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

CHAPTER 14

Servito's success in the dark side of the gasoline business had blossomed beyond his wildest dreams. The control center for his illegal operations was a large farm he'd bought in the Caledon hills, about fifty miles north of Toronto. There, he installed a number of above ground gasoline storage tanks, which were subsequently filled with three hundred and fifty thousand gallons on which no taxes were paid. He also constructed a runway for his new twin Cessna. Most of the flight plans he filed were to tax free Grand Cayman Island, where he deposited large sums of cash out of sight of the probing eyes of the tax authorities of both Canada and the United States. While his personal wealth grew, so too did his appetite for more. Money had ceased to be a necessity. Accumulating it was now a game—and the game was about to assume a significant new dimension.

He sat in silence in his long white Cadillac limousine as it glided across the Peace Bridge. His hand groped between the thighs of his paid mistress while he stared through a window at the reflection of the full moon on the rippled surface of the Niagara River below. He turned to Allison. "We're gonna buy a bridge tonight, Jerry," he said with a grin.

Allison shook his head. "You're crazy. Absolutely insane."

After stopping briefly at the customs checkpoint on the American side of the border, the limousine continued about two hundred yards to the parking area of a large, two story building. Servito's driver Pete kept the motor running while Servito marched to the front doors of the building.

The heels of his boots made a loud click with each step he took on the polished marble floor of the second floor hallway. He stopped in front of the door to an office at the southeast end of the building. "Director of Customs and Immigration" was printed in large gold letters on the door. Servito entered without knocking, closing the door behind him with a click. He turned the deadbolt.

A tall, frail man in a tailored, gray pin-striped suit approached Servito from the inner office. He had only the suggestion of snow white hair. "You must be Jim Servito," he declared with an enthusiastic smile.

"Yup," Servito replied grimly.

"My name is Earle Langston," the frail man said as Servito shook his hand. "I'm so happy to meet you, Jim. My assistant, Stanley, told me about you last week. Please come into my inner office and have a seat. Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you. I'm working on a very tight schedule tonight." Servito reached inside his jacket and removed a large brown envelope. "This is for you," he said, handing it to Langston.

Langston opened the envelope and removed five neatly bound packets, each containing fifty hundred dollar bills. He placed them in a neat row on his secretary's desk, then took one of them, removed the elastics, and counted the bills. When he finished counting, he looked up and smiled. "I won't waste time counting the other ones. You're a man of your word, Jim."

"Are you?" Servito asked.

Langston nodded. "You can rest assured that everything here will be cooled. My people won't bother with your trucks any more. No more delays or spot checks."

Servito glared at Langston. "Let's be absolutely sure we're both clear on this, Earle. The bridge is mine. If my trucks don't cross that bridge, both ways, like shit through a goose, I'm going to hold you personally responsible. If there's any trouble, you're going to take a nice little trip over Niagara Falls...in a cement boat. Do we understand each other?"

Langston's smile disappeared. "Loud and clear," he replied, his lips quivering.

Servito turned and walked toward the door of the office. After opening it, he tilted his head slightly. "You have a nice evening, Earle," he said, and then closed the door behind him. He hurried from the building and returned to the waiting limousine, slumping into the white leather seat.