The Bridge to Caracas

  Servito glanced at his rear-view mirror and saw a brilliant orange and yellow fireball rising above the tree line. He looked at Allison and grinned. “Guess they all got a real bang out of that meeting, Jerry baby!” he shouted, laughing hysterically.

  “What if somebody survives?” Allison asked.

  “Nobody survived that sucker!” Servito scoffed. “We just killed three birds with one stone, and them birds ain’t gonna sing no more.”

  Servito drove directly to the parking lot behind the Airport Hilton and parked beside the limousine. “Take the limo to the Holiday Inn,” he ordered, pointing to the long, white car. “I’ll call you at seven tomorrow morning.”

  “Why don’t we just stay here together?”

  “Because I don’t want anyone to see us together.”

  Allison had begun to open the driver’s side door when Servito stopped him. “Don’t run away. I’m not finished.” He handed a small piece of paper to Allison. “I want you to memorize this address, and then burn it.”

  Allison stared at the paper. “What the hell is this?”

  “My house in Caracas.”

  “Why are you giving it to me? We’re going together tomorrow, aren’t we?”

  “Sure, but I want you to have it in case you miss the flight. I’m going to stick around the farm until one tomorrow afternoon. If you aren’t there by then, I’m flying without you.”

  “You mean you want me to get to Venezuela by myself. How the hell am I gonna do that?”

  “You’ll have enough money to fly around the world at least twenty times by the time you finish your rounds tomorrow. And here—you’ll need this if you do have to travel alone.” Servito handed Allison a fake passport, complete with a photograph of Allison. The name “John Walter Smith” was neatly printed below the signature line at the bottom of the photograph.

  Allison examined the passport. He chuckled.

  “What the hell’s so funny?”

  “You’re beautiful. You think of everything.”

  “It’s a good thing I do, asshole! Before you put that passport in your pocket, I want you to sign it with John Smith’s signature.” Servito handed a pen to Allison. “I’ll call you at seven to make sure you’re awake. Then I want you to do the rounds. You should be able to collect at least two hundred grand. Head for the farm when you’re finished, and be quick about it. I’m taking off at one—with or without you.”

  CHAPTER 49

  Mike held Karen’s hand while they walked from Dan Turner’s office to the shore of Lake Ontario, less than a mile south of the North American Bank Building. The dull gray sky matched their spirits. A biting cold southeast wind howled in from the lake, causing huge waves to crash against the concrete pier beside them.

  “What are we going to do?” Karen’s voice faded with the wind.

  “We have to find a way to convince the feds we’re innocent. Servito must have had help. We just have to find out who.”

  “But how?”

  “It’ll be hard, but I still think we can do it.”

  Karen tried to smile, but her smile quickly contorted. “What if we can’t?”

  Mike looked away, staring at the lake.

  “We’ll both be sent to prison, won’t we?”

  Mike silently agreed with Karen, but shook his head. “There’s a lot we can do before show time,” he said with tightened lips.

  “You have something in mind?”

  “I don’t want to sit around in the blind hope that Turner’s going to save us. I want to do something.”

  “So do I. But what?”

  “Bob Bushing has to be number one on our hit list. He’s the individual who introduced me to Reserve Oil. Next is Dave Lasker. He runs the company that delivered all of Reserve Oil’s gasoline. I’m willing to bet both of them know everything.”

  Karen was encouraged but skeptical. “They won’t tell us a damn thing if they’re involved in any way.”

  “Probably not, but I still think it’s a good place to start.”

  “But what if I’m right? What if they refuse to tell?”

  “Then we’re screwed,” Mike conceded, staring sadly into Karen’s eyes. “Then I’m going to kill your husband. I’m not going down without him, babe.”

  Mike’s absurd logic served as a poignant reminder of the enormous difficulties facing them, all the direct results of her husband’s merciless and vindictive behavior. She wrapped both arms around Mike and pressed her head against his chest. “I’ll never regret loving you, Mike King, but I deeply regret the trouble it’s caused you,” she said with tears in her eyes.

  Mike placed his hands against Karen’s cheeks and kissed her forehead. “I could never blame you. No regrets, babe. Not one.” He looked deep in her eyes, searching. “Live with me. I don’t want to waste another second of my life without you.”

  She turned hugged him hard. “You know I want that with all my heart. I don’t care about myself any more, but I’m still terrified of what Jim will do to you…”

  “He can go straight to hell. I think he gets some kind of sadistic pleasure out of watching us suffer. So let’s suffer together. Stay with me tonight. Tomorrow we’ll go to your apartment, pack your things, and pick up Phillip.”

  CHAPTER 50

  Servito ate a full breakfast at the Airport Hilton before checking out and heading for home. At 8:20 a.m., he entered the kitchen, barely avoiding a collision with Martha Perkins.

  “Mr. Servito!” she exclaimed, startled and surprised at the rare sight of him at that time of the day. “How are you today?”

  Servito smiled. “Just fine, Martha. Is Karen here?”

  “No. I think she stayed at the hospital last night.”

  “I’m going to drive Phillip to school today. Is he ready?”

  Martha nodded. “He’s in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. I make him do that after every meal.”

  The kitchen door burst open and Phillip appeared. “Dad! How come you’re here?”

  Servito wrapped his arms around his son and lifted him from the floor. “I’m going to drive you to school today. Is that okay with you?” he asked, hugging him tightly.

  Phillip jerked his head backward and looked into his father’s eyes. “Did you have another fight with Mom?”

  “No, I just got here. I just wanted to see you and take you to school today.”

  “In the limousine?”

  Servito shook his head. “I don’t have it today.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Being fixed.”

  “Did you crash it?”

  “No.”

  “Then why is it being fixed?”

  “You ask too many questions,” Servito said, playfully rubbing his knuckles on Phillip’s scalp. “Let’s get going. I don’t want you to be late.” With Phillip still in his arms, he marched to the door.

  Martha handed Phillip his school bag when they passed by her. She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and then returned to the kitchen to finish her coffee.

  The Corvette reached the front gates of Royal Canada College in less than five minutes. Just inside the enormous stone archway of the college gates, Servito turned to the side of the long driveway and stopped the car. “How would you like to take the day off school and have an airplane ride with me?” he asked, turning to Philip.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Phillip shouted without hesitation.

  Servito completed a wide turn across the lawn of the school, drove back through the gates, and headed north on Avenue Road.

  “You should call Mom and tell her where we’re going,” Phillip suggested, suddenly worried.

  “That’s a very good idea. I’ll call her as soon as we see a telephone booth. You can help me look for one.”

  “There’s one!” Phillip shouted seconds later, pointing to a telephone booth on the lot of a Texaco service station.

  Servito turned onto the lot and stopped beside the booth. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said as he opened the door. He j
umped from the car, ran to the booth and pretended to make a telephone call. After an appropriate delay, he hung up and returned to the car. “We’re flying today, son. Mom said it was okay with her,” he said with a huge smile.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Phillip said, pumping the air with his fists.

  CHAPTER 51

  Karen opened her eyes early. She would have slept longer, were it not for the warmth of the morning sun on her face, or the smell of breakfast and Mike’s gentle kiss on her lips. She closed her eyes again, pretending to sleep.

  When Mike bent to kiss her again, she locked her arms around his neck and pulled him to the bed. “I missed you this morning, Tiger,” she said as she reached between his legs.

  The two made slow, deliberate, passionate love, forgetting their problems during the brief but ecstatic interlude. Afterwards, they sat on the edge of the bed and ate a breakfast of orange juice, eggs Benedict, and coffee, all affectionately prepared by Mike.

  Karen sipped her coffee, frowning at Mike over the brim of her cup. “I have a suggestion.”

  Mike displayed a naughty grin. “Is it that we make love again?”

  “Yes, but that isn’t what I had in mind… I think we should go and see Bob Bushing and Dave Lasker.”

  Mike glared at her and raised his hands in exasperation. “So again we postpone our happiness.”

  “We’ve waited a long time to live together. We can wait another day.”

  “There’s always something in the way, isn’t there?”

  Karen smiled. “Maybe that’s our destiny.”

  “If we ever get this mess behind us, I’m going to get a lawyer and ask him to draw up new wills for both of us. I want it explicitly stipulated that you and I are to be buried in the same casket.”

  “You have such a morbid sense of humor,” Karen scolded, then hugged Mike and kissed his ear. “You still haven’t said whether you agree…”

  “Sure. Let’s go to Buffalo.”

  “Good. I’ll call Martha.” Karen dialed the telephone number of the penthouse.

  “Hi, Martha. It’s Karen. Did you take Phillip to school already?”

  “No… your husband arrived here shortly after eight this morning. He took Phillip to school. I assumed you knew.”

  Karen’s heart pounded. Instinctively, she knew something was wrong. Her husband had not driven Phillip to school in years. “Did Jim ask you where I was?”

  “Yes. I told him you stayed at the hospital last night.”

  “Thanks, Martha. I’ll talk to you soon,” Karen said. She hung up and dialed the office number of Royal Canada College.

  A female answered.

  “This is Karen Servito calling. I want to confirm that my son, Phillip, made it to school this morning.”

  “One moment please. I’ll check with Phillip’s counselor. Please hold.”

  Karen prayed her instinct was wrong. Her uncontrolled trembling made every second an eternity.

  “This is Whitney Stewart speaking, Mrs. Servito,” Phillip’s counselor said. “Your son is not in class this morning. I took the time to talk to his classmates when I was informed of your call. None of them has seen him today.”

  “Did Phillip’s father call the school?”

  “I took the time to check that too. We have no record of his call.”

  “Thank you. Would you please have someone call my home the minute Phillip shows up?” Karen said, sickened at the certainty that he would not. Her face had lost all color and tears streamed from her eyes.

  “Now he’s taken Phillip,” she said, covering her face with her hands.

  Mike’s mind raced through a checklist of possibilities. “Do you have any idea where he would have taken him?” he asked.

  “They could have gone to the farm.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Just a guess. Phillip loves to go there.”

  “I think we should forget about Buffalo and go to the farm.”

  “What if I’m wrong?”

  “Can you think of a better idea?”

  “Maybe we should call the police.”

  Mike chuckled. “Sure we should. Can you imagine how cooperative they’ll be when they get a call from a couple of suspected felons? Besides, your husband is Phillip’s father. His only transgression was to sanction his son’s truancy.”

  CHAPTER 52

  Alex McDowell flew to Washington to speak to a Congressional sub-committee on the subject of gasoline tax evasion, which had been proven to be rampant in both Canada and the United States. Revenue losses to both governments from that source had reached intolerable levels—levels high enough to induce politicians to ask embarrassing questions.

  After the hearing, John Hill invited McDowell to lunch. Once again they sat at The Garden in Georgetown. McDowell sipped his coffee and looked across the table at his friend. “I have some extremely good news, John. We’ve arrested both Mike King and Jim Servito’s wife,” he declared, expanding his chest with obvious pride.

  “That’s great,” Hill replied with little apparent enthusiasm. “What are the charges?”

  “We charged King with unlawful possession and sale of a stolen substance, and unlawful disposal of a toxic substance. Karen Servito was charged with theft and sale of stolen gasoline and unlawful transportation of a stolen substance across an international boundary. I should add that my bosses still don’t have this news. I was in Washington at the time of the arrests. I want to tell them in person. I’m not going to let anyone else grab the credit for this one.”

  “When you made the arrests, did gasoline tax evasion fall within the realm of your consideration?” Hill asked.

  The proud smirk on McDowell’s face vanished. “No.”

  “Then you still don’t have a damn thing on the big fish?”

  McDowell’s face flushed to crimson.

  “You mean Jim Servito?”

  “Yup,” Hill said, cognizant of the fact that he had hit a very sensitive note.

  “Uh, no… we’re still working on it.”

  “Well, at least you put some heads on the platter.”

  McDowell elected not to respond.

  CHAPTER 53

  “Let’s stop at my office,” Mike suggested as he raced his XKE northward on Avenue Road.

  “Why?” Karen asked.

  Mike was grim faced. “A lot of fires to put out,” he conceded. “I’ve got to do something… at least to slow them down.”

  Ten minutes later, Mike hurried to his desk, ignoring the stack of telephone messages his secretary had handed him. Karen trailed after him like a ghost.

  “Take a good look at the front page of the Globe,” Mike’s secretary said. “It’s on your desk.”

  Mike lifted a copy of the morning Globe & Mail. The front page photograph immediately caught his eye. It showed firemen picking through the charred remains of the head office of Amerada Tank Lines. Shocked, he read the story detailing eyewitness reports of a large explosion that occurred shortly after eleven the previous evening. It stated that the head office of Amerada Tank Lines Limited had been completely destroyed, and that police investigating the incident believed at least three people had been killed. Mike’s heart sank when he read that police had identified Dave Lasker as one of the three victims. Other victims were still unidentified, and the cause of the blast was still unknown.

  He turned back to the door. “Barb, would you call Empire State Oil and get Bob Bushing on the line?” He turned to his other secretary. “Marlene, I want you to phone every outlet in the system and tell them to stop ordering gasoline from Empire State Oil. I need to know exactly how many are affected by contaminated gasoline. I want the ones that are affected to close until further notice and tell them to pump their tanks. Tell the employees there will be no interruption to their salaries or benefits. When you’re finished, I want you to get in touch with all of our sales representatives and tell them to allocate available gasoline supply equally among all of the outlets. If the media calls, t
ell them we have absolutely no comment.”

  “I’ve already talked to Bushing’s wife,” Barb said. “She called here, looking for him. She said she doesn’t have the slightest idea where her husband is. Evidently he left home last night and she hasn’t seen him since. I asked her to have him call you if he shows up?”

  “Thanks. I’m going to be in my car for most of the day,” Mike said. He reached for Karen’s hand and led her toward the door. “I’ll call.”

  Mike glanced at his gasoline gauge as he threaded his XKE northward on Bayview Avenue through the heavy city traffic. The needle pointed precariously close to empty. “I’ve got to stop for gasoline. We’re running on fumes,” he said as he turned onto a Shell service station lot and stopped beside one of the three parallel gasoline islands. Karen immediately noticed the car parked beside the adjacent island. The sight of a long, white Cadillac limousine made her blood run cold. She jumped from the car and examined the license plate at the rear of the limo. “That’s it!” she shouted.

  “That’s what?” Mike asked. He inserted a gasoline nozzle into the fill pipe of his XKE.

  “It’s Jim’s!” she screamed, pointing frantically at the limousine. “I know it’s his!”

  Mike stepped up and scanned the limousine’s interior. “There’s no one in it,” he said. Then he turned and continued to fill his gasoline tank, keeping his eye on the door of the station. “Get back in the car and hide,” he ordered.

  “But Phillip—”

  “Now, Karen!”

  Karen returned to her seat and lowered herself until her eyes were parallel to the bottom of her side window.

  Mike finished filling the tank and returned the gasoline nozzle to the pump. He glanced again at the station, to see a large fat man emerging from the office. He carried a white canvas bag and was heading straight toward the limousine. Mike opened his car door and leaned in to face Karen. “Have you ever seen him before?” he asked.