Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

“Bro, I can call him. But who better than a priest at a time like this?”

  “I suppose you’re right. Okay, I’ll call him.”

  Marcy was at the kitchen preparing some tuna sandwiches for all of us. I asked, “Marcy, is anyone working this case during the weekend at your place?”

  “I’m sure we have some people on it. Why?” she replied.

  “We need to wrap this up soon. The longer it takes, the more watered down it could get.”

  “There’s a lot to do. Murders sometimes take years to solve,” Marcy added.

  “Not for Mancuso, they don’t,” I replied.

  “What are you going to do?” She asked.

  “I have some leads I want to follow up on. Then, I need to head over to the bar and help Mr. Pat open up. You?”

  “I’ll head to the office and work on this also. No sense staying here.”

  “Are you stopping by the bar later?”

  “I’ll call you. Sleep here tonight. Tomorrow is Sunday.”

  “Sleep?”

  Mischievously, she said, “You know what I mean.”

  Dom came into the kitchen. “Arturo, Kathy’s boyfriend, is going to meet me at the bar later. Poor guy, he’s taking it hard.”

  “You have an Uber waiting?” I asked Dom.

  “Calling one now.”

  “Excellent. We’ll share one back to the city,” I said. “Later, amiga.”

  “What about your tuna sandwiches?”

  “Thank you for those. Here, we’ll eat them on the ride back,” I said.

  “Bye, Father,” Marcy said.

  “Be well,” he replied. Turning to me, he asked, “What’s our next move?”

  “Let’s talk in the car.”

  22

  We sat in the back of this Chevy Caprice, a big-ass car, and comfortable. We ate our tuna sandwiches and spoke little.

  Father Dom finally broke the silence. “Where to now?”

  “I’m following up on a lead to my last case with the force.”

  “The one that got you kicked out of the force?”

  “The same, the homeless John Doe that was murdered,” I said, noticing the driver eyeing me via the front rearview mirror.

  “You miss being on the force, don’t you?”

  “To be honest, I do, but I don’t miss the red tape, all the crap, and hoops you have to jump through these days.”

  “Are you satisfied with what you’re doing?”

  “Man, I love working with you, and I love you,” I said, as again the driver looked at me. I said to the driver, “Father Dominic here is my brother, blood brother, capire paisan?”

  The driver replied, “Non ho detto nulla, signore.”

  “No, but I know what you were thinking. Just mind the road.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied, turning his gaze forward.

  “What did he say?” Dom asked, in a hushed voice.

  “That he didn’t say anything.”

  “How did you know he spoke Italian?”

  I touched my hair and whispered, “The grease.”

  “You’re so full of shit.”

  I smiled at Dom. “Listen, I really enjoy working the bar. I never thought I would, but I do. And, having an opportunity to spend time with you is—” I paused “—is a blessing. Besides, now that I don’t wear a gun and hopefully no one is shooting at us, maybe Marcy will come around and you can perform the ceremony at your church.”

  “That’s wonderful news. Has she agreed?”

  “I’m working on it. There’s still something holding her back. Once I know what it is, I’ll overcome it. She’s everything I want, Dom.”

  “Let me know if I can help.”

  “We’ll have to conspire on that. I like it.”

  “Back to your old case, what’s up with that?”

  “My former partner, Lucifer, remember her?”

  “You mean Lucy? Yes, I do.”

  “I spoke to her, and she thinks she’s located the other homeless guy that disappeared after the incident.”

  “Really, where?”

  “Somewhere in Jersey. One of her CIs—that’s a confidential informant—has a lead on this guy, the other homeless guy.”

  “This was the guy that saw—” he started.

  I interrupted and opened my eyes, nodding forward with my chin.

  “Got it. This is the guy who may have seen these other two characters in the alley behind the 21 Club?”

  “Correct,” I replied.

  “Well, well, that could be interesting.”

  “Right? Imagine if we can put all these pieces together and solve not one, not two, but three homicides. We get civilian commendations from the Mayor. Maybe not from the Mayor, if he’s involved,” I said, as we both laughed.

  “I’m loving it,” Dom said.

  “You ever wish you’d joined the police force?” I asked.

  Father Dom put his head back and closed his eyes for a second. “I wanted to, real bad. But our mother prayed so hard for me to go into the priesthood. With my grandfather having served in World War II and Brandon in Nam, she felt so lucky that both came back. She didn’t want the anguish of me being close to guns of any kind.”

  “Did you actually have a calling? I mean, does He actually call?”

  “I feel blessed for the work I do and have no regrets whatsoever. Did I have a calling?” he asked, not expecting an answer. Dom does that a lot. He continued, “When you spend your childhood in Catholic schools, the brothers and the sisters— especially the brothers—they’re in constant recruiting mode. They tell you that, in fact, He is calling you every day. You just have to open up your heart and listen, they say. So, between Mom’s prayers, her fears, and the Man calling, I guess I heard something and answered.”

  “You think Mom had an ulterior motive?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on. Mom was fifteen when she got married to your dad. You think you were a backseat event somewhere in Brooklyn? And Mom, like me, saw you as our ticket to the Pearly Gates?”

  He gazed at me, horrified. Our mother was sacred to both of us. She’d been very young when Dominic was born and became an adult too rapidly. An Irish mother as she was, mom placed paramount importance on her two boys. We were of her life. We were fortunate she was still with us, albeit in Florida.

  “Relax, relax. I was just kidding, bro.”

  “The problem is, I’ve always suspected that, and I’ve prayed every day that God forgives her, if so.”

  “Listen, she’ll be going to heaven and meet with your dad, the Master-Sergeant, and my dad, the Mafiosi. Maybe not my dad. He wasn’t related to you, so he doesn’t benefit from having a family member as part of the church.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’ve always heard that if a member of your family is a priest, nun, or brother, you’re in. No questions asked. It’s like the new express lane at the airport. You’re pre-approved and ready to board.”

  “So, you think that’s how it works?”

  “Do you know any different?”

  “I can’t say that I do, no.”

  “There you go.”

  Father Dom glanced out the window. I could tell his mind was back on the case. “What are you thinking?”

  “Joey, we didn’t discuss the background on Adelle Parker or her husband, Jonathan. Anything I need to know?”

  “Not much there. Married just the once to Mr. Parker. A middle-class upbringing until the sale of Dad’s business. The only money she has, or had, are the funds her father gave her when he sold the sporting goods business. Active in some charity foundations. A nondescript past or present, for that matter.”

  “Was that an outright gift her father gave the sisters?”

  “No, they—the sisters—were listed as ten-percent owners of the stores. Otherwise, Mr. Huffing would have had a huge gift tax to contend with.”

  “So, we still think her motivation could be the funds she’s losing?”

  “That, and
the potential she knew about Melody and the supposed divorce. If that were to happen and she lost her money, she’d be out cold, except for a settlement upon the divorce, of course.”

  “But from what you said about Melody, she may not have stuck tight with Mr. Parker to get hitched, right?”

  “Who knows what her motivation or role was in this mess? Maybe Melody actually fell in love, or maybe it was a setup; Evans and Albert were using her to get to Parker.”

  “All those various names she’s had, did she legally change any of them?”

  “No, she didn’t. She just took on different identities.”

  “What about Jonathan Parker?”

  “Our victim? Nothing much negative on him. Graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in finance, attended Wharton Business School, worked for another Wall Street firm for a few years before joining Evans and Albert four or so years ago. No customer complaints, no black marks on his record. I think this guy was pretty straight, other than getting hooked up with our Melody, that is,” I said.

  “I’m no psychiatrist, but I really didn’t see this guy to be the type to jump to his death, did you?” inquired Dom.

  I thought for a second. “We’ve seen him at the bar a few times, didn’t seem any different than our other Wall Streeters. Yeah, stressed out over his business and the stock market. But then, these guys and gals all appear the same. High energy, outgoing personalities, expensive suits and watches.”

  “And he was celebrating the evening before his demise,” added Dominic.

  I pondered that. “Maybe he saw his whole world crumbling in front of his eyes: upset clients—possibly losing some of them; letting his wife down and her father, with the money they entrusted in him. Who knows? Maybe even losing Melody over this. Not to mention possibly knowing or finding out about the alleged Ponzi scheme. Something happened that morning in the office that triggered the jump or the push.”

  “What a beehive this whole thing is,” Dom said.

  “More like a hornet’s nest, if you ask me.”

  23

  Dom was going to wait for Kathy’s boyfriend, who we hoped had some added information that could make sense of this whole thing. I, in turn, was going to meet up with my old partner, Mrs. Lucy “Lucifer” Roberts, and follow up on the lead we had about the homeless guy.

  Lucy was quite the gal; she was but a couple of years away from full retirement. An African-American, Lucy married young to Harold Roberts, a former Army Drill Sergeant. They have three grown and well-educated children. If you opened the dictionary under “perfect family,” I’m sure there’d be a picture of the Roberts family.

  I think she learned the toughness she’d displayed at work from the drill sergeant. After all, these guys didn’t take any shit. Neither did Lucy—hence, the nickname “Lucifer.” Or maybe Mr. Roberts learned his toughness from Lucy. Much of what I learned as a detective, I learned from Lucy. She was relentless in her pursuit of the truth, and she never gave up on a victim’s cause. I was inspired by her and always thought of her as my second mom.

  I saw a plain wrapper—or an unmarked police car—park illegally in front of the pub. While these vehicles were designed to not look like police cars, the funny part is that, somehow, everyone could spot these cop cars a mile away.

  Lucy walked into the bar with her usual radiant smile. “Joey, my favorite Italian.”

  “How good to see you, Ms. Lucy. But I bet you say that to all the Italians,” I replied, hugging her.

  “Just you, honey, just you.”

  “Something to drink before we take off?”

  “I wish, but I’m good. We can’t hang here too long. I don’t want to miss this guy at the homeless shelter.”

  “You sure you want to go? I mean, I can do this alone. After all, I did run into a problem as a result of this case.”

  “This was our case, baby, and we’re going to see it through together. Besides, this guy is waiting to see me. Don’t know if he’ll open up to you alone.”

  “Let’s do this then,” I replied, walking out with Lucy.

  Riding with Lucy in the plain wrapper reminded me of our time together working homicide for the NYPD. She always wanted to drive, and I wasn’t going to argue with her about that. Lucy reminded me of Oprah in one of her heavy phases, except Lucy was close to five feet ten inches tall, just one inch shorter than me. If she wore heels, forget about it. I was excited to meet this fellow. Maybe, just maybe, he could shed some light on his buddy’s murder that day behind the 21 Club. And now that my new jumper case had Mr. Evans as one of the potential perps, that made it just that much more interesting.

  “Lucy, does anyone else know you and I are riding out to meet this fellow?” I asked as she pulled out.

  “I haven’t told anyone. No, why?”

  “Cagney and Lacey are behind us in a dark-brown plain wrapper.”

  She laughed. “You mean Farnsworth and Charles?”

  “The same two, yes,” I replied.

  “I try and stay away from those two. Are they tailing you or me?”

  “Must be me they’re tagging along with.”

  “What’s up with that?” she asked, raising her eyes and peeking at them in her rearview mirror.

  “I’m working on a private case, and they stopped by asking questions about it. It’s really a coincidence, but this fellow Evans is involved in my new case.”

  “You’re kidding? He’s the one that applied the pressure to get you thrown out last time, isn’t he?”

  “I think, the same. And I think he’s doing it all over again,” I said, as Lucy entered the Holland Tunnel on our way to Jersey.

  “That should tell us something. Joey, are you still dating that skinny-ass Cuban FBI agent? Marcy?”

  I laughed. Marcy’s ass wasn’t skinny by any means, but I wasn’t arguing with Lucifer. “Still dating her, yes.”

  “Tell you what. Harry is making his world-famous short ribs Sunday for lunch, and I’m making that rice Marcy taught me how to make, the one with the black beans and rice mixed together. What was it she called it, Moors?”

  “That would be moros.”

  “Moros, right. Anyway, come over about two in the afternoon. I’m sure Harry would love to see you guys again.”

  “Your kids in town?”

  “Just two of them. They’re off for the summer, why?”

  “Want to make sure we bring enough Cuban bread and flan for dessert.”

  “Oh, wait ‘til I tell Harry. He’s always asking about you.”

  “We’ll be there. Why don’t you try and lose Cagney and Lacey?”

  “Give me a minute. Those assholes aren’t going to know if they’re in Jersey or Brooklyn in a few minutes,” Lucy replied, beginning to make some turns into alleyways and side streets. Even I was getting dizzy.

  Forty minutes later, we arrived at our destination, sans Cagney and Lacey. There were the usual gatherings of homeless folk in the front milling around, some going in and others walking out.

  I asked, “How are we going to know who it is?”

  “I got that covered, baby. He’s inside, and I’m supposed to ask for the director of the shelter who is going to take us to him.”

  As we walked inside and received the usual looks when plain-clothed police visit a shelter. Somehow, they all think we’re coming for one of them. The place was clean, with painted cement floors, rows of tables, and posters with positive affirmations on the walls. The air conditioner was blasting cold air, which was a nice relief from the summer heat in the streets.

  The shelter director took us to the back, where a handful of men were doing dishes and helping with the cleanup after their lunch.

  “Ed,” he called to one of the men, “this is Mrs. Roberts, whom we spoke about. Don’t worry about what you’re doing; we’ll take care of it.”

  Ed turned to greet Lucy. “Hi, Mrs. Roberts, the name is Edmonton Daniels. Please call me Ed,” he said, with a friendly smile as he dried his hands on
a blue dishtowel.

  Edmonton was about ninety pounds, if that, five feet, six inches at the most. He was probably in his late sixties, but seemed at least seventy-five. Short, cropped white hair, well shaven, and cleanly dressed. Lucy introduced me as a friend. Ed nodded, inspected me up and down, and evidently approved of me being there also, as he said, “Follow me to my place.”

  Lucy touched my arm, and we began to follow Ed. “Ed, you don’t live here?” I asked.

  “We save the rooms upstairs for those that need them the most, the elderly and sick. I can still manage, but I come here to use the showers and to help with the meals.”

  I thought that was very honorable and immediately took a liking to Ed.

  “I have something to give you in my place,” Ed said, as he looked around.

  24

  Kathy’s boyfriend Arturo was late, and Dom feared the worst. He kept himself busy around the bar—organizing glasses, lining up the liquor bottles, and wiping the bar counter clean over and over.

  Finally, a fellow of about twenty-five walked in. Clean-cut, wearing a light blue suit and a black tie. He was thin, but fit. His features revealed that his parents were of mixed race.

  “Father Dominic?” Arturo asked, seeing Dom behind the bar.

  “Yes, Arturo, good to see you. I am so sorry about Kathy,” Dom began.

  Arturo lowered his head and shut his eyes to prevent the tears from flowing.

  “Let’s have a seat at this table,” Dom said, walking to the middle of the pub where our tables are and pointing to a table.

  Father Dom pulled out a chair with its back to the front door, but Arturo moved around and chose a chair facing the front door. Something had this fellow spooked, and he obviously wanted to keep an eye on who entered our pub. Dom thought it wise to start with an icebreaker, like small talk, to make Arturo feel more comfortable.

  Dom asked, “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, I’m fine, Father. I don’t have much time; I need to get back to work. But thank you.”

  This was a good opening for Dom. “Where do you work?”

  “I’m with Evans and Albert,” he said in a low voice, again holding back his tears.