Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

  “Well, the two pilots who abducted Gavi may have spent some of it. There may be some left.”

  “Shit, that’s great news. Whatever is left is a plus. I’d already written off the entire amount. Tell you what, you find the money, you get a ten percent finder’s fee. How’s that?”

  “That’s very kind of you, but there is an additional expense associated with that.”

  “Oh, why is it that I feel I was just set up, Mancuso?” Turning to Ruth, Aaron asked, “Did you know about this?”

  Ruth smiled and shook her head.

  I chuckled. “One of the victims of these horrific killings was an innocent young girl who was taking care of her elderly mother. I would like a donation to be made to this lady. Maybe you can set up a small trust fund.”

  Drucker said, seriously, “You tell me how much of your finder’s fee we give her, and we’re good. I’ll set up the trust.”

  Ruth laughed. “He’s got you now,” she said to me.

  Dom and I stepped into the elevator and headed back to Captain O’Brian’s Pub & Cigar Bar. On the way there, I called Agnes to start the research on art collectors in New York and anything associated with that. And, just as important, I asked her to order lunch for the team. I was starving.

  36

  Back at the pub, I gathered our team in our squad room. Patrick, Agnes, Father Dom, and me. Dom was right. This case was somewhat outside our wheelhouse. It felt like a surfer facing a tsunami-type wave.

  Sitting around our conference table, we began sharing some Chinese food Agnes ordered in. I was fortunate to have found a restaurant that did not add any MSG to their food. As much as I liked Chinese, I was very allergic to the MSG, having found out about a year ago when the joints in my hands swelled and ached for days.

  “Did you get anything out of the partners?” Patrick asked as he opened a paper package of chopsticks.

  “Ten percent finder’s fee if we find the ransom money,” I replied, grinning.

  “Oh my. Did you tell him we have the money?”

  “What money?” Agnes asked.

  I pointed one of my chopsticks at Agnes. “We’ll bring you up to date on that later. I told him we may have access to some of the money, and he offered the reward on his own.”

  Dom, who was always in a hurry to get to the point and not one for small talk, asked, “Can we get back to the case? Agnes, did you start the research?”

  Agnes was blowing on her steamy wonton soup. “Yes, Father. We’re lucky. New York happens to be one of the top cities for art and antiques collectors. That being said, the not-so-good news is that it also means we have lots of names to look at. Very prominent people.”

  “Give us some names,” Dom said.

  “Let her eat her soup, brother.”

  “Oh, it’s okay Joey. It’s very hot, anyway,” Agnes replied. She opened her laptop. “Hedge fund managers like George Soros and Jack Feathersmith. David Geffen, the entertainment mogul. Financier Steve Cohen. Bankers Freddy Opal and Jacob Ritchie. The list goes on. Mind you, I’m researching from a list of the top billionaire art collectors in Forbes. I’m sure there’s a list of millionaires too.”

  “That’s going to be a problem,” Patrick suggested.

  I realized this might be a monumental job. Even if we found out who it might be, proving it was going to be a huge undertaking. “Well, Mr. Drucker is providing us with a list of his clients who are art collectors. I don’t know if it’s going to work, but we can match his list to whatever list you put together, Agnes. At least we can narrow it down. Make sure we find antiquities collectors, not just art collectors. That could narrow the list even more.”

  “Joey, I still think we should get the FBI involved,” Dom said.

  I shook my head at him. “Brother, the FBI is involved. Remember, they have an ongoing operation with DHS and DOJ. That didn’t stop someone from walking into Senturk’s warehouse and torching the place into a fried wonton.”

  “Well, maybe we should have Marcy’s White-Collar Crime division get involved.”

  “We have nothing to give them at this point. If we uncover something, we can get them involved.”

  “Are you worried, Father?” Patrick asked.

  Dom shrugged, and I replied, “He’s worried about us finding the name and then becoming targets ourselves. He thinks we’re up against ISIS.”

  “ISIS?” Agnes exclaimed, waving her soup spoon in midair.

  Dom ignored Agnes. “How many people that with answers have been killed? A bunch, right? Why should we put ourselves in that predicament?”

  “Father, no one is going to find out,” Patrick said. “And if we find something, I’m sure Joey will call in the authorities.”

  “Exactly,” I added.

  “Mr. Pat, surely you don’t believe that yourself. My brother will come up with one of his schemes and get us all fully involved. He thrives on going after a Moby Dick. Call him Ishmael.”

  “Dom, I don’t want to have this argument again,” I said. I was getting irritated at this point. “I know you’re worried about everyone. All we want to do is find the possible connection to these events. I think we’re on the right path. Someone has to pay for all these murders.”

  “I know, I know. You’re the victims’ last advocate. Maybe Marvel Entertainment should create a hero character called The Last Advocate.”

  I could see Dom was upset, and I didn’t want to continue this argument in front of Agnes and Patrick. “Agnes, Mr. Pat, could Dom and I have some privacy for a minute?”

  “Of course, lad. We’ll go to the pub side,” Patrick said.

  Once they walked out of our office, I asked, “Brother, have a seat. What is the problem?”

  “Joey, in the last couple of years, both you and Marcy have been near death more than once. You were shot in that case with the shooter in an office building. Then, Marcy was shot on the plane when the terrorist attempted to hijack it. If that’s not enough, she was then abducted by a serial killer. I worry about the two of you. You two are like a magnet for trouble.”

  I grabbed Dom by the shoulders. “I appreciate your concern. Nothing is going to happen to any of us. Marcy, me, you, Mr. Pat, Agnes. Not anyone. We have you and your direct connections to the Man to look over us. We’ve been involved with murder cases before. This one is no different. We’ll be fine, trust me.”

  “I don’t agree. And I wish you took ‘the Man’, as you call Him, a bit more seriously. He’s not a joke, or someone you call on to do your bidding while you forget about Him the rest of the time. This case is too complicated for us to pursue by ourselves. Get the authorities involved and let them do their work before you get yourself, and everyone you love, killed.”

  As much as I tried to hold back and understand his concerns, I felt like Dom was ignoring my concerns. I needed to be part of this. “Look, you’re starting to piss me off. We can be involved, or I will do this alone. Sorry man, but I don’t want this disagreement to become a jinx.”

  “So now I’m a jinx? First, I’m your personal line to God, and now I’m a jinx?” His voice was elevated, and he started pacing.

  “You know what, Dom? Perhaps you should step away and let us deal with this. I can’t be working on a case and be thinking something bad is going to happen. That just doesn’t work for me.”

  Dom got up without saying another word and stormed out.

  My anger simmered for a while before calming in a feeling of dread. I felt horrible. Maybe I had been too harsh, but frankly, in all my years with the NYPD, I learned you couldn’t go into a case thinking something bad was going to happen to you. You’d become so consumed with worry, so fearful, that you’d make a mistake. And good officers died from mistakes every day.

  37

  As Father Dominic left the pub, Patrick walked back to our office with a freshly brewed cortadito and one of my favorites mild cigars, a Rocky Patel Vintage 1999 Churchill. Patrick, Agnes, and I got back to work, and I made no mention of the argument.
r />   “Father Dom left?”

  “Yes,” I replied, “he’s got stuff to do at the church. I asked him to take a break for a few days.”

  After polishing off the last drop of the cortadito, I asked, “What was the name of the private eye that was following us in Miami? The fellow who works for the Salinger Detective Agency? Was it Petrovick?”

  Agnes looked quickly at her notes. “Petkovic. Joseph Petkovic. Why do you ask?”

  I sat back and used a cutter to nip the top of the Rocky Patel, lit it, and took a few puffs to get the stogie burning on all sides. “Let me share a thought I have, and then you guys tell me if you think it’s a good idea. Petkovic may know who hired his agency to follow us around Miami. I’m sure the agency was also involved in keeping an eye on Feinstein when Father Dom questioned him last week. Immediately after that, Dom picked up a tail. Here’s my thought: what if we find something on Petkovic that we can use to get the name of the client out of him?”

  “Like something we can blackmail him with?” Patrick said.

  “Ouch! Mr. Pat. I wouldn’t use the work ‘blackmail,’ necessarily. I would call it a motivating factor—something we can leverage. What do you think?”

  Agnes was the first to speak. “Well, the list I’m putting together is lengthy. There are well-known public figures in New York City who collect art, and more specifically, antiquities. If we get a list from Mr. Drucker, that might help us narrow down the big list. However, there’s no guarantee that the names on his list, even if matched against my list, will produce the name we want. So, my answer to your question is, yes, let’s do it.”

  “Mr. Pat?”

  “I’m happy to question this private eye. I agree. We should go for it.”

  “I don’t know if we should meet with him. I mean, he knows who we are, but I have an idea. Agnes, please call Larry and Harry and have them meet us here as soon as they can. Are they working on something right now?”

  “We have them working on a divorce case. A little job we picked up from another law firm.”

  “Have them take a break from that crap and get them in here. Meantime, find as much as you can on Joseph Petkovic. Why do we take divorce cases anyway?”

  “You wanted to keep these two guys on the payroll. These cases allow us to do that and not pay out of pocket. You gave me the latitude to do that, remember?”

  “I guess I did. You’re not only a great researcher, but a first-class office manager. Remind me of that when it’s time for bonuses, will ya?”

  Agnes picked up her laptop and went to her desk to do a deep dive on Petkovic. “Joey, you want a cybernoscopy of Petkovic?”

  My ex-partner at the NYPD, Detective Lucy Roberts called what Agnes did on the computer a ‘cybernoscopy.’ Most of what Agnes did would never be admissible in court. Make that, all of what she did. Some would call it illegal hacking. I just thought it was using someone’s God-given talents.

  “Assume we get a name of an antiquities collector,” Patrick said between puffs of his own cigar, “do you have a plan to pursue that end of the investigation? Or, am I getting ahead of you?”

  Patrick was always pulling my chain about the plan. My plans come together with as much preparation as someone who realizes they’re falling off a bar stool. But, in this case, I did have a plan. One that came together a few days ago when we were in Miami. “Remember Professor Achilles Persopoulus?”

  “Of course.”

  “More like our own little Jimmy Buffet. He was anxious to get involved in our case.”

  “He was more than excited. Are you sure you want to use him?”

  “He’s perfect for what I have in mind. He’ll be telling his students for years what he did to help solve this case.”

  “Now I know why you asked Father Dom to take a break. You’re up to one of your off Broadway plays on this one, aren’t you?”

  “Exactly,” I replied, not feeling real good about my decision. But, it was done. We had work to do. I let out a big puff of gray smoke and watched it as it lingered in the form of a cloud right above our heads. Then, poof! Our very expensive exhaust system for cigar smoke sucked it right up into the ceiling.

  My cell phone vibrated on top of the conference table. It was an email from Drucker and Feinstein. Annie, his assistant, sent us a list of about twenty clients who they categorized as ‘possible art collectors.’ The body of the email explained that this information was based on personal recollection of Mr. Drucker and Mr. Feinstein and was not specific to their actual clientele, since they did not feel comfortable releasing private client information without the client’s permission.

  I turned to Agnes, “I’m forwarding you this email I just got from the partners. Match this list to the Forbes list and let us know what you get.”

  “I’m on it. By the way, Larry and Harry are on their way.”

  “Cool. I’ll wait for them and give them an update. In the meantime, get me something on Petkovic.”

  “I’m trying,” she replied, tapping on her laptop like a classical pianist.

  It was an hour later, and I’d called Marcy to see if she could pick me up so we could ride home together. Agnes announced that she finally uncovered something we could use. At least she thought we could.

  “I’ve been looking at Joseph Petkovic’s credit card transactions, and I think we might have something.”

  Both Patrick and I looked at her. I muted the volume on the big-screen television, which was on ESPN. “Finally!” I exclaimed.

  Agnes looked like she wanted to say something nasty. Instead, she smiled. “Petkovic likes to frequent gay bars.”

  “Many people do, what’s wrong with that?” Patrick asked.

  “Wait,” I said. “Which bars?”

  “One for sure I know is a gay bar. A pick-up bar call Landy’s on West Fortieth Street. The other, Ramon’s, is a gay bar too, I’m pretty sure. It’s on Broadway.”

  “And how do you know they’re gay bars?” I asked.

  “You know the guy I’ve been dating?”

  “You mean the fellow you met at Father Dom’s church?”

  “The same.”

  “What about him?”

  “I was a little suspicious of his nocturnal activities on some nights. He always had something to do two nights a week, so I followed him.”

  “And?”

  “And, he’s a regular at Landy’s. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he goes in for a drink, some dancing, then leaves with someone he picks up.”

  “Another man, I suppose.”

  “Another gay man, yes. They go to his place and stay the night.”

  Patrick’s eyes were open wide. “You saw him?”

  “I disguised myself. I was in Landy’s watching him twice go through the same routine.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

  “I’m disappointed. I don’t mind if he’s gay, but lying about it and being unfaithful is much different.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find someone who will be fully committed to you,” I offered in my kindest tone.

  “I’m fine. I was just hoping this was my second chance.”

  Patrick steered the conversation back to point. “Petkovic is married, I think you said on your initial report, right?”

  Agnes replied, “Yes, he is. To Maria Petkovic. They’ve been married seven years.”

  “Seven years, maybe this fellow got the itch?”

  I said, “I think he’s got a lot more than the itch, Mr. Pat. Anyway, Agnes, that’s good. Maybe we can use this.”

  Larry and Harry finally walked in into our office. With this new information, I formulated a plan for them to follow our private dick, no pun intended. I wanted specific information about his habits, pictures, names, and whatever else we could get. If we could get Petkovic to reveal the name of the client, we would be golden.

  38

  Thursday

  Two days went by, and the only thing we had going were three names that matched both lists. That was enco
uraging, but it was still a long shot to finding our Sumerian antiquities art collector.

  I hadn’t spoken to Dom in these two days, and every time I thought about our fight, I got a knot in my stomach.

  The ace in the hole was being able to get Petkovic to share the name of the client who hired the Salinger Detective Agency to follow us. My instructions to Larry and Harry were to follow for two days, take photos, and report back today. At the same time, Agnes was creating a more thorough profile of Joseph Petkovic via cybernoscopy.

  I’d admit to working outside the box and outside the lines. Sometimes my conscience bothered me a bit, but when I thought of Superman using x-ray vison and Batman breaking all speed limit laws in his badass Batmobile, I got over it real quick. No one accused Superman of his ability to see through walls and got off because he violated the fourth amendment, right?

  Around noon, Larry and Harry came in as requested. I ordered deli sandwiches for everyone, and we sat at our squad room’s conference table as they shared all the information gathered on Petkovic, including some potentially embarrassing photos.

  After an hour and a half, part two of my plan for Petkovic was coming together. Larry and Harry went on to update Agnes on the divorce case they were working, while Patrick and I planned our surprise evening rendezvous with Joseph Petkovic.

  At six that evening, right on schedule according to Larry and Harry’s notes, Petkovic walked out of the office building that housed Salinger Detective Agency, making his way to Landy’s on West Fortieth Street. We followed from across the street and waited as Petkovic entered the bar.

  A few moments later, both Patrick and I entered Landy’s. Petkovic sat on a stool at the bar. To the left was a dance floor and a DJ doing his thing.

  Fortunately for us, Petkovic sat with two empty stools at each of his sides. I nodded to Patrick as I sat to the right of Petkovic. Mr. Pat took the left.

  Turning his head to me, Petkovic said, “Hi, how’re you?” Immediately his demeanor changed. He recognized me. His smile turned into an instant frown, and he turned to his left, attempting to slide off his stool. Patrick blocked his exit, and said in a stern voice, “Stay seated, we want to talk to you.”