Chapter 9: Dinner Surprise

“Right here, in case we need to get away. Look, as I was saying, Josh is very concerned about the life you lead, with the business, Acky,” George said, reaching for the door handle, “I don’t think he has a problem with the other stuff. That’s what Jill says, anyway. He’s always been like this, you know that.”

“He has seemed distant,” Akilah said, shifting the Chrysler into park, “I know it is primarily about the life we lead, and my poor performance as a mother. I love Simcha, we all do, but I ... I want to make a world where she can live safely.”

They were parked across the street from the famous eatery, an amazing Doris Day grade spot right on Hollywood Boulevard. The traffic was backed up a bit, as per usual, and they just crossed the street through it without going to the cross walk.

“I value our work, you know that, Acky,” George said, “But let’s not kid ourselves. We could remove five scumbags of one sort or another from circulation every day for the rest of our lives and not really make a dent in the world that Simcha will live in. Josh may not be with you much when things heat up, but I often am. You revel in it, more even than Jill does. No criticism, I enjoy it too, but Josh is right that there is a conflict between this life and being a present parent. And you ask him to come with us as the van driver, too.”

“What, he should be a stay at home father, George?”

They were paused at the entrance to the restaurant. They were caught up in the conversation.

“If that is what he wants, why not?” George replied, “His partnership share and your partnership share, your salary, and that company you two have, you make enough money without Josh’s per hour labor rate when we use him. I mean, what’s your share of the track rent, $1200 a month? Food, fun, toys, I mean, really. I bet you put away more than you spend. Anyway, we got to go in. Don’t want to keep Don Muigluicci waiting, do we?”

“You do have the point,” Akilah admitted, “No, I suppose we do not want to keep Frankie waiting.”

They walked in the front door, approached a snooty looking Maitre D’, and George said, “We’re looking for Mr. Muigluicci.”

The attitude changed immediately, and the Maitre D’ actually left his post to lead them in to the Palio Wine Room, a wine cellar used for private dining. There was one long table. True to his agreement, Frankie had only one man with him, and his Consiglieri at that.

“It is good to see you, Don Muigluicci,” George said, “You have met my associate, Akilah Abati, I believe.”

“Georgie, Georgie, Georgie, What’s with this ‘Don Muigluicci’ crap? We go back, you, me, and your old man. To your house, your old man welcomed me, and what a house, Mama Mia, with a steam locomotive. It’s Frankie, eh?” Frankie said expansively, “Don’t be so modest about Akilah, neither. Your reputation behind the wheel and with a gun, eh, they are legendary. I hope you don’t point one at me. I am pleasantly surprised that your reputation for beauty did not follow with it. I will do you the respect of not going through searching each other.”

“You can search us if you would like to,” Akilah said, “I am armed, and so is George.”

“As are we, beautiful,” Frankie said, pulling open his well tailored jacket to expose the wood-covered handle of some automatic pistol, “It’s too dangerous in today’s day and age to even leave them in the car. Some piss-ant might get ideas, like you was telling me about.”

A faint buzzing from George’s belt interrupted them, “Excuse me, Frankie, this might be important,” he said as he pulled out the phone, looked at the screen, and then flipped it open and said, “Hey, toots.”

That was code for ‘I’m not alone’, and Jill knew that. She had retreated into their bedroom, and closed the door, but felt to be quiet herself, “The sheriff from where we were last night called; they found your car, but not Jess. I dunno how straight he was bein’, but I told him ‘bout the shootout minus the kidnappin’, then laid it on Press, then told Press most of it. I’m gettin’ a touch nervous, George, these people ain’t making no sense, even for dumb criminals.”

“Take you to the theatre?” George said, “I admit I agreed to that, but you know what happened last night, Jill. Anyway thanks for the thought.”

“We goin’ to be leaving in the van real soon, don’t be late.”

“Of course not. See you later,” George pushed the end button, and turned back to Frankie, “Sorry about that, Frankie,” George said, “Now about tonight...”

“Georgie, first we eat, eh?” Frankie replied, “You know better than that, you know what I’m saying?”

“Excuse me,” Akilah said softly, “But the time is quite short. I am quite keen that we do the ordering and then do the talking. That way we do not waste time.”

“Boss, I agree with her,” the consigliere spoke softly but decisively, “We gotta lotta stuff to work out over here.”

“Ok, ok, Ettore,” Frankie said, pushing a button to signal to the waiter. “What are we having, eh? The Tatare, the escargot, and the caprese, of course, that enough, eh Georgie?”

“That’s good for me,” George said going over the menu, “but what about dinner?”

“Ladies first, eh?” Frankie said.

“I am not a lady,” Akilah said with a simper, “But I’ll have the Bouillabaisse Marseillaise, thank you.”

“Excellent choice, miss,” the waiter said, “Don Muigliucci?”

“I’ll have the fillet, the big one,” Frankie said, “Well done, don’t you forget, eh?”

“I will most assuredly not forget,” he replied nervously, “Mr. Donatelli?”

“The thermadore,” Consiglieri Ettore Donatelli said, “That’ll be good, you know?”

“Excellent,” the waiter said, “And you, mister?”

“The bone in rib-eye,” George replied, “Pay close attention. I don’t want it rare, and I don’t want it black and blue. I want it blue. I want you to lightly brown each side, and then put it on a plate. I want your famous baked potato, and I want a lot of bearnaise over all of it.”

“Oh absolutely sir,” the waiter smiled, “that is the best way to cook steak. And plenty of bearnaise, sir, absolutely. Will you be wanting wine?”

“Ah Basta,” Frankie said, “Of course we will want wine, send the wine steward in immediately, eh!”

The waiter left, and a another man came in wearing a tasting cup on a chain around his neck, “Don Muigliucci?”

“Tonight, for my friends, the 1990 Barolo, eh?”

“The 1990 Barolo Collina Rionda Riserva, sir? I think we have a few bottles, an excellent choice, sir. I know that is one of your favorites.”

“That’s the one,” Frankie said, and the sommelier left, “Ok, Georgie, with all the pressure of time, you better start talking, eh?”

“You know most of what needs to be known, Frankie,” George replied, “Larry’s father in law, and my wife’s friend Jessica, kidnapped. Rico wants me to give him a hundred grand and Larry to get Jessica back. He wants to meet behind an abandoned supermarket I think might be his hideout. I’m bringing the money in case I need it for a stall. I think we need to hit him hard.”

“No kidding,” Frankie said, “I’m sending you five of my best men, they’ll answer to you, eh? If you tell them to sit tight, they sit tight. Maron! I gotta deal with this boombots, using you, an outsider to our thing! I didn’t even know about this jamoke in my territory! Mama Mia!”

“So, Caldwell, whatcha plannin’ to do?” Ettore asked.

“It’s fluid on the details,” George said, “The basic plan is I’m going to make him wish he never met me.”

“Hey, I’d expect more details in the plan, or somethin’.”

“I don’t want to go in shooting,” George said levelly, “But I am not opposed to it if it seems to be the best solution. It is a rather fluid situation, really. Most people are very predictable, you know that, Frankie, but I don’t quite follow this. He’s using a lot of force, and with little provocation. I’m not entirely sure his plan isn’t to just open fire on us when we show up.”

George went silent as the Somalier came back, presented to the bottle, opened it, poured the tiniest sip into a glass, tasted it, and then poured into each glass at the table, starting with Akilah. They all tasted the excellent wine, and nodded their approval. They were just about to resume their conversation when the appetizers arrived, which they pronounced excellent.

“Basically, I think that the man has the screw loose,” Akilah said very directly, “I would say that what he is doing does not make much sense, the machine guns out in the open, the chases with the cars, the kidnapping of not just one person, or one time, but two people twice. And from people who have a reputation of violence, in both cases. Maybe he does not know us, but he certainly knows you. I am not afraid to admit that he scares me a little having so much ... brass; is that right, brass?”

“Madronne, the brass is right!” Frankie said, “While we eat this excellent food, let’s get down to the brass tacks, eh?”

As the meal continued, they outlined strategy and planning. It was explained to George that Frankie’s men would meet him in a few hours in the parking lot of a truck stop south of Desert Shores. George was a little nervous, but he felt as prepared as he’d ever be.

“Why am I in this farkakte van?” Larry asked for the dozenth time since they left.

“Because Miguel wants to check the lay of the land before we get you close to it,” Jill growled with irritation, “Would you either put a sock in it or be at least mildly entertaining?”

Before she could answer her Nextel squawked and Miguel said, “You have George on the map, Jill?”

“Acky did put the transponder in the rental,” Jill came back, “But it’s still in front of the- what the fuck? Oh crap.”

Frankie, Ettore, George, and Akilah exited from Musso & Frank’s together out the front door. As George was heartily engaged in a European style kiss good bye with Frankie, Akilah had been paying attention to the road. She noticed the lights of the restaurant reflecting off the hood of a black early 1990s front-wheel-drive Cadillac Fleetwood as it cruised down the boulevard slowly. Her hairs stood up at the back of her neck. It was just a feeling until the rear window of the car started going down.

“Get down!” Akilah screamed as she tackled George and Frankie to the ground.

Machine gun fire erupted from the back of the Cadillac and showered the street scape, shattering windows. A blue BMW 7-Series of recent vintage provided cover from the shower of bullets, and Akilah was already pulling her Beretta from her leg, and looked over the fender of the Bimmer. She fired two shots at the back of the Cadillac, shattering it’s rear window.

“George, move!” Akilah shouted, not taking note of the fact that Ettore had fallen during the shots and had not gotten up.

George responded to it; as the Cadillac started to accelerate George and Akilah ran quickly across the street to the Chrysler.

“Back seat!” Akilah yelled, and George complied. The Cadillac accelerated behind them turning left onto Las Palmas. The west bound street was crowded with cars, and Akilah blasted her horn as she shifted into reverse and swerved onto the crowded sidewalk. People scattered in both directions as she backed towards Las Palmas, into the intersection, and then slammed the brakes while twisting the wheel causing the car to point south down Las Palmas. The Cadillac was in sight down the street as the Chrysler seemed to shred its tires accelerating toward it.

“These people bloody are looney tunes,” George said, rolling down both rear windows and cocking and checking the load on both the Stechkin and AR-15.

“You are not kidding,” Akilah averred, and prepared to follow the Cadillac as it jinked to the west to continue down Las Palmas as it crossed Selma.

George leaned out the window and seeing nobody relevant aimed the AR-15 and at the moment he calculated pulled the trigger, aiming at the temporarily exposed drivers side rear tire of the Caddy. He cursed as the bullet ricocheted off the First Baptist Church, his calculations momentarily off. Akilah swung and cut through the open space, blasting her horn again as they flew across Selma.

The Cadillac turned suddenly into a parking lot for Crossroads Of The World. Akilah used the parking brake to help slide the car in quicker, but pinged the rear quarter panel of the Chrysler into tail of a hapless BMW 3-series parked in the lot. She lost ground, being mindful of the mass of pedestrian’s the Caddy was being less concerned than it should be about.

This was not a chase of power. If it had been, they would have won it easily. With a 200-hp 4.9 liter Cadillac V8, the similarly weighted and less technically advanced car was no match for the French derived Chrysler’s advanced chassis and powerful 250hp engine. But that wasn’t the game here. The Cadillac driver didn’t care who it hurt as it mowed through the people in the street, and Akilah did.

“I am breaking off,” Akilah said, “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” George said, “We have to get to Desert Sands anyway.”

Back at Musso and Frank’s, Frankie knelt over his dying consigliere.

“Be ... careful ... Frank...” Ettore struggled to say, “these guys ... the rules ... they ... don’t ... care...

Frankie watched the life leave the body of his lifelong friend. He was right; these guys didn’t play by the rules. There were a lot of rules. This wasn’t the old days where guys got gunned down in the street. The mob, they hadn’t gone away; they learned that a mostly legitimate business with a little skullduggery here and there was a more efficient model than the old open protection rackets and numbers games.

To say they weren’t a criminal organization would be a lie, but how many of the Fortune 500 weren’t? They could offer pay day loans, student loans, massage parlor services, real estate leasing, and more, and make a mint off of them- all legal and above board. There were other games, sure, but the gang wars of the old days? What did they need to do this for?