A Night Out
A Night Out
Story by: David Ortiz
Written by: Tony Ortiz | July 4th, 2022
Prologue
“We don’t have a choice”…that’s what I told Jaime when she said we should have gotten the fuck out of there and called the cops. “We don’t have a choice.” Thinking back on those frantic moments leading up to that trigger being pulled though…I wonder. It made me question the fragility of it all. How effortless it could be to tug on the loose ends of the fabric of society. How quickly things can unravel. When your back is to the wall and you’re coerced at a moment where being between a rock and a hard place seems like an improvement of circumstances. Right then…decisions truly are life changing.
“So what’s this place supposed to be, exactly? Like a hibachi spot?” I asked.
“No, nothing like that,” replied Jaime, “you cook your own food. They bring whatever you order out to you, fresh and organic. And you sit in private booths that have a little stovetop in the middle.”
“So you want to go to a restaurant and pay them to let us cook our own food?” I added.
“Stop it. It’s part of the charm, you’ll see,” Jaime replied, “and the drinks are supposed to be amazing.”
“Great, so we’ll be paying even more to go out and cook our own food. Are we picking up your brother?” I asked.
“No, he and Maria are just going to meet us there after work,” Jaime responded.
“Ok cool. I was thinking of inviting Christian, too. He’s been dating a new girl, so might be down to triple date,” I replied.
“Yea sure, I like Christian,” Jaime Replied, “whatever you want hun, it’s your day.”
“I’ll call him,” I added.
***
“Birthday boy, what’s going on?” Christian said when he picked up the call.
“Chris, what’s up, bro?” I asked.
“Not much looking to wrap things up here at work within a couple hours,” he replied, “you?”
“Nothing much,” I responded, “took off today and going to dinner tonight at 7. Some spot Jaimie picked out.”
“Nice,” Christian stated.
“Are you still with that girl you told me about?” I asked, “let’s triple date.”
“Yeah, things are going pretty well too,” Christian responded, “I’m down for that. Who else is going?”
“Just us, Carlos and Maria,” I answered.
“Nice, ok cool. Text me the spot and we’ll meet you there.” He confirmed.
“Sounds good, peace.” I responded.
***
“Hi, we have a 7 o’clock reservation. Under Jaime.” She told the Matradee.
“Jaime for 6?” He asked
“Yup, that’s us.” Replied Jaime.
“Would you like to wait by the bar for the rest of your party, or go to the table?” He asked.
“What do you think, babe?” Jaime asked as she turned to me.
“The table is fine. They should be here soon, anyway,” I replied.
“Oh look, there’s Maria by the bar already,” Jaime said as she spotted her.
“Hey guys,” Maria said as she came over with an exotic drink in hand. “Happy birthday Benny.”
“Happy Birthday, my guy,” added Carlos.
“Thanks, thanks.” I responded.
“Here, hold on to this,” Carlos said as he handed me an Old Fashioned.
“Jaime, you have to order this drink called the blue midnight or something like that—“ Maria started.
“It’s blue velvet,” Carlos corrected. “See, she’s drunk already,” he added jokingly.
“Whatever,” Maria responded, “the point is it’s so good that I want to reverse engineer the shit to make it at home.”
The restaurant was bustling. It had a dark, smokey look to it that was both sleek and quaint.
“Who else is coming?” Asked Carlos as he saw the 6 seats.
“Oh, I invited Christian,” I replied, “he’s supposed to come with this new girl he’s been dating.”
***
Christian and his girl made their way to our table.
“Hey everybody, this is Carolina,” Christian introduced, “that’s the Birthday boy, and I’m sure you’ll catch everyone else’s name, eventually.”
“Boy, don’t you have any home training? You know better than that. Hi Carolina, I’m Jaime, this is Maria and her husband Carlos, which is also and unfortunately my brother. I kid, I kid.”
“Hey everybody, so nice to finally meet you. So that must make you the one with the good taste to pick this place,” replied Carolina.
“You don’t have to be nice and lie to her,” I chimed in laughing.
“No honest, I heard the drinks here are amazing,” added Carolina.
“I’m just playing,” I replied, “they are pretty good, I can’t front.”
***
“Is it just me or was everything delicious,” asked Maria?
“I liked it all too,” I added, “great pick babe, thank you.”
“Aww, I’m glad you did babes,” Jaime responded, “I’d definitely come again.”
“Yea same,” we all seem to have simultaneously said in agreement.
Christian walked back over from the restroom.
“Yo, we’re about to shut this place down. It’s a ghost town. Nobody’s even on the other side,” said Christian.
“Yea, let’s break out,” replied Carlos.
The server approached the table. Although the term server seemed somehow beneath the level of service that was being provided. He was more like a butler.
“I trust you enjoyed your experience tonight?” He asked.
“We did. Thank you very much,” Jaime replied.
“If you all would oblige,” started the server, “Mr. Shinto would like to treat you all to one more complementary, off menu drink in his VIP lounge.”
We all agreed. Excited. And followed him toward the back walled area, which had a speak-easy style concealed door leading to the VIP lounge. We really hadn’t noticed how deserted the place was by then. Like it had been closed for hours.
We each grabbed a drink from the bar. There were a dozen drinks lined up for us. We enjoyed them while we walked around the room, looking at an array of artwork, antiques and memorabilia.
“Hey, check this out,” Carolina told Christian. “It’s a Monet.”
“Wow, it seems legit too,” he replied.
“Not seems. Is. When I say it’s a Monet, I mean it’s a Monet,” she added.
“Get the fuck out of here,” said Carlos, noticeably sauced up, “that ain’t real.”
“Since when do you know about art?” Maria interjected.
“I’m just saying,” replied Carlos. “Who has that? And what would it be doing in the back room of a restaurant?”
“Dude, did you see what’s behind that memorabilia case?” I asked Carlos. “There are stacks of PSA 10 rookie cards, including multiples of Kobe, Jordan, Mantle, Gretzky, LeBron’s. There’s a Pete Maravich for God’s sake.”
“I get it,” replied Carlos, “that’s nothing to sneeze at. But that’s not the same as a Monet.”
“Bro, she majored in Art,” said Christian. “She knows what she’s talking about.”
“Minored,” Carolina corrected, “not majored. But it is a passion of mine, and I can tell you with the highest degree of certainty that Claude Monet himself painted that canvas. It’s actually one of his earlier works. Pay attention to his use of natural light within the frame. Seemingly unremarkable, until you notice his use of shadows and dark tonal shades. He’s masterful in showing how the moonlight embraces each reachable crevice of the landscape. His brush strokes are reminiscent of a time when he only worked in charcoal and the frequency of the bristles on the canvas echo the speed of those strokes, which is signature Monet.”
“I bet you didn’t even know Claude was his first name,” Christian taunted as Carlos stood there corrected.
We all seemed to notice someone who’s been there the whole time, simultaneously. There was a person sitting over by a dimly lit corner with their back to the rest of the room.
“What the fuck?” Christian asked under his breath.
“I know,” I replied, “who’s that weirdo? Is that the owner?”
“How’s it going?” Carlos asked out loud.
No response.
“Would you like a drink?” Jaime asked. “We have a lot extra over here.”
Christian started walking over. “Excuse me?” He said as he approached. “Excu—Oh, shit!”
“What? What is it?” Asked Carolina, frightened.
“He’s tied up. Help me get him out.” Christian replied, flustered.
The person seemed even more shook up than we were.
As we approached to help, we see ‘do not remove’ written on the duct tape that sealed his lips and a white envelope on his lap that had ‘Read Me’ written on it.
“What the fuck is this, guys?” Maria asked. “Let’s just go.”
“One step ahead of you,” said Carlos as they started toward the direction we came.
“Where’s the door?” Asked Carlos.
“I thought it was over here too,” said Carolina.
“Hold up,” said Christian as he walked over. “It was like one of those secret door type designs on the way in. I didn’t notice it close behind us, but it was right here.” He said as he started banging along the wall, looking for a hollow point. “Hey, hello! Let us out of here.”
No response.
“Maybe there’s something in that letter. Let’s open it,” I said.
“I don’t think we should,” said Jaime. “Let’s just get the fuck out of here and call the cops.”
“We don’t have a choice, babe,” I replied. “And are we really just going to ignore the fact that there’s a terrified guy over there tied up and duct tapped to a chair?”
We all reluctantly agreed with reading that letter and seeing what the guy in the chair could shed light on. Did he even know why he was here? Maybe he was in the same boat as us.
I signaled to him that I was going to take off the duct tape on his mouth and he nodded in agreement.
As soon as I did, he began pouring his heart out emphatically. He spoke for 2 minutes straight, barely stopping to take a breath or to let any of us slip a word in for a chance at dialogue. But it didn’t matter. None of us understood a word of the language he was speaking and he didn’t speak a lick of English or Spanish.
Carlos reached down and tugged on the zip ties that bound his hands behind his back and to the seat, but no luck.
“Wait, should we be trying to untie him?” Asked Carolina.
“What do you mean?” Asked Jaime, “of course we should.”
“Wait, she’s got a point,” I interjected, “what if he’s dangerous or something?”
“He’s tied to a chair, and more scared of us than we are of him,” Carlos replied.
“Calm down, calm down,” replied Christian. “Let’s read the letter to see if it says anything about who he is and then make a determination after.”
I slid the paper out of the envelope and began reading out loud:
“This man’s name is Guojing Zahn. He is a black market trader specializing in arms deals, some of which are linked to terrorist acts, human trafficking and a significant 18% portion of the poisonous fentanyl that has flooded the underground drug scene in the U.S.”
“Woah,” said Christian.
I took a beat and then continued reading.
“These are your instructions: Behind the bar you’ll find an untraceable .38 caliber pistol with no serial number. Put a bullet in his head and you’ll be free to go. Do not worry about his body or cleaning up. Those inconvenient logistics will be taken care of for you.”
“This has to be some sick prank,” Jaime said. “This can’t be happening right now.”
“We are not killing someone guys,” said Maria, “that’s fucking murder!”
“Of course we’re not,” I replied, “let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We fervently looked for a way out and, as a looming sense of hopelessness approached, a projector screen came down in front of the bar area. The man that appeared introduced himself as “Mr. Shinto’s executive assistant.” We could speak back to him and he would hear us. However, after a cacophony of cuss words being lopped at him like water balloons, he did most of the talking.
“Your instruction here tonight is a simple one,” he started. “A simple task that carried out by either one of you will result in the freeing of all of you.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself, you twisted fuck?” Carlos blurted out.
“Your moral apprehensions should not be a factor here, Mr. Rivera. I assure you that my employer does not want to bring harm to any of you. He simply wants the world to be rid of this vile individual.”
“Wait, how the fuck do you know my name?” Carlos replied.
“We know each of your names, Mr. Rivera. As well as your recent whereabouts and who your closest friends and family are. Like your Mother residing on 111th street in Queens. Or your grandfather Charles, Mrs. Ortega. Cousin Teresita,” he said to me as we locked eyes. “The fact of the matter is that my employer has dedicated time and resources to making sure this happens properly and precisely as instructed. I assure you that no harm will come to you and your loved ones as long as you comply with the ask. Make no qualms about it, there’s one way out of here… he leaves this world, and you get to leave this room.”
“Why should we believe you, huh?” I shouted at the screen. “What if we don’t do shit and just wait it out?”
“You see those 6 empty shot glasses sitting under those spouts? After one of you decides to stop dragging their feet and pulls the trigger, they will be filled with the last drink each of you will have tonight. Think it a celebratory toast of sorts.”
“1. Who said we would comply,” replied Jaime, “and 2. Why would we drink some mysterious shot that might be cyanide or something that’ll just kill us and keep us from going to the cops?”
“I assure you they’re not poison, dear. Funny you should say that, though. Because they are the only thing that will counteract the slow release poison each of you has already consumed.”
“What the fuck? What poison?” Asked Christian.
“The free rounds of drinks you’ve been enjoying, Mr. Torres. From the first sip each of you consumed, a slow acting but 100% deadly amount of arsenic trioxide has been coursing through you. In precisely 1 hour post consumption, your hearts will gradually grind down to a near halt. Your airways will constrict by an unsustainable 50% at which point the most durable of you may live for an excruciatingly uncomfortable extra 15 minutes or so. Unless, of course, you complete the task at hand, at which point the antidote to the poison surging through your bloodstreams will be poured into those 6 shot glasses.”
We stood there in absolute shocked silence.
“And with that, I trust the necessary motivation has been provided for you to fulfill my employer’s ask.”
Before the screen went blank, he added, “Oh and in case you were wondering, your first sips were about 45 minutes ago. Giving you just shy of 15 minutes to decide.”
The silence was so loud that it stunned us into motion.
“Where the fuck is that gun?” Carlos asked as he started toward the bar.
“Yea, I think he said it’s back there,” added Carolina as she followed behind.
“Wait, you guys,” Jaime said, “what if it’s bullshit? What if there is no poison?”
“If you want to stick around and find out, by all means. Me, I’m down to put this sex trafficking, drug poisoning fuck out of his misery,” said Carlos.
Those of us who said little else that night quietly agreed. But in that moment of silent despair, our lives were altered forever.
True to his word, once the lifeless body of Guojing Zahn slumped over in the chair and his blood pooled onto the ground, the antidote to the poison poured out of the spouts and into shot glasses. Each of us drank it exactly as you’d imagine; as if our lives depended on it. Then a unique set of doors appeared after an entire wall slid open to show a long narrow hallway leading out to the street.
“Follow me back to my place so we can figure this thing out,” I told the guys.
“Your place?” Exclaimed Maria. “Shouldn’t we be heading to the nearest precinct or hospital or something?”
“To tell them what? That a guy on a projector made us kill someone after we self-administered poison?” I replied.
“He has a point,” Jaime agreed. “I don’t like it either, but he has a point. If this guy is as connected as he seems, who knows who he has paid off and how high his influence goes? If we rat him out, we’ll be tied to chairs next.”
“Honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about that,” I added, “but that’s a good point. Let’s go to my place and find out as much as we can about this son of a bitch.”
That night was a wash. All of us were in shock and filled with uncertainty and doubt about our futures. But in the days and weeks to come, that all faded away and was replaced with a deliberate resentment that fueled us. It took some doing, but we came to find out who the owner of the restaurant was. His name is Hiroto Shinto, and he hid it well. But through my contacts at the registrar’s office and some dots that Jaime connected by leveraging her law firm, we were able to trace the LLC from one shell company to the next until the eventual parent company listed him as the sole beneficiary and principal. A few of his companies had accounts registered at Christian’s bank. With that, we got a glimpse of how deep his pockets were. His routine deposits were as steady and consistent as a government check. Maria was an attorney at the DA’s office. She had all types of law enforcement and judicial relationships which were able to tip her off to all the characters he allegedly conducted business with. He was spinning so many plates in both the legal and illegal arenas that it oddly warranted appreciation. Shinto was a boss in every sense of the word. If he wasn’t directly involved with something, one or more of his subsidiaries were facilitating on some level. This guy was the connective tissue that stitched together every unsavory transaction in this town.
He did business with the Italian and the Irish mobs. The shot callers of every major street gang like the Bloods, Latin Kings, Crips and even a few biker gangs had some sort of dealing with him as well. He was a personification of the Silk Road. He’d facilitate money laundering, drug dealing, tax evasion schemes, murder for higher and so much more. You name it; he did it or knew a guy or gal that did. As time went on, it sank in. The more untouchable he became, the more our chances of holding him accountable diminished. Most of us began giving up our hopes for vigilante justice as the days became weeks and our joint research and brainstorming sessions were few and far between.
Carlos and Maria became fanatical about the guy for months after what happened. They kept tabs on his whereabouts, events and functions he’d attend. They traced political contributions and the favors that were reciprocated. It became too much for Maria and she eventually let it go. But it wasn’t as easy for Carlos. And it put such a strain on their relationship that to this day there’s a palpable tension betwixt them. That’s based on how Jaime sees it, anyway. She still spoke with Maria every few weeks or so. The rest of us drifted further apart. I think it made it easier to cope. One less reminder of that night out.
Then one day, we all got the call.
“First and foremost, I wanted to thank you all for coming,” Carlos began, “it truly means a lot to me that even if we’re not as close as we once were, I could still reach out and count on you. I hope each of you knows that I’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.”
“Don’t mention it, brother,” I said. “It has been a minute since we’ve all been together. So what’s this all about, anyway?”
“I wanted to tell you that after that night, I spent months wanting to kill myself,” Carlos said. “I kept dreaming about how Guojing’s blood spattered on the wall and pooled up on the floor. How that putrid stench of death danced with the smell of blood and bowl movements. And I swear that if it wasn’t for the fear of how God was going to judge me for what I did that night, I would have gone through with offing myself.”
“He was a horrible guy,” I interjected. “We verified it ourselves. Everything that asshole told us he was, he was.”
“Yea, you can’t beat yourself up like that,” Christian added. “You had no choice. We had no choice.”
“I know,” replied Carlos, “but it still weighs on me. And I know it must be on you guys as well. It has been borderline unbearable, but knowing that untouchable cocksucker is out there has just compounded the entire experience into a crippling weight on my shoulders. What he did to us, he’s probably done to half a dozen people since then. Figuring out a way to get back at him has been my saving grace. And now we have a way to fight back. Now we can take that boulder sized weight off of our shoulders and crush the sonofabitch with it.”
“How do you mean?” Maria asked, as we were all thinking the same thing.
“He involved us all the day he lured and locked us in that room and drove us to kill Guojing,” started Carlos. “It’s going to take all of us to execute my plan and make things right.”
“Carlos, are you speaking about going after this guy?” Asked Maria. “Killing him? That’s insane.”
“Yea bro, the guy is a piece of shit and God knows he deserves it, but we’re way over our heads,” Christian added. “It’ll be a suicide mission for sure.”
“No,” Carlos said sternly, “I’m saying that if we execute my plan with the requisite precision, we won’t have to kill him. That part will work itself out.”
“So this is how it breaks down,” Carlos began, “five key members of separate crime organizations known as the five Capos work with Shinto and are going to meet with an associate of his. We’re going to break up that meeting and arrest the associate. He’ll be taken in for questioning. The group doing the arresting and interrogating are part of a joint NYPD and FBI task force that not only owes Maria a few favors, they have a legit gripe with Shinto, his organization and all of their own colleagues that are on the take. We expect those five shot callers to say they don’t know Shinto or will deny any involvement with him. The point is, though, that they’re going to leave each of them with the seed of an idea that Shinto won’t be paying them anymore because they got hemmed up.”
“Ok, but won’t that all fall apart when they continue to receive their payments?” Asked Jaime.
“That’s where phase two comes in,” Carlos replied. “Each of those shot callers receives their payments from Shinto as money laundering. He takes the illegitimate dollars they make from selling the drugs that he imports, and pumps clean funds through their respective clean cash heavy businesses like restaurants, laundromats, supermarkets, etc.”
“The son of a bitch is getting paid on all sides,” I said.
“Exactly,” replied Carlos, “he imports and sells them the dope wholesale, then charges them a fee for laundering their profits.”
“That’s fucking ruthless,” added Carolina.
“They’re all criminals,” Jaime chimed in as a reminder.
“Yea, they fancy themselves businessmen,” Carolina added, “you’d think they’d have a code.”
“A code against greed?” Asked Christian, “what businessman has that?”
“Yes, they’re all businessmen, yes they’re all greedy and yes they’re all criminals,” Carlos said sternly. “All of that shit is inconsequential, though. We can and will use that information against them by fanning the flames of resentment that they’ll already be feeling toward Shinto after they stop getting paid. What we want to do is plant the seed that the authorities know enough about the corruption to take him down. After that, the rest should fall into place.”
“And how exactly are we supposed to do that?” I asked.
“They hold a quarterly meeting with that projector screen sidekick bitch. In person, in the same hotel suite, without fail. That’s when we’ll grab him. The task force is going to interrupt that meeting and take the sidekick out of there. But he’ll undoubtedly have enough juice to get himself released within a couple of hours unless we have him taken to an undisclosed location,” Carlos continued, “either way, he’s not the actual play. When the rest of them leave that hotel, we’ll begin surveillance.”
“We?” Carolina questioned.
“The task force,” Carlos rebutted. “Given what they all saw happen the previous day, it won’t be too farfetched for them to believe that the projector bitch began singing like a bird. What’s even more important is that they’ll know that he wouldn’t dime anyone out without Shinto’s say so and that’ll start them questioning the current structure of the regime.”
“And I doubt these are the kinds of men that take getting double-crossed lightly,” said Jaime.
“Right,” affirmed Carlos, “and that’s exactly what we’re counting on.”
“I don’t get it though,” I stated. “What happens next? Won’t they just sort out the misunderstanding like a Three’s Company episode and move onto business as usual?”
“No. One of two things is going to happen,” Carlos replied confidently. “Either the infighting causes a destabilization that will collapse their organization or…”
“Or what?” Christian asked after the pregnant pause.
“Or they do Shinto the same way he made us take care of Guojing Zahn,” Carlos replied, “it’s a win-win and don’t think it’s not. Do you guys think we’re unique here? This is his MO. He coerces people into doing his dirty work while simultaneously compromising them so that he can leverage that shit in the future. You want to wait around for him to call in that favor? I sure as fuck don’t.”
“Damn, you remember his full name?” Carolina asked, surprised.
“How could I forget?” Carlos replied solemnly.
“You’re making a lot of assumptions though, bro,” I stated. “What if they move their meeting this quarter? What if the task force isn’t able to take projector bitch while they’re all watching? What if they get their money via some secondary fail safe that is already in place?”
“What if, what if, what if,” Carlos mockingly interrupted. “What if any of us could get a good night’s sleep since that night? What if Maria didn’t need to be hopped up on Xanax just to function throughout the day? It’s going to work. I know it is. But it’s going to take all of us. Are you in or not?” He asked.
“I don’t know about this Carlos,” replied Christian. “If things go wrong and any of this gets out, I could lose my job over this shit.”
“Your job?” Carlos replied. “Who got you the fucking job in the first place? Look,” he continued after an awkward silence, “I wouldn’t ask you to do any of this if it wasn’t airtight. I wouldn’t want you to jeopardize your job, either. For any of you. But I am asking you to put your trust in me. Because I’ve been meticulously crossing every T and dotting every i every day for almost a year now.”
Then after about a minute Jaime chimed in with; “I wish I would’ve picked another restaurant that night.” That made us smile and ease up a bit. How could any of us not be in? We were in it until, however, it was that this was going to end. I mean, we were all already accomplices to murder. A forced murder that weighed in the favor of justice when balanced against the deeds Guojing Zahn committed, but it was still murder. A murder that required closure. Albeit for some of us more than others. And so we were in.
Just shy of a week later, Carlos’ plan worked. Like a charm, you might say. Everything he said would happen, did. It couldn’t have gone any smoother if the whole thing was scripted. The task force posted up on all four corners of the Four Seasons hotel and had their surveillance van running point, right across the street from the entrance. The five Capos pulled up as expected and were matched up to their surveillance photos. They arrived in close succession to one another. Each in a fancier car than the last. Each with 1-2 body guards a piece. Shinto’s right hand showed up alone. Before moving in, the task force waited about 20 minutes so that the meeting would be underway. The lookout security guard that they left in the lobby was isolated and cuffed first, before he could alert the others. A copy of the room key was procured at the front desk.
“I don’t know which guests you’re referring to, sir,” the concierge said.
“You see this?” He replied while flashing his badge, “this means I can break down every door in this place until I find who I’m looking for. And you can explain to your boss why you interfered with official police business and why he now has dozens of broken doors to repair.”
“Oh, you meant the penthouse meeting room. I’m terribly sorry I misunderstood your question. Let me get you a copy of the room key,” he replied obligingly.
The first unit moved up to the penthouse suite. They were expecting a bodyguard after seeing him on a monitor that was in the lobby, and quickly neutralized him by the elevators. They proceeded toward the suite door, slid the keycard and tactically let themselves in, weapons drawn.
“Nope, you won’t be needing that,” one officer said as he disarmed a guard on the inside of the door.
“I’ll take that,” another officer stated as she disarmed another.
“Gentleman, I assure you this is not a violent visit. It is a simple extraction mission,” Officer Johnson stated as he scanned the room.
“You,” he said as he pointed to Shinto’s right-hand man, “come over here.”
“What is this about?” He responded nervously as he complied and started in their direction.
“We’ll discuss that downtown,” the arresting officer replied.
“You’re making a grave mistake, do you know who I am?” He replied.
“We know exactly who you are, shit bird. Tell Shinto you’re not coming home tonight,” Officer Johnson interjected.
All the men in the room looked at each other nervously at the mention of his name.
“I assure you all this is a misunderstanding,” Shinto’s right hand told them as the officers took him out of the room.
Right before stepping out himself, Officer Johnson turned back to the group and sarcastically said; “I wouldn’t count on him coming back anytime soon gentlemen… you know, the cloth he’s cut from and all.”
The arresting officers pressed forward as planned and drove Shinto’s right hand away. It didn’t take long for each of the five Capos to leave. The surveillance crew that stayed behind had enough time to track them after another crew finished stashing GPS trackers on each of the vehicles they scoped out on the way in.
Back where Shinto’s right hand was being held, a solid 20 minutes had passed while he had one hand cuffed to a cold metal table in a windowless 10 x 10 room before two officers walked in. Shinto’s right hand immediately blurted out: “I want my attorney!”
“You think we give a shit what you want? You think you get to run around doing what you do and still keep your fucking rights?” Officer Bustamante replied.
“Easy there,” Officer Johnson said to his interrogation partner to balance out the tension.
“Easy?” Officer Bustamante replied, “you know damn well that this son of a bitch deserves nothing resembling easy.”
“I assure you I’ve done nothing wrong. I furthermore assure you that I do have rights, good sir,” Shinto’s right hand rebutted.
“The fuck you do,” Officer Bustamante defied.
“Be that as it may,” Officer Johnson continued, “you were arrested while in the presence of known king pins. Each of which has a wrap sheet long enough to cover you up from head to toe, twice. Each one of them is personally responsible for at least half a dozen murders and their crews can be attributed to a dozen more easily. You have no identification on you. You won’t tell us your name. Can you please at least explain to us what you were doing there?”
“I don’t think I’m making myself clear, officers.” He replied. “I do not belong here. And I want my lawyer to help make that make sense to you.”
“Fine. If you insist, let’s see how it plays out,” he replied as he and officer Bustamante started for the door.
Officer Johnson turned back and said; “tell me something though, Mr. Ocampo, how long is it going to take your attorney to get here if we’ve only been able to get in touch with his office answering service?”
“And you know we can’t leave sensitive information like this with a third party,” Officer Bustamante added.
Hearing that, they knew his real name wiped the smug look off his face immediately. Officer Johnson closed the door and let him stew a while longer.
Two surveillance units picked up on the GPSs coordinates of the vehicles they were monitoring and noted that they were headed to a specific rendezvous point, so they headed that way as well. They posted up with binoculars and a telephoto lens camera in hand. The Italian and the Irish mob Capos showed up first, followed by the Bloods, Latin Kings, & Crip shot callers. They couldn’t get in close enough to make out any of their conversations, but their body language seemed to echo their frustrations and showed their concerns about Mr. Ocampo giving them up to save his own ass. They left after about ten minutes. Nothing seeming any more or less settled. They were definitely frazzled though, and that’s what the units reported back to Johnson and Bustamante, who were still holding Mr. Ocampo.
“Any word on Shinto?” Johnson asked.
“Negative,” Agent Santos replied.
“We’ll smoke him out,” Johnson responded. “His accounts get frozen at 0800. Once those dry up, a lot of people are going to start looking for him. It’ll behoove him to keep the temperature on the streets cool."
We all met up that evening at Christians’s apartment to prep for the next day. Officer Johnson came by to brief us and let us know he was still holding Mr. Ocampo at an undisclosed location. But they had to cut him loose soon.
“Can you keep him a bit longer?” Carlos asked.
“What’s a bit longer?” Johnson replied.
“2-3 days,” answered Carlos.
“2-3 days?! Are you nuts?” Johnson replied. “I was thinking 2-3 more hours. We’re damn near kidnapping the guy as is.”
“No, you’re absolutely kidnapping the guy as is,” interjected Jaime.
“Don’t waver now,” Carlos rebutted, “the brass of a crime family that is responsible for untold tons of smuggled drugs and countless murders will not prioritize ratting you out for kidnapping one of them.”
“We’ll stretch for 2 more days,” replied Officer Johnson. “After that…well, I hope you have a Plan B.”
Christian went to work the next day and nervously went through his usual routines like normal. He ordered his usual two breakfast wraps and large coffee with almond milk, no sugar, via the app on his phone. Christian picked them up, seemingly in stride, as he walked out of the subway, into the adjacent shop and then walked the half block to his office building. He smiled and greeted the security guard like he always did.
“Hey Fred,” he said as he walked by the turnstile after scanning his ID card, “tough loss last night, wasn’t it?”
“Mr. Torres,” Fred replied along with a hat tip in his direction, “they just don’t play defense man. And don’t get me started on the coaching staff.”
When he finally settled at his desk, he pulled out a small sheet of paper that was folded in half. He unfolded it to reveal each of Shinto’s account numbers. He used the account numbers to plug them into an SQL code that would flag and freeze all the accounts for a mandatory 30 days while a suspected terrorist investigation took place. The SQL also masked his user Id from showing up in the audit trail. Then he sat back, sipped on his coffee, and ate his breakfast.
The task force grew impatient as the hours pressed on. They were holding Mr. Ocampo at a nearby warehouse, while the members of the five organizations continued to be surveilled. Still no signs of Shinto, but with his mouthpiece temporarily out of the picture unable to answer questions and his money dried up, the five shot callers were plotting a coup of his organization.
“Can you believe these mopes?” Officer Childress turned to his partner and asked while on surveillance duty.
“What do you mean?” She replied.
“These mopes,” he continued, “they’re part of one of the most successful and entrenched crime organizations we’ve ever seen, and at the first sign of instability, they’re looking to overthrow the boss and take over shit.”
“Power vacuums man,” she replied, “you take out a major player and the remaining ones get sucked into that void and come out of the other side with asinine plots and plans.”
“Fuckin’ ingrates is what they are,” he replied.
“That’s a weird way to look at it,” she said.
“How do you mean?” Childress replied.
“Well, for starters you’re acting as if these are normal people,” she began, “they’re not law-abiding citizens that operate with logic and reason. They’re sociopaths that on a good day weigh their crime options against their risk tolerance. They’ll do anything for financial gain. Psychopathic killers that don’t skip a beat between ordering dinner and ordering a hit. Being grateful for anything isn’t an emotion I’d expect any of them to even be capable of, let alone show.”
“Fair point Robertson,” Childress replied to her, “fair point.”
That’s when the call came in.
“Look, look something’s happening. I think he’s calling them,” Robertson said.
“What? Who?” Replied Childress. “Shinto?”
“Yes, just look at the one on the phone,” she said.
“Yea, so?” Replied Childress.
“He’s shutting the rest of them up while he talks. What do you think that’s about?” She added.
“Maybe it’s his wife or something,” Childress replied.
“Not everyone is as chicken shit scared of their lady as you are,” Robertson answered back, “let’s see what they do after this.”
The group dispersed after the call. Each of their GPS’s were tracked to the Losmina Inn hotel where they reconvened. Whoever was on the other end of that phone call must’ve setup this meet. The expectation is that Shinto himself would show up to ease the tension on the street.
“Hit up the others,” Robertson told Childress, “tell them to meet us at the hotel. Shit’s about to get real.”
“Copy that,” he replied.
Each team took their original positions on three of the four corners since Officer’s Johnson & Bustamante were babysitting Mr. Ocampo. Childress and Robertson covered the front entrance and have accounted for each of the shot callers and their security details. The thing was, they didn’t know what to look for when it came to Shinto. He was a ghost. Legend had him being anywhere from 5 foot nothing to 8 feet tall and everything in between. No one ever dealt with him directly. There was always a go between like Mr. Ocampo. The only constant in his descriptions was a large facial scar. It didn’t take much for Johnson & Bustamante to coerce Mr. Ocampo to corroborate Shinto’s scar. He even gave them a description. They didn’t know how viable the description was, but it’s all they had to go by. An hour later, still nothing.
“How many did we say went in there?” Officer Robertson asked.
“Twelve,” replied Officer Childress.
“I’m counting fifteen,” Robertson replied
“What? Let me see,” Childress stated as he looked through the binoculars and counted for himself. “Son of a bitch. How'd he get past us?”
“Call it in to the rest,” Robertson said.
“Copy,” and he did.
“What’s the game plan?” Childress asked, “just wait until the fucker comes out?”
“No, we can’t wait on him to come out if we don’t even know how he got in,” replied Robertson. “We have to get inside and near that room.”
“And do so without tipping off the staff either,” replied Officer Childress, “there’s no telling who’s on the take and able to tip him off.”
“I’ll do it,” said Robertson. “But I need you to be my eyes up here, and two units need to go in and cause a front desk distraction so that I can get by them unnoticed. Do we have a confirm on the room number?” She asked.
“It’s the penthouse, P2100” replied Agent Flores via their two-way communication, “there are 3 other rooms on the same floor, so you don’t have to worry about private single entrances.”
Robertson made her way to the hotel bar that was adjacent to the front desk. Agents Flores and Santos walked up to the front desk attendant and demanded money back from a supposed previous stay. While they were busy distracting him, Robertson nonchalantly slid toward the elevator bank. She grabbed a service cart that was nearby and took it with her. She hung around an adjacent penthouse entrance and reported back to the team outside. They advised Shinto was still in there, holding court. The entire team was in plain clothes, so tying her sweater around her waist and putting on a name tag she found on the cart helped her blend into the background. When the meeting broke and the crews began exiting, they didn’t pay her any extra attention. She kept a mental tally of each member leaving and accounted for each shot caller and crew. All 12. All except Shinto. Once the hallway and elevator banks cleared, she quietly reported back to the team outside. They continued to surveil the room and confirmed he was still there, along with 2 other individuals.
“Let us know when he heads to the elevators and we’ll take him as soon as he steps foot into the lobby,” said Childress.
“Copy,” Robertson replied.
Shinto and his crew never came out into the hallway, though. After being out of the surveillance view for 20 minutes, Robertson knocked on the door under the guise of housekeeping. There was no answer.
“Do you see anyone on your end?” She asked.
“No, they must still be in that other room opposite the window,” Childress replied.
“Robertson, I have an idea,” Agent Flores chimed in. “Sit tight for ten minutes,” he added.
He and Agent Santos were still in the lobby. After making a fuss to speak to management about their reimbursements, and even got the regional manager on the phone to help sort out the mess. Agent Santos reengaged the front desk concierge and asked if there’s anywhere they can speak privately, away from all the strangers in the lobby so that they can sort this out. To quell the negative vibes, the concierge obliged and took Agent Santos to his office. In doing so, Agent Flores was able to slip behind the desk undetected and began navigating the hotel keycard system.
“Robertson, you still with me?” Agent Flores asked about 4 minutes later.
“Yea, still no sign of Shinto,” she replied.
“I’m coming up,” said Agent Flores.
“What’s the plan?” She asked when he made it up there.
“I have the keycard. I’ll swipe you in and cover you. But keep up the housekeeping routine and be ready for anything. Agent Santos will wait for us in the lobby, and the team outside will stay posted. Everyone copy?”
“Copy,” said Officer Childress.
“Copy,” said Agent Moledo
“Roger that,” said Agent Sterling
“Copy,” Agent Santos replied shortly after wrapping things up with the concierge.
They went in.
“Hello, housekeeping.” Robertson said. Then repeated it a few seconds later while they kept searching the perimeter of the penthouse and working their way through.
“It’s empty,” Agent Flores reported back.
“How’s that?” Said Childress. “What do you mean, empty? It can’t be empty.”
“John,” Robertson replied addressing Childress, “he’s not here. We’ve looked everywhere.”
“No, that can’t be. He has to be there. Look for another way out, a laundry chute, something!” Childress replied franticly.
Agent Flores and Robertson scanned the walls in the room that Shinto and crew went into. Knocking on them searching for a hollow sound indicating a secret passageway or hidden door. Sure enough, they found it. The walk-in closet had a false back wall. Pulling down on the rod made it slide open, exposing a direct entrance to the next penthouse apartment. It was filled with surveillance equipment and monitors that showed every inch of the original apartment where all meetings were held. Robertson called it in.
“We cleared the apartment and found a secret door adjoining two of the penthouses,” Robertson said. “That’s how he could slip in and out undetected.”
“But don’t they all lead to the same hallway outside and elevator vestibule? None of us have seen them come out from here,” Childress said.
“This one’s empty too,” said Agent Flores. “There has to be a separate way out of this apartment.”
They opened door after door, closet after closet. Searching for another hollow wall and nothing. But opening up the double doors to the main suite revealed a freight elevator.
“Wholly shit,” said Robertson.
“What? What is it?” Replied Childress.
“There’s a fucking freight elevator in this apartment,” she replied.
“What? That’s not in the building plans,” Agent Moledo chimed in.
“We’re taking it down to see where it leads,” Robertson replied.
“Moledo & Childress, meet us on the north side of the building for backup and keep your eyes peeled in case you see Shinto and his crew still around,” said Agent Flores
“Copy,” replied Agent Moledo
“We’re on it boss,” replied Childress
Officer Robertson and Agent Flores went into the freight elevator and pressed the singular down button.
“You ready?” Agent Flores asked as he drew his sidearm.
“Ready,” Robertson confirmed, as she did the same.
The freight got to the lower level, and the doors opened. Officer Robertson and Agent Flores stepped out slowly, guns drawn and began quietly securing the perimeter.
Agent Flores signaled Officer Robertson to stop, as if he had heard something. They quietly listened to a faint conversation carrying on in the distance while peaking around a corner and saw Shinto having a conversation on his cellphone. They made out the silhouette of the two guards he was with through the rear tinted window of the SUV, which was facing a closed garage door.
Robertson called it in. “They’re still here, repeat, still here. Circle to the southwest part of the building. Look for a closed steel garage door that will probably open up to a remote area.”
“There’s an alleyway on the south side,” Agent Flores whispered.
“Look for an alleyway,” Officer Robertson echoed on the call. “Do not, I repeat, do not let the black SUV leave the premises. Our three suspects are all here and all are considered armed and dangerous, so take all necessary precautions. Shinto is the shorter one and we need him alive. I repeat, Shinto is the shorter of the three and we need him alive. We will flank from behind once they make a move, so pause your fire unless absolutely vital.”
With that, Agent Flores and Officer Robertson waited for Shinto to finish up his call and get ready to go, while hoping their reinforcements were in position. Shinto gets in the back seat of the SUV and closes the door as his driver triggers the garage door to rise. The exit was clear and they drove out.
Skuuuuuurrr - Bwoop bwoop the sirens sounded as two vehicles peeled out and in front of the Shinto’s SUV to block them in right on time. The driver hit it in reverse, almost as a reflex. There was only one way out, though.
“Police! Stop your vehicle, shut off the engine and throw the keys out the window,” said Agent Santos over the loudspeaker.
“すぐに私たちをここから出してください,” Shinto yelled. The driver put the vehicle in drive and punched it towered the exit, smashing into both task force vehicles. In anticipation of this reaction, there was still a driver behind the wheel of each police vehicle, who sped up and rammed right back into the SUV to try to match its force with an equal and opposite reaction. They were at a standstill and both the driver and passenger reached for their weapons. Before they could pull them out, however, Agent Flores and Officer Robertson swooped in.
Click, click…“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Robertson said as she cocked her Glock 19 and aimed it at the passenger’s head.
“Nuh-uh, I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” said Agent Flores as he neutralized the driver.
“性交, what do I pay you for?!?” Exclaimed Shinto, “kill them now!”
“If you make any sudden movements, your brain’s going to be splattered all over that nice jacket your buddy’s wearing over there,” said Agent Flores to the driver.
Officer Childress and Agent Moledo moved in and opened the back door. “Mr. Shinto, you are under arrest,” stated Officer Childress, “please step out of the vehicle, sir.”
“Do you know who I am?” Shinto replied. “Who is your commanding officer? Call him right now.”
“Sorry, this is more like overtime work for us,” replied Officer Childress, “no one’s available to take your call at the moment.”
“Ahh, I see. Who hired you?” Asked Shinto. “I’ll pay you ten times whatever they are.”
“What? And ruin the fun?” Replied Officer Childress as he cuffed him and escorted him out.
“What do we do with these two?” Asked Agent Moledo.
“Take their weapons,” replied Officer Robertson, “and put these on,” she added as she tossed over a pair of tie wraps. “We’ll leave them in here and have a unit pass by to cut them loose tomorrow morning.”
“Hey wait, you can’t do that.” One of them exclaimed.
“Really?” Replied Robertson. “You really think you have a say in the matter, motherfucker?”
“Let’s go,” she told Agent Flores. And so they went.
“We have Shinto in custody and we’re on our way toward you,” Robertson texted Officer Bustamante, “we’ll be there in 30 minutes. Make sure they see each other when we walk in with him.”
“Copy,” Bustamante replied in his text back.
They walked Shinto in, down a hallway toward a back room. On the way, they slowed down as they passed an open door. They each looked in habitually. When Shinto did, he locked eyes with Mr. Ocampo, which had a sheet of paper with writing on it and a pen set down on the table in front of him.
“Sir, I haven’t told them…” Mr. Ocampo began to say, flustered, as Officer Johnson shut the room door closed.
“Have a seat,” Agent Flores instructed Shinto.
“I want my lawyer,” Shinto said sternly.
“Oh, you still don’t get it, do you?” Said Agent Flores, “this isn’t your typical situation. This is purely to show you that the untouchable can be touched.”
“Fair enough,” Shinto replied, “10 million American dollars for you and your team to split up as you see fit.”
“This isn’t about money,” Agent Flores replied.
“Ok, 50 Million,” Shinto said defiantly.
“You can’t buy your way out of this one, asshole.” Robertson added.
He sat for a minute, trying to discern if these officers of the law were being earnest.
“100 Million,” he stated emphatically, “wired to any account you want within 12 hours.”
“Ok,” replied Robertson…"now I’m just offended. What if we would have agreed to the 10 million? Now I can’t accept it out of principle alone,” she continued sarcastically.
“Besides,” added Agent Flores, “I thought you weren’t able to wire any funds to anybody anymore?”
With that, the smug smirk he had on his face faded. His eyes widened and seemed to darken like a shark’s. He slammed his free hand on the table while the other remained shackled to it.
“Release my funds,” he said defiantly, “or I’ll see to it that even your grandchildren curse you for the day you ever decided to cross me.”
In that moment the door burst open, Officer Childress bee lined to Shinto and walloped him across the face with the grip and magazine of his gun. Instantly spraying Shinto’s blood all over the table and floor.
“You done fucked up now,” said Officer Robertson.
“Please, it’s not me. The man you have in the other room is the leader. I am for show,” Shinto pleaded surprisingly quickly.
“Funny,” replied Childress, “that’s not his tune. He sang like a canary and told us all about the ins and outs of your organization.”
“Yup,” said Agent Flores, “the cops you have on the take, the judges you helped get elected, politicians…those last two alone make this a big federal issue. The first one just pisses off good police like my officer buddy over here.”
“It didn’t take much at all to get him to speak either,” Childress continued between strikes, “you must not treat your people well.”
“Shame on you Shinto,” added Robertson, “you should know better than that. If you don’t feed your people after an inevitable amount of time, you become the main course.”
“And your buddy in the other room has been on a feeding frenzy over the past few hours,” said Childress, “dishing on cats that we didn’t even know were in the mix.”
“The signed testimony he gave us is enough to lock you up under a prison for life,” Robertson added.
“What is it you want from me? Name your price,” replied a defeated Shinto.
“For you to take a nap. A nice. Long. Nap,” replied Agent Flores as he jabbed Shinto with a syringe in the upper right shoulder of the arm that was shackled.
Shinto slurred an incoherent sentence while his eyes glazed over and his head spun around the room. He keeled forward and his head dropped onto the table.
Agent Flores made a call. “We’re ready. Are you setup? Ok we’ll be there in 20. Let’s go,” he told Childress and Robertson as they helped pick Shinto’s slumped over body up.
“How about Ocampo?” Robertson asked.
“After we leave, we’ll have Johnson and Bustamante cut him loose,” Agent Flores replied. “Tell him something like Shinto bribing us to let him go and that he thinks Ocampo gave up the entire organization. That’ll be more than enough for him to skip town for good.
When Shinto came to, he woke up in the same spot where Guojing Zahn was killed. He struggled a bit before giving up in hopelessness. He looked over all of us, sitting there in the booth in-front of him. Jaime, Carlos, Christian, Maria, Carolina…all of us were there seeing how our implementation of Carlos’ planning bore fruit.
“Who let you in here? Who are you?” Said Shinto.
“The owner let us in,” replied Carlos.
“I am the owner!” He replied defiantly.
“Not anymore. Actually, you never really were,” said Jaime. “It’s a funny thing when it comes to LLC shell companies and using someone with a clean name to be the owner on paper…they can legally sell your shit.”
“Or, in your case, give it away,” added Christian.
The projector screen came down with Mr. Ocampo on it again. But this time it was a recording of the interrogation room that Officers Bustamante & Johnson were holding him in.
Shinto’s eyes widened as the gears in his head began to turn in realization of what had happened. The paperwork in front of Ocampo wasn’t a signed confession, they were deed transfers.
“Yep,” said Jaime, “we handed every one of your 16 laundering companies over to the five Capos. The restaurants, the warehouses, the laundromats, the shipping company and car dealerships. All of it. Gone.”
“You see, what you called providing them with convenience using your laundering and distribution services,” said Carlos, “they saw it for what it actually was. Price gauging them with fees. They formed a cooperative and now have a truce around that part of their business. Each of them gets to expand their territories and they’re still going to be making more money than they ever did with you. You’re obsolete, chief.”
“Greed, as it turns out, isn’t that good after all,” added Christian.
“You think you’ve covered everything, do you?” Replied Shinto. “You think those savages can maintain the stability and consistency that I’ve put in place? The comforts that your colleagues in law enforcement and those self-serving politicians seem so fit to cushion their lives with?”
“Stability and consistency?” Interjected Robertson, who was still in the room, “the stability of your drug distribution and the consistency of unsolved John Doe murders are not the stability and consistency we’re interested in here. We’re restoring the natural order of things. Removing your cancerous ass from continuing to affect those within our ranks so that we can get back to being real Police again. Good Police.”
“And a truce, for however long that bullshit lasts, means less violence on my streets,” said Childress, “so we win all around. You finally lose fucko.”
“Untie me,” said Shinto defiantly, “or by this time next week, each of you will be investigating the disappearances of anyone you’ve ever cared about. Patiently waiting for a break in the case as I mail pieces of their bodies to your homes week after week after week.”
“Oh, you still haven’t processed the gravity of the situation you’re in, have you?” Asked Agent Flores. “Let me make this very clear to you…you will not see next week.”
Shinto’s eyes widened as Agent Flores, Officers Robertson and Childress walked out of the room. The rest of the crew followed soon after, while Carlos lagged behind. If looks could kill, Shinto would have dropped dead right then and there. But he didn’t, and Carlos walked away as well. The Latin King Capo was making his way in and greeted Carlos warmly.
“Yooo, what’s up B?” he said.
“Not much Swifty. Damn, how long has it been, man?” Replied Carlos.
“Since the funeral, I think, right?” Swifty replied, “so like 4 or 5 years.”
“That’s crazy man, time flies.” Said Carlos.
“I gotta tell you B, when you first hit me up about this, I didn’t think it would work,” began Swifty. “But you always been a savvy dude. Everything is flowing like never before, and I want you to know that I’m thankful. We all are.”
“Nah bro, don’t mention it.” Carlos said.
“Seriously, if you ever need anything, you just hit me up. We owe you.” Swifty affirmed.
“What you’re doing for me now is more than enough,” replied Carlos, “trust me.”
“Don’t worry B, I got you.” Said Swifty.
“Let me ask you something, though. You ever wonder how things would have been if Derek was still around?” Asked Carlos.
“Shit, all the time. I wouldn’t be doing this, that’s for sure,” Swifty replied, “he would have had us all setup lovely. Making ends legit-like, you know?”
“You know you can still do it yourself, right? You ever think about leaving all this shit behind? Getting out alive. You got money. You can do it,” replied Carlos.
“Nah man, this is it for me.” Replied Swifty. “Wherever this road leads, I’m walking it. I made my peace with that a long time ago B. And I appreciate the hookup here. I want you and your people’s to know that. Again, if you ever need anything, just say the word.”
“Nah man, thank you,” replied Carlos. “We couldn’t have pulled it off without you and your guys.”
“You sure you don’t want to come and let that thing go yourself? Get some closure?” Asked Swifty.
“Nah man, that’s not me anymore,” replied Carlos.
“You right, you right. Shit, to be honest, that wasn’t you even when it was you. Don’t worry about a thing,” Swifty added, “we’ll clean this all up real nice. Be safe, my guy.”
“Thanks bro,” replied Carlos as he gave Swifty a pound, “you too.”
Carlos walked toward that long corridor he hadn’t seen since that night with Guojing Zahn as Shifty executed the last piece of the elaborate plan. He walked up behind Shinto and fired two rounds into the back of his head. The shots echoed throughout the corridor and blended into the sounds of the City at the moment Carlos stepped foot outside, took a deep breath and sighed in relief.