12. Mafia Imports

Uncle Sergey first got into the mafia business through his brother Nicholas who operated a thriving business smuggling stolen cars out of the U.S. to Russia and Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Nicholas appointed him as his manager of the Eastern Division, as he called it. They operated a mostly legitimate export business, but its main purpose was to provide the cover for smuggling high end vehicles to the black market in Russia, Eastern Europe and the Middle East. It was a relatively simple business model. They stole the cars right off the streets of Newark, then reprocessed their documentation and shipped them out. They gave the cars a new identity, vehicle ID number and the works. Forging the new identities of cars was not difficult and not even risky. The authorities had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure the identities of individuals and organizations were authentic, so forging them was risky. But they remained pretty much ignorant of the process of falsifying the identities of cars. Besides, if there was a problem, the people working for the New Jersey Department of Motor Vehicles were poorly paid and easy to buy off.

So on this early September morning, a white box truck with the name “GREAT IMPORTS” in small black letters on a vinyl strip adhered to its side approached the Port of Newark container terminal on Calcutta Street. Turgo sat beside the truck driver. He was wishing they had used a forwarding agency, but uncle Sergey had warned against it because they would lose time and they did not want the container sitting for any time within the terminal. Turgo had followed the progress of the Maple Leaf on the web, and knew that it had arrived and that the container had been unloaded. Since nine eleven, trucker and Sea Link IDs were hard to come by and forgeries were risky, so Nicholas had insisted that they both get legitimate ones. As it was, because they both had Green Cards, getting the IDs was not that difficult, especially as Nicholas with his contacts was able to get the applications on a fast track. Even so, Turgo was nervous as the truck pulled up to the entry gate and they were both asked to step out of the truck and show their IDs.

The officer on duty examined the documents carefully. “Looks OK.

You’re here for container C12?”

“Yes, that is right,” said Turgo. “These the papers you need?”

“Let me see. Yeh, looks OK. Picking up a Mercedes are you?” he asked, joking.

“Oh, yes officer. They bring such good price here.”

“Really? I wouldn’t buy one myself. I’d rather have a Chevy.”

“Ah! Good American car!” exclaimed Turgo.

The officer handed the papers back and raised the boom. “OK. It’s Lot C, second on left. Pull up there and they’ll help you load.”

“We don’t want the whole container, just the crate inside. Can we do that here?”

“Don’t see why not. Better ask the boys down there. They have the forklifts to do it.”

The truck rolled forward and Turgo smiled as they passed by. They found Lot C and were directed to container C12. “Can we open it?” Turgo asked the dock worker. “We just want to pick up the crate that’s inside.”

“No problem. This is from the Maple Leaf, just in from Mumbai, right?”

“Right.”

“Our biggest fork lift should do it.” The worker whistled loudly and received a whistle back. “He’s on his way.”

The container was opened and they loaded the crate, the only item in the container, into the truck. They drove slowly to the exit of the lot and once again had to get out to show their IDs, and as well, the officer on duty briefly looked inside the truck.

“You’re taking this to Indian Point? So they’re finally upgrading it huh?”

“Cooling pumps, I think, officer,” said Turgo.

They left the facility and joined the permanent traffic jam of trucks and cars as they slowly inched their way towards the New Jersey turnpike north, from which they eventually exited and found their way to Skyline Drive.

Nicholas had even gone to the trouble to get them a permit to drive the truck on Skyline Drive, because it was illegal to do it without one. Turgo had thought that was unnecessary until they were pulled over soon after they entered Skyline Drive and asked for their permit. The narrow curving road was dangerous for trucks, the officer said, so they should drive carefully and keep well within the speed limit. The truck passed through beautiful parks and pricey suburbs and every now and again offered a glimpse of the fabulous skyline of New York City.

“It would be a shame to destroy it,” mused Turgo. It took a good half hour to get to the safe house, now identifiable by a blue tarpaulin draped over its roof. They had difficulty maneuvering the truck on the narrow road, and blocked traffic as they tried to back it into the driveway. The garage door of the house opened, and a large fork lift emerged. The crate was deposited in the garage.

*

Another envelope had arrived. This time postmarked in Newark, New Jersey. It did not contain money, but what appeared to be a debit card issued by HSBC. Shouldn’t they take it to the New York State Police? Mrs. Kohmsky asked herself. She knew immediately Mr. Kohmsky would not want to, especially as it had one small post-it note attached, which simply said “Nicholas.” They left it sit on the kitchen table for several days until finally Mrs. Kohmsky could not contain herself any longer and snatched it up right after they had breakfast one morning and went off to the nearest HSBC ATM.

She pushed the card into the slot and withdrew it as directed. But then it asked for her pin and of course she did not have it. She stepped back, embarrassed, to let the person behind her use the machine. She immediately thought of Nicholas as the PIN, but it was too many letters. And the PIN had to be a number anyway. She walked home, feeling rather silly. She had just put the key in her door when it dawned on her. It must be Sarah! She turned and hurried back to the bank, got half way, then stopped. S-A-R-A-H are letters, which was no good. What numbers could SARAH stand for? She turned around again and went back home. Mr. Kohmsky sat in his usual place in the corner of the living room, reading and took no notice of her. She went straight to their telephone and looked at the dial. This had to be it! With a shaking hand she wrote down the letters and their numbers from the phone key pad: 7-2-7-2-4.

Excited, Mrs. Kohmsky rushed out the door and back to the bank. She pushed in the card, retrieved it, punched in 7-2-7-2-4 and it worked! She selected BALANCE and it showed $100,000! Stunned, she stepped back, then stepped forward again to log out of the machine. Could Sarah have sent this money? And why, if she did? Or was Nicholas, from whom they had heard nothing for some thirty years, trying to establish contact? And if so, why use money instead of a letter or even a phone call? And more puzzling, what was he doing in Newark?