reluctantly. “Let’s go.”
“No worries man, we pull this off and go back to Sue’s. Joanie’s hanging with her, says she’d like to see you again.”
Pete’s worry lines eased slightly. “OK, what do we have to do?”
“All you’ve got to do is drive, pop the trunk, and look down. Don’t get out of the car. Don’t look at the dude.”
He started the car and backed out of the parking spot. “Where to?”
“Monster Bait. Turn right out of here and go about 200 yards, take a left. You’ll see the place on the left.”
Pete drove in silence, apprehensive about the exchange. This was not just a little out of his comfort zone; as an insurance man, it was a lot out of his comfort zone. They drove in an uneasy silence. Pete tried to concentrate on the road as Trufante rattled on about their day fishing. They turned into the lot, crab and lobster traps stacked on both sides of the drive.
“How do we know where he is?”
“He’ll let us know. Pull up here and hang tight.”
Pete felt like he was being watched. He fidgeted while Trufante sat calmly, still messing with the radio, like he’d done this a hundred times before. A few minutes later, a truck’s lights flashed three times from a pile of traps about 100 yards down. Pete looked over at Trufante, who nodded, and pulled the car forward slowly, stopping when he saw the truck, its lights illuminating the scene. The truck was lifted with meaty tires, polished chrome sparkled and neon lit the floorboards. A fluorescent ballyhoo was stenciled on the side with Monster Bait’s logo underneath.
“Remember, just stay here and keep your head down. Pop the trunk.”
Pete popped the trunk lid and sat quietly while Trufante extricated his large frame from the car and strode over to the truck. The two men talked for a few minutes and Trufante headed back to the car, giving a discreet thumbs up as he approached. Then the trunk lid lifted and he extracted the cooler, his long arms easily reaching both handles.
As Trufante approached the truck, two men emerged from the trap piles on either side, AK-47s pointed at Trufante.
“Just be cool and set the cooler on the tailgate. Nobody needs to get hurt,” Pete heard them say through the open window.
“Thought we had a deal, man. What’s with the munitions? This ain’t cool.”
“Do it.”
Pete watched, his eyes large and unblinking as Trufante set the package down and stood uneasily as the leader removed and counted the packages. His stomach rolled and he felt sick.
“Forty-seven. Motherfucker, you’re short three.”
“It ain’t on me. Look Cesar, like I told you, I’m helping you out here. Ask the jerk-off in the car. He’s the one that found it.”
Pete looked up. Trufante had told him to keep his head down and everything would be alright, but he’d just thrown him under the bus - and drove over him. Nervously, he jiggled the keys in the ignition thinking about starting the motor and making a run for it.
The gunman glanced at one of the riflemen, communication unspoken, and the guy took off for a nearby shed. A motor started.
“Just the chum machine,” Cesar said. “You’re a fisherman, you know how it works. Big things go in and little things come out.”
Trufante started to back away, hands in the air. “Lemme go talk to the dude.” He took a step back towards the car, tripped over a buoy line and landed on the ground. One of Cesar’s gunmen was on him instantly, barrel pointed at his chest.
“You’re not going anywhere Cajun. Cover that guy in the car, too,” he yelled.
Knowing that he was no longer invisible, Pete looked up and saw the gun pointed at Trufante, still on the ground. His heart stopped beating when he saw the other gun pointed at him. Panic took over and he started the car. But instead of reverse, he stuck it in drive and hit the gas. The car shot forward. The brakes engaged right above Trufante’s body, and the gunman jumped to the side. It
“No worries man, we pull this off and go back to Sue’s. Joanie’s hanging with her, says she’d like to see you again.”
Pete’s worry lines eased slightly. “OK, what do we have to do?”
“All you’ve got to do is drive, pop the trunk, and look down. Don’t get out of the car. Don’t look at the dude.”
He started the car and backed out of the parking spot. “Where to?”
“Monster Bait. Turn right out of here and go about 200 yards, take a left. You’ll see the place on the left.”
Pete drove in silence, apprehensive about the exchange. This was not just a little out of his comfort zone; as an insurance man, it was a lot out of his comfort zone. They drove in an uneasy silence. Pete tried to concentrate on the road as Trufante rattled on about their day fishing. They turned into the lot, crab and lobster traps stacked on both sides of the drive.
“How do we know where he is?”
“He’ll let us know. Pull up here and hang tight.”
Pete felt like he was being watched. He fidgeted while Trufante sat calmly, still messing with the radio, like he’d done this a hundred times before. A few minutes later, a truck’s lights flashed three times from a pile of traps about 100 yards down. Pete looked over at Trufante, who nodded, and pulled the car forward slowly, stopping when he saw the truck, its lights illuminating the scene. The truck was lifted with meaty tires, polished chrome sparkled and neon lit the floorboards. A fluorescent ballyhoo was stenciled on the side with Monster Bait’s logo underneath.
“Remember, just stay here and keep your head down. Pop the trunk.”
Pete popped the trunk lid and sat quietly while Trufante extricated his large frame from the car and strode over to the truck. The two men talked for a few minutes and Trufante headed back to the car, giving a discreet thumbs up as he approached. Then the trunk lid lifted and he extracted the cooler, his long arms easily reaching both handles.
As Trufante approached the truck, two men emerged from the trap piles on either side, AK-47s pointed at Trufante.
“Just be cool and set the cooler on the tailgate. Nobody needs to get hurt,” Pete heard them say through the open window.
“Thought we had a deal, man. What’s with the munitions? This ain’t cool.”
“Do it.”
Pete watched, his eyes large and unblinking as Trufante set the package down and stood uneasily as the leader removed and counted the packages. His stomach rolled and he felt sick.
“Forty-seven. Motherfucker, you’re short three.”
“It ain’t on me. Look Cesar, like I told you, I’m helping you out here. Ask the jerk-off in the car. He’s the one that found it.”
Pete looked up. Trufante had told him to keep his head down and everything would be alright, but he’d just thrown him under the bus - and drove over him. Nervously, he jiggled the keys in the ignition thinking about starting the motor and making a run for it.
The gunman glanced at one of the riflemen, communication unspoken, and the guy took off for a nearby shed. A motor started.
“Just the chum machine,” Cesar said. “You’re a fisherman, you know how it works. Big things go in and little things come out.”
Trufante started to back away, hands in the air. “Lemme go talk to the dude.” He took a step back towards the car, tripped over a buoy line and landed on the ground. One of Cesar’s gunmen was on him instantly, barrel pointed at his chest.
“You’re not going anywhere Cajun. Cover that guy in the car, too,” he yelled.
Knowing that he was no longer invisible, Pete looked up and saw the gun pointed at Trufante, still on the ground. His heart stopped beating when he saw the other gun pointed at him. Panic took over and he started the car. But instead of reverse, he stuck it in drive and hit the gas. The car shot forward. The brakes engaged right above Trufante’s body, and the gunman jumped to the side. It
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