SMOOTH CALL
By
Ken Kelly
Copyright 2013 Ken Kelly
Formatted by eBooksMade4You
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Glossary
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Prologue
The door of the Metropolitan Correctional Institute, the downtown federal prison on Union Street in San Diego, swung open and Frank Salucci stepped into the morning sun. He was wearing the clothes he’d arrived in: a charcoal suit, black shoes, grey shirt, no tie and a pair of wrap around Oakley sunglasses. He walked 18 or 20 yards, stopped, looked up at the sky and breathed deeply. He’d been in prison for 30 months but it seemed like that many years. Well, he was out now, and he planned to make the most of it.
Frank spotted Bobby Greco waiting on a sidewalk 50 yards further on. Bobby waved and motioned Frank to walk over. When he reached him the two friends shook hands and Frank thanked him for coming. Then Frank said, “What are you doing way the hell over here, why didn’t you wait at the door?”
“A scruffy little guy in jeans and what looked like a uniform shirt came out and told me it was a restricted area and I couldn’t be there.”
“Yeah? People are milling around out there all the time, the guy was yanking your chain. You should have put him on the deck.”
“I could have done that Frank,” said Bobby like he was instructing a school boy, “but then I wouldn’t be here to pick you up would I? I’d be fleeing arrest and you’d be taking a cab. You’ve got to pick your battles Frankie.”
“What did I tell you about calling me Frankie? Has your brain gone soft since I’ve been away at Club Fed?”
“No Frank, I was just running a test to see if you still had your edge.”
“Lose your edge in that joint and you’re dog meat. You’re right about that little weasel though, no sense getting involved in his head games.”
Bobby waited a moment and then said, “You want to do anything in particular?”
“Yeah, I want to walk. I thought about walking every day since I’ve been in.”
Bobby had no doubts that Frank held his own in prison. He was a big guy and he was tough. He was also smart. After a couple of weeks inside he’d probably let it be known that he was connected. He wouldn’t say what he did for the Mob, let people think the worst. Everyone knew he was in for income tax evasion, the fall back charge the government used when they couldn’t prove what they really wanted to prove.
The truth was Frank was no more Mob connected than Justin Beaver. He did have a distant relative who was rising through the ranks of organized crime but he and Frank didn’t get along. Bobby met the guy at a wedding once and after the meal the guy pulled him aside. As they stood watching Frank cut a rug with one of the bridesmaids, the man said, “I know you and Frank are partners – you’ve got some car washes, right? If I were you, I’d shoot Frank or I’d shoot myself. Either way the partnership would be dissolved, and you’d be way ahead.”
Frank and Bobby walked up C Street to 5th Ave. then down 5th toward Harbor Boulevard, neither of them saying a thing. Finally Bobby, tired of the silence, asked the question.
“How was it Frank? Not much fun, I’d imagine.”
When Frank paused longer than needed Bobby knew he shouldn’t have asked.
“You imagined right,” said Frank as he stared straight ahead, not looking around much now. “They showed movies in prison, every couple of weeks. Not new releases, of course, but any movie was better than sitting in your cell. One of the last ones I saw was “Vanilla Sky.” You ever seen it?”
“I think so,” said Bobby, feeling the conversation was going somewhere beyond movies. “With Tom Cruise and Carmen Diaz right?”
“Yeah, and Penelope Cruz. The movie was a bit too surreal for me but there was a great line where Tom Cruise quotes his deceased father who said, ‘The answer to 49 out of 50 questions is money.’ You remember that?”
“No, not really. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the movie.”
“I don’t know if I believe that or not but one thing I know is true, in prison the answer to 50 out of 50 questions is: like shit. So if you have any questions about my little vacation you know the answer and you won’t have to ask.”
“Yeah alright Frank, I get it and, by the way, fuck you. You don’t want me to ask about it just say so. ”
“I thought that’s what I just did.”
“Yeah, well next time spare me the parable.”
They walked in silence some more, this time Bobby was thankful for it. Prison must have been worse then he thought. He thought Frank would tell him how he’d handled things, how he took care of business and did his time. But all he said was, “it’s like shit” and don’t bring it up. Well, no worries there, he wouldn’t bring it up again and hoped no one else would either.
When they got close to where Bobby had parked he said, “I’m parked up here.”
Frank said, “Did you bring the Cadillac?”
“Yeah, I brought it.”
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Chapter 1