Riverboat Gambler Ch 02

This story is part of an ongoing series.

The chronological order of my stories is listed in WifeWatchman's biography.

Feedback and

constructive

criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas.

This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.

Part 9 - Morning With The Mobsters

7:00am, Sunday, January 13th. There was a touch of light rain, of drizzle as the black stretch limo pulled up in front of the Federal Building. A man in a suit and tie hopped out of the front seat and opened the back door as he said "Good morning, Commander Troy."

"Not going to search me for weapons?" I asked. I was dressed in civilian clothes, black pullover mock turtleneck, dark gray pants, my gray (not beige) trenchcoat, and a 'normal' gray fedora hat. The red crowbar was in the long inner pocket of the trenchcoat, and my service weapon was in its holster under my left armpit.

"No sir." the man said. "The Boss said you're a VIP, and good with him." I got into the limo, the man got back in the front. The driver pulled away from the curb.

We wound through the streets of Southport, always seeming to catch the green lights. There was almost no traffic at this hour on a Sunday morning. We came to an eight story building, a new and sparkling office building with a lot of glass windows, and pulled into the garage. The door was opened for me again, and I was escorted to an elevator. Two more men in suits and ties 'assisted' me by pushing the button for the elevator, and one of them getting in the elevator with me and pushing the button to the top floor.

The elevator opened to reveal a lobby in dark grayish blue. A few fake ferns and some paintings were on the walls above the backless benches. We went past them through the double-glass doors of the office. My escort took me through the winding halls, built that way for security and good places to shoot from, I realized. We came to some wood double doors and the man knocked. I heard a "Come in!" as the door was opened.

"Mr. Taggart, Commander Donald Troy."

"Thank you." said Taggart, getting up and coming around his desk, then up to me and shaking my hand. "And thank you for coming, Commander." Taggart was a large man, his gestures and voice full of life. Only his eyes, which were mere slits in his head, showed otherwise; they were the eyes of a killer.

"Thank you for seeing me." I said.

"Please, have a seat." said Taggart. "You look tired. Would you care for some coffee, or water?"

"Thank you, no." I said. "And to not waste your valuable time, please allow me to come right to the point: I came to ask you some questions, on 'deep background' or 'off the record' as the Press says, if you wouldn't mind helping me out."

"Sure, sure." said Taggart. "A friend of 'Coffin' Cerone is a friend of mine. What can I help you with?"

"As I'm sure you know," I said, "there was a murder aboard the paddlewheel boat

Riverboat Gambler.

It's run by a man named Jimmy 'The Creek' DeAngelo. I'm not trying to get anyone in trouble or anything like that, but I was wondering if you could give me a general idea of how things work here and in Turpin Heights, and how he fits into the scheme."

"I see." said Taggart. "Well, I can tell you this, and you probably know most of it already: I have my businesses here in Southport, good clean businesses, mostly shipping with some rail assets. I pretty much stick to this side of the State Line, which is the State Line River and then the Big River south of us. Turpin Heights is in the State to our south a few miles downriver. I pretty much stay out of there. The people running that area are bad actors, very bad actors."

"So who controls Mr. DeAngelo?" I asked. "You or them?"

"Neither." said Taggart. "DeAngelo made generous contributions to Mr. Cerone's campaign coffers, but I have very little to do with him nor influence over him. Neither do the Turpin Heights people. DeAngelo works with his Native people on the Reservation. If anyone gives him trouble, their people handle it... and they're very efficient at that."

I nodded. "I'm sure. So this murder on his paddleboat... you don't think there's any 'organized' groups behind it? A warning to Mr. DeAngelo? Or someone after the man that was killed?"

"Not that I've heard of." said Taggart. "And I

would

tell you truthfully if that were the case, but it's not. My people tell me that they think it was a crime of passion, or revenge against the man that died. He was a pretty unsavory character." This was a major Mobster telling me that, I thought to myself.

"I appreciate the information." I said. "Just one more question: do you know where I can find Mr. DeAngelo? I'd like to ask him just a couple of questions, background stuff. No trouble for him."

"Certainly." said Taggart. He looked up at his 'assistants' and said "Would you please ask DeAngelo to come in?"

A moment later a slender, short man came in, wearing an expensive, well-fitting gray suit and gray-black tie. His hair was black, becoming sparse, and was slicked back. There was a bit of a baldness to the top of his head, reminding me of my father's receding hairline and my likelihood of having the same one day.

His face was gaunt, and I could see the Native American aspects, though his skin color was more like his Italian ancestors than his Native American ones.

I politely stood up and he extended his hand as he came up to me, speaking in a soft voice that reminded me of the character Hyman Roth in

The Godfather II

: "It's a great honor to meet the Iron Crowbar."

I shook his hand. "I appreciate you seeing me today, sir." Taggart had us sit down, me in the chair I'd been in, and DeAngelo in an identical chair brought up next to mine.

"You're a well-mannered man, also." said DeAngelo, his voice seeming to hum softly as he spoke. "That's good. People have forgotten what manners are. What can I do for you, Commander?"

"As I told Mr. Taggart here," I said, "my questions are off the record, with no intention to entrap nor harm you. I just wanted to ask about you starting up the boating casinos." I held out my iPhone. "Was this man one of your financiers?"

"Oh my." said DeAngelo. "Oh yes, it was him. He gave me the idea of the casinos... well, to be honest, it was his idea and he told me to do it. He provided all the financing, mostly through City and Counties Bank in the City, and a couple of banks down in Turpin Heights."

"Did he say why he wanted you to start up the casinos?" I asked.

"No," said DeAngelo. "But he didn't have to. He made a lot of money from that project. A lot of money. I've done well with it, and I've been able to stay clean because of it. But he took his cuts, and they were considerable."

"He didn't just make money from you, did he?" I asked.

"Oh, heavens no." said DeAngelo. "And I think you have the right idea about him... and that murder the other night."

"Yes sir, I do." I said as I put my iPhone away.

"Is that guy going to be any trouble for us?" asked Taggart.

"Oh, no sir." I said. "He's dead. He died about two and a half years ago."

As I got up to go, Taggart said "I

am

curious: you came in here all alone, knowing who I am. Even Mr. Cerone could not guarantee your safety. Are you really that brave?" He wisely didn't say 'dumb'.

I smiled. "I'm never alone, Mr. Taggart. And I think we both know that if anything happened to me, it's not the Southport P.D. nor the TCPD nor the FBI you'd need to worry about."

Taggart chuckled. "Yes, that's true. Have a good day, Commander. Say hello to Mr. Cerone the next time you see him... which will be soon, the way the Legislature is going."

"Thank you for your time, sir. And you, Mr. DeAngelo."

No, I thought to myself as I made my way out. If Taggart did anything to me, he'd never get another minute of sleep at night, knowing that one or more of Takaki Misaki's

ninja

would inexorably be paying him a visit, with 'predictable' results...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I brought a huge sack of Egg McMuffins to the Federal Building. Eugene and Jerome had gotten some breakfast already, but Jack and Martin wolfed theirs down like starved animals.

And then Andrew Parsons came in and took one, then began eating it. David Rovers followed, taking one himself.

"Find anything overnight?" Parsons asked with his mouth full, chewing his food.

"Nothing significant." said Muscone. "The autopsy came back. Blunt trauma to the back of the head. We think one of the candlesticks in the stateroom is missing; it's likely the murder weapon."

"No one's found it?" asked Parsons, continuing to talk with his mouth full.

"Not unless you sent divers to the bottom of the River to look around for it." I said. "It's very likely that's where it is."

"How do you know?" snarled Rovers. "We watched the tape several times. No one threw anything overboard at all, at any time, when they came out of the Poker Rooms." I just shrugged my shoulders and took a bite of my Egg McMuffin.

"So why were you visiting Orrin B. Taggart?" asked Rovers, hoping to catch me off guard.

"He gave me some very valuable information about the boat operations." I said. "As did Mr. Jimmy 'The Creek' DeAngelo."

"What did they tell you?" Parsons asked.

"You'll see, when I file my written report." I said. "You can always go visit them yourself to find out anything you want to know."

"You're an idiot." said Parsons. "You're lucky you walked out of there alive."

"Not at all." I said. "Though if either of you tried to walk in there, you wouldn't make it back out."

"And what makes you so special that you can visit Southport's biggest mobster and live to tell the tale?" snarled Parsons.

I grinned. "I have many friends... in

very

high places." Jerome and Eugene laughed, and Martin and Jack chuckled. Parsons had that dumb look on his face, knowing that the joke had gone over his head. Rovers looked pissed off. I think he got my underlying message...

Part 10 - Interviews

"I finally remembered who Todd Durance was." said Muscone as I typed up notes of my meeting with Taggart and DeAngelo on my laptop. I stopped as he said "He came under investigation about eight years ago for allegedly participating in a bid-rigging scheme for some highway construction projects in the tri-State area. The investigation fell through when the whistleblower came over all dead and crucial papers and documents went missing."

"Eight years ago, huh?" I asked. "Right about the time he started appearing on the

Riverboat Gambler

and playing poker with Thomas McCovey."

Muscone checked some things, then said. "You're right. The investigation was dropped just one month before the first time he played poker on the boat. Think that's a coincidence?"

"There are no coincidences in the Universe, as Dr. P. Harvey Eckhart says." I replied with a grin, knowing Muscone knew my opinion of coincidences. "So, we also have Carl Sage, Dave Paxton, Durance, and Ted Jefford that we should talk to."

"We might want to go visit them instead of bringing them in." said Muscone. "They might be more willing to talk. Who do we start with, though?"

"Paxton, if we can find him." I said. "He was there Friday night. I do want to talk with Ted Jefford, though. He might be more willing to talk to us... if we frame the conversation in the right way...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We arrived at the address of Dave Paxton, an apartment in a neighborhood between one of the few good subdivisions in Southport and the beginnings of the grimy Wharf District. There was no one home.

Eugene knocked on a neighbor's door. "Has Mr. Paxton been at home recently?" he asked.

"He hasn't been home for days." said the neighbor. "Police came around looking for him yesterday, but he wasn't home then, either." Eugene thanked the neighbor then came back to us.

"Looks like a 'NO GO' on that." said Eugene.

"Well," I said as we got back into the unmarked SPD sedan, "we've got probable cause to get a warrant and search the place."

"Want me to call in and get one?" asked Eugene.

"Yeah, you might as well." I said. "See what's in there. Okay, let's go find Ted Jefford."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jefford lived well upriver, towards Jacksonville. The neighborhood used to be a very exclusive one, but had been supplanted by even newer and better subdivisions, and now was 'ordinary' going on 'falling apart'.

Jefford was at home. He was medium height, slight build, his light brown hair was a bit unkempt, and the sold black glasses he wore made him look very nerdish. When I asked if we could come inside and talk to him, he said "Might as well."

As we came in, I noticed two things: the home was poorly and barely furnished, with almost no personal items in the home, just the bare essentials of life. And the house was not being particularly well kept. There was a good bit of trash piling up in the kitchen, and there had been no dusting nor cleaning done in a long time, either.

"I guess you're here about the McCovey murder." Jefford said as he sat down in his favorite recliner and I sat on the sofa next to it, and him. Eugene sat down next to me, and Jerome and Martin Nash did not sit down.

They were all taken aback by Jefford's comment, though I wasn't. "Yes sir." I said. "I was wondering if you could shed any light on who murdered him."

"No, and it wasn't me, even though I was on the boat that night." said Jefford.

"You were?" asked Martin Nash, stunned. "I didn't see you on the tapes."

"No, he wasn't on the videotapes of people going in or out of the poker areas." I said, very sure. "You didn't play poker that night; McCovey might've recognized you if he'd seen you. But you

were

on board, Mr. Jefford."

"Yes." said Jefford. "I had not been on the

Riverboat Gambler

for years. I went with a couple of friends. And by coincidence, it was on the same night that bastard McCovey was murdered."

Nash looked like he was about to pull out a card to read Jefford his rights, or even arrest Jefford. I said "Hold on, Mr. Nash." Turning to Jefford, I said "Mr. Jefford, I know that you were being blackmailed. Whatever it was for, the Statute of Limitations has run out, and the man behind McCovey, the one tormenting you, is now dead. So, you have nothing to fear from us, as long as you're not the one that committed the murder, of course."

"You seem to know a lot about it already." said Jefford.

"Forgive me for the pain I will cause in bringing this up," I said, "but I know that your wife committed suicide. Was it over the blackmail?"

Jefford gave a start, but quickly recovered. "In part. Okay, I'll tell you all I know."

He started: "I used to run a financial services company. Did a lot of work with State employees, helping them set up retirement funds to supplement their pensions, stuff like that."

"You still own it, don't you?" I asked.

"I sold out to BigBenefit Insurance a year and a half ago." said Jefford. "They kept its name, and I stayed on a year as we transitioned, and it's pretty much all theirs now. I was paid a very fair price for it, too. Anyway, about eight years ago now, I ran into a cash flow problem. I knew it was temporary, but the banks didn't want to give me a short-term loan, so I went to someone I knew, a Michael Miller. He got me a quick loan through a company called 'Dakota Funding'."

"He was from up near the University?" I asked, remembering Michael Miller from the Terry Schultz murder case. (

Author's note: 'The Hot Date Mystery', Ch. 03.

)

"Yes, he was." said Jefford. "So I got the money, paid it back a month later, and I thought everything was fine. And then... a man showed up at my home. I never learned his name, but I'll never forget that face... nor that voice. He showed me copies of the papers of that loan I'd gotten... turns out there were some legal issues with it that I hadn't been aware of. And that man proceeded to blackmail me."

"He told me that since I lived in Southport," said Jefford, "that I was to go on the

Riverboat Gambler's

Friday night cruise at least once a month and play poker in Room No. 1 with a guy named Tom, who's the guy who was murdered the other night. At some point in time, I was to lose one or more hands to Tom, totaling one thousand dollars for the month. And that's what I did, every second Friday of every month for several years."

"Why did you stop?" I asked. "Statute of Limitations running out?"

"It had, but there were still issues of reputation." said Jefford. "I'd have lost my standing with the State Pensioners Union, and lost all of that tremendous business. What happened was... my wife."

Jefford's face assumed a look of serious pain as he said "I met the woman that became my wife, and married her a year later. We'd been married about a month when Tom, the poker player, contacted her. He told her to come down to the

Riverboat Gambler

with me, and told her that I was being blackmailed. At the time, I didn't know why she'd wanted to come down with me, but she did. And I didn't know that Tom had found a way to tell her that she had to come down the next night, Saturday, and sleep with him in that bedroom area he kept."

"Well... she did it. I didn't know about it at the time." Jefford said. "She regretted it immediately. The pain of her infidelity never went away, and then she announced a few weeks later that she was pregnant. At the time I was ecstatic, and I didn't understand why she seemed so haunted and unhappy. And a week later I found her dead. She'd taken a huge overdose of sleeping pills after she'd been drinking all day."

"I was devastated by her death." said Jefford, his eyes and his voice far away. "I still have not gotten over it. I totally lost interest in everything. I was letting the business go, and one of my lawyers arranged the sale of it, to save the business as well as what I'd built up in it. I stopped coming to the poker games. I didn't give a damn anymore if they exposed me or not. And that man, my blackmailer, never did. I never heard from him again."

"And you won't." I said, then took out my iPhone and brought up a photo. "Is this the man that blackmailed you?" I asked.

His eyes widened with shock. "Yes... yes! That's him, that's the man! How did you know? How do you know him, who he is?" I was showing the others the photo. Martin Nash visibly reacted and gasped, as well.

"Because I... am the man who beat him." I said. "And this won't bring your wife back, Mr. Jefford, but it may comfort you to know that this man did not die well, and he had to commit suicide, also..."

Part 11 - Issues And Answers

"We put out an APB on Dave Paxton." said Muscone when we got back to the Federal Building.

"Good." I said.

"He sure looks guilty by running." said Muscone. "Think he's the guy?"

"Who knows?" I said sourly. "We sure don't have a shred of proof that'll get a conviction."

Parsons and Rovers came in. "Why didn't you arrest Jefford?" Parsons demanded to know.

"For what reason?" I asked.

"Suspicion of murder, maybe?" snarled Rovers.

"Watch the tapes... again." I said. "He never went into the poker rooms, never went past any of the cameras. How does he get past them?"

"With help." said Parsons. "The security guy, Dotson. He's not exactly squeaky clean. He could've turned off the tapes right at the right time, Jefford goes in and kills McCovey, throws the murder weapon into the River, then leaves with the crowd."