Devil's Brew, Book #8 of the Janitors Series - Drew helps hood escape justice.

Today’s excerpt is from Devil’s Brew, Book #8 of the Janitors Series.  After getting the information the FBI Director wanted, Drew agrees to help the mob boss giving it to him with a planned escape from justice.  Enjoy and have a fantastic day. 

m.j.

 

As Drew led the Calabrese group into the computer room, Holly nodded in Jim’s direction and headed off to do as asked.  Without a word to anyone else, Drew led Angelo Calabrese and his two bodyguards to his own bedroom.  Once there, he asked the two bodyguards to remain outside the door, as he led the Don into the room. 

After a slight nod from Angelo Calabrese, the two bodyguards did as asked.  Inside, Drew turned to his guest and asked, “Care for something to drink, Angelo?”

Angelo was duly impressed with the room.  Each of the bedrooms in the Joint was, in reality, suite-sized.  In addition to an overlarge bathroom, ample closet space, dressers, and king-sized bed, the rooms also contained three large easy chairs, sofa, end tables, and a lavish bar.  He nodded and answered, “Yes, please.  Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Angelo had remembered from the only other time he and Drew had shared drinks—over a meal purchased by Angelo—what Drew had had to drink.  The aged sour mash Drew now poured over rocks for both men fit his taste pallet quite nicely.

After a clink of glasses, Drew tilted his head toward lone of the easy chairs.  “Have a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.”

Angelo sipped his drink, and looked directly into Drew’s eyes.  “One of my men—to my everlasting shame—has contracted to deliver a large shipment of military-grade weapons to a group that I am certain are terrorists.”

Drew crinkled up the corner of his mouth and took a piece of paper Angelo handed him.

As Drew glanced at the contents of the piece of paper, Angelo continued, “Tomorrow night those items will be delivered to that address, which, by the way, is a warehouse.”

“Do I get any details of how this came to pass?”

“My man—who had the misfortune to attempt to learn to swim with cement shoes—was more interested in profit than in just who he was selling those items to.  Fortunately another of my men came to me and told me of the proposed deal.  Oh, before I forget it, most of the more serious items on that list have been rendered useless…just in case whoever you turn this over to should somehow screw up and let the terrorists get away with the weapons.”

Drew smiled.  “Thank you for that bit of caution.  May I ask if you expect anything in return for this information?”

“Not a thing.”

“I thought not, but had to ask.  Now may I ask what your plans are?  Are you returning tonight to New York?  And will you be involved in the transfer of the goods?”

“No, to the last two items.  As to my plans, I will tell you on the condition of your silence.  Sort of like you were my priest.”

Drew laughed.  “Angelo, I’ve been called many things in my life, but never a priest.”  Then, remembering his promise to John Engle to keep Angelo’s pending arrest to himself, he thought, “Fair is fair,” before he continued, “Anything you tell me on the subject of your plans will remain with me.  Unless, of course, you plan to take out the President.  Your two home-state Senators, however, I might overlook.”

Angelo laughed and shook his now-empty glass.  As Drew got up to refresh their two drinks, Angelo looked at the ceiling for a moment.  “I’m getting out.  Your warning about the new FBI Director was correct.  He’s good, and I’m about to be arrested.  Please don’t ask how I know, but I do, and I need to get out.”

“When?”

“Now…tonight.  When I leave here.  You asking me to come here to give you this information was a blessing.  When we take off, we are not heading back to New York.”

As Drew handed Angelo his refilled glass, he asked, “Does your plane have the capability to reaching your destination without refueling?”

“No.  We will have to make one stop for fuel.”

“Since I have agreed to keep this to myself, may I ask the direction your flight will take?”

“South.”

“Would a refueling stop in Florida be satisfactory for you?”

“Yes.  You would help me in this matter?”

“Yes, Angelo, I would.  And will.  As you are aware, I was CIA.  I still have contacts, including the man—an old and very dear friend—who runs a secret airstrip in Florida used by CIA, and—for the most part—only CIA.  Let me give him a call.”

 

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