THE CZECH LEAGUE
Venice, 1996.
Not everything that swims is fish. This was a saying that meant much more than it seemed on first speech. It was a mantra, a totem written at the lintel of almost every door in Venice.
It was one of those nights in Venice when all was calm as the city ran itself to either the ruin of the fragile or the reinvention of the strong. Those who slept knew no more than they sought after, those who stayed up built empires from the canals that flowed like blood in the veins of Venice herself.
These Veins would lead everywhere you could imagine, and it was run by the underworld. Everything ran from there back to the ordinary citizens.
This particular night was no different, cargos were moved as usual, but later, moved the treasures of the city, art, jewelry, drugs and alcohol straight down up to whom it may concern.
To some he was God, others called him "portatore di morte" which when translated to English means the 'the bringer of death' and those who knew him knew that his state was not to be messed with. His men worked day and night to accomplish his desires, be it pleasure or business. Tonight, the Czechs will drop by to deliver 'the believer' and some many other artifacts from various parts of the planet. Ace Vincente was a very stylish man with elegance that ran his reputation wild in the eyes of people both home and abroad, and as much as he was loved, he was hated the same. But no one would dare challenge his might, not here in Venice or anywhere in Europe. Governments swore at his feet, priests prayed to him and women, oh the women whored solely for him. He owned everything, even the pope was his friend.
A lone boat found its way by floating in the canals, a sole lamp hung at the lamp post and a dark bulky figure stood by it, it was late, and the mist had awaked casting a shadowy cover on this lone figure that seemed to be waiting. From a far, he seemed lost and possibly distracted, but neither he nor the boat seemed to be shaken by the fact that they floated alone on the Venice canal in Ace Vincente's territory at such an odd hour.
Soon he would bend, almost reaching for the water, there seemed to be another presence reaching for him from the water, and as he stretched his lamp toward the water, another presence made itself known from the other end of the boat, then another, and another till the boat was surrounded by what seemed to be adult sharks circling around it.
The boat suddenly began to move forward, steadily like it was being dragged. The figure on the boat took a sit still unbothered as they dragged his boat down under.
The boat is docked and the bodies from the water emerged, all dressed in diver's gear. As quickly as they emerged, they undressed and ran towards a fleet of vehicles parked less than five yards away. The first of them knocked on the cars and two men from each car came down running towards the boat in single file, like ants marching towards sugar. They were quick and quiet, and precise about their mission. The divers all fit themselves into each vehicle like keys to locks, while the boatman walked into the darkness and faded away from sight. They each had a package to carry as they were fed package after package after package by the Czechs who appeared after the boat must have docked. They too like the divers changed into more suitable clothing as they carefully supplied the packages one after the other to their assigned representatives. At the break of the road leading to the only known exit was a man well known in that area. Caputo di Santiago, son of one of the last true mafia houses of Venice. Caputo was a practical man who liked to get things done by himself. He supervised this operation. He planned this operation. When they were done packing up, each to his own vehicle according to the house they represented, drove at a steady pace in different directions while Caputo waited till, they had all left before making any moves. You see, his job was to make sure everything worked out fine. He was the captain of this moving ship and if it went down, he went down with it. Ace Vincente had everything and everyone in his pocket but one man, Alessio Rugani. Rugani was the new chief of police in the city of Venice, he was a clown of man who wanted more than he deserved and claimed to fight for justice when he did not get what he wanted. He was the kind of thief you wanted on your side, but he was not on Caputo's side, not tonight, not in his tenure as chief of police. He had posted his men almost everywhere in the city to stop Caputo and his men for this particular operation, but Caputo and his wits we're too strong and cunning to be caught on an ordinary night like this one. They had caused a diversion at the other end of the city, drawn away by Brian Patirici, a cold murderous killer who acted as an executioner for the Ace Vincente's mafia. He and his group had robbed a dozen jewelry stores around the city and what that meant was that an orchestra of alarms came blaring around the city almost simultaneously. Now no police station would ignore that kind of noise anywhere, anytime.
As Caputo and his men proceeded, they had to avoid the noise and rise of policemen rushing to save the day at the other side of town. All unit, they said were posted to the scene of the events that happened. They pulled up into a little bridge, the vehicles lined up until the very last one where Caputo rested. The men stood in line as commanded by the man himself from back when they strategized. They were like an army of well-trained thieves taking formation for combat. "Why have we stopped?" he asked perplexed. "The Czechs. They stand guard at the bridge." "Whose post was it, the bridge?" he responded as he came down from the car, "Paulo" the henchman said, "Where is Paulo now?" he pressed as he pushed forward through the organized crowd docked by their cars. "Up front Santi."