Crime
Date Published: November 19
Publisher: Sobriety Press
Owning a huge amount of money is useless if you can’t spend it. With the mob and the Feds on your tail, the last thing you need is family trouble. And there’s plenty of that in this gripping new installment in the life of the Lagotti clan.
When hiding in Canada doesn’t work, the only option is to run again and build a fortress of your own in the land of the free. To start in a new town means you must prove yourself all over again – no matter how much money you bring to the table. Building a drug peddling business takes time and there’s always the kids to worry about when you get home.
So when a drug deal goes south, Mary Lou must fight to save her children. How far will she have to go to keep her family alive with Latino heroin traffickers and the East Coast mob holding her babies captive?
Set three years after the First Bank of Baltimore robbery, this fresh tale is a perfect stand-alone story, which will be enjoyed by new and existing readers.
Excerpt:
Excerpt:
Always checking in the rearview
mirror for signs of trouble, she headed to the Clements Fitzrovia Hotel.
Occasionally, she’d glance down at her bloody skirt and glimpse the red ovals
on her arms - the small globules of her husband’s blood which had splattered
over her while he was shot twice as he knelt beside her.
Tears still dribbled down her cheeks
as the shock and torment of those few moments juddered across her mind. No
matter how much she concentrated on the road ahead, Mary Lou couldn’t shake off
the image of Frank bleeding out in her arms. Of her shooting the Fed before he
arrested her. Of her zigzag escape from the parking lot that brought her to
within three blocks of her current location.
She drove the green saloon to the
back of the hotel and grabbed the two holdalls she’d stashed in the front
passenger footwell. Mary Lou looked around, saw no-one and bent down to open
the lighter bag and move its contents to its heavier twin. Then she zipped it
shut and dragged it out the vehicle. She fingered every cent of the one hundred
and forty thousand dollars contained inside. Laundered money from the robbery
at the Lansdowne branch of the First Bank of Baltimore. And she was the sole
survivor of the entire gang now that her Frank was no more.
Into a side door, Mary Lou hoped to
find a service elevator but somehow she headed straight for the main reception
area. She spotted the bellboy, Tom who strode over to her.
“Jeez, miss. What happened?”
“No time to explain, but I need your
help.”
“I’m not surprised. Housekeeping
will be hard pushed to take those stains out.”
Mary Lou looked down at herself and
realized how blood-drenched she appeared. Never mind.
“Has anyone else been asking about
us since we left this morning?”
“No, none.”
“Good.”
Beat.
“I’ll come down in ten minutes and I
want you to call a cab and have him wait at the side of the hotel. Got that?”
“Sure, miss.”
Mary Lou laid a clean Jackson on Tom
who nodded, smiled and went off to find that taxi. Meantime, she hauled
straight up the stairs to the second floor and then ran all the way to their
room. She fumbled with the door key but after a lifetime the lock pinged open.
In front of the bathroom mirror,
Mary Lou stripped out of her bloody clothes and stared at herself. Her legs and
arms were splattered with too much blood. She used the shower attachment to
wash away the red from her limbs but she still felt dirty inside. Unclean.
That unfathomable sense of disgust
clung to her skin as she put on fresh underwear, a shirt, a pair of jeans and
sunglasses. A walk around the suite enabled her to gather every ounce of
possessions they’d scattered round the place since their arrival in LA. She
stuffed all her clothes on top of the cash and shoved all Frank’s things into
the empty holdall. Mary Lou checked her revolver and filled the chambers with
slugs.
One final trip around and by the
time she returned to the bed, she knew it was clear. Another image flashed in
her head as she recalled Anthony flying through the air with the force of the
bullet slamming through his body. His death meant nothing to her - he was one
of the thugs Uncle Frankie hired to hunt them down, kill them and return the
money. The Shylock had played fast and loose and was left with bupkis. Not even
his life.
Mary Lou reckoned the hit she’d
arranged on Uncle Frankie must have been executed by now. All that stood
between her and some kind of future was the New York mob and the Feds. Her best
hope was to leave the country soonest and wait for the heat to die down.
One last check of herself in the
mirror, Mary Lou grabbed the holdall and left the room. Down the stairs and
into the lobby where Tom hustled over to her.
“The cab is waiting like you asked.”
“Thanks.”
“Is there anything more I can do for
you?”
“No, you’ve been great.”
She placed another Jackson in his
palm.
“If anyone else comes wandering past
asking questions...”
“... I know nothing.”
“You said it. You keep your mouth
shut. Even if it’s the cops.”
“Especially if it’s the pigs.”
She gave him a peck on the cheek to
seal the deal. There’s no way that sixteen-year-old boy would spill his guts
even to a G-Man.
Without turning her head backwards,
Mary Lou strode out the Clements and into the back of the cab. It was less than
thirty minutes since Frank drew his last breath. She sank into the seat as the
taxi dredged its way to the bus depot.
Mary Lou bought a ticket for the
first vehicle leaving town. After only a quarter hour, she stepped onto a bus,
shoved her bag onto the overhead shelf and slumped into the aisle seat so
no-one could grab it without her taking direct action against them.
Ten hours later, she reached San
Francisco where she laid overnight in a fleapit near the bus station. Her time
in the city was uneventful but unpleasant. She picked her way past the hookers
plying their trade as she entered the hotel.
The following morning, Mary Lou
returned to the depot and purchased another ticket - with Vancouver as her
destination. There was a two hour wait, so she trooped over to a diner to fill
up on food. Her appetite was still shot to hell from the previous day’s
violence but she ate anyway.
Thirty hours later and Claudia Starr
stepped out into the Canadian sun. She showed her fake ID to cross the border
so once the Feds identified her, they’d not be able to trace her departure from
the land of the free.
As the mob used intel from the
Hoover boys, Mary Lou figured the trail of carnage around the city of Angels
would stop at the Clements Fitzrovia. Even if someone worked out she had made
it to San Francisco, they wouldn’t be able to follow her any further.
As she walked on the foreign
concrete sidewalk, Mary Lou removed her sunglasses and tried to breathe and act
like a normal person. Only trouble was: she couldn’t remember how to do it.
About the Author
Leopold Borstinski is an independent author whose past careers have included financial journalism, business management of financial software companies, consulting and product sales and marketing, as well as teaching.
There is nothing he likes better so he does as much nothing as he possibly can. He has traveled extensively in Europe and the US and has visited Asia on several occasions. Leopold holds a Philosophy degree and tries not to drop it too often.
He lives near London and is married with one wife, one child and no pets.
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