Chapter 3: Amok Time
Tac-Con. Saturday, February 23, 2008.
Mozzie smiled as he listened to the chatter of fans in front of the Yellowface vs. Godzilla trailer. Travis's device was performing flawlessly. By adjusting the direction and sensitivity, he could monitor not only nearby conversations but also fans' comments about the Red Sands video game. Its booth was a few yards away.
His only issue was the distraction caused by attendees wanting to take his photo. Not that it wasn't understandable. Thanks to Richard, his Quark transformation was superb.
By next year's Tac-Con, the trailer for the video game accompanying the Doctor Who musical could be ready. The goal was ambitious but achievable. Scima had convinced the producers of the musical that the video game should be launched at the same time as the musical opened on Broadway. They believed the combination would propel both ticket sales and game sales while creating the unmistakable buzz of a smash hit.
Janet worried that he was overextending himself, and yes, juggling a movie, video game, and a musical in addition to his other activities was a bit much even for someone of his talents. Having someone worry about him was a new sensation. He was glad he hadn't told her about the van that nearly ran him over. It served as a good reminder to maintain better focus.
Speaking of which ...
Mozzie homed in on a pair of men studying the Yellowface poster. Were they Hollywood moguls? Unlike the other attendees, they wore suits, an abnormality worth investigating. He tweaked the settings on his snooping device.
"What do you mean you haven't found him yet?" the taller man said. "He wrote the script. He has to be here. In this crowd, no one will notice us snatching him."
"I'm telling you, boss. He ain't here."
"Look again. He was here last year for that stupid bee. He's bound to be here for the movie. You should have run him over when you had the chance. Don't disappoint me again."
Mozzie shrank into the shadows. After all these years, Frank DeLuca's voice was still unmistakable.
#
Neal stepped into the small conference room that had been set aside for Scima's use. The room appeared empty. "Mozzie? Are you in here?"
He'd gotten an urgent text message while he was taking a break from chaperone duty with Peter and Travis. They'd offered to go with him since Mozzie had described it as "life or death."
Travis frowned as he surveyed the room. "Do you want Peter and me to leave? Just say the word, and we will. But we're here to help extricate you from whatever jam you're in."
Mozzie slowly emerged from behind a storage cabinet of audiovisual equipment.
"Is this some kind of Ferengi joke?" Peter asked impatiently.
"I wish it were," Mozzie said. "Neal, you shouldn't have brought them along."
"He couldn't stop us," Travis declared. "You said this was life or death. I assume you mean yours?"
Mozzie nodded. "I spotted a mobster from Detroit in the crowd and used your snooper to eavesdrop on him and his henchman. They're searching for me."
"Which mobster are you talking about?" Peter demanded.
"Frank DeLuca," Mozzie admitted reluctantly.
"DeLuca ... I've heard of him," Peter said thoughtfully. "He was suspected of a crime while I was with Organized Crime. We didn't have enough evidence to charge him."
"There's never been enough evidence to charge him," Mozzie said gloomily.
"Why is he after you?" Neal asked.
"It's a long story."
"Then give us the short version," Travis urged. He was very familiar with Mozzie's tendency to ramble.
"You'd mentioned you grew up in Detroit but moved away when you were twelve," Neal prompted when Mozzie continued to hesitate. "So for anything that happened, you would have been a minor and the statute of limitations has probably expired." He turned to Peter and asked hopefully, "Right?"
Peter took a slow breath. "I no longer carry a badge, and in view of your present attire, I'm calling you officially impaired. Unless you murdered someone, I won't hold it against you."
"As for me, the prime directive forbids Vulcans from interfering in local politics," Travis said. "Your secrets are safe with me."
"Then you better take a seat," Mozzie said, pressing the thumb lock on the door. "You already know that I spent my early youth in a group home. Mr. Jeffries ran it. He didn't have much funding, so ... "
"You helped out," Neal prompted when his words trailed off.
Mozzie nodded. "I first ran numbers then became a bookie. Since I was just a kid, I created an adult image to be my face." He took a breath. "I called myself the Dentist of Detroit, the scariest name I could think of."
"Hang on," Peter objected. "You're the Dentist? The extortionist and murderer?"
"I was the Dentist, but I didn't commit any of those crimes," Mozzie insisted. "After I'd been the Dentist for about a year, Frank DeLuca's dad attacked my runners and then took over my operation. I got my revenge by conning him out of five hundred thousand." He grinned. "Not bad for a twelve-year-old. I donated the money anonymously to Mr. Jeffries and then fled. DeLuca Senior invented the lies about the Dentist to conceal his embarrassment. He didn't want to admit he'd been outsmarted by a kid."
"Surely his son doesn't still hold a grudge," Travis said incredulously.
"Mobsters can have long memories," Mozzie said gloomily. "I'd heard from Mr. Jeffries that DeLuca continues to ask around the neighborhood about me. He idolized his dad." He turned to Neal. "That time last week when a van nearly ran us over at the crosswalk?"
"That was DeLuca?" Neal asked, shocked.
Mozzie nodded. "I overheard them discussing it. What I can't figure out is how DeLuca found me," he moaned. "Worse, he knows my alias of Walter Ellis and that I'm the scriptwriter for Yellowface's movie."
"I have a theory on that," Travis said. "You were part of a panel discussion last year at Tac-Con. DeLuca probably has kids. They may be Yellowface fans." He frowned. "But how did he recognize you?"
"I've occasionally gone back to see Mr. Jeffries. If DeLuca had the home staked out, he could have spotted me. And, frankly, I didn't appear that different as a kid. Even then, I was hair-challenged and wore glasses. Now that DeLuca has found me, the only thing I can do is—"
"—rely on your friends for help," Neal said firmly. He was gratified to see Peter and Travis nod in agreement. "You don't need to run. You've got us. Our immediate concern is to cause DeLuca to apply the brakes on his murderous intentions."
"And that's exactly what he'll do if he wants a piece of the action," Travis asserted.
#
Peter groaned. "I should have let Travis take this part."
"Nonsense," Neal said. "You're a much better con man than he is. You played a corrupt bank auditor with ease. This will be no different."
Peter kept his rumble low in his throat. "Finally, I've found a purpose for costumes. If I'd been dressed as a Klingon like Jones, you couldn't have used me."
Neal rolled his eyes. "You're kidding, right? You would have been even more threatening."
The plan, such as it was—it could have easily fit on a matchbook cover—sounded so much more realistic when Travis brought it up. All they needed to do was stall for a little time until a real plan could be made, preferably with a team from Organized Crime. Peter had a good relationship with Karen Saunders, the agent who now led the section. Mozzie was famous for all the safe houses he kept. Surely he could pick one and live the life of a recluse while others protected him and fleshed out the op.
Why didn't Neal understand that when Travis said "a piece of the action," he was simply joking about the classic Star Trek episode? It was a metaphor to come up with a countermeasure. But Neal took the concept and ran with it ... straight to Peter.
"All you need to do is stand there and glower like you are now," Neal insisted. "If DeLuca leaves before we've planted the idea, we may not have another chance. And need I remind you, he already tried to have Mozzie run over? Yours truly could have been killed too. Sara, Janet, or June could get caught in the crossfire if we don't do something."
Peter took a breath. Neal had him there. And a part of him—granted, a tiny part—was excited to give it a try. Wasn't this exactly why he'd wanted to take the job at Win-Win? If his team was involved in an action, he wanted a piece of it too.
Neal winged this sort of thing all the time. And surprisingly, he was positive Peter could ace his role. He'd overridden Mozzie's objections to champion Peter's participation. Simply Travis's look of gratitude that he didn't have to take the role gave Peter a little extra boost of confidence. Neal was right. Peter was more of a con man than he liked to admit.
"Your costume suits your part," Peter said.
Neal smiled, obviously appreciating the change in tone. "Thanks, I've been practicing my frazzled look. Even if DeLuca doesn't watch Doctor Who, he'll recognize the mood I'm portraying. I can work the outfit into the con." He nodded to the right and lowered his voice. "The Yellowface display is just beyond the Star Wars booth. Time to get into character."
"You're the only one I've seen in a suit so far. And yours doesn't count." Neal's costume consisted of a brown pinstripe suit, running shoes, and a trench coat. He'd mussed up his hair to fall over his forehead. The jacket was at least one size too small. His shirt collar was undone and he wore his tie loosely knotted. The touches enhanced his resemblance to David Tennant but also hinted at a reckless nervousness. Peter doubted his own outfit, which consisted of a Star Trek t-shirt and jeans, enhanced the con. But they were comfortable. Besides, he was supposed to be the one in control.
As they approached the Yellowface vs. Godzilla display, two men came into view, looking exactly as Mozzie had described them. Peter remembered DeLuca's appearance from the case he'd investigated. What up to now had seemed more like a paranoiac hallucination was suddenly all too real.
The crowd of attendees was large enough that they could stand within easy hearing range without causing undue attention. That is, until the performance started.
"I don't know how much more humiliation I can take," Neal whined in a loud voice, raking his hand through his hair. "This is so typical. Walter orders me to parade around in this ridiculous Doctor Who getup, but then doesn't show up. I've been here for hours."
"Calm down," Peter urged. "I spoke with him on the phone. He's off schmoozing another celebrity client. This next score will be our biggest yet."
"His biggest," Neal muttered. "All we get is a pittance."
"That will soon change. All you have to do is stick by the plan." And how ironic was that, given that there was no plan? "Have you spoken with the others?"
Neal nodded jerkily. "They're all on board." His face grew even more haggard. "But we still haven't figured out—"
"—Later," Peter interrupted brusquely as he scanned the crowd. "This isn't the place to talk business. You can't tell me that with all the talent on our side, we won't be able to come up with a solution."
"We better."
Truer words ...
#
Neal kept the conversation as short as possible while still conveying the essentials so that his reluctant fellow con man wouldn't gripe about a plan that was still in its infancy. He knew DeLuca was hooked when he felt the mobster's henchman slip something into Neal's trench coat pocket.
While he and Peter were pushing DeLuca's pause button, Travis contacted prospective crew members. Neal assumed that once they heard Mozzie was being threatened, they'd all sign up on the spot. This evening, all interested participants would meet at the mansion for a strategy session. Neal's immediate objective was to ensure that Mozzie didn't disappear like he undoubtedly wanted to.
The throng of supporters who descended on the mansion that evening provided ample reason for Mozzie to feel the love. It was a given that Sara, Janet, and June would take part in the con. And the musketeers, consisting of Aidan, Keiko, Richard, and Travis, weren't about to leave Athos in the lurch. In addition, Peter, El, Henry, Eric, Michael, Angela, Diana, and Jones all offered their services. The greatest challenge might be to ensure that the amateur members of the crew had a role to play that wouldn't put them in danger.
Sara contacted their favorite local Italian restaurant and ordered dinner for the hungry horde. The only room large enough to hold what was beyond a doubt the largest crew Neal had ever assembled was the living room. They moved in chairs from the dining room and game room so everyone could sit down.
"What was on the card DeLuca slipped you?" June asked.
Neal pulled it out of his pocket. "On the front is DeLuca's name and a telephone number. On the back is scrawled the message: Outside your house tomorrow 9 AM." He smiled confidently at his crew. "This is perfect for what we have in mind."
Henry rolled his eyes. "Only Neal would relish the thought of being accosted by a mobster."
Neal knew he was joking. Henry undoubtedly wished he could be the one who'd be picked up. The odds were high that Neal wouldn't stand on the street for long. DeLuca would want to conduct business in the privacy of a vehicle. Neal knew Sara wasn't thrilled at the idea, but as long as the con they developed was enticing enough, DeLuca would treat him as if he were made of glass.
"DeLuca's an old-style mobster," Henry said. "June, do you mind if we avail ourselves of the mansion for the con? The setting will help sell it."
She smiled. "You're talking my language. You're welcome to it as long as I'm a part of the con."
"We couldn't run it without you," Neal assured her. The Prohibition-era tunnel in the basement was already calling to him.
"Have you figured out how to con him?" Keiko asked.
"We tossed around a few ideas while waiting for everyone to arrive," Henry acknowledged.
"For many reasons, we don't want to string this out for long," Neal added. The main factor was that Mozzie's patience was already on a short fuse. "A variant of a Ponzi scheme has the most potential, especially given the crew we have, and you'll all have a role to play." He turned to Richard. "Assuming we can avail ourselves of your skill."
"For Mozzie, I'll gladly take off work," he declared.
"We'll also need Travis and Aidan's expertise," Henry warned. "Peter and Jones are naturals for their roles."
"How about me?" Mozzie said. "Don't even think about shipping me off to some safe house."
"We won't," Sara assured him. "You get to play a new part—the villain."
The man of the hour broke into a smile. "Ooh, I like that."
"What are you calling the con?" Michael asked.
"The Corbomite Maneuver works for me," Travis promptly suggested.
"Is that the name of a sting?" Angela asked.
"In a way," Peter said. "In the original Star Trek series, Captain Kirk invented the imaginary material to bluff his way out of a perilous situation. He claimed it prevented anyone from attacking a Federation vessel."
"Kirk was a skilled con man," Henry said, a small smile forming. "I like Travis's choice."
"What will we use for corbomite?" Keiko asked.
Henry snapped his fingers. "Congratulations, everyone. You've just been imbued with corbomite."
Mozzie grimaced. "Meaning that I've become the USS Enterprise?"
Travis arched his eyebrows in a classic Spock gesture. "That's a lot better than being a Ferengi."
"I'm not an expert on Star Trek episodes," June said. "But any con requires a little seed money. And for that, Byron would like to make a contribution ... as long as the funds don't get into general circulation."
"Do I want to know what you have in mind?" Jones asked.
"Just a little something Byron put away for a rainy day," she said with a sly smile. "It's a briefcase filled with top-grade counterfeit bills. We often thought of burning them in the fireplace, but it became a joke, and then I grew too nostalgic to part with it. The time has come and I'd love to see the bills put to good use before being destroyed."
"I'd long suspected Byron had a secret stash somewhere," Mozzie said. "Why didn't I find it during the remodel?"
"Because my bedroom wasn't part of the project," she told him with a wink.
The next day outside the Ellington mansion.
Promptly at 9 a.m., a limo pulled up at the corner next to the mansion. The chauffeur got out of the vehicle, opened the rear door, and beckoned to Neal. Sitting inside were DeLuca and one of his thugs.
As Neal entered, he flicked a glance at the Win-Win surveillance van parked across the street. Peter, Jones, and Travis were monitoring the action from there. They were prepared to follow the limo but Neal suspected they wouldn't need to drive very far. His instincts proved to be correct. The chauffeur drove the limo to a parking lot at Riverside Park. On a snowy, cold day, there were few park visitors to observe them.
Aside from commenting that Neal was smart to meet with him, DeLuca refrained from any comments till the limo was parked. He then ordered the chauffeur to wait outside the limo.
"What's this about?" Neal demanded nervously, jiggling his knee as if he was barely in control.
"I overheard an interesting conversation at Tac-Con yesterday," DeLuca said. "It struck me we might be able to help each other. Do you know who I am?"
"Yeah, and I've been asking myself what business brings you to New York?"
"I'm thinking of expanding my operations. You might be a good fit for my organization. What I want to know is if you're serious about quitting the Dentist of Detroit or Walter Ellis as he calls himself now."
"He's the Dentist?" Neal squeaked, raising the pitch of his voice.
"You didn't know?" DeLuca barked a short laugh. "I've had personal dealings with the Dentist, and a more ruthless backstabber you'll never find. He cheated my father out of 500 K. He kills anyone he dislikes at the drop of a hat. Treats those who work for him like dirt."
"You got that right," Neal said bitterly. "He pretended to be my friend—taught me the ropes, but that was just an act. All he wanted were my connections. Worse, he managed to ensnare my friends. Now we're just his puppets."
"Why haven't you left him?"
"I can't!" Neal wailed. "I sank too much money into his investment schemes."
"From the looks of that joint you're living in, you're doing all right."
"He allows my wife and me to live there because we provide the clients." Neal paused to give a frazzled huff. "Walter has June wrapped around his little finger too. She adores him."
"Who's June?"
"June Ellington. The former owner. She signed the mansion over to him."
"The singer?" DeLuca asked startled. "She was my father's favorite singer."
"She's being taken advantage of too," Neal said bitterly while inwardly savoring that unexpected gift. "Her friends in the entertainment industry have become Walter's marks. The operation is so slick, none of them realize they're being cheated, but the net profit is in the millions."
By the greedy look in DeLuca's eyes, Neal knew he was swallowing the bait. Now it was simply a matter of gently reeling him in.
"Sounds to me like you'd do fine without the Dentist. I can help you put him on ice."
"We can't take him out yet," Neal insisted. "He knows where June's husband Byron kept a stash of cash. If I can just find it, all my money woes will be solved."
"I've heard of Byron Ellington," DeLuca said thoughtfully.
"Are you familiar with the Halifax Bank Job?"
"Yeah, that was one of the biggest bank heists in history. Byron was involved with it?"
"He was the ringleader. The members of his crew are all dead. The haul is hidden somewhere in the mansion. June told Walter, and he moved it to another secure location within the house. I have a plan to find out where it is. After that, I don't care what happens to him."
"As I recall the bank lost over forty million. You're telling me the dough is hidden somewhere in the mansion?"
"That's right."
"How are you gonna launder it?"
Neal swallowed and didn't say anything for a long minute. "I haven't figured that out yet," he finally muttered.
"That much dough ain't as liquid as might think. Kid, you need me."
"How do I know I can trust you? You could take advantage of me just like Walter did."
DeLuca patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement."
#
Would DeLuca buy it? Peter still thought the scheme was crazy, but Henry and Neal insisted it would work, and even Mozzie grudgingly agreed from his designated safe suite in the mansion. Equating him with the Enterprise was a masterful stroke. Janet reinforced the concept by encouraging him to keep a ship's personal log of the experience.
Neal claimed that his gullibility wouldn't be questioned by DeLuca. The mobster would play along by offering to help with the full intention of doublecrossing him later.
During the rambling conversation between the mobster and Neal, Peter picked up several nuggets, particularly the one concerning DeLuca's projected move to New York City. That would make Organized Crime even more eager to participate in the sting. Peter awarded points to Neal for being satisfyingly vague about the nature of Mozzie's investment club while providing enough detail to make it seem somewhat plausible.
As to the lure of that hidden stash, Peter didn't need a video feed to imagine DeLuca's face. The greed was apparent in his voice. Somehow, Neal got him to agree to have their accountants review each other's books as a preliminary step to a future partnership. For that, Peter and Jones were fully prepared to step up to the plate.
DeLuca was no babe in the woods. He'd clearly studied Neal's history and was familiar with his job at Win-Win. Henry had insisted that would be the case and it would add believability to the current sting. He and Henry had run a long con for years where they led shadowy illegal lives when sufficiently tempted. Mozzie had circulated the rumors in the underworld. They were still out there for DeLuca or his associates to find.
DeLuca also knew Peter and Jones used to work for the Bureau. Neal managed to twist the mobster's words to make him believe that their prior employment demonstrated why "Walter's" crew was so outstanding. Any mobster would give his eyeteeth to recruit them, or in this case $50,000 of earnest money. When Neal agreed to do the same, Jones audibly swallowed. This had quickly turned real, and DeLuca wouldn't be content with fake bars of gold-pressed latinum.