Chapter 3: The G-Man

When the Volvo arrived at the motel, the step-van and Jessica’s Corolla were already there. Akilah parked the Volvo around the back of the motel as Jill secured three rooms for the night. The motel was typical of a tourist area, and not particularly run down. Lawrence sat down on the chair in the corner of the room. Josh, Jill, and Akilah sat on one of the beds, and George remained standing.

“Your wife thought you were cheating on her,” George explained, “I don’t think that’s what’s happening. What exactly is happening?”

“I hope you aren’t making a mess of it,” Lawrence said, “I love Anne, but she is so stupid sometimes, truly clueless, you know?”

“Trust me, that I know,” George replied, “How she found my name, I’ll never know.”

“What is your name, boychik?”

“George Caldwell.”

“You kidding me? On-Track, am I right?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Well that’s where she found you from, okay?” Lawrence said, telling George that Anne was friends with a famous singer, “Remember you did that job for her about a year ago dealing with that fahrkakte blackmailer?”

“I din’t know she was spreadin’ that around,” Jill muttered, her voice filled with a mix of annoyance and surprise.

“Yeah, well, they are that close, like,” Lawrence replied, “How long you been with this outfit, kid?”

“What is it with all the questions?” Josh spat, “Found us through her friend, she did, with how long we worked here, what’s that got to do? On the ground floor we all got on, ok?”

“Whoa, baby doll, no need to get all excited, okay?” Lawrence offered a placating pair of hands, “You don’t wanna tell me, don’t tell me, its all wonderful. Look, I’ll just spell it out, Anne, her father’s been kidnapped, okay? They want me to change sides to get him back, only, baby doll, I’m not that dumb.”

“Because they would kill Anne’s father anyway,” Akilah chimed in.

“I guess you don’t think as well as you drive, honey,” Larry said, “I like Cal, I do, but what I’m worried is Frankie’ll kill me. Rico don’t scare me as much as Frankie, you get what I mean?”

“I get what you mean,” George replied, “But I don’t know the players.”

“You’re better off not knowing, if you know what’s good for you,” Larry said, “Besides, you’ll know soon enough.”

Before George could grill him some more, Jessica called him on the phone and told him that two Mercury Grand Marquis, a Dodge Ram Van, and a Lincoln Town Car had pulled in together at a parking lot across the road.

“Jill, I got to go out and make a call,” George said, “Keep an eye on Mr. Mendalbaum for us, ok?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Jill replied.

George walked out of the motel room, looked at the gathering of cars next door, thought for himself for a moment, and then decided to just walk across the road to see them. G-Men, alright- they were all reading newspapers. In the dark. Without dome lights. He walked over the Lincoln, which had tinted back windows, and knocked on the driver’s side rear window.

“Hey, Jack, open up,” George said.

The door unlocked, and George opened it, go in, an sat in the back seat, closing it behind me.

“Hi, Jack,” George said.

“Let’s drop the pleasantries,” Special Agent In Charge Giacobbe ‘Jack’ DiAbbruzzo growled, “and just tell me how the fuck you knew I was in the back seat of this car.”

“Well, I will say I was surprised you were here, Jack,” George replied, “I didn’t think you would be part of the tail squad.”

“I wasn’t,” Jack replied, “My guys tagged your van and your girlfriend’s Volvo as soon as you started that damned stakeout on Mendalbaum’s house, I mean come on, you think we don’t know there’s no Beverly Hills Electrical Services nowhere? As soon as they knew you was going out of LA they called me. Tell me why I shouldn’t have you arrested!”

“I didn’t design the cover to withstand FBI scrutiny,” George replied, getting annoyed, “I should’ve. I go up against pros sometimes, and if you can catch it, god help me.”

“Real funny,” Jack said without laughter, “I know I’m friends with your old man and all, but that don’t mean you get no special treatment. Tell me why I shouldn’t have you arrested, I tell you!”

“I would have called that a question, so I would have said ‘asked you’, rather than ‘tell you,’ which incidentally would also be the correct tense,” George said in a clipped tone, “But I would feel better asking you why you should have me arrested. Closed tails aren’t illegal.”

“It’s harassment of a private citizen.”

“No, open tails are harassment, closed tails are not.”

“It’s an invasion of privacy!”

“Jack, I know they don’t hand out SAIC badges in Cracker Jack boxes, so I know you know the law better than this,” George pointed out, “I know the law, and so do you, and we both know that I am not breaking any of them. You also know that I am not interfering in an investigation if I didn’t know you were investigating him, and I didn’t make your guys, god knows why, until we were driving to this motel.”

“My guys are good.”

“Which car was I in?”

“Your girlfriend’s Volvo.”

“Your guys suck,” George replied, “You picked out the two most conspicuous tail vehicles out of four of them, even though you should have been looking for my diesel Mercedes and it’s pretty distinctive, too. You also somehow think that Akilah is my girlfriend when I am married.”

“So your wife doesn’t know, big deal,” Jack leered, “You want some A-rab booty on the side.”

“She was in the step van,” George replied patiently, “We could continue this verbal jousting all night, and it would accomplish what we’ve accomplished so far, which is nothing. I know you didn’t line up what is clearly an FBI surveillance team and their controller’s car all nice and pretty like they had a neon sign on them because you have borscht for brains. I assume you wanted to talk to me. I assume talking to me had a point, because you probably underestimated me and didn’t think I had even spotted you yet. Assuming it did have a point, can we get to it?”

“We’re moving in on Frankie, and I don’t want you spoiling it for us. Back off.”

“His name is Lawrence.”

“We don’t give a fuck about Larry,” Jack replied, “He’s too clean to nab anyway. I want fucking Frankie. You know who Frankie is.”

“I know somebody mentioned it tonight, but no, I don’t know who Frankie is,” George said levelly, even though he did in fact have a good idea who Frankie was.

“I know I let you off for Charlie, but I’m not doing that again no more.”

“I’m sorry, you lost me at the last pass, Jack.”

“George, don’t kid me about this,” Jack replied, “Four years ago, in Arizona, you dismantled Charlie Croker’s gang. Charlie committed suicide, and his gang haven’t pulled a dang thing since. I know you and your dad were involved.”

“Charlie Croker?” George replied, “Like from The Italian Job? I’m not even a fan of Michael Caine.”

“‘Charlie’ Croker, the owner of Sea-Guard Trucking,” Jack said, “The one your father suspected of having something to do with the derailment of the Sunset Limited in Palo Verde.”

“I categorically deny knowing a ‘Charlie’ Croker,” George said, “that such a man derailed the Sunset Limited attempting to derail and rob the freight train behind it, that Sea-Guard trucking was a front for a highly organized ring of thieves run by Croker, that I caught him and called him out for it, or that his death was because he couldn’t live with the death of a sleeping car porter on that train.”

“And of course you deny that you were on that train,” Jack retorted, “That your girlfriend Akilah was pregnant on that train with your child, and that she lost it in the derailment.”

“Akilah was on that train,” George replied, “And so was I, but the baby was Josh’s, not mine. I don’t want children. Now, Jack, tell me who the hell Frankie is!”

“You know damned well who Frankie is!” Jack shot back, “And I have hard proof that you have slept with that arab girl.”

“My sex life is none of your business,” George said, “I don’t know why the FBI is investigating me, but I know it isn’t because I know Frankie, because I don’t have a clue who that is!”

“They aren’t investigating you ... yet,” Jack replied, “I investigated you. I wanted proof you killed Croker.”