Counter Blow by Robert F. Clifton (ebook reader for pc .txt) 📕

complected and petite. The two girls got along like sisters. Dunbar was satisfied with his operation but wanted a good looking white girl or two to place in his stable. He was always on the lookout for some Russian, Italian or Canadian hooker who came to Havana on vacation. Since the American boycott many European woman vacationed in Cuba. Hopefully he could convince one or two of them to stay and go to work for him.

Dunbar was fortunate. After the 1959 Revolution, Castro abolished prostitution. Before then, Cuba was known as,”The Brothel Of The Caribbean”. However, due to a weak economy, high unemployment and European vacationers wanting to be entertained the National Republic Police looked away, for a price. The only thing different was that the girls operating under the Castro regime now had college educations. This was due to the fact that the new government emphasized education for the people and the young girls and women of Cuba took advantage of the opportunity.

Dunbar felt safe in Havana. Still, he missed Jersey. He missed the hood, the dudes and bitches that looked up to him. They knew he was tough and rugged. They knew he took no shit from anyone. They knew he demanded respect and anyone that disrespected Leroy Dunbar went on his shit list. At the same time he missed soul, soul music and soul food. He was tired of listening to the salsa, zapateo, fandango and paso doble. He yearned to hear jazz, blues, and rock and roll. While listening to the music he wanted to eat collard greens, mac and cheese, and chicken and waffles, not red beans and rice. These were the things he gave up in order to be safe. Here, no one could reach him.

 

One thousand and fifty miles away from Cuba, Captain Wallace answered the ringing telephone on his desk. “Major Crime Squad. Captain Wallace”.

“Cool Loo”.

“What?”

“Word on the street be that some white, rich dude be willing to pay big bucks for the location of Piggy”.

“Who the hell is Piggy?”

“Piggy be the name in the hood belonging to Leroy Dunbar”.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Man we got to talk business for I give you the info”.

“Not my money. Let's just say it's a type of reward”.

“Word I hear is that the so called reward be in the area of five thousand. That be right?”

“Could be. Let me tell you how it works. You get any information you give it to me. I then pass it on to the benefactor. He then gives me the money and I give it to you”.

“That's cool. Just want to know if I'm hearing straight. The so called reward is five grand, right?”

“You deliver, you make a big score”.

“That be good enough for me. You be hearing from me in a couple of days. Later”.

Wallace place the receiver back on the cradle.

Cool Loo Harris had been a pain in the ass for local law enforcement beginning when he was nine years old. Then, as a juvenile delinquent his forte was purse snatching. At age thirteen he was breaking into telephone booth coin boxes and parking meters. When he turned fifteen he organized a gang of youths and forced railroad commuters who parked their automobiles in the parking lot to pay for protection. His security fee as he called it was five dollars a week for each car. Each morning, Monday through Friday one hundred cars

pulled into the parking lot.

At age eighteen he ran numbers for the Black bookmakers in the hood. At age twenty one he spent three hundred and sixty days in the county Jail for atrocious assault and battery. He used that year to develop criminal element contacts that he could use anytime in the future to gather information. The information he received was then for sale to law enforcement, local, county, state and federal, who ever offered the best price. Cool Loo had many, many, contacts

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

Leroy Dunbar sat on a sidewalk bench located on the El Malecon, also known as the Avenida de Maceo a broad walkway that stretched five miles along the coast of Havana. Here the tourist came. In the daytime they walked, bought souvenirs, ate from the many sidewalk vendors carts and took photographs of each other. At night, the male tourists walked the sidewalk looking for girls and women. And, this night like many nights before Dunbar had his women walking the street.

 

Donovan Bennett went through processing at the penitentiary in Trenton New Jersey After being checked physically for weapons, drugs or other contraband he was fingerprinted and photographed given clothing and shoes a number and finally a cell. His cellmate, a tall black muscular man sat on the lower bunk reading a book. The man nodded his head as a form of greeting and with a thumb pointed to the upper bunk.

In Running Deer Montana, Father Salvador Presti knelt in the small Catholic Church and said his rosary.

Three men from Nautilus Beach New Jersey all connected to one another as a result of one particular crime were now attempting to begin new and safe lives.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twelve

The Messenger

 

Captain Wallace walked through the aisles of bookshelves of the Nautilus Beach Library. He stopped when he reached the many volumes of botany and horticulture. Then, he reached up and removed a book titled, “The Use Of Horse Manure And Its Effect On Roses”. He pretended to stand and read it as he waited for Cool Loo Harris to join him. When he did the two men began to talk in hushed tones.

“What have you got?”, asked Wallace.

“Man, I got what you want. First, you be tellin me how much and when”.

“Have I ever screwed you?”

“No, but like they say. There's always a first time”.

“Look, let's get right to it. If you want to do business it will be on my terms. Don't think that you're the only informant I have on the street”.

“Man I know that. Don't go getting your ass in an uproar”.

“Here's the deal. You talk. I listen. If what you have for sale is worth it I pass the information to a, let's say concerned, civic minded, group who support law and order by offering a reward”.

“I get it. No problem. What I got is the location of Piggy Dunbar.”

“Where is he?”

“Cuba”.

“Where in Cuba?”

“Word is Havana. He be a small time pimp, has his bitches working the ocean front, catering to the tourist trade”.

“How do you know?”

“His Grandmother died last month. His sister Earlene sat in the funeral parlor cryin and talkin. When she talk she told someone where her brother be. That someone then told me. Seems Piggy sends his letter by goin to the Swiss Embassy who then sends it here.

“Did you get an address?”

“Man whatcha want from me? I tell you where he is and what he do. Shit, next thin I know you want me to fly down there and drag his ugly ass home. Word I got is his girls workin the Av Del Puerto. You got to be reasonable Wally”.

“Alright, stay on it. I'll pass what you told me on to the right people”

“What I told you gotta be worth big bucks”.

“We'll see”.

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

Two days later Wallace sat across from Louis Lambraca in a booth they shared at the Jewel Restaurant. Next to Lambraca was a black, leather briefcase. The lawyer kept his sunglasses on even though they were having lunch inside.

“If the information is true and we believe it is, we would still require a permanent address or location for Mr. Dunbar. Still, Mr. Gargiulo feels that this news you sent is welcomed and appreciated. Naturally, he leaves the, let's call it reward money amount up to me. At this time I think the, again let's call it a finders fee should be in the amount of five hundred to one thousand dollars. What is your opinion?”

“It depends on just how bad Mr. Gargiulo wants Dunbar”.

“We both know he wants him bad”.

“Then, go for a thousand. My informant's information is solid. If he says Dunbar is in Havana, then he's in Havana. If you stiff him the search then ends. If you want a positive location. My man will up the ante. You like playing word games like, "let's call it." Well. Let's call the thousand dollars a retainers fee. Since you are a lawyer I'm sure you understand.

“Lambraca smiled. “Do you want the money now?”

“Nope. I don't touch it. Someone might get the idea that you have me in your pocket. To tell you the truth I wouldn't be involved at all, but a police officer was killed. His family deserves justice. I'm going to see that they get it one way or another.”

“Then, may I ask how do we transfer the funds?”

“If you look over my shoulder and through the window you'll see a shoeshine stand. The bootblack is a messenger for my informant. You go there a get your shoes shined and give him the money. He'll see that it goes to the right person”.

“Then what?”, asked Lambraca.

“Then I listen to my informant rant and rave on how he got screwed and that he'll never work for me again. After he settles down and thinks things over he'll accept the payment and will look for more. Meanwhile you sit tight and tell Mr. Gargiulo to be patient”, said Wallace.

“Have you heard anything about the priest?”

“There, we have a small problem. Police informants travel in criminal environments. You wont find them attending mass or going to confession. However, I'm working on it, but it's going to take awhile”.

“Alright Captain I'll pass the money after we have lunch. Do you want to count it?”

“I don't have to. My informant will tell me if you come up lame”.

“It seems to me that you have your own little network operating out here in Nautilus Beach”, said Lambraca.

“Merely the needs of the profession. Unfortunately it seems that we need each other.” Wallace stopped talking as the waitress refilled his coffee cup. When she walked away, he continued. “The secret is one controls the informant, not the other way around.”

In Toronto, Canada Veronica Babula, also known as, Mildred Perkins or Molly Squires finished packing her suitcase. She had packed enough clothing to last her for five days. At the same time in New York City, Delores Campbell, also known as Frances MacDonald or Theresa Jenkins sat waiting for the arrival of the taxi cab she had requested. As she did she studied her airline ticket to Mexico City.

Three weeks went by and in those three weeks the Major Crime Squad, Robbery and Vice Squad kept pressure on their informants. Still, those in the know on the streets couldn't come up with any new information. Then, at ten thirty on a Monday morning. Wallace received a telephone call from Cool Loo.

“Call me at 43 5666, I'm in a phone booth”, said Cool Loo”.

“Why?” asked Wallace.

“Man do you want what I got or do I sit on it and give it to someone else?”

“This better be good. Hang up”.

Wallace dialed the number. “Yeah?”, Cool Loo answered.

“Let me hear what you have and it better be right”.

“First, we talk business”

“Fine, name your price”

“It be ten grand, four for Piggy on account I already got one for tellin you where his ugly ass is. I want five grand for information on the whereabouts of the priest”.

Wallace sat up straight in his chair. “You know where the priest is?”

“Damn straight”.

“Where is he?”

“Oh no. No sir. This time I want the money up front. Ain't goin to be no down grade of my fee this time”.

“I'll have to run it by the benefactor. Even if he approves he won't have the cash until at least by Wednesday.

“I can wait”.

“Good. Then what?”

“You go to Old Frank's Shoe Shine Stand. Take a seat. Get your shoes done. Old Frank will have the info. It be on an envelope. You get the info from that. Up to you how you do it. Write it down, memorize, whatever. Then you give the envelope back