Killing the Blues - Michael Brandman [30]
“As a preemptive measure.”
“Preemptive of what?”
“A certain Boston-based crime organization is in the process of expanding its activities. Under the guidance of John Lombardo, Lopresti’s boss, their chop-shop enterprises are escalating. By creating branches up and down the East Coast, Lombardo took a local operation and made it statewide. He upped the ante. His mistake was establishing his business here in Paradise.”
“Why is that,” Suitcase said.
“Because Paradise is my turf,” Jesse said.
They were silent for a while.
“So how was holding Lopresti preemptive,” Suitcase said.
“He led us to Lombardo.”
“And?”
“We’re going to put Lombardo out of business.”
“How do you do that?”
“Carefully.”
“Come on, Jesse. I’m trying to learn from you. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to exceed my authority.”
“In what way?”
“I’m not going to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because then you’ll have deniability in the event you’re questioned.”
“You’re gonna do what you’re gonna do alone,” Suitcase said.
“Yes.”
“And it won’t be legal.”
“Correct.”
“How do you know what you’re going to do will work?”
“I’m the police chief. I know everything.”
Suitcase stared at Jesse for a while.
Then Jesse paid for breakfast, and they drove back to Paradise.
33
After an early-morning jog, Jesse fed the cat and made some coffee, which he brought outside to the porch. He settled himself on the love seat to read the paper.
The story of the fire was now old news. Apart from the article regarding safety tips for protecting your dog at night, there was nothing further on the killings. He was about to turn to the sports pages when the cat jumped onto his lap.
He could feel the cat’s sharp claws as it made mittens on his leg. He petted it. It began to purr. They stayed that way for some time.
Jesse noticed the two men as soon as he came out of the pet store lugging his newly acquired cat case.
One of them was leaning against a light pole. The other was lounging against a wall. Although each was as wide as he was tall, their upper torsos were raging with steroid-enhanced musculature. Jesse put the case down.
The one closest to him, the wall leaner, walked toward him.
“Mr. Lombardo wants to see you,” he said.
“I don’t know any Mr. Lombardo,” Jesse said.
“Makes no matter. You gonna come with us.”
“Gosh, boys, I’d really love to, but I’m afraid I have other plans.”
“Hey, you hear that, Frank? Guy says he’s got other plans.”
The two goons began to laugh.
Jesse stepped quickly to the talker and kicked him hard in the balls. The guy looked at Jesse for half a moment, then went down, gasping for breath.
Before Frank could extricate himself from the light pole, Jesse had smashed the bridge of his nose with the edge of his hand. He stepped quickly aside as Frank started to bleed.
“My nose,” he said, his hands flying to his face in order to gingerly explore the fractured remains of his nose.
Jesse turned to goon number one, the talker, lying in a fetal position on the ground.
“Nice work, boys,” he said, as he picked up the cat case and walked to his car.
Zenith Enterprises,” Healy said, using his cell phone.
“I’m listening,” Jesse said.
“Registered under the name of Geoffrey Bedard, a Boston-based attorney whose specialty is corporate law. Which he practices on behalf of certain underworld organizations. Zenith Enterprises is a repository for a number of corporate entities. I’d venture to guess that upon closer scrutiny of these entities, we’d most likely find considerable sums appearing and disappearing like so many magician’s rabbits.”
“Signifying?”
“Laundering would be my guess.”
“So not only is Lombardo selling stolen goods, he’s finding ways to hide the proceeds as well.”
“Looks like it.”
“Connected to our friend Mr. Fish?”
“My guys are saying that although they make a public show of solidarity, there’s no love lost between Gino and Lombardo. Lombardo muscled his way from Fall River to Boston and is brazenly making a play for greater position. He appears to be posing a threat to Gino.”
“Are the Feds interested?