Chapter I John Banner is Introduced

John Banner is introduced.

The two men sat at a table in the center of the room. This is where people who wanted to hide sat. Amateurs sat in the dark corners. People who were trying to hide illicit love affairs occupied these tables. It was the first place jealous husbands or boyfriends looked. Pros who wanted to go unnoticed sat in the open, in the middle of the room.

The two men were well dressed. They could have been anyone. A couple of professionals or two construction workers who had read Dress For Success. One wore a navy blue suit with a dark red tie that announced that you were in the presence of an alpha male. The other wore a black pinstripe suit with a blue tie. Definitely a type B personality.

Their waitress was built like a fireplug. She deftly walked the room like a variety show plate spinner, balancing a tray of drinks over her head. On the stage at one end of the room, a steel drum band performed. Behind them was a mirror with four identically dressed steel drum players with their backs to the room, then a room full of people that looked exactly like the people in this room. It was the kind of music you could only hear from a steel drum band. Evidently, whoever invented the steel drum had only written one song, but it was played over and over.

John Banner, the red tie, was drinking Kettle One on the rocks. Ian Burton was nursing a rum and coke.

Sitting at the table next to them was a large fat man, telling off-color jokes, loud enough to offend half the restaurant. Why is it that obnoxious people are always so apparent?

“You've barely touched your drink,” the waitress said to Banner.

“I'm an easy drunk, besides I'm driving.”

“That explains it. We wouldn't want you getting pulled over.”

“That's him,” said Ian.

“Do you think?” answered Banner, sarcastically.

Him was Aldo Esposito.

Aldo was five foot four with an outgoing, animated personality, a pleasant smile, and an engaging charm. In another life, he could have been a street vendor, selling empanadas to tourists or tending bar in one of the glitzy hotels on the beach.

In this life, he was one of the most powerful drug lords in Columbia. So powerful that he felt safe walking around in the open in South Florida. So powerful, that no one could touch him. He had humiliated the prosecutors during his recent trial. Each day, he would walk into the courtroom and put on his Aldo Esposito show.

He wore his signature white suit, a huge kaleidoscope colored tie, ultra alpha male, and alligator shoes befitting the South Florida setting. He wore a white Panama hat that most people thought was hiding the fact that he was bald.

The judge had to remind him to remove it each day. Each time he took it off, he revealed his full head of long curly, black hair. After a while, it became apparent that the only reason he made the judge tell him to take his hat off was so as not to spoil the reveal.

He mocked the prosecutors and their youth, no preparation, silly arguments. It was a mismatch from the beginning. After closing arguments, the prosecutors seemed to be relieved that the spotlight was off them. They could move on to easier cases. Cases more suited to their South Florida style. It wasn't that they were bad lawyers, it was just that they were young and outgunned.

Aldo made a mental note to send one of his outlandish ties to them. A final dig. They cost $1,200 dollars each. Aldo was glad to pay it. He knew that sooner or later, the lawyers would wear them. His joke would be complete.

Now, once again, he was out among the people. Sitting here sipping wine at the grand opening of the Black Pearl in Sarasota, Florida. Not thirty feet away from John Banner and his friend. Go ahead, enjoy one last glass of wine, Banner thought.

The event was hosted by Ron and Ron, local celebrity radio hosts, known for their biting sarcasm, and show me your tits banter with their female guests. Bevis and Butthead are only funny because they're animated.

Banner was careful not to look directly at Aldo, only to glance in his direction once or twice. The fat man was more direct. He was staring at him, wondering who could possibly be drawing more attention than he was. One of the men that stood by Aldo walked over and whispered something in his ear. The man turned white. He grew very quiet and left hurriedly.

Banner surveyed the room. Something was wrong. There were only two bodyguards. Aldo always traveled with three. One was missing. Where was the other one? There would be no execution today. It couldn't be risked.

Banner glanced over again. This time, the bodyguard made eye contact - Damn, he had been made. 

The execution was back on. He knew he would never get this close again. Banner was already holding his Glock 20 in his lap. He thought about putting the silencer on but decided against it. He was going to need a lot of noise if he was going to walk out of here.

The Company standard issue was the Kal-Tec PF-9. It was a bean counter's choice. The shells were 6 cents cheaper that the 10-millimeter shells used by the Glock. Banner preferred the Glock. The guns specked out pretty much the same on paper, but for Banner it was all about knock down power.

This is where the Glock shines. When you hit a bad guy with a 10-millimeter hollow point, he wasn't getting up. Sometimes, it took four or five rounds from a Kal-Tec to bring him down. Where were your cost savings? You could lose a good agent because some bean counter wanted to save 6 cents. Who wants to explain to a mother or wife why her husband or son was dead but we saved 6 cents?

He turned to Ian, “Start the boat.”

He gave Ian time to get outside before he stood up. He walked directly to Aldo's table. Without stopping, he shot the bodyguard that stood to Aldo's right, then the other. He pointed his gun at Aldo and pulled the trigger. 

Now, Aldo's white suit had a red sash across the chest. He pointed again. This time, at his head. The window where Aldo was sitting had a heron stenciled on the glass. It looked as if the bird had reached out and plucked a chunk of something gray from Aldo's head. Aldo was no more.

A message had been sent, embarrass us once, shame on us, embarrass us twice, we will send John Banner after you. Banner dropped his gun on the floor and headed for the door.

The room was now full of screaming people, pushing and shoving, everyone trying to get out at once. Banner was no exception as he waded in and joined the melee.

People were reaching for him, grabbing. He used one of his spin moves from his college football days and broke free. He reached the door and was starting to make his break, when suddenly, he was nearly jerked off his feet.

There was fireplug, hanging onto his tie with both hands, her feet spread wide, one foot against each door jamb. Banner drew back his fist. He thought about it and opened it. He hit her with the palm of his hand and caught her squarely on the jaw. It was what Jim Lampley would call a pretty shot.

Banner was free now, running down the long wooden dock toward the boat. As he ran something that sounded like a bumble bee whined past his head. It was the third bodyguard, the one he hadn't seen. He had been stationed outside the restaurant. His instructions were, if anything went wrong inside, he was to kill whoever came out. Banner continued running toward the boat.

More bumblebees. The would-be assassin was holding his weapon gansta style, the way ganstas hold theirs in cop movies. It is the worst possible grip. Every time you pull the trigger, the gun recoils to the left. When it recoils back, it swings to the right.

If anyone hit his target using this grip, it was pure luck. This is why so many innocent bystanders are killed in drive-by shootings. Just a few more feet. Banner jumped for the boat just as his partner hit the throttle.

Banner missed the engine deck and grabbed a stanchion on the back of the deck as the boat began to plane. He pulled himself onto the boat and fell in a heap in the back. He began frantically pulling at his tie and finally got it loose. He desperately gasped for air.

Ian glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry about that.”

Banner glared at him with murder in his eyes. Ian didn't say anything the rest of the way to the meeting area.

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A helicopter had been scrambled out of a secret base in Venice. It was a no-speak mission. The pilot's instructions were to go to certain coordinates that would be relayed to him after take off, pick up two assets, and deliver them to the Pensacola Naval Air Station.

When the pilot reached his coordinates, he flipped a switch on his control panel. The windshield of the helicopter came alive with a full-color display, as bright as daylight. Gone was the iridescent, green display of a couple of years ago. Technology was advancing.

The pilot could clearly see the boat rising and falling on the two-foot swells below. He could see two men on board. He lowered his rescue basket down to the boat. One at a time, the men climbed into the basket and were hoisted up to the helicopter.

When Banner got out of the basket, the helicopter backed off a hundred feet. The pilot flipped another switch and a red crosshair appeared on the windshield. The pilot focused on the boat with his right eye. The crosshair moved to the boat. The pilot squeezed a trigger on his flight stick and a rocket streaked through the night sky, turning the boat into a million splinters. Not even an oil slick would be found.

No one spoke on the flight to Pensacola. Banner was still fidgeting with his tie. Ian tried not to look at him.

The Black Pearl closed the next week. A triple homicide was not the best way to open a restaurant. The place opened again in a couple of months as a seafood joint. Jack's Shack. Kid friendly. No murders.