Chapter 2
A few weeks later:
Benny tried not to sweat. He hovered just under the line of his usual confident demeanor, just under a comfort zone that had begun to fray a bit at the edges. He had given his boss a hundred percent and the results were never questioned. But today, Benny came before him on slightly different business. His proposal was nothing short of bold, not only ballsy for him, but it would be for DelGatti as well. It would be a deal that could be worth up to a quarter of a million. The DelGatti organization normally would take a few months to generate that much dough. Benny saw a fair amount of money change hands at the Temptation, but that was just one facet of the DelGatti Empire. What he proposed concerned yet another element that of which he normally was not a part. And certainly not for any deal of this magnitude.
But Benny Dugan came dressed to impress his lifelong friend. At least that was the goal, and perhaps friend is an ancient term in this context. This was the same childhood chum that once upon a time had been equal partners in the fairly innocuous juvenile hijinks associated with the youth of a less than privileged upbringing. Well, relatively equal partners since Red DelGatti always considered himself the ringleader. At the time, Benny, or any of the other members of the gang, rarely argued the point. Every gang had a leader, right? And they all were having just as much fun.
That was then. Some twenty years later, the relationship between Benny and Red had evolved into anything but equal partners. It's not like DelGatti didn't treat him well and with at least a certain degree of respect. For many years the alliance worked well enough, that is until Benny Dugan's crest of contentment had been reached. For many years after that, Benny watched Red DelGatti grow fatter in girth as well as wealth and in no small part due to Dugan's own efforts. And for what? Never more than the status quo for Dugan.
Red DelGatti sat in his high back black leather chair framed with stout premium wood, richly stained and ornately carved. The desk in front was of matched eloquence, symbols of authority in the dark paneled office. He'd procured the furnishings back in the early days. Supposedly they mysteriously fell off the back of a truck only to be left in perfect condition and begging for the taking, which of course he did. It was a habit that had been hard to break ever since he learned that anything was there for the taking if only you had the iron will to do what it took to accomplish the feat.
Cigar in hand, and a squint in his eye, partially from the smoke, partially from considering the dubious nature of the proposal, Red DelGatti slowly leaned back, his stature somewhat dwarfed in the chair of mismatched proportions to his five foot six frame. Still, he commanded respect for the authority he exuded over those in his employ. He considered Benny's words while he gave the matter ample time to ferment in his thoughts. Joey and Sammy Hogan sat quietly on opposite ends of a sofa which lined one of the walls behind where Benny Dugan occupied the hot seat. The office was dimly lit by only a few strategically placed lamps which lent a somewhat ominous aura to the room, an intentional design to maintain a level of fear and awe in DelGatti's visitors.
Benny Dugan was the eldest of the two brothers by a mere three years. He always had his own set of friends; self-confident, assertive types. He loved his brother, although it probably wasn't always apparent. When his friends were around, the ones that were his age, and some, like Red DelGatti, a little older, it just wouldn't be cool to have your baby brother hanging around with you. No, the cool friends wouldn't let you live that down, nor would they tolerate it. They didn't have time to be babysitters. It just wouldn't look right. These were the strong who learned to prey on the weak, even before puberty kicked in and hair grew on their chests as assumed testimony to their superiority. While growing into men they were not afraid to take a few chances as a shortcut to power or wealth. Neither of those lasted in Benny Dugan's case. It was Red DelGatti who harnessed those attributes and never let go of the reins.
Now, as an adult, Benny had come to reevaluate his position in the social-economic power struggle that left DelGatti considerably closer to the top of the food chain while he, after twenty years of servitude to his childhood friend, remained a mere pawn of his divested interests.
Marion Dugan exhibited none of the stronger, self-assured qualities that formed his brother. While his older sibling hung out with his posse of friends, Marion's entourage was, for the most part, less of the flesh, consisting mainly of manifestations of his imagination. Although as he advanced past puberty, Marion's imagination dwelt more towards those matters of the flesh that he came to desire, yet was entirely too self-conscious to approach in the real world. At least not by conventional standards. Even his profession was chosen so as to eliminate the need to deal with people. Live ones anyway. For the most part, he managed to exist behind a wall of solitude that kept intimidating elements of society at bay.
Though they pursued different lives, Benny, out of some sense of responsibility to family, kept a love for his younger brother. Their parents had departed this world when the brothers were in their twenties, some fifteen years ago. Self-reliant at an early age, Benny persevered. In his own way, so did Marion, but in his own way. But Benny still blamed their parents for the thoughtlessness that played no small part in his younger brother's weaker development.
The elder was christened Benjamin, but everyone called him Benny. Manly. A “one of the boys” kind of name.
Marion was what it said on the younger brother's birth certificate, however all the other kids called him Mary. The name was something for which his older brother never forgave their parents. A rose may be a rose by any other name, but call your kid Marion and the odds don't stack in his favor. At least not in their old neighborhood. So Benny came to wish he had been a better, more protective brother.
Better late than never.
The night Angel was murdered was the tipping point. Benny thought that if he could turn his life around, maybe he could do the same for his brother. He decided to act on a plan to rid the confining circumstances that life had become and hopefully discover, with just enough money to start anew, he might be led into a life that had only been fantasized about. A life for himself, and maybe for his socially challenged younger brother.
Of course, it was just Dugan's luck that his simple plan became anything but a straight course to freedom and prosperity.
Benny Dugan fought the urge to squirm in his seat. It was a conscious effort to remain seated with a firm, confident demeanor, yet with just the right amount of casual air to filter out any fear that may come dripping through his pores. Still behind him sat the Hogan brothers, not of the old gang but relatively newer acquaintances of DelGatti, garnered for their physical attributes more than any semblance of mental prowess. In other words, they served as security and the strong-arm that was sometimes needed by a man of Red DelGatti's profession. Even though Benny Dugan had known them for some time now, their presence did little to alleviate the tension he tried to keep bottled inside.
“So, just how well do you know this kid?” DelGatti asked with still a bit of a squint to his eye.”
“Thornton?” Dugan began, still struggling with the illusion of a cool poise. He then tried to remember the calculated inflections of his voice that he had practiced over and over so as to project confidence. “He's a good kid, just a little too horny is all. He's been visiting the Temptation since his freshman year at the university. He'll be graduating this year, along with his buddies, so it seemed like a good opportunity for one big score.”
Dexter Thornton soon would turn twenty two. Benny had taken a liking to the boy from the beginning. He was a good looking, cleanly groomed kid who came from a bit of money, but always the affable personality towards Dugan and the girls. He never exhibited a sign of pretentiousness that usually came with other fraternity boys that frequented the establishment.
As management of the Temptation Hotel, certain deals regarding pot or white powder became part of the normal scheme of things. But it was a minor side note to the business at ha
nd and never amounted to much, at least not by comparison to the grander drug trade DelGatti delegated to others. The deal Benny now proposed would make that operation considerably more lucrative with only one big score.
“You're talking a lot of money, Benny boy.” DelGatti lowered the cigar as his weight shifted in the chair. He came forward a little too swiftly as his half reclining position shot forward toward the desk. His hardened facial features fell directly into the light. He tapped the cigar in the ashtray as he spoke again. “I appreciate you bringing me the opportunity for this business, but perhaps you ought to let my guys that normally conduct this end of the business handle it.”
Benny expected as much from his boss, but there was entirely too much at stake to give up so easily. He already knew what he was going to say, and he had practiced it many times in hopes of eliminating a tremble in his voice.
“With all due respect, the kid knows me. I'm the one he trusts” Benny explained. “Everyone knows that this is a very big deal, and the frat boys in particular are aware of the amount of money involved, not to mention more than a little apprehensive of someone of your, shall we say, no nonsense reputation, Red.” (He had hoped a little massaging of Red's ego might stack the cards in his favor.) “Besides a score on the drugs, they see this as a party, a going away party, graduation time. Dexter agreed to bring together a number of his frat boys for one big score. And it wouldn't be a party without some of the girls. But there are a few stipulations. One is that I handle the deal. And they want it at a neutral location. That's why they are renting a suite at the Ritz.”
“The Ritz?” It wasn't your typical getaway type of place used by anyone in the DelGatti organization. It would be someplace outside of DelGatti's comfort zone.
Benny just smiled. “Frat boys, you know.”
Red DelGatti didn't say anything for a moment. He considered Dugan's words. Especially the reputation part. It brought a warm feeling to know that his well earned respect still remained beyond those that are paid to kiss his ass.
As he looked intently at Dugan, he felt no absence of reverence either. Trying to peer past Dugan's exterior, DelGatti also could still see the sensitive side that had always been a part of his old acquaintance, something missing in no small part from DelGatti's soul. Nevertheless, he considered the unfortunate event of a few weeks ago.
“How are the girls taking the loss of their sister?” he asked.
“They're a little shaken. But that's another reason this opportunity works for all of us. It's the safety in numbers thing, not to mention a chance to spend time at a classy joint if only for one evening.”
“Yes, I suppose this would be good for them, too.” DelGatti's search for a reason to say no to the deal came up empty. But he wasn't about to trust a quarter of a million dollars of cocaine to one man, regardless of his years of loyalty.
“Alright, Dugan. Here it is. I'll let you run this deal, but Joey and Sammy are going with you just to make sure there's no trouble.”
At the sound of their names, the springs of the sofa began to creak audibly as the Hogan brothers came to attention. Benny hadn't forgotten about them even though they sat quietly, half falling asleep. He counted on their names coming up in this conversation. DelGatti wasn't stupid. Neither was Benny. He had it all figured out.
As he grew what he hoped was a constrained smile Benny Dugan put his hands to the armrest of the hot seat and began to lift himself up. It appeared as though the business had concluded well.
“And Dugan,” DelGatti added while his associate was in mid-ascent, “don't screw this up. Or a quarter mil is coming out of your hide.”
OK, so now business was concluded. Nothing to worry about. Benny Dugan had it all figured out. He hoped. He'd heard how his boss plans for every contingency, how DelGatti operated in regards to those who failed to come through, intentionally or unintentionally. DelGatti wasn't stupid after all. Maybe Dugan wasn't as smart as his boss, but he had done a little contingency planning of his own. Yep, nothing to worry about. He had it all worked out.
Regardless of what he told DelGatti, it wasn't the kid who initiated this deal. It was all Benny's idea. It was true that Dexter Thornton had been a regular with the girls. His personality was more inept than his fraternity brothers when it came to approaching women, but not so shy as to take advantage of the seedier services available to those in need. He'd been coming around for a few years now. Even with a twenty year age gap, the two of them had become odd friends and Benny came to know a great deal about this young man.
Thornton was a film major. That in itself did not mean so much to him initially, but it came to Dugan one night, how someone of those talents could be the missing link to making his plan work. A plan that had been floating around in his daydreams since Angel was so brutally murdered that night just a few weeks ago. What began as merely a fantasy in his head, a grand illusion of how to break away from the confines of life controlled by DelGatti, reached a new level of inspiration when he quizzed his young friend on the feasibility of his plan's missing link. Dexter Thornton assured Dugan that his talents were more than capable of doing what he had in mind. As far as the party, well, that was all the incentive Dexter needed. Particularly since his share of the cocaine would be free.
The party, as the central part of the plan would now be referred, was to take place ten days after Dugan got the DelGatti go ahead. That would be a week from Friday. The time allowed for procurement of sufficient quantities of the white powder on one side. On the other side, it was time for the guests of the party to cash in a few stocks or bonds or whatever rich kids do to summon unquestionable amounts of money beyond their already bloated allowances.
And then there was one more side of pre-party planning to attend to.
Dexter showed up right on time the Friday before the big afternoon. He brought one friend with him, the chemistry major and special effects expert. The back of his car was filled with a fancy video camera, tripods, daylight balanced lighting equipment, light meters and other cinematography do-dads unfamiliar to Dugan. His friend came with a similar arsenal of fireworks.
They drove for an hour and a half out of town, following the TransContinental bus route that makes a stop at one of those scenic turnouts situated just off the road. This one was comprised of a small parking lot with only a dozen spaces for cars, and even fewer for RVs where the TransContinental would come to rest for fifteen minutes. This allowed its passengers a place to view the cornucopia of colors that the vista in the distance had to offer from mid-April to late September. Otherwise it was only a bathroom break.
Our trio reached this destination in early afternoon. Spring had only recently come to the vista. The parking lot was empty except for their car. By his watch, Benny figured the bus would be along in about ten minutes or so. It was the same bus he was supposed to be on next week. Dexter had been told the schedule. When Benny looked to his accomplice, tapping his watch, the film student nodded in acknowledgment and got to work setting up his equipment. Billy Dean, his friend and the other expert in tow, kept his equipment in the car and waited.
When the bus approached the scenic turnout, the noise of the diesel engine and powerful brakes could not only be heard but felt as the grandiose vehicle maneuvered into its resting place. On the opposite side of the parking lot, Dexter Thornton had set up the tripod and camera. The vantage point offered a clear side view of the bus with the vista behind it. After a few more readings off the light meter, the cameraman was ready.
Dugan went to the vista on the other side of the bus. Mingling with the passengers, he took in the expanse of colorful nature in the distance along with the rest of them. He liked nature as well as the next guy, he supposed, but the ten minutes left on the break seemed like it took an hour.
When the others started to file back on the bus, Dugan lingered near the railing, pretending to be caught up with the magnificent view beyond. The bus let out a whoosh of air as the brakes disengaged and the transmission went into ge
ar. When the bus pulled away from the rest stop, Dugan remained standing all alone, his backpack facing the camera.
“Cut!” Just the sound of the word sent a wave of renewed confidence in this part of the plan. It felt so professional now, Benny thought, when the cue came from Dexter Thornton across the lot. The second part of their script had been shot.
Now it was time for the last part.
As Billy Dean unloaded the equipment, Benny Dugan removed two sets of signs, each comprised of a pair of four by six foot wooden boards hinged at the top. On those boards, it read - “Scenic Turnout Temporarily Closed For Repairs”. He set in place one sign on either end of the circular drive. Dexter told him they would only need to keep unwanted eyes out for about a half hour.
Again, for Benny, the time seemed to drag on forever. He kept looking towards the entrance for someone who may decide to ignore his simple warning. But no one stopped. The two boys went to work, Thornton adjusting the exposure, Dean preparing the special effects. Dugan's tension lessened as he watched the two very proficiently construct the scene. When all was set, Dugan went back to stand on the X marked on the ground at the railing and acted his role. It all went down in one take.
“That's it?” Dugan asked when Dexter yelled “It's a wrap.”
“That's all we need” he replied. “Everything else will be handled in post-production on the computer.”
Dugan gave a look that delivered his dubious concerns. He counted on this part of the plan.
“Trust me, Benny” Dexter told him. “I'll have it finished in a few days and you can view it in plenty of time before we release it.”
And so, the missing link of Benny Dugan's grand plan was in motion.
The morning of the party, Benny had not yet been to bed. It was business as usual last night and, as a general rule, business kept him up until the early morning hours. His apartment at the Temptation rarely offered a place for solace until after 3:00 AM or so. Then he would get some shut eye as the girls wrapped it up for the night. Normally, the rest of the day was his until late afternoon. That's when he would meet with DelGatti to transfer the previous evening's proceeds.
Today wouldn't be much different. However, even after the 3:00 AM hour morphed into four and then five in the morning, Benny Dugan continued to lay in the muted pulse of neon light. The dark, drab curtains of ancient vintage served mainly to subdue what continued to blaze out from across the street and intrude his inter-sanctum through the holes and cracks where the curtains no longer came to a close. Not that an array of color from those lights might embellish his equally mundane furnishings, laden with the effects of time and neglect, that had come to define his life. He looked up towards the ceiling, trying to count hundred dollar bills as inducement to fall sleep. He pictured them raining down upon him, as he hoped they soon would, but sleep never came. The bills seemed to keep coming, then heavier and heavier, until he was suffocating as if being buried alive. The cool early morning was no comfort, doing very little to counteract the beads of sweat that emanated from every pore. No, he wasn't sick. It was more like he was the star of a play and it was opening night. For over a week, he'd rehearsed it over and over in his head. He knew his lines, and only hoped the other players knew theirs. But the curtain was going to go up in a few more hours and stage fright began to rattle his confidence.
By eight in the morning, he gave up trying to sleep. Benny still didn't need to be at DelGatti's place for hours yet. Normally he wasn't expected until sometime a little before dinner, but tonight would be different. On this night, his rendezvous wasn't for another eleven or twelve hours. He would take a cold shower, eat a little breakfast and then head down to where two equally important pieces of the plan needed to be set up.
The thirty-year-old Lincoln Continental rolled to a stop at the end of the block. Dugan parked in the last space behind a line of cars that ended next to the first colonial pillar adorning a covered circle drive. Near the middle under the canopy was the revolving glass door of the Ambassador Arms. That hotel was two blocks from the Ritz. Its splendor was somewhat down the scale from the latter, yet compared to the Temptation, it was luxury personified.
Mostly it was a matter of logistics. Easy walking distance, or more probably sprinting distance, for the path he would take to a back entrance with relatively subdued illumination in later hours. The short journey would be all he needed to find safe refuge until business hours resumed.
But it was only mid-morning, and Benny Dugan put up a hand of dismissal as he walked passed the doorman and into the hotel through the revolving door.
“May I help you, sir?” offered the clerk behind the reception desk.
“I need a room, please” Benny responded. He said it quite nonchalantly as if it were merely an often exercised request in his worldly, respectable life.
The agent behind the counter considered the request with some skepticism as to its authenticity. The cut of Dugan's suit screamed closeout from a J.C Penney discount rack sometime back before the overstated lapels of yesteryear fell out of favor.
“No reservation?” the agent inquired, hardly attempting to mask his insolent manner.
In another setting, Dugan may have tried to redirect the man's nature with a helping strong fist about the smug bastard's fashion conscious lapels. But Benny constrained this tendency knowing that, at least in this instance, the importance of logistics still weighed heavier than resolution to a minor breach of dignity.
The agent read the look on Dugan's face. “For how long, sir?”
“Just for tonight.”
Turning to the computer and entering just a few well rehearsed keystrokes, the man said “As luck would have it, there is one room available on the second floor. Double bed”. He looked at the prospective quest with a hint of scrutiny before adding “Non-smoking.”
“I'll take it.”
“For one evening, the rate will be $265.”
Benny flinched ever so slightly, but not so discreet as to have been missed by the man behind the counter whose facial muscles let slip an ever so slight smirk. Benny's facial inflection was nothing more than an unconscious reflex of a man of modest means. However, he did come prepared. He opened his wallet and tossed three one hundred dollar bills to the hotel agent.
A signature here, a few initials here and here, and he had the key in hand.
“Will you be needing help with your luggage, sir?”
“No, thank you.” The eyes of the man behind the counter followed Dugan as he turned and walked away, not toward the elevators, but back out the front door.
Benny sauntered down the circle drive and back to the street. Out in the open, he squinted from the abrupt exposure to the sunlight saturating a clear sky and reflecting off the surfaces of shiny automobiles parked along the curb. Not the old Lincoln Continental, of course. It appeared to not have had a coat of wax since being driven out of the assembly plant. Benny didn't even notice the distinction as he walked past the line of cars for two more blocks. Down the street another tall building occupied a corner. Above the facade of metal and glass were the words 'First National Trust'. Just above those words were shown the time and temperature. Currently 52 degrees, 9:30 in the morning.
Inside, Benny approached the reception desk near the front but located off to one side. A few small adjoining offices separated by glass panels filled the wall behind where the woman sat. Had he gone straight back through the lobby, Dugan would have been in front of the row of tellers, two of whom stood waiting to help with your cash handling needs.
But Benny had given the matter a great deal of thought. A bank account might draw too many questions, at least one opened with a bag full of bills that should total in the neighborhood of $250,000. And besides, it was only to be temporary, only until the heat was extinguished with release of the news report.
“Excuse me, miss” Dugan said to the woman behind the desk. “Who do I see about renting a safe deposit box?”
“That would be Mr. Stevens” she
said while picking up the phone. It apparently rang as a man in one of the small offices behind her answered, then looked in their direction. The man gave a wave to Dugan and hung up. Turning just enough to point behind her, she told their new client “He will see you now.”
“Please have a seat. I'm Bill Stevens. I understand you wish to rent a safe deposit box.”
“That's right. Probably for only a few months, if that is acceptable.”
“Well, we have a variety of sizes to choose from. From ten dollars a month to thirty-five, depending on your needs, but they all require a six month minimum rental agreement, payable in advance.
“That will be fine” Benny told him. What was an extra few bucks considering the quantity of cash he needed to secure.
Stevens handed him a brochure and went over the various options available. The ten dollar variety may have suited those who wished to keep small amounts of jewelry or important papers in a safe place, but was hardly adequate for the amount of paper their new client had to stash. The thirty-five dollar variety seemed twice as large as would be necessary, particularly for such short term needs. After careful consideration, he choose the twenty five dollar style, basically a large drawer that would accommodate not only the cash but the briefcase he intended to deliver it in.
Once business at the bank was concluded, Benny ventured back toward the Lincoln Continental. But before stepping off that first block, he turned back to look at the clock perched upon the bank. 10:05 AM. In twenty-four hours, he would be leaving this same spot again. And in a few hours after that, he would be dead. Sort of.
At promptly 8:30 PM, a black Suburban SUV belonging to Red DelGatti pulled up to the Temptation Hotel. Mr. DelGatti was not on board. The man never transacted business directly, at least not for quite a few years. His associates took care of the details while he commanded the helm of his little empire from behind the iron gate that secured his estate.
The passenger door opened and Sammy Hogan methodically unfolded his six foot five frame as he attempted a graceful exit from the car. Joey Hogan remained at the wheel, the package to be delivered resting on the front seat next to him. The motor was left running while his brother went inside.
The lobby was quiet. Of the eighteen girls who called the place home, all but seven were out drumming up business. Of the seven, six were on reserve. Only one currently was engaged in the art of sensual theatrics upstairs. But it was still relatively early in the evening for those seeking respite from the cruelties of a non-affectionate world. Sammy continued down to the end of the hall and knocked on the apartment door.
Dugan stepped to the door and took a deep breath while glancing back over his shoulder. The six girls sat on the divan, all dolled up and ready to party. They liked the frat boys. They tended to be considerably more physically desirable than those at the older and more common end of the client spectrum. They were also more considerate, and perhaps most important, much quicker when it came to consummating business.
Tonight however, Benny Dugan, who also had treated his girls with respect and consideration, asked for just a little more effort in keeping the customers satisfied, and for reasons unbeknownst to them, that included Joey and Sammy Hogan, DelGatti's goons. They weren't going to argue or question the ambiguities of the request. Primarily, they were asked to provide the entertainment as exotic dancers tonight. Their other talents were reserved for those willing to pay the special premium rate of the evening. They sat there all in a row, buzzing and giggling like the cats that just snorted the last of the white canary powder.
The door opened. Over Dugan's shoulder, Sammy caught sight of the six on the divan. They acted like giddy teenagers, which of course most of them were just a few years ago, and waved in their professionally friendly manner. Their pheromones drifted to the doorway and Sammy reacted with a rise in blood pressure and an instinctive tug at the knot of his tie.
“Ready to go, Sammy?” Dugan's confidence was building. This would be like taking candy from a baby. But to do so, this would also need to be like giving candy to two babies. And he instructed his girls to give Sammy and his brother all they wanted.
The shiny black SUV pulled into the lot of the Ritz just before 9:00 PM. The vehicle itself drew little attention. In the movies, its arrival may have foreshadowed a pending invasion of G-men or perhaps a contingent of well funded individuals who wore all black and never left home without being properly accessorized with the latest in assault weaponry. But tonight its passengers were here to make love, not war. Not to mention a great deal of money. As long as everyone respected the rules of the game, the Uzis would remain under the front seat.