Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

“Who are they?”

  Olmec recognized both Freddy Opal and Raymond Meadows, but not in any official capacity.

  Olmec asked, “Why these two? How do you tie them in to the murders?”

  I explained that Meadows was the person who hired a detective agency to follow Drucker and Feinstein and us in Miami.

  “Mancuso, I don’t see much here. There could be other reasons why Meadows hired the detectives. You really don’t have a connection. But, I’ll tell you what, let me research the names a bit and see if we have anything on them. I’ll call you back.”

  I thanked Olmec and felt that I complied with my agreement to Dominic and Marcy. Frankly, I knew what the answer from Olmec was going to be, so I decided to go ahead and enlist the professor in my little caper.

  Marcy was driving me to the pub on her way to the office. It was another beautiful morning in New York, although a snow storm was moving in from the west and the forecast was twelve plus inches of snow with winds gusting to thirty-five miles per hour. It was going to be a nasty weekend in the northeast, and I wanted to wrap this case up.

  “I didn’t know you and Dom weren’t speaking to each other,” Marcy said as we were nearing the city.

  “You spoke to him?”

  “Yesterday, I did.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said you called him a jinx,” said Marcy, her voice on edge.

  Turning to face her, I said, “I didn’t call him a jinx. I said talking like something bad was about to happen could be a jinx.”

  “Sorry, Mancuso. That’s the same shit.”

  “Is he still upset?”

  “Of course, he’s upset. I’ve never seen you guys have a fight like this. He loves you, and he’s worried about you.”

  “I know, and I’ve been feeling like shit since it happened.”

  “So, give him a call. Deal with it. He’s family.”

  “I will.”

  Once alone in the quiet pub that I enjoyed so much in the morning and having brewed a fresh pot of Cuban coffee, I called the professor.

  After two rings, the professor answered the call. “This is Achilles Persopoulus, how can I help you?”

  “Doctor P., this is Joey Mancuso. Remember me?”

  “Of course, Mr. Mancuso. How are you?” he asked in his typical low, slow tone.

  “Please call me Joey. I’m well, thank you for asking.”

  “So, did you find your suspect?”

  “We’re working on it, and that’s why I called.”

  “Oh great! You want my help?”

  “I do, but I must tell you that there’s some risk involved.”

  “I love it! We’re back to the murder mystery. What can I do?”

  “By the way, we’re willing to pay you for your time.”

  “Oh, nonsense. I’m happy to help. How, when, where?” he asked.

  “Can you fly to New York and be here Monday?”

  “Ouch, I don’t fly Joey.”

  “You don’t fly?”

  “No, not anymore. The maintenance on planes these days is minimal. Parts are falling out of the sky all the time.”

  I smiled. Everyone had their phobias. “Do you travel at all?”

  “I take Amtrak. To New York is about a twenty-seven-hour ride from Miami. I can leave Sunday and be there Monday morning.”

  “Really, you rather do that than fly for a couple of hours?”

  “Yes. By the way, you need to add four hours at least to any flight. I count the time from door to door. Besides, I heard there is a snow storm headed your way this weekend.”

  He was right about the storm. I had an idea. “What kind of security check is performed on passengers at the train station?”

  “Very similar to that at the airport. Why?”

  In that case, what I planned was not going to work. “Would you drive to New York?”

  “I don’t have a car, and I wouldn’t want to spend so much time driving.”

  “You don’t own a car?”

  “No, I own a Harley.”

  Never expected Doctor Achilles Persopoulus to be a member of the HOG—the Harley Owners’ Group. “What if I have someone drive you from Miami to New York, with a stop overnight to rest? Would that work for you?”

  “Sure, I wouldn’t mind that.”

  “In that case, Doctor P., remember Patrick? He’ll drive you from Miami to New York.”

  “We’ll have plenty of time to finish our debate about the merits of the Vietnam War.”

  Shit. Mr. Pat was going to love this assignment. “Great. In that case I’ll call you back and give you the details. Thank you again, Doctor P. We appreciate your help on this.”

  I couldn’t wait to break the news to Patrick about this little trip. He was going to be one pissed Irishman.

  Patrick walked into the office and saw me with a smirk on my face. “I don’t like that look. What’s up?”

  Just as I was about to answer, my cell phone went off. “Yes, Agent Olmec, what’s the word?”

  “Joey, we have nothing on your two names. I mean, we know who they are, but there’s no connection to our case whatsoever.”

  “So Senturk never received calls from either one?”

  “Nothing, my man. We can’t go forward on these two. However, if you find something else…” his voice trailed off.

  “Got you. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Joey, be careful, man. We’re dealing with some serious stuff. Somebody is dead set on not being found.”

  “Interesting choice of words, but, I hear you. More later as it develops.”

  “Say hello to Marcy for me,” Olmec said as he clicked off his phone.

  Before I got to the good part, I explained to Patrick why I called Agent Olmec. At least my hunch was right. They couldn’t tie Opal and Meadows to their investigation.

  “Why do I feel there’s something more you need to tell me?” Patrick said.

  “As a matter of fact, Mr. Pat, there is more to share. Have a seat.”

  I recounted my conversation with the professor, and then gave him the good news.

  “My God, Joey, isn’t there another way to get this guy up here?”

  “The professor says he travels on Amtrak.”

  “That’s perfect. Why not take the train and save me a trip to Miami and a drive back? He and I are diametrically opposed in politics and ideology. You want me to spend two days with him?”

  “The train would have been fine, except the security is as tight as in the airport.”

  “And what’s the problem?”

  “Well, we have a duffel bag in Miami that needs to be brought to New York, remember? And we can’t afford to have anyone inspect it.”

  “Would I be out of line asking to get paid for combat duty? Because that’s what is going to be for this trip.”

  “I bet you’ll be BFF’s after you’re done with this trip. You’ll see.”

  He looked at me with an inquisitive look. “BFF?”

  “Best fucking friends, that’s what that means. You need to get up to date with social media acronyms.”

  “When do I leave?”

  “I’ll have Agnes book you a flight to Miami ASAP. It would be nice to have you guys back here by Monday so we can get started. I suppose that putting him up at your place for a few days is out of the question?” I asked, smirking at him.

  “That would be a NFW. You know that one?”

  “I can guess. Just kidding.”

  “How’s the professor getting back? Do I not want to know?”

  “We’ll put him on the train back. No worries.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Here’s the plan,” I replied.

  41

  Saturday & Sunday

  The hysterical coverage about the snow storm of the century was more hype than anything else. I spent some quality time with Marcy at our apartment. Saturday night, Rosa and Alberto, Marcy’s mother and stepfather, came over, and Rosa made her famous pica
dillo. You’d think twice before calling her picadillo just ground beef. Along with that came the aromatic white rice, the black beans, and the fried plantains. Two servings of that, plus some vino, and my Zantac 150, and it was a very pleasant evening all around.

  After her parents left, the conversation took a turn. As much as I tried to gear our banter to Marcy’s first week back at the Bureau, she wanted an update on the case we were working on. I knew she was worried about all the murders. Plus, Father Dominic, my dear brother, I knew shared her concern about this possible scheme I was concocting.

  Marcy’s fears were well grounded. With her father dying in the line of duty during the Vietnam war, my past sixteen years with the NYPD, my own almost-fatal shooting while apprehending and active-shooter at an office building, and her own trauma in the line of duty, she dreaded the thought of someone knocking on her door with the same news her mother received years ago.

  So I debated on whether I should come clean with my plan or give her some bullshit story. I opted to give her the abridged version of my plan—not too many details, and no bullshit story. “Marcy, I don’t want you to worry.”

  “How can I not, Joey. How many people have been killed so far?”

  “I understand, but it’s all coming to a head.”

  Shaking her head, she asked, “What’s with the beard?”

  “Would you buy a new look?” I asked, trying to insert some humor.

  She ignored my cheap attempt to humor her. “You’re going undercover, right?”

  “It’s a momentary disguise, that’s all. I plan to meet with the main suspects, and some may know me.”

  “Promise you’re not going to do anything stupid. Can you do that?”

  “Everything we’re going to do will be planned and thought out. Nothing stupid.”

  Sunday was my customary day to make breakfast, and I made my favorite: corned beef hash, soft fried eggs, hash brown potatoes, orange juice, and café con leche. The morning started with a romantic encounter, which left me a little wobbly on the legs, and very hungry. Right about then, life was good.

  We were relaxing in our undergarments and reading the paper—anticipating a second round—when my cell phone rang. Captain Alex Johnson. “Good morning, Captain. How are you?”

  “Hey, Joey, good morning to you. Sorry to bother you at home on a Sunday morning. You got a minute?”

  “I got all the time you need. What’s up?”

  “Do you remember the name Antonino Falcone?”

  The name didn’t register. “No, can’t say that I do. Should I?”

  “How about Tony the Hammer?”

  “Tony il Martello, sì. My dad’s best friend. What about him?”

  “He’s been at Rikers the last fifteen years. He’s on his deathbed. Cancer, you know. He wants to talk to you.”

  My eyes widened a little. My dad’s murder had gone unsolved. Everyone assumed a rival family was getting even for something. Killings between mafia families didn’t get the same intense investigation that other murders would. The prevailing thought amongst many in law enforcement was to let them kill themselves.

  “About what?”

  “He didn’t say, but don’t wait too long. Doctors say he has weeks, maybe three at the max.”

  “I’m involved in something I have to finish right now, but I’ll get out there soon. Thanks, Captain.”

  I’d looked into my dad’s unsolved murder many times when I was with the NYPD. It was a cold case. The murder book was incomplete and lacked any suspects. The follow-up on cold cases were treated with minor interest by whomever looked at it from time to time.

  I’d never forget what happened that night. It was about six in the evening, and I was sitting on a stool between my dad and Tony the Hammer, as I knew him, both were standing and laughing about something. I distinctly remember drinking a Cherry Coke, which my dad always made a joke about being a mixed-drink. Looking at the bar mirror, I saw this man approach us from behind. Both Tony and dad’s expression changed immediately when they saw him standing two feet from us. At this point, everything went into slow motion. The shooter, who already had a .38 caliber revolver in his right hand, shot Tony in the stomach, and then delivered the fatal shot to my dad’s chest. After that, my memory went blank. The next thing I remembered was when the captain, then Patrolman Johnson, arrived at the scene.

  I wondered what Tony the Hammer wanted to tell me. Whatever it was, it would have to wait a few days. There was too much going on right now. My mind had to be focused on our present case. I didn’t want this to scramble my thinking process going forward, so I put it aside.

  Marcy saw my face. “What did the captain want? Did he give you a new case to consult?”

  “A new case?” I repeated. “Maybe. He told me Tony the Hammer is on his deathbed at Rikers and wants to see me. He’s the fellow who was with dad the day he was shot.”

  “Huh, what are you going to do?” Marcy asked.

  “Concentrate on the matter at hand. I’ll go visit him next week.”

  “Speaking of matters at hand. You haven’t called your brother yet.”

  “I was planning on doing it today.”

  “Oh really? It’s been a few days since we spoke about it. You’re so hard headed, Joey. What? If you make the call you’re admitting you were wrong?”

  “No, I was wrong. It’s just we had so much to do.”

  “Just give your brother a call. It’s no big deal. You can’t break up with the ones you love. There’re not that many to begin with.”

  I looked at Marcy and picked up my phone. “Hey, brother,” I said into the phone.

  “Joey. How is everything?” He sounded anxious.

  “Listen, the team is getting together on Monday to brainstorm—”

  I never got the chance to finish my sentence. “I’ll be there,” he said.

  “Dom,” I said, just before he hung up.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry brother. I should have never said what I did.”

  “Love is never having to say you’re sorry. I’ll see you Monday.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I hung up. I was happy to have him back, even though I felt a little guilty for not telling him about the captain’s call. But there was plenty of time for that later. I didn’t need anyone else distracted.

  That afternoon, Patrick called from the road to tell me he’d be arriving back in the city later that night. He was putting up our professor in a Residence Inn near his place in New Jersey.

  I made calls to Larry and Harry and made sure that Agnes would be at the pub Monday morning

  42

  Monday

  Dom was already waiting at the pub when I walked in at eight.

  “Sorry, sir. We’re closed.” He looked at me and did a double take.

  “Joey? What the hell did you do?” he asked.

  “What? The white beard?”

  “Yeah, the white beard, but the shaven head? What’s up with that?”

  I laughed. I usually kept my thick jet-black hair combed back all the time. Unfortunately, my Charles Bronson look was gone with my hair, replaced with a shiny shaved top. The growth around my face was colored white with some crap I bought at a drugstore a few days ago. I had a strong square jaw, and it was hard to disguise. I hoped the beard would do the trick.

  “It’s a new look, brother,” I replied, as I hugged him tight.

  “A new look? This is part of your plan, I’m sure.”

  “Let’s wait until everyone gets in before we discuss it. How about a café con leche? And by the way, follow my lead when everyone else arrives.”

  The rest of the group showed up around nine. The expression on their faces were all similar—dumfounded by the new guy in the pub that early.

  “Hola, everyone, my name is Pepe, and I just bought the pub from Joey and Father Dom and I’m planning into turning the pub into a salsa dance club.” Everyone’s head began to swivel as they looked at each other before restin
g their gazes on Father Dom.

  Dead silence followed my announcement. If I could have captured their expressions in a photo, it would have been an award-winning picture. All had deadpan expressions, as if someone had pulled their souls out of their bodies.

  “Where’s Joey?” Agnes asked, her voice quivering.

  Father Dom couldn’t take it any longer. He released a puff of laughter that he had to have been holding this whole time. “This,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder, “is standup comedian, Joey Mancuso, testing his new disguise.”

  The tension popped in the room like a balloon, and their deadpan faces turned into those of relief and shock, finally giving way to smiles. Pat was doubled over laughing.

  “Well, it worked. You had us going there for a minute,” said Mr. Pat.

  “I just wanted to lighten the mood momentarily. Maybe salsa music might be a good idea, no?”

  In his Irish brogue, Patrick offered, “I don’t know about an Irish pub with salsa music. But, I can do a mean mambo.”

  After the laughter subsided, I walked next to the professor. Achilles Persopoulus looked the same, only sans the Hawaiian shirt. But his bald head, one earring, and long white ponytail were intact. I hadn’t thought about it when I curated my look, but we both looked like family now. After introducing the professor and everyone getting their morning coffee, we sat down around our conference table to brainstorm. I couldn’t help but noticed the chemistry that developed between Agnes and the Professor, and the fact they made sure to sit next to each other. Patrick showed me the duffel bag, and we locked it in the bottom of a secure closet in our office.

  Coming back to the table, I noticed the Professor and Agnes smiling at each other. Somehow his chair had rolled right next to hers, and he leaned to say something in her ear. I approached Agnes from behind and whispered, “Do you guys need to get a room?”

  She blushed. “No, Joey. We’re fine.”

  “Okay people, let’s get on with this,” I said. To my right were Larry and Harry, or was it the other way around? To their right, was Agnes, the professor, and Patrick. To my immediate left, in his usual spot, was Father Dominic.