Dutch III: International Gangster, Page 2

  “That’s really not important,” said Craze, lifting his glass and taking the shot to the head, staring into the eyes of Alex Kelly as he whispered in his most secretive voice, “what matters is that you work at the Essex County Courthouse.”

  Alex had never seen Craze before in his life. He didn’t know his face and he was unaware what his intentions were, but he didn’t think it would hurt to find out.

  “I’m sorry, my friend, but I didn’t get your name,” Alex said.

  “Chris, but you can call me Craze. That’s what everyone calls me.”

  “Okay, Craze. I’ve been at that damn place for over sixteen years and I still can’t get a promotion. Who would be happy with that?” Alex asked.

  “Well, I got a proposal for you, and if you can deliver, I promise you, you’ll never have to work another day in your life.”

  Alex looked at him as if he was crazy.

  “Never work another day in my life, yeah right.”

  “If I had a million dollars, I wouldn’t work,” replied Craze, throwing a million on the table with the roll of his tongue.

  “Yeah, right, I know you must be pulling my leg. How many of those you done had?” asked Alex, referring to Craze’s Belvedere.

  Craze ignored the comment, focusing on what he was there for. “Naw, I’m not pulling nothing, least of all your leg. I have a job for you, an important job, to me. You’re about the only person who can pull it off, too.”

  Alex looked confused, unsure of what he could possibly do for the man in front of him that could be of such value. But if this guy was serious, then so was he.

  “Tell me whatcha talking about.”

  “All I need is a few things placed around the courthouse. That’s it, simple.”

  Alex was uncomfortable about the proposition and signaled for the bartender. “Can I get another one?” Alex asked nervously, requesting another shot. He was reluctant, and he began to wonder what all this was about.

  “Shit… a million dollars… I don’t think I want to know what you want me to put in that courthouse for you.”

  “Naw, you probably don’t,” answered Craze as he sensed the man’s reluctance and threw back another shot of Belvedere.

  “Shucks, you really got me sitting on the edge of my seat over here. Tell me, are you talking explosives?” he asked, figuring that for a million dollars, he must want him to blow the place up or something.

  “No, there’s no explosives, relax. You don’t have to worry about that. All you have to worry about is a million dollars and what you’re going to do with it,” responded Craze, knowing how to get the man’s mind focused on what it needed to be focused on, which was collecting a million dollars for a job well done.

  Alex thought quickly about the million dollars Craze kept rolling off the tip of his tongue, speaking as if it were nothing more than pocket change.

  “That’s a lot of money,” thought Alex out loud, staring off into space and thinking about all the wonderful things he could do with his life if he had a million dollars.

  “Not really, Alex, but it’s enough for you to change your life,” said Craze as he gave Alex something to influence his decision. “Here’s a lil’ something for your time this evening, partner,” Craze said, handing him a manila envelope.

  “My number’s inside. You got until the end of the week to call me, you understand? Friday, all right, Alex?” Craze asked, throwing a fifty-dollar bill on the bar to settle his tab.

  Alex took the folded manila envelope Craze passed to him. He peeked inside the envelope, which contained fifty one-hundred-dollar bills. Then he looked at Craze.

  “Friday,” said Craze as Alex looked into the envelope once more, unable to believe he had finally hit the jackpot in life.

  “Jesus almighty, you’re giving this to me,” he said, quite astonished with the envelope and its contents. He looked at Craze, realizing he was dead ass; serious, that is.

  Craze nodded at the man, then he left the pub. Alex took the money out of the envelope, unable to believe it. It was as if he had hit the lottery, and he had been trying to win all his life. Five thousand dollars, thought Alex as he held the bills in his hands, unable to believe his luck. He read Craze’s name and looked at his phone number written on a piece of paper that was wrapped around the small stack of hundred-dollar bills.

  I got the luck of a leprechaun in me, he thought, smiling to himself. I really need this money right here, he said, thinking about a pile of bills he had on his kitchen counter.

  He had never had that much money at one time unless it was tax refund time, and even then he didn’t get five thousand back. He felt like his life was changing for the better already. It would take him a hundred and one days of hard labor to make that much money at his job, based on his low hourly pay scale. He couldn’t believe his luck. He thought about the million dollars he was offered for providing some simple “placement” assistance. How hard could it be to put some things in the courthouse? For a million dollars, I don’t think it would be that hard at all, nope, not hard at all. It sounds a little too good to be true. I wonder what he wants me to put inside the courthouse for him? It must be something really important to him, if he’s willing to pay a million dollars. He was the senior janitor, been working there the last sixteen years of his life, even though he had nothing to show for it. And while he had no idea what was really going on, he did have an idea of what one million dollars was.

  Alex decided he wouldn’t be passing up on the offer. How could he pass on that? Only a fool would, and Alex Kelly was nobody’s fool. Not only that, he was ready to be a millionaire. He had dreamed of being rich and driving a fancy sports car and living in a big, beautiful home. He had worked all his life and he was tired of having nothing to show for it. If this stranger was serious, then so was he. He ordered another drink, threw it back, and placed his tab money on the bar before walking out the door five thousand dollars richer.

  FRANKIE B FRANK

  Two weeks before the trial of the century had begun, Frank Sorbonno, or Frankie Bonno as he was also known, was scheduled to meet with Joseph Odouwo. Frank had accepted the appointment assuming that they were going to end the bad blood between them. Now that Dutch was to be put out to pasture, the doors were opening for Frankie, and he had every intention of stepping through them.

  Frank and his bodyguards walked into Odouwo’s suite at the St. Regis, the same suite Craze had been invited to just weeks before. Frank walked into the massive suite and over to a table where Odouwo was sitting. Odouwo stood and the men shook hands. Odouwo extended his arm and pointed at a chair for Frank to take a seat. Frank sat down as Odouwo finished pouring them some wine, then he sat as well.

  “I thank you, Mr. Sorbonno, for meeting with me, despite our past differences. I hope the fruits of this council will assuage any ill feelings between us,” he said, raising his glass for a toast before sipping. “For years, we have had Mr. James’s name written on our hearts… the part reserved for vengeance. Ojiugo Kazami was my nephew. He served our family well, and to know he died in such a way, because of a man such as Mr. James, well… is a blow to our pride, to say the very least. And we would have implemented swift justice had it not been for your people’s protection. Yet, we knew it would only be a matter of time before someone more sympathetic to our concerns would take over, for a house divided cannot stand,” said Mr. Odouwo, knowing the part Frank had played in Tony Cerone’s death, but not revealing it.

  Frankie raised his glass of wine again in testament to that which Odouwo preached.

  “But it seems God has smiled on us, as I understand Mr. Cerone is no longer with us.”

  “Yeah, the bastard finally caught it.” Frankie smiled, glad that the bastard had gotten what he deserved.

  “So, what do you intend to do?” Mr. Odouwo asked, wondering if he was right about Frank’s intentions.

  “I wanna kill the little black son of a bitch!” Frank blurted out before realizing who he was talking to.


  “No offense,” Frank said, trying to clean it up.

  “None taken.” The Nigerian smiled, thinking that he should slit Frank’s throat right at the table. He decided against it, then continued, “But, let me be honest, heroin is our biggest export—that is, after oil. We use the proceeds to fund our freedom fighters back in my country. So the trade here in New Jersey is important to us. Therefore, I ask that you leave the streets and Mr. James to us. While your vendetta is personal, ours is, shall I say, spiritual. In return, I invite you to Nigeria. It is a beautiful country, the most beautiful in the world. I invite you to partake of its splendor. There are many opportunities for a man such as yourself in my country.” Mr. Odouwo smiled, knowing Frank had no choice but to agree with what he was saying.

  Mr. Odouwo had Frank right where he wanted him. If Frank didn’t agree he wouldn’t make it to the lobby. Mr. Odouwo was well aware that it was Frankie Bonno who had had the two hits put out on his nephew, Ojiugo. Mr. Odouwo was going to ignore what had happened in the past as long as Frank didn’t affect his future. He needed Bernard James to be left alone so he could get him to Nigeria for the assassination. Mr. Odouwo had no real commitment to ending his feud with the Italians. This meeting was just to set up a stall tactic. Mr. Odouwo had more to his plan than anyone would ever know.

  Frank was pleased that he wouldn’t have to go head to head with the Nigerians anymore. It had been Dutch who had caused an unlikely alliance to be struck based on their hatred of him. Frank stuck out his hand and the bargain was sealed. Frank would send Dutch to prison, while the Nigerians would send him to his grave, or so Frankie Bonno thought.

  STRICTLY BUSINESS

  The night before Dutch was to be sentenced, according to plan and as he had been instructed, Alex finished up his work as he normally did around eleven-thirty. The last worker to leave the courthouse before him was usually out by eleven o’clock. He checked the hallways of the courthouse, making sure everyone was gone for the night and the coast was clear. Earlier, he had placed a heavy-duty trash can by one of the exit doors. He left the door slightly ajar as he stepped outside, rolled the trash can inside, and then made sure the door was closed behind him. Inside the trash can was a duffel bag under two black trash bags filled with garbage. He took the duffel bag that Craze had given him, threw it over his back, and headed toward the ladies’ bathroom. He went into one of the stalls and lifted the cover of the toilet, then drained all the water out of it.

  He then reached into the duffel bag and pulled out three Uzi automatic weapons wrapped in plastic wrap and put them in the basin before replacing the lid on top. He then put tape over the toilet seat and placed an “Out of Order” sign on the outside of the stall, then repeated the same act in the next stall over, leaving only two stalls available for use.

  He left the ladies’ room, then went on to the courtroom where Dutch’s trial had been taking place. He rolled his cart in and went up to the defense table. He made sure his plastic gloves were on tightly and pulled the last two guns out of the duffel bag. He taped the .40 caliber pistols under the table and left the courtroom.

  Alex had done everything he had been instructed to do before leaving for the night. All he could think about was tomorrow and how he would be a million dollars richer. He knew that something big was going down, he just didn’t know what. The trial was all over the news, in every newspaper, and the talk of the town. He figured Dutch and his cohorts were gonna try to make a run for it. He didn’t have a clue that Dutch was planning to commit a massacre.

  Lying on the top bunk in his cell, Dutch’s mind wandered into tomorrow. His trial was now over and he, just like everyone, was expecting a guilty verdict. He was hoping and praying that everything was in place. No stone could be left unturned if they planned to escape victorious. Please don’t let Craze fuck this up. This nigga be smoking and shit; what if he forgets something? Everything could go wrong. That’s why Dutch never did drugs or consumed any type of alcoholic beverage. They impaired the bodily functions, or so he believed. We can’t afford to lose nobody or leave no one behind. He started thinking of everything that could happen and everything that could go wrong. He figured that even if everything fell through, certainly tonight would be his last night in jail. One way or another he knew he wasn’t coming back to this cell. Dutch smiled and went to sleep.

  TAKE THAT, HOLD THAT

  It was early morning when the jury finally reached its verdict. Dutch had stood trial for what the media had dubbed the “trial of the century,” and now it was time to face a jury of peers and find out if they would deem him guilty or innocent.

  The courtroom was packed with everyone from the young to the old. Most of the spectators were there to see the look on Dutch’s face when the jury came back and found him guilty. They wanted to see Dutch fry in hell. Very few were there to see him be acquitted of all charges and set free—no, that could simply be a nightmare. The streets would have no rest if that man walked out of the courtroom a free man. Newark had taken a toll from the Month of Murder. People were still scared to go outside. Looking around the courtroom at all the faces, no one would have ever thought that the little old ladies dressed up like grandmas going to an apple-pie-baking convention were about to bring the rain, but they were and no one in the courtroom was ready for what was about to happen. The Charlies had already been to the bathroom for their guns, and now it was just a matter of time before things popped off. Craze was parked outside the courthouse waiting for court to begin. He had gotten a call in the middle of the night from Alex that everything was done as he had instructed. Now, he just had to put the rest of his plan in motion. Craze looked down at a case containing fake passports and identification papers supplied by Mr. Odouwo for all of his crew members. There was also a getaway van that had previously been parked near the airport with diplomatic license plate tags. He lit up his blunt and waited for the Charlie’s call as he looked at his watch. It’s about time we get us an ambulance ride, he thought, imagining how sweet Dutch’s getaway would be.

  An ambulance had been called because of a report of a woman found unconscious in the parking lot behind the Newport Center Mall outside the Holland Tunnel. Two male EMTs rushed to the scene, sirens blaring. When the EMTs arrived the woman was down, lying still on the pavement. The two medics jumped out of the back of the van and rolled a stretcher over to the cataleptic woman. When one of the medics knelt to see if the woman was still breathing, his partner was shot in the back of the head at point-blank range.

  “Holy shit!” the other medic shouted when he realized his partner had been killed.

  “Get the fuck up!” the Charlie who was assumed to have been unconscious commanded as she put a gun to his head.

  “Please don’t kill me!” the EMT said, begging for his life, when the other Charlie pulled him up by the back of his shirt. “Call dispatch and tell them that the report was a false alarm and you’ll get to live!” the Charlie informed him.

  The medic got on the walkie-talkie and did just what he was told with a gun still pointed at his head.

  “Dispatch, come in. Dispatch, come in!”

  “This is dispatch, go ahead!”

  “There was no one found at the scene behind the shopping mall! I repeat, there was no one found at the scene, over!”

  “Copy that.”

  “Okay, it’s done,” the medic said after he was finished with the call.

  “All right, now take off your clothes,” one of the Charlies ordered.

  “But it’s cold outside.”

  “You want to live or you want to worry about the fucking weather?” said the Charlie, pointing the gun and ready to squeeze off.

  While he quickly removed his clothes, the other Charlie stripped the dead EMT of his uniform. As soon as the Charlies had on the EMT uniforms, the half-naked medic was told to put his dead partner in the Dumpster. The medic used all his strength to sling his former partner into the huge waste fill.

  “Now get your ass in there
with him.”

  Fear overcame him as he slowly got into the awful-smelling trash container. One of the Charlies shot him in the chest before his feet even touched the bottom. She delivered two more shots to his frame to make sure he was dead. They both slammed down the top of the Dumpster, then headed to the courthouse.

  Craze got the call letting him know the Charlies were on their way, sirens ready to blare. He hung up his phone while he twirled a brown triangle Branson bag between his fingers. His mind drifted as he reflected on everything that had been done in the past to get them to where they were today. He couldn’t believe that they had moved from stealing cars, to controlling the streets of Newark, then to where they were now. This was the last chance for him to keep Dutch out of prison, and he hoped that he didn’t fail his friend. After the blunt burned down to his fingertips Craze got out of the car and walked around to the back of the courthouse. He hid behind a Dumpster where he would wait until Dutch and the Charlies came through the back door blasting. I know you gonna make it out of there. I just know you will.

  Dutch was given the floor so he could say his last words to the courtroom before the final verdict was read. He was to plead forgiveness, beg for mercy, and speak his last words of remorse. Instead, he got up out of his seat and said fuck you to everyone in the courtroom. He laughed and then flicked his lighter, which was the sign for the Charlies to come out with their guns blazing. Bullets flew loosely, killing everyone in plain view.

  Dutch reached under the defense table and grabbed the two pistols that were waiting for him. He killed the judge and then killed District Attorney Anthony Jacobs. He looked through the aisles for Frank Bonno and found him curled up on the floor, before killing him, too, as officers stormed the courtroom firing shots at Dutch and the Charlies now surrounding him. Dutch watched one of his girls fall to the floor before letting off a couple of rounds.

  “We got to get out of here. Now!” yelled one of the Charlies, leading the way, as she had the exit mapped out in her head.