Found: A Matt Royal Mystery (24 page)

Jock checked in the bag he kept in the trunk of the rental and retrieved a digital camera with a long telephoto lens. He put on a navy blue blazer that sported an American flag in the lapel. A wire ran from the flag pin, behind the lapel, and through the jacket and down the coat sleeve to Jock’s hand. He drove back to Peters’s neighborhood.

Jock used the long lens to take a couple of pictures of Peters’s house. He put the camera in his car and walked up the sidewalk and knocked on Peters’s door. A pretty blonde woman in her mid-thirties opened it.

“Mrs. Jackman?” Jock asked and squeezed the trigger mechanism for the lapel camera.

“No, I’m Mrs. Peters. You must have the wrong house.”

Jock looked at a piece of paper he was holding. “This is the address I was given. Do you know where the Jackmans live?”

“I don’t think I know them,” she said.

Jock could hear children laughing and squealing somewhere in the house. “Sounds like you’ve got a houseful,” he said. “I guess they gave me the wrong address. I’m sorry to bother you.”

The woman smiled. “Not a problem,” she said. “I hope you find the Jackmans.”

Jock walked back to his car and sat and uploaded the pictures from the digital cameras to his phone. Then, he sat some more.

An hour later, Jock walked into the Polo Grill in the little shopping village in Lakewood Ranch. He was wearing jeans, a white golf shirt, a navy blazer, and a baseball cap with the logo of the Tampa Bay Rays. He had a mustache glued to his upper lip and a small goatee on his chin. He told the hostess he was expected by Mr. Peters. “I can find my way,” he said and
stepped into the dining room. He saw Norwood sitting at a table in the far corner, his back to the wall, talking to a middle-aged man.

Jock walked to the table and pulled out a chair and sat. Norwood and the other man watched him in stunned silence for a moment. “This table’s taken,” Norwood said.

Jock looked at the towheaded man and said, “Mr. Peters, we need to talk.”

“I’m afraid you have the advantage, sir. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Tell your thug to back off, Peters, and we’ll talk. I want to show you some pictures.”

Peters grinned. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Look at the pictures and then you can ask him to leave us alone.” Jock said.

“Dirty pictures? Naked women?” Peters asked, and he and Norwood laughed.

“Pictures of your family,” Jock said.

Peters suddenly sobered. “Let me see.”

Jock showed him the pictures on his phone. One was of Peters’s house, another, a close-up of a pretty woman standing in the doorway of the house, smiling.

Peters stared at them. “What the hell is this?”

“Tell your thug to go play with himself in the men’s room,” Jock said. “I’ve already talked to him today, and I really don’t have anything else to say to him.”

“I’ll tear your fucking head off,” said Norwood.

Jock looked at him, staring into his eyes. “No, Mr. Norwood, you won’t,” he said in a quiet voice.

Surprise spread across Norwood’s face. “You know my name?”

“You’re a button man for Peters here. You’ve killed a lot of people, but you’re no match for me. You’ll die here on the floor of this pretty restaurant and ruin dinner for a lot of nice people. Then Mr. Peters here will do what I say, or I’ll kill all the people in that big house of his.”

“Mr. Peters, this is the man who called me earlier and threatened to kill both of us.”

“Go,” said Peters. “Wait for me outside.”

Norwood didn’t like that, but neither did he like the murderous stare he was getting from the strange man sitting at his table. He said, “You’re sure, Mr. Peters?”

“Yes. I’ll be all right.”

As Norwood was leaving, Peters turned to Jock and said, “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Mr. Peters,” Jock said, “or do you prefer Bonino?”

Peters paled, sat back in his chair. “Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I know who you are and I know what you do. I also know that you have kids in that house. If you want them to stay safe, you’re going to do exactly as I say.”

“I’m a businessman. That’s what I do.”

“Let’s not waste my time, Peters. I know you control a lot of the drug business around here and use other legitimate businesses to launder money. That’ll be coming to an end real soon.”

“Right,” Peters said, disdainfully. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with.”

“Indeed I do, but the real question is whether you know who you’re fucking with.”

“I don’t know who you are or who sent you. But my guess is that you’re just some pussy who thought he could bully me. You won’t get out of this building alive. My man who just left will meet you outside with some of our friends. Now get the fuck out of my face. I’m hungry.”

Jock stood. “Mr. Peters,” he said in a quiet voice laden with steel, “I’m going to kill your friends and then I’m coming back to get you. Sit tight and enjoy your meal.” He turned and left the dining room.

Jock didn’t go out the front door. He went into the bar and through a door that led to the kitchen. He passed the food preparers without speaking and left through the back door. He stood for a minute in the shadow of the big Dumpster, thinking. He pulled his pistol from its holster at the small of his back and attached the silencer he carried in the pocket of his blazer. He walked to the corner of the building, and in the glare of the security lights he spotted three men standing nonchalantly near cars parked about thirty yards away. The welcoming committee. They were
wearing suits, and Jock could tell from the slight bulges in their jackets that they were carrying pistols in shoulder holsters.

Norwood was standing next to the Lincoln Town Car parked about ten feet away, near the front of the restaurant, his back to Jock. “Norwood,” Jock said, “I’ve got a gun pointed at your back. I want you to turn around slowly, keeping your hands where I can see them.”

Norwood turned, facing Jock. “I’ve got men watching me,” he said. “One wrong move and you’re dead.”

“Give me your cell phone,” Jock said.

“What?”

“Cell phone. Reach into your pocket and pull it out. If I see anything other than a phone, I’ll shoot you.”

Norwood did as he was told. Jock saw one of the men in the parking lot start to walk toward them. “Put the phone on the pavement,” he said.

Norwood placed the phone at his feet. “You’re a dead man,” he said. He pointed. “My men are just over there. You shoot me, and they’ll kill you before you can move.”

Jock shot Norwood in the forehead, the gun making no more sound than an air rifle. He stepped back around the corner and waited for a reaction from the three men in the parking lot. Jock recognized them from the pictures Sims had texted him. All were known shooters for Bonino.

Nothing happened for a couple of seconds. Then the one who’d started walking toward Norwood began to run toward the Town Car, a pistol in his hand. As he ran, he shouted something to the other two men in the parking lot, and they followed at a run, pulling pistols from the shoulder holsters concealed by their suit coats. Jock shot the running man in the chest and then turned and shot both of the other men who were fast approaching the Town Car. They were dead before they hit the pavement.

Jock moved out of the shadows and picked up Norwood’s phone. He quickly darted back behind the building, unscrewed the silencer from the muzzle of the pistol and returned it to his jacket pocket. He replaced the pistol in its holster and walked to the restaurant’s back door, let himself in, and returned through the bar and to Peters’s table.

Peters looked up from his steak. He laughed. “I guess you saw my friends outside. You want to tell me who sent you?”

“Your friends are dead,” said Jock.

Peters laughed again, took a sip of his wine. “Right,” he said.

“I’ll be at your house, Mr. Peters,” Jock said. “When you get finished with dinner, come on by, and we’ll talk.”

Peters laughed some more. He was in a jolly mood. “I don’t think you’ll make it to my house.”

“Mr. Peters,” Jock said, “In about five minutes somebody is going to find Norwood and three other bodies in the parking lot and they’re going to raise a stink. You might want to keep our little conversation to yourself. See you in a bit.”

Jock stood and left through the back door, stopped for a minute to affix the silencer to the pistol and wiped it all down with a handkerchief. He dropped the weapon by the corner of the building and walked a couple of blocks to his rental car. He wouldn’t need the pistol anymore and it was untraceable. He didn’t want to take the chance that for some reason he’d get stopped by the police and they’d find a murder weapon on him.

He drove toward the neighborhood where Peters lived. He parked two blocks away and let himself into an empty house he’d spotted earlier. It sat across the street from the Peters home. Jock had been there earlier, taking the pictures that he’d shown to Peters. He’d watched the house for an hour after he took the pictures and then used his lock picks to let himself inside. Someone lived there, but they seemed to have been away. A couple of days’ worth of mail was stacked in the mailbox and the garage had only one car inside. Tire tracks laid down by a larger vehicle were visible in the empty space. The car had run through some clay just before coming into the garage and the floor had not been swept of the remaining dirt that outlined the tires. The air-conditioning was set on low, too low for people to be comfortable on February nights. A couple of table lamps were set on timers so that they came on when it got dark. People didn’t use timers when they were living in the house. It was a pretty good bet that the owners were on vacation somewhere.

An hour went by and Peters’s Corvette pulled into the driveway of his house. He got out. Jock dialed Peters’s cell phone and watched as Peters pulled it out of his pocket, answered it.

“Sorry about your friends,” Jock said.

“Who the fuck are you? How did you get this number?”

“It seems Norwood had you on speed dial. I want you to listen very carefully to me, Mr. Peters. Can you do that?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

“I’m watching you. You just drove into your driveway. You’re standing beside your car right now. I want you to raise one of your arms or legs, and I’ll tell you which one. It’s just a little test to let you know I can truly see you.”

Peters stood stock still for a couple of beats, then raised his right leg.

“Good boy,” said Jock into the phone. “You raised your right leg. Are you listening very carefully?”

“Yes.”

“Good. There’s a bomb in the trunk of your Corvette. A pretty big one. I can set it off remotely, so if you don’t do just what I tell you, well, you know, ka-boom. It’ll take out your car and your house and everybody in either one. Are we communicating now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Tell me why you were trying to hurt Matt Royal.”

“Who the hell is Matt Royal?”

“Remember, Mr. Peters? Ka-boom.”

“I don’t know anybody by that name. Honestly.”

“How about Jimmy DeLuca?”

“Yeah. I know Jimmy. He used to work for me.”

“He doesn’t anymore?” Jock was checking what DeLuca had told him.

“No.”

“Since when?”

“A couple of months ago.”

“He quit?”

“No. I fired him.”

“For what?”

“Inappropriate remarks about my wife.”

“That’d get him killed in most Mafia circles.”

“His dad’s a friend of mine. So I let it go.”

“Do you have any idea why DeLuca would try to beat up Matt Royal last week and tell him you ordered him to do it?”

“None. I swear. I thought Jimmy was down in Miami.”

“Okay, Mr. Peters. Here’s what you’re going to do. Get back into your Corvette and drive to the Manatee Sheriff’s Operations Center over by the DeSoto Square Mall. You know where that is?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to meet with a Detective David Sims. He’ll be waiting for you. You’re going to turn yourself in, tell him who you really are, and give him any documents he’ll need in order to bust up your little operation. And you’ll waive your right to a lawyer.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Ka-boom, Mr. Peters. There’s another bomb in your garage. My associates will be watching your house, both front and back. If your family tries to leave, they’ll activate the bomb. Your wife and kids won’t stand a chance. I’ll be behind you. If you deviate from the route to Sims’s office, I’ll blow the bomb in your trunk. If everything goes like it’s supposed to, I’ll remove the bomb from your garage, and the sheriff will take the one out of your car.”

There was quiet on the other end of the phone. Then, “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ve never heard of anything so filthy in my life. To threaten a man’s family.”

“Don’t be an ass, Peters. You use it as a business tool. Threaten a man’s family and take his business.”

“I would never have harmed any of their families.”

“The men you extorted didn’t know that. Now, get your ass in the car and get moving.”

Jock watched as Peters pulled out of his driveway and then dialed Detective David Sims. He answered on the second ring. “A man will be at your office within about thirty minutes,” Jock said. “He’s the elusive Bonino. He wants to spill his guts and give you any documentation you need to bust up his operation.”

“And why would he do that?”

“Just being a good citizen, I guess. He might be calling himself Peters.
Call me when he’s in custody. And impound his car and his cell phone. He might tell you there’s a bomb in his car, but there isn’t. And I don’t want him talking to his wife or anyone else. He’ll waive his right to a lawyer and will allow you to search his house.”

“What the hell’s going on?” asked Sims.

“Do you really want to know?”

Sims was quiet for a moment. “I guess not,” he said.

“I don’t think his wife has anything to do with Bonino’s business enterprises, and they have at least two small children in the house. I don’t want them upset. It’s going to be a long hard time for them while Bonino spends the rest of his life in prison.”

“We’ll go easy on them. If we find any evidence that the wife’s involved, that’s another story.”