The Great Arian

All freeways and nearby streets were coming to a screeching halt and there was no way I was going to get to roll call on time. "It’s a good thing I’m a copy, I’ve got a radio with a squawk box. What a day t his is going to be! Not even started and we’ve got a major flame brewing and from the looks of things, it’s going to be a mess."

As I got closer to the station, camera crews from the local T.V. stations whizzed by me. They could smell a hot story! Ha! Ha! Every one of the crews involved in the emergency services had all been notified by our communications officer, after all that’s his job?

When I got to roll call my watch commander quickly informed me of the prior events and what our role was going to be. There were a few wrinkles coming out of the ashes of these flames and they weren’t all black and white. It seems a certain well-known underworld figure was used to trying out a new toaster oven and he was found neatly tied and gagged so he could brown real well.

Mark Goodyear (quickly translated in Italian is Marco Buonanno) who had his hands virtually in every pie of drugs, girls, and money laundering through Las Vegas. This celebration held in his honor finally burned out about three hours later.

By the time the lab boys turned over the suite to me and my partner, Deedee McCall, (I’m Sargeant Rick Hunter), it had all the earmarks of a doublecross and a payback rolled into one.

Marco Buonanno was no stranger to the ponies, or the bookies who helped him launder the monies from their operation. The murder of this kingpin also meant the emergence of a new powerhouse, someone very close to him but young and energetic enough to influence his demise.

Don Antonio Capomalata immediately came to mind. Then there was his righthand man, Carmen Stratchi – affectionately known by his fellow workers as (the Ripper). When they had a problem it was always turned over to Carmen Stratchi.

As the lab reports came in it was more apparent that we were right on track with our thinking. Two days went by and most of the reporters were still telling the same news. It was starting to look like we could predict the news. I figured if anyone could possibly shed any light on this case it would have to be someone who knew the street.

It’s funny to see someone wearing a smile when the competition ends up yesterday’s breakfast, but that’s how Sporty James looked when I pulled up with my partner. After a few words of compliments on our appearance and the weather, Sporty mentioned a name we had already thought of ahead of time but not in the same context. You see, Jules Gibbons, a man who had control of black L.A., Compton, Watts, parts of Hollywood and Venice, came out of the ashes when the smoke cleared claiming open warfare on the mob. Jules Gibbons had been paying token protection to Mark Goodyear, but now it looked like a territorial war with no boundaries.

Captain Devane called for an immediate task force to be formed to try and keep the bloodshed down and the amount of civilian casualties down to a minimum. I don’t have to tell you, I and my partner were given first choice at this bimbo to try to talk some sense into his head.

The Goodyear estate looked like a walking fortress; we counted fifty uzzis plus Dobermans every twenty-five feet. The question we were all wanted to know the answer to: "Who is going to move out first? Gibbons or Don Antonio?"

Four days had gone by now and everybody was armed to the teeth at both estates. What was everyone waiting for...at that very moment...I received a patch from the com line that one of Gibbons’ mule trains was going to be in town at 10 p.m. tonight with a street value of 20 million dollars in pure china white and then it dawned on me. Why use all that muscle when all you had to do was take away his mule train and hurt him even more than all out war. Then they would have a little leverage in handing over the man who torched their boss.

My partner and I decided it was time to try out my chili dog stand and have our relief take over on the stakeouts over the two estates. Meanwhile, the tension was going on in the streets, everyone was waiting and hinting for that shipment. The streets were dry as a bone and if the rip-off went as diagrammed there were going to be a lot of people hurting and dying.

It was finally time to follow up on the mule and see where he led us. Boy, this was getting exciting, especially if we could intercept the buyer and confiscate the snow (20 kilos).

Jules Gibbons was seen leaving his suite at the Sheraton and his limo headed toward Grand Central Station, reports later showed Carmen Stratchi also leaving his hotel room at precisely the same time.

My partner looked at me as she put on some lipstick and said, "My lips are dry."

I said to her, "Imagine how the junkies must feel."

I called narcotics watch-commander Lieutenant Jameson and told him the meet was on. He dispatched his men.

As we waited for the mule to make his contact with Jules Gibbons and observed Carmen Stratchi waiting also to pounce on him with his henchmen, Lt. Jameson sprang out like a lion blowing our stakeout and in two minutes let the golden goose fly out of the area and tipped our hand.

Now, you might be wondering as we were, McCall and I that is, how all this information was leaked out to all the different segments of the crime families? There had to be a mole in one of the families, the question was now, which one or both?

To Be Continued . . .