King Con

Chapter Twenty-Six.

THE THREE JET ENGINES WHIRRED SOFTLY AS TOMMY "Two Times" Rina sat in the richly appointed cabin of his brother's Challenger and thought. Tommy had never spent much time thinking. That had always been Joe's end of things. Tommy was the hammer, the enforcer. Even when they were just ten and twelve, his little brother, Joe, got the best ideas, and Tommy let him do the planning. But there were times, especially lately, when Tommy hated the way Joe treated him. He was, after all, the big brother. He had let Joe take over the role of leader and for years hadn't even thought twice about it. They had both risen in the criminal world of La Cosa Nostra-Joe to the level of Boss; Tommy, his trusted Consigliere. They had money and power. But lately, Joe had lashed out at Tommy as if he didn't think Tommy even belonged. It was as if Tommy were just excess baggage that Joe had been saddled with, forgetting all the street work Tommy had done, all the guys Tommy had clipped to help get them there.

Tommy looked at the seat across from him, at the decanter of oil wrapped in a towel and seatbelted in, along with the drilling core sample cylinder with its glass window that showed the dark oil shale. Tommy had called Beau Taylor in Texas from the airphone. Taylor had been a frequent high-stakes player at Sabre Bay and he and Tommy had become friends. They had even shared a few showgirls. More important to Tommy right now was the fact that Beau Taylor was a wildcat oilman in Dallas who had made millions finding Texas crude. Tommy had described to Beau the little he could remember about the stratigraphic trap and the delineation well. He told about the exploratory field without telling Beau where it was or the name of Fentress County P and G. He didn't want to trust anybody with that secret. The thing that immediately impressed him was that Beau seemed very excited about the information Tommy gave him. He confirmed to Tommy that all of this information was accurate, that the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission required a gathering station be built over large stratigraphic traps before punching down a delineation well. And Beau was alive with questions about the field and the drill site, the side core samples and the fifteen thousand gallons of crude that had been already pumped. Tommy would not tell him much more than the general facts. He lied and said the well was off the Northern California coast. Tommy asked if Beau knew a geologist, and his friend gave him the name of one in Midland, Texas.

Tommy next called the geologist on the airphone and made arrangements to get the oil sample analyzed. Tommy would divert to Midland and drop the sample off. He was sure it would turn out to be exactly what the geek geologist, Dr. Clark, had told him it was. He was sure he was about to show his brother he could do more than clip guys and be a wandering hard-on. From now on he was being the big brother; he was going to check things out, do the planning, make sure things were what they were supposed to be. He was going to drop the oil sample off in Midland, Texas, and then fly on to Nassau and, when the oil sample checked out, Tommy Rina was going to take five million dollars out of the SARTOF Bank and buy control of the Fentress County Petroleum and Gas Company. He had decided not to tell Joe. Even that geek Dr. Clark had heard Joe made all the decisions. Well, that was going to stop. If this oil deal was what it promised to be, if this field was the largest oil strike in North America, then it was going to be Big Brother Tommy, not Joe, who was going to bring it home for the family. He would tell Joe after the deal was complete, after they were all drowning in Black Gold. Then his little brother would finally give him the respect he deserved.

They landed in Midland, and the geologist was waiting there at the Executive Air Terminal. Tommy had scraped the label off the core sample cylinder, removing all of the West Coast Platform Drilling Company decals so there was no way the geologist could find out where this sample had come from. Tommy was playing it smart. This is exactly the way Joe would do it, he mused silently to himself.

Tommy handed the samples to the geologist, who stood in the door of the Challenger with the starboard engine still running and screamed at Tommy through the opening. He was dressed exactly like Dr. Clark, his tie was blowing over his shoulder, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in the sunlight. Even the same plastic pen protector. They were a breed, Tommy thought.

"Shouldn't take more than a few hours!" the geologist yelled. "You have my number?"

Tommy nodded, held up the sheet of paper, and handed the geologist a thousand dollars in cash, which they'd agreed upon for the work. Then Tommy closed the door and they taxied back to the end of the runway.

Minutes later, the Challenger was airborne again and Tommy was looking down at the aqua-green water of the Gulf of Mexico. The pilots estimated three hours to Nassau, and Tommy settled back. A new sense of energy and purpose enveloped him. He was much more than a wandering hard-on; he was a businessman with a plan. He went over the details once more, looking for holes: He would arrive at Nassau at five P.M., just before the SARTOF Bank closed. He would have Tony Vacca, who ran the bank for the Rinas, open the safe in the dead-drop room, which contained money that had not been laundered yet and wasn't on the bank's books. Tommy knew that mere were no records of this cash… Technically, as far as the U.S. tax records were concerned, it didn't even exist. He would get a little more man he needed, just in case. Five mil in cash. He estimated that would be a couple of suitcases' worth. He would tell Tony Vacca that if he said anything to his little brother, Joe, Tommy would come back to Nassau and beat his head fiat with a hammer. He planned it carefully in his small, simian brain. He thought out every detail, keeping his mind focused on business just like the big brother should. Only occasionally did he think of Dakota. Only twice did he conjure up the memory of her silky-smooth skin and protruding nipples. And only then did he reach down and rub his hard-on and wish he'd had a chance to fuck her one more time.

Almost the same time that Tommy was landing in Nassau, Victoria Hart got on the red-eye connecting flight from Chicago to Atlantic City, which was where Joe Rina was. Beano had kissed her good-bye at the Fresno Airport loading ramp and told her not to overplay her hand. He told her about his moment of pure terror in Duffy's houseboat when Tommy had lost it and almost shot Beano with the automatic, before Roger-the-Dodger saved him from the Grifters' Hall of Fame and a place under a cemetery stone.

"Don't worry," Victoria said. "I spent almost six months in pre-trial with Joe Rina. I know exactly how that handsome little shit thinks. He's not like Tommy. He doesn't lose his temper… for him, that's a sign of weakness."

They stood in the jetway for a long moment, holding hands, while the rest of the passengers streamed by them. Victoria had the developed photos, of Tommy with Beano and Duffy, under her arm. Beano kissed her a second time; he could smell her fragrance, and she could feel his heart beating under his shirt. They held on as if they were afraid to let go, until a flight attendant touched Victoria, and she pulled away and moved down the jetway and onto the L-1011.

She found her seat in Business Class and settled down, stuffing her overnight case under the seat, then opened the Foto-Mat folder. The shots of the Summer-lands she tore up. Then she studied the six or seven shots she had of Beano, Duffy, and Tommy coming up the houseboat gangplank by the limousine. In one, Tommy seemed to be smiling, and Beano had his arm almost around the little mobster. Beano had posed for that one, turning toward the camera and smiling, to give Victoria a better shot. She selected the four photos she liked best and destroyed the others. She could read the slightly out-of-focus Fresno Herald on the dash in the foreground. The blurred headlines, barely discernible, announced: CONGRESSIONAL BUDGET CUTS IN DEFENSE FUNDING. It would be enough to establish the date of the pictures.

The plane took off and she laid her head back on the seat rest. Tomorrow she would lay the trump down. That should be the beginning of the end for the Rina brothers. Finally, she was going to confront the little monster with the wavy hair who had killed Carol Sesnick, along with her friends Tony Corollo and Bobby Manning. She could hardly wait for revenge and retribution. Then she thought of Beano and about all that had happened in the last ten days. It was almost too much to contemplate. Her emotions were rolling, her senses struggling to hold on to her shifting feelings. She could still feel the afternoon sun on her skin.

Beano left the Fresno Airport and headed back to the parking lot. He got into the Winnebago and looked at Roger, who was curled up on the sofa in his white bandages, looking like a molting caterpillar. He stared at Beano with wise eyes.

"I never felt like this before," Beano told the little dog, who wagged his tail in expectation of something more.

"Don't give me that look," Beano said. "I can barely take care of us. How will I be able to take care of her? Would she even want me to take care of her?"

And then he got behind the wheel and, while his mind worked on that problem, he put the motor home in gear and began the three-hour drive to San Francisco.