CHAPTER 2
Outside the corporation in the underground parking garage, the Headman was greeted by his similarly well-dressed chauffeur, who opened the right rear passenger door of an exquisite, black Bugatti Royale. The chauffeur upon closing his door, then walked around front to take his own seat as the driver. Once he started the car and began to drive away, he looked at his passenger’s reflection in the rearview mirror.
“How did everything go boss? Did he take the deal man?”
The driver’s accent put some extra emphasis on the “A” in man betraying his Jamaican upbringing. His passenger’s face, however, revealed little of the recent business proposal.
“Come on boss, are you going to leave me guessing?”
The chauffeur was a bit younger in years but also had a ponytail, although his hair and complexion was a bit darker indicating the mixed lineage of his parents. The lines of a shoulder holster were clearly visible through his top coat as he did little to conceal it, and even though it was still dark out, he wore a pair of dark, expensive, designer sunglasses.
“Relax, Gristle, let’s just say that the good doctor made the correct decision. And should he not hold up his end of the bargain-- there will be swift and drastic repercussions. I highly doubt there is any problems. He seems to be an intelligent man.”
The Headman took a long, deep, final puff, then extinguished his homemade cigar in the center ashtray.
“Oh, how I love the fact that old cars still have actual ashtrays. None of these fake cigarette lighters and spare change holders. This car was built back when cars were still cars.”
Gristle nodded in agreement, as he too appreciated the luxury on the automobile he was in charge of driving.
“Take me back to our New Jersey compound. I need to make some private phone calls. The airwaves here have---how shall I say it, too many ears.” His chauffeur once again nodded in understanding while flipping on the turn signal in order to merge onto I-95 South
The well-dressed gentlemen stroked the sparse hairs on his chin as he struck a rather pensive pose.
“I believe our next shipment isn’t due in for another two weeks. Check in with your contacts in Homeland Security and find out when we can expect our goods. In the meantime, instruct a pair of Headhunters to keep watch over our warehouse on the pier in order to make sure that there are no unwanted visitors snooping around. I also need you to run a shipment out to ‘the Samhain’ in the Pine Barrens. There are a couple of prospective buyers for our new product and the southern exposure will only further expand our hold on the state.”
“With pleasure Sir. Do you want me to meet up with Raul and Veritax as well? They’ve also been requesting some more Spark and of our specially blended opiates for distribution.”
Gristle continued to drive, while eagerly awaiting the reply.
“Hold up until you hear back from me. I don’t fully trust either one of those two. If anything, see what else you can dig up on their pasts and whether or not I can bring them fully into the fold. But enough talk, for now, I have many other important matters in need of my personal attention at the moment, and I need some time to think.”
With that, the Headman elevated the electric, soundproof privacy divider shutting himself off from the front of the car. There would be no conversation between the two men for the next hour and a half of the ride. The expensive car eventually navigated to the streets of Irvington, a ghetto town where it seemed more than a bit out of place. The Bugatti caught the eye of several of the local street thugs as it stopped for a red light on the corner of Springfield Avenue and 21st Street.
Seeing an opportunity to score a sweet ride, a group of three hoodlums darted with guns in hand into the intersection. Before the unruly gang could even get within range to hold the car up, they were surrounded by a dozen or so armored soldiers wearing Kevlar vests with a solitary spiked shoulder pad and donning full-face-concealing, mirrored helmets, who had emerged from the surrounding buildings to flank the car. Each of the soldiers wielded a sawed-off shotgun equipped with a silencer and did not hesitate to aim them at the unfortunate trio.
“Whoah! Whoah! We don’t want any problems,” the lead thug offered up upon seeing the assembled group. “We just wanted to get a better look at the wheels, Holmes!”
The driver noticing the commotion just outside put the car into park, knocked three times on the dividing glass and exited the vehicle in order to open the right rear door. The Headman emerged still wearing his bandit-style mask that concealed the area around his eyes and nose. In his right hand, he brandished a gold-plated Beretta. He was immediately flanked by three well-armored soldiers who dropped back into formation on his right, left and rear. He confidently strolled in the direction of his would-be carjackers.
“Is there a problem boys?”
The three thugs did not know what to do after realizing whose car it was that they had just tried to hijack, although they should have known better just based upon the sheer opulence of the ride.
“No, we’re sorry Mr. Headman, sir. I swear we didn’t know it was you! Sweet wheels though man!”
They smiled wryly as they tried to backpedal their way out of the situation. Holding up their hands in a non-threatening posture, they began to take a few steps back in the direction from which they had come. The drug overlord seemed unconvinced and delivered his response from between his heavily armed guards.
“No, I’m sure you didn’t, but you’ll never make that mistake again. Ventilate them, boys!”
The three men screamed in protest, but their cries were quickly extinguished by a barrage of silenced shotgun rounds. In a matter of a few short seconds, the three unfortunate gangbangers lay dead in the street.
“Should we dispose of the bodies boss?” The lead Headhunter inquired.
“No, Alpha, leave them right where they are so that the rest of the community knows that any form of violence towards us, even accidental, will not be tolerated. Be sure to search the bodies though and make certain that there is some incriminating evidence to be found by the authorities linking them elsewhere, then have the stormtroopers return to their posts.”
The well-dressed man spun around on the toes of his expensive shoes and returned to the security of his exorbitant vehicle. His chauffeur promptly closed the door after he entered, and resumed his role as the driver. They proceeded through the now green traffic light and traveled four additional blocks before eventually turning left. About half a mile up the road, the antique automobile turned into an underground parking garage located beneath Tía Marías Grosería and El Cine. The Jamaican born Mr. Rogers produced a clearance card which he swiped at an electronic scanner allowing him to drive through what appeared to be a gated area located at the far left end of the garage. Once through, the car drove onto an elevator and was carried to a secret lower level. The Bugatti pulled off the elevator and parked in a spot labeled “One.” After turning off the car and exiting, Gristle opened the rear door allowing his boss to exit.
“Thank you Danimal. Please let me know as soon as you get any of the information I inquired about. That will be all for now.”
The Headman waved his hand in a rather dismissive fashion as he unlocked a doorway on the left. Once inside, he activated the locks, then removed his jacket and mask before sitting down on a comfortable black and white zebra-striped leather couch. He flipped open the screen of his personal laptop, logged on, then clicked on the icon to activate a video conferencing program. Before initiating his call, he checked the clock on the wall and calculated the local time in California. Satisfied that his mother would still be awake, he clicked on the connect icon. The line trilled for a moment and an older woman with gray hair and sunken eyes suddenly appeared on the screen. She was sitting on a bed next to a much younger, Hispanic woman. The Headman recognized her as the regular live-in nurse that he had hired to tend to his mother’s medical needs.
“How have you been? I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier, but I got a little tied up at work.” The older woman’s face didn’t seem to recognize him at first but then contorted up into a huge smile.
“Oh! My dear Milo, no need to apologize. I know that your job keeps you very busy son. Will you and Violet be joining me for dinner tomorrow? You know that girl of yours is really a keeper!”
“Momma, how many times do I have to tell you this? Violet won’t be joining us for dinner any time---”
He started to get angry, but then he remembered the dementia his mom had been suffering from as of late. The doctors said it was still early in her diagnosis, but they could not predict how long it would be before she failed to remember any of her family or friends. As it was now, whenever he called or stopped by, she addressed him by his dead brother’s name. Did she even know who he was anymore? He broke away from his personal thoughts and continued to smile at his mother.
“Of course Violet and I will be over for dinner tomorrow. Will you be making your world-famous pot roast? You know how much we enjoy it. That and your delicious broccoli casserole.”
The whole conversation was a sham. In two hours, she would forget that he even called, but that didn’t in any way change the fact that he could never abandon his mother. Their bond was far too strong. She had been there for him throughout everything in his life. He gave the woman a lot of credit for being able to raise him, his brother and two sisters after his deadbeat of a dad deserted them all those years ago. And for what reason? Because his sister had autism? Because mom gained some weight? No, he left because he was nothing more than a humongous waste of life. He had been little more than an abusive, philandering, misogynistic alcoholic for most of his life. That’s all he ever was. His mother was an absolute angel and didn’t deserve the life she had been handed. As far as he was concerned, all his dad had ever done was donate the sperm needed to create his family. Beyond that, the man didn’t matter. One day, however, he vowed that he would track him down, if that worthless piece of excrement still drew breath, and put a bullet in his head. One day. He forcefully threw the glass ashtray in front of him across the room, where it shattered against the wall. Oh, how he despised the man!
“What was that sound, Milo?”
“It was nothing mom. I think Violet dropped one of the dishes. So Momma, what else did you do today? Did you watch your soap opera?”
It amazed him how he could switch his emotions from rage to love so effortlessly. Maybe he wasn’t the sociopath that others accused him of being because he still felt, he could still empathize.
“Oh Milo, It was insane! There was a terrible triple murder today. Three of the main characters were shot dead, right in the middle of Springfield Avenue. The police were called in to investigate, but they left me hanging and didn’t tell me who did it. Do you know who committed the crime, Milo?”
The Headman realized then, that she had once again confused her soap opera with the ten o’clock news. Funny how it hadn’t even been an hour since the street execution, and already it was being broadcast on the evening news on the other side of the nation. It warmed his heart to know that the actions of his organization had garnered so much attention, and so quickly. Clearly, the authorities were not stupid, they wouldn’t think the triple homicide was anything other than a street assassination between rival drug gangs, but why would his mother even bring it up? Something about the whole interaction struck him as odd.
“Oh I don’t know mom, I was at the supermarket during today’s episode and didn’t get to watch the DVR recording yet. I’ll do that later. We can discuss our theories over dinner tomorrow.”
The lies just continued to flow out of his mouth like a running river. At first, it was difficult for him, but as her condition worsened over the past several weeks, it proved to be a necessary evil. He truly loved his mother and simply wished for the times when she was still lucid and had her memories intact, but those days seemed long gone now. The only way he could deal with her current situation was by treating it as if it didn’t exist. She wasn’t going to remember anything he said anyway so, the least he could do was continue to act like everything was normal.
“OK Milo, Momma is feeling a little tired. What time can I expect you and Violet to be by tomorrow? I wouldn’t want the food to be cold when you get here.”
“I’ll, I mean, we’ll be by around 1:30. Until then sleep well. I love you, Momma.”
“I love you too, son.”
“Lucia?”
The computer screen turned to face the other side of the room a few seconds later and then went blank as his mother’s live-in health assistant disconnected their visual call. He sat and pondered the situation for a few moments. It bothered him that his mother didn’t recognize him. What bothered him more was that she didn’t even realize his brother and sister-in-law had been dead for close to three years. This further asserted the fact that her dementia was progressing, and at a rather alarming rate. Violet had always been his mother’s favorite, outside the family member, and she was ecstatic when Milo had asked her to marry him all those years ago. Now perhaps, her mind was holding onto that happy memory instead of, the awful tragedy that had befallen the two.
Mom had always wished that he too would someday find a girl just as special, but the Headman never did, nor did he ever desire that lifestyle. He was happy doing things the way he was and besides, where were his brother and sister-in-law now? Oh yeah, that’s right, they were both dead. Six feet under pushing up daisies at Saint Michael's. All because some hopped up psychotic with a gun had mugged them in an alley outside of the theatre district in New York and his brother tried to be a hero. So, for all that perfect life and love, the two of them were not even here to enjoy it. It was all a terrible waste, and that’s why he was quite content being alone. Occasionally, he would bring home some exquisite, young woman to spend the night, but he never allowed it to be anything more than a short distraction from his work.
He leaned forward in order to open a rather ornate humidor located on the coffee table in front of him. Upon doing so, he withdrew a rather expensive imported Cuban cigar. After closer inspection and taking in a deep appreciation of its aroma, he ignited the end. He inhaled deeply and savored the flavor and the feeling that the thick smoke produced in him. He felt dragon-like as the trails of smoke exited his nostrils and began to fill up the room. He would enjoy this special cigar for at least thirty more minutes and then fall fast asleep.
The next morning he was up early and focused once more on the task at hand. Once again, he opened the video conferencing software on his laptop. Only this time, he clicked on the icon to activate a cloaking beacon. He secured his bandit-like mask and placed a wide-brimmed fedora on the top of his head. Only then, did he proceed with the call.
The line trilled once, twice and then a third time before a rather anxious looking middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a large, bulbous nose appeared on the monitor. He seemed frazzled and bleary-eyed at first, but then managed to string together a coherent sentence.
“Well hello Mr. Headman, I wasn’t expecting your call today. And so--- early to say the least.” The drug lord laughed to himself briefly forgetting the difference in the time zones.
“No, I’m sure you weren’t, but alas, here I am. Do you have a recollection of the previous matter we discussed?”
“Of course I do sir. Is it a done deal?”
“Soon to be. All I need from you now is to reactivate the company patents and to revoke the sanctions and warnings printed on his previous products. Oh, and I will need them repackaged and restocked for sale with a new name within the week. Can you get that accomplished?”
“Umm… well, that is a rather short window of operation sir,” the rat-like man stuttered.
“What if I threw in not having your wife and daughter murdered in a carjacking later this afternoon?”
The Headman leaned into the screen to make his grim expression all the more noticeable. After a few tense moments, he laughed aloud breaking the awkward silence. The man on the other side of the screen forced himself to laugh as well, although not as heartily.
“I went to your daughter’s baptism for Christ’s sake! Can you get it done by then or not? If you can, I’ll sweeten the pot a bit with an extra 25K to take the family on a nice vacation. Have you taken the children to Disney World yet?”
The middle-aged, balding man took a deep, steadying breath and began to relax, he even managed a genuine semi-smile. The Headman could see the wheels turning in the adjuster’s head as he paused before tendering his response.
“I’ll have to make a couple phone calls and cash in a few favors, but I should be able to get it done. No worries. I assume it will be the usual form of payment?”
“But, of course. Direct deposit from an untraceable source. I look forward to speaking with you real soon. Kiss your wife and hug the children for me. You and I will have to grab dinner and drinks soon.” Maurice politely smiled and nodded before he ended the video call.
The drug kingpin leaned back in his comfortable chair, this time lighting one of his specially-blended cigars, and took a good, long drag. Phase one of his plan would soon be complete. If all went according to plan, he would soon be positioned as one of, if not the, biggest player in the North American illegal drug market.
