DODGER BLUE CHAPTER 2

Tether Dreams in the Shadow Game

Tether Dreams in the Shadow Game

CHAPTER 2

DODGER BLUE

Los Angeles, California

A day later and a continent away, “The Mob”, so apply exemplified by the crew partying inside the big black SUV Cadillac Escalade, with 24 inch chrome rims on oversize Bridgestone tires, and a bobbling head of St. Jude in the window, rocked the Caddy like it was 1999. The Latin Rap pushed the custom Bose speakers beyond their factory specs, blaring loud enough to wake the dead, but nobody seemed to noticed as they passed round two 40 oz. bottles of Old English Malt Liquor and a marijuana joint the size of a good Cuban Cohiba. The heavily tinted windows hide four young Latinas on their knees performing fellatio on the entire crew, except for the Shot Caller, who sat approvingly next to Ms Carlotta Sanchez, who didn’t believe in public display of affection. 

The Escalade glided up Alvarado Avenue in the West Lake district of Los Angeles, cruising past 7th street, and the sprawling MacArthur Park complex, that straddles Wilshire Blvd. with its twenty acre manmade lake and hundred foot tall water fountain. They continued on pass the pimps, whores, and street hustlers, who sold the Mob’s dope in the park, now that they claimed it as their own.

The Escalade followed the traffic up Alvarado Ave. to Hollywood, then turned right onto Sunset Blvd. and slid in with the heavy traffic heading downtown, towards Echo Park. The Escalade continued down Sunset Blvd, until it came parallel to Taix, an old school French Restaurant, located on the other side of the boulevard. The SUV came to a complete halt in the fast lane, backing up traffic and pissing off motorist, and then it made a hair raising U-turn, crossing four lanes of traffic, into the restaurant’s parking lot on the other side of the boulevard.

The occupants were greeted profusely by uniformed attendants, and welcomed inside with great fanfare by Xavier the Maitre d’. He guided the entourage past the old Family Coat of Arms, fixed upon a 14th century knight’s shield, prominently displayed on the east wall at the entrance. Then they past a Knight’s brass breast plate and helmet, conspicuously displayed on a marble stand just inside the foyer. The entourage continued through the cavernous banquet hall, where the girls gawked at the turn of the century reproduction photos of old Los Angeles, taken at a time when the city’s greatest claim to fame was being the biggest cow town west of the Mississippi. Finally they entered a smaller private dining area that contained the best table in the house, surrounded by a plush booth of high polished oak and deep purple fabric. Xavier was ever so thankful that there was no one around to witness this spectacle. It was late afternoon, and the lunch crowd had gone.

The entire crew was decked out in Dodger Blue, but even in uniforms they bared little resemblance to major league baseball players, but more like the felonious crew from Stanley Kubrick’s film “A Clockwork Orange”. The Shot Caller’s ominous presence was fittingly enhanced by a five pound baseball bat, a Louisville Slugger, which he carried by his side. It had been signed by every member of the Dodger’s 1983 World Series team, and he was proud of that fact. The Mob had just left Chavez Ravine, where Dodger Stadium resided. The game had taken place there just a quarter mile away, but the Shot caller insisted they take the long way round in order to properly tour their domain, as it were, to celebrate the Dodgers victory over the California Angeles. The latter now billing themselves as the Los Angeles Angels, although they were still based in Orange County, and The Shot Caller didn’t like that.

“That’s territorial infringement”, he told Eduardo, his lieutenant. If somebody tried to pull that shit on us there would be blood in the streets. Somebody ought to do something about that. ” Edwardo knew that if the Shot Caller thought that he could get away with it, he would have had the entire Angels front office whacked.

Charles, their waiter, had long ago given up any hope that the shot caller would order any traditional French entrées from the menu. He gathered himself together and approached their table.

The Shot Caller ordered Champagne, burritos, hotdogs, and finger shrimp cocktails for all, and Hector gave the Head Waiter a Latin Funk CD to play while they enjoyed their meal. The four young Mexican girls, straight from the barrios of East Los Angeles, duly painted with Maybelline black mascara, black eye liner, black lipstick, and penciled in black eye brows, sat laughing and giggling at nothing in particular, while Ms Carlotta Sanchez, the Shot Caller’s mistress, stuck a wad of gum under the table, in preparation for the meal. Obviously they were not used to such attention and continued to giggle while being served by three attendants, from around the thick oak table. The Shot Caller and his lieutenant, Eduardo conferred, while a rousing Latin Funk song permeating the entire dining hall.

“I am very happy for the Dodger’s victory today, Patron. I think that we have a chance to go all of the way this year”. Eduardo gushed, offering his congratulation to the Dodger’s most rabid fan, The Shot Caller, who was also the undisputed leader of The Mob.

Eduardo really didn’t give a damn about the Dodgers, and he thought that the Shot Caller was full of it. But he knew that The Shot Caller’s fixation with the team was a welcomed distraction. It allowed the Shot Caller to blow off steam, and usually nobody got hurt. The Shot Caller admired Fernando Valensuela, who was no longer with the team. But that didn’t matter; above all else he admired loyalty. So no matter where the south paw played he was still a valued member of the Dodgers, in the Shot Callers mind. When the south paw picture first came to the Dodgers, his good fortune coincided with that of the Shot Caller. They both had come from the same dirt poor village of Etchohuaquila, in the state of Sonora, Mexico, and they had been friends since childhood.

With a forced grin, Eduardo told the Shot Caller about a call that he had received that morning, right before the game. The call came from their connection in Rio de Janeiro, Col. Roberto Javiar Silva, of the Federal Police. He had wanted to speak to the Shot Caller directly, but the Colonel would not tell him what the call was about. Edwardo sensed that it was not good news, so he told the colonel that the Shot Caller could not be interrupted, and asked him to call back after the game.

At that very moment, Hector, The Shot Caller’s personal body guard, handed him a cell phone, and Colonel Silva was on the line. The Colonel told the Shot Caller that his emissary, The Fat Man, had been found dead at their business office in Rio de Janeiro, shot once in the head.

The police canvas the neighborhood and two tourists said that they had seen a tall black man, dressed in white, near the office around the time of the shooting. Other than that they had no leads in the case.

Apparently the only thing missing was a gold key and chain that the victim wore around his neck for good luck. They also found something odd; a small wooden doll that was placed in the dead man’s lap. The Colonel told the Shot Caller that the word on the street was that the Fat Man had a great deal of money with him, but no money has been found. One other thing, the Colonel said, a young girl came to the office when we were there, by the name of Thalita, she said that she was a friend of your man, Eduardo, and that the dead man had given her a suite case to keep for him, the night before the killing. I will call you back when we have checked this out.

The mentioning of the small wooden doll sent a shock wave through the Shot Caller’s body. He immediately knew that something was terribly wrong, and perhaps he was being sent a message. He thanked the Colonel for keeping him abreast of the situation, and told him that he had done the right thing by speaking directly with him, and if something else came up to call him immediately, and then he handed the phone back to Hector.

He sat back in his chair, and calmly asked Eduardo why The Fat Man was in Brazil, and how come he had not been told that he was there. Eduardo had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he sat there fumbling for an answer. Knowing that there was nothing he could say but the truth, so he told the Shot Caller. “Yes this is true. He is in Brazil, taking care of our business. ”

“When did it become our business?”

“Oh, Patron, I did not mean any disrespect. I meant to say the Mob’s business. ” “And when did you last hear from The Dishwasher?”

Eduardo did not like the way the conversation was going, and everyone at the table stopped whatever they were doing to listen to his reply. He didn’t know what else to say, so he told him the truth.

“Three days ago. I haven’t heard from him since he left for Rio.”

“Perhaps he has been detained by one of those Brazilian senoritas. Eduardo”, the Shot Caller offered, pushing a taco into his mouth.

“He is a professional”, Edwardo shot back, a little bit too loud”, “and never before has he failed to stay in contact, he takes care of our business”.

The Shot Caller let that one pass and said, “Well, Eduardo, The Fat Man was found shot to death this morning, at our office in Rio, and the killer left a calling card behind. A small wooden doll was found in his lap.

Eduardo’s head went spinning; he too knew that this was the signature of The Shooter, a legend in his own right, who had never failed to deliver on a contract. He was known as The Shooter, but his tools for dispatching people were not limited to the use of firearms. He was equally skilled with knives, swords, ropes, garrotes, poison, explosives, nunchakus, and hand to hand combat, and if necessary, the word was, he could talk you to death.

He gained legendary status when he took out four body guards and a Yakuza gang leader, in a Tokyo bath house, with a pair of chop sticks and a rolled up dinner menu. The man was a force to be recon with and once he took on the contract there was no calling him back. Any attempt to abort his mission would be considered an unforgivable sign of disrespect and would automatically put the offender at the top of his hit list, and he would still take out the target.

“So, you see Eduardo, we have a bit of problem on our hands.”

The shot caller did not mention the rumor about a great deal of money that the Dishwasher was suppose to have had with him, nor did he mention the girl, Eduardo’s girl, Thalita Lopes.

Eduardo’s mind was racing now, he didn’t know what this had to do with the real reason why the Fat Man was in Brazil, nor did he know what the Shot Caller knew or didn’t know.

“So, Eduardo, you say that no one knows who this guy really is”. “That’s right, Patron. Since we started doing a lot of business in South America we had to get a cleanup man to handle special projects for us.”

What we do know is that he is a master of disguises, and when he works in Brazil he becomes a Macumba High Priest. He never enters a country legally, no passport, no paper trail, and no pictures. He is very convincing and he goes through some kind of ritual before every hit. Some people say that he really is a witch doctor, and can summon spirits to do his bidding. It is said that before a believer in Macumba can take a life, he has to prepare the way for the soul of the intended victim, by doing four things: he must hold a Black Mass for the victim near a large body of water, he must recognize the attributes of resolve and persistence in a stranger, and reward it, he must give hope where none exist, and he must take the life without warning. We used him twice before, and he always leaves one of those voodoo dolls behind as his signature. And if anyone see’s him they will think that he was a voodoo high priest or something, and that is who the cops will be looking for. The funny thing is that, when we did our follow up on his first hit, we got in touch with the locals, and some of them were Macumba followers, and they told us that they were summoned by their high priest, and told to go to the site where he did his first hit. He didn’t even know that they were there. But they said that by tradition the death ritual must be witnesses by true believers of the faith, whenever a spirit is summoned to take a life.

I told you all this before, Patron. When he worked for us before, we did everything by throw-away cell phones and Fed X. It’s like he was a fucking spy or something, he didn’t want to meet anyone. All he wanted from us was info about his target and his money, but that was OK, because he never missed, and he always got his money. We had him by the balls because he only got half of the money up front, and the rest upon confirmation of the hit.”

At that moment Hector again approached his boss, and handed him the phone. The Shot Caller listened intently but didn’t say a word, and then he told the caller to call back in ten minutes, and then he gave the phone back to Hector. When he got up from the table and started to dance, everybody at the table watched him, except for Edwardo, who had his back to him. As he got into the groove, while holding the bat high above his head, he said to Edwardo “And did you have the Fat Man by the balls when you decided to help him to steal our money, Eduardo”. The words were barely out of the Shot Callers’ mouth when Eduardo blurted out, “It was the Fat Man’s idea to give the money to the church.” He started to get up, but Hector held him down, and the Shot Caller swung the bat in a high arch of descent, impacting with Eduardo’s head, splitting it like a ripe melon. “What was that about the church?” He said to Hector.

Edwardo tumbled from the chair, and was dead before he hit the floor. “Come clean up this piece of shit“, the Shot Caller barked at Carlos, “and get him the hell out of that uniform, before he spoils our celebration”.

“You better have them all by the balls, Eduardo, because where you are going they don’t play nice like me.” The Shot Caller said to the dead man on the floor, as three waiters rushed to the body to carry it away. One stayed behind to clean up the blood and brains, and of course, to wipe off the bat.

Two minutes later Hector handed the phone to the Shot Caller again it was the Colonel. “Hello, yes patron, we checked out the girl and you won’t believe this but she had a suite case full of money, 1.5 million dollars to be exact. She told us some ridiculous story about a donation being made to the church, in your name.” “Splendid Colonel, well, hold the money until I get there Colonel. I will be there the day after tomorrow.”

He handed Hector the phone.

“We still have a big problem Hector. Who put the contract out on the Fat Man?”

The taking of life aroused a strong sexual desire in The Shot Caller, and he motioned for Carlotta to go under the table, once he had seated himself. He then motioned Hector to come to the table, and told him to bring him Ramirez. The young man approach the table showing no fear, and The Shot Caller motioned for him to sit where Eduardo once sat. “You are my right hand, now. Arrange for our flight tomorrow. We are going to Rio.” he managed to say, through clenched teeth, as Carlotta did her thing.