The mob gas prank

Mob gas!

In all of the years I have worked on the water I can truthfully say I have never been asked to do anything criminal which is a good thing because I wouldn't. Neither would most of the guys I work with. In truth most of the guys out here have families and are busy trying to do a halfway decent job of raising kids. The last thing they want is to get involved with anything criminal.

Yet the reputation of the seaman being little more than a criminal that can't find a bank to rob still persists to this day to a small degree. It really doesn't make a whole lot of sense when you realize that the Coast Guard does run background investigations on applicants for Merchant Marine credentials, but the reputation is still there to some small degree.

While I am sure that over the years a number of unsavory characters have shipped out here and there, you have to remember these were back in the days before computerized background checks. While I'm certain there are a number of people here that have missed a class or two of Sunday School, the average seaman is just another guy making a living.

Of course, once in a while the stories go around and unless a youngster has a close family member in the business to set him straight, the average newbie that enters this business with just a small tinge of doubt in his mind as what to expect. It is just the tinge of doubt that I have seen played on with funny results.



"Hey, I hear we're tied up for the weekend," said the Chief Engineer. With that he gave me 'the look'. "DiCenzo called."

"Can I go up the street? asked the newbie. The chief and I ignored him.

I looked over to the Chief. "What's he want?" I asked. I knew immediately what the jig was when I caught 'the look' from the Chief.

"He needs 45K of regular unleaded moved over the weekend." said the Chief.

I knew we had a routine job scheduled for the weekend. We were supposed to move 45,000 barrels of regular for a major oil company so I knew the Chief was up to mischief the second he said we were tied up for the weekend because just ten minutes ago I had spoken with the office.

The Chief looked at the kid, "Want to make some real money?" he asked.

"What's up, Chief?" asked the kid.

"If you can keep your damned mouth shut we can clear a tidy sum. You in? We do this every so often."

This was almost 20 years ago, the only cell phone on the rig was one of the early ones the company had installed. It wasn't for general crew use as back then minutes were expensive.

"What are we doing, Chief?" he asked.

"Runnin' mob gas," he said. "Untaxed gasoline. Lissen, Kid, you gotta keep your mouth shut!"

"What do I have to do?" asked the kid.

"Just do your job," replied the Chief. Then he got up, looked at me and gave his head a flip. I followed him out on deck.

"Call in your times from the dock phone," he said. "No use letting the kid know what's going on and ruining a good jape."

I knew what he meant. Generally I radioed the times and amounts in and anyone within earshot could hear what was going on. "What about dispatch?" I asked.

"I already spoke with the weekend dispatcher and he knows what the jig is. He thinks it's pretty funny," explained the Chief.

"What's the skipper think?" I asked.

"Dickie said he'd just keep his mouth shut," he answered. "He'll play along. He likes the kid and so do I but I'd like to see what he is made of."

We went back into the galley. A minute later the sound powered went off and the kid answered it, listened and hung up. "Fire 'em up, Chief." the kid relayed.

Ten minutes later we were underway and about an hour later we were tied up at the dock. An hour after that we were loading product. I had disembarked and ran up to the phone booth and called in the times to dispatch.

When I got back on board there was the kid pacing the deck an nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof. I went below and watched him from out the hatch. It was funny to watch. Every time someone came into view of us he would come charging up to me and dutifully report it and nervously ask if it was some kind of law enforcement type.

One time I told him that the person he had spotted was the plant manager and he was 'on the pad'. He nodded nervously. I explained he was the guy that had quietly leased the shore tank to the mob by declaring it unfit for use to his higher-ups and that they were going to repair the tank soon and we had to get the gas out of there. In fact, the guy in question was actually a scout leader and an official of some kind in his church. He'd have probably thrown a fit if he knew I had pointed him out as some kind of mob guy.

Eight hours later we were loaded and underway and about a couple of hours later we were at the discharge dock and shortly after I was pumping off. I guess the kid had managed to get a fitful cat nap somewhere along the line but when I started discharging he was there acting as a self-appointed lookout.

I was stripping the last tank and the kid reported seeing someone new on the dock. I glanced out and put on a pretty good look of concern. "Get the Chief!" I snapped.

The Chief showed up and I nodded toward the guy on the dock, who in reality was another shoreside terminal employee I knew.

"I smell a rat, Chief," I said. "FBI or Revenue?" I nodded toward the guy ashore.

The Chief looked at him from the side of his eyes so as not to be noticed.

"DiCenzo," said the Chief. "Never saw him show up on a job before. Wonder what this is all about?"

The kid got a bit shaky.

"Chief, have a word with this kid," I said and turned and continued stripping the last tank.

I didn't get to hear what the Chief said, but the when the kid reappeared he looked visibly shaken. I think he must have told the kid that if he collapsed under questioning and ratted us all out he'd become part of the foundation of a new office building in northern Jersey.

In less than an hour we had disconnected, done the paperwork and were underway. The Chief told the kid he could relax now and that we had gotten away clean. An hour and a half later we were tied up at the company pier, it was about 0230 on Sunday morning and we had nothing to do but unwind until sometime Monday.

Now the Chief lived in the Philly area and occasionally on his time off he drove a limosine and I guess he was pretty good friends with the owner because Sunday at noon, shortly after I woke up, the Chief came by and told me to hop into the limo that had magically appeared and go grub shopping.

I heard him tell the kid I was going to get paid as I headed down to hop into the biggest black limo I had ever seen. I'd bet the kid thought I was hopping in with Vito Corleone himself! He probably invisioned some Marlon Brando look-alike saying, "You have performed a very important service for me and I am grateful," and expected me to return with a briefcase full of new, crisp hundred-dollar bills.

You have to remember that almost 20 years ago the streeotype gangster was more along the Godfather line. The Sopranos were not yet even an idea out in TV land, so I suppose that was what the kid pictured in his mind as I hopped into the limosine.

In sure he had a hearful of visions of some big guy in a suit with huge lapels, wearing a black shirt and a white tie covered by a huge fedora, complete with a northern New Jersey accent ala 'corner of toidy-toid street an' toid abenoo' sitting there waiting for me in the limo.

A couple hours later I returned.

I got out and the kid came up to me as I got out. I looked at him and glibly said, "We wuz robbed."

That's when he figured out he had been had and that the so-called mob gas run was just another regular company ordered routine job for us.

I'll give him credit, though, he recovered fast and helped haul the grub aboard.

Seeing he took it so well we also made sure he got enough sack time to catch up on the sleep he lost.
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