Friday, August 12^th

Trent woke up feeling normal. He felt better than normal. He felt good.

“No symptoms today?” Darcey asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “There is a symptom that needs your attention.”

She laughed as he pulled her to him, loving the feel of his lips on hers, his hands touching her.

Later they made a hearty breakfast of steak and eggs and hash browns together. It was starting out as one of Darcey’s “Yes!” days.

Trent and Miles met Christopher at Jess Hickok’s gun shop and shooting range on the south side of the city at mid-morning. Hickok raised an eyebrow when Miles came prancing into the shop in his dramatic style.

“So you want to learn to shoot, young man?” Hickok questioned.

“Yes,” was Miles determined reply.

Hickok sighed.

“All right, then. Come with me.”

For the next half hour Miles blasted away with an assortment of semiautomatics and revolvers in various calibers. At the end of the half hour, Hickok was exasperated.

“I don’t mean to appear parsimonious, young man,” the gun shop owner said, “but you have gone through several boxes of ammunition. This stuff isn’t cheap, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” Miles said. “I can pay for it.”

“That’s actually not the point,” Hickok said. “So far you haven’t hit the target a single time.”

“Not even once?” Miles questioned, disappointment evident in his voice.

“I’m not sure you’ve even hit the wall. Frankly, I don’t know where the bullets have gone.”

“I was so sure I could do it,” Miles said, completely deflated. “Maybe I really am just a silly queen.”

“Hold on, Miles,” Trent said. “You’re no such thing. There’s more than one way to defend yourself.”

He drew Christopher and Hickok into a whispered conversation. Eventually the group appeared to reach agreement. Hickok left the range.

“Trent, I don’t know how I let you talk me into these things,” Christopher said.

Trent cast an amused look at the big cop.

Hickok returned with a shotgun. Not just any shotgun. A Remington twelve gauge Model 870P.

“This is the shotgun used by the FBI,” Hickok said, handing it over to Miles. “It has an eighteen-inch inch barrel, a pistol grip on the buttstock and a flashlight with a toggle switch. You can focus the light on an intruder and it will scare the pants off him. Just be sure to toggle it off quickly so he doesn’t use it to sight in on you.”

Miles held the weapon lovingly.

“Such a pretty toy,” he crooned, stroking it.

“It’s not a toy, Miles,” Trent cautioned. “It’s a very powerful weapon. The good thing about it is you don’t have to aim carefully. Just point and shoot. But don’t forget it’s powerful. If you fire it inside your condo it can take out most of a wall along with any intruder.”

Miles learned to load the weapon with four twelve gauge shells. Then Hickok demonstrated how he could pump one shell into the chamber and add a fifth to the magazine. He showed him how to fire the weapon without breaking his shoulder.

Miles was happy. He marched out of the gun shop with his new weapon over his shoulder looking much like a toy soldier from The Nutcracker.

“I think I might fear for the Marina district,” Christopher said, under his breath.

He and Trent watched Miles march around the parking lot in his version of full military parade.

“I’ve been thinking about Pietro Greco taking over the Rossi Family,” Trent said. “I don’t think there is a Rossi Family anymore. I think it more likely that Greco changed sides.”

Christopher nodded in agreement.

“He’s smarter than Rossi was and tougher. He wouldn’t be as easy to take out.”

“He could have set Rossi up for the hit on the Barons of Lucifer,” Trent pointed out. “Coupled with our computer game that emptied the bank accounts of the three partners, anyone on the inside could figure out that Rossi wouldn’t be around much longer. If Greco’s as smart as you say he is, I’d bet he changed sides.”

Kiettisuk Jetjirawat’s day started off well.

He slept later than usual. The stress of the past few days was beginning to catch up with him. But now that he had successfully eliminated his three partners and was the surviving, therefore inheriting, member of the tontine, he thought himself entitled to some relaxation.

He thought he would take the Ruthai out for a few days at sea. Maybe he would look over the latest crop of fresh young girls he had just brought into the country. There might be one or two who would be pleasant company.

Then Pietro Greco arrived.

Rossi’s former underboss now had freedom to come and go as he pleased at Kiettisuk’s headquarters building in Little Saigon. The guards met him with friendly greetings, never thinking to challenge his movements.

This morning he arrived carrying a large valise. It attracted no attention. There had been so many attorneys in and out, all carrying similar containers. All filled with documents beyond the understanding of the Thai guards.

There were no guards outside Kiettisuk Jetjirawat’s penthouse suite. With Rossi, the Mad Dutchman, and Abdul out of the way, it wasn’t thought necessary.

“Sawatedee-khap, Pietro,” Kiettisuk greeted Greco.

“Good morning, Kiettisuk,” Pietro replied in English rather than the Thai greeting.

“Might I offer you a cup of jasmine tea?”

“Yes, thank you, Kiettisuk.”

“It has been a very eventful few days,” Kiettisuk Jetjirawat said as he poured tea. “I am grateful for your support, Pietro. Now I intend to seek relief from the stress we have all endured. I’m thinking of taking the Ruthai to sea for a few days. Perhaps you would like to accompany me? I’ve recently brought in a group of new girls. We’re entitled to indulge ourselves after our success.”

“Unfortunately the Ruthai won’t be available for a few days, Kiettisuk,” Pietro replied.

“Oh? And why not?”

“Captain Place has taken it to dry dock,” Pietro explained, “for some needed work.”

“I see,” Kiettisuk said, speaking slowly. “Where is he having this work done? Why wasn’t I told of this? Who authorized it?”

“He took it to a shipyard owned by a man who knows how to be discreet,” Pietro said. “You weren’t told because we wanted to surprise you. And as to who authorized it, Captain Place and I did.”

Pietro opened the large valise as he spoke.

Kiettisuk felt his eye twitching. The superstitious Thai believed that if his right eye twitched, it was a sign that something bad was about to happen. If his left eye twitched, something pleasant was approaching.

His right eye was twitching.

Pietro Greco drove away in the dark SUV. The valise secured under the dashboard on the passenger side held, in addition to his Heckler & Koch submachine gun, a large sum of money. Around $750,000, he approximated. He had forced Kiettisuk Jetjirawat to open his safe before he killed him.

Kiettisuk also saw the wisdom in signing a bill of sale for the Ruthai. Captain Place now owned the vessel free and clear. And legally.

Pietro knew the gang leaders all kept a healthy supply of contingency cash on hand. Rossi’s safe had yielded only $500,000. Fortunately he knew where to find the key to the late don’s safe deposit box. He emptied it of $1 million.

With over $2 million in his late bosses’ money, tax free, plus funds he had set aside himself, he was well fixed to move into retirement. Of course, he would pay Captain Place $100,000 for passage to wherever the former underboss wanted to go.

The captain was also the new owner of the yacht, which was even now having its name changed. He wasn’t sure what Place had decided to call the yacht. He was sure that with $100,000 in cash, accompanied by ownership of an $8 million yacht, the captain would be happy.

Pietro had begun preparing a new identity for himself some time ago. Within a week he would have a new Social Security number, passport, driver’s license. A new name.

He liked the name he had chosen for the next chapter in his life. It was far removed from his previous life.

It didn’t take long for Christopher and Trent to learn the fate of Kiettisuk Jetjirawat. The big cop’s phone rang as they were leaving the gun shop. Kiettisuk’s chef had called 9-1-1when he discovered his former boss’ body.

Trent dropped Miles at his condo. He skipped into the building happily clutching his new “toy.” Trent promised to visit soon to teach him to clean and care for the shotgun.

The usual security guards at Spitting Cobra headquarters were not in sight. The armed men melted away when they realized their leader had been assassinated.

Christopher was in Kiettisuk’s apartment. He had questioned the chef. The man was hysterical. He was working in the kitchen. He didn’t even know someone had entered the apartment. He had heard no voices. No sound of any kind.

Kiettisuk had ordered a late breakfast. The chef discovered the body when he came in to inquire whether his boss wanted lunch.

This time Christopher pointed out the open and emptied safe to Trent.

“Whoever did this was as familiar with Kiettisuk’s headquarters as the person who carried out the hit on Rossi,” he said.

“I’m telling you, Christopher,” Trent responded, “It’s the same man. Pietro Greco changed sides.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” the cop said. “And now he’s changed sides again.”

“Now he’s working strictly for himself.”

“You know he has a good chance of making a clean getaway,” Christopher said. “I don’t know where to begin looking for him. He has a house just down the road from the Rossi compound. We’ve gone through it. There’s nothing there. He lived alone. He left not even a ticket stub to a movie theater.”

“We might never find Greco,” Trent said. “But we accomplished what we set out to accomplish. The fiduciaria no longer exists. The Rossi Family, Spitting Cobra, the Barons of Lucifer and the Scourge are either completely collapsed or so weakened it will be decades before they will be a danger again.”

“And Rossi’s alliance had already weakened the other major gangs in this part of the country,” Christopher added. “We might have a chance to get a little control over organized crime in this city.”

Police Chief Charles Marvin was not naïve. He understood crime would always be with them. It was part of the human experience.

At least for one day he was feeling victorious. He was at first skeptical of Operation Den of Snakes when Captain Albright and Sergeant Booth proposed it. It was complicated, risky, and unpredictable. And it worked.

Now he had a phone call to make. He hated to ruin her weekend but he feared that once news of all that had occurred became public she would run.

He nodded to the two uniformed officers standing in his doorway. As they left the room, he dialed her number.

“Amanda,” he said when she answered, “please come down to my office.”

Deputy Chief Amanda Justice was frozen with fear. Don Rossi hadn’t answered her calls all week. She knew it was over for her. She couldn’t let them put her in jail. She wouldn’t survive it.

She considered briefly the service weapon holstered on her hip. But no, she couldn’t do that. She didn’t have the courage for it. For now all she could do was get out of this building. She would figure out an escape plan later.

She learned she didn’t have that option either when she opened her office door. The two uniformed officers were respectful.

“May we accompany you to Chief Marvin’s office, Deputy Chief Justice?” one of them asked, politely as he removed her weapon from its holster.

Amanda suddenly felt weak. She walked on shaky legs toward the chief’s office, an officer on either side of her.

Technology, specifically the Internet, made it easier for Jimmy Shadow to be kept informed. Information had already been received via burst transmissions regarding the death of Jonathan Rossi and the collapse of Rossi’s fiduciaria. Jimmy had also learned of the destruction of the entire Rossi Family, the Barons of Lucifer, and the Scourge. Now came word that Spitting Cobra was also neutralized.

These events, happening one on top of the other, convinced Jimmy the decision to ignore Rossi’s last request for help was the correct one. Jimmy would not have wanted to be caught up in the chaos resulting from Rossi’s over reach.

Now Steve Burgess was the object of Jimmy’s attention. Sources had responded quickly. Burgess was still in town. He was still a danger.

Jimmy Shadow was a greater danger.

Burgess didn’t know that Jimmy was watching him.

On the terrace of the Nob Hill condo, Trent sipped Rebel Yell bourbon on the rocks; Darcey enjoyed a Napa Valley Chardonnay.

Darcey had thawed some pulled pork saved from an earlier, more extravagant dinner. With a little onion, shredded cabbage, cheese, and pinto beans, the pork made excellent tacos.