American Criminal (31 page)

    How can I forget the three sixes?
It’s like calling the Devil. 

   
“Good luck, Burnside,” the Capo said. 

    Burnside heard a dial tone and placed the phone in its cradle. He lit a cigarette and paced the sidewalk as he smoked it.

    Five minutes. I can handle that.

   
Ray remained in the vicinity of the phone to make sure no one else cut in to make a call. He stopped pacing and leaned against the brick wall of the convenience store. He closed his eyes as he inhaled smoke and blew it out. He opened them again to bright LA sunshine, pedestrians, and vehicles of every size, shape, and color on the road. He smoked the cigarette down to the filter, dropped it to the sidewalk, and crushed out the smoldering end with his heel.

   
Has it been five minutes yet? Close enough.

   
Burnside returned to the phone and dialed the number. A bored-sounding, monotone voice answered after one ring.   

    “LA office.”

    The voice reminded Burnside of the comedic actor who played a teacher in the movie,
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off –
the one who kept repeating, “Bueller….Bueller”

    “I was told to call this line to get some work,” Ray said, suppressing laughter.

    “Is this Burnside?” the bland voice asked.

    “Yes, it is.”

    “Okay, we’ll meet you at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre in three hours. You know where it is?”

    The name sounded familiar to Burnside, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.

    “No.”

    “It’s in Hollywood.”

    Burnside heard a dial tone and hung up the phone.

   
That decides it. I’m now an official tourist.

   
Ray returned to Vine Street and continued north a couple blocks until he reached Hollywood Boulevard. He ducked into a tourist shop and asked for directions to the theatre. The theatre was right down the street.

    Burnside crossed onto the north side of Hollywood Boulevard and discovered he was standing on the famous Hollywood Walk of Fame. Below him was Tom Selleck’s star. Ray grinned and moved West down the walkway. The sidewalk was lined with a bizarre mixture of upscale shops and cheap tourist stores. He passed a glittering Versace store with fashionable clothing in the windows and then a dusty old tourist shop selling hackneyed tourist maps. He soon reached the famous theatre and found himself in the midst of a mob of pedestrians oohing and aahhing over the names of their favorite stars on the sidewalk. The line of stars on the sidewalk spread out across a large courtyard beneath a garish Chinese-style entrance.

    Ray looked down at his wrist to check the time and realized he didn’t have a watch. He remembered passing a pharmacy on the corner. He turned back the way he came. He avoided the upscale stores and tourist shops until he found the place. He bought a cheap watch, asked the cashier for the time, and programmed it in. He also purchased a bottled water and a Ben and Jerrys ice cream bar.

    Burnside spent the next two hours walking the famous boulevard, smoking and observing the tourists. It was a gorgeous day and there was not a single cloud in the bright blue sky. Palm trees lined the sidewalks. Occasionally, he heard a beep from the passing cars. The feeling of freedom was intoxicating. He felt a stab of fear in his gut when he thought about being captured and dragged back to prison. He looked down at his watch and saw it was time. With a shaking hand, he lit another cigarette and began making his way back toward the theatre.

    He entered the mob of tourists in front of the theatre and began looking around for his contacts.

   
I don’t even know who I’m looking for. Will I know them when I see them?
Burnside thought.

    He ducked under the giant Chinese-style archway and entered the courtyard. He ignored the stars in the cement and scanned the crowd for his contacts. He assumed they would be male and tough-looking. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure what to expect. He assumed they had been given a detailed description of him and could pick him out of the crowd.

    After ten minutes of searching through the crowd, he began to get worried. Then, he spotted two stocky, middle-aged men wearing tourist attire smoking cigarettes in the corner of the courtyard. They wore ridiculous, multi-colored, Hawaiian-style shirts and checkered Bermuda shorts. The shirts were draped over their shorts and were long enough to conceal a handgun placed in a waistband in front or in back. Despite their attire, their grim expressions looked out of place among the happy tourists. They wore LA Dodgers baseball caps with visors to protect their faces from the sun. They each had a pair of sunglasses hung on their shirt collars, which were open halfway down their deeply-tanned, hairy chests. Expensive watches gleamed on their wrists and gold chains shimmered on their necks. 

    I’m no detective, but that has to be them.

   
Burnside smiled as he cut through the crowd toward the pot-bellied men wearing the ridiculous tourist outfits. One of them saw him, tapped the other one on the shoulder, and gestured toward Ray with his chin. As Ray approached them, they removed their sunglasses from their shirt collars and placed them on. Their hand movements were synchronized as if they were choreographed. The shorter one took a drag off his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke as Ray approached. The taller one dropped his smoldering cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with his heel. 

    They looked Ray up and down as he stood before them. Their flaccid physiques looked ridiculous next to his ripped-up, heavily-muscled body.   

    “You Burnside?” the shorter, pudgier one on the right asked. 

   
“Yep,” Ray said.

    The chubby guy looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week, while the tall, thick one had at least a day’s scruff on his chin.

    “Jimmy Salducci sent us to meet you. We heard you’re looking for work.” the taller one said, taking out a cigarette and lighting up.

   
Now I know the prison Capo’s name.

    “Yes, I’m looking for work,” Burnside said.

    “I’m Joe Patriarcha,” the taller one said, extending his bejeweled hand.

    Ray shook it firmly and turned to the other guy.

   “Tommy Morano,” the shorter one said, shaking Ray’s hand in a sweaty grip.

    “Okay, let’s go then,” the taller one said, glancing at his partner and then gesturing for Burnside to follow him. Burnside followed Joe while Tommy fell into step directly behind him.

    The gangsters escorted him down the famous sidewalk to a black Hum-Vee parked in front of a Burger King.

    “Nice ride,” Burnside commented upon observing the Hummer. It didn’t look like one of the civilian knockoffs, but more like a bona-fide military version. It was lower to the ground and wider than the knockoffs and appeared to have thicker armor.

    “Should be. We paid enough for it,” the taller one, Jimmy, grunted as he circled around to the driver’s side and opened the door with a key.

    “Get in back,” the shorter one, Tommy, said as he walked past Burnside and opened the passenger door.

    Burnside did as ordered and got in the back. The seat was hard and uncomfortable. The gun in his rear waistband dug into his back. He took the gun out, stuffed it in the front of his shorts, and covered it over with his shirt.

    “We heard you got quite a rep in the pen,” Jimmy said as he turned the key in the ignition and the Hummer’s huge engine rumbled to life.

    “I guess you could say that,” Ray said. “Where are we going?”

    “It’s classified,” Tommy interjected, sarcastically.

    “It’s just down the street in Beverly Hills,” Jimmy said.

    “Oh, okay,” Ray said, not knowing what else to say.

    “I hope you’re ready for some action because you’re about to get it,” Tommy said, turning and smirking at Ray.

    “Sure, I’m ready.”

    “Your timing couldn’t be better,” Jimmy said, driving west on Hollywood Boulevard. “We have a major operation planned for tonight. I hope you’re as good as they say because it’s going to be a helluva night.”

                                               Chapter 42

    What have I got myself into?
Burnside thought.

    “What kind of operation?” Ray asked.

    “A major assault on our LA rivals: the Triads and the Columbians,” Joe said, glancing over his shoulder at Ray. “Tonight we’re going to eliminate them both permanently with one stroke.”

    “We hear you’re good at that sort of thing,” Tommy said, smirking.

    Am I going to have to kill someone? In prison, I did it to survive. But this is different. This is a choice.

    “That was generous of you to take out the
Skinheads
for our boss at the prison,” Joe said, taking a right at the next set of lights.

    “We know all about you and your talents,” Tommy said, grinning.

    Apparently, my reputation has preceded me.

    “You got nothing to say?” Tommy asked, lighting a cigarette.

     Burnside felt chagrined as he noticed Tommy had only cracked his window half-an-inch.  Wisps of smoke began to drift throughout the Hummer’s interior. Ray tried not to cough.

    “Just tell me where they are,” Ray said, pointing his index finger like a gun, looking down an imaginary sight, and forcing a feral-looking grin.

    “That’s more like it!” Tommy exclaimed, smiling widely.

    They began driving past walled mansions with well- manicured lawns. It looked like the scenes of Beverly Hills Burnside had seen on TV. Eventually, the houses faded away, the ground became steeper, and they ascended a curving, twisting road running along the edge of a cliff. Ray saw exotic mansions nestled along the cliff like elaborate, expensive birds’ nests.

    They took a left onto a remote canyon road and crossed a bridge over a deep chasm. Eventually, they reached a high wall and a barred iron gate at the base of a steep hill. Ray saw a driveway curving up a grassy hill from the gate to a mansion at the hill’s summit.

Nice place.

    The Hummer pulled into a short driveway in front of the gate and the gate began sliding open. Burnside saw video cameras mounted on the brick walls on each side of the gate. They ascended the curving road leading up to the mansion. Ray looked down and saw the road they traveled on twisting beneath them like a giant snake burrowing through the canyon.

    They reached a flat driveway at the top of the hill and parked in front of the mansion’s double oak doors. A long, black stretch limousine was parked ahead. Ray also saw another Hummer, this one gray, and two black vans parked next to the limo. They exited the vehicle and ascended a short flight of steps to the doors. Joe pushed a doorbell and they heard elaborate musical tones echoing in the interior of the big house.

    The thick oak doors were decorated with ornate Baroque-style carvings, which didn’t fit with the personalities of the two mobsters standing next to Burnside. Ray thought the doors represented high culture and art, while the men standing beside him were like barbarians knocking at the gate.

    A young, dark-haired man wearing a black suit answered the door and let them in. They followed him through a large foyer with a stairwell built along the right wall that curved upward to a wide balcony above. Two stocky men in suits stood at the top of the balcony looking down on them. Each man held an assault rifle.
  

    Beyond the foyer they passed through a long hallway flanked by closed wooden doors. Eventually, they arrived at a spacious dining room with a massive picture window looking out upon the canyon. The room was occupied by five men wearing suits sitting around an immense dining table, which would have fit nicely in a corporate boardroom. Instead of food, Burnside saw guns on the table. Lots of guns.

    The guns laid out on the table looked like the entire selection offered at a top-of-the-line gun shop. Large military-style assault rifles were laid out alongside smaller handheld machine guns. Burnside recognized M-16 automatic rifles, Russian-made AK-47s, UZI 9mms, and MAC 10s. There were also medium-size weapons he couldn’t identify.

    “I’m glad you guys didn’t start dinner without us,” Tommy said, smirking as he regarded the impressive collection on the table. 

    “Cute outfits,” a fat, cigar-smoking man in a gray suit said, laughing from his position at the end of the table. He gestured at the ridiculous Hawaiian shirts and checkered shorts Joe and Tommy were wearing. 

    Ray saw Joe and Tommy’s faces redden.

    “We had to blend in with the fucking tourists,” Joe said, glowering at the seated men.

    “You certainly succeeded at doing that,” a muscular, dark-haired man wearing a black suit said, snickering.

    The men at the table broke into laughter and then stopped when the fat man raised his hand.

    “Enough,” the fat man growled. “We have business to attend to. Is this the new guy?” he asked, pointing his smoking cigar at Burnside.

    “That’s him boss,” Tommy said, grinning. “The bad-ass from the penitentiary.”

    “We’ll see how bad-ass he is against the Columbians,” the fat man said, taking a puff from his cigar. “I’m assuming you know how to handle a gun?’ he asked Burnside.

Burnside nodded his head.

    “Are you armed now?” the fat man asked.

    “There’s a pistol stuffed in the back of my shorts.”

    “Where did you get it?”

    “A couple dealers in MacArthur Park lent it to me for safekeeping.”

    The fat man’s eyes narrowed as he took a drag from his cigar and blew out a cloud of smoke.

    “Okay, then. You can use it as a back-up piece. Unfortunately, since you’re new, you choose last.”

    Burnside wasn’t sure what he meant until he saw Joe and Tommy walk along the table and check out the weapons. Joe picked up an M-16 and pointed it toward the picture window, looking down the sights.

    “This one suits me,” Joe said.

    “It’s yours,” the fat man said and then turned to Burnside. “I’m Johnny Michaelitsi, the District Manager for our LA chapter. Since you’ll be fighting alongside us, you can call me Johnny.”

    Burnside nodded again at the fat man.

    “Doesn’t say much, does he?” Johnny asked, puffing his cigar.

    “He’s a man of few words,” Tommy said, sarcastically, smirking at Ray.

    “That’s fine as long as he can shoot,” Michaelitsi said, chuckling. “Gentlemen, we’re wasting time. Grab your weapons. And make sure you leave at least one for the new guy. Rocco, go get the others.”

    The muscular, dark-haired man wearing the black suit got up and left the room. The others stood and began circling the weapons table like suited sharks. Burnside stepped back and stood in the corner watching. One-by-one, the gangsters picked up a weapon, usually one of the large assault rifles, and some extra magazines. They stuffed the magazines in their inner suit pockets and held the weapons casually by their sides as if they had done so many times before.

    “Gentlemen, the body armor is in the billiard room. We’ll meet out front,” the mobster
Capo
said, gesturing toward the long hallway with his cigar.

    The suited men filed out of the room with their weapons. A short time later, more men - some wearing suits and some wearing black t-shirts and black pants – filed into the room and chose weapons from the table. Burnside was chagrined to see the large assault rifles disappear quickly. Burnside watched a seemingly endless line of men enter the dining room, circle the large table, choose a weapon, and then file out. Soon, only the small UZIs and MAC 10s were left.

    Eventually, the mob boss and Burnside were alone in the room. There was a single MAC 10 submachine gun on the table.

    Beggars can’t be choosers,
Burnside thought as he picked it up.

    The MAC 10 was a cheap, automatic pistol that could be handled one-handed like a pistol or two-handed like a machine gun. It was the reputed favorite weapon among drug dealers because it was easily concealed and could unleash a devastating barrage. The drawbacks with the MAC 10s were they lacked accuracy and had a tendency to jam if they weren’t given regular maintenance. Burnside hoped someone had cleaned this one recently because he couldn’t afford it jamming on him.

    “Go to the billiard room and see if there’s any body armor left,” Michaelitsi said, as Burnside got used to the feel of the weapon in his hands. “If you can find something that fits, put it on under your shirt. You may need it.”

    “I appreciate this opportunity, Mr. Michaelitsi,” Burnside said, holding the MAC 10 two-handed and aiming it at the picture window. “Where’s the billiard room?”

    “Down the hall – third door on the left. Make it quick”

    “You got it,” Ray said, leaving the room.

    He checked the billiard room for armor, but nothing fit him. He found a flak vest on a pool table that would have fit him before he went to prison, but was too tight for him now.

    I’ll just have to rely on luck. It got me this far.

    Burnside walked to the front of the house and saw the mobsters assembled next to the vehicles. He counted about thirty of them. He searched for the two guys who picked him up, Joe and Tommy, but he didn’t recognize them.

    “Hey, here he is,” a familiar voice said from the crowd.

    Joe and Tommy emerged from the assembly wearing black t-shirts and black jeans. Joe held an M-16 rifle by his side while Tommy held his AK-47 two-handed. Burnside hadn’t recognized them without their flamboyant tourist attire. The black clothing didn’t make them look any thinner, but they did appear less ridiculous.

    “You’re with us, Burnside,” Joe said, clapping Ray on the shoulder with his free hand. Ray noticed Joe had taken off all his expensive jewelry. “We’re taking the Hummer.”

The mobsters began piling into the vans, limousine, and gray Hum-vee. Burnside followed Joe and Tommy to the black Hummer. Ray got in the back with Tommy while Joe got in the passenger seat and some guy Ray didn’t recognize got behind the wheel. The guy behind the wheel was small, but wiry. Like the others, he wore all black. His thinning dark hair was slicked back like a stereotypical mobster and he had a long nose that Burnside thought made him look like a rat.

    “This is Guido,” Joe said, indicating the driver with his chin.

    Of course it is. 

    “Nice to meet ya, pal,” the little driver said, turning and extending a hand over his seat.   

    “Your name’s Burnside?”

    “You can call me Ray,” Burnside said as he shook the man’s hand.

    “Okay, Ray then, Nice to meet ya.”

    “Likewise.”

    Guido turned away from Ray and turned the key in the ignition - igniting the Hummer’s powerful engine.

    “Okay, Ray, this is it. I hope you’re ready for some shooting,” Tommy said, flashing Ray his trademark smirk. Tommy’s assault rifle lay across his lap like an umbrella. Thankfully, it was pointed away from Ray.

    Guido backed the Hummer away from the limo in front of it and circled around the pair of black vans to take the lead.

    “So what’s the plan?” Burnside asked. “Judging from all the hardware, it looks like we’re about to make someone very unhappy.”

Chapter 43

Prelude

    “You’re right about that,” Joe said, turning toward Ray. “This operation has been a long time coming.”

    The Hummer passed the other vehicles and descended the hill.

    “Those fuckers have been cutting into our action for years,” Tommy said. “The Bosses finally got the balls to take them out.”

    “Okay, I follow you so far,” Ray said. “But what’s the plan? Are we hitting them at a warehouse? An office building? A shipyard What’s the scenario?”

    “We’re hitting them in an alley,” Joe said. “It’s actually two long alleys that connect and form an “L” shape between buildings. One of the alleys connects with Davis Street and the other with Moore Boulevard. There’s a big dumpster in the middle where the two alleys meet. That’s where the deal between the Columbians and the Triads is going down.”

    “What kind of deal are we talking about?” Burnside asked.

    “Heroin, what else?” Joe said. “There’s going to be enough money and Mr. Brownstone there to let us all to retire. We’re killing them and we’re taking the money and the drugs. It’s a simple operation.”

    Ray glanced out the rear window and saw the gray Hummer following them down the hill. The Hummer was being followed by the black vans and then the limo at the rear.

    “What kind of security are we facing?” Ray asked.

    “A lot,” Joe said, grimly. “A helluva lot. For a deal this big, all the Spics and Chinks in the city will be there. They’re going to be armed with enough firepower to overthrow a third-world country. The Columbians even have snipers on the roof overlooking both alleys. That’s what the guys in the black vans are for. We’re sending ten of our own bad-asses up there on the roof to take them out. Then, we’ll have the tactical advantage.”