Barely Legal

71

Tommy Taperelli was supervising a shipment down by the docks. There was no danger in doing so because there was no contraband on board. Somewhere between Colombia and the Jersey Shore, several kilos of cocaine had been removed and replaced with baby laxative. This was not unheard of. Tommy Taperelli’s coke was always cut with baby laxative, only it was cut after it arrived, increasing his profits as much as twofold. The shipment in question had been cut before it arrived, decreasing the value of the product he had bought.

The substitution might have gone unnoticed had not Tommy Taperelli had a chemist standing by in the warehouse to test the coke as soon as it arrived. After testing samples from several kilos, the chemist was able to report back to Tommy Taperelli that the product in question had a ninety-nine percent chance of proving effective in the case of a constipated baby.

Hence Tommy’s visit to the ship.

Taperelli was having a chat with the captain, a swarthy man with scraggly black hair and a beard, who was proclaiming his innocence. “I’m the captain. I run the ship. I don’t handle the cargo.”

“Who does?”

“Emilio.”

Emilio, a skinny young Colombian with greasy hair and shifty eyes, also disavowed all knowledge, but had no one to pass the buck to.

Taperelli let Emilio protest until it became boring, then told two of his henchmen to “show him the bill of lading,” and they walked him away.

Show him the bill of lading was a euphemism. Emilio wasn’t coming back.

Taperelli was coming down the gangplank when his phone rang.

It was Mookie, calling from court. “Bad news.”

Taperelli couldn’t believe it. “We’re stalling?”

“It’s that fucking detective,” Mookie said. “He asked for an adjournment.”

“Why would he do that?”

“The lawyer finessed him. Asked him something he didn’t know. Something he’d have to look up. Here’s the lawyer saying I want to wind up my testimony. Here’s the detective saying I have to consult my notes.”

“What notes? Why does he need notes?”

“The lawyer wants to know who told him the guy would be at the party.”

“Oh, shit.”

“That’s a problem.”

“Damn right it’s a problem. No one told him the guy would be there. He picked him up and he followed him there.”

“Why doesn’t he just say that?”

“He already said he was there because the guy was selling drugs at the party. The question is who told him that?”

“What’s the answer?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“Okay, what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. Has the lawyer left yet?”

“No. I came right out.”

“He’s the guy who asked the question, right? Not the other guy?”

“No. Herb Fisher.”

“Yeah. The pain in the ass. Keep tabs on him. The guy might have an accident.”

“Really?”

“Better him than me. If I can’t straighten this out, it’s going to get ugly.”

The phone bleeped. It was Detective Kelly. “We got troubles.”

“I heard.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Tell the truth.”

“Huh?”

“The guy wants to know who told you the defendant would be at the party?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell him no one did. You were acting on intel drugs were being sold there. You checked it out, and this is the guy who was selling ’em.”

“I like it.”

“I hate it. I want you off the stand. Don’t let him screw you with a follow-up.”

Taperelli walked out to the end of the pier. He looked out across the ocean and took a deep breath of the salt air.

Now for the call he didn’t want to make.