Dirty Deeds (3 page)

Knowing I’m taking their money and saving the intended target is worth it to me. Marisa once asked, years ago, why I didn’t take the money, save the child and then call in an anonymous tip or go back and kill the parent. It would be easy enough to do.

But I can’t, because if word got out one of the jobs I was tasked with went south, I’d lose future clients and future children being saved. Simple as that.

Don’t get me wrong. . . the money is good. Really good. Money isn’t the only thing in this lifetime, though, is it?

“James?”

I didn’t realize he was talking to me at first, deep in my thoughts and setting up displays for my cards. When I turned I sighed. It was Agent Keane again.

“I’ve often wondered if James was your real name. I guess I have my answer,” Keane said.

“Funny, it says James on my birth certificate.” Of course, it was a fake like everything else. There was no way Keane or anyone else was getting close to the real me. The old me, the life I grew up in and my family and name, are all gone now. Scattered on the wind like ashes, as the saying goes. I keep looking ahead.

“I’m going to find out what you’re
really
doing one of these days,” Keane said, staring at me with his hands in his pockets. He was staring and watching me set up my displays.

“What I’m
really
doing is earning an honest buck selling sports cards to guys who are trying to stay young or remember a better, simpler time in their lives,” I said.

“I guess that’s what it is for you: a connection to something you lost or never had?” Keane was grinning now. He thought he had me for some reason.

“Everyone collects something. Cards. Comic books. Matches. Stamps.” I glanced at Keane to make sure he was still staring at me. “Drunk driving arrests. Ex-wives.”

If Keane had been drinking anything he would’ve spit it out by the look on his face. I’d been saving that information for awhile and planned to use it when I was in a jam, but it was worth it. He had no idea I’d done my homework. He’d never done his.

“I hope you have all of your tax papers and licenses on you,” Keane said.

“Actually, I do. I always check in with the people running the event to make sure they know everything is good. The two cops near the door behind me already know I’m legit, too. If you think you’re going to bust my chops by making a scene I’d think twice about it.” I smiled. “Up until this point you and I have done this dance on the up and up, haven’t we? No cheap shots. No false arrests. No tossing cars and bothering friends and family. This is a professional and courteous relationship we have, Reggie.”

“You’re the one who brought up a DUI and ex-wives,” Keane said.

“Ex-wives? You got more than one?” I asked, knowing he had two. Valerie was the first wife. They’d married early and it only lasted a year before she cheated with a guy Keane worked with. Sloppy divorce. She remarried and had two kids. Second wife, Linda, worked in D.C. for a senator and the affair was almost front page news, except there was a big payoff of quite a few people to keep it under the rug. I didn’t think Keane had taken a bag of cash to shut up and sign the divorce papers, which was why his bank account was often in the red right before payday. Linda still worked for the cheating bastard senator.

“I think I underestimated you,” Keane said.

And there it was. The light bulb had come on in his head and he was staring at me. I’d messed up. Arrogance was always my worst enemy. I’d ruffled his feathers and now he was pissed. He’d not make many more mistakes from this moment on, and Keane would do everything in his power to nail me. I’d made it personal and I felt like an idiot.

Marisa was back with a bag already crusted with grease. Delicious.

“If you’ll excuse me, Agent Keane, I have to eat before the crowds get too unmanageable. Can I interest you in a Joe Namath rookie? I only have two and they’ll go quickly in Manhattan.”

Keane shook his head and looked at the greasy bag of food.

“You want some fries?” Marisa asked.

“I want to know where you went. I’m starving,” Keane said.

While Marisa played nice and gave him directions I went back behind my tables. I needed to finish setting up and getting my stock into position. I was always paranoid someone would come by and not see what they were looking for and move on to the next guy and drop big money. I wanted everything out and in order so I could sell it.

An older man wearing a faded Atlanta Braves cap came over and adjusted his glasses, looking at the displays I had already set on the main table.

“You looking for something special?” I asked and remembered to smile.

“I don’t see any Braves cards.”

He didn’t because I don’t sell them, or 1969 Topps baseball cards. Yeah, I’m one of those guys: I break the cardinal sin of selling anything. . . I dabble in the merchandise myself.

“I don’t sell any. I’m also a collector.” I put up my hand when he started to tell me how it was done. “I’m not in this to make a million dollars. I’m actually doing this so I can buy Braves cards for myself. In fact, I am willing to pay high-end book value for any good card.”

Now I had his attention. He might be a collector but he also knew a good deal when it was presented to him, and he was going through his doubles and extra cards in his head right now.

Keane was watching and I could tell he was fascinated. I think up until this point he thought this was a sham, a front for my illegal dealings. To see me in action, buying and selling cards, and knowing what I was talking about, was magical. To me, anyway. Marisa told me I was a boring old geek.

I slipped a business card into the man’s hand. “Send me an e-mail with whatever you have. A picture would be nice, too. We’ll make a deal. I’m here all weekend, too.”

“I’ll run home tonight and see what I have. I wasn’t planning on coming back tomorrow, but maybe I will,” he said.

“I look forward to seeing you,” I said.

He looked at the business card and grinned. “James Gaffney. Why does that name sound familiar to me?”

I kept my smile and shook his hand. “Just a happy coincidence.” Once again my arrogance had gotten the best of me. Of course I’d stolen the name from the former owner of the Boston Braves, who’d owned the club from 1912 until 1915 when he sold it to Percy Haughton, another name I’d used in the past.

Reggie Keane (definitely his real name) was smiling at me now. He was starting to piece a few things together and I knew I was in trouble.

When the old man walked away I thought for sure Keane would pounce, but instead he waved and said his goodbyes to Marisa.

He was smarter than he looked. Suddenly Keane was dangerous.

“Oh, by the way. . .” Keane said and stopped walking away, turning to face me.

He had something big and he was about to drop it on my head.

“Any chance you know a guy named Chenzo from New Jersey?”

“Isn’t every Italian in Jersey named Chenzo?” I asked. I knew who he was talking about and I felt the weight falling from the sky.

“This Chenzo is unique. He’s a reputed boss of The Family. He lost his kid about fourteen years ago. His wife went missing, too. Real shame. What a manhunt it was to find them. She was found with her throat slashed in the parking lot of Yankee Stadium. The son was never seen again, which is a real tragedy,” Keane said.

“I remember reading about it in the paper.” I’d taken the kid and set the little monster with a good family in Montreal. He was only four or five but already a terror.  Chenzo couldn’t handle his son and the wife was not only cheating with another Made guy but she was stealing coke and cash as well. Chenzo decided to wipe the slate clean and start over. The guy she was seeing was never found again, although I know her public assassination was a lesson for everyone. By the way, I didn’t kill her. It wasn’t my style and I wouldn’t take money for it. If I was going to kill someone it would be personal and I’d do it for free.

“Funny thing about the son, who they called Little Chenzo: he would’ve turned eighteen this year. In fact. . . he did,” Keane said.

“They found him alive? Great news,” I said. I could feel a drip of sweat on my temple. This was bad. This was really, really bad.

“I’m sure Chenzo will be happy. The funny part is this entire time I assumed you’d killed the kid for The Family.”

I’d assumed I’d gotten the kid far enough away and he’d be taken care of and nothing like this would ever happen.

I was in trouble.

It had been nearly seven months since the Caruso debacle, and I was starting to enjoy my freedom and life not having to plan another kidnapping. As far as my eyes and ears on the ground were concerned, Chenzo’s kid hadn’t made an appearance. I’d spent quite a bit of money to find out if it were true and so far all I’d gotten were unconfirmed sightings and rumors but nothing concrete. I even had a guy inside the organization I used for some of the harder cyber stuff, but Marco was too close to the Boss and I wasn’t going to tip my hat I had anything to do with this.

So far it was an unconfirmed rumor. A rumor that would get me in trouble sooner than later.

It was only a matter of time before Chenzo and The Family called to set up a meeting and I wanted to get all my ducks in a row. I also needed to talk to the kid.

Tracing him back through my network is never easy, because it’s purposely setup so no one can find information. When I need to find this information, however, it is just as hard to move up the line. I spend a lot of money to cut loose ends and pay the right people off to walk away or forget they saw something, and most of them have no idea it was my money greasing a palm and keeping them silent.

Marisa was busy trying to get as much intel as possible on the kid, who’d truly dropped off the face of the earth. I didn’t know if a rival of Chenzo had the kid, or Chenzo had him stashed, or the FBI was even now questioning the kid, or an infinite number of possibilities, all bad for me.

Miami was too hot and a jaunt to the Keys before a flight to anywhere north was in the cards over the next week or so. I never liked to plan anything too far in advance. The fun was surprising myself.

Next month I’d be doing a card show in San Diego, a small one near the military base. Some of my best customers were Navy SEALs. You’d think they were all a bunch of adrenaline junkies, but some of them liked to relax and collect some cards.

Despite what I might have intimated, if I did more than one of these jobs a year it was a surprise. I’d once gone twenty-two months without a job about ten years ago, my longest stretch. The baseball cards kept me out of trouble and with a constant flow of money in and out.

Marisa was officially my webmaster for the buying and selling of the sports stuff, and she did an excellent job of it. Most days she talked way over my head with what she was doing when it came to online stuff. I just saw money adding to my bank account and every now and then I’d spend some or skim some off the top in cash and hide it. Old habits and all that shit.

My phone rang, waking me from a late morning nap. Yeah, I was officially getting old. It was Marisa.

“I think I located the son. He was found off the coast of Massachusetts about two hours ago. I paid off a detective and two uniformed cops who discovered the body on a beach. Matches the description. They can sit on it for twelve hours before they have to start the process,” Marisa said.

“He drowned?”

“Technically. The four bullets in his body didn’t kill him, but they would have eventually. They think he was in the water about six hours. Luckily he wasn’t dumped into the ocean and drifted too far,” she said.

“Whoever did it wanted the kid to be found,” I said. This was a message, but I didn’t know who it was for. Chenzo? Me? Something completely unrelated? Now, with the kid dead, I had no idea how I’d get information.

“I’ve located the address he was living right before this,” Marisa said.

“Send it to me and book a flight.”

“I already have. Check your burner phone,” Marisa said. There was a pause on her end.

“What?”

“This kid, as you keep calling him. . . he wasn’t much younger than me. I’ve figured out I was the first one you’d saved on your own. Was he the second?”

I hesitated. You never wanted to give out information that could come back later and bite you on the ass, or get someone else in a bad position if someone bad came looking for an answer. With Marisa I assumed she’d already figured out the answer to most questions she asked.

“Yes. Little Chenzo was the second job I did.”

“He was named William. Will Black. He has a rap sheet a mile long. Drug addict. He’s been living on the streets since he was twelve. Damn fine musician from what I’ve pieced together. He was a nightmare for the parents and they gave up on the kid. They let him go and never bothered to tell anyone. I think they somehow knew there was a problem with the adoption,” Marisa said.

“I need their address as well,” I said. Marisa did great work and I had no doubt I was ahead of everyone else so far. I was hoping the kid dying had nothing to do with the rumors of who he was, and it was a drug-related death. Maybe it would solve a few things if I could keep it under wraps and keep it quiet.

“There’s another hitch,” Marisa said.

“I’m listening.”

“Sister Patricia had a visitor this morning. He asked way too many questions. He said he’d be back with a search warrant for her records,” Marisa said.

“Damn Keane.” He wouldn’t find anything but Sister Patricia was getting older and I knew she had a few others helping her now in her advanced age. I knew I should’ve switched the adoption agency years ago, but I had a soft spot for the woman. I knew she’d taken care of my own move as a baby. I told you I wasn’t all bad. But if someone she was working with now was privy to what I was doing or even suspected, they might slip and tell the FBI.

I guarantee there are people scratching their heads right now wondering why I just don’t come clean to the Feds and explain what a wonderful thing I’m doing. I wish it were that simple.

I learned from my predecessor and mentor how it would really work: a lot of pissed off really bad people would come after me, and the government wouldn’t be able to stop them. Hell, some of the government officials had been involved in this either as a payoff or, in a couple of cases, had a problem solved this way.