Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

  Marcy interjected, “We know all that from our preliminary research, don’t we?”

  “You’re so impatient. I didn’t know his wife’s name—”

  She interrupted, “Please move down the research.”

  “Fine.” I glanced down on the page. “Graduated from Columbia University with a master’s in finance and joined Salomon Brothers right out of school as a trainee…blah, blah, blah. There are a series of complaints filed against him, all of which his company settled with the clients.”

  “What type of complaints?”

  “Some having to do with CMOs, collateralized mortgage obligations—whatever that is, and a couple for unsolicited trades.”

  “Go on.”

  “Yes, boss. Left Salomon to join Spencer and Davis as a senior bond trader in New York; the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission—better known as the SEC—shut down the company after they became insolvent following the bond market debacle in 2008; there are a few months of nothing; and then in 2009, he formed Evans, Albert, and Associates, a hedge fund, until the present.”

  “Does it show a list of clients anywhere?”

  “A partial list: some endowment funds, a pension fund of New Jersey, some private unions, and, ah, a Horatio Stevens

  “The U.S. Representative from New York?”

  “Has to be, right? Too much coincidence if it’s not.”

  “What else?”

  “Hang on. I’m reading something here. It seems Stevens was one of the original investors in the company along with two of my paisans, Vittorio Agostino and Luigi Bellascone.”

  “There you go,” Marcy quipped.

  “What? Just because they’re Italian, they’re criminals?”

  Marcy laughed, “No, silly, but Bellascone has been under federal scrutiny for quite some time. The organized crime division of the FBI has been looking. Money laundering and other hobbies associated with criminals. Don’t take it personal, Mancuso.”

  “I won’t. What about Agostino? Ring a bell?”

  “No, no bells ringing on that name. However, he has the connection to Bellascone. What about finances on Evans?”

  “In a second. Elena, his wife, filed for divorce last year. No resolution as of yet. She’s moved out, back to Albany.”

  “What about finances?”

  “Aspettare giovane, aspettare.”

  “Thank you for the ‘young lady,’ but I don’t want to wait to hear about the finances. That’s a key element.”

  “You’ll want to hear about his two mistresses.”

  “Two? At the same time?”

  “No, one at a time; he’s not a superhero.”

  “More like a super asshole.”

  “From two thousand and nine—there was Maria Christina from Queens, and Katerina Rostova—both models and obviously, Russians.”

  “Still active with Katerina?”

  “It would appear so, yes.”

  “Where does she live?

  “Upper West Side. Riverside South Apartments.”

  “Wait, that’s where Melody lives.”

  “Is that interesting or what?”

  “Who did this research for you, Agnes?”

  “This part, yes.”

  “Did she research Katerina?”

  “She did according to what she wrote here, but it says she found nothing on Katerina. Agnes added a note saying it seems as if this lady didn’t exist prior to this.”

  “Illegal immigrant?” Marcy asked.

  “Maybe a mail-order bride from Russia.”

  “More like a mail-order mistress,” she wisecracked.

  “Let’s analyze the finances,” I said, changing topic.

  “Top one percenters, but currently collateralized up the kazoo. Everything he owns is pledged to loans: second mortgage, credit lines, credit cards, private loans, and his stock portfolio has been getting margin calls. This brother is broke—living on borrowed time, I’d say. Shit, all these guys are candidates for suicide, if you ask me.”

  “Okay, so we know the pressure is on. Business going down the tubes, wife asking for divorce and alimony, mistress in distress. Which leads us to Parker’s insurance payment to the partners as a temporary stay of execution, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Definitely a motive there. But whatever the amount, it doesn’t feel like it’d cover their problems. I think they’re much bigger.” I said, shaking my head.

  “I know; that’s why I said, ‘temporary.’ These guys are short-term thinkers, putting out fires one at a time.”

  “Your investigation needs to zero in on a Ponzi scheme. ‘Cause if there is one, then the new client, Parker’s client, is putting in two hundred million dollars into their coffers. That solves a lot of problems if they commingle that money with their own account.”

  “Speaking of that, like I said before, the pushback is strong. Last time the SEC investigated, they gave them a clean bill of health.”

  “Perhaps the SEC should hire another group of investigators. You know what I mean?”

  “You want to move on to Albert’s?”

  “Not really, I’m tired. We have all day tomorrow. It’s Saturday.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Take my pants off, as a start.”

  “And then what, lover?” Marcy said, in a soft, sensual tone.

  “Eat something, ‘cause I’m starving,” I said, getting up from the table and heading to the fridge.

  Marcy got up and went to the bedroom; she mumbled something in Spanish I didn’t want to translate. I was standing in front of the fridge, which happens to be one of my favorite pastimes, when I felt this incredible warm embrace from behind me. My mind immediately registered nakedness, as my middle back was the recipient of two warm and large breasts.

  I had to turn, but I had just put in my mouth a large piece of blue cheese that has a distinct smell. Swallowing fast, I turned and embraced Marcy, but avoided kissing her, instead putting my chin on top of her head. I pushed down the last vestige of blue cheese. She began unbuttoning my shirt and kissing my chest, with her incredibly sensuous lips. Il mio uomo principale, which would be “my main man,” was reaching maximum height.

  I picked Marcy up and sat her on the granite counter, still avoiding kissing her on the mouth. I began kissing her in a slow and meticulous descent starting with her neck and moving down to her breasts and to lower regions of her anatomy, finally reaching the final destination.

  She whacked me on the head. Pulling me up and wrapping those two incredible specimens around my face, she said, “Idiota, take me to the bedroom.”

  21

  Day 5

  Saturday

  Breakfast was served next to me. Two eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns, a plain bagel toasted with cream cheese, and café con leche. Everything I could wish for in a partner, I had in Marcy. She was kind, loving, caring, considerate, a hell of a lover, sweet, spunky, funny, and bilingual. What else was there, right? Plus, she wore a gun to work. Somehow, I had to convince her to get over some fear she hadn’t fully shared with me and to tie the knot with me this year.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Marcy said, as I cleared my eyes and tried to focus.

  “Good morning,” I replied between yawns.

  “Are you still tired?”

  “You’re not?”

  “I am, but there’s work to do before your brother comes over.”

  “Father Dom is coming over?”

  “Unless you have another brother I haven’t met.”

  “Let me help you with the house cleaning. I’ll do the cleaning, if you do the rest.”

  “Deal. Then shower and shave.”

  “S and S maybe, but no shaving, it’s Saturday.”

  “Hurry up. Your brother is coming,” she repeated.

  I finished my wonderful breakfast and hurried with the cleaning chores, and then I jumped in the shower after the first “S” in the routine. A few minutes later, I came into the bedroom wearing a tee shirt a
nd boxer shorts. Normally, I don’t wear boxers, but on weekends, I give the boys room to hang around and relax after a stressful week. I made the bed and straightened the apartment impeccably, with no signs of lovemaking. Candles were lit: Marcy was delighted as if she was expecting the crew from Better Homes and Gardens to come in for an inspection.

  “I think your brother would prefer if you wore pants,” she said, glancing at my hairy legs, as I walked into the living room.

  “Right, wouldn’t want him to think we’re sleeping together or anything,” I said, walking back to the bedroom to locate some pants. I heard a knock on the door as I slipped on some jeans.

  “Welcome, Father, how is your morning?” Marcy said, opening the front door.

  “Good morning to you both,” Dominic replied.

  I walked out into the living room again and gave my brother a hug, as was our custom. “I’ve been thinking about this. Was Agnes at Mass this morning?”

  Marcy added, “Oh, I’ve heard she goes every morning to six-thirty Mass.”

  “Weekdays at six thirty in the morning, yes. Weekends, I say Mass at eight and nine, and yes, she’s there every single day.”

  I had to know: “Does she stay for the double feature on weekends?”

  Father Dom smiled. “No, she goes to the nine a.m. Mass on the weekends.”

  “How about a café con leche, Father?” Marcy asked.

  “Sounds great. Did you guys go over all the files last night?”

  “No, bro. Only one. We got interrupted by this guy who came up—”

  Dom said, “I don’t understand.”

  Marcy shouted from the kitchen, “Joey!”

  “We wanted to wait for you to go over the rest. We know you love this part of the investigation,” I explained.

  “Guys, sit down,” Marcy said, setting down Dom’s café con leche and an espresso for me on the dining room table.

  I brought Dom up to date on the Evans file. He was appropriately curious about the investors that had helped fund the company, particularly my paisans. Marcy covered the information she had on Signore Bellascone.

  We then went to the Albert file. Thomas Albert III. Almost identical to Evans: both started at Salomon, et cetera. Albert had graduated from Harvard with a master’s in international finance. They both worked at Spencer and Davis after life at Salomon until they opened the doors to their own hedge fund. Unlike Evans, Albert had no known mistresses and seemed to be happily married to Lillian Stanley, a socialite from Connecticut whose family was also on the list of one percenters; old money from the lumber industry.

  Other than the connection to Agostino, Bellascone, and Congressman Stevens, the three original investors in the hedge fund, there wasn’t anything that jumped at us from Albert’s file.

  Dom asked, “What about the Albert finances?”

  “Good question,” I replied. “He’s tapped out also, like Evans. Mortgaged up to his neck, for lack of a better word. He told you his lease was up on his Bentley, but it was actually repossessed. Their only hope for survival, meaning the partners, is the insurance money on Parker. If they can commingle the new infusion of cash from the client, the whale’s two hundred million, they’re set for a long time.”

  “Marcy, what are you doing on your end with these two?” asked Dominic.

  “I’m on Evans and Albert like black beans on white rice, Father,” replied Marcy, smiling.

  “You’ve been hanging around Joey too long, Marcy,” Dom said.

  A bit embarrassed, Marcy added, “I’ve also opened a file on Mrs. Parker’s father, Andrew Huffing.”

  “How come?” Dom asked.

  “Just had a gut feeling about the sale of his business a couple of years ago,” Marcy began. “It turns out he sold his business—a chain of sporting goods stores—to a Mexican company. And, wouldn’t you know it, that company has ties to a Mexican drug cartel in Los Angeles.”

  “That’s why she’s a special agent,” I said, rubbing her hair.

  Father Dom smiled. “You’re talking about money laundering?”

  “Precisely,” Marcy said, giving me a dirty look and fixing her hair with her left hand. “Forty million dollars for five stores seems a bit exaggerated. The revenue from the five stores, even adding inventory, would have been good for maybe a twenty million dollars’ sales price. Not forty million.”

  “This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” Father Dom asked. “Anything in Huffing’s past?”

  Marcy went on. “Nothing special, graduated with a business degree from Florida State, worked for a manufacturer of athletic socks, then joined Sports Authority as a top executive. He opened his stores, Andrew’s Sporting Goods, in 2010 until he sold them two years ago. Divorced, two daughters.”

  “And you’re still investigating?” Dom asked.

  “My unit is, yes. We’re researching the sale of his stores and the cartel connection.”

  “I want to get to Melody. As you’ve been speaking, I’ve read her file and, wow. I hope she has a hundred-thousand-mile warranty, ‘cause this young lady has been around the block a few times,” I said.

  Father Dom removed his white collar and opened the top button of his black shirt. “What do you have?” he asked.

  I was smiling as I began discussing Melody. “Born Susan Ashen in San Diego in 1986, which makes her thirty years old. She’s worth about four million dollars as we speak.”

  “Four million?” queried Dom, excitedly. Marcy quipped, “That’s a lot of modeling.”

  I went on, “No record of schooling, although I think she graduated from Grifter U. with a magna cum laude. As Susan Ashen, at twenty-two she was the mistress of a movie producer in Hollywood, California. Unnamed in this file. Later, at twenty-seven, she changed her name to Suzanne McIntyre. Married and divorced a year later to a William Molden. She picked up over two million in a settlement from this dude. Then she drifted east to New York, and guess what?” I asked, raising my head and opening my eyes wide in anticipation of a guess from my two admiring fans.

  Not seeing anyone take a guess, I said, “Ready?”

  “Please go on, without the drama,” brother Dom said.

  “You guys are no fun. Mrs. McIntyre became Susan Osmond and hooked up with Vittorio Agostino, who, bad boy that he was then and is presently, was married at the point they met. Here’s the real killer: he’s currently married, having been together WITH THE SAME WIFE for thirty years.”

  “Agostino was one of the original investors with Bellascone and the New York Congressman Stevens, in Evans and Albert, correct?” Dom asked, again rhetorically, I think.

  “Sí, padre,” I replied. “The same.”

  Father Dominic and Marcy both sat there, flabbergasted. Dom finally said, “So our Melody becomes a mistress to Agostino, then to Parker? My goodness.”

  “It looks that way, yes. Or, she is with both at the same time,” I replied.

  Marcy asked, “Could Melody be a plant by Agostino, and the partners, to keep tabs on Parker?”

  I responded, “That’s a possibility. The partners are concerned that Jonathan Parker may know too much about their operations. So, they find a way to hook up Melody with Parker."

  Marcy sat back, "And at the same time we have a mystery Russian mistress with Evans, in the same building?"

  I added, “Remember when President Kennedy was rumored to have Marylyn Monroe as a mistress, and at the same time she was allegedly the mistress of a Mafia boss?”

  Marcy exclaimed, “Yes, yes. She was also supposedly involved with Robert Kennedy and Sinatra. Seems our Melody not only looks like Marylyn, but she is following in her footsteps.”

  Father Dom said, "Let's review this a second. We have Evans with the Russian mistress. Then we have Agostino tied to Melody when she went by a different name, and then Melody becomes Parker's mistress. Is that correct?"

  I turned to Dom, "That's what it looks like. And all in the same building."

  Dom added, "We may need t
o hire Agnes, her research is incredible."

  “We can’t afford Agnes unless we get some paying clients. Besides, she makes too much money, and she loves working pro bono for us. But, you’re going to have to cut her some slack. Maybe invite her back to the rectory and share some wine with her sometime.”

  “If I may change the subject,” Dom began, “Marcy, is the FBI eyeing Agostino?”

  “The FBI’s organized crime task force has been looking at Bellascone. No reports of any investigation on Agostino, at least that I’m aware off,” replied Marcy.

  I went on. “So, the question is, how is our Melody tied to Parker, and did someone plant her there?”

  “And how does this all tie into Parker’s and Kathy’s deaths?” Marcy asked.

  Dom got up from the table and walked around. “Marcy, you have a beautiful place here.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Marcy replied, poking me on the arm.

  “Just beautiful,” Dom repeated. Walking back to the table,

  he asked, “What about Kathy’s boyfriend? Anything new on that?”

  Marcy replied, “I’m calling the receptionist on Monday. She was a bit snippy with me, but I’ll call her nonetheless.”

  “Let me do that,” Dom said. “She was nice to me. Carla, I think her name is.”

  I probed, “Why wait until Monday? Call the office now. The way things are going there, they’re probably working around the clock to contact the clients that dealt with Parker.”

  “Hand me the phone and the number,” Dom replied.

  We had our work cut out for us. There were so many things to follow up on that we needed arms like octopuses to deal with everything on our plates. Finally, Father Dom hung up with Carla.

  I asked, “What did she say?”

  “She spoke softly, but I got a number for Kathy’s boyfriend.”

  “Call him up,” I said.

  “Did he call for me or you at the bar?” Dom asked.

  “I remember Patrick saying he asked for both, so go ahead and call him.”

  “I feel horrible; he’s still mourning,” Dominic said.