Secrets & Lies (17 page)

“You're home.”

I acted surprised. “Really? I am? How do you know?”

“Mr. Funny. How was the trip?”

“Excellent. Got all the business done and enjoyed myself, too.”

“Business and pleasure.”

“You said it. How are you? Sounds like you got company.”

“Yeah, one of the Heathens. I don't think you know him. Met him at the pool hall where they hang out.”

The Heathens were a motorcycle club Casazza did business with. He sold them guns that were imported from Africa. Like the Hells Angels, the Heathens were considered “one percenters,” referring to the statement made by the American Motorcyclist Association that only one percent of all motorcycle clubs were “outlaw” MCs. The Heathens were made up of white guys, and their sworn enemies were Los Serpientes, an outlaw MC that acted as runners and soldiers for the Mexican Mafia. My plan with the counterfeit dough was to sell it to Los Serpientes because the funny money would pass easier south of the border. It was funny that DeAngelo considered them to be degenerate lowlifes with no class or morals, but money talked. The Heathens paid good cash for the arms and Los Serpientes would pay good cash for the funny money. The Heathens had a distribution machine in place, so the arrangement made sense.

So the counterfeit operation was going to be my test, so to speak, to see if I could handle it, run it, and steer it through to the payoff.

“I have to go see Mookie, and then I have a meeting with Carlos Gabriel,” I told Christina. “I'll be back late tonight.”

She put a finger to her lips. “We don't want my Heathen friend to hear that.”

“Right.” Carlos Gabriel was the L.A. chapter president of Los Serpientes.

“Want to go to the shooting range tomorrow?”

I shrugged. “I have to go to the office. You know, check in and pretend I still run the business. But we can go late afternoon. Is that okay?”

“Sure. Be careful with those Serpents. They're nasty.”

“So are Heathens. You be careful, too.” I pinched her cheek and started to leave.

“You get any in New York?”

I just turned and wiggled my eyebrows at her. She laughed and went back to her room.

After a quick meeting with Samberg at the place he was renting in Hollywood, I drove to Southeast L.A. to see Gabriel. It's a rough part of town, full of Mexicans and Negroes. Los Serpientes owned an auto-repair garage and an adjoining bar on Florence, near Compton. I didn't like the way the Serpents stared at us as Boone drove the Lincoln into their lot. Whenever I did business with tough customers, I always had Boone take me. I owned a 1959 Lincoln Continental Mark IV town car for those purposes. It made me look important. And it was a good thing that Boone had a permit to carry a gun.

I recognized Gabriel's right-hand man standing in front. “Hey, Chuy, how are you doing?” I asked as I got out of the car.

The man grunted and shrugged. Some of the other gang members spoke in low voices to each other in Spanish. I had no idea what they said, but it was probably insulting.

“I'm here to see Carlos. He's expecting me.”

Chuy jerked his head to one of the other guys, and he immediately went around my back to frisk me. I was clean. Boone volunteered his gun, a Browning 9mm semiautomatic he wore under his jacket. The Serpent frisked him anyway, and then we were allowed into the shop.

Carlos Gabriel was in his thirties, but he looked much older. All MC members were like that. I guess it's because of all the wear and tear on the road and living a lifestyle on the edge. He sat in the shop's office behind a desk that was surprisingly clean of any paper or
objects. Chuy joined him, but Boone waited outside in the garage. Gabriel's two attack pit bulls sat at attention by the desk and immediately growled when I walked in. They growled at everyone.

“Bala! Hoja! Quiet!” their master commanded. The dogs reluctantly stopped, but it was obvious they would tear a person to pieces if Gabriel let them. I didn't like them.

Gabriel and I shook hands and then I sat in front of the desk. “Everything okay, Carlos? How's your family?”

“Family's fine,” he answered, but he didn't smile. He never smiled.

“Well, I've got good news. The money operation will be starting up very soon. I was just in New York negotiating a price for special paper that my engraver will need to make the bills. Sometime this summer we'll have product for you to take down south.”

He nodded. “What denominations?”

“Twenties and fifties. Twenties are less suspicious.”

“Can you make fives and tens? Nobody spends twenty dollars in Mexico. Fifty dollars is unheard of.”

“I'll talk to the engraver. It's just we can move less of it at a greater profit when denominations are higher.”

“I understand, but we can't use the high denominations. Fives and tens. You can do whatever you want with the twenties and fifties.”

“I'll talk to my boss.”

“We can discuss price when I have an answer.”

“Fair enough.” I started to stand and shake his hand again, but he just glared at me. “Is something wrong, Carlos?”

“One of my men was shot last night.”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.”

“It was the Heathens.”

“Really? Where did it happen?”

“It doesn't matter. But your people sell guns to the Heathens. That has to stop.”

“Whoa, Carlos,” I said, “that's not my department. I have nothing to do with that.”

“You work with Casazza and his wops.”

I bristled when he said that. “Carlos, I'm half Italian.”

“Which half?”

Was he kidding?

“My mother was Italian, my father was Irish.”

He shrugged. “What are you going to do about it, half-wop?”

“Why are you insulting me?”

“Because my man
died
last night.”

“I'm sorry, I really am. But you have to understand, I'm not even part of Casazza's crew. I'm organizing the funny-money operation as a way to get more involved, you know what I mean? The business they have with the Heathens is an exclusive arrangement that goes all the way to the top. I really don't know much about it.”

“You have DeAngelo's ear. Aren't you related to him?”

“No. My father was a friend of his. That's all.”

“Don't you screw his daughter?”

I bristled at that, too. “No. We've gone out a few times. We're good friends.” I may be a diminutive man, but I had a ferocious temper. I could fight as well as any of those biker bastards. When I was twenty-six, I bit off some shithead's ear when we got into it. I've never killed anyone—not yet—but I had respect. Gabriel wasn't giving me any and it was starting to piss me off.

“You talk to DeAngelo,” he said, “and tell him the Heathens have to stay out of our territory. And the price for the counterfeit money has to be so sweet it'll melt in my mouth.”

“Or—?”

“Or Los Serpientes will cause some trouble for Casazza. We know all the routes the Heathens take when they do runs. I'd hate for any of those guns to get lost.”

I thought I'd throw the guy a bone, so I told him about Casazza's new guys that were handling the gun sales. Faretti and Capri.

Gabriel thanked me for that information. “I thought someone new was in charge, but I didn't know who.”

“I don't like them, either, Carlos, but what can I do about it?”

“
Talk to DeAngelo
.”

I shrugged and agreed to pass on the message. Then we both stood and shook hands, although at that moment I hated the guy. I glanced at the two pit bulls, who stared at me as if I was their next meal.

Boone was admiring a Harley-Davidson that a Serpent had on display. It was from the 1940s and was in like-new condition. Boone looked up and said, “How would you like to have this between your legs, boss?”

I laughed and said, “I already have a hot rod between my legs.” That made all the Mexicans around us laugh, too. They talked more in Spanish, this time with good nature.

As we drove away in the Lincoln, Boone asked how it went. I said it was all right, but I had to talk to Casazza. It could wait, though. On the ride home, I thought about that beautiful girl in New York. Judy Cooper. We had a great time. I figured I should give her a call soon, so she wouldn't think I was some kind of jerk, but that was really not my style. Leo Kelly had a reputation for loving them and leaving them, and it was intentional. If that was the definition of a playboy, then so be it. I didn't like the entanglements of a serious relationship, but I loved the opening moves. But with Judy there was something different. She had a lot of that small-town Texas girl thing that pervaded her personality, and it was sexy as hell. But while on the surface she was an energetic, smart, and friendly girl, behind those bewitching eyes was an anger and pain I couldn't put my finger on. I couldn't explain it, except that when she talked about herself, I felt she was holding back details. As if she had some big secret in her past. She was definitely street-smart, and I didn't think she would put up with any bullshit. I could tell she knew something about the underworld. Maybe it was because she lived on the Lower East Side
and worked in a sleazy gym, and she'd met such characters. She was certainly passionate in bed. A wildcat, in fact.

She was the opposite of Maria DeAngelo. That last date with Maria at Disneyland was fun, but she could be a stuck-up bitch. She always wanted this or that. Money was nothing to her, because she's always had it on a silver platter. I wondered if I'd ever get her in the sack. She was awfully attentive toward me, and we kissed a lot, but she shrunk away when I tried to go farther. That could change with time, and, of course, she was
rich
and DeAngelo was her father. That was as attractive as she was physically.

If I had a choice between the two, whom would I pick? Judy or Maria? Well, I didn't know if I'd see Judy again. I doubted she was going to move to L.A., so why was I even thinking about her? It was a waste of brain cells. There was no way I was hung up on her.

Right?

Women. Sometimes I thought they were from another planet.

1961

A
PRIL
20, 1961

I can't believe I'm writing this on a train to Chicago. Yes, dear diary, I'm on the
20th Century Limited
, from Grand Central Station, and I'll arrive sometime late tomorrow. Then I change to the
Super Chief
to Los Angeles. That will take two and a half days.

It's all so terrible. My life is completely upended. I've been in tears for most of the morning and a lot of passengers stare at me until I look at them, and then they quickly avert their eyes. One woman asked me if I was all right, and I just snapped, “No!” I didn't mean to be unfriendly, but I didn't feel like being sociable. I'll have to sleep in my seat tonight, but I think when I get to Chicago I'll pay the extra money for a sleeper car on the
Super Chief
.

My hell began when I slipped through my window last night as the Stiletto, ran across the rooftops, and slid down the telephone pole to 2nd Street. My ankle still hurt a lot, but it didn't prevent me from going out. It was taped tightly. I headed east toward Alphabet City. I was so upset about what happened to Clark, I knew if I encountered Kraig and his hoodlums, no one would be able to hold me back. Kraig needed to be taught a lesson.

There was the usual number of people on the sidewalks. If someone
was in my way, I diverted around them and kept running. As I crossed 1st Avenue, I heard someone yell, “Go, Stiletto!”

The trouble started when I got to Avenue A. As I sprinted across the intersection, a police car happened to be on 2nd, heading west on the one-way street directly toward me. I didn't realize it was a patrol car until I had completely crossed the intersection and was a good twenty yards east of the avenue. The red-and-blue lights flashed on and the siren beeped.
Uh-oh
, I thought, but I figured I could run right past them. They were heading in the opposite direction and wouldn't be able to turn the car around to chase me. So that's what I did. I shot along the side of the car just as it stopped and two policemen stepped out.

“Halt!” one shouted. I kept going and didn't look back, but I heard them return to the vehicle and speed toward Avenue A to turn left. They'd probably hook another left on Houston Street, head east, and try to intercept me at Avenue B. But I was faster. I had already crossed the intersection by the time they turned the corner of Houston and B. By then I knew my plan to find Kraig would have to be aborted. I was on his block, but with the cops after me, it was best for me to hide. I didn't think the patrol car would turn onto 2nd because it was a narrow one-way street going against them, but they
did
. A taxicab had to swerve to the side to avoid being hit, but it still collided with a car parked at the curb.