Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

  “I don’t want to minimize the events that have taken place around this investigation. As you know, nine people are dead,” I said. Larry and Harry exchanged glances, having heard this for the very first time. “So, whatever you do, you need to be vigilant and ready for anything.”

  Agnes asked the question everyone was dying to ask, “Are you going to tell us about your new look?”

  “In a minute.” I turned to my left and put my hand on Dom’s right arm. “Brother, I want you to go to Greenwich and question Gavi Drucker. She needs to tell us whatever she can remember from the moment she left the restaurant in Miami. What was the name of that place?”

  “Beaker and Gray,” replied Patrick.

  “Right. Beaker and Gray. Great food, by the way. Anyway, anything from that point forward is important. Her time on the plane, the time she spent aboard the sailboat, et cetera. She might have heard a name that can help us with this. Maybe a plan. Anything she can remember.”

  “She was drugged most of the time,” Dom said.

  “I know,” I agreed, “but she still may have heard something. Remember, she wasn’t kidnapped for the money. Someone wanted to scare her father and his partner. Then, the two pilots decided to ask for a ransom and get rich quick, so they must have discussed this.”

  “Does she know her boyfriend was thrown off a plane?”

  I noticed movement to my right, both Larry and Harry were squirming in their chairs. “You know, I don’t know,” I replied, turning back to look at Dom. “She may have tried calling his cell by now, if she doesn’t know.”

  “Should I tell her?” Dom inquired.

  Agnes raised her hand. “Yes, Agnes. What do you think?”

  “If she doesn’t know, she’s probably better off never finding out he was killed in such a gruesome manner. Let her think whatever. I mean, the kid was part of the plot to kidnap her. She should know that, at most.”

  “I agree. If she doesn’t know, no need to concern her with that. She won’t be able to respond to your other questions if she starts to picture Carlos being flung out of a plane in mid-air. Tell her he was part of the plot, but nothing else. Agreed?”

  “Yes, I agree. Can I borrow your Mustang again to go out there?”

  “Ah, no. Take an Uber this time.” He loved driving my car, and it seemed like he was getting to drive it more than me these days.

  “That’s expensive,” he retorted, pouting a little.

  “Take it Dom, no problem.” I looked over at Patrick. “We have a nice budget. Don’t worry about it,” I added, accentuating my accent.

  Dom came up with another question. “Is Gavi aware I’m coming?”

  “Yes. Ruth Goldstein called the house. Both she and her mother will be there all day. Gavi is not going back to the University of Miami this semester. As a matter of fact, she’s probably staying in Connecticut to finish college a little closer to home.”

  “Poor girl. I wouldn’t want to go back either,” Agnes said.

  “Now, Professor,” I started. Doctor P. jumped in his seat. He’d been making eyes at Agnes. “The Professor and I are going to meet with our suspects tomorrow morning. All three of them, if we can get in and talk to them.” I passed pictures of our suspects to everyone. “On the back of the photos, Agnes wrote the home and office address of each. Patrick, I want you on Jack Feathersmith. Larry,” I called out, as the fellow on my immediate right raised his index finger, “Larry, I want you on Freddy Opal. And Harry, you take Raymond Meadows. I don’t know if any of these guys are going to leave their offices after we talk to them, but if they do, I want you guys on them like a fly on spumoni. Take pictures of anyone they meet and note anywhere they go.”

  “Why Feathersmith? I thought Opal and Meadows were the primary suspects,” Patrick asked.

  “And they are. Let’s call Feathersmith a person of interest. From Agnes’s research, it shows he’s done business with Opal’s bank.” I replied.

  “Now I get it,” Patrick said.

  “What, Mr. Pat?”

  “Your disguise. I get it,” Patrick replied. “You’re taking a page out of a Sherlock Holmes story.”

  “Hah, you’re onto me, Mr. Pat. Let me explain,” I said, looking to my right. “Mr. Meadows hired private detectives to follow Patrick and me in Miami and Father Dom in New York. So, it’s very likely that, as they say in the spy craft, that they have a full dossier on all three of us. Photos and all. That’ why, Mr. Pat, I want you on Feathersmith and not on the other two. It’s also the reason for my new look. Now, be honest, did you recognize me when you first walked in?”

  Agnes said, “I truly did not know who you were, but after a second, I recognized your body language, mannerisms, and such.”

  “Same here,” said Patrick.

  Achilles Persopoulus added, “I thought you were a lost son of mine from a little fling I had on the island of Sardinia that one time.”

  Everyone laughed, but Agnes’s went over the top.

  “You’ll need to share that with me later, Doctor P.,” I replied.

  Immediately, Patrick pushed back in his chair and shook his head.

  Larry asked, “What’s the purpose of this? What’s our end game?”

  “I believe that one of these three people is the Sumerian antiquities collector. And if so, they may be responsible for all the murders. His motivation is simple; he, or maybe they can’t afford to be found out. Things got out of hand as soon as the ransom was demanded and paid. Ahmad Senturk was more than likely conducting the operations for the person calling the shots from here. Anyone who knew the identity of the collector is dead.”

  It was Harry’s turn to ask a question, “What about Drucker and Feinstein? Don’t they know the collector? Are they working together?”

  “Good question, Harry. We surmised that the partners may know the collector, but they don’t know they know. You follow?”

  Harry nodded. “Otherwise, something may have already happened to them.”

  “Correct, as in victims ten and eleven. As for an end game, we’re trying to flush out the collector. We want him to make a move that will incriminate himself, or at least show his cards so we can get the authorities involved.”

  “Speaking of authorities,” Dom said, “what about the FBI? Do they have anything on these guys?”

  “I asked Agent Olmec to check on them. They’re not even on their radar.”

  “Oh, this is going to be fun,” said Doctor P. “What’s my cover?”

  To my left, I could see Dom frown. I knew he was thinking there was nothing fun about this case. This was going to be dangerous. But, Doctor P. was carefree. He probably had more fun than all of us put together.

  “Professor, you’re going to be yourself. Tonight, at dinner, I will give you more details.”

  He was grinning. “Excellent. What about you? Obviously, you can’t be yourself, from what I’m hearing.”

  “I’ll give the full story later.”

  “Can Miss Agnes join us for dinner?” Doctor P. asked.

  “The more the merrier. Agnes, please give everyone the copies you have for them. Guys, you’re getting the full background dossier on each of our suspects. Become familiar with them. We’re headed to Garcia’s Cuban restaurant in Brooklyn around seven. Everyone is welcome.”

  Larry and Harry declined the invitation, and Father Dom said he would be there depending on the time he got back from Greenwich. We were on the last leg of this flight—the approach, if you will. I just hoped the landing would be smooth for us all.

  “Doctor P., let me show you our cigar club. How about a drink and a cigar?”

  Doctor P. looked at Agnes, and she nodded in the affirmative. “Yes, we’ll join you.”

  Patrick approached me. “Wow, it seems Cupid has struck.”

  “Right? That’s so funny,” I replied.

  “Whatever you do,” Patrick whispered, “don’t encourage him to tell you any stories. This guy has a story from every corner of the world. The
more stories he told me, the faster I drove up I-95.”

  Before we left for Garcia’s, I called our other favorite restauranteur, Vinnie. He was Dad’s friend from way back. “Vinnie, coma va? Is Giuseppe. Mancuso.”

  “Va bene, va bene, Giuseppe, e tu?”

  “Bene, grazie. Listen Vinnie. Do you remember Tony the Hammer?”

  “Il Martello, sì. I heard he was dying from cancer. Perché?” he said, in his accented English, peppering in some Italian along the way.

  “I’m going to visit him at Rikers.”

  “Oh, he will like that. Give him my best. You know, there’re people in Queens, Jersey, and the Bronx, who still have bent nocche, you know, knuckles, from Il Martello,” he said, as he started laughing.

  “I will, see you soon, Vinnie. And, I’ll tell Tony you said hello.”

  “Amore per Marcela. Addio.”

  Father Dominic joined us an hour after we started. He was fresh from meeting Gavi Drucker and her mother back in Greenwich. His report was simple and not very revealing. Gavi showed little, or no recollection of what happened. She did remember the pilots, but if she was pressed to identify them on a line up, she could not. The whole things was a blur. And that understandable, between the drugs and the stress, she probably didn’t remember half of it, and blocked the rest. Father Dominic ran through the names of all our participants, from Senturk to Opal, and Gavi showed no sign of knowing any of them.

  43

  Tuesday

  Without an appointment, Professor Achilles and I showed up at the NatCity Bank offices of Opal and Meadows at nine. We hoped that our introduction would get us in to see both men. Larry and Harry were on standby near the entrance of the office building.

  Agnes made me a fake ID, knowing full well we wouldn’t get access to the building without showing some identification. The elevator swiftly deposited us on the executive floor, whereupon Achilles approached the reception desk with me. Both of us were wearing suits, sans ties. Achilles left in his earring.

  “Good morning. My name is Professor Achilles Persopoulus, and this is my associate, Giacomo Petrolia. We don’t have an appointment, but we’re wondering if we could speak with Mr. Opal and Mr. Meadows for a few minutes.”

  “That’s going to be almost impossible if they’re not expecting you, sir. Perhaps I can make an appointment for you, and you can both come back.”

  “Of course, we understand. The thing is, and please tell them both, that we’re on our way to Turkey tomorrow. We wanted to ask them about the potential acquisition of antiquities. Tell them that all we need is fifteen minutes.”

  Achilles and I moved a few feet from the reception area. We watched the young lady make a call. After a few moments, another young lady came from the back. They spoke in whispers, but I overheard the receptionist tell the other that we wanted to see Gem and Naps, and something about Turkey and antiquities.

  I assumed that Gem referred to Mr. Opal, but Naps was a mystery to me.

  A phone rang at the reception desk, and after the young lady hung up, she announced that if we could wait about twenty minutes, Mr. Meadows could see us. We thanked her and agreed to wait.

  The entire floor was lined with offices around the sides and cubicles in the middle. A beautiful board room with floor to ceiling glass walls was the centerpiece of the floor.

  Twenty-five minutes later, a diminutive man, whose face I recognized from Agnes’s research files, walked toward us. Raymond Meadows—Naps—looked to be about five feet four in stature and wore an Armani pin-striped gray suit. His dark-brown eyes were set back in the sockets, as if someone had pushed them back at birth. The skin surrounding his eyes was dark, like two black eyes. It looked as if he wore a permanent frown. I didn’t like this guy already.

  “Hello, my name is Raymond Meadows. You are?” he asked, extending a hand to Achilles.

  “I’m Professor Achilles Persopoulus,” he replied. Turning toward me, he added, “this is my associate Giacomo Petrolia.”

  Meadows took a few seconds to inspect us from head to toe. He didn’t seem impressed by what he saw.

  Meadows asked, “What is it that you want to talk to us about? Something about antiquities?”

  “Indeed. Is there a place we can speak in private?”

  He frowned. “I suppose. Follow me.”

  We followed him to a medium size conference room a few feet away.

  “Is Mr. Opal able to join us?” I inquired.

  Meadow didn’t make eye contact with us. “He’s on an overseas call. Your visit is very irregular. We normally don’t meet anyone unless we have an appointment.”

  I wanted to tell him I was sure the mention of Turkey and antiquities got his attention. But instead, I let Achilles take the lead, as planned.

  “We appreciate you taking the time to meet us.”

  We sat around a six-top mahogany conference table.

  “Please get to the point. I don’t have much time.”

  As he said that, it came to me why the young ladies referred to him as Naps. Meadows exhibited classical overly-aggressive and domineering social behaviour, characteristic of the Napoleon Complex. Men of short stature often found it necessary to overcompensate for their perceived handicap.

  “I’m a professor at the University of Miami in the Department of Anthropology. I also occasionally deal in antiquities. Preferably those going back to Mesopotamia and Sumeria. Most of what I deal in needs to be exported pre-1970. I’m sure you know why, being a collector. My associate and I,” he turned and placed a hand on my arm, “are headed to Turkey. I’m told there is a cache of antiquities dating back five thousand years that has just been—how should I say it? Found, discovered.”

  Meadows leaned forward. “What about it?”

  “Sir, it is well known in these circles that both you and Mr. Opal are enthusiasts and collectors of such items—"

  “You know that how?”

  We’d done the research on both of them, so the answer was not an adlib. “It’s no secret that both you and your wife are on the boards of various museums. As a matter of fact, there was recently an article in the New York Post about you.”

  Meadows thought for a minute. His dark eyes were fixed on me. He pointed with his right index finger and asked, “Do we know each other? Your face is familiar.”

  “No, sir, we’ve never met,” I replied.

  “Perhaps you’ve seen his picture in the post office,” Achilles said, laughing loudly in an attempt to take Meadows’s attention off me.

  “Again, what is it you want from us?”

  I was going to reply to the question, but I thought twice about having Meadows renew his interest in me. I stayed with the plan letting the professor take the lead.

  “Some of these antiquities are headed for a private auction.” He cleared his throat and continued. “We have the opportunity of examining these items and purchasing them before they’re auctioned, which, as you might imagine, could bring us considerable savings on the purchase.”

  “Go on,” Meadows said. Then his cell phone chirped. “Excuse me a second,” he said, looking at a text message he received. He smiled. “Go on.”

  “If you and Mr. Opal have any interest in acquiring antiquities from this area, we thought we give you the opportunity to do so through us.”

  “You said you were a dealer?” Meadows asked.

  “That’s correct. And to be fully transparent, there would be a fee of ten percent added on to the agreed price. That’s our fee, of course,” Achilles said.

  After some moments, Meadows replied, “That’s very thoughtful of you, but we don’t know you, and like you said before, some of these antiquities are illegal to purchase.”

  “That’s understandable. Here’s my card. Please check me out before you agree. We are headed to Turkey tomorrow afternoon. You can give me a call on my cell any time before then if either of you have an interest. We are representing others in this opportunity and would love to include you.”

&nb
sp; My gut feeling was that this was going nowhere. Meadows was being very cautious, which didn’t surprise me. After all, if he or Mr. Opal was our man they already had a connection to these illicit items. So, I decided to roll the dice and add a twist to the proposition. I knew full well he could not verify what I was about to say. “Mr. Meadows, one of the reasons we came to see you and Mr. Opal is that an individual we have done business with mentioned that you fellows might have an interest.”

  Meadows looked at me again. There was something about his eyes I couldn’t look at for long. “You need to tell me his name before we go any further.”

  “Very well. Ahmad Senturk from Meso Trading in Miami. Do you know him?”

  Meadows squinted, bringing his eyebrows together. He pushed back from the table and stood. “I may have heard his name. I’ll call you if we have an interest.”

  Achilles asked, “Is there a chance we can meet Mr. Opal before we go?”

  Again, not looking at either of us, he replied, “No. Like I said, he’s on an overseas call. I’ll share this information with him later today.”

  I pushed a bit. “It’s more than information. It’s a very good opportunity, sir.”

  Looking down at the floor and blinking rapidly, he said, “Yes well, we’ll call you, maybe. Now gentlemen, I need to get back to work.” He opened the door and pointed to the elevators.

  44

  “You think all that fabricated information about me being an antiquities dealer will work?”

  I smiled. “Agnes is a pro. Nothing to worry about. If he checks it, he’ll buy it.”

  “She’s such a wonderful person. You’ve known her long?”

  “A few years. She is a wonderful person.”

  “I think I may have to visit New York more often.”

  “I have a feeling she’d like that,. However, you’re going to need to lose that fear of flying.”

  “You know what? I’ll work on it. I’d rather not waste a day on a train waiting to see her.”