Chapter 42—The gold delivered
5:02 a.m., Tuesday, December 27
“I’m going to have you talk directly to my guy,” she told him. “I’ll have him give you a call within ten minutes.”
“Sounds good.”
Allison then called Sid, getting the same female voice on his recording. “Please call my friend. He is ready to take delivery,” she said, giving him Reginald’s phone number. She then disconnected. She knew Sid would be waiting for her call, and that he would not delay in calling the number she had left him.
Just as planned, Sid immediately called Reginald. “I’m loaded and ready. Where and when would you like it?”
“I’m all set at my end. How long out are you from 29th and 10th?”
“I can be there by seven, maybe a little earlier, depending on morning traffic.”
“Let’s shoot for that. If it’s going to be later than seven, give me a call.”
“Okay. What am I looking for?” Sid asked. Sid would be making the delivery himself, by himself. Something this important could not be assigned to others, nor did he feel this job should even be shared by others. Sid knew that at this stage of an operation of this magnitude, too many things can go wrong. He knew he needed specific instructions for unloading the crates, and he was going to need help. He assumed that this would all be understood, but he wanted to make sure. “I will be coming by myself in a fourteen foot box. I’m going to need a dock and a forklift. … And some muscle.”
“I assumed that. What is it in?”
“Six wooden shipping crates, on three-foot pallets.”
“Will standard docking do?”
“Yes. I assume you will want to weigh and examine the merchandise. If I’m there at seven, I would like to be out before nine. Does that sound right to you?”
“Perfect. This is what you will look for.” Reginald gave Sid the address for a small warehouse on 29th Street, just west of Tenth Avenue.
“Remember that 29th runs west, so you will have to come in on 10th. Look for an Irish flag hanging over the door in the 500 block. That will be it.”
“That will work just fine. If I have any questions or problems, I’ll call you. I will give you a heads up ten minutes out.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Reginald responded. “And could you bring one extra pallet and empty crate?”
“I’ve got one of each on the truck,” Sid replied. He assumed that whoever was receiving the gold would want to weigh an empty pallet, and an empty crate, in order to get a general idea of the weight of the gold contained in the shipment. Sid knew better than to short ship. He knew beyond any doubt the weight and gold content of every item, and he made certain to provide greater than agreed upon value. He knew that the shipment would eventually be accurately scrutinized for value by a professional, there was no point in creating any sense of mistrust on delivery. Sid was wise in these matters.
Reginald was a pragmatist. He knew that even a fourteen-foot box truck could have a problem maneuvering 29th Street on a weekday morning. But, he also knew that the best time to make such a delivery would be right when all the businesses were receiving deliveries.
So, to make it all easier, he had his friends from the city ribbon off a section of the north side of 29th Street, and he had his own semi-truck drop off a short trailer at that location. This was an unusual trailer, in that it had a roll-up door at both ends, so that when detached from the tractor, it could be loaded or unloaded from either end.
Reginald’s plan was to have the delivery driver pull past his trailer, then back up to the front roll up. He would then drop a ramp between the delivery truck and his trailer.
This short trailer had one other special characteristic—an onboard overhead electric crane. This crane had an extendable track, which would allow Reginald to attach it to the roof of Sid’s truck. Using the crane he could then transport each pallet across the ramp, and onto a scale. He would then subtract the weight of the empty pallet and crate, thereby arriving at the approximate weight of each crate of gold.
While one of his people would roll the crane back to load another pallet, two of his men would transfer the gold into the empty crate, logging the individual pieces as they did.
Just as promised, Sid called Reginald to announce that he was on Tenth Avenue, and should be arriving within eight to ten minutes.
“Describe your truck,” Reginald said.
“It’s a white fourteen-foot Mack. Older. Very dirty. I will turn on my four-ways when I hit 29th.”
“That works,” Reginald said. He then attached a small Irish flag to the east end of the trailer, and with the help of one of his men, removed the yellow ribbon that had cordoned off the area to the west. He did leave the cones in place, to prevent someone else from challenging.
As Sid’s truck approached, Reginald’s men removed the cones and directed the docking maneuver. It was a tight fit, and it took several attempts, but Sid eventually backed his truck up to within inches of Reginald’s already-opened trailer. One of Reginald’s men then opened Sid’s roll up door, and directed Sid to back up tightly against the parked trailer.
Sid remained seated in his truck. None of the men ever used names. It was not a problem, they had all engaged in similar operations before.
Sid rolled down the window, and handed Reginald a list of each crate’s number and its contents. The men then positioned the ramp, engaged the crane, and the exchange began.
Sid recognized that Reginald and his men had no need of (and less desire for) his help. If they needed something from him, they would know where to find him.
When Sid had originally acquired the pieces for the Fulbrights, he attached labels to each listing weight and purity. So Reginald’s people simply logged those labels, knowing that everything would be more carefully examined later. All they were guarding against was a careless error. Had they known Sid, they would have realized that he was not capable of such.
After about an hour, Reginald came around to the passenger door of Sid’s truck, and let himself in. “Looks good on the surface,” he said to Sid. “But I am curious as to why so much of it is in pieces of art. I had anticipated more bullion.”
“The actual artistic value of that load could very well be double its gold value. It’s up to you how you choose to deal with it. None of the pieces appear on any lists. They can be bought and sold with impunity.”
“That’s interesting,” Reginald replied. “Understand, I am not complaining. I just had my assumptions. And if your numbers are correct, and my people suspect that they looked legitimate, you overpaid by nearly four percent.”
“At least,” Sid responded. “But that’s the way it should be, don’t you think?”
“That’s a lot of money,” Reginald said. “Are you looking for something?”
“Certainly not,” Sid replied, just slightly offended. “My client always requires that we make good on deals such as this. You will be very pleased when you get the final tally. You’re getting very good value.”
“Is this a good number to call you back on? If I need to reach you?” Reginald asked.
“No, there will be no reason to call me. If you have issues, you can deal with my client,” Sid told him. “I think we’re done here. Right?”
“We are. It was nice doing business with you,” Reginald said, as he let himself out of Sid’s truck.
“It was a pleasure,” Sid responded.
Neither man attempted to shake hands, as might have seemed customary—not when they first met, nor on parting. It never seems natural to offer a handshake while wearing latex gloves. As Reginald closed the passenger door behind him, he did offer a smile and a wave of his hand, and Sid responded in kind.
As he drove off, Sid called Allison and informed her that the delivery had successfully been accomplished in. He then removed the SIM card from his phone, and cut it into several pieces with a pair of wire cutters.
Before the end of the day, this fourteen-foot dirty Mack truck would be stripped and destroyed, and left in pieces at a greasy little chop shop in South Newark.
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