Chapter 55

 

The Palazzo, The Boulevard, Doncaster, Melbourne. Australia

7^th March 2012; 3am.

 

Polletti’s villa was bouncing. Loud music filled the house and flashing strobes in every colour lit up the gardens with almost subliminal flashes of light which would have sent any epileptic in the area into a seizure. Those who could not hear the DJ or his music clearly could certainly feel the resonant beat of the bass speakers pulsating through the ground and seeming to pulse right through their bodies.

Amongst the crowd were all of the recent arrivals; eight beautiful women, dancing with any number of old but important men. Despite Polletti’s criminal charges, the villa was still filled with people from law enforcement and representatives of local and federal government, along with the national politicians who fed at the Polletti trough. Local Law enforcement officers were stationed inside and outside the grounds, but more in an effort to control traffic than to enforce Polletti’s house arrest.

The local Area Commander of the police force had reduced the police presence on the Polletti case to just one area car per shift, and he had canvassed the federal agencies to remove that obligation entirely now that the principal witness against Polletti had been killed in Dubai. The federal agents handling the case knew the truth and were reluctant to allow any further reduction in cover until Michaelson was safely back in federal protection, which they knew should be happening very soon.

As the party broke up and the hired valets ushered people back to the last of the cars, Polletti sat slumped in a large leather chair with a partially clothed girl asleep on his lap. He roused her. She would be going with him to his bed, even though he was too tired and too drunk to use her. As she slinked off to his bedroom Polletti took a small pastry filled with tuna and popped it into his mouth whole. Once he had chewed it and swallowed, he drank almost a full bottle of still water and sucked on a mint. He didn’t want to wake up with a mouth that tasted like a drain. He was following the girl to his bedroom when Conrad Adams stepped into the room, his face white as a sheet.

***

The news that Pete Adams and Aara had been arrested in Bangkok had stunned both Polletti and his nephew, Conrad. As a result the sun came up before either Vincente Polletti or Conrad Adams had made it to bed. Despite debating the matter over and over all through the night, neither could understand why Pete or Aara would try to smuggle drugs through the harshest anti-drug regime in the world when the cartel had unlimited supplies brought in safely by their mules. Whatever the explanation, Pete and Aara were facing the death penalty in Thailand and Polletti knew that providing expensive Australian lawyers for their defence would do no good at all; nonetheless, he tried to sound upbeat for the benefit of Conrad, who was sitting in silent devastation.

“We’ll wait until they are arraigned, and once they have pleaded we will get them the best counsel available, I promise you that, Conrad. You are both like sons to me.” Conrad was still shaking and rocking back and forth in his chair. The brother he worshipped was spending his first night in the world’s worst prison and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Thanks, boss,” Conrad answered gratefully, his voice quivering with emotion. “We need to move heaven and earth to get him out of there but, no matter what happens, he’ll never dob us in.”

Polletti looked out over the park. The sun was low in the sky and there was a fine mist hanging over the landscape, giving it an unsettlingly eerie appearance.

“Pete won’t talk, but Aara will sing like a bird if the Australian feds get to her. We need to get to her first, Conrad. See who we know in Bangkok. If I understand how these feds work, they will try anything to get me now that Michaelson is out of the picture.” He looked at his watch. It was still early but he made the call anyway.

The Area Commander had not been at the party, not because he didn’t want to be there - after all, there were fresh girls on the menu - but it was simply too risky. As a result he was lying next to his wife, fast asleep and snoring loudly, when his mobile phone rang. His wife nudged him and when he didn’t respond she poked him hard with her elbow. As he came awake he recognised his ring tone. Glancing at the time, he swore under his breath as he picked up the phone and hit the answer button. “Hello.” His voice betrayed his annoyance.

“Clive, I always thought you were one of these health nuts who rose early and ran five miles before breakfast.” The unwelcome humour did not improve the Commander’s mood. He was well aware that he was carrying a few extra pounds, and thought it was a good job that his dress uniform had such a strong belt. He mumbled something in reply that might have been either “good morning” or “get stuffed” but Vincente could not tell which it was.

“Clive, it would be enormously helpful if you could ensure that I have only one car observing me today. They can park right outside the gate, if they like, but just the one car, OK?”

“There has been only one car on your doorstep for three days, Vince, you know that. And I am hopeful you will lose that car tomorrow. We may even send someone around to remove the monitor.” Vince automatically looked down at the bulge around his right ankle. He would love to be rid of the damned monitor, and felt confident that he soon would be.

“Thanks, Clive. Say hello to that lovely wife of yours. Oh, and give her one from me,” he added nastily. The Commander merely grunted and hung up.

“Conrad, get the Mercedes bus around the back and into the garage, then wake our little ladies. We are going for a ride.”

“What about the ankle tag, Boss?” Conrad asked.

“Get Jake over here. Tell him to come in the back way. If he can crack a safe he should be able to crack this.” Polletti lifted his trouser leg to reveal the anklet.