Joey Mancuso Mysteries Box Set

by Owen Parr

  I was concerned with the professor’s call. It had been an hour since we got disconnected. I approached Patrick away from Agnes. “I think I fucked up sending the professor on that fishing expedition.”

  “Why, what happened?” Patrick asked, bending his head closer to mine and looking around to make sure we weren’t heard.

  “Walk with me to the pub side. Agnes,” I called, “we’re making coffee. You want some?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Fuck man, Achilles was starting to tell me Maestro was really pissed, and then the line went dead.”

  “That happens here all the time. I’m sure he’ll walk in any minute.”

  My cell phone rang. “Ah, that must be him,” I said without looking at the caller ID. “Professor?”

  I heard a deep voice. Deeper than the professor’s. “Are you Giuseppe Mancuso?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Is your pub open to the public at this time?”

  “No. We don’t open until two in the afternoon. Who’s this?”

  “How many people are in the pub now?” the voice asked.

  I didn’t reply.

  “There’s someone who wants to visit with you, but it has to be a private meeting. Is there a back entrance to the pub?”

  “Who is this?” I demanded.

  “Mr. Mancuso, not on the phone. You have nothing to worry about. Now, please tell me who else is there with you.”

  “My brother and two associates. But—”

  “Is there a private place you can meet without the others?”

  “Does this have something to do with Mr. Persopoulus?”

  “Exactly. And we can clear this up easily. Can you assure me there will be privacy, Mr. Mancuso?”

  “Fine. I’ll keep everyone on the office side. We’ll have the pub to ourselves.”

  The line went dead.

  “What was that about?” Patrick asked.

  “Follow me,” I said. On the office side, I merely explained that I needed to meet with someone who required total privacy, and I asked that they stay in the office until further notice. Everyone had questions, but I had no explanations.

  I opened the door to the back entrance of the pub. We only used this door for deliveries, so it seemed strange opening it for another reason. A Cadillac limo approached. Four suits got out of the car, and three walked over to me. The fourth stayed by the limo.

  The deep voice from the phone spoke. “Are you Giuseppe Mancuso?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded to the two men with him, and they walked into the pub. Moments later, one walked out and nodded.

  “Please, let’s walk in,” the deep voice said, ushering me, with the other suit leading the way.

  As we entered, the deep voice noticed the two-way mirror from the office side. “What’s on the other side?”

  “Our office.”

  “Is that where your brother and your two associates are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can they see us?”

  “Only if they’re standing by it.”

  Deep voice nodded to the suit next to me. Immediately the suit entered the office side, as deep voice looked around. “There.” He pointed to the two-person booth in the back—the one we called the confessional. It was Woody Allen’s booth. “Have a seat,” he said, nodding to the other suit inside the pub, who walked back to the back entrance.

  Many years ago, Woody Allen frequented the pub and sat in this booth for privacy. As a result, his black-and-white photo hung by the booth right above the green-shaded banker’s lamp. In more modern times, some of the patrons had asked Father Dominic for a private talk, and they had sat at this booth, thus it becoming the confessional.

  A well-dressed and distinguished man walked in next to the man with the deep voice. He wore an expensive suit and a black tie. He smiled warmly as he sat across from me in the booth. I noticed that the deep voice walked to the main entrance of the pub and went outside. The other suit walked to the back entrance and stepped out. I was alone with the expensive suit.

  “Giuseppe, do you know who I am?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’m not important. It’s who I work for that’s important.”

  “And who is that?” I asked, not really wanting to hear.

  “Michael Mancuso,” he said. “Do you know who that is?”

  “I’ve heard the name,” I replied, a little concerned at the revelation. Was I sitting in front of Thomas DiFiore, acting boss for the Bonanno family?

  “Well, Giuseppe, your great-uncle Michael has always kept an eye on you. He’s followed every step of your career.”

  Are you fucking kidding me? “My great-uncle?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “You didn’t know, did you?”

  “Not at all. And he’s kept an eye on me?”

  “Family is family, right? He’s proud of your achievements at the NYPD, your record of solved cases, especially. He’s followed all your cases in the newspapers. You’ve made quite a name for yourself in the last year or so.”

  “The newspapers tend to exaggerate a bit.”

  “Nonsense. You’re good at what you do. Be proud of that. Tell me something. Achilles Persopoulus, does he work for you?”

  “He’s a friend helping out. Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine. He’s quite the chatty fellow, isn’t he?”

  “He does like to talk a lot.”

  “He’s been telling me about something he did in Sicily one time. He’s rather amusing, in a way.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s in my car. We’ll bring him in a bit later. What are you investigating?”

  I looked into this man’s eyes, and his stare was one of genuine concern. He never let go of his smile though. “After twenty years, I’m set on solving my dad’s murder.”

  “Paolo Mancuso. A fine man and a good caporegime. How’s your mother Briana in Florida?”

  Shit, how much do you guys know? “She’s fine, thank you for asking.”

  “She was a beautiful woman. I’m sure she still is. Healthy?”

  “Nothing major. She’s aging well.”

  “Good, good. Now, tell me how you’re going about this. Maybe we can help.”

  Oh shit, Father Dom is going to love this. I hesitated.

  “Why now? Start there if you will,” he went on.

  “I’m sure you know the name Antonino Falcone.”

  “Il Martello, of course. He died recently. What about him?”

  “Well sir, to be brutally honest, I always thought my dad’s murder was associated with the family, or maybe another family.”

  “Tony always told you it wasn’t, right?”

  “He did. But, I wasn’t sure I believed him.”

  “So, that’s why you went in another direction in your life?”

  “That, and other reasons. I was only sixteen then. My brother became very involved in my upbringing, alongside my mother of course. They steered me away from dad’s lifestyle.”

  “Good for them. You were too young, anyway. What about Tony?”

  “On his deathbed, he gave me some names that he said were tied to my dad’s murder.”

  “What names?”

  Do I really want to give up names to this man? I asked myself. “Names not associated with the family. Nothing to do with family business.”

  He broadened his smile. “You go by Joey, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Joey, I’m here to help if you want us to. Otherwise, I’ll go on my way. But son, don’t bullshit me. You had this little Greek guy drop names to some low-level asshole banker. Why get us involved?”

  “Don’t blame the little Greek guy. That was my mistake.”

  “Okay. So, you think this banker is involved with Paolo Mancuso’s murder?”

  “How much do you know about my dad?”

  “As I said, he was a caporegime for our family. We knew everything he did.”

  I remai
ned quiet. How much should I tell him? I can’t tell him my dad was an informant for the FBI.

  “Joey, you’re hesitating, and I think I know why. We knew your dad was a CI for the FBI.”

  “You knew?”

  “Listen. We take care of our own, at least those who are loyal. Your dad was caught in a matter you don’t need to know about. So, it was either him going to jail or him becoming an informant. We knew from the get-go, and we approved it.”

  “But, he was feeding information to the FBI, wasn’t he?”

  “Information we gave him, so the FBI could clean up some of our in-house messes and some other shit from other families. Basically, through him, we had the FBI do some of our work. You get the picture?”

  “I see.”

  “I’ll tell you the last thing your dad was involved in. Then, you tell me if that’s what you're investigating. Fair enough?”

  “Sure.”

  “There was another caporegime who decided to go off book with his own side business. He needed to funnel funds and found this banker named Maestro. A low-level operator in the scheme of things. Am I in the ballpark?”

  “Maestro was not a name Tony gave me. But, yes.”

  “Tony probably gave you Wetherly and Stevens, right?”

  Amazed at his knowledge, I merely nodded.

  “That’s what I thought. Tony was right.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me twenty years ago? I always thought the family did it.”

  “Tony knew you were in an emotional state back then. We didn’t want you going off and doing something stupid at your age. Seeking revenge, that is. As time passed and you went off in a different direction—in a better direction, I might add—everyone went their own way.”

  “I’m glad you told me. Right now, I need to bring to justice the person responsible for this. Let me ask something, if I may.”

  “Go on.”

  “The caporegime who hired Maestro, was he the one who had my dad killed?”

  “No. We dealt with him for his transgressions.”

  “So, it’s either Maestro or the partners. Maybe even the sisters. Do you know?”

  “You’re on the right track. But I don’t know which one. To us, these people were small time. We stepped out after dealing with our own problem. However, since the operation was in place, we tightened the system and kept the relationship.”

  “You mean, there’s still a relationship?”

  “Yes. But, we don’t have a problem if it ends. We have other means. There’s a caveat though.”

  “Don’t get the family involved.”

  “Exactly,” he said, still with a smile.

  Fuck, but my dad was murdered while working for you guys, I wanted to retort. Instead, I said, “Still, my dad lost his life…”

  He finished my sentence. “In the service of the family. You’re right. That’s why your mother receives a pension, and that’s how she was able to buy her condo in Florida.”

  I sat up, surprised to hear that. “You?”

  “No, not me. Your great-uncle and the family. Joey, always remember this: the world takes many turns. Everyone needs a safety net. The tightest-strung strings in a net are the family strings. You lose those, and the net becomes weak. Sometimes too weak,” he said, patting me on my hand. “Now, is there anything we can do to help you out with this?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

  “About this chatty little Greek guy. I can’t have him dropping names around town. What are you going to do with him?”

  “Again, it’s not his fault. I was trying to draw out Maestro into making a mistake. I’ll take care of the little Greek guy. Thank you for bringing him back.”

  “I’m glad the call came to us. Otherwise, others may not have been so forgiving.”

  “Just one question. How did you tie him to me?”

  “As I said, he’s very chatty. As soon as we put a little pressure on him, he dropped your name, and that triggered a series of calls, which should tell you that he’s weak and can get you in trouble if push comes to shove.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you again.”

  He pulled a napkin out of the holder on the table. “Joey, we’re in the twenty-first century. Our methods have changed. We’re a business enterprise, but like you, we’re results-oriented.” Pulling out a gold pen from his coat pocket, he added, “Here’s a number to call if we can be of help. Keep it and call anytime.”

  Was that a compliment? Are my occasional means-to-an-end style no different than theirs? Huh, something to think about. I pulled the napkin toward me and stared at it for a second without saying a word.

  “I’ll tell your great-uncle we met. He’ll be happy to hear you’re doing well.” Looking around the pub for the first time, he added, “Nice pub, by the way.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. Say hello for me and tell him I’m looking forward to a barbecue at his place was not the right response. So, I remained silent.

  He took at his phone and punched a couple of keys. Within seconds, deep voice, who stood outside guarding the front door of the pub, came back inside. He knocked on the two-way mirror. The suit inside the office side walked out and closed the door. In a matter of seconds, the visitors disappeared out the back door.

  A minute later, the little Greek guy, Achilles Persopoulus, emerged through the back door. His expression said it all. His eyes were wide open. While he had a smile as he glanced at me, I could tell he was visibly shaken and excited at the same time.

  37

  No one dared come out of the office, so after making myself very clear about who he had just met and why he needed to be so cautious, I walked in with Achi following me. The first to get up from around the conference table was Agnes.

  “Achi, are you all right?” she asked with a look of concern.

  Achi looked at me before replying. I nodded.

  “Yes, yes. I’m fine.”

  Father Dominic, who looked as if he probably went through the rosary a couple of times, stood. “What was that all about? Who were these people? What’s going on, Joey?”

  “Everything is fine. Nothing to worry about. It was just a visit from some concerned friends,” I replied.

  “Friends?” Dom asked. “What kind of friends are those?”

  “Did the guy who was in here say anything?” I asked.

  “When he first walked in, he said, ‘go about your business.’ Then he stood at parade rest in front of the two-way mirror, facing us, until he walked out,” Patrick said.

  “What did your friends want, Joey?” Dom asked.

  “They just want to make sure we don’t involve them in our case anymore,” I began.

  Achi added nervously, “It was my fault. I mentioned—”

  “Professor, no need to go into details. We still have a case to work. And, by the way, we can eliminate the blank box on top of Maestro. Whoever that is, they were not involved in the murder.”

  “But, can that person help us narrow down the list of suspects?” Dom asked.

  “Ah, no. I don’t think that person is around to help with this anymore.”

  “Meaning what?” Dom persisted.

  I gave Dom a look that should have told him everything he needed to know. Everyone’s glance went from me to Dom.

  “Okay fine. They’re not around anymore,” Dom said.

  “One thing I know for sure. Make that two things. One, we’re on the right track with our four suspects. Two, we can’t directly expose the money laundering scheme, which is still ongoing.”

  “Were you threatened about that?” Patrick asked.

  “No, not at all. There were no threats. We can work around it and even make sure the money laundering ends as part of our case, but we need to make sure we only expose our suspects.”

  “Joey, that’s like trying to make an omelet without breaking any eggs. What happens if we do?” Dom said.

  “Let’s concentrate on finding the perp responsible for
the murder. That’s our priority, right?”

  Dom wasn’t giving up. “If we uncover other crimes, are we going to look the other way?”

  Using one of Marcy’s favorite curse word with a thousand uses, I replied, “Coño, brother, one thing at a time. And, no, I have no interest looking the other way. We just need to do it correctly. This Maestro guy, the partners, and the sisters are just one of many, many tools at the disposal of others. If they feel threatened, then others might get killed in the process. Let’s avoid that. Am I making myself clear?”

  Patrick, noticing the tension between me and my brother, asked, “We got it, Joey. So, what’s the plan?”

  I turned to look at Patrick, who winked at me. “Yes, the plan. Have a seat, let’s discuss that.”

  The landline rang, and Agnes answered.

  “Joey, its Tad Love. Your attorney.”

  I frowned. Patrick motioned with his hands if I wanted a cigar. “Yes. Also, get me a Brooklyn Lager, if you don’t mind.”

  Getting a thumbs up from Patrick, I answered the phone. “Mr. Love, good talking to you.”

  “Back at you, Joey. Please call me Tad.”

  “I need some good news. It’s been a long morning.”

  “Well, then you’re in luck. I made a motion to dismiss, and I’ll be meeting with the judge and Cohen tomorrow to discuss. Also, I hear there’s a possibility that Cohen may get a pretrial plea bargain for his client, which in itself may do away with the suit.”

  “What about the mental stress part to senior Wetherly? Is that still in play?”

  “That’s all bullshit. Just added crap to try and build the case. Just like when people sue after a car accident and they claim they can’t perform with their spouses as part of the pain and suffering.”

  “I suppose that performing with certain spouses could be considered pain and suffering.”

  “Hah. But, that’s not what it means. Anyway, hang in there, and I’ll be back at you tomorrow. I’m looking forward to a drink at the pub.”

  “Anytime, Tad. Thank you. Get that dismissal, will you?”

  “Hey, Joey, do you play golf?”

  “Golf? No. I’m too young for that game. I can’t see myself in those silly Bermuda shorts. My legs are too hairy.”

  “Yeah, we don’t want to see those. I understand. Talk soon.”