"Flash Mob"

**Immediately follows "Cicero".**

"Leave the gun. Take the cannoli."
Character Peter Clemenza in "The Godfather"

CHAPTER 1

Glendale, California 1:00 PM

"Paulie, good to see you." The two men shook hands in the conference room. If not for the lack of windows, one would have thought it an ordinary place to do business. The truth however, was that it was in a private underground room in a wine storage facility in Glendale, California and the two men greeting each other were more than just ordinary businessmen. Paul "Paulie" Giordani was a member of the New Orleans crime family and had traveled from the southern city for the top secret meeting with members of the other major crime families in the country. Such meetings rarely took place anymore after so many instances of government agent infiltration. The fact that it was happening showed the trust that the families had in the current head of the Los Angeles family, Johnny De Fiore. Over the years De Fiore had risen through the ranks mostly untouched by law enforcement. He was a calming influence in a city that was overrun by street gangs, and one of the few people who could move freely down any street of the city without fear; the gangs had learned that even if they couldn't respect each other they had better respect De Fiore or pay a deadly price.

"Johnny, you look good. I should be so lucky to have the beaches." Giordani, although cautious of his fellow crime bosses, genuinely liked De Fiore.

"Who has time to go to the beaches?" The Los Angeles don shook his head and offered the visiting don a drink as the elevator chimed once again. "Looks like Don Sarto found us in the cave." He smiled at the chubby Italian from Chicago who emerged from the elevator carefully looking around. "Don't worry, Pete – you're safe here." Crossing the room he shook hands with the head of the Chicago family. "I hope you had a good flight."

"Yeah, yeah...it was fine. Thanks for the little welcoming committee you had on board." He winked as the pair laughed about the two women that De Fiore had sent to accompany the don to the West Coast. "I hope those two will be going back to Chicago with me. I'm sure I could find a couple of positions for them." All three men laughed then. "Paulie, how ya doin'?" He shook hands with Giordani.

"Can't complain. Johnny sure knows how to pick the flight attendants, hey?" They laughed again as the elevator doors opened once again and Mario Bassinelli of the Miami family exited. "Welcome to the dungeon, Mario."

"Hey, how ya doin'?" All four shook hands and exchanged greetings.

Looking at his watch De Fiore frowned. The last member of the group was late and had a reputation not only for his grand entrances, but the bad temper that had earned him a reputation as a don to be respected and feared. Christian Albricci, don of the Brooklyn family, was the newest to the group. De Fiore had met him only once before and hadn't been overly impressed. That opinion he kept to himself. Five minutes later the elevator deposited Albricci and three of his most trusted men in the subterranean meeting room.

"And now we're complete. Welcome, Don Albricci." He greeted the last member before turning to one of his own men. "Raoul, make sure we're not disturbed." He smiled and the man quietly nodded and entered the elevator, riding back up to the ground floor of the facility where he and some of the other members of the families would stand guard. There was no other entrance into the lower level except for a stair well which was also being carefully guarded by representatives of each of the families.

"Gentlemen, may I offer you a refill? And you Don Albricci – what may I get for you?"

"Nothin'." Albricci peered around the room as he stalked over to the table where the group was to discuss the business at hand. The other four helped themselves to drinks and took a seat at the table.

De Fiore smiled at the group. "It's good to see all of you again. Our dear Uncle Sam has made meetings like this nearly impossible – but not completely. I stumbled across this little gem accidentally while looking for a good place to keep my wine collection. The owner was anxious to sell it seems." Another quick smile and laugh was was met with good humor by all but Albricci who simply stared at him. "Now, down to business..."

Central Police Precinct, Downtown Los Angeles

"So you got the cast off – congratulations. Now: don't do it again. As a matter of fact..."

"Michael, I know we spend a good bit of time together but believe me – we're not married." Private investigator Matt Houston took a seat in the chair across from Lieutenant Michael Hoyt in the LAPD detective's office.

"I'm just saying..."

"I'd rather you didn't." Matt took a sip from the coffee cup that he had filled up as soon as he got to the fourth floor offices. "Uncle Roy said you had some files for me to look at?"

"If you think you can turn the pages without getting a paper cut." The cop smirked as he tossed a stack of folders across the desk to his friend.

"You're a fiesty one today...guess you remembered to take your vitamins huh, Gramps?" The PI brought out the nickname that was sure to rile the cop.

"Cute, PI. Just look at the files." Hoyt went back to the paperwork that he had been attempting to wade through when Houston had shown up to his office a couple of minutes earlier. Although the two teased each other mercilessly, they were as close as brothers these days – something that had seemed like an impossibility when they first met a few years earlier. The good-natured ribbing was a natural part of the relationship and something that both enjoyed.

Houston took another long sip of the coffee before moving his six-foot-three-inch frame to the couch in the corner of the office – his usual place when working with the cop. After propping his long legs up he opened the file on the top and began reading. Several minutes later he closed the last file. "Alright, I read 'em. Now what?" He chucked the folders onto the coffee table in front of him and picked up the coffee cup again.

"Did you see any similarities there?" Michael leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

"Uh huh – four dead guys. Two shot, one stabbed, and one run over by a food truck."

"You're in a good mood today. Smart aleck. Did you notice anything else?"

"They all had records. Three of them have done time. Food truck guy hadn't been to the joint, but really – getting run over by a tofu food truck isn't much of a way to go is it?" He gave the cop a smirk and saw the irritability starting to show on his face. "No, not really. From what I saw they didn't have ties to each other; moved in different circles. They died in different areas of the city." He shrugged. "Is there something I'm not seeing?"

"No – but the captain has it in his head that they're somehow related and has been hounding me about them."

The coffee cup stopped it's journey halfway to his mouth. "What's got him in watchdog mode?"

"Hell if I know. Sure wish he wasn't. He's driving me crazy." Hoyt got up and stretched, moving over to look out the window.

The PI sipped coffee quietly for a minute. "Think it's because he's getting close to retirement?"

"Don't know." Blowing out a sigh, Hoyt turned and leaned against the window ledge.

Looking down into the cup and then up at his friend, a thought occurred to Matt. "Are they thinking of bumping you up a paygrade?"

"Doubtful. I don't play the political game very well."

"Hmm...guess that's in your permanent record: "does not play well with others"."

"Look who's talking." Hoyt smiled then. "I told him I would get your opinion on it. Maybe he'll shut up about it now."

"Guess what they say isn't true..." Matt drank more of the coffee, a smile on his face behind the cup.

"What's that?"

"That tofu is good for you."

"How does CJ put up with you?" Hoyt walked over and picked up the files, swatting at the man before returning them to his desk.

"No complaints. And it's three years of married bliss now." Houston gave the cop a mocking smile as he pointed at the ring on his left hand.

"She's a saint."

"Oh, you might not say that if you knew about what happened while we were in Tahiti last week..." The perverted laugh made the cop crack up as well. It was then that the PI's phone rang. "Hey, Rich."

"Houston, did you get the cast off?" A harried-sounding Rich Holt looked over his left shoulder as he merged onto the freeway.

"Uh huh."

"Can you help us out?"

"I think so...hang on a second." Looking at Michael he spoke. "Did you need anything else?"

"Nope."

"Okay, Rich: what's up?"

"There was an explosion about five minutes ago in a storage facility in Glendale." It was then that both Hoyt's cell and office phones rang simultaneously.

"Okay."

"Not just an explosion, but there was gunfire as well. Not real sure at this point what's going on, but the boss would appreciate it if you would meet me over there."

"Sure..." He got off of the couch as both he and Hoyt headed for the door, nearly running into each other. "What's the address?" He wrote it in his notebook and skipped the elevator, going for the stairs instead and surprised as Hoyt was right behind him. "Okay, be there ASAP, bud. Guess I'll need full turnout for this one, huh?"

"Actually, you might just want to have that pistol on you." Holt dodged through the traffic.

"Okay. See ya there." Matt opened the door of the truck, retrieving the bullet proof vest and his holster and putting on both before entering the truck and going out of the parking garage. As he turned right onto Maple, Hoyt was once again right behind him and then followed him as he hit the siren and lights on the truck and went west on 5th Street. Hitting the speed dial on his phone he called his friend. "You followin' me?"

"If you're going to Glendale I am. You get a call about the explosion?"

"Yup."

"See you there then." Hoyt hung up and continued to follow the blue truck through the midday traffic and then onto the I-110. Even with the sirens the trip took longer than either man would have liked and the scene that they came to at the end of their journey took both by surprise. From outward appearances there wasn't much damage to the storage facility on Foothills Drive...unless you happened to notice the bullet holes in the vehicles parked outside and the bodies in the parking lot. "What in the hell?" The two men exchanged a puzzled look as they emerged from their vehicles and proceeded toward the crime scene tape as other emergency vehicles pulled up to the scene.

"Need to see some ID, sir." A fresh-faced young cop held up his hand to Matt who began to fumble with his wallet. He had forgotten to clip on his ID.

"He's with m-..." Hoyt started to speak when two other voices could be heard from behind them, both saying the same thing. "He's with me."

Matt turned to look in surprise and saw two more of his acquaintances: FBI agent Alex Bateaux and ATF agent Mitchell Gunterson.

"No, by God – he's with ME." Rich Holt approached the tape.

"Sir, I guess you're cleared." The cop smiled.

"Gonna need a rolodex of ID badges, Houston." Gunterson laughed as all five men pulled on gloves.

"Funny – I remember when nobody wanted to know me." Houston shook his head as they advanced into the building. "So what do we know other than this is a self storage?"

Rich took over. "I was told the fire originated in the underground wine storage area."

"It was an explosion." Mitchell led the way down the steps.

Looking over at the FBI agent quizzically, the PI spoke. "So why the hell are you here – the folks outside?"

"Yep – those are members of five of the top crime families in the country."

"Alrighty then. Sorry I asked." Fans had already been set up to blow out the smoke that had collected in the underground storage facility and other than looking slightly foggy, it seemed not to be a problem. Houston let out a low whistle as the aftermath of the blast became apparent. Five bodies were strewn about the room. "Looks like it came from the table." The splintered remains of the furniture were near the center of the room while bits of it were embedded in the bodies of the occupants. "I didn't think these guys got together much anymore, Fibby."

Bateaux shook his head. "We had no idea that they were here until one of the first responders started checking ID's."

"Guess y'all are slipping." Houston, Gunterson, and Holt all homed in on the remains of the table and began their examinations there. "Looks like..." The PI carefully took a picture with his camera before poking at some pieces of debris. "I think this might have been one of those smoke removing ashtrays."

"Source of ignition maybe..." Holt nodded. "Question is of what?"

"Guess that's why they called you, huh?" Houston gave him a wink.

"No – that's why they called us. I'll see what kind of trace is still around. If there's still anything."

"Hmmm..."

Holt looked toward the PI. "What?"

"We've got mobsters and an explosion. Kind of brings a whole new meaning to the term flash mob." The other men groaned and Hoyt popped him on the back of the head.

Gunterson shook his head and turned over a piece of the table after Matt had taken another picture. "Kinda odd..."

"Uh huh..." While Rich began taking swabs of the table area, the others began checking out the victims as workers from the Coroner's Office entered the area.

"Tight quarters down here." Alex looked around a little nervously.

Matt nodded. "Who have we got here?"

"That appears to have been Johnny DeFiore – the head of the Los Angeles family. And with him dead, it could mean big problems around here. He kind of keeps the gangs in LA from going overboard."

Hoyt blew out a breath. "Like they aren't already bad enough."

"Believe me – after this..." Bateaux motioned around the room. "...Things may get very rough before they get better. Not only are the gangs going to go nuts, but you know the other families are going to be pointing fingers at each other. We may be in for a full scale mafia war before it's all said and done."

After taking a look at the other four dons lying dead on the floor of the conference room, Matt went back up the stairs and out to the parking lot with Bateaux who seemed relieved to be out of the basement. He watched as the agent took a deep breath and blew it out. "I take it you're not much on enclosed spaces."

"No." The agent looked at the mess around them. Vehicles and bodies alike were riddled with bulletholes. Hoyt had also emerged and waved them over to a cop who was standing inside the taped off scene, the mast trucks of every TV station and network gathering outside the tape.

"This is Hopkins – first on the scene."

"Sarge..." Houston shook the man's hand. "What do you know?"

"When we rolled up it sounded like the damn OK Corral out here. These guys were shooting it out. Juarez and I saw the last two..." He pointed to two men who now lay dead on the asphalt on opposite ends of the parking lot. "...Those two, take each other out. Guy over here was alive for a minute or so afterward." Leading the men over he pointed to a man of about Matt's age who was wearing a suit and tie, the white shirt now covered with blood. "ID says he's Angelo DiNotto from New Orleans. Wouldn't tell us squat before he went."

Hoyt took a quick tour of the parking lot, his cell phone to his ear. "All of these are rentals except for the Range Rover and the Chevy over there." He motioned over his shoulder. "I've got Jackson running the plates on them right now." Turning his attention back to his clerk, he began writing down the information. "Thanks." He disconnected the call. "They belong to De Fiore – the local don."

"So how many made it out of here alive?" Houston looked around, noticing a couple of areas where it was obvious that EMT's had been attending to patients.

"Two. One was critical and the other took a hit in the leg." Juarez spoke up. "Both were taken to Memorial."

The PI nodded and looked around once again. "So the head honchos were having a meeting down stairs and had guys guarding the stairwell and the main entrance."

"Something goes boom. Some of the guys guarding the stairwell start to go down to check on their bosses, see what happened and naturally assume that one of the other families is to blame. So they open fire on each other and so do the guys guarding the entrance upstairs." Bateaux shook his head.

"Who were the two that went to Memorial, Sarge?"

"Ricardo Columbo – he's a local – and John Angioli from Chicago. Angioli was the leg wound. He wouldn't tell us anything either."

Rich emerged from the basement carrying some evidence bags along with Gunterson and joined the others. "So..." The fire captain looked at the assembled group. "What have you guys come up with?"

"Not much." Houston looked around at the group. "Guys, we all know each other I think." There was a nod. "Can we manage to work this together without a bunch of bull?" After a quick look around there was another nod. "Everybody has their specialty. Rich and Mitchell there are our best bet for handling the explosion down below. Alex here knows about the mob bosses. And Gramps here is our local guy..." The scathing look that Hoyt gave him was met with snickers from the others.

"And you're just the lightning rod in the middle of things – as usual." Hoyt spoke up and again there was another round of snickers and nods. "Can we agree to let this knuckle head be our ring leader? He seems to be able to cover just about all of it."

"I don't have a problem with it." Holt looked around as the others nodded their agreement.

"Alright then, I suggest that Hoyt hits the hospital. See if you can get anything out of the pair that got taken there. I'll go to the office and start pulling information on all of our players here. Fibby, why don't you talk to your people and see if they can shed any light on the reason for the meeting." Bateaux nodded. "Juarez – have y'all got a list of these folks put together yet?"

"Yes sir." The patrolman followed Matt under the crime scene tape and toward the blue pickup.

"Guess all those years of herding cattle have paid off." Gunterson gave a grunt as he and Rich went toward their vehicles, both carrying evidence while Bateaux pulled out his cell phone and began on Houston's request. Hoyt watched for a moment as everyone moved into action then headed for his own car, thinking to himself that very few people would have been able to pull such a group together in such a quick manner. Son of a gun is a born leader.