King Con (45 page)

“Send Reefer with a Zippo unit. I’ve got less than a minute.”

“Wilco,” Reo said. Then he turned to Reefer. “Get the flame thrower out of the back of the van and set up down the road with Doughboy. Unfriendlies coming.”

“Shit,” Reefer said, and he took off running toward the van. He opened the back, grabbed a small flamethrower unit, and started running down the road, shouldering the two tanks as he went.

Grady didn’t know what hit him. They were driving up toward the woods at the top of the hill when, all of sudden, the entire satellite van was awash in fire. Then almost immediately, and without warning, the gas tank exploded, and he was shot through the roof of the van and was dead before he hit the underside of the metal satellite dish.

“Holy shit!” the FBI Agents said in the sedans behind, as the van, billowing smoke and fire, rolled out of control toward a sheer drop and tumbled off, taking all three men with as it fell.

The FBI Agents in the follow cars hit reverse and squealed backwards as Reefer, carrying the flame thrower, ran across the top of the hill and down the opposite bank, then took up a fire position on the road below. The cars full of FBI Agents roared past him, still in reverse. He pulled the trigger and let them have a stream of liquid death. The cars both caught fire. The Agents all dove out while the cars were still moving. Some men were burning and rolled in the dirt to extinguish themselves; the others came up pulling their weapons. They laid down a cover fire and chopped Reefer down with a hailstorm of hollow-point Devastators. One of the rounds hit the Zippo tank and Reefer exploded in a rolling orange cloud that singed everybody and lit the sky above them in a ball of raging rocket fuel.

In the clearing, they all heard the thundering explosion as Reefer was blown to cinders. Joe pointed his gun at Tommy.

“Joe, don’t do this,” Beano said. “He’s been telling you the truth. It’s all been a scam.” Beano was on his knees, his hands cuffed behind him.

Victoria was on her knees beside him. “It’s true,” she said, also trying to save Tommy’s life. “The whole thing was a con.”

But Joe aimed his gun right in his brother’s face. “Hey, go fuck yourself, Joe,” Tommy coughed at his little brother.

Victoria wasn’t prepared to die, but it seemed like there was nothing she could do to save herself or any of them. She was strangely calm, almost as if this were not reality. Then a remarkable thing happened. She looked
over and saw that Beano was looking at her. In that moment, through his startling blue eyes, she could see right into his soul. Despite the situation, it was a beautiful sight.

“Light ‘em up,” Joe said.

Beano heard the two sharpshooters pull the slides on their assault weapons. Tommy looked up into the deadly bore of Joe’s revolver. It was, for a moment, as if time had slowed and was almost standing still. They heard the click of Joe’s gun as he pulled the hammer back and aimed at Tommy; this was followed by a distant rumble.

“The fuck?” Reo said, as the ground started to shake. It got louder and stronger, followed by some kind of ungodly screaming….

A shiny, red, three-quarter-ton Chevy Silverado four-by-four exploded over the rim of the hill from below. It flew into the clearing, all four tires spinning loose dirt in the air. It landed hard and the whip antenna, with a red feather taped to the top, swayed back violently, almost touching the back fender. And then three more shiny lacquer-and-chrome trucks, with red feathers and Arkansan license plates, came right behind: two Dodge Rams and a Dodge Dakota Club Cab. There were albino Bateses tied with rope to the roll bars in the backs of the trucks. All of them were holding pump shotguns. Simultaneously, four Ithaca over-and-under shotguns with hand-carved stocks fired in the darkness. Red feathers whipped and swayed in the night as more trucks raced around the clearing.

Reo’s two sharpshooters started firing at the trucks. Then three more crew cabs came from the other side, roaring into the clearing. The sound of hillbilly music and Confederate war cries filled the night, along with the reports of shotguns and automatic weapons fire.

During all of this, Joe turned to finish off his brother. … Beano lunged at him just before he pulled the trigger.
Beano’s hands were pinned behind him by the plastic cuffs, but he hit Joe in the stomach with his shoulder, driving him back. They both fell in the soft dirt, but Joe scrambled up and aimed his pistol at Beano. Then, as he was seconds from death, Victoria lunged at Joe, hitting him mid-shin. He went down again, firing the gun in the air. The gun flew from his hand and skidded near the spider hole that was to have been their grave. Beano jumped up and kicked the gun down the hole. He heard it land in the darkness fifteen feet below.

Beano lost track of the commotion behind him as he lunged again at Joe, hitting him with a head-butt, letting all of his adrenaline complete the follow-through.

Joe was finally on his back, dazed. When he tried to lift himself up, he didn’t seem to know where he was. There was still gunfire going on in the clearing, but it was mostly mop-up.

Doughboy had taken up a position on the high ground, but didn’t count on the Hog Creek Bateses, who drove their shiny trucks right up the hill after him. He was badly outnumbered and finally threw his weapon down and surrendered, lying down on his stomach, looking up at three plastic bug shields on the trucks’ shiny grilles. Bronco and Echo Bates pounded on him gleefully.

“Say uncle,” Echo yelled, as he repeatedly hit the commando.

“Uncle …” the bleeding man finally said.

Beano could see that Tommy was in deep shock. “Let’s get him outta here. He needs a hospital,” he said, as Chevy and Cadillac Bates cut the plastic handcuffs with their skinning knives.

Beano and Cadillac lifted Tommy into the rear of the Ram truck. He was delirious now, losing consciousness. Suddenly, there were the sounds of sirens approaching from far away.

“I think we better throw the chairs in the Buick and
get rollin’,” Cadillac said. “Picnic’s over.”

The Bates family members ran to their trucks. Beano yanked Joe to his feet and handed him over to Cadillac Bates. “Sit on this movie star till it’s time for his curtain call.” Cadillac Bates put Joe Rina in the Silverado crew cab, next to him. Echo Bates got in beside the mobster, who now looked over at the huge albino, wondering what planet they’d all come from and who the hell they were.

“You’re so gad dum pretty, I might just have ta fuck ya right here, Boy-oh,” Echo Bates said and grinned, exposing two empty spaces in his gum line.

Joe feared it actually might happen.

They all left the clearing, going in different directions, not using the road. The four-wheel-drive trucks churned in low gears down the rock-strewn hillside. Beano was holding Tommy as they roared past the burning FBI satellite van. They slowed, but Grady Hunt, Denny Denniston, and the driver were all dead. The remaining FBI men were running toward them, so they didn’t stop, but roared on. They had to save Tommy’s life in order to save the bubble.

N
OBODY KNEW WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO TOMMY OR
Joe Rina. They had completely disappeared. Both had been missing for almost two days when Victoria walked into Gil Green’s office in Trenton, unannounced and uninvited, and stood across the oak desk from the bland District Attorney.

“Victoria,” he said without warmth, “surprised you had the nerve to show up. You’re, of course, guilty of half-a-dozen or more crimes … not to mention possible complicity in the death of several Federal Agents in the Presidio.”

“I had nothing to do with anybody’s death, Gil. If you had me followed, then maybe it’s your fault. As I recall, tailing me was not part of our deal.”

He sat and looked at her, and then he started to fidget with the pen on his desk. “I suppose we could argue that indefinitely,” he finally said softly.

“Sure we could, and I’d win. I wasn’t wanted for anything. You can’t prove I had prior knowledge of Beano Bates’s record, so cut the bullshit.”

“I suppose you had some reason to make this visit.” His vacant expression was all-consuming.

“Maybe there’s a way we can still save a few parts
of our original deal, Gil, but it’s gonna have to change in a few key areas.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you aren’t holding good cards anymore. Matter of fact, your cards are terrible, especially if you factor in the political aspects. You fumbled this investigation badly. You lost three Federal Agents by screwing up your end. You tried to frame your own prosecutor. The list of ‘Oh shits’ is awesome,” she said.

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“And what is it you’re proposing?” he said, knowing she hadn’t come here to spit this furball up on his desk.

“What if you could still have most of it? What if Tommy Rina is still willing to come forth and testify against his brother?”

“You’re harboring Tommy Rina?”

“I’m not ‘harboring’ anyone; he’s not wanted for any crimes, Gil, despite the fact that he’s been committing them all his life. But he knows his brother won’t rest till he’s dead. He’d rather do seven years for second-degree murder than an eternity for profound stupidity.”

“Okay, so Tommy comes forward. But nobody’s seen Joe. He won’t be anywhere around if Tommy is gonna testify against him.”

“I can have Joe dropped off on your doorstep.”

“And what is Tommy going to say?” Gil asked.

She reached into her briefcase and withdrew a sheaf of papers and handed them to Gil. He looked at them quickly, skim-reading the pages. “It says here that Tommy declares under penalty of perjury that Joe gave him direct orders to kill Carol Sesnick, Bobby Manning, and Tony Corollo,” he said, laying the papers down on his desk. “But this confession isn’t signed.”

“I have the signed copy in a safe place.”

“I see….”

“I also have Tommy ready to testify, but you’re going to have to do a few things to earn all this political good fortune,” she said.

He let some time tick off the antique grandfather clock in the corner of his office. It tick-tocked the seconds loudly and Victoria sat and looked out the window, trying not to show any concern for his decision.

“Okay. So what’s the price?”

“Three things,” she said, reluctantly shifting her gaze back to him. “One: You promise to try Tommy Rina on second-degree murder, not first, and you arrange with the court for him to have a sentence with a seven-year cap.”

“He’s the one who pulled the trigger.”

“I know, but it’s the only way I can get him to play.”

“He’s a murderer.”

“He also has an enemies list longer than Qaddafi’s. Tommy’s killed too many players. He probably won’t even survive the seven-year jolt.”

“And what’s number two?”

“If he lives out his sentence, you guarantee him the Federal Witness Protection Program.”

“And the last?”

“You arrange for all of the Federal charges pending against Beano X. Bates to be dropped.”

“I see. Of course, I’m only a New Jersey District Attorney. The Federal Government doesn’t generally do what I tell them.”

“Hey, Gil, stop fooling around. You and I both know the FBI Organized Crime Strike Force is all over the Rinas. How much do you think they spent last year building a case against Joe and Tommy?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“Four hundred and fifty-nine thousand dollars, not including expenses and overtime. Let’s round it to half a million in surveillance costs per year. They’ve been
swinging at those two curve balls like Little League outfielders and haven’t even hit a pop-up. They’ll deal, Gil. They’d like to drop both these bad boys and you get to be the hero. You get to take the bows at the press conference. It’s your party. All you’ve gotta do is broker the deal.”

“Beano Bates is on the Ten Most Wanted List. They aren’t gonna deal on him.”

“He’s a white-collar criminal. He’s not violent, and besides, that’s what it’s gonna take to get this done.” She looked at him for a long moment and he studied her back, without expression.

Finally, Victoria stood and clicked her briefcase closed. She headed to the door.

“You know I’ve filed a brief with the New Jersey Bar to get your license yanked. I’m surprised you don’t want to trade on that.”

“I’m through being a lawyer, Gil. It’s no fun anymore, because I figured something out….”

“What’s that?”

“I always wanted the law to be about right and wrong, but it’s not.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“It’s about legal and illegal. That’s a whole different concept that deals with fine points of law that get confessions thrown out of court and evidence inadmissible on technicalities, and I’m just not interested in that game anymore. Call me before close of business today. If you don’t call, I’m taking this deal to the Feds. Only reason I brought it here first is, I know once you think about it, you’ll fight like a son-of-a-bitch to get it for me … because after all, Gil, once you boil it down, it’s still just politics.”

Victoria left his office, got in her car, and began the three-hour drive to Wallingford.

When she arrived and saw her parents, she couldn’t
believe how good it was to be home. She hugged her mother and father and sat in the kitchen with them while her mother made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Her wheelchair was parked up next to the counter and she reached up to cut off the crust.

“‘Ut the ‘ust off, way you li’,” she slurred to Victoria, who took the sandwich and ate it pensively. All her life she had cut the crusts off sandwiches, just like she had cut the crusts off most of her experiences. She wondered why; what event had put her on such a careful and precise path?

Her father was looking at her from across the room, smiling, almost as if he could read her thoughts. “What’re you going to do, Sweet-pea?” he asked. He was wearing plaid golf slacks and a pink shirt and socks. Silly as that was, she thought he looked absolutely darling. Her heart went out to both of them.

“I don’t know, Dad,” she said. “I had some plans, but I’m not sure now.”