Chapter Two – On the Qui Vive: In Which a Mobster Meets a Cat
In the middle of the next afternoon, a silver van, slightly the worse for wear, pulled up to the curb in front of a wooden power pole on a relatively unused street in the warehouse district. A few feet away an intersection led into another, even smaller street.
A man wearing work clothes, pole-climbing boots, and a hard hat got out of the van. Opening the rear door, he pulled out some equipment, and headed confidently up the wooden pole carrying several electric lines and a small camera. He was atop the pole for only about five minutes, during which time he attached a tap line to one of the transformers and the surveillance camera to the pole itself, which he aimed at the intersection. Finishing his task, he climbed back down the pole and tossed his equipment into the back of the van. After locking the doors, he walked to the intersection with the small street.
The small street, called Ocean Lane, was hardly more than an alley, wide enough for only one vehicle to transit it. To passersby it showed mostly brick walls. It held only two businesses, one a small shop with grimy windows called Johnson Electronics. Were one able to see through the windows, one would find dusty wooden shelves laden with miscellaneous, mysterious parts. It looked as though no one had patronized it in years, that perhaps it hadn't even been open for business in years.
On the opposite side of the lane stood the other establishment, a bar. The window in its front door was almost as dirty as its neighbor's, but it sported a neon sign that announced it to be "Harry's Place." A fly-spotted placard in the window informed the drinking public that it was "Open," although the placard was seldom, if ever, turned over to the "Closed" side.
The lineman opened the door into Harry's Place and stopped for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloomy interior. He noted that the room was larger than it appeared from the outside. There were three booths against the outer wall on each side of the door. Rickety scarred tables and chairs filled the space between the booths and the bar. The bar stretched in front of the door with about eight stools drawn up to it. Behind the bar, the backbar contained lots of shelves backed by mirrors and lighted from within. Bottles of various kinds of potables and glassware were lined up neatly on the shelves. Several signs announced the availability of various brands of beer. At either end of the backbar was a door.
The lineman sauntered up to the bar and ordered draft beer. While the barman pulled the tap, the lineman stepped around the right end of the bar toward the door, a sign on which announced it was the rest room. He opened the door, ascertaining with a swift glance that there were no other windows or doors offering any other means of entering or leaving the small room.
By the time he returned to the bar, his beer was waiting. He picked up the mug and took it to the last booth to the right of the outer door, opposite the door to the bathroom. Sipping his beer, he carefully scrutinized the rest of the patrons. There were only two—one sitting at the opposite end of the bar and another occupying one of the tables. Both sat hunched over, staring into their drinks as if oblivious to everything except their own misery.
The lineman watched as the barman went through the door at the other end of the bar and returned quickly carrying a large package of napkins and, incongruously, considering the overall ambience of the place, some coasters. It was reasonable to assume there was an office space or storage room back there. Someone else had already determined that the bar had no back door. Not very good for evacuation purposes in case of fire, the lineman observed to himself, but it would make the coming job easier.
With his survey completed, the lineman swallowed the rest of his beer and headed out the front door with a tip of his hand to the barman. Returning to his van, he got in and drove away, leaving his tap line dangling from the pole.
Around nine o'clock in the evening a large man wearing a heavy, long black overcoat and carrying two briefcases entered Ocean Lane and walked to Harry's Place. Once inside, he looked around. With a nod to Harry the barman, he turned to his right and slid into the same booth the lineman had occupied earlier. Depositing his briefcases on the bench, he sat down next to them, positioning himself so that he faced the door.
When Harry brought him a mug of beer, he took a tiny sip. For some time he sat without moving. About 20 minutes later the front door swung open to admit a man wearing a peacoat. He too looked around and then approached the booth, sliding into the seat opposite the other man.
"You the bag man?" he asked.
"Yeah," the other replied. "What you got?"
"Fifteen large,"
"Lemme see it," the first man demanded.
The newcomer reached into the breast pocket of the peacoat and pulled out an ordinary white business envelope. Lifting the flap, he riffled through the contents. The other man reached out for it and checked the bills himself. He leaned over and placed the envelope and contents into one of his briefcases. From the other briefcase he extracted a package which he handed to the newcomer. The newcomer lifted a corner of the wrapping to examine the contents.
"Guaranteed?" he queried.
"I'm here Monday through Friday, same time, if you got any beefs."
The newcomer slipped the package into his jacket.
"Pleasure doing business with you," he said, rising from his seat to leave.
The other man nodded to him without speaking. The whole transaction had taken less than a minute.
In the meantime, the beat up silver van had pulled up again next to the telephone pole. Someone emerged briefly from the rear to attach the tap line to an outlet in the van. A few minutes later the rear door opened again, letting out a sleek brown cat. The cat jumped to the pavement and shook itself. After looking around as if trying to see if anyone noticed him, the cat trotted to the intersection and entered Ocean Lane. The cat took up a position in the doorway of the electronics shop.
Just as the man in the peacoat opened the door of Harry's Place to leave, the cat loped across the street and, scooting around the feet of the man who had just purchased $15,000 worth of drugs, slipped into the bar before the door closed. Once inside, the cat sat down on his haunches to look around the interior. The bartender looked up but made no move to eject the cat or even acknowledge its presence.
Seeing the man in the end booth, the cat walked over to the table between the booth and the door to the restroom. Jumping up on one of the chairs, the cat turned around a couple of times before crouching down. No one would have suspected that he deliberately sat facing the man in the booth or that the metal ID tag on a leather collar around his neck contained a micro-miniaturized camera and microphone. Making himself comfortable, the cat tucked his paws under his chest and let his eyes close to narrow slits as if he were thinking of mouse-infested meadows rather than observing.
Neither the man in the booth nor the cat had long to wait. The door opened again to admit another man wearing a bulky rainslicker, although it wasn't raining. He too approached the man in the booth. The conversation was slightly different, but the actions were about the same—first money changed hands and then the corresponding number of packages were handed out. This transaction lasted no longer than the previous one.
Over the next several hours, the same brief scenario played out several times. Occasionally other patrons of the bar would enter or leave the premises, but none of them approached the man in the booth nor seemed to be aware of the business being conducted. The barman served patrons their orders and puttered as bartenders everywhere are wont to do.
The cat had no way of telling how much time had passed. He was in fact almost falling asleep when, after the most recent customer had departed, the man arose stiffly from his bench and lumbered into the rest room. This seemed to be a signal to Harry, who brought over a fresh stein of beer.
Returning from the rest room, the man sat down again on his bench, swallowed half of his fresh beer, and took out the various envelopes he had collected from his customers. He riffled through them quickly, his lips moving in a silent count. When he was finished, he drained the stein and knocked it against the table. Harry immediately brought over a fresh one, taking the emptied one with him.
The man sipped at his beer, staring at nothing. The cat stood up on its chair, stretched, turned around, and sat down again in the same position as before. The man looked at his watch several times, finally taking notice of the cat.
"Hey, kitty," he said. "You want some beer?"
The cat sat up on its haunches and meowed loudly.
The man laughed harshly. "C'mere, kitty."
The cat meowed again, but had no time to respond to the man's invitation. The door opened, this time admitting a tall, thin man wearing a hat, a long, dark coat, and sunglasses. He slid into the booth opposite the bagman.
"Doin' okay, Gianni?" he asked.
Gianni replied, "Yeah."
"How much?"
"Three fifty."
The thinner man held out his hand. Gianni reached into his briefcase and brought out the various envelopes and handed them to the other man, who checked them one by one. When he was done, he unzipped his coat to put the envelopes into two inner pockets.
"Not bad," the thin man commented. "You need more supplies?"
"I'll come around tomorrow. Usual time and place?"
"Fine with me," the thin man told him and left without further conversation.
The man in the booth drank the rest of his beer and made his own preparations to leave. Standing up from the booth, he looked down at the cat.
"You gonna come with me?" he asked.
In reply, the cat jumped down and began polishing his ankles. The man grinned and picked up his briefcases. Calling "good night, Harry," he opened the door. The cat immediately ran out and took off down the lane, turning left when it reached the corner.
"Hey!" called the man, somewhat disappointed that his companion of the evening seemed to have abandoned him. By the time he reached the intersection, the cat had disappeared. He took no notice of the beat up van.
Author's Chapter Notes:
In which a mobster meets a cat