“They took our recorders,” Kevin replied, puffing. “Everything worked like we planned. Walt lost big and borrowed from Fats. Now Fats has him and no doubt is putting the screws to him. We have to get in there before Fats starts nipping off his digits.”
Wheeler turned to his men. “You heard the man. Let’s go!”
Fats led me into another room where he eased his huge frame into a chair behind a desk. He opened the desk drawer and placed a .38 revolver on the desk top.
“Now about that loan,” he said, “how are you planning to pay me back?”
“I’ll pay you. I promise!” I said, trying my best to look contrite. “I just need some time to get the money together.”
“Unfortunately,” Fats replied, patting the revolver, “I’m not a patient man. If you knew you couldn’t repay me, why did you borrow the money?”
“I figured I had a sure thing,” I pleaded, “A full house, kings over threes for chrissakes! Who would have ever figured the other guy would have aces?”
Fats shook his head. “That’s why it’s called gambling. You bet, you lost, and now you owe me twelve large. Do you have the money or not?”
“Like I said, not right now, but I’ll get it. I promise.”
“Too bad,” he said, reaching into the drawer again and pulling out a pair of nippers. “Twelve thousand. That would be ten fingers and two toes. A thousand for each.”
“No, please! How do you expect me to repay you with no fingers? I couldn’t work.”
Fats grinned. “When I’m through with you, you won’t be working any more at all.”
He struggled out of his chair and came toward me, the revolver in one hand and the nippers in the other.
I was weighing my chances of tackling the brute before he could get off a shot, when we heard a commotion in the other room.
There was a ‘CRASH,’ then loud voices. “On the ground! Hands behind your head!”
Kevin and the task force had arrived, and none too soon.
It took Fats by surprise. He turned to me. “You’re with them, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “It’s all over Fats.”
“The hell it is!” he said.
I was afraid he was going to shoot me before Wheeler and his men found us, but instead, he waved his gun and pointed to the back wall.
“You’re coming with me.”
He punched a button under his desk and a secret door slid open. “I figured this might come in handy some day. Now move it! I just might need a hostage before this is over.”
Once we were through the door, he punched a button on the other side and the door slid shut. I had a bad feeling about this. Kevin and the task force would search the warehouse from top to bottom and have no idea how Fats and I had vanished into thin air.
The passage opened into another warehouse that must have been adjacent to the one we were in. He pushed me toward a black Cadillac that was parked in front of a set of overhead doors and popped the trunk.
“Get in
!” he ordered.
I figured this was a better alternative than being shot and left for dead, so I climbed in. Fats slammed the lid shut and moments later I heard the engine come to life and the overhead door lift.
The ride only took about fifteen minutes so I knew we hadn’t gone very far. When he popped the trunk lid and ordered me out, I realized that we were at the Kaw River. A cabin cruiser tethered to a dock was bobbing up and down in the current.
Undoubtedly, Fats was planning to board the cruiser and head down the Kaw to the Missouri River to make his getaway. I had a sobering thought. Once he was safely aboard, he would no longer have any need for a hostage. I was willing to bet he wasn’t planning to take me with him.
“Get out and head to the dock,” he ordered.
Once on the dock, he looked around, and seeing no lights and sirens, pulled the .38 from his waistband.
“Here’s where we part company. I’ll just dump your lifeless body in the river and no one will ever know we were here.”
He raised his gun to fire and I heard a ‘zip’ much like the one that disabled Zeus just as he was going for my gonads.
Fats eyes became glassy and he crumpled to the ground.
A moment later, Carmine Marchetti and Vito emerged from the cabin cruiser.
“Carmine! How ---?”
“Easy,” he replied, grinning. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you since you told me about your little plan. You gettin’ rid of Fats was gonna be good for my business, so I figured I should make sure everything went off without a hitch. Seeing you here like this, I guess there were complications.”
“Fats took our listening devices. The cops had no idea what was going on until it was too late.”
I looked at the prostrate crook. “Thanks. I owe you --- again.”
“Nope, we’re even-Steven. You got rid of Fats and I saved your bacon.”
“I’m just curious. Why the dart and not a slug?”
“I figured you killin’ the mope would be hard for you to explain. This way you can just say you overpowered the fat slob when he wasn’t lookin’.”
I reached down and patted Fats body. Sure enough, there was a lump in his jacket. I pulled out the envelope with Carmine’s thirty thousand and handed it to him.
“Here, I believe this is yours.”
He took the envelope and grinned. “You’re all right in my book, gumshoe. We’ll we better get out of here so you can call your cop buddies. Ciao!”
As soon as Carmine and Vito were out of sight, I found Fats’ cell phone and called Kevin.
Things certainly didn’t go as planned, but in the end, everything worked out.
CHAPTER 6
It was roughly two weeks later when I received another call from Clark Kent.
“Mr. Williams, Clark Kent here. I have a friend who desperately needs your help.”
I called Kevin, and an hour later the four of us were seated in my office.
“This is my friend, Darrin Wilcox,” Clark said. “He volunteers with me at the Pet Project.”
“How can we help you Darrin?”
“My problem is that I’m a landlord and I’m getting screwed by the new Tenant Bill of Rights that the City Council passed.”
Having been a landlord myself for over twenty years, I had been keeping a close eye on the new legislation that Kansas City had enacted into law.
Basically, the tenant rights package is made of two pieces of legislation. One, citing local, state and federal law, distills in one location a list of rights already afforded to tenants, including rights to habitability, freedom from discrimination and retaliation, and the right to organize and collectively bargain.
An accompanying ordinance requires that landlords give 24 hours’ notice before entering properties and provide tenants with a means to get a utility estimate for the property. Landlords are also required to provide a copy of the bill of rights. The ordinance also bars discrimination against prospective tenants solely because of prior arrest, conviction or eviction.
Passing by a 12-1 margin, the new regulation mandated that rental properties maintain certain minimum amenities and that landlords cannot discriminate against those with disabilities, criminal or financial histories, or on the basis of race, religion, nation of origin, gender or gender identity, among others.
The new measure also gives renters protection from retaliation by landlords if they complain about code violations or try to organize a tenant’s union.
There was no doubt in my mind that this new legislation was going to be a landlord’s nightmare.
The moment I heard that the ordinance had been signed into law, I thanked my lucky stars that I had sold the bulk of my rental property years ago. I could see the handwriting on the wall. While the measure was created to help honest, hard-working people obtain suitable housing, it was also giving a free pass to the dregs of society to rip off honest landlords.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“First of all,” Darrin replied, “let me give you a bit of my background. I served in the armed forces for thirty years. When I retired, I took the money I had saved over the years and bought a six-plex. I figured I’d be diligent about paying it off, and the rental income along with my retirement from the service would provide a comfortable retirement income in my later years.”
That was certainly a reasonable assumption. In fact, that was exactly what I had done. The only difference was that I had sold my buildings owner-financed and was living off the monthly mortgage payments.
“Sounds reasonable. What went wrong?”
“I’ve always been very diligent in selecting new tenants. In fact, I’ve always paid a company out of my pocket to run background checks on applicants. I would never rent to someone with a history of evictions or with a criminal record. With this new Tenant Bill of Rights, I can’t do that anymore. Prior evictions and criminal records are now a protected class, just like race or religion. If I reject someone because they’ve been evicted, I can actually be sued for discrimination!”
That’s the last thing any landlord wants. I once was sued for discrimination by a disgruntled tenant and it took me months to clear up the false allegation.
“I totally understand,” I replied. “I was a landlord myself for over twenty years. I’m guessing that because your hands were tied, you’ve landed a bad egg in your building.”
“You got that right. Henry Cosgrove submitted an application. His employment checked out. He works as a repo man for a used car lot. Since I was forbidden to check for evictions or criminal history, I had no choice but to approve him.
“He paid his first month’s rent and deposit, moved in, and I haven’t received a dime from him since. Also, tenants pay their own lights and gas. I have the utilities on a revert-to-owner so they won’t be shut off between tenants. According to the lease, the tenant is to transfer the utilities into their name within a week. Cosgrove never made the transfer, so I’m paying the creep’s utilities.
“To make matters worse, the guy has people over all hours of the night. Loud music, vulgar language, the whole ball of wax. One of my decent tenants has already moved out and another is threatening to leave. I can’t say I really blame them.”
“Have the tenants called the police?”
“Oh sure, but all the cops do is show up, tell Cosgrove to turn down the music, and leave. As soon as they’re gone, it’s right back up.”
I knew he was right about that. Ox and I had taken many disturbance calls. There really wasn’t much we could do but ask the offending tenant to quiet down.
“I assume you’ve started eviction proceedings.”
“I have, but you know as well as I do that the process can take up to three months if everything goes well. When you figure lost rent, attorney fees, court costs, locksmith, cleaning fees and repairs, the whole thing will cost me around four thousand.”
“I know,” I replied. “I’ve been there.”
“Her
e’s the thing,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes, “I just can’t take the hit. I paid $280,000 for the building, put down twenty percent from my savings, so I’ve got $56,000 tied up in the place. My monthly mortgage is $1,645.00. With taxes, insurance, water, trash pick-up and minimal repairs, my monthly cost runs about $2,900.00. I rent the units for $650.00 a month. If I’m fully rented and there are no major repairs, I can clear about $1,000 a month.”
I could see where this was going.
“So now, not only am I not getting rent from Cosgrove, I’m not getting rent from the unit that moved out, and I’m looking at four grand to pay for an eviction. I barely get by on my military pension. There is no was I can make up the shortfall from my other monthly income.”
He broke down and cried. “If I don’t get help, I’m going to lose my building and all the money I’ve invested.”
I felt for Darrin. A tenant like Cosgrove is a landlord’s worst nightmare.
“I understand,” I replied, trying to be supportive. “How can we help?”
He pulled himself together and I could see the fire in his eyes. “I’m in this mess because of that damned bill of rights. I want you to help me sue the City of Kansas City!”
CHAPTER 7
Darrin’s declaration took me by surprise.
“Sue the city?”
“Why not?” Darrin replied, defensively. “I’m in this mess because of them and I’m not alone. I’m a member of the Landlords’ Association. Other guys are experiencing the same problems. The city has taken away our basic right to protect ourselves from predator tenants.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about. I, too, was a member of the Landlords’ Association. At the monthly meetings, there was a blackboard where landlords would post the names of tenants that were causing trouble or who were being evicted. It was a voluntary thing, but cautious landlords would check the ‘Bad Dog’ board and write down the names of the troublesome tenants.
Unfortunately, there are lots of tenants like Darrin’s Henry Cosgrove. They are professional rent dodgers. They move into a place, pay the first month’s rent and pay no more. It takes the poor landlord a minimum of three months to get the guy out if they’re lucky. Four if they run into problems. The tenant basically gets three or four months of occupancy for one month’s rent. When he’s finally evicted, he just moves on to some other unsuspecting landlord who doesn’t screen their tenants well.
[Lady Justice 40] - Lady Justice and the Landlords' Nightmare Page 4
