THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS (Volume 1 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 11

"Where were you born?" the young female customs officer asked, glaring suspiciously at Servito, who was perched languorously behind the opened window of Allison's black Lincoln.

"Toronto," Servito lied, calmly returning her stare. It was his first return to the United States since his escape in July of 1963, and if his identity were discovered, his next home would be a U.S. military prison.

"Where are you going?' she asked.

"We have a business meeting in Buffalo. We'll be back here in two or three hours," Allison said.

"Have a nice day," the officer said, and then directed her stare to the car behind Allison's.

The head office of Empire State Oil was located in the recreation room of Bob Bushing's modest, four bedroom home in Tonawanda, a suburb of Buffalo. Servito and Allison were met at the front door by Bushing's wife, a short, well-painted brunette adorned with too much jewelry. "Jerry!" she declared, her eyes widening with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I gotta see Bob, Theresa. It's real important."

Theresa ushered Servito and Allison into the house and down a flight of stairs to a tacky, 1950s style recreation room. Bushing was pushing papers at a large and very cluttered metal desk. A thin weasel of a man with a narrow black mustache, he looked like he belonged at a racetrack, making book. He directed an angry glare at Allison. "What the hell is this, Jerry? I told you I didn't want to see you here. Ever."

Allison trembled as he attempted to explain. "I...this is Jim Servito...? He's here because—"

"Jerry's here because I brought him here," Servito interrupted.

"Then why are you here?" Bushing asked.

Servito marched toward Bushing and perched on the corner of his desk. He leaned close to Bushing's face. "We have a new agenda for you, Bob."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"We're going to restructure your company, that's what I'm talking about." Jim grinned nastily. "From now on, Jerry and I are going to own a slice of the gasoline you've been selling to his customers. Empire State will continue to purchase it, but it'll no longer be just your company. You're going to sell a controlling interest to us. When that's done, the company will pay you a commission for continuing as president. I'll be the chairman of the board."

Bushing stood and cocked his right arm. Just when Bushing stepped forward, Jim jerked his head backward so Bushing's fist just missed his chin. Then he dodged up under the unbalanced manager and grabbed his right wrist, twisting it until Bushing leaned forward and then wrapping it behind the man's own back. "Don't, Bob. There are three of us against little old you."

"There's only two," Bushing retorted, panting heavily. "And Allison can't punch his way out of a bottle."

Servito let go of Bushing's arm and removed his revolver as the man spun back around. "This is number three," he said, smirking as he cocked the hammer. "Now sit down and listen."

Bushing's face had flushed to crimson. "I don't give shit if you have a gun. Who the hell do you think you are, coming into my house and telling me who's going to do what?"

"I'll tell you who I am, Bob. I'm your new boss. The sooner you accept that fact, the happier we're all going to be."

"You can take your new agenda and shove it where the sun don't shine!" Bushing shouted, his face mean and glowing red. "You can't take over my company unless I want to sell, and I'm here to tell you I don't."