MOB RULES Page 3

  The phone slid from her hand and dropped to the floor.

  Mob Rules

  6

  The next phone call Harris placed was to the district attorney. After speaking briefly with her secretary, he suffered through the horrible 1970’s pop music that played while he waited on hold. Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long.

  “Dear God, Jimmy,” Sylvia spoke as she took the call. Her voice was steeped in anxious sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sylvia, what the hell is going on?” Harris spoke, an icy edge to his strained tone.

  “I don’t know, Jimmy. This came out of left field.”

  “I don’t suppose it would do any good to ask you for the name of the informant?”

  “You don’t need him, Jimmy. You know he’s connected to the Franco’s. Start there. If he knows then others know too.”

  “So you’re not going to make it easy for me?”

  “Jimmy, you have to understand that we are building a huge case against the five New York families. Thousands of man hours and millions of dollars have been spent,” she paused waiting for a reaction. When none came she continued.

  “And even with that I would shut it all down in a second to help save your family. But you need to hear what I am saying to you.”

  “And what’s that, Sylvia.”

  “The Franco’s know. In fact, I’m pretty sure that you could probably get the information from them if you get creative.”

  “Creative?”

  “Jimmy,” Sylvia spoke hesitantly. “Do I have to say it? Think for a second. You possess information they might want.”

  Harris began to understand. And as the realization sank in he felt his anger turn inwards as he realized he’d committed the cardinal sin. He had allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment. She was right. He didn’t need the C.I. He had a wealth of information at his fingertips. And suddenly he knew where to begin.

  “Okay, Sylvia,” he spoke softly. “I’m hearing you now.”

  “Jimmy, I will pray for Bonnie and Danny. And I will do anything to help. Surveillance, research, hell if you need a goddamn SWAT team you just call me.”

  “Thanks,” Harris replied, the steel edge back in his voice. “But you know I work better alone.”

  “I understand Jimmy, but if you need help it’s here.”

  “Thanks, I will definitely take you up on that if the need arises. But right now I have to worry about getting my family to safety. Do you think that you could arrange a safe house in the city?”

  “I can do you one better,” the D.A. spoke. “I’ve been working on that and if it’s okay with you I have a suggestion.”

  “Go ahead,” Harris said.

  “I have a ski chalet in Vermont. It’s just west of Pittsfield and it’s perfect. Very isolated and very secure. Walls around the entire twelve acres and a top notch surveillance system.”

  “I appreciate that, Sylvia but there’s no way I can leave them alone up there. And I have to be here to deal with this.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. I’m going to assign my two best men to accompany and watch over them until this is over. These men are not on the city payroll, they are private security hired by Sheldon and myself several years ago.”

  Harris remained silent, pondering this.

  “Jimmy, these guys are both former special forces and they’re absolutely loyal to me. I would trust them with anything.”

  “Sylvia,” Harris began slowly. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate it, I do. But I can’t have them that far away from me. I need to be able to keep an eye on them and I can’t do that if they’re in Vermont.”

  “Bullshit,” Sylvia said brusquely. “That far away from you is exactly what you should want. Do you really want them anywhere near the city while you deal with this?”

  “Sylvia,” Harris hesitated again as he tried to find the polite way to proceed. “I don’t know these men. I have a hard time placing my trust in people I don’t know. Especially with something as important and Bonnie and Danny’s safety.”

  “Fair enough,” Sylvia answered. “But you do know me. And I am telling you that these men are very good at what they do. I have known them for years and I would trust them with Emily’s life.”

  Harris sighed loudly into the phone. As hard as it was to accept, maybe it was the best option. Bonnie and Danny would be isolated and hidden and he’d breathe easier knowing two highly trained men were watching over them.

  “You know I’m right, Jimmy.” Sylvia said

  “Yeah,” Harris answered reluctantly. “I guess I do. Thank you, Sylvia. When do you think they can get to the station?”

  “Oh Jimmy,” Sylvia spoke with a soothing, maternal tone. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “What do you mean?” Harris asked.

  “They’re already on their way.”

  Mob Rules

  7

  The waiting room of The Brooklyn Hospital Center was busy, but busy was the norm here.

  An old woman, looking haggard and sickly, rocked back and forth in her seat and stared vacantly off into space. Across from her sat a mother holding a young boy whose hand was crudely wrapped in an ace bandage. The boy was being brave and doing his best to hold back tears. Next to them sat a man dressed in a jogging suit taking up two seats as he used one to prop up an iced ankle.

  From time to time an ambulance would pull up and the EMT’s would jump out, rush to the back, fling the doors open and pull a stretcher out of the back of the vehicle. They would then bypass the waiting room and hurry directly into the emergency room where they would be met by a nurse or even a doctor if the situation warranted it.

  Now the large doors swung inward again and a nurse sprinted over to the gurney.

  “What do we got?” She asked the two paramedics.

  “Young woman, late teens maybe early twenties,” answered the ranking technician. “Multiple lacerations and contusions. Her vitals are shaky and I’m pretty sure she has a collapsed lung, right side.”

  “Jesus,” the nurse said as she took a close look at the girl’s battered face.

  “Yeah,” the second technician answered. “Somebody really worked her over.”

  “Let’s put her in three,” the nurse ordered. She then turned towards the duty station. “Call x-ray, we need a full set of pictures priority right side rib cage. Stat.”

  Together with the EMT’s she wheeled the stretcher into examining room three. The two men pulled back the sheet uncovering the victim. The young woman was naked from the waist down. She still wore her pink halter although it was speckled with dark, crimson flecks. The paramedics dropped the safety bar on one side of the stretcher and with gentle, practiced fluidity, eased the girl’s unconscious body onto the examining table. The nurse grabbed a folded blanket from a shelf and covered her lower half.

  The paramedics loitered briefly, looking down upon the girl. Some patients affected you more than others. It always shook up the EMT’s when a young person was the victim of street violence.

  “You know,” one of the men spoke. “He used to be one of my favorite cartoons.”

  “Who’s that?” The nurse asked.

  The man responded by pointing to the Popeye tattoo on the woman’s left breast.

  “Yeah,” she responded coolly. “Thanks, guys.”

  “Sure thing,” the other man spoke. As the two men turned to leave he added. “It looks like she used to be damn pretty.”

  The nurse remained and began taking vital signs. As an afterthought she shouted out to the desk.

  “Call Dr. Goldblum, we’re going to need a reconstructive team and dental.”

  Outside the room, the E.R. continued to buzz, a never ending melting pot of humanity coming and going. The paramedics returned to their ambulance and headed back out to the busy streets of New York.

  Mob Rules

  8

  Harris met Bonnie’s car on the street, opening Danny’s passenger side door as it rolled
to a stop in front of the precinct. The boy leapt out and wrapped his father in a tight hug. Harris squeezed back as he didn’t see Danny anywhere near as often as he used to see him.

  “How you doing, buddy?” He asked.

  “I’m okay dad, what the heck is going on? Mom won’t tell me.”

  He locked eyes with his wife and saw the fury and fear behind her icy glare.

  “What’s going on, dad?!” Danny repeated, a quaver in his voice.

  “We’ll talk in a bit, pal. I promise. Just get inside, now. Follow Lt. Wilder.”

  Danny heard the tone of his father’s voice and immediately understood that this was not the time to butt heads with him. He fell in behind detective Wilder as the man led the way into the building.

  “Bonnie,” Harris said as he reached out a hand to his wife. She walked past it brusquely and followed her son into the precinct house. Her hostility level was off the charts but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. Harris scanned the street looking left and then right before hurrying inside to join them.

  The four rode up the elevator and when they arrived on the third floor Lt. Wilder led them down the hall and into a conference room. Danny followed obediently but Bonnie stopped and turned to her husband.

  “Just what the fuck have you done this time?” She hissed in a low whisper.

  “Bonnie, I already told you everything I know.”

  “You haven’t told me a goddamn thing other than somebody wants us dead.”

  “I fully understand how upsetting this is,” Harris attempted to soothe her. He placed both hands upon her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “But I don’t know any more myself.”

  “Get your damn hands off me!” Bonnie snapped in a loud growl. “You don’t get to touch me anymore!”

  Several heads turned in the office. They saw the look on Harris’ face and just as quickly they turned back to focus on their work.

  Harris let go of her and took a step back. He paused before responding.

  “Bonnie for God sakes, can’t we put our differences aside for the time being? This is bigger than us, it involves our son.”

  “You go to hell. You’re the one who put us in this position.”

  Harris stood silently. He searched her eyes for some type of empathy, some type of understanding. All that remained was anger.

  “I’m so sorry that you feel that way. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Yeah,” Bonnie spoke as she nodded her head slowly. “Well then I forgive you. You never meant any of it. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

  Harris realized that further discussion was futile. He turned to walk away.

  “Where the hell are you going?” His wife snapped.

  “I’ve got to go and take care of a couple things,” he replied as he turned back to face her. “We’ll leave in fifteen minutes.”

  “To where?”

  “You’ll see when we get there, Bonnie. I need you to let me handle this now, for Danny’s sake if nothing else.”

  Bonnie spun on her heel and stormed into the conference room.

  Harris looked to his left and made eye contact with a uniformed patrolman. He motioned for the man to come over.

  “Watch this door, would you? Except for Lt. Wilder, nobody gets in or out until I come back. Got it?”

  “Captain,” the man said, a quizzical look on his face. “We’re in a police station. Nothing is going to happen to them.”

  “Yeah, just do it anyway.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do.”

  “Watch the fucking door!” Harris erupted, his face a snarl of pent up anger.

  The man flinched and then looked around the room to see that every eye was upon him.

  “Yes, sir,” he said in a tone that did nothing to mask his condescension.

  Harris turned and made rapid, long strides towards his office. As he entered he saw his two man team waiting for him. He closed the door.

  Mob Rules

  9

  It was a cold, gray afternoon. Dark and low, a steady blanket of ominous clouds threatened another round of snow flurries and a stinging wind bit into the pedestrians who made their way up and down the street. Most of the neighborhood people crossed to the other side rather than pass in front of the deli where Anthony Scalaro, underboss of the Franco Family, stood outside hearing a report from Vincent Giovani.

  Anthony Scalaro was a gangster’s gangster. Raised in a very poor section of Brooklyn he had spent his youth on the streets, fighting and hustling. He caught the attention of some of the local wise guy’s when he was just fifteen years old. They admired his guts and his drive to make money. Placed under the supervision of a tough enforcer, Scalaro kept his mouth shut and learned the ropes from the ground up.

  He made his bones when he was just nineteen. One of the men in the crew he was associated with refused to come in for a sit down with the boss. In the mob’s world this was a great offense. When the boss orders you to come in, you come in. Ultimately, the man had been given a pass and he must have thought this made him special because three months later he did it again. The boss decided he had to go and gave the job to the enforcer who had taken Scalaro under his wing. The man offered the job to Scalaro telling him that if he ever wanted to become a full-fledged member of the Franco’s, he had to prove he would kill for the family. Scalaro and the enforcer lured the man to a meeting under the guise of wanting to discuss a truck hijacking they were planning. When the man arrived, Scalaro threw a garrote around the man’s neck and choked the life out of him. He had been given the choice of how he would do the job and he chose this very personal, and difficult, way to eliminate the man. The act put him in high standing with the top level men and it wasn’t long after that that he became a made member of the family.

  At the time, the Franco’s consigliore was Antonio Franco, nephew of the man who had originally formed the family. Franco took a shine to the young man and guided him in his career. Scalaro in turn, felt a deep affection and love for Franco. He was fiercely loyal to the man and when Antonio Franco became the boss of the family, he took Scalaro with him, promoting him to captain and eventually the underboss.

  Scalaro was a shrewd leader who held a firm belief in street level management. Although insulated, he was involved in almost all of the Families’ nefarious acts in one way or another. He kept his hand in all things.

  On this day, the underboss was in a particularly foul mood and made no effort to hide it.

  “You mean to tell me that a cop pinched your guy, took all of his money and swag, yet didn’t bust him?” Scalaro had his hand over his mouth to thwart any surveillance that might be upon him. The gangsters had learned long ago not to discuss business inside any of their hangouts. The places were always bugged. And since the Fed’s had lip readers, they also knew to hide their mouths when they spoke.

  “That’s what he told me, Tony,” Vinny answered calmly. Unlike most of the other crew members, Vinny did not kowtow when confronted by the underboss. He might kiss his ass from time to time but he wasn’t afraid of him as he knew that being a relative of the family boss offered him a protection not enjoyed by his peers. Scalaro felt the man’s indifference and the disrespect only added fueled to his hatred of the smaller man.

  “And you fucking bought that bullshit?!” Scalaro yelled through his hand.

  “Ho, Tony,” Vinny said in a raised voice. “You don’t have to bust my balls. This guy wouldn’t cross me.”

  “He’s a fucking junkie,” the underboss growled. “He’d cross his own mother.”

  “So what do you want me to do about it? He moves a lot of product.”

  “I want you to handle it. If the street finds out that it’s okay to boost from us before long all of your guys are going to be coming up short. You’re a made guy, I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

  “The guy brings in a lot of dough.”

  “What did I just say?” Scalaro glared at the sma
ller man.

  “Okay, Tony. I’ll handle it,” Vinny relented. He understood that further discussion was futile.

  With a final hard stare, Scalaro turned and walked back into the warmth of the deli.

  Skinny Vinny grabbed a cell phone out of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. He punched in a number as he walked down the street towards his car.

  “Yeah,” he spoke as the phone was answered without a greeting. “Meet me at the place. We got something to do.”

  Without further explanation, Vinny closed the phone and climbed into his car.

  Mob Rules

  10

  Harris gripped the steering wheel tightly, his face a telling testament to his foul mood. His wary eyes inspected the surrounding traffic with a paranoid fervor, checking his rear view mirror every few moments. In the passenger seat of his jet black Camaro sat Bonnie, and although her furious scowl matched that of her estranged husband’s, her eyes were fixed relentlessly on the horizon. Their son Danny sat behind his mother in the back seat and stared vacantly out the window as the trees bordering the highway whipped past.

  Harris drove a steady five miles per hour over the speed limit, doing nothing to stand out. He stayed in the slow lane when possible, passing only when he was forced to. Behind him he could see the two men trailing in their black Chevrolet Suburban. They were Sylvia’s best men and although he didn’t like leaving the safety of his family to anyone but himself, he was forced to trust both Sylvia’s judgment and these men. He had to eliminate this threat to his family and he couldn’t do it properly and guard them at the same time.

  The vehicles traveled north on I-91 through Connecticut having left New York State an hour earlier. They had roughly four more hours before they would pass through Killington, Vermont and from there it was just a short drive to the Blumquist’s mountain cabin in Pittsfield. According to Sylvia, the cabin had a top notch surveillance system and a safe room. It was a walled, log fortress on twelve acres that was ideal for safeguarding a president. The Blumquist property was actually quite a bit bigger than that but only twelve acres was actually walled. Harris knew that he couldn’t ask for a better location to squirrel his family away until the danger had passed, except this danger wouldn’t simply pass, he would have to root it out and crush it.