At 7 pm on Friday night Frank Salucci got into the Cool Cad and took the short drive from his home to the Gas Lamp district. He was scheduled to meet Sarah, one of his favored regulars, at Brian’s 24 Restaurant, Bar and Grill on 6th Ave. The plan was to have drinks and dinner before checking into a hotel or going back to his place, he hadn’t decided yet.
Sarah was a tall leggy head turner, who knew how to dress and who had her dark straight hair attended to by a well known coiffeuse. She was already sitting at Brian’s bar knocking back a vodka Collins and chatting with the bartender. Two different men that fancied themselves pick-up artists had already approached her and been unceremoniously batted away.
Frank parked on the second floor of the Horton Plaza parking structure, back near the exit, then went into the plaza, with its myriad stores and stands, and stuck his parking ticket into the validation machine. Then he made his way down to the street level. He walked out on 4th and turned toward F, and that’s where he spotted them, the guy who’d shook him down at the Pechanga, and the girl who cut his leg.
“It’s a small world,” Frank said, under his breath.
The light changed and Rick and Gloria and a few other pedestrians crossed 4th and headed toward 5th. Frank waited until the group was almost across before he covered the last few yards to the cross walk and moved quickly to the other side. As he followed from thirty yards back he had a quick look around and concluded that nobody was paying attention.
It seemed like Rick, Frank remembered his name from the tag on his jacket, and Gloria, that’s what Rick had called her that at the restaurant, were quite an item now, bouncing off each other, laughing and talking like real sweethearts. They could bury them side by side or maybe their cremated ashes could be mingled and sprinkled from the Coronado Bridge because Frank planned to make this their last day on earth.
When the little group got to the corner of F Street and 5th some went straight, crossing 5th with the light, a few turned right, and Rick and Gloria waited so they could walk east on 5th. Frank stopped in front of a hat shop and looked at the displays in the windows. A shop girl, dressed in fresh casual clothes, stepped out of the store and asked Frank if there was anything she could show him. Maybe later, he told her, his eyes on the happy couple. The light changed, Rick and Gloria started walking, and Frank stepped away from the store.
He barely made the light this time, but he did, closing the gap on Rick and Gloria by ten yards. He wasn’t worried they’d seen him; they were oblivious, wrapped up in their little love affair. Frank followed, twenty yards back, until he saw them duck into the Croce’s Restaurant and Jazz Bar. He waited outside for five minutes and then walked quickly back to the hat shop.
The shop girl smiled when he came in.
“That was fast.”
“I told you I might be back.”
“Right, what can I help you with?”
Frank let his eyes wander over the shelves and stands which held nothing but hats.
“Well, I don’t see any shoes in here so how about a hat?”
The girl’s expression stayed cheerful. She never let a customer rattle her; even a malcontent cretin like this one appeared to be. Normally she would ask what kind of hat he was looking for but decided to ask no more questions. Why give the buffoon an opportunity to come up with a snappy smart ass answer?
“Follow me, please,” she said, and began to walk through the store, pointing out the different types of hats. When they’d seen almost 75% on the inventory Frank stopped and picked a black felt hat off a shelf. It had a black ribbon headband, a nice brim, not too wide or narrow, and, on the inside of the hat, a narrow flexible sweat band that made it possible to fold the hat and put it in a drawer or a suitcase. He checked the size, put it on his head and walked to a mirror. For two minutes Frank tried the hat at different angles and with different facial expressions. When he was satisfied he took it off and handed it to the girl.
“I’ll take it.”
The girl walked with the hat to the cash register. The hat was actually on sale, down 15% from the regular price. The girl had a list of hats she was supposed to tag a sale price on but she’d only finished about half of them. Oh well, a piece of bad luck the wise ass would never know about. She was about to break her question rule and ask Frank if he was going to pay cash or credit, when he laid a hundred dollar bill on the counter. She took the bill and gave him change while Frank put on his new hat.
“Thank you, come again,” the girl said, and then, when he was out the door, “Preferably on a day I’m not here.”
She reached under the counter and picked up a handful of sales tags, walked to the shelf with the black felt hats, and placed the first one there.
Frank entered the parking structure, walked to the Cool Cad, and opened the trunk. The Sig-Sauer P-229 was in a cloth bag with handles. Also in the bag were a clip-on holster, two ammo clips, and a silencer. The holster did a good job of concealing a weapon under a coat, or even a short jacket, but Frank didn’t like it because having the gun ride up under his ribs was uncomfortable and made him feel like a dorky TV cop.
Frank took the holster and tossed it into the trunk. Then he took a towel out of his gym bag and put it into the cloth bag to cover the gun, the silencer, and the ammo. He carried the bag out of the structure and walked back down to the corner F St. and 5th Ave. As he waited for the light, his new hat pulled down to hide his eyes, he thought about what he was about to do. He knew it was a rush job, that he was formulating a plan on the run, and that he didn’t have his get-a-way figured out. But he didn’t care. It was a golden opportunity and he wasn’t going to pass it up. He was going to put some 9mm slugs into that shake down artist and his cutter girlfriend, enough of them to make sure they exhaled their last breath onto a San Diego sidewalk.
While he waited for the light to change Frank took out his cell phone and speed dialed his date.
“This is Sarah,” she answered.
“Hi Sarah, this is Frank. I’m on my way to our carwash. I got a call from the police that someone broke into the office and I have to go there to talk with them, file a report, something.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, I was looking forward to seeing you.”
“Me too but don’t worry, I’ll call you soon and we can reschedule.”
“Okay, Frank, take care.”
Sarah wasn’t happy with the change of events but she tried to look on the bright side. Frank would compensate her for her time and probably would reschedule soon, so moneywise it would be good. And she wouldn’t have to spend the night in the sack with Frank. Sarah hadn’t entered her chosen profession to be sexually satisfied but at the prices she charged she wanted her clients to believe that she was. Sometimes it happened, no acting involved. Other occasions demanded a performance. With Frank only a performance good enough to receive an Oscar nomination would do.
Sarah was about ready to go when a snappy dresser with a hounds tooth sports coat, a blue shirt, and a yellow tie, walked in and took a seat at the bar two seats down from Sarah. He was a good looking guy, Sarah thought, in his middle thirties, an up-and-comer in some sexy field – finance, law, computer technology.
“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked him.
“I’ll have whatever she’s having.” He looked over at Sarah and smiled, “Can I get one for you?”
A fast mover, Sarah thought. She gave him her best come hither smile and said, “Are you sure you can afford it?”
The man laughed at her teasing, “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Alright then, I would like a drink. Thank you.”
He looks like he can afford a lot more than a drink, thought Sarah. She was sure he could afford some female companionship on a lonely night in the Gas Lamp. Things were looking up.
When the light changed Frank walked up 5th and into Croce’s. The restaurant had a lot of outdoor seating but the couple wasn’t there. Inside the door, to the left, was a long room with two ro
ws of tables. In the second row, three tables down, Rick and Gloria sat and ate.
Frank took a seat at the end of the bar, the only seat in the joint where he could keep an eye on them. The bartender came over and he ordered a bourbon and Coke. When he brought it Frank paid in cash.
Frank studied the couple as they ate their meal and tried to figure out if they would order desert. He didn’t think so. They were both pretty lean and didn’t look like desert eaters. He didn’t know yet how he was going to do them. Let them walk out and plug them from behind, or walk up ahead and get them from the front while they walked toward him. Hitting them from the front appealed to him because he could look in their eyes when he opened up. He’d push his hat back so they could see who it was. He’d love to see their faces then, when they finally realized, too late, that Frank Salucci was not a man to mess with. The problem was he didn’t know which way they’d turn when they came out.
Frank drained the drink, then slid off the barstool and stepped outside. A little night air might clear his head and help him put the pieces of the plan together so he could do the lovebirds and get out of the area. The getaway, that’s what he needed to figure out. This is when Bobby could be a great help, if he wasn’t such a wuss about offing people. He could come down, steal a car and pick Frank up. Then when the couple came out of the restaurant they’d drive by and Frank would open up from the back seat. Job done. Ditch the car, find a bar and celebrate over a beer.
Forget about Bobby, Frank said to himself, and, as much as he hated to say it, forget about the hit unless he could come up a way to vacate the area once it was done. He looked up 5th Street, turned and looked down, more as a way to clear his mind then to see anything. But he did see something. On the other side of F was a taxi stand with a couple of taxis, one behind the other. Yeah baby, Frank thought. There’s always a way if you want it bad enough.
Frank crossed F and approached the first taxi. He handed the driver $20 and said, “Some friends of mine will be coming out of the Croce’s in a few minutes. I’m supposed to pick them up and take them to a surprise party in East Village. Can I wait in the cab and when I see them we can drive up and get them?”
“Sure, get in,” said the driver as he turned over the meter.
Frank got into the back behind the driver, positioning the bag at his feet.
“I need to explain to the driver behind me that I have a fare and that I’ll send him the next fare that comes along.”
“Okay, but get back quick, I don’t want to miss them if they come out.”
The driver was half way to the cab behind him before Frank finished the sentence. Frank watched through the back window and saw the driver lean over as he explained things to the other driver. Then both drivers started laughing and when they stopped Frank’s driver came back and got behind the wheel.
“Everything all set?”
“All set.”
“What’s your name?”
“My name is Narayan.”
“Where are you from?”
“India, but I’ve been here for 15 years.”
Frank didn’t comment. He had a feeling the cab driver didn’t like to talk and that was fine with him. He didn’t need him to talk, he just needed him to follow directions.
Frank hadn’t noticed before but Narayan had a bluetooth in his ear so he could speak on the phone hands free. He either made a call or received one but all of a sudden he was talking a mile a minute in what, Frank figured, must be what people spoke in India. That was fine with Frank. Maybe the guy would keep talking when the shooting started and wouldn’t even notice. Frank stuck both hands into the bag and began screwing the silencer into the barrel of the Sig Saur.
He sat behind the driver and waited. He had a clear view of the restaurant door but it seemed like they were taking forever. Where were they? Maybe they decided to have desert after all. Finally, with Frank just about ready to walk into the Croce’s to see what was going on, the couple came out and started up the street.
“That’s them, the couple up ahead. Try and get right alongside them.”
Narayan had a bad feeling as he moved toward the couple. Something was wrong with this customer and his wraparound sunglasses and slick black hat. If he didn’t want to go into the restaurant he could hang outside until his friends came out and then get a cab. There were plenty of them around, so why sit in one letting the meter run when you didn’t have to?
Narayan looked in his rearview mirror he saw the customer hadn’t fastened his seatbelt and had lowered the window all the way down. He saw him pull something from the bag and heard him fiddling with it. Then he saw him rest his left arm across the door and bring up his right hand with a large pistol with a long barrel just as they reached the couple.
Narayan had been giving his wife the play by play from the time he’d filled in the other driver. Suddenly he switched to English.
“What the hell!” he yelled at the top of his lungs as he put the gas pedal to the floor and yanked the wheel to the right. The acceleration threw Frank off some but his elbows kept him fastened to the open window and he was able to get off five or six rounds. He could see that one of them hit Rick because he bent at the waist and put his hand on his side.
Narayan yanked the wheel back to the left but it didn’t matter, Frank wasn’t going to get off any more shots at the happy couple. The golden opportunity lost because of this Indian fool cab driver. Frank had plenty of rounds left but he’d only need one to the back of the head as soon as the cab stopped.
Narayan was coming up on a red light. The middle lane was free of cars and Narayan didn’t hesitate. He moved into the lane and shot out into the intersection and suddenly it was all horns and screeching tires. He was almost across when a Jeep Grand Cherokee hit him behind the right wheel, spinning the cab ninety degrees as Narayan slammed on the brakes and Frank fell forward into the back of the driver’s seat and on to the floor.
Narayan threw the transmission into park and ran, leaving his gun firing passenger scrambling to get off the floor. He sprinted a full block before turning around to check. No one was following him so he stopped, leaned against a wall and breathed deeply through his mouth. Narayan, was lean and looked to be in good shape but he rarely exercised and running a block felt like sprinting a marathon.
Still leaning against the wall and breathing hard he said, “All he had to do was ask and I’d have told him, I didn’t do drive bys.”
“What Narayan? What did you say?”
“You’re still on the line? I didn’t realize it.”
“Yes I’m here. What’s going on? You sound out of breath. It sounded like you were running before.”
“I was. I had to run from the cab. A passenger was trying to shoot people from the window of my taxi while I was driving!”
“Oh my God! Be careful!”
“I will. I’ll call you again when things settle down.”
Time to move. Narayan turned and walked fast up a couple of streets then turned and walked some more. Then he pulled out his cell phone, dialed 911, and gave the woman who answered the particulars of the incident.
“Are you at the scene?” the woman asked.
“I’m a few blocks away.”
“Can you get to the scene to talk to the officers when they get there?”
“Give the police my number and tell them to call me when everything is secure.”
“You don’t think the shooter is still there do you?”
“No, but he’s crazy enough to be. You ever hear of anyone using a taxi for a drive by shooting?”
When the lady didn’t answer Narayan said, “I didn’t think so,” then hung up and called the cab company.
Gloria had Rick by the arm and was moving him up the sidewalk as fast as she could. “Are you alright?”
“I think so. I feel like I’ve been branded, with burning iron,” he gasped, “but I’m still walking and talking.”
> Gloria looked ahead and halted, bringing Rick to a stop with her. “Look at that,” she said, pointing up the street at the cab.
Rick looked up and saw Frank get out of the back of the cab and into the driver’s seat. He adjusted the mirror, fastened the seatbelt, and drove away.
Gloria said, “That guy is a piece of work, isn’t he?
“Yeah, I’ll give him that.”
“Let me have a look at that,” Gloria said as he moved to his side. “Pull up your shirt.”
Rick winced as his shirt tail ran over the wound. Gloria bent so she could get a good look. “In and out,” she said. “Looks like it took some flesh with it but nothing serious.”
Rick couldn’t believe it was nothing serious. “It feels serious. It hurts like it’s serious.”
“I’m sure it does but there won’t be any permanent damage. If it would have hit you here,” Gloria touched his abdomen a few inches, in and up from the wound, “it would have broken a couple of ribs, hit your liver, and...”
Rick didn’t know a lot about medicine but he knew you only had one liver and if you lost it you’d be, in the words of Raymond Chandler, “sleeping the big sleep.”
“And a bullet in my liver would be much more serious.”
“Right, maybe even fatal.”
A portly man with a large mustache came out of a store carrying a metal folding chair which he set down in front of his place of business. “Here you are young man” he said. “I called 911 so medical people should be here any minute.”
“Thank you,” said Rick, as he sat down.
“Here’s a couple of clean handkerchiefs for your wound.”
Rick took them and pressed one against his side. “Thanks.”
A few minutes later they heard sirens and then an ambulance arrived and medics, one male and one female jumped out from the back doors. They pulled out a metal stretcher on wheels and brought it over to where Rick was sitting. “Are you the patient?” the woman asked.
“Yes he is,” said Gloria.
The female medic said, “Alright sir, can you lie down on the gurney?”
“It’s not that serious. Can I just grab a seat in the van?”
“There’s really no place for you to sit,” said the other medic. “The only way in is on the gurney.”
“Can I walk over to the ambulance and get on it there?”
“Come on man it’s just a short ride, people do it every day.”
“Okay.” Rick stood up and lay down on the gurney. Gloria walked with him as the medics rolled him to the ambulance. Then they collapsed the gurney, guided it to the ground and lifted it up and into the ambulance. That done the medics climbed into seats alongside Rick.
A car pulled up across the street and parked in a red zone. “Cops,” Gloria announced.
The ambulance driver looked back over his shoulder and yelled, “We’re out of here.”
Gloria looked in at Rick strapped down in the back of the ambulance. “I’ll talk to the cops and call you in 30 or 40 minutes.”
“Okay.”
“We’re out of here!” said the driver with a little more urgency then the last time.
The medic nearest the rear doors shut them as the driver took off, sirens wailing.
“Does he really need the siren?” said Rick.
“No, he’s just got them on so the cops won’t stop us and waste our time while they talk to you.”
“Oh.”
“The cops can find you if they need to,” said the woman. “Is that your wife? The lady you were with?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Hopefully things are headed that way. We’ve only known each other for a few days.”
“You could have fooled me. I watched her when we were getting you ready and she looked pretty concerned, like a wife or a girl friend would.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, she was buying your action.”
Rick laughed, “Buying my action, huh? That sounds good. You’re sure about that?”
“Not a doubt in my mind.”
Two men in suits, one about 25, the other maybe 38 or 40, exited the car and walked across the street. Gloria looked at the car and couldn’t help but think that it was like every TV detective car she’d ever seen: dark, old, nondescript. When they got near Gloria they flashed their badges and introduced themselves: Detectives Young and Spears.
Young, was the youngest of the two, which seemed to make sense. He took out a notebook and Spears started asking questions.
“Can I get your name, address and telephone numbers please.”
Gloria obliged.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“We came out of Croce’s and a taxi rolled up to us and then peeled off, zig-zagging up the street. A guy in the back got off maybe six or eight shots and hit my friend in the side. The taxi had its side hit going through the intersection and the driver hit the brakes and then ran from the taxi. Salucci climbed out of the back and got into the driver’s seat and took off.”
“Salucci? You know the shooter?”
“Yes,” said Gloria, “we know him.”
“Why is he shooting at you?”
Gloria gave the detectives their short, bazaar history with Frank Salucci. Then she said, “We know he shot at us because he’s the only person who’d want to. However we can’t identify him because he was wearing a hat and sunglasses and my guess is when you talk to him he’ll have a credible alibi.”
“Do you know where Salucci might be now?”
“No, but sooner or later he’ll be in his beloved Cadillac with its COOLCAD plates.”
“Do you think you’re still at risk with this guy………what’s his first name?”
“Frank, Frank Salucci. Do I think we’re at risk with him running around loose in San Diego? Yes, absolutely. We’re in danger, the guy just tried to kill us. He’s a psychopath!” she almost shouted.
Young and Spears went quiet and Gloria did the same. After a moment she looked at Spears. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I’m just not used to this stuff, getting shot at, having thugs sent to my house to beat me up. It’s unnerving.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll look up Mr. Salucci and inform him that he’s a suspect in an attempted murder case. You might want to keep off the streets or leave town for a few days. We’ll call you if there are any developments.”
“Thanks.” Gloria didn’t see much sense in telling them she had left town for a few days and couldn’t keep it up forever.
Then Young, like a cop clairvoyant said, “If you can’t leave town then mix things up. Drive different routes to and from work and make arrangements to come in early one day and late the next. Look into your car, front seat, back seat and floor, before you get in and…”
“And get a hand gun and learn how to use it?”
Young and Spears looked at each other and then Spears said, “We can’t suggest that because it’s illegal in California but, I’ve been told, some people would rather deal with being illegal then being dead.”
Gloria nodded, “I could be one of them.”
Young put his notebook and pen in his coat pocket and Gloria said, “Tell me, isn’t it illegal for police detectives to park in a red zone?”
“Highly probable but we’ve never gotten a ticket,” said Young.
“Well I’m happy to see that someone’s getting some use out of those red zones. This town isn’t that easy park in, so when cops leave the available spots to the tax payers, I consider that good police work.”
“Well, thank you. That’s exactly how we feel,” said Spears.
Gloria walked down the street and stopped by a lamp pole. She pulled out her cell and speed dialed Rick.
Spears and Young, standing by their car in the red zone, watched her as she made the call.
Spears said, “What do you think?”
“I think she’s hot. So
unds like her boyfriend is going to make it but if he doesn’t …”
“You’re sick Young, a real sicko. I mean you’re funny and I’m laughing but you are seriously sick.”
“Probably some truth in that but, you have to admit, she is hot, right? And I think she likes me.”
Spears looked at his partner and shook his head. “You think she likes you? You’re sicker than I thought partner. If I we’re you I’d try to lose that thought because no good can come of it.” Spears pulled out his phone and flipped it open. “I’m going to call the cab driver and see if I you can get him over here.”
Rick picked up on the second ring.
“How are you?” said Gloria.
“I’m fine. They shot me with some pain killers and they’re going to stitch me up any minute. It seems like a hundred people have looked at it, like it’s a rare disease never before seen in San Diego.”
“You sound up. You must be enjoying all the attention.”
Rick laughed. “I wouldn’t have put it that way but yeah, I guess I am.”
“I just talked to the police. They’re going to look Sulucci up and see what he has to say. They said they’d let him know he’s a suspect in an attempted murder.”
“That’s good I guess. I’m sure he’ll have a phony alibi by the time they talk to him.
“Yeah, probably.”
“Did the cops say anything about talking to me?”
“No, but they know where you are if they want to.”
“Yeah, I’ll be here for awhile anyway. How are you getting home?”
“Walk or take a cab. What about you?”
“I’ll probably take a cab to Horton’s Plaza and retrieve the tow truck.”
“I’d invite you over but all I can think about is sleep.”
“I hear you.”
Gloria looked up the street where Young and Spears were talking to an Indian who, she guessed was the cab driver. “I’ve got to go. I think the cops are talking to the cab driver and I want to find out.”
“If it’s him give him some money and I’ll pay you back. If that guy hadn’t done what he did we’d be dead on the street.”
“I’m going to go see, and I will give him some money, but let’s go 50/50. I’ll feel better about it.
Rick hung up just as a couple of orderlies brought in a gurney.
“Ready to go get stitched up?”
* * *
Chapter 16