Something Else (1)
Chapter ONE
The dark green ’68 Ford Econoline panel van pulled slowly into the parking lot at 1:00 am and stopped just behind the prefab building. The van cruised the lot and parked, facing the building, next to an old beat-up Chevy pickup. The driver turned the ignition and headlights off. There were only fifteen cars remaining in the lot at this hour, just thirty minutes before the bar closed.
Patrons of the lounge slowly emerged around the corner, walking, some staggering, to the back lot to find their cars. The driver peered through tinted windows, scrutinizing each person closely, waiting for the driver of the pickup to appear.
A white man in his late twenties, dressed in black bellbottom pants and a bright patterned shirt with a blond Afro hair style rounded the corner. He searched his ring of keys for the one that would start the car.
“Get ready. Here comes the asshole.” The driver said to others hidden in the back of the van.
The man reached his car door and dropped his keys on the pavement. As he bent down to pick them up the back doors of the van opened, and two men dressed in all black jumped out. One put his foot to the man’s rear end and shoved him forward so hard his head slammed against the door of the car leaving an obvious dent and stunning the man who crumpled to the ground yelling “What the fuck?”
Both men from the van grabbed the fallen bar patron, one on each arm, pulling him up to a standing position. They turned him round to face the driver of the van, who by this time had joined the group.
The driver smiled at the injured man who was just regaining control of his faculties. “Hey Frankie.” Said the driver. “How you doin’?”
Without waiting for a reply, the driver said “Put him in the van. Tie his hands behind him.”
The man began to struggle with the two handlers, so the driver gave him a roundhouse right to the jaw, which settled him down. Blood began to ooze from the side of his mouth, down his face and onto his polyester shirt. They moved him toward the back of the van, and he stumbled, dragging his white platform shoes on the rocky surface.
Once inside his hands were tied and a rope noose attached to the side of the van was placed over his neck and tightened so he couldn’t move more than a foot.
“Dominic, what did I do?” The man implored, almost crying.
“Shut the fuck up.” The driver said firmly.
“But you got your money. I paid you.”
“I said Shut the fuck up.” Then he turned to one of his men, handing him a red handkerchief saying “Gag him. I don’t want to hear his shit.”
“What about his car?” One of the men said.
“Get his keys and follow us.” The driver replied.
One man stayed in the back of the van with the bound and gagged prisoner while the driver moved forward to the front and the other man went out the back and shut the double doors.
A couple walked, arm-in-arm toward their own cars. They were laughing and appeared focused on each other and didn’t take notice of the van doors closing or the man retrieving the keys from the pavement.
The man with the keys got into the pickup and sat quietly as the couple passed, not yet starting the vehicle. The couple stopped at the driver’s side of a white Datsun 240Z, and the man opened the door for the woman. Before she could get in, he grabbed her arm pulling her close and they kissed passionately. The man had her in a strong embrace, fondling her breast with one hand and holding her waist with the other. Her hands moved up and down on his back then one hand moved toward his crotch.
The driver of the van watched impatiently then said to no one in particular “Get a room, will ya?”
After the titillating encounter the man gave the woman a kiss on the cheek and seated her in the car, then moved to the drivers’ side, entered, and started the car, revving it for effect. Once in gear the driver hit the gas and spun the wheels, kicking up gravel in its wake.
The engines of both the van and the pickup started at the same time. The van moved straight forward and made a U-turn moving toward the street with the car following slowly. Both vehicles proceeded slowly east on Lindbergh with drivers being careful to obey the speed limit. Just ahead the drivers saw two police cars on the side of the road conducting a traffic stop but facing the opposite direction.
The kidnapped man was struggling now and the man attending to him in the back of the van smacked him with an open right hand. It didn’t seem to have much effect, so a second left-handed smack was necessary and seemed to do the trick.
The driver of the van signaled and turned left at the light onto Charbonnier Road. Then it was another fifteen-minute drive through the quiet suburb in the middle of the night to their secluded destination at the end of Ferguson Road in an area called Mo Bottoms. No one would bother them out here. Even the St. Louis County Police, the “County Mounties” as the locals called them, didn’t patrol this area very much. It was an overflow area for the Missouri river. Few people lived there and it was the perfect place to hide a body.
The two vehicles stopped in an opening surrounded by dense plant overgrowth. There was just quiet. The only light came from the headlights of the cars shining into the bushes and the stars overhead. The driver of the van killed the lights and got out, moving to the back of the vehicle. The pickup lights stayed on, illuminating the back of the van. Both drivers converged on the van and one of them opened the doors. The man inside the van untied the noose from the side of the van but left it around the man’s neck, then pushed him toward the open door with some force. The man tripped and almost fell out but was caught by the other two men who stood him upright.
The van driver removed the gag and said “Walk.”
“Where are we? Where are we going?”
“Shut your fucking mouth and walk.”
There was a path leading into the woods just barely visible with the limited light only focused on the back of the van. As the victim was nudged forward the van driver turned on a flashlight that he had brought with him from the van.
The four men followed the path through the woods with the van driver in the lead. One man held the rope with the noose at the end around the other man’s neck ensuring that he wouldn’t try to escape. Some kind of critter scurried off into the bushes causing them to stop and the lead man scanned the area of the sound with the light. They continued their walk down into a ravine as the car lights faded until they couldn’t be seen at all. The only sound was very faint. It could be a stream close by, or maybe a river. That sound got louder as the party moved ahead.
“Stop.” Said the man with the flashlight, turning to face the others. From a sheath attached to his waist band he pulled what looked like a Bowie knife and put it to Frankie’s throat. The highly polished blade glimmered in the moonlight.
“Get on your knees.” Frankie complied with help from the two goons who grabbed him by the arms.
“Dominic. I didn’t do nothing. I paid you. I always pay you. I don’t make you wait. You don’t have to do this. Why are you doing this? I got more money. You can have it. All of it. What do you want? You want my truck? Hey man, don’t kill me.”
“Frankie. You’re right. You paid me. But you been holdin’ out on me.”
“No, man. I wouldn’t do that.”
“You boost a few car stereos and hit a house for a VCR and a TV, and I get half. So, you give me a couple a hundred a week and I say ‘Thanks” because I think that’s all you are good for. Turns out you got more balls than I thought.”
“What do mean, Man?”
“I mean that a little birdie told me that you and another dumbshit buddy heisted a load of Sony Betamax VCRs from an Interstate Freight truck last week coming out of the warehouse. Is that true?”
Frankie hesitated and then Dominic rammed the end of the flashlight into his stomach causing him to gasp and double over. But he was being held by the other two men to brought him back upright immediately.
“Is…that…true?” Dominic asked again slowly.
Frankie nodded but couldn’t speak.
“You know my cousin Jerry?” Dominic asked.
“No.”
“So, Jerry…he’s a Teamster. He drives for Interstate. He calls me up and says that one of their trucks was hit after it left the warehouse in Bridgeton. Two crooks wore Richard Nixon masks so the driver couldn’t identify them. Do you believe it? Richard fucking Nixon. I thought it was funny.
But then I hear there’s hot merchandise on the street that I know nothing about. The perpetrator of the crime got the word out. He told Louie Lavasco, the bouncer at the bar. Louie told his sister. You know Louie’s sister Mary, right? She’s the loudmouth bitch and does hair at that salon in the strip mall across from Cross Keys. She spread it around and now everybody in north county knows that hot electronics can be had for a song. Good news travels fast. Right? You know Anthony Faracci, doncha?”
“Well, yeah. He’s a mechanic. He’s on your crew.”
“Yeah, he works for me. Well, his wife Millie gets her hair done at that salon. She comes home and says she knows where she can get one of them new Sony Betamax machines with a Magnavox TV for cheap. Anthony says to her, “Where might that be?” She says to ask Louie. So, Anthony tells me, and I call Louie, and whadda yah know. Louie says I should ask you. So here we are. Don’t you know by now that nothing moves in north county without me knowing out about it?”
“I’m really sorry man. I was gonna tell you.”
“You might have balls, but you got no brains. So, what was the take?”
After a moment Frankie said, “There were thirty VCRs on the truck.”
“What else was on the truck?”
“Car stereos.”
“What kind? How many?”
“Sanyo 1000. We got twenty of them.”
“And I hear you got TVs too. Right?”
“Yeah, but only ten. Magnavox.”
“So, you got thirty VCR’s, twenty car stereos and ten TV’s…What is all that worth?”
“I don’t know. The Betamax sells for $1,300 in the stores. I thought we could get maybe a grand. The stereos go for about $500 and the same for the TVs. I can’t add that in my head.”
“I can.” Said Dominic. “It’s a lot of fucking money. How were you gonna move that much stuff?”
“I dunno. I thought we’d sit on it for a while and do a little at a time. We didn’t want to attract attention.”
“That’s the only fucking smart thing you’ve said so far.”
“I was gonna cut you in. I wouldn’t stiff you. I only sold one car stereo so far.”
“How much did you get?”
“$300”
“Where is the money?”
“Most of it is in my wallet. I spent some tonight at the bar.”
Dominic reached around and grabbed the wallet out of Frankie’s hip pocket and opened it. He counted the money and said “$232. So, you spent $68 tonight. That’s a lot of beer.”
“We did shots and I bought drinks for a few ladies.”
“Big spender.” Dominic said as he pocketed the money.
“Where did you stash the goods?”
“Some of it is in the truck. I thought I could sell some tonight, but I got cold feet.”
“Where is the rest?”
“In my grandma’s garage.”
“Where does she live?”
“In Blackjack on Parker Road. Just off Old Halls Ferry. I can take you there. You can have it.”
“Your damn right I can have it. All of it.”
“So, you’re not going to kill me?” Frankie asked.
“Not yet.” Dominic replied, then he swung the metal flashlight down across Frankie’s left knee, nearly breaking the bone and eliciting a loud scream.
