Assistant DA Turbow and Johnny Megill, the Chief of Organized Crime Control, delivered the stunning news to Goldbaum. The District Attorney pursed his lips but said nothing. He rose slowly from his chair, finally speaking in a restrained manner,
“Disappointing, gentlemen. Deeply disappointing.” He crinkled his brow and sat back down, forcing the chair to roll back.
Megill cleared his throat, “I’m as disappointed as you are, these guys should have known better, they’re veterans for Christ sakes.”
“Yeah, well they acted like God damn rookies, letting him out of their sight? You can’t make this shit up…”
Goldbaum pushed him palm forward, “May I assume we are doing all we can to, ah, retrieve him?”
The Chief replied, “I got three additional details already down there and we’ve got an all-points bulletin for Virginia, Pa., Delaware…”
“We’ve must be careful here,” The DA got up and closed the blinds, “no leaks about this. Am I clear?”
“Sure but…”
Goldbaum glared, “No buts, no excuses, no more cock ups! This is a disgrace! If the press gets wind of these they’ll make us out to be clowns. So keep it quiet. Understood?”
His visitors nodded.
“Now, where do we think he’s headed?”
Apsco was tipped off about Tommy’s disappearance before Goldbaum was told but kept Yuri in the dark. He didn’t want his client sending another posse on the hunt. As far as he was concerned the best thing for Yuri’s case would be for the critical witness to vanish permanently. As the central evidence in the case, their inability to present his direct testimony would have the added benefit of the jury seeing how dysfunctional the prosecutors were. Apsco could taste another victory over Goldbaum and knew this would be the sweetest yet.
Shitting enough bricks to build a bank, I sucked my chest in and zipped up my jacket. I quickly made sure no bulges were showing and pulled into the empty lane. Two uniformed officers were by the booth as sweat dripped from my underarms. I was tempted to hit the gas as I approached the booth, when an agent removed the orange cone and spoke,
“Passport.”
I held my breath and brought the bogus Canadian document I’d bought into view but instead of taking the passport he waved me through. I was stunned, pausing as the officer said, “Let’s get a move on, everyone wants to get to work.”
Glancing in the rear view mirror, I saw a long line of cars behind me, realizing I was just the first car in a lane that just opened. Pulling away, I unzipped my jacket and tried to unglue the sweat soaked shirt from my back.
I’d never been north of the border, a little too cold for my blood, and was edgy as I closed in on my goal.
It was a straight run into Toronto on a truck filled, six lane pipeline. In just under five hours the sky line of the city, punctuated by a needle like building, appeared on the horizon. Anxious to dump the car, I headed to the airport. I parked in a long term lot, transferred the cash into the duffel bag and took a shuttle bus to the terminal where I rode a courtesy bus to a Days Inn.
In the morning, I hopped off the shuttle bus at Toronto Airport and headed to the Air Canada’s display board. Checking the departure times for international flights, I focused on countries in the British Commonwealth. Canada was a member and other members hardly ever gave each other’s citizens a hard time I was told. I zeroed in on England, The British Virgin Islands and even Australia and New Zealand. Anything but India; if something went wrong I wasn’t going spend any time in one of their prisons.
London sounded good but the main thing was getting out of Canada. I focused on the daily flights for London, Tortola and as an outside shot, Sydney. Checking the times for flights to Montreal, I bought a ticket for a departure leaving an hour before the London flight. Then I bought some duty free goods and headed for the gate.
The London gate area was half full and I scanned the waiting passengers. I spent almost an hour making my decision and with fifteen minutes before the Montreal flight was to begin boarding, made my move.
I plopped down with my bags next to a twenty something year old who nodded in acknowledgement then went back to his car magazine.
“You traveling alone, like me?”
He said, “Yeah, my dad lives in London.”
I extended my hand, “My name’s Jacob.”
“Paul, Nice to meet you Jacob.”
“Parents split?”
He nodded.
“Me too, I know the drill man, it’s a bitch.”
“Yeah, been like two years since he moved.”
“If they don’t get along, it’s probably better. When my dad moved out my mom adjusted, she did well till he died.”
“Sorry to hear.”
“Well anyway now I’m in the same boat.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well you see, me and my wife, we split up but she’s coming after me, wants every penny I got.”
“They can do that?”
“Yeah, well she caught me with another chick and my lawyer says the judge is gonna crush me.”
“Oh boy that sucks.”
“Tell me about it. That’s why I’m taking off.”
“You’re running away?”
I put my finger to my lips and leaned in, “Look you want to make a quick two thousand dollars?”
He moved back, “I, I don’t wanna get involved, sorry.”
“Listen, it’s easy.” I pulled out my boarding pass for Montreal. “I’ll give you this and you take this flight to Montreal. Just give me your ticket for this London flight and I’ll give you two grand, cash.”
“I donno about this, I could get in trouble…”
“What trouble? You just took a flight to Montreal.”
“My dad’s expecting me though.”
“Tell him you didn’t feel good and you’ll leave tomorrow.”
“But I’d have to get another ticket, I paid for it and my bags are checked and…”
I leaned in and fanned a wad of cash, “Look, here’s five grand man. It’ll cover your tickets with a ton to spare. Don’t worry about your bags the airline will hold ‘em.”
He stared straight ahead.
“Come on man, you’d be helping me out and making easy money. What’d ya say?”
“Can you make it six thousand?”
“Let’s move it, the Montreal flight is boarding.”
I pressed the cash in his hand and grabbed his ticket as we hustled to the gate. I hung to make sure the plane was in the air then scooted back to board the London flight. Shit, this was easy I thought as I settled into row twenty eight.
I had trouble staying awake as the ferry to Calais France made its way across the English Channel and was fast asleep when we docked. I wished I either hadn’t drunk so much on the flight or had a greenie to keep me awake. As I walked off the ferry the thought of making contact with my family gave me a boost.
I changed some cash into Francs and bought a calling card. It took me six tries to get an operator who spoke enough English on the pay phone and I had to repeat the number of a distant Italian cousin three times before I was connected and passed a message.
Ten minutes late the pay phone jingled and Donna’s sweet voice nearly brought me to tears,
“How you doing? How’s my boy?”
“Oh Tommy…“ Donna sobbed.
“Ahem, cool it.”
“Okay, okay. Yeah, yeah he’s doing great, misses you though.”
“Soon enough baby, soon enough.”
“I miss you so much.”
“It’s gonna work out, finally it’s gonna work out for us.”
“You think so?”
“Damn right. Look, we gotta be careful here. I’ll call in a coupla days.”
Using Euro Rail to move into Italy was another good idea, I had been against trains but my Sicilian contacts were right; it was filled with tourists and no document checks were made at crossings. I was met in the Cinque Terra area and given Italian identity papers by a quiet man called Caserto. After I handed over twenty thousand dollars we headed for Rome.
Arriving at the giant rail terminal in Rome Caserto handed me off to a close friend of my mother’s sister. Gianfranco had a bushy moustache and gold front tooth that glinted in the sun. A pleasant, laid back man, he drove like a lunatic, while speaking good English non-stop.
I clung to the door handle as we made the five hour drive to an area called Puglia. We headed south on roads lined with cypress trees, to the heel of Italy, into the seaside resort area of Brindisi. It was nearing the end of the tourist season and after we feasted on seafood I was given a room in the small hotel, Amatobene. Between the wine and traveling, I collapsed on the bed, wriggled out of my wrinkled clothes and slept like little Albert.
In the morning Gianfranco collected his thirty grand fee and took me for a skimpy breakfast and some shopping. Pushing me into clothes I’d never wear in New York, he helped me to blend in. Then he took me to two restaurants, introducing me to the families that owned them and told me I was safe with them. Afterwards we walked down to the tourist filled promenade where Gianfranco told three cafes that I was an old family friend staying in town for a few weeks and was on his tab.
Over a two hour lunch on the shimmering Adriatic Sea, Gianfranco reminded me to lay low and that he’d be back at the end of season and take me to a place called Alberrobello, where I’d wait out the winter.
A tourist destination, Brindisi was a good place to hide and I felt that the money I spent to disappear was well worth it. I made sure to run and swim to combat the wine, food and boredom as the days melted away. In a sort of paradise but isolated I was thankful when my bushy-mustached contact arrived back in town.
We piled into his Fiat Avanti and headed for Alberrobello. Gianfranco described it as a cozy town of stone domed homes that were rented for the summer but because they had no heat, laid empty for five months in winter. Gianfranco said he’d gotten it stocked up with provisions, including a cassette tape course on Italian, to last the winter and that when spring came I’d be able to go to Sicily.
The curvy streets were desolate and we winded our way through town, stopping at a circular, stone house with a cone roof. He showed me around what was basically a one room hut and handed me a number to reach him in case of an emergency. Gianfranco reminded me to keep to myself, practice my Italian and stay in the house as much as possible. Then he gave me a Berretta pistol, kissed me on both cheeks and melted away.
Alone, the months dragged on. Cooking, keeping warm and practicing my Italian only ate up a tiny part of the day, so to keep from going stir crazy in the damp hut, I drank a ton of wine and slept. Keeping a limited to a measly call every three weeks to my family was tough. Hearing my son babbling did nothing but anger me. I was missing seeing him grow and vowed to make-up for lost time.
Spring began to show its presence and my impatience. Then on bright morning I heard Gianfrano’s Fiat slid to a halt outside the door. Now I knew how the guys who did time felt like. I gathered my things and we left for Sicily.
I never felt better being reunited with my family. Unsure whether it was the relief from running or a change in me, I reveled in their presence. The weeks passed into months and slowly we altered our routines from strolls on quiet beaches and cafes in small town squares to going out in plain sight. Sicily just felt safe, the people were tight and outsiders, meaning anything but an Italian, weren’t welcome.
Alberto flourished but I was worried he’d become just a little too Italian for me. Donna and my mother were content in the simpler life the island ran on but I wasn’t totally sold. One thing was sure that the money I had left went a heck of a lot further than it did in New York and that took some pressure off. All in all, though I got bored often I thought I was pretty happy.
Mom watched Alberto as Donna and I went with a cousin, just back from New York, for drinks at a night club on the Ionian Sea. I was itching to get back to the states and get back to earning. We had a good time and headed home at three in the morning. I saw Donna in, then told her I was going to town to make a call.
The doors of the elevator opened on eleven and I exited, balancing my Daily News, bagel and coffee. I called out good mornings as I made my way to the new fax machine. I grabbed the curly papers that came in overnight, tucked them under my arm and went to my department.
Sorting the faxes as I sipped coffee, the switchboard operator buzzed,
“Vinny, you have a call on 23, a Mr Otis from The Skins Company.”
I broke into a wide smile and grabbed the receiver.
Thank you for reading this novel.
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please visit www.danpetrosini.com